Collaring Brooke (Club Zodiac Book 3) Page 10

  Staring at the place where they were connected, she felt fear creep up her spine. She shouldn’t be doing this, feeling this, letting down her armor. It was dangerous. She would get burned.

  When they reached the kitchen, he lined her up with a stool, lifted her by the waist, and settled her on her butt. “Now, let’s start over,” he said as he held her shoulders again. “Coffee?”

  “I don’t like coffee.”

  He grinned. “Headway. Excellent.”

  “Or maybe that’s not true. It’s been a long time since I tried it. I used to like the smell of it. But…” she needed to shut up. She was revealing too much.

  “But what?”

  She shrugged. But then I spilled it once…

  Instead of pressuring her further about her past, he shocked her again with the oddest question. “Does it bother you if I drink it? Would you rather not have to smell it?”

  She stared at him, her lips parting. Her heart raced. Carter was a nice guy. He was not an asshole. Either that or he was an amazing liar. She didn’t believe that, though. He had no idea how sharply she had rounded an insurmountable corner with his offhand question. So caring. He would stop drinking coffee because the smell bothered her?

  Who would do that? Her voice was soft, ragged. “No. Of course not. I’m fine.”

  “How about tea? Do you want a cup of tea? I think my sister stocked me with some when she was here last.”

  “Sure.” The truth was she hadn’t had tea in a long time either. Her beverage of choice—the one she could afford—had been tap water.

  When he released her to spin around and start filling mugs and grabbing tea bags and sugar and cream and a spoon and even a saucer, she let her shoulders relax for the first time in twenty-two years. “You’re not going to hurt me,” she mumbled, not intending to speak out loud.

  He spun back around fast. “Never.” He grabbed the edges of the counter at his back so hard his knuckles turned white. His head was shaking. “Brooke, never.”

  “What if I want you to?”

  He turned a little white.

  She kept speaking. Now that the floodgates were open, she couldn’t stop. “I liked what Faith did to me. I mean, I really liked it. You can do that, right?”

  He hesitated, his lips parting. “I don’t think so.”

  She flinched. “Why? What do you mean? Don’t you do that sort of thing too?”

  “Not usually. No. I have on occasion. I’m trained. I’ve worked with most instruments enough to know about safety and to ensure no one who comes to the club does anything dangerous. I can spot an imposter. I can guide a new Dom. But I’ve never been a sadist. It doesn’t work for me. I prefer a more…sensual BDSM experience.”

  “What does that mean?” She curled up her nose.

  He released the counter finally and turned around to fill her mug with hot water. She thought he was going to ignore her question, but as he set everything she might want behind her on the island, he gently spun her around to face the counter and finally spoke again. “For some people BDSM is about the release they get from a spanking or even something harsher like a whip. But not everyone comes to the club looking for that kind of release.”

  He rounded the island to lean on the other side, facing her before continuing. “I know you learned a lot from Faith, and I’m so glad she was there for you. You were learning. She’s a fantastic teacher. She earned your trust. Hell, she made me so jealous a few times I thought I would lose my marbles.” He grinned at the admission.

  Brooke sucked in a sharp breath. “She made you jealous? Of what?”

  “Of her time with you. Of getting you to look at her. In the eye. Of getting you to open up and speak and smile and blush and even letting her touch you. I’ve never been so envious of another person.”

  Brooke gasped. God, he really did like her. He had for a while. She felt like she owned him an explanation. “She’s… She’s…”

  “A woman.”

  She exhaled. “Well, it’s not that exactly. I just, I don’t know, I trust her to give me what I need.”

  He nodded slowly. “Would you be able to trust a man to give you what you need?” He leaned closer. “Would you trust me?”

  She swallowed hard. Would she?

  He sighed. “I get it. I understood it all along. It’s written on your face. You don’t trust men. You’ve been hurt. Anyone can see that if they look hard enough. That’s why I didn’t pressure you. I wanted to get to know you slowly.”

  She smirked. “Like you’re not pressuring me now?”

  “Okay, until last night. Until I thought you would drive away in your car and I would never see you again. That lit a fire under me.”

  Her skin flushed further. “I can’t promise you anything,” she whispered as she glanced down at her tea, knowing he’d stirred something foreign inside her and it would only be a matter of time before she let him in. The inside of her mind was a jumbled mess. So complicated. He made it seem so black and white, and it was far from it. There was no way for him to understand her. There was no way for her to explain herself. And she didn’t want to. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t even form sentences from the clutter in her head.

  “I’m not asking for promises, baby. I’m only asking for a shot. I won’t pressure you. I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I just want to get to know you. I can and will earn your trust. All I ask for in return is that you not run. Please.”

  She watched his earnest face again.

  There was desperation in his voice. “Please promise me you won’t run. Stay here. Please. Figure stuff out. Find a new job if you want. Or take a break from life and stare out the window. Watch TV. Read a pile of books. Eat ice cream from the carton. Take long baths. Sleep late. Find yourself.”

  She had no idea how to respond. It was overwhelming.

  “Let me be a soft place to fall for now. We’ll worry about the rest later.”

  “What if it doesn’t happen for me?” She squirmed on the stool, knowing whatever “it” was, it was already happening. He probably knew it too.

  He shrugged. “Then we go our separate ways. No harm done.”

  “I can’t ask you to cover me financially.”

  He leaned closer. “You didn’t ask.”

  She nodded slowly. This was insane. She should not agree to this weird proposition.

  “Faith isn’t going to work with me again,” she pointed out to change the subject to something safer. As if her need for submission was safer.

  “I know.” She didn’t doubt he knew all about Faith and Rowen.

  “What if I need to explore that side of me further? I think I liked her using that whip on me last night.” She swallowed her fear and continued. “I wanted her to hit me harder.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But I’m not sure you were ready for the whip, and I’m certain you aren’t ready for something harder. You’re very susceptible to subspace, baby. It would not be safe for you to submit randomly to people. Not everyone is equipped to handle a submissive that far in her head.”

  “You can,” she pointed out, shocked by how bold she could be.

  He nodded. “Yes. I can. But I won’t. Not with you.”

  “Even if it’s something I want?”

  He inhaled slowly. “At the risk of sounding condescending, you need a therapist. You need to see someone. Work out whatever happened to you in your past. I’m not saying BDSM and even masochism can’t play a role in your life in the future, but it wouldn’t be healthy to use it as an escape so you don’t have to face your past.”

  His words were harsh. They stung. He was right. But he had no clue what he was talking about at the same time.

  She couldn’t believe how long she had held his gaze. “You’re right. I’ve never had a therapist. I’ve never had the money for anything that frivolous.” She held out a hand. “And don’t even try to offer to pay for something like that. We aren’t there yet.”

  He nodded.

&
nbsp; “Thank you. Someday, yes, I’ll get help. But for now, what’s the harm in letting out my stress through masochism?” Whoever had taken over her body and given her the strength to voice her wants concerning this subject was as alien as a green Martian. The truth was, she’d felt freer last night while Faith was whipping her than she had in years.

  “No real harm, but there are other forms of submission that aren’t nearly as…painful.”

  “I enjoy the pain.”

  He nodded slowly again. “I know you do. But if you truly want to explore BDSM further, let me show you some other aspects of the lifestyle. You might like them.” He winked.

  What did that imply? “You said you prefer the sensual side of BDSM. Explain what that means.”

  He glanced away, seeming to choose his words carefully. “Some people are in the lifestyle because they get a different kind of rush. A sexual rush. A lot of people, actually.”

  She blinked. “Right. Of course.” She looked away from him too. “I don’t think I’m like that.” She couldn’t imagine getting something sexual from a whip. She’d had an adrenaline rush. She’d slipped into her mind and let her troubles slide away, but sex? No.

  He was smiling when she looked at him again. “Maybe.” He shrugged noncommittally. “But you won’t know until you try.”

  “So, you like to dominate women to have sex?” She had obviously not paid much attention to what anyone else was doing inside the club.

  “Well, that’s oversimplifying, but yes. It’s considerably more complicated than that. I’ll show you someday.”

  “Not today?” She sat up straight. It would be best to prove him wrong sooner rather than later. If he got it in his head that she might get something sexual out of BDSM, he would be sorely disappointed.

  He laughed. “Not today. Definitely not today.” He reached across the table, picked up her mug, and turned toward the microwave. After a silent ninety seconds, he set it in front of her again. “Drink it this time. Or we’ll be reheating coffee and tea all day.” He picked up his mug next to repeat his actions.

  She lifted the cup, blew on the edge in that irrational fashion everyone did, and then took a sip. Deciding it needed sugar, she added a spoonful. After another sip, she set the mug down. “I think I like it.”

  He was grinning from several feet away, his foot kicking the fridge shut, his arms full of a precarious balance of items. “Excellent. You won’t go thirsty this morning. Now let’s see what kind of eggs you like.” He turned away, and she spent several minutes silently watching his back as he worked.

  She had never so blatantly stared at a man before. She hadn’t blatantly stared at anyone before. It still scared the hell out of her. She’d been taught to lower her gaze and keep to herself. This was foreign, but a dam had broken, and she liked it.

  Maybe she’d been misinformed. Maybe not all men were out to hurt her.

  Carter’s jeans hung from his hips perfectly. His T-shirt rose above the waistline when he reached for things. Not shocking since they probably didn’t make T-shirts to fit a man like him. A buff man with muscles that had muscles.

  He should frighten her. And he did. But she was getting over it.

  She stared at the tattoos extending from the sleeves of his T-shirt. The fallen soldier on one side. Another intricate design on the other side.

  She was watching him so intently that she forgot he could see her when he turned around. He’d been facing her for several seconds while she ogled his chest, his waist, his thighs, and even the bulge in the front of his jeans before she nearly jumped out of her seat. “Oh, God. Sorry.” She turned away.

  He came forward. “For what?”

  “I was staring at you,” she pointed out.

  “What if I liked it?” He set a hand on the counter at her side, the other on the back of the stool. His breath hit her cheek when he spoke again. “Do you like cheese?”

  She couldn’t help giggling. Just like that, he erased her embarrassment. “Yes.”

  He shoved off without touching her, leaving her with the sensation that instead, he had touched every inch of her.

  She went back to watching him, losing her embarrassment. “Are you in the military?”

  “I was.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Army. Served eight years.”

  “How old are you?” she boldly asked.

  “Thirty-two.” He set the spatula down and turned around, leaning against the counter. “I met Rowen when I enlisted at eighteen. I’m from Minneapolis. He only served four years. When I got out, he offered me a job at Zodiac. I took it. A few years later, both Rowen and I bought into the club, joining Lincoln as part owners.”

  She watched him closely, trying to keep her gaze on his face while he spilled his life story.

  “When I bought into the club, I also started managing Lincoln’s construction endeavors. He flips houses. Buys them. Fixes them up. Sells them. I do a lot of the work myself and contract out what I can’t do or don’t have time for. That’s my day job. Three nights a week I work at Zodiac. That’s me in a nutshell.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from asking a question. “You mentioned a sister. Are your parents still alive too?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “They also live in Minnesota. I visit occasionally, but I fell in love with the weather in Miami. I’m not excited about returning to the north.” He held her gaze, a smile on his face for another moment, and then he turned around to stir whatever he was cooking.

  She enjoyed staring at his back again as his muscles flexed, swallowing the emotions that came to the surface as she considered how openly he had shared his entire life without flinching. She couldn’t share even a moment of hers. Not with someone like him. Someone wholesome and pure and good and kind and perfect. He didn’t need her messy, stupid, ugly life tainting his goodness.

  The next time he turned around, he had two plates of food in his hands. The entire kitchen had filled with the fantastic scent of bacon above all else. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had bacon.

  “Lord, Carter,” she murmured as he slid a plate in front of her. “How am I supposed to eat all this?”

  He eased onto the chair across from her and handed her a fork. “With a fork.” He winked. “But I won’t say anything if you’d rather use your fingers. Whatever works,” he teased.

  Her plate held more food than she’d eaten in one sitting in her life. In addition, it was a comical assortment.

  “You don’t have to eat it all. Just the parts you like.”

  “You made three kinds of eggs,” she pointed out. One was scrambled. One was hard cooked. And one was over easy.

  “You weren’t sure how you liked them, so now you’ll know.” He took a bite from his own plate that had even more food on it than hers, and pointed at her food with his fork. “Eat.”

  She was battling a ball of emotion in her throat again. She had to swallow it down before she could eat a bite. Finally, after counting to ten while avoiding his gaze, she managed to lift her fork. She went straight for the scrambled eggs covered in cheese and moaned around the bite.

  “Folks, we have winner.”

  She rolled her eyes and picked up a piece of bacon next. And moaned again.

  “Seriously, when was the last time you ate?” he asked.

  “Hot food? That didn’t come from a can?”

  He blew out a breath.

  She answered her own question, looking at her plate. “It’s been a while.” She stabbed into the hard-boiled egg next. It was equally delicious, but then again, nearly any food would taste great to her.

  A bite of one of the two slices of toast on her plate was next. She was in heaven.

  For a while, they ate in silence. When she was stuffed and feared she might make herself sick, she stopped. There was still food on her plate, including the runny egg.

  Carter’s plate was empty. “Note to self, she doesn’t like her eggs half cooked.”

  “I’m so full,” she explained.


  “Okaaay,” he drawled out. “I was just making a joke. I never expected you to eat three eggs. I was only trying to figure out what you liked.”

  Brooke had never been permitted to leave food on her plate. Besides, she hadn’t been in a position most of the time to do so anyway. She was always hungry. “I should finish it.”

  Carter jumped down from his stool, rounded the island, and snatched the plate. It still contained a slice a bacon and half a piece of toast, in addition to the egg. He opened the cabinet door under the sink, shook the remainder of food in the garbage, and rinsed off the plate.

  Seconds later, he was back. He looked serious again as he took her chin with two fingers. “You’re way too skinny. And I’m not saying that to hurt your feelings. It doesn’t matter to me how much you weigh. I’m attracted to you for about a dozen reasons that have nothing to do with your weight. But you need to eat to get healthy. You’ll have more energy and feel better after a week of my cooking. I promise.

  “However, I have no doubt you cringed when I tossed the rest in the trash. It will be hard to get over that. It’s ingrained in you, I’m sure. So, I’m just going to come right out and tell you I’m going to overfill your plate every time we eat because I never want you to be hungry when you’re finished. You eat what you want until you’re full, and you look away when I toss the rest. Got it?”

  She nodded. “I’ll try.” It didn’t seem like it was up for debate. She had far more important things to argue with him about. Eating wasn’t on the list. She met his gaze again. “I’m sure I’m keeping you from whatever you normally do on Sundays. Let me clean up. You can go do whatever you need.”

  “I don’t do much on Sundays. We’re going to spend today together, and I’m going to help you make some decisions.”

  “Right. Of course. I need to get a job, for starters. I can’t mooch off you forever.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Nope. You need to relax, for starters. Take a breath. Find yourself. I meant, I was going to help you pick a movie.” He chuckled. “Or a flavor of ice cream. Stuff like that. Ordinary everyday things. Forget about finding a job for today.”

  She groaned. “You’re so bossy.”