Read Online Breathe [Running to Love 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Allyson Young - Free Book Online

wish for the material to soak up her flowing juices. She closed her eyes against him for a moment and breathed.
    She blinked her eyes wide as he spun her from the car, and then he was frog-marching her up the steps of the club where he punched in a code and walked her through the entrance. The door shut behind her with the finality of a cell slamming shut, and Rowan’s entire body went into high arousal alert. She could feel her thighs slip and slide together in her copious moisture and her breasts ached within the restraint of her camisole.
    Everything looked different. The window coverings were pulled aside and daylight spilled onto the furnishings, shimmering among the dust motes, the room empty of both conversation and sexual tension. Well, empty except for the daunting amount surrounding her and Jace. He urged her through the lounge and through that damn green door. It held total symbolism for her today. They entered the same room he had taken her to nearly three weeks ago, the scene of the crime. Jace released the handcuffs and rubbed gently at the slight red marks, and Rowan reveled in the dichotomy. He stepped back and leaned against the wall, folding his arms.
    “Strip. All of it.”
    Rowan’s fingers fumbled with the buttons on the front of her suit and managed to open them. She carried the jacket to the closet and hung it up, and then stepped out of the matching skirt, folding it over a hanger. She placed her shoes neatly on the closet floor, hearing Jace make a strangled sound behind her when she bent over to do so, and then slipped off the camisole with the built-in bra. She draped it over her skirt and followed it with her thigh highs.
    “Come here.”
    Rowan again made her legs carry her forward, although it was as if she couldn’t feel the plush carpet beneath her bare feet. She should have felt grounded but instead was off-kilter, unsettled, just as Jace likely intended her to feel. She walked stiffly to where Jace was waiting, his face like granite, his eyes unreadable.
    “Take my shirt off.”
    Those little buttons nearly defeated her trembling fingers, but she persevered and tugged his shirt tail from his pants, standing on her toes to slip the garment down from his shoulders and over his arms and then hung it up, too. Without further instruction, she crouched at his feet to pull his shoes and socks off, as he obligingly lifted one foot and then the other. He rested one big hand on her head, and it felt like a benediction. Rowan stood and began to unfasten his belt, working the end free from the loop and popping the little metal tongue free from the hole in the leather. She went to open the button on his pants when he spoke again.
    “Pull the belt off.” Rowan felt deeper trembles start. What if he intended to use it on her? She had told him no strapping, but that was before she had walked out without a word to him. The gravity of what she had done had settled over her like a heavy, wet blanket that did nothing to mitigate her arousal. In trying to ignore all thoughts and memories of that night with Jace, she had immersed herself in her job, doing things in her apartment that had been long unattended, and all the while a little voice in the back of her head had vied for her attention. That little voice in the wilderness of her suppressed memories suggested that what she and Jace had started that night wasn’t over. That she had done a very stupid thing, and that it hadn’t been her right, that she had abandoned something special. But the voice had been too small and too distant and easy to ignore. It was screaming, front and center, now. Well, she had her safe word, and everything she had heard about this kind of thing indicated that safe words were always, always respected. She pulled the belt free and stood, uncertainly, with it hanging from her hand like a flat snake, but warm from the heat of his body.
    “Lay it on the bedside table, the one on the right.”
    Oh God. Rowan did as bid,