“I liked it,” I murmur, watching his hands.

“Did you,” he responds with a half smile.

I nod shyly, feeling my cheeks heat.

“No need to get shy on me now.”

I chuckle as he pulls the last of the rope away.

“Thank you.”

His eyes find mine, and he frowns. “For what?”

I tilt my head to the side, finding the words. “For this…new experience.”

Matt smirks and raises my hand to his mouth where he plants sweet kisses on my knuckles, then yanks me against him. He’s still naked as can be, and I’m fully dressed, but I finally get to touch him. His skin is warm and smooth beneath my hands as I glide them up and down his back, his arms, up into his thick hair.

“Your hands are dangerous,” he murmurs against my lips.

“You feel amazing.”

He smiles down at me and catches my hands in his, kisses my nose and moves away.

“I’m going to need your phone number.”

As he speaks, his phone rings in his pants. He frowns and pulls away from me to retrieve his phone and answers.

“Yeah.”

He scowls and begins to swear a blue streak as he yanks his clothes on. “I’m on the way. Are the girls okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He snaps his phone shut and gazes at me with regret.

“You have to go.”

“Yeah.” He kisses me quickly, his mind already somewhere else. “I’ll call you.”

And with that he runs out of my apartment. He’s gone before I can remind him that he never got around to taking my number.

It’s probably for the best. He’s into shit that I have no concept of. This will just be one night that I’ll never forget.

I shower and dress in my pajamas, grab a bag of chips out of the pantry, and settle on the couch, not paying attention to what’s on TV.

I wonder who the girls were that he mentioned. Could he have kids?

Oh. My. God.

I just had random sex with a married guy with kids! I’m so fucking stupid! Just because a guy is hot and says, “Trust me, baby,” doesn’t mean that I can, in fact, trust him.

I toss the bag of chips aside and hang my head in my hands. And what the fuck was I doing, playing at the whole submissive-girl-who-likes-to-be-tied-up thing? That’s not me.

Now I wish he had taken my number so I could tell him off when he calls.

“Nic, stop.”

His voice is hard and close behind me.

Damn it.

I almost made it to my car.

“Why?” I ask and whirl around, turning on him. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

Chapter Two

~Matt~

“First, I think I need to apologize for something, based on your less-than-warm reaction to seeing me, but I’m not sure exactly what I did wrong, except forget to take your number before I ran out of your apartment.”

A mistake I’ve been kicking myself for ever since. That one night with this gorgeous dark-haired, green-eyed woman has haunted me since I had her beneath me, wrapped up in my ropes.

“I’m quite sure your wife and kids would have had an issue with you taking my number. I can’t believe I was so stupid.” She clenches her eyes shut and shakes her head while I scowl down at her.

“What wife and kids?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Yours,” she replies.

I feel my eyes widen in surprise. “I’m not married, Nic.”

She whips her green gaze up to mine, and her jaw drops.

“Why did you think that?” I ask as I step closer to her.

“Because when you took that call, you asked if the girls were okay.”

I nudge her chin up with my fingertip, making her meet my eyes. That she’s been convinced for weeks that I am a married man who cheated on my wife with her pisses me off beyond words.

“Brynna was in a car accident that night, and she had the girls with her.”

She gasps, her eyes go even wider, and then she frowns, looking toward the house.

She obviously wants to go to Bryn, to check on her.

God, she’s amazing.

“So you see, I’m as single as they come, Nicole.”

“Nic,” she replies absently, then shakes herself and focuses back on me. “It doesn’t matter.” She pulls away.

My eyes travel down her petite little body, currently covered in a crisp white baker’s jacket and black slacks. A simple red bow is tied around her head. She’s beautiful in anything, whether it be a small skirt and barely there top, or this boxy jacket.

Fuck, she’d be beautiful in a burlap sack.

And I haven’t even seen her naked yet.

Yet.

“Why?” I ask calmly.

“Because I’m not your type, Matt.” She smirks and opens her car door, throws her bag into the back seat and turns back to me with sad eyes that contradict the stubborn set of her jaw.

“Why?” I ask again. “What type is that?”

“Submissive. I don’t have a submissive bone in my body.” She spreads her arms wide. “I have opinions, and I like to assert them. I don’t like being told what to do.”

She’s definitely not suitable to be a full-time sub. There’s no way in hell that she’s slave material. And I don’t give a fuck about that anyway.

I’m no slave master.

But she was perfect in the bedroom, the way she communicated freely but let me push her limits, her fear of having her hands tied, and bringing her just to the edge of her pain threshold, gripping her hair in my hand and holding her up off the mattress.