He raked his fingers through his hair, then stood up and glanced around the moonlit park. Then he reached a hand down for me. I took it and let him help me to my feet, then fell in step beside him. I assumed we were done, that he was keeping his childhood secrets locked away, and I told myself that was good.
I didn't have a future with Tyler. Despite his protests--or maybe because of them--I knew damn well he was dirty. But for these last few days of my medical leave, I could ignore that. Pretend it wasn't true. Tell myself I was taking a vacation from myself and sliding into adventure.
I didn't need to know his secrets, didn't need to see his heart.
After all, I'd already given him too much of mine.
We'd been walking in silence for at least fifteen minutes when he said, softly and simply, "My parents live in Florida now. We don't really talk. We've never really talked."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Well." We'd reached a hill atop which there was a statue of a man on a horse. The moon shone down around us, illuminating the area. It was late, probably after three and right then it felt like we were the only two people on earth.
I sat on the side of the hill, then laid back in the cool, damp grass. Above me, Tyler smiled down, and I held out a hand. "Join me."
He did, stretching out beside me and taking my hand, and when he spoke, it was as much to the stars as to me. "I grew up in Rogers Park," he said. "Up north where Lake Shore Drive turns into Sheridan Road. Near the lake. On the Red Line. Solid middle class. Decent house. Decent neighbors. My dad managed a gas station. My mom stayed at home."
"Sounds nice."
He made a sound that might have been a snort.
"She drank. He gambled. Not just at cards or in weekend jaunts to Vegas, but in everything. Any get rich quick scheme you could think of. And he was damn stupid at it. Never once got on top of it, not that I could see. And I saw a lot."
"He talked to you about it?"
"Hell no. Neither one of them talked to me at all. The three of us lived in that house, and it was like we were three strangers. When I was very young, I'd make up stories as to why. I thought maybe I had an older brother who'd been kidnapped, and they were so lost in their grief they couldn't see me. Or that they weren't my parents at all. My parents were actually spies, and they'd send for me as soon as they were safe. Then I quit making up the stories and just figured it was me."
"Tyler, no," I said, my heart breaking for the little boy he used to be.
"No," he agreed. "I realized soon enough it wasn't me. It was them. My parents were--are--two broken people. And they didn't give a shit if they broke me, too."
"I'm so sorry."
"They paid the bills, kept the roof over our heads. But there was never dinner--I lived on cold cereal and scrambled eggs. And there was never conversation."
"Jesus," I said, though I'm not sure I spoke aloud.
"I started doing stupid shit to get their attention, but they never noticed. So I ramped it up. Stole a car when I was thirteen. Started breaking into people's houses when I was fourteen--used to steal leftovers, so that was a plus, and about the only way I got a decent meal. Stole a car when I was fifteen. Smashed it. Got arrested. My dad bailed me out, and I didn't even get grounded. Just told me to get my shit together and not be a stupid fuck." He glanced at me, his expression dry. "That's an exact quote, by the way."
"What did you do?"
"Needless to say, I didn't follow dear old Dad's advice. I did not get my shit together. On the contrary, I think it's safe to say I spiraled down. I started dealing drugs--stupid, but the money was good, and money bought me freedom and food."
"You didn't stay in drugs," I said, my voice tight. God, don't let him be dealing drugs; I'd seen the effects, and that was something I knew I couldn't deal with on any level.
"No." The word was fast and harsh. "I knew from the moment I got involved that it was all wrong. But this group of kids at my school--I clung to them because I wanted a family. Needed, even. And I went along."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "Anyway, I had a girlfriend. Amanda. High school sweetheart, you know. Smart, pretty, sweet as she could be, and totally clean. When she learned what I was doing, she said I had to get out. That if I didn't, she was going to call the cops."
"Did she?"
He cocked his head. "I told her not to. That she needed to trust me. I had a way out, but I needed to go through with a deal we had set up. We'd scored a over a pound of coke at a bargain price, and we'd arranged a sale to some kids from the South Side--stupid--and if we didn't go through, my buddies and I knew damn well they'd hurt us. Or worse."
"Go on."
"So we went to the meet." He closed his eyes and drew in a breath. "And Amanda showed up--goddamn her." His voice hardened with emotion and memory. "She showed up, told me to just walk away, but I couldn't, of course. She was living in some fantasy that these gangbangers would just let us go. So I stayed--and she stayed--and then--"
He clenched his fist, then punched it hard into the air. "And then the cops came and it turned into a clusterfuck. Someone pulled a gun, and then there were shots fired and I looked over, and she was on the ground, her white blouse stained with blood. She was dead before I got to her."
He closed his eyes, the pain of the memory almost palpable.
When he opened his eyes, they were full of anger and grief. "She was shot and she died and goddammit, if she'd just trusted me and not betrayed me to the cops, she would still be alive. Probably have a boring husband and three kids, but she'd be alive."
"It wasn't your fault," I said gently, because that is what you say when someone is grieving.
His eyes were flat when he looked at me. "You know better than that. I didn't have a gun, didn't pull the trigger, but the law says it was my fault. And the law is right."
"Felony murder," I said under my breath, referencing the legal theory that holds culpable all participants in the crime. "I'm so sorry."
"So am I," he said. He tilted his head back, drew in a long gulp of air. "Anyway, I got sent to a scared straight camp. I met Evan and Cole there--which was about the only thing good the camp managed. That camp gave me the only real family I ever had."
"I'm guessing you weren't scared straight?"
"No," he said, he drew in a breath, obviously calmer now. "But I realized I liked a cleaner approach to my adventures. I like puzzles and playing by my wits. And as I believe I already mentioned," he added, with his eyes on me, "I like owning things that other people covet."
"You did well, and you didn't play by the rules."
"That's a fair statement." His grin was all charm. "And I should probably make clear that for everything I'm talking about, the statute of limitations has long run its course."
"I've no doubt," I said dryly.
"At any rate, we played that game, the three of us. Mixing the legitimate and the not-so-legitimate for a while. We were still very young, and then when Evan started at Northwestern, he met Howard Jahn."
"The entrepreneur."
Tyler nodded. "An amazing man. Brilliant mind, exceptional businessman. He took us under his wing. Mentored us, really. And he completely turned our lives around."
"You're saying that you're clean now?"
His smile was thin. "That's what I've been saying all along."
I looked at him, certain that he was telling me the truth ... even while holding back. Even so, I was grateful for the glimpse into the child he was, as it told me so much more about the man he'd become.
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for telling me," I said. "I look at you and I feel like I've known you my whole life, when I barely know you at all."
"You're wrong," he said. "We do know each other. We know what matters."
"Do we?" I thought of the secrets I still kept. The ones I was certain that he was holding fast to as well. But at the same time, those secrets seemed small compared to everything I felt for this man. So much--and so much more than jus
t sex. And that was both comforting and terrifying. "We're moving so fast."
"No," he said gently. "We're just moving at the speed of us."
His words melted me a little, especially when he took my hand and pressed it to his heart, then pressed his palm over mine. I saw hunger in his eyes, but it was banked by a tenderness so profound it made me want to cry. "You move me, Sloane. Like no woman I have ever known."
"Tyler--"
"Don't talk," he said. "Just kiss me."
I did, and it was slow and deep and tender, and when he broke the kiss, it took me a moment to find my equilibrium.
"Our food is going to be a congealed and greasy mess," I whispered.
"We could eat," he said, but his voice promised something more delicious. "Or we could continue the--what did you call it--sex-a-thon? Your choice, Detective."
"That's not even a contest," I said, my pulse already kicking up. "Where are you going to take me now?"
"I like this spot," he said. "The moon, the statue. The world wide open around us."
"You like the chance of getting caught," I countered.
"No. I like not getting caught. And as we have already established, you, Detective, like excitement."
"I'm pretty sure there are laws against what you're thinking about."
"Probably. But in the world that exists between me and you, for the next few days, I am the law."
"Oh, really?"
"My rules, remember? My way." He eased closer to me, making that sizzle that had been running under the surface snap to life.
"Someone might come by."
"They might," he said. "I think the odds are low considering how late it is, but they certainly might." He grabbed the hem of the T-shirt and pulled it easy over my head. He tossed it on the ground. Then he gave a quick tug to the drawstring of the pants, making them immediately slide off my hips.
I licked my lips, then stepped out of the sweats, now completely naked in front of him.
"I hope someone does come by," he said, his voice low and easy. "Just imagine what they'll see."
"Tyler--"
"You, naked. Under me. Trying not to scream as the stars fall down around you. Tell me you like it."
"Yes," I said. Already I was wet. Already my nipples were tight. Already I craved his hands upon me.
"I thought so," he said, stepping closer and sliding his fingers between my legs, then arching a brow when he felt my slick heat. "So tell me, Detective. Doesn't it feel good to be bad?"
"Yes," I whispered. "God, yes."
"I want to be inside you now."
His words were a seduction, a promise, an enticement.
"We can't. We shouldn't." But my body was already thrumming, and it was all I could do not to writhe against his hand.
He drew me close, kissed me softly. "We can," he said. "And we probably shouldn't. But we will anyway."
"How do you do this to me?" I whispered. "I've never felt--never done--"
"Because I see you," he said, reaching out to lightly tease my breasts. "And because I told you what I saw. Lay down, Sloane."
I did, resting my head and shoulders on the discarded clothes. My heart pounded, and I could see the way my pale skin glowed in the moonlight. I glanced around, afraid I would see some person peering out from the shadows to watch us.
But there was no one, only Tyler, looking at me with such fierce desire that my body fired even more, my breasts tightening, and my sex throbbing with the need for his touch.
"Jesus," he said, "you make me hard."
"Then fuck me," I said, reaching for him. He knelt over me, and my fingers found his fly, tugged it down. I slipped my hand inside and found his cock, so hard, so ready. "I want you dressed. I want you like this. Here. Now." I met his eyes. "I want skin on skin, Tyler."
He tilted his head, the posture casual, but there was heat--and understanding--in his eyes. "Do you?"
"Desperately. I'm clean," I said. "Tell me you are, too."
"I am," he said.
"Then fuck me," I begged, then closed my mouth over his, the kiss hard and wild. He'd cast a spell over me, but I didn't care. I wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted the night sky above us.
"Fuck me," I repeated as I tugged his hand, tumbling him down on top of me.
"Fuck me," I cried, as he drove himself into me, deeper and harder, taking everything I had to give and then some. My body was open to him, wild for him. I'd never known anything like this. Freedom mixed with fear, wildness tied to desire, lust keyed on just one man.
"Tyler," I moaned, as the building orgasm whipped over me, pulling me up and out of myself, and then--finally--spiraling me off into the night, and into the stars that rained like a firestorm down upon us.
Chapter Eighteen
I awoke to the aroma of coffee and the sensation of something soft brushing over my naked abdomen. I opened my eyes, only to find that I still couldn't see.
Blindfold.
I shot up, spurred into motion by the burst of fear. My heart was pounding, and my fingers grappled at my face--then were suddenly stopped by strong warm hands gently pulling my fingers free before I could rip the blindfold away.
Tyler.
"Tyler, please."
"Shhh. You're not tied up. You're safe. You're still in bed, and you're safe." He brushed a kiss over my lips. "I want you to leave it on. If you have to take it off, I won't stop you. But if you can do this, I know that you'll enjoy it--and I'm damn certain I'll take you places you haven't gone before."
I swallowed, still edgy, but I trusted him, and I was calmer.
I wiggled my arms and legs as if to reassure myself that I could run.
"Anytime? I can rip it off anytime I want to?"
"Of course."
I managed an ironic smile. "Last night you wanted me to see the stars, and now you won't even let me see the room?"
He laughed, obviously understanding that my words were my acquiescence.
"Sight is an amazing thing, Detective. It makes it so much easier to appreciate a woman's lovely curves." I heard him move around the bed, could almost feel his eyes upon me. "To see more vividly all of her delights ..."
Gently, he took my ankles, then spread my legs.
I squirmed, still so easily embarrassed, despite everything we'd done. But it was different somehow since I couldn't see his face, could only imagine his expression and the heat in his eyes.
"Don't," he said gently. "Do you have any idea how lovely you are? How hard it makes me just knowing that you want me? How incredibly exciting it is for me to see just how much you want me?
"Sight," he continued, and I gasped as his finger stroked slowly over my sex, dipping inside me just enough to tease and make me squirm again, this time in a silent demand for more. A demand he ignored and instead withdrew his finger. Withdrew his touch altogether.
"And taste and smell," he added, his voice now near my ear and his finger brushing my lip. "That's it. I want you to know just how sweet you taste to me, how much I crave the scent of your arousal." He traced his finger over my lip, then under my nose.
"There are words, too. The sound of my voice, telling you soft things. Or maybe my words are rough. Hard. Telling you I'm going to stroke you with a featherlight touch or fuck you until you scream."
I could feel my sex clenching, and knew at the change in his tone that he saw it.
"Keep your legs spread for me, arms, too," he said, and I whimpered in protest, certain that if I could rip off the damn blindfold I would drown in his expression of smug satisfaction.
"Please," I said. "What about touch? It's a sense, too."
"So it is. Is that what you want?"
"I want you to touch me," I said. "I want you inside me."
"Soon," he promised. "But until then, I think we can make you want it just a little bit more."
I felt something whispy and soft graze my skin.
"What is it?" I asked. "A feather?"
"There are feathers," he said. "And little st
rips of leather all bundled together like a flower at the end of a flexible stick."
"Um ..."
"Technically, it's a cat toy." He trailed the feathery end over my sex, making me arch up with surprise and pleasure. "I find playing with this kind of pussy much more interesting."
"Meow," I said, and made him laugh.
"Good kitty." I heard the tease in his voice, and then felt the tease of the toy's touch. He trailed it all over me, the feathers barely touching my skin, from the soles of my feet all the way up to the curve of my ear. Everything stroked and teased and aroused, and when I was wet and hot and ready to beg him for more, he had me flip to my stomach and started on my back.
"Please," I said. "Tyler, please."
"Please what?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. I was on fire. I wanted release. I wanted him. "Everything, I think."
"Whatever the lady needs. On your knees, then. Arms on the bed, ass in the air."
"I--" I shut off my words when I realized I had no idea what I'd intended to say. So I shifted my position, did as he said, then moaned with pleasure as he thrust his fingers deep inside me--
And then cried out in surprise when the toy smacked hard against my ass, the sting both shocking and sweet.
"Oh, yes," he said as my vagina clenched tight around him. "The lady likes that."
"Yes," I whispered, as the sting seemed to spill warmth through my body, and my clit throbbed in a demand for attention.
"You're incredible," he said. "I love the way your body responds. I could tease you and play with you all day."
"That works for me," I murmured as he stroked his hands over my rear in slow, sensual circles, then surprised me again with another smack, this one just a little harder, the pain just a little sweeter.
He pressed his palm to the site, then stroked in easy, soothing circles as the fire that the first strike had sparked spread through me, like warm fingers to light me up and turn me on.
Behind the blindfold my eyes were closed. I'd never expected--never even imagined--such a heightened sense of pleasure coupled with anticipation--of his hand, of his cock, of just one more sting.
I'd thought that the rush I'd felt in the dungeon--naked and collared--had been the highest peak. But this was more.
I'd gotten a thrill from being on display, subject to Tyler's every whim. But that was an excitement that stemmed from breaking the rules, from being just a little bit naughty.