“Or is this because of Val?”
“Yeah…” I rake my teeth along my lower lip. In the same breath that I call him out for overstepping my boundaries, I do the same to him.Classic Jensen.
“I don’t want to see the people I care about get hurt. If I have the ability to stop it, I will.”
“And you care about me,” I whisper and flick the rubber band twice against my wrist. Its sting settling the threatening belly swoop.
“Of course. We’re friends.” He rakes his fingers through his chestnut strands. “That doesn’t change the fact that I crossed a line. Tell me your boundaries, and I’ll try my best to follow.”
“You’lltryyour best?”
“I never want to break a promise to you.” The upward tug of his mouth is evident in his gentle timbre.
I flick the rubber band again. “Turnip.”
“What?” He cocks his head.
“Anytime we cross that invisible line with each other, we say ‘turnip’ and that lets us know to stop. Boundaries are good, but I also know there are some that we may never realize we have, or times when it’s not easy to talk about certain things. This way we have a safe word to reel both of us back, because let’s face it, it’s only a matter of time before one of us crosses another line.”
“Turnip it is.”
“Great. Now let me go change, so we can get this disaster movie that will be our first training session going.” I grab mybag. “And after, you’re buying me a latte. It’s a special occasion after all, so today I get two.”
9
MILE NINE
ROPE PLAY
The lamp posts lining the path leading towards the campus’s visitors’ parking lot hum awake as sunset approaches. Garrett and I stop by his SUV to drop off my purse and bag of clothes before we head to the track around the soccer field for our first training session. The entire way, I prattle on about my excitement that the campus coffee shop rolled out their holiday drinks earlier than normal this year.
“Do you have any idea the self-restraint it took for me not to go back for a second sugar cookie latte today?” I preen, just a bit, as we arrive at his vehicle.
“Your glucose levels will erect monuments to your self-control,” he says wryly, digging something out of his backseat.
“Be nice or I won’t invite you to the ribbon-cutting ceremony,” I toss my bag into the passenger’s side and pivot to face him.
“I have something for you.” He hoists up a shopping bag.
“Is it a sugar cookie latte?” I coo.
“No,” he grunts and hands me the bag.
“Boo!” Smirking, I take it. “What…” Brow creased, I dig into the bag and feel around and pull out a thick elastic exercise bandand several different types of rope. “What is this?” I scrunch my nose. “Are you going to tie me up if I’m a naughty girl?”
“The thought has crossed my mind,” he says, his rumbly tenor vibrating through my entire body.
“You have?” I breathe, trying to fight the mental image of Garrett’s strong hands wrapping rope around my wrists and securing me to the headboard.
My body served up for his leisurely exploration. His hands trailing over every inch of my bare skin—down my throat to my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts, past my belly, and gripping my thighs before dipping his head between my legs and drinking me up like I’m the sugar cookie latte.
Oh god...I flick the rubber band on my wrist to combat the little coil cranking tight in my core with the idea of being at Garrett’s mercy.
He coughs. “It’s for tethering us together while running.”
“Yeah… Ha. Ha…” With an awkward laugh falling out of me, I snap—for good measure—at the rubber band again. “I know. I’m just messing with you. Don’t be pervy.”
We will just ignore that I’m the one being pervy. Garrett brings rope for guide running purposes, and I want to live out some dormant, low-stakes bondage play that I had no idea lived inside me.
