It’d been a lifetime.
This—she’d never had.
EIGHTEEN
Pike parked Oakley’s car in the garage behind the studio before helping her to get into his truck. She hadn’t said much since they’d put their clothes back to rights and locked up the studio, but as she settled into the seat, she seemed at ease, everything back in place.
Good thing she was put back together because he certainly wasn’t. He’d only planned to convince her to sing, to show him some piece of herself, some trust, so that he could feel good about taking her to a place like The Ranch. Then when he’d approached her while she was singing, he’d only meant to take the edge off, indulge his desire to finally touch her. But the plan had gone off the rails almost immediately. The way she’d responded, the physical abandon, the sound of her singing while he tasted her. She’d been so ready for him. Wet and hot and bold. Fuck. He hadn’t been able to hold back.
But he’d also gotten the sense that she was working hard to make it all about sex, blocking out anything else that might creep in. She was white-knuckling this. When he’d told her he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, she’d flinched like he’d pinched her. The girl was scared.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do the cool, detached thing with her even though he could tell that was what she wanted—no dates, no emotions, just sex. Usually, he was fine with those boundaries. Sex was sex. As long as everyone had a good time and was safe about it—game on. But for some reason, he didn’t want to be that guy with Oakley. She deserved better than that from him and from herself. Hell, she’d gone five years without sleeping with someone. If all she wanted was sex, she could’ve gotten that long ago without much effort. The woman would have no problem finding an interested guy at any bar or club in town.
Instead she’d picked him to break her dry spell. Why? He wasn’t sure, but he guessed that on some level she trusted him, liked him. Not Pike the drummer, Pike the man. And that was kindling something inside him, something he’d heard his friends talk about but had never experienced himself. Oakley had high walls that fortressed her in her protected world. Even in the throes of passion, she’d kept him outside those gates. He understood why, but the fact that he didn’t have a key to get in was poking at him, rousing an unfamiliar need.
He didn’t want to only be inside her body; he wanted to be in her mind as well. He wanted to climb over those walls and see what she was like when she let go of it all. He wanted to take her to The Ranch and strip her in every sense of the word, to earn her trust completely.
Fucking hell. He wanted to dominate her.
The urge was so goddamned foreign that he had to stop himself from texting Foster to ask what the hell he was supposed to do with that. Sure, he’d watched his best friend dominate women. And Pike had been a member of The Ranch for a while, so he’d seen everything and had taken the training classes. He’d even used much of the equipment and topped a few women, but never with real intent. Always playfully. A game.
But that wasn’t what he craved with Oakley. He wanted to evoke real emotion from her, for her to give him control, to be vulnerable with him. To show him what hid behind that all-is-well facade. To look to him to keep her safe while her walls were down.
He wanted to be more than a random hookup. He needed her to feel something. Shit, he wanted to feel something.
And he had no idea what the fuck to do about that. She’d agreed to one night. She was here for the sex. If he brought her to The Ranch and asked her to play submissive, she probably would. And he could pull off the role of cool, unfazed dominant. That was the fantasy newbie women often came to The Ranch with. Mr. Mystery Man who would use them and bring them pleasure, all the while never revealing anything to them beyond his stoic facade. Pike could do it. But it’d be the game, a fun night, not anything real. It’d allow Oakley to cast him in a role. Her fortress would stay firmly in place.
That held no appeal. Plus, it wasn’t who he was. This wasn’t about flogging and restraints. Though that could be fun, that’s not what was making his blood pump harder. He wanted that barrier-bashing shit that he’d seen between Foster and Cela. That rawness. The stuff that required real trust.
But he had no idea how to get that from Oakley. Or if he even deserved to have it.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced over at his date, taking in the flush of her cheeks and the way her hair had curled around her temples from the exertion of their interlude. The only signs that he’d at least gotten to her a little. But the staid smile she sent him said her armor was firmly in place.
That wouldn’t do. Not at all. No polite stranger smiles for him. He pushed the ignition button, an idea popping into his head. “Ready for the best dinner of your life?”
Her smile faltered. “I told you I didn’t need the fancy night on the town.”
He smirked. “We both need to eat. And I promise this will be the opposite of fancy. Ashamed to be seen with me in public?”
She scoffed. “Shut up. You know that’s not it.”
“Good. Because I’m not putting out again until I’m fed. I have standards, woman. Don’t make me feel cheap.”
She snorted like it was no big thing, but she shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable that he was doing anything date-like. Well, she’d just have to deal with it. Because he figured the only way to get rid of her stranger smile was to stop being a stranger to her.
If he wanted her to give him a peek past her gates, to trust him, maybe he needed to give her a look past his.
Oakley peered out the window as they drove toward the outskirts of Dallas. Rain had fallen earlier, and the streetlights reflected off the pavement, throwing orange light in random patterns. Her thoughts were as scattered as the reflections. She smoothed her skirt and then tucked her hands beneath her thighs so she wouldn’t fidget.
After their tryst in the studio, every part of her felt sensitive and electric. The sex had been amazing—everything she could want from an adventurous night out with a smoking-hot guy. She’d loved that Pike hadn’t held back with her or treated her like she was someone’s mom. He’d been down and dirty and unapologetic about it. He’d made her feel like a woman. Basking in that had been downright heady.
But now that she’d drifted down from the high and Pike had insisted on taking her out to eat, her worries had reappeared, nipping at her like an annoying school of fish.
She’d sang for him. At first, it had been stilted and awkward but then she’d fallen into it. Her voice had soared and along with it, her spirit. Singing hadn’t felt like that in so long. Sure, she played for Reagan and the rest of the kids sometimes, but she never let herself get swept away by songs anymore, that transcendent feeling of becoming part of the music. Tonight she had. Because Pike had been listening. And it had felt like the song mattered to someone besides her. He’d wanted to hear it.
She blew out a breath. “Thank you for earlier.”
He glanced over at her with a hint of a smile. “For which part? Orgasm number one or number two? No, that’s a stupid question. Number one was strong, but I thought I really nailed it on that second one.”