That alone let him know how far gone he was with this girl. He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. Had accepted that he could live with the wanting. Sometimes you wanted things that weren’t meant for you.
But now he was playing a perilous game. He was the guy on a diet who’d just given himself leave to gorge at the most decadent restaurant for a week. When Sam had topped him earlier, every part of him had lit up like neon—the whole world brighter, sexier, more intense. She’d told him this could be their safe place, and he’d let himself believe it. When else would he have the chance to step outside his real life for a week and live that fantasy that plagued him?
So he’d said yes. And he’d enjoyed every damn second of it. But it’d given him an insidious thing—hope. Sam hadn’t demanded too much of him. She’d been playful, feisty. He’d never felt out of control. If this was the kind of play she wanted, he could handle it. He had no problem taking some pain and then giving her pleasure. Hell, he’d happily do that as often as she wanted.
And he loved how, when in domme mode, she objectified him. That feeling of being there as a tool for her enjoyment and entertainment pushed his dirty buttons. Beyond the sexual things they’d done, there was something ridiculously hot about the way she’d made him serve her lunch and then watched him for the first hour of doing the floors. She’d been refinishing an old chair in the adjoining room, but her eyes had stayed on him, and she’d given him direction every few minutes. You’re leaving too much stain on the wood. You’re going too slow. You’re not giving me the best view of that body of yours.
At one point, she’d tiptoed around the half-done floors and hijacked his belt again, which had made his jeans sag low on his hips. With no underwear beneath, he’d given her an unencumbered view of the top of his ass. Maybe it should’ve felt silly, her ogling him. But it’d made him hard. And when she’d noticed, she strolled over, slid her hand into the back of his jeans, made him spread his legs, and fondled him while he continued to work. It’d taken everything he had not to grab her, roll her onto her back, and fuck her on the freshly stained floors.
But he’d let himself ride that edge instead, embracing that ache he knew wouldn’t be satisfied for a while. It was its own kind of sweet pain, especially knowing Sam was the one administering it. Then, when he thought he’d go mad with the need for release, she’d stood, given his ass a pat, and announced she was driving into town for some supplies and to run some errands.
He’d offered to go with her, but she’d ordered him to finish up the floors and warned him that if he touched himself at all, she’d know and there’d be a consequence. He almost wanted the consequence, but he’d followed the rules and gotten the job done. Now he needed to hop in the shower and get cleaned up before she got back.
But just as he was heading upstairs, the familiar ringtone of his phone sounded from the living room. He frowned and jogged back downstairs. Since he’d been here, his cell signal had been almost nonexistent. He’d only been able to grab one bar on extended service when he’d stepped out back and texted Tessa. Maybe she’d managed to get through to check in.
But when he grabbed the phone from the coffee table, Sam’s name appeared. He put the phone to his ear. “Sam?”
The signal was choppy, and he heard only a snippet of her voice. “Gib. Car . . . way.”
“What? Baby, I’m having trouble hearing you. Hold on. Let me go outside.” He hurried out the back door, the dogs charging him when they saw they had company. He put his hand out, trying to quiet them. “Sam, try again.”
“Blown . . . ire . . . ex stop . . . highway.”
He groaned and resisted the urge to bang his phone against the wooden railing. He paced to the edge of the porch where he’d gotten a signal earlier in the day and leaned over it. “Try again. Did you say ‘blown tire’?”
“Yes,” she said, exasperation in her voice.
“Where?” His heart picked up speed. Was she on the side of the road somewhere?
The words came out garbled again, then he heard: “Will try . . . text.”
The phone call cut off and he cursed. Goddammit. The text seemed to take forever to come in. He could see the little dots saying Sam was typing, but it felt interminable.
When the phone finally buzzed with the message, his stomach dropped.
Sam: Blown tire. No spare. Am OK but in parking lot of Viv’s Adult Video & Megastore off the main highway. Called a service but gonna take a while. Don’t want to ask for help b/c . . . yeah. Only chick here.
“Fuck.” Gibson hurried back inside and found a T-shirt and his shoes. He remembered to leave some food and water for the dogs, but other than that, he wasn’t going to waste any time. Sam was stranded outside a place that was probably filled with horny truckers watching porn and it was getting dark. Fantastic.
He grabbed his keys and jogged out to the SUV, texting as he went.
Gibson: Be there ASAP. Go in store. Pretend to shop. Safer with others ar
ound. Anyone bothers you, tell an employee.
He’d learned from his friend Jace, who owned a high-end adult store in Dallas, that if stores wanted female clientele, they had to make sure it was a safe, no-cruising zone. His employees were trained to nip any of that kind of thing in the bud so that people could shop in peace. Gibson knew some highway megastore in nowhere Texas probably wouldn’t have quite the same standards, but he hoped the fact that it was called “Viv’s” meant a woman’s hand was involved in the business and female customers would be treated with respect.
But he wasn’t going to take any chances, especially with Sam who was still shaken from the attack. He hopped in his SUV and broke way too many traffic rules getting out to the highway. He had to temper it a bit when he got on the main road because small towns made their money off speeding tickets, and he didn’t have time for the sorry-Officer dance. But when he saw the enormous, glowing sign for Viv’s down the highway, he punched the gas harder. The gravel kicked up a spray when he pulled into the lot in front of the large metal building. Sam’s old Camaro was parked off the side, the tire shredded, but no one was around it.
He hopped out of his car and strode into the store. A loud bell chimed above the door and the hum of fluorescents filled his ears. A young guy sat behind the counter, his jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail and his face in a Car and Driver magazine. He looked up at Gibson, his expression bland. “Video rooms in the back. DVDs on the left side wall. Toys and everything else.” He jabbed a thumb behind him. “Divided by category at the front.”
Yeah, definitely not Jace’s Wicked. “I’m here to pick up my girlfriend. Black hair, eyebrow ring.”
“Oh?” The guy’s mouth curved at that, some secret smirk as he gave Gibson a once-over. He leaned forward and peeked under the counter, a blue glow lighting his face as he apparently checked security monitors. “Looks like she’s up front in the clamps and cock rings section. Fun times.”
Gibson felt his face heat at the guy’s obvious assumption and gritted his teeth. Why should he give a fuck what this kid thought about what he did with Sam? He hated that knee-jerk reaction, the pit it put in his stomach. Hated it. “Thanks.”
He headed to the right, looking at the signs that demarcated the aisles. Whoever had organized the store seemed to be into alphabetization. When he spotted Sam a few yards away in the C section, she was standing with her fist on her hip and an annoyed expression on her face. A beefy guy with a full beard and a tattooed neck was grinning down at her like she was some adorable puppy.