Free Dangerously Bound by Eden Bradley

hung up. He hadn’t meant to sound so short.
    He scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
    Almost unbearable even to hear her voice on her outgoing message.
    He dropped his phone on his desk once more and began to pace again. But his office—the
     second bedroom in his flat—was too small to contain the thrumming energy running through
     his body. He went into the living room and was drawn, as he so often was when he had
     something to figure out, to the windows overlooking the narrow street.
    It was quiet down there, no people, no cars. Just the row of close-set buildings,
     stucco and brick and softly painted wood, some with the intricate wrought iron balconies
     and gates New Orleans was known for. He tried to allow the familiar scenery to lull
     him, but he was crawling out of his skin.
    Maybe he should go for another quick run. Either that or get into a scalding hot shower
     and fist his hand around his throbbing cock until he came again.
    “Because twice already this morning apparently wasn’t enough,” he muttered. Then,
     when his cell phone went off again in the other room, “Whoever you are, I do not want
     to talk to you.”
    He stalked into his office and grabbed the phone.
    Allie.
    Well, that statement had been bullshit.
    “Hey.”
    “Hey yourself.” It was that smooth, purely female voice of hers. More mature now than
     when they’d met in high school, but still the same Allie he’d always known. Sweet.
    Not as sweet as he’d imagined, or they wouldn’t be having this conversation.
    “Mick? You there?”
    “Yeah. Sorry. I was working on something when you called.”
    When had he turned into such a liar?
    “Oh. I’m sorry to interrupt, but your message sounded important.”
    “Yeah. We need to talk about Friday.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re backing out on me,” she said, warning in her voice, which he
     wouldn’t have put up with from any other submissive. There was something else beneath
     the bravado. Disappointment?
    “Not necessarily,” he said. “I’ll run the scenario by you, then we can talk it out.”
    “Okay.”
    “I’ve had a job come up in Atlanta. A small venue concert, but it’s for someone I’ve
     worked with for years, so I didn’t want to turn it down. It means I’ll be gone on
     Monday.”
    “I . . . don’t understand what that has to do with Friday. Do you need to leave that
     soon?”
    “No, I’ll leave early Monday. But it means I won’t be available again until Thursday.
     I haven’t checked with Jamie to make sure he’ll be around—I wanted to talk with you
     first. In case you need someone here for subdrop. I know we haven’t discussed this
     yet. I’d planned to talk through your aftercare needs later this week.”
    “My aftercare needs are pretty basic—some water, a snack if my blood sugar is low,
     a blanket. I’m relaxed and happy after play if the connection is good. I’ve never
     felt subdrop, although I’ve sat with friends through it.”
    “You’re certain?”
    “I’m certain. Usually I’m a little giddy and dreamy the nightI play, then the next day I’m a bit tired if I haven’t slept enough. Or, those times
     when I’ve played a whole weekend with someone, the energy just keeps going until the
     play is over—the endorphins, the adrenaline. The rush. Then I just sleep it off.”
    He didn’t want to think about her playing with anyone else. He couldn’t stand it.
    “Tell me what you usually feel like a few days after.” He had to ask. It was his responsibility,
     and responsibility was something he never took lightly.
    “A few days after I just feel like myself. Sometimes a little happy and floaty still,
     but that’s a good thing. And sometimes I’m sore, of course. Loving my marks.”
    Lord, he’d love to be the one to mark her. To welt that fragile-looking skin. To put
     bruises there. Teeth marks.
    He got hard again in such a hot, sudden rush he had to swallow down a gasping breath.
    He adjusted himself through his