Give In To Me (17 page)

“That’s my girl,” he said as easily as if they were a longtime couple—and just like
always with him, earning his approval pleased her. “Gotta put yourself first sometimes
in life, Ginger. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Do
you
love what
you
do, Rogan?” she asked then. To see if he’d give her any more than he had the last
time they’d discussed this. He was the one who’d chosen to take things in this direction,
after all.

And though he didn’t go into great detail, he said, “Yeah, I do,” then expanded on
a conversation they’d had once before, telling her a little about how much more interesting
and action-packed it was to be a cop in Miami than in a small town in Michigan and
how much better it suited him.

“What
brought
you to Miami?” she asked.

“Think I’ve made that clear. Just now and the last time we talked about it, too. Needed
more action in my job,” he said.

“It’s an awfully big move, though. I mean, there are plenty of big, perfectly exciting
cities between here and Michigan.”

“I have a friend here,” he said, not looking at her as they walked.

“Must be a good friend,” she teased.

But he only said, “Yeah, actually, he
is
a good friend.”

And as she grew happy inside to know that he wasn’t as completely alone in the world
as she’d begun to fear, he then proceeded to tell her about a group of guys he’d gone
through police academy with, as well as some special hostage operations training.
“We’ve always stayed in touch—and we get together at least once every summer. But
I’m closer to Colt than most of them, and I’d been down here to visit him in the past,
and . . . it just fit.”

She nodded, having glanced over at him while he was talking—and she’d just turned
her attention back ahead, up the busy shoreline bustling with other walkers like them,
when he added, “And there was a girl.”

April tried not to let her surprise show. “Oh?”

Now he turned to meet her gaze, looking almost as if she’d browbeat him into saying
more. “I moved because of a girl. Somebody I didn’t appreciate enough when I had her,
and by the time I realized that, it was too late. And life goes on—but I just needed
a fresh start somewhere new. Okay?”

“Sure, okay,” she said, slightly amused that he looked so put-upon given that she
hadn’t even pressured him into sharing this time.

“Happy now, Ginger?”

She smiled, content to let him have his way. If the only way he could open up to her
was to believe she’d cajoled it out of him, she didn’t care—she was simply touched
that he was finally lowering that wall of his a little. “Yes,” she told him. “Not
happy that you were hurt, I mean, but . . . well, thank you for telling me something
personal about yourself. I appreciate it.”

“Good,” he said, “’cause that’s all you’re gonna get. Now let’s head back and get
some more sunscreen on that pale skin of yours—your nose is turning pink.”

* * *

“T
ake your top off,” he said.

They lay comfortably on the beach blanket, not talking—until now, this. She simply
gaped at him, stunned. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I want you to take it off. Do it.”

April wanted to argue, tell him it wasn’t fair to go flying headlong into the game
like this without warning. And while Rogan Wolfe’s general demeanor was far from soft
and fuzzy, today he had been . . . well, softer than usual for him, so this was extra
jarring.

Still, she said nothing more as she sat, weighing what he was asking of her. There
were so, so many reasons not to do this. For one, her job. If anyone she knew happened
to see her . . . well, that was unthinkable. And in fact, it was just plain unthinkable
in general. She wasn’t the sort of woman who took her top off at the beach, even
this
beach. She had no such desires to share her breasts with strangers. Some women, she
supposed, found something in that exciting, but not her.

And yet . . . the game—the very nature of their relationship—demanded she do it, didn’t
it? And if she didn’t . . . well, she wasn’t sure what that would mean, to them, to
what they shared—however bizarre that might be.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Ginger,” he said then, as if reading her thoughts—though
his tone was more understanding than usual, as if he were really trying to help her
through this.

“I’ve just never done anything like that.”

“I know that,” he said as if they’d discussed it many times before. “But maybe it’s
time you did. Maybe it’s time you got that comfortable with yourself.”

“Just because someone doesn’t choose to flash all of South Beach doesn’t mean they’re
not comfortable with themselves,” she countered. “Maybe it just means . . . they value
themselves. That they prefer to . . . choose who gets the privilege of seeing their
bodies.”

Next to her, Rogan tilted his head slightly on the blanket, his dark eyes glimmering
in the sun. “Fair enough,” he said, surprising her. “But if that’s the way you feel,
then do it for
me
. Because I’m asking you to.”

April just looked at him. So they were back to that already.

Not that she expected anything less from him.

Only now . . . well, somehow this demand
was
more of a request. Something that felt more personal in some way. And that made her
actually . . . almost want to do it.
Almost
. If she could get past the lifelong instinct to keep herself covered.

Still, she hesitated for only a few seconds before she sat up and turned her back
to him, ready to comply. Because when it came down to it, the decision was . . . shockingly
simple. She had to do it if he asked it of her. She
had
to. For him. And . . . maybe for her, too. And as she’d figured out before, oddly,
it was much more about being brave than being weak. Brave enough to surrender. “Will
you help me undo the hook?” she asked softly.

His reply came deep. “With pleasure.”

It was strange—and surprisingly sensual, sexy to her—to feel the stretchy bikini top
loosen around her. She held her arms close to her body in front, however, to keep
the top from falling away completely just yet, and she flattened her elbows against
her breasts as she gingerly reached up behind her neck to undo the tie there herself.

She tried to act cool and confident as she then drew her arms down and used one hand
to pull the top away. The sun warmed her breasts immediately and she glanced down
at them. It was strange to see them bared that way, here, with a thousand people all
around her—and, like other times with Rogan, shockingly exciting, too, in a way she
hadn’t anticipated. And if anyone in the immediate vicinity was staring, she didn’t
notice it. She, in effect, felt somewhat on display and yet not as if she were the
center of attention.

She reclined again, facing him, very aware of her always-erect nipples now pointing
in his direction. “Happy now?”

He gave a solemn nod. “Very. You’re fucking gorgeous like this.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, flattered yet still suffering from shyness about it.

That’s when Rogan rose on his elbow and reached past her, over her, and when he lay
back down a few seconds later, her tube of sunscreen was in his hand. She said nothing,
watching quietly as he squeezed some into his palm, then began to smoothly massage
it into her breasts with both hands.

A breathy moan left her unbidden and she did her best to stifle it. But her pussy
tingled hotly the whole time, and she could feel what she
always
felt with Rogan—the shared knowledge that they were experiencing something exciting
together, more than the normal sort of exciting. And when he was done, she simply
rolled to her back, pointing her bared tits skyward, consciously deciding to simply
not be shy anymore—not right now anyway. And she sensed that her lover was well pleased—which
pleased her, too, of course.

And as always with Rogan, she was learning that things that seemed forbidden didn’t
always feel that way when you found the right person to explore them with.

Chapter 14

A
pril moved through the following days with a lightness to her step that she’d seldom
experienced. Life had always been so heavy for her, all the time, in every way. And
yet suddenly, somehow, just finding within herself the boldness to take her top off
at the beach had set something free inside her—made her feel more carefree and girlish
than ever in her life, and at some entirely
different
level, she felt stronger than ever before.
Maybe this is what life is like for Amber. Maybe it’s what life should have been like
for me at some point long before now.

When work got busy or hectic, she didn’t let it stress her out. And when both her
sisters complained, clearly trying to make her feel she’d been neglecting them, she
did suffer a little bit of guilt—but mostly, she just let it go.

“I’m happy for you that you’ve got a boyfriend and all,” Amber had said upon her return
from the beach, “but I might like you better without one.”

And somehow April managed simply to laugh, even as mean and thoughtless as Amber’s
words struck her as being. “Well, baby sister, I’m so sorry that it’s hard on you
no longer being the center of my world. And I still love you. But now you know what
it’s like to be me, the one who is never put first.” She’d delivered the words with
a smile, truly not meaning them harshly, but simply feeling it was high time she point
out to Amber that she had feelings and needs, too.

And as for Rogan, was he her boyfriend? The idea made her giggle—both because it seemed
so silly in a way and because . . . well, maybe she liked the idea. She’d never imagined
she could have a relationship with someone like him, someone so tough and gruff. And
it was hardly a
conventional
relationship, that was for sure. And yet . . . whatever it was, she enjoyed it. For
now anyway. And . . . who knew? Maybe even for a long time to come.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Open, and she wasn’t sure how to really get to know
someone like that. But she was trying her best not to worry about it for now and just
go with the flow. That was something she’d not done nearly enough of in her life,
and it was another thing for which it seemed high time.

All she knew for sure was that they were having dinner at her favorite restaurant
tomorrow night and that she was looking forward to seeing him in a way she’d never
let herself admit to inside before. And that, at the moment, was all that mattered
to her.

* * *

R
ogan sat with Colt at one of the trendier clubs on South Beach, a place blaring with
techno music and too much color for his taste. Not his scene, but Colt liked to be
where the action was, and Rogan didn’t care enough to argue about it.

“That cute blonde is checking you out, dude,” Colt shouted to him across the small
table they occupied. Or at least that’s what Rogan thought he’d said—it was hard to
hear in this place.

In response, he only shrugged. In ways, he feared he was starting to act like an old
man when hanging out with always fun-loving Colt, but he wasn’t one to fake things.
And as for why he seemed to have lost interest in women lately, he didn’t know.

But then, it wasn’t that he’d lost interest in women. He’d just lost interest in women
who weren’t April. Damn. How had that happened? And when exactly?

And why in the hell did the very idea of even going up and talking to the blonde Colt
had just pointed out—who was indeed more than just cute; downright sexy, in fact—make
him feel like he would be cheating on April? After all, how was it possible to cheat
on someone you didn’t have an exclusive relationship with? And with someone you’d
never even talked to about that kind of thing—about feelings, or what your relationship
was with her?

It made no sense at all, and yet . . . he realized that had a lot to do with his shrug.
A month ago, he’d have been more than happy to approach this woman and see what developed.
But now . . . now, hell—Ginger stayed on his mind a lot of the time. For no particular
reason he could figure out. He just liked thinking about her. He liked remembering
particularly hot moments they’d shared. But also less hot ones—like most of their
day on the beach this past weekend. He liked knowing that he possessed a certain power
over her—but not because he really had a deep down urge to control anyone; he just
liked knowing she’d finally surrendered that valuable part of herself to him. A bit
grudgingly at first, for sure, but now . . . well, she’d become much more willing.
And somehow the relative ease with which she’d removed her bikini top at the beach
for him had shored that up; it had been like the final step into true, complete submission.

The fact was, he liked that she was actually a strong, in-control woman. He’d once
thought of her as buttoned-up, but now he realized she was simply tough, capable,
responsible—because she’d had to be for her family. He could understand that—once
upon a time he’d had to be the capable one, too.

And so, though he’d never told her, he actually respected the hell out of her for
being there for her family. He just thought she’d long since crossed the line into
letting them take advantage of her loving nature. That part had happened to him, too,
once. And no one was the better for it. There was a time to take care of people, and
then there was a time to make them stand on their own two feet. It was like when babies
learned to walk—you couldn’t hold their hand forever or they’d never be able to make
their way in the world. Rogan had learned that the hard way. He didn’t want April
to learn it that way, too.

And knowing now—understanding—just how strong she was, how strong she’d had to be . . .
well, that made it even more thrilling to him that he’d been the one she’d let her
guard down for, the one she’d finally let take away a little of her control.

Of course,
he’d
opened up to
her
some at the beach, too. But only to shut her up—that was all. And maybe because . . .
well, he’d begun to trust her in ways as well. She was like that—hard not to trust.
And so sharing something personal about Mira with her had been easier than he’d expected.

And the truth was, as he’d told her about Mira it had hit him that—damn, he couldn’t
remember the last time he’d really
thought
about Mira. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really felt that sting of emptiness
without her, that pang of still wishing—deep down—that things could have turned out
different. And that had surprised him.

Maybe I’m really over her. Finally.

“Dude, what the hell’s going on with you?”

He flinched, looked up at Colt across the table. “Huh?”

“I’ve been sitting here telling you all about this new contract”—Colt had been drawing
in a lot of new business at his security company lately—“but it’s like you’re in a
fucking trance. What’s the deal?”

“Just thinking about April,” he admitted without giving it much thought.

And Colt squinted at him across the table. “That the lawyer chick? The one you don’t
have anything in common with besides chemistry?”

Rogan nodded. He’d kind of started forgetting about that part—the having-nothing-in-common
part—since maybe it wasn’t as important as he’d once thought. Or maybe he was starting
to think, deep down, that they had more in common than he’d originally realized.

“That must be some hellacious chemistry, bud,” Colt said.

And there were a lot of ways Rogan could have responded to that. Like by saying he
couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d felt a more intense and powerful sexual
bond to a woman—maybe even Mira. Or, as he’d just acknowledged to himself, that it
had gone beyond chemistry now.

But since he was a guy who liked to keep things as simple as possible whenever he
could, he only said, “Yep—hellacious chemistry.”

* * *

“I
haven’t been to this part of town much,” Rogan told her.

“My sister,” she replied, “has connections to a few of the art galleries here.”

“It’s nice.”

“Fewer wild dance clubs than South Beach,” she said. “And fewer tits.”

His laugh told her she’d surprised him with that last part. They sat in her favorite
Italian restaurant in trendy Coconut Grove, much nearer to her place than his for
a change. She’d suggested it when
he’d
surprised
her
by actually asking her out on a real date and even asking where she’d like to go.

A little while later, he was telling her that Juan Gonzalez didn’t seem to be hanging
out or causing trouble at the Café Tropico anymore—and the mere mention of the place
took her back to the beginning for them, showing her how much things had changed since
then. Even as she’d warred with herself over kissing him in that alleyway, she never
could have foreseen how their relationship would grow and expand.

“His wife okay?” he asked, and she thought it was nice that he was concerned.

She nodded and decided it didn’t break client/attorney privilege to say, “Things are
moving forward in Kayla’s life, and soon he won’t be causing trouble for her anymore,
either.” In fact, Kayla had found a place to stay, and as soon as she moved her things
this weekend she’d be ready to proceed with filing for divorce, having gotten over
her cold feet.

“That’s good to hear,” Rogan replied. And then, without warning, he leaned over and
said, more quietly, “Go to the bathroom and take off your panties.”

Just like at the beach, when he’d commanded her to remove her top with no warning,
it caught her off guard. And her first impulse was to protest—because dinner was on
the way and this was so sudden, and maybe she wasn’t in the mood for such games right
now.

But she held her tongue.

Because, in an instant, she realized what had taken a bit longer to come to her at
the beach. That maybe . . . she
was
in the mood. If
he
was. That maybe part of this whole domination/submission thing was letting herself
be aroused by her own surrender, by the very emotion of wanting to please him. That
not being in the mood could change to being
completely
in the mood in a heartbeat—just from the mere sound of his deep voice demanding she
submit to his will.

As that fresh rocket of lust shot up her inner thighs and through her pussy, making
it tingle wildly, she simply met his gaze, reached for her purse, and said softly,
“Be right back.”

Having come straight from the office, she wore a tailored black skirt, a simple white
blouse, and black pumps—and somehow the act of slipping off her panties and suddenly
feeling so bare beneath her professional exterior excited her all the more.

This is like those first times with him, making out in the alley
—she’d looked so prim and proper and staid on the outside while on the inside she’d
been a much more sexual creature than she’d ever known. Now, both she and Rogan knew
it, but no one else did. And as she stuffed the pair of pale pink panties in her purse,
her pussy weeping with a forbidden excitement, part of that was from the knowledge
that when she walked back out into the restaurant, no one else there would know—or
dream—that she was wearing nothing beneath her skirt, all because her lover commanded
it.

When she took a seat back at the square table, to his right, their food had arrived.
“Looks good,” she said, trying to sound normal, but the words came out much breathier
instead.

Rogan leaned toward her, his knee touching hers under the table, and said, “Is your
pussy wet for me, Ginger?”

Not only was it wet—it pulsed with delight now. “Very.”

Their eyes met and his dark gaze pressed intently into her—it was as if he could read
her mind and feel everything she was feeling without her having to say any more than
just that one word. “Does it excite you to be naked under your skirt for me? To have
a naughty little secret from every other person here?”

A couple of weeks ago, it would have been so hard for April to admit that—even to
herself. But things had changed, so she kept her answer simple, and honest. “Yes.
Very much.”

“I bet that sweet little cunt is practically dripping,” he said, the dirty words feeling
like an intimate touch.

“Yes,” she breathed again, wanting him more than she could even have imagined ten
minutes earlier. Her big bad wolf often had that effect on her.

With their eyes still locked, his expression slowly transformed until he was offering
her a slight—even if still completely sexy—grin. “Eat before your food gets cold,”
he instructed her.

“What? Oh,” she said then. She’d practically forgotten about the food, that fast.
Her every thought had turned to fucking him.

Eating in such a condition, it turned out, was both irritating and . . . sensual.
She really couldn’t have cared less about dinner now, yet the very act of putting
food into her mouth became something she felt more than usual. Because she longed
to touch and be touched, because their legs mingled flirtatiously beneath the table,
every physical act or sensation became something she experienced much more viscerally
than ever. Every bite of her lasagna became tastier, spicier on her tongue; every
sip from her wineglass seemed to trickle down her throat.

They ate in silence, and April suspected—or maybe it was more of a hope—that Rogan
was experiencing the meal with the same odd intensity she was.

And when they were both done and he’d paid the bill, he waited only a few seconds
before saying to her, “I’m going to go outside and around to the back of the building.
Wait a minute, then slip out and join me.”

“What’s going to happen then?” she asked—for once not out of fear or trepidation,
but simply from the anticipation of the pleasure to come.

“I’m going to eat you for dessert,” he said.