Bound to be Dirty Read Online Free PDF Page A

would think it needed cutting and so would her uptight parents, but that was their problem. Nor would he shave off the beard he’d grown. Chances were, this marriage was going to blow up. “Shit.” Love, marriage, dreams. Should have known all along he wasn’t that kind of guy.
    His muscles as taut as when he’d climbed into the shower, he strode jerkily to the closet and pulled on jeans and a tee. He checked his smartphone and found a text from Lily.
    Working late. If you’re back, have dinner without me.
    He hurled the phone onto the bed. Working late, or with a lover, or just avoiding him? She didn’t want to talk to him or she’d have phoned. But he wanted to talk to her. Damn it, he had to know the truth. He wanted to settle things tonight.
    Her Kindle sat on her bedside table. He flicked it on. This time, she wasn’t in the middle of a book; the device opened to show several covers. One book, with a choker-style necklace on the cover, was titled
Bound by Desire
. More erotica? He opened it, skimmed the review quotes at the beginning, and his eyes widened. BDSM? Lily had chosen to read BDSM? Was she, maybe, into this kind of sex?
    No, he couldn’t imagine it. She was no submissive; hell, she always had to be in control.
    Well, not in the bedroom. There, in the beginning, he’d been the teacher. Once she’d caught up, he’d always thought they were equals. Had she fantasized about being dominated? About dominating? Did she get off on tying a man up? On spanking him? Had she found a man who satisfied those needs?
    Dax grimaced. “Oh, fuck it.”
    He ripped off the clothes he’d just put on, donned waterproof running gear, and headed out to try to release some tension. Though in some ways he preferred the pristine whiteness of the snowy north, he had to admit there was a lot to be said for being able to run outside rather than on a treadmill in a gym.
    The rain still pounded down, dusk was falling, rush-hour traffic was at its peak. Lights from cars, streetlights, and buildings slashed in jagged patterns through sheets of rain. Dax’s shoes thumped the pavement, splashing water. He headed across the Cambie Street Bridge, noticing the construction cranes with multicolored Christmas lights. Festive. The opposite of his mood.
    He ran through Yaletown and into the West End, on Robson Street. Strings of sparkly white lights looped through the boulevard trees, clothing store windows showed party wear, and pedestrians chattered excitedly as they headed to restaurants and parties. He turned right on Denman, crossed West Georgia, and ran into Stanley Park.
    The thousand-acre park, much of it undeveloped, was a frequent destination for him when he was in the city. A paved, six-mile seawall ran along the outside. This Christmas Eve, the seawall and the road beside it were quiet.
    Normally, running outside made him feel free, powerful, and connected to nature. Tonight, nothing was going to make him feel good. He tried not to think, only to mindlessly push forward. He returned over the Burrard Street Bridge, then along the seawall on the south side of False Creek. By the time he got home, he’d run roughly ten miles.
    He opened the condo door, dripping with rain and sweat. Doubting Lily would be home yet, he still called, “Hello?” No response.
    Again, he headed for the shower, and again he dried off and dressed. He still felt like crap, but at least he’d worn off some nervous energy and filled an hour. He’d also worked up a bear of an appetite.
    He rummaged through the delivery menus in the kitchen drawer, and phoned in an order for butter chicken and lamb vindaloo. Food at the mining camp was plentiful and decent, but basic. Then he took a beer and Lily’s Kindle, and settled at the table in the dining nook, facing the view over False Creek. It was night now, but Vancouver never got truly dark, not with all those streetlights, apartment