Unrestrained Read Online Free PDF

clasp hers, she’d experience firsthand the restrained strength he’d used when he brought that cane down on Willow’s flanks, and then again when he’d slid his hand down her bare body, fingers decisively capturing her clit, pushing her over the edge. One more small step, and he’d be as close to Athena as he’d been to his bound submissive.
    “I’d like to thank you properly,” she said, staring at that hand. “May I ask your name? Or do you prefer Master Craftsman?” She knew Jimmy had meant it as a joke, a teasing nickname, but it was all she had.
    “Hardly. Do you feel Lady Mistress is a good fit for you?”
    “It was, once.” She spoke before she thought about the wisdom of saying so, but watching him had brought such thoughts to the surface, hadn’t it? Her legs were trembling again, and her grip slipped on the door frame. “Damn it.”
    “Ease in there.” He moved the purse to the floor and folded her firmly into the passenger seat. She’d lost her shoes during the scuffle, but he had them. He placed them neatly by her feet. Her toes curled into the rug, the rougher fibers a contrast with the silk of her nylons.
    He shut the door, then came around to the driver’s side. He reached beneath the seat to slide it back and accommodate his larger frame before he took the spot. Her purse was still on the console, her keys in the ignition, so he turned the engine over, adjusting the air so a low heat began to fill the car. Though it was a warm enough night in New Orleans, she was shivering. Shock, she supposed, and watched him press the seat warmer for the passenger side. It warmed both the back and backside, and she couldn’t help a small sigh of comfort when it responded quickly. German luxury cars were a gift of the gods.
    Her dashboard GPS came up, and he glanced at it, pressing the icon programmed for home. Just like that, he had her address. She wasn’t that concerned about it, because he didn’t feel like a threat. Not that way. Her gaze fastened onto his forearm, that dark sprinkle of hair. Lifting her attention to the silver hair at his temples, she reached out, touched it.
    Those intent eyes locked with hers in a way that made her close her hand, lower it with only a brief impression of the soft texture. He held her gaze, unsmiling, until she put the hand back in her lap. She could almost hear the click, the connection made, a mutual understanding of their behavior. His wasn’t a surprise to her, not after having watched him in the club. But his reacting that way now told her he wasn’t simply a bedroom Dom, one demanding those terms in the boundaries of a defined session, a sexual scenario. Few men had the confidence to pull it off believably outside a structured environment.
    That intel, rather than suggesting she might act with more caution around him, gave her far more unwise thoughts and desires.
    If her reaction had surprised him, given that she was classified as a Domme, he didn’t show it. “I’m taking you home,” he said, “and then I’ll call a cab to get me back to my place. I came with a friend tonight, so I don’t have my truck here. Take a hot shower tonight and a couple aspirin. It’ll make you feel better tomorrow.”
    “Voice of experience?” Her tongue seemed to be too thick in her mouth. “That didn’t seem like your first fis-fisticuffs.”
    His lips quirked again. “Fisticuffs? Really? Are you a librarian?”
    “Do I look like one?”
    “Depends.” His gaze covered her, head to toe, and he took his time about it. “I’ve had some interesting fantasies about librarians. The kind where I bend them over a stack of books and discipline them with a nice flexible paperback for shushing
me one too many times.”
    Was he trying to steady her with the teasing? Giving him a silly smile, she leaned forward and put her finger to her lips, trying to summon a suitably stern librarian expression. “Shh.”
    He closed his hand over hers and brought the one finger to