Page 73 of To Catch a Sub

“You pulled away from me. You made it damned fucking clear that you needed some bondage, some restraints, and then you walked away.” His anger heated the air between them.

“I hadn’t planned to scene. I planned to just do my job and ignore this desperate need.” She pressed her hand low on her belly. “And you have to admit us, this, is a bad idea.”

“It is.”

“But it was too much. All of it. I thought I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t get some relief, some outlet.”

“So…?”

“So, I put on a collar.”

He straightened from the wall in apparent surprise. “You put the collar on yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Because then you could pretend you were someone’s sub.”

Not someone’s. Yours.

“Yes. The pressure was enough.” She touched her throat, curling her fingers around it and squeezing for a moment. “It took the edge off. Made me feel less naked.”

He chuckled low and dark. “When I was watching you earlier, I thought that you looked naked—no collar, no cuffs.”

“I didn’t scene with anyone,” she repeated. “And I won’t.”

“Don’t say that.” There was a dark warning laced through his tone.

“I won’t,” she repeated. “Because now I’ll know what to expect.” She smirked. “And you helped me take the edge off with that spanking.”

Her words did what she hoped they’d do, reasserting their previous dynamic. Relief slid through her that she’d made it through the worst of the conversation without either of them bringing up the kiss. A kiss that had nothing to do with BDSM.

“It was my pleasure,” he snarled. “And I’m happy to do it again.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation to submit. It sounded like a threat that he’d spank her any time she mouthed off.

And she liked it.

“I assume I’m off duty for the night?” she said, taking a step towards the door. She planned to brush past him, but hoped that as she did, he’d touch her, grab her.

Instead he waited until she had her hand on the knob, then stuck an arm out, bracing it on the brick door frame and blocking her way. It reminded her of that day in the British Museum, when her attempt to manipulate a young London Metro detective into figuring out that she’d actually stolen 800 items, not the mere 500 they’d identified, turned into something more.

“Tomorrow night…”

She refused to look at him, staring instead at the soft, paler skin on the inside of his elbow.

Landon grabbed her chin, forcing her to face him. “Tomorrow night if you need to scene, you come to me.”

“I won’t.”

He smirked. “If you say so.”

Colette ducked under his arm, shoving the drapes out of the way.

Landon leaned in the open doorway, one arm outstretched to hold back the curtains.

“And, Colette?”

She stopped, halfway to the door, but didn’t turn.