by Gemma James
“Take your dress off,” he said, his feet slowly bringing him toward me.
Katherine’s angry protests grew louder. As I reached behind my back and pulled the zipper down, I threw her a triumphant look.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered.
The dress slid down my body, pooling around my feet. “Yes, Master.”
“She doesn’t matter.” There was a double meaning in his statement. “Say it, Kayla.”
“She doesn’t matter.”
He lifted a hand and drew a line between my breasts. “Right now, the only one who matters is me.” Leaning forward, he teased my mouth with his lips. “Only me, baby.”
I ached to kiss him, to undress him, to do something. But I did nothing. He gave me one night a year to take the lead, and tonight wasn’t it.
He led me to the bed and pushed on my shoulders until I sat on the edge, then he brought my hands to his buttons. I undid each one in haste, my fingers jittery yet eager to remove the barrier of his clothing. His shirt parted, and I couldn’t help but smooth my palms over his warm skin. His stomach muscles quivered under my touch, making him hiss in a breath.
“I love your hands on me.”
Katherine’s muffled words drew my attention to the cross, but Gage palmed my cheek and brought my gaze back to him. “If you look at her again, I won’t let you come.”
The idea just about destroyed me. “I’ll be good, Master,” I whispered.
“That’s my girl.” He shrugged out of his shirt and let it drift to the floor. “Lay back and spread your legs.”
As I reclined on the mattress, heels pressing into the comforter, he reached for the button of his pants. But watching him shed the rest of his clothing put me in too precarious of a position, as Katherine struggled to get free just to the left of Gage, and she was doing her best to grab my attention.
Even rendered powerless, she still believed she could drive a wedge between Gage and me.
Letting my legs drape to the sides, I focused on the ceiling and tuned her out. The mattress dipped, and he grasped my inner thighs, gently pushing, opening me wider to the heat of his gaze. A hot tingle rippled through me. God, his touch alone was enough to flood my pussy with want.
“Master,” I moaned, shuddering. I was about two days past due for my next fix.
“So wet,” he murmured, his breath making me even wetter. “Are you going to be a good girl?”
I wanted to behave more than anything, but my grasp on control slipped by the second. “Master, please. I want to be good.”
“You want to come.”
“I want you inside me.”
“Trust me, baby. My cock wants inside you too. But first I’m going to lick you for a very long time, and you will not come. Do you understand me?”
I rolled my head back and forth on the mattress. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t take it.”
“Yes, you can.”
And then he lowered his mouth to my clit, teasing with gentle closed-mouthed kisses at first. I grabbed the bedding in both hands, thighs trembling from the overload of sensation. I was pathetic. He’d barely touched me, but I was ready to fly apart under his cruel mouth.
That cruel, sadistic, sexy mouth that went to work in driving me higher. He whirled his tongue, teased with his teeth, and when he lodged his thumb into my ass, I knew the gesture was far from a punishment. He had me squirming, moaning, begging, and crying tears of frustration for having to hold back for what seemed like an endless session of oral pleasure-turned-torture.
I lost track of time and space and reality. He’d dropped me in a realm where my pussy and his mouth were the only two things in existence. Eventually, I fell through the cracks and throbbed in suspension, my entire being aching for him to fill me.
“Master, please!”
He slid his palms over the gentle swell of my belly before settling on my breasts, and the friction of his hands pebbled my nipples. He climbed onto the mattress and entered me with a forceful thrust that declared his ownership.
And I came.
“Oh God!” Clawing at his shoulders, I held on and rode the wave. “Please don’t punish me.”
“Shh,” he said, nipping my lips. “You’re beautiful when you shatter. I want to watch you come again.”
As our bodies locked together, he dragged me to that otherworldly high again, cock plundering me to orgasm after orgasm. His thrusts were manic, partly driven by the need to show Katherine that we were made for each other.
But his ultimate end game was to make me cry, “No more, Master!”
This level of exquisite torture wouldn’t be complete without first driving me to beg for it, then making me plead for it to stop. Even then, he launched me deeper into madness. This crazed man wouldn’t stop fucking me until he was good and ready.
Exhausted, I lay beneath his thrusting body, limp with weakness and powerless to do anything but let him extract painful orgasms from me.
26. Karma's Last Laugh
As I came down gradually, silence descended over the basement like a protective fog that shielded us from the outside world. Every few seconds, a long, satisfied exhale would dent it.
But not break it.
We lay wrapped up in sweat and each other, loathe to fracture this moment, until Katherine let out a muffled screech, and the real world came pounding on our fortress.
Gage pressed his lips to mine for one last stolen kiss, then he slipped from the bed and reached for his pants. I sat up, hair falling into my eyes as he buttoned his slacks. He fetched my dress, and I didn’t dare look at Katherine until I stood on solid ground again, fully clothed, even if my husband’s cum dripped down my thighs underneath my skirt.
A sheen of hostility cast her face in red, and she’d balled her hands into fists so tight that they were nearly colorless. Doubt sank into my gut. Fucking my husband in front of her had been the best payback ever, but I worried we’d achieved little more than the sharpening of her claws.
Gage removed the gag from her drooling mouth.
“I’ll have you arrested for this!” she shrieked.
“No, you won’t.” He freed her ankles and wrists before crossing to the nightstand next to the bed, where he kept smaller items like lube and nipple clamps inside the drawer. He withdrew a set of documents and thrust them into her shaking hands.
“What’s this?”
“You’ve been served.”
“What?” Pursing her lips, she shuffled through the papers. “What the hell is this?”
“Can’t you read? It’s a restraining order. You’re not allowed within 500 feet of Kayla or our children. And since she’s an employee of Channing Enterprises, with duties that may take her to any of the company’s offices, you no longer work for me.”
“On what grounds?”
He advanced on her until her back hit the wall. The papers fluttered to the floor around them in a disarrayed mess. I didn’t like him anywhere near her, but I found a small amount of justice in the maneuver because she’d done the same thing to me a couple of days ago.
Only she’d put her hands on me. Gage didn’t need to touch her to intimidate—not when the tense set of his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders did the job for him.
“You threatened my wife and unborn child,” he said, placing his left palm flat on the wall next to Katherine’s head. “You barged into my home while drunk and put your fucking hands on my wife.”
“I wasn’t drunk, and I didn’t touch her.”
“Don’t bother trying to lie about this. Kayla recorded your conversation, including your threats.” He leaned forward, invading her space to the max, but he still refrained from touching her. “You can bet your ass I’ll use it in court. If I had any reservations about going for full custody before, I don’t now.”
She shook her head, eyes glistening with tears. “You can’t take my son from me.”
“I didn’t want to go this route, but you’ve caused nothing but trouble.”
She dr
opped to her knees and grasped his pant legs. “I’ll leave your wife alone. I promise. Please don’t take my son from me!”
He moved out of reach, and she tipped forward, palms flat on the floor in the midst of strewn papers.
“Nothing you say will change my mind,” he said. “Now get the fuck up and get out of my house.” He bent and gathered the documents.
As Katherine rose to her feet, her expression hardened, and I expected her to go off on a tirade. Instead, she started laughing—a deep and smug sound that emanated from her belly. It was manic and disturbing on so many levels.
“You’re as gullible as your wife.” She yanked the documents from his hands. “I honestly don’t know why I wasted so many years on you.”
“The feeling’s mutual. Now get the fuck out and don’t come back. I won’t allow you to fuck up my marriage anymore, and as for Conner, I’ll do what I have to do to protect him from you.”
Her lips curved in pure viscousness. “He’s not your son.”
“Excuse me?”
She shrugged. “You’re not the father.”
“Of course I am!” Gage roared. “I have the paternity test to prove it.”
She let out another laugh. “I wanted it to be you, but it’s not, and you’ve made it clear tonight that it won’t ever be.”
“Why are you pulling this shit now?” His voice bellowed through the basement.
“Because you left me no choice! I wanted you to be the father, but I’ll be damned if I let you take my son from me.”
Gage clenched his teeth, but before he could unleash his anger, I entwined my fingers with his. Katherine had blindsided him with this, possibly to provoke him into doing something he’d regret.
He inhaled then let the breath out five seconds later. “We did a paternity test,” he reminded her, his tone calmer than she deserved.
She shrugged. “You share DNA with the father, so that test gave a false positive. But Conner’s not yours. It’s impossible, based on the date of conception.”
“Who is Conner’s father then?” The question echoed off the walls, but he already knew the answer, same as I.
“Ian.” She lowered her head, fingers thumbing the restraining order. “I slept with him a few weeks after you broke up with me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Or hell! Why didn’t you tell Ian? You fucked with Conner’s head for years.”
“Because I wanted you back!” she shouted. “If you’d known I’d gotten knocked up by your brother…? C’mon, Gage. We both know you would have never spoken to me again.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Ain’t that poetic justice.” She folded the papers and gripped them in both hands. “I have more in common with Liz that you ever knew. Your brother knocked us both up.” She headed for the stairs, and Gage worked his jaw, watching in a state of anger and shock and disbelief as she climbed to the top.
“I guess that makes you his problem then!”
The door slammed shut, leaving us in the wreckage of a plan that had backfired horribly. Gage pushed his hands through his hair, breathing hard, but when his eyes met mine, that was my undoing. I crossed to him, but he slid to the floor before I could touch him.
“He’s not my son.”
Falling to my knees in front of him, I wedged between his legs and grabbed his face. His eyes glassed over with tears, and one slipped free, hanging on his lashes before dripping down his cheek. I brushed it away, wishing I could wipe away the devastation I saw in the slump of his shoulders and the sheen of his eyes.
“He’s not my son,” he repeated as if saying it again would make it sink in. “But I love him like my own.”
“I know.” I had no words to take away his pain, so I wound my arms around him and held on. Getting through this seemed impossible just then, but we were stronger together, and I knew we’d find a way to overcome Katherine’s final curveball.
27. The Devil's Grace
Five and a half months later…
“I fucking hate you!” Holding Gage’s hand with enough force to crush bones, I screamed through another contraction. I was certain his fingertips had gone white, cut off from blood flow by my unnatural grip, but he didn’t seem to care. Using his free hand, he wiped the sweat from my brow.
“You’re almost there, baby.”
“I’m hurting you,” I groaned, squeezing tears from my eyes. They dripped down my flushed face. “Your fingers…”
“It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” As if to get his point across, he rubbed a thumb over the back of my hand.
The horrid peak of the contraction subsided, and I collapsed against the pillows, trying to catch my breath. How was I supposed to push a baby out when I had no strength left? I hadn’t given birth in over six years. Funny how time had a way of erasing just how fucking insane women were for going through this again and again and again.
Fucking loons.
Forty seconds later, another contraction began the climb to agony, and I looked at Gage, tightening my jaw in panic.
“Oh no…another one…”
Through the pain and delirium, some part of my mind acknowledged they were coming faster and harder…that was a good thing, right?
No! Fucking make it stop. Make. It. Stop.
The pain was…I had no words for this level of torture. Nothing Gage had subjected me to had ever hurt this badly. Each contraction brought me closer to meeting our baby for the first time, but it was hell—an endless sentence to purgatory where a vise stronger than anything known to man clamped and squeezed and pulverized from the inside. I grabbed hold of the bedside rail, certain the power of my grip would shake that fucker to pieces.
“I can’t do this!” I said in a high-pitched shriek. “Oh God, Gage. I’m scared!” Wrenching my hand from his, I scooted to my side and clutched the railing with both fists. Pressure built between my thighs, rushing faster until it settled low in my womb. Instinctively, I lifted a leg, and Gage wound a strong arm under my thigh to prop me up.
Because I couldn’t do it on my own.
He pushed strangled locks of hair from my cheeks. “You’re doing amazing.”
“I think she’s coming.”
“She, huh?”
We’d decided to keep the sex of our baby a surprise, but I’d had dreams, and as crazy as it might sound, I was positive the universe had given me signs. Like the time we’d gone shopping for Eve’s Christmas presents and a pink sippy cup had somehow ended up in the cart. Deep down, I knew the baby was a girl. I didn’t need an ultrasound to confirm what my heart already knew.
“Yeah, she. And she’s coming…fuck…oh fuck…” The bed rail became my birthing partner, and I gave it another shuddering assault before collapsing again. “Where’s the doctor? I think I need…I need to push!”
Gage cursed under his breath. “The nurse was here a few minutes ago. As for the doctor…” He searched the room. “Baby, you can’t push yet.”
“Don’t you think I’d stop if I could?” I shouted, glowering at him, wishing he was the one going through this.
He jabbed the call button a dozen or so times, but it didn’t matter. She was coming, and she wasn’t waiting.
“Gage…”
“Hold on, baby. I’m trying to get—”
“Gage!” Something unnatural hurtled from my lungs—a cross between a howl and a grunt. It was purely animalistic. In that moment, as my baby moved down the birth canal, I felt like an animal.
Wild, uninhibited, and human in the basest form.
A flurry of motion erupted in the room. Dr. Keenan rushed in, pulling gloves on in a hasty manner as a nurse readied the bed for delivery. Gage took my hand again, murmuring encouraging nothings.
I was in my own dimension, already pushing, despite the world not being ready for this child to be born. She was coming. She was ready, zooming to her first breath of air on her own terms.
“Doctor, she’s crowning.”
I glanced up
at Gage and watched in complete awe as a tear slid down his cheek. During a break between pushes, I brought his hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“Didn’t mean what?”
“When I said I hated you.”
“It’s okay. You’re allowed to say whatever you want right now.”
More pressure built, stronger than ever, and as I grunted, powerless to do anything except let my body do its job, I managed to groan a question.
“What should we”—another long howl burst from my throat—“name her?”
And he chuckled through his tears, a sound as pleasant as wind chimes, or as comforting as rain on the rooftop. His laughter soothed my soul.
“She or he…you pick the name. You should definitely have the honor.”
Bearing down again, I knew this was it. I’d never forget the way our child’s tiny body slid from mine, or how the sound of that first cry was the sweetest thing I’d heard since Eve was born.
Our baby arrived on the eighth of May at 11:28 a.m.
Squalling the music of life.
Warming my belly and my heart.
Perfectly healthy with ten fingers and just as many toes. I knew because Gage counted.
Oh, and I was right. We were the proud and exhausted and overjoyed parents of a little girl.
When Gage held her for the first time—swaddled in a customary striped hospital blanket—and cooed about how special she was, and how he couldn’t wait for her to meet her big sister, Eve and cousin Conner, that’s when her name came to me.
“Grace,” I said, barely above a whisper.
“Grace?”
“Her name. It’s Grace.”
He treated me to a devastating smile, accompanied by a flash of his indigo eyes. “Fits her perfectly.”
DEVIL’S KISS BONUS MATERIAL
The Devil's Kiss - Alternate Scene in Gage's POV
Her blood lingered on my hands. Dark and red—the color of passion, the color of rage. I possessed both in equal amounts. Perhaps that was my curse. No other woman’s cries had made me so hard, so ready to burst from my skin with the need to claim and own.
