Rendered (The Cass Chronicles Book 3)

by Susannah Shannon

  She daintily sprinkled in lime zest and tender ribbons of mint. She combined her wine syrup with several tablespoons of sugar and stirred until dissolved, then she added white grape juice. “A trick—I'm eyeballing this—but each of these molds holds about six ounces. So I figure I need about three ounces of liquid to top them up. Now, I know it seems odd to add sugar AND juice. There is however a method to my madness.” She leaned conspiratorially over the counter, hoping her breasts weren't sitting on it awkwardly. Just in case, she leaned back. “Frozen things numb your taste buds—so we have to jack up the flavor. If I tried to drink this, it would be gaggingly sweet, but once frozen, it will taste just right. You could go with purple—but it would hide all your fruit, which you spent all morning dicing. We never waste effort like that in this kitchen.”

  She rested her hands on the counter, confident of her breast placement and continued, “In this series, we will talk about different ways that you can DIY wedding things. One way is the sort of ‘Bataan death march’ method—whereby you force every female who loves you to devote an entire weekend to crankin’ out crafts or food in a grim push to the finish. That has its place, some things can't be done any other way. I prefer the ‘do two batches a day and stockpile your spoils’ method.

  “Back to the popsicles—if you got your fruit prepped and stored in Ziploc bags—press all the air out.” She demonstrated this by rolling the bag and forcing all air out before zipping it closed.

  “Boil down your wine and have your syrup ready to go and then you can do a batch in the morning and a batch at night—in a few days you will have a freezer full. Easy peasy. That’s how we do things in Cass’s kitchen. Pop them out, and wrap them individually in these cellophane bags—I got them in the candy making section. Store them in your freezer.” She gestured over to the counter where the miracle of television had caused a huge galvanized tub full of ice and colorful pops to appear. A cute little intern came riding unto the set with an ice cream delivery bicycle. Cass had decorated the sides of the bike with a colorful monogram. “Imagine that your guests are waiting for you to come out of the church and ‘Surprise!’ Isn't this the cutest thing? Another idea for really casual wedding is that the bride and groom could ride in and play ice cream delivery! So many fun ways to put your own spin on this. Look on the web site—there are lots more popsicle ideas. There are also resources to find these nifty bikes.” Ben, the cameraman, gave her the “wrap it up” signal.

  “I am so so happy you were here. There are a lot of things you could be doing this minute and I am grateful you chose to be with us. I’m Cass. I cook. Make your life delicious.” She grinned. She was flying along. The taping of the show had gone well. She still had a job. She was gonna jump the fuck outta that sexy husband of hers. They held hands as they walked to the car. She kept up a running commentary about how awesome it had been, and how relieved she was. Killian occasionally got a word in edgewise telling her how wonderfully she had done and agreeing that the whole situation was beyond cool.

  * * *

  Killian was a masterful driver—she loved to watch him drive. Left arm on the window, right hand skillfully commanding the steering wheel. She was a nervous, scattered driver. He was confidence on wheels. “I am really proud of you. So fucking proud.”

  She beamed. “Thank you for moving here with me.”

  “It’s a package deal, baby—you go I go.”

  The voice in her heart gave a tiny “hooray.” They started kissing in the elevator. Her hands roamed over him. She wondered if this heat could go on forever—it seemed impossible. She prayed that it did. He pressed her against the wall and his hands slid over her skirt. He gripped her bottom possessively. “Who’s my good girl?”

  “I am,” she whispered joyfully “I am. I am. I am.” The ping of the door opening made Cass start, but Killian didn't flinch. He led her towards their door, right past their new neighbors. “Hi,” Cass mouthed to the elderly couple standing there holding their cloth grocery sacks.

  Chapter Three – Old Blue

  They barely got the door shut—she was arching her back against him and clawing at his belt. She dropped to her knees, hungry to suck his cock. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, as she released him from his jeans. She pulled him deep into her mouth, growling with need. His hands were in her hair and he pumped against her. He spoke to her in a low, demanding and grateful voice, “Ah that's my good girl, suck my cock. I love how you suck me. Oh yes, just like that.”

  She would never have believed how much sheer pleasure she could get by blowing her husband. She was aware of her divinely feminine power as she sucked as hard as she could, her tongue trailing down the length of the underside of him. This time he let her continue until he came deep in her mouth. She felt him pulse against her tongue and rested her forehead on his flank while she caught her breath. He helped her stand and they both staggered to the futon in the middle of their tiny apartment and collapsed. She lay against him letting his searing heat warm her. He sheltered her in his arms.

  “Do you want to turn on the TV?” she asked.

  “No. I’m going to get a drink of water—you go get your blue paddle.” She bit her lip. Delicious. Since their apartment was essentially a main room the size of a tiny bedroom and a bedroom the size of a very small closet, she didn't have to go far. Four steps and she was at their bedside table.

  “Bend over the bed and wait for your husband.”

  Oh my. She stretched her back—she had a kink between her shoulders. The thought made her giggle. “Kink in my ass, more like it.” She hesitated. She was still dressed, but he hadn't told her to do anything about it. She grabbed a pillow and lay across it allowing her bottom to crest sky high. She had to to stand on her toes to do this. Very vulnerable indeed. His thigh pressed against her. “Good girl, very good girl.” He smoothed her skirt over her curves. HIs hands roved over her and then with a suddenness that stole her breath, a hard spank landed on her left cheek. He moved all over her bottom, hard and fast. She tried to control her breathing, to relax into it. To surrender. How could something you wanted so much be so hard to do? Her ass was getting hot and it was getting harder not to squirm. She was beginning to think she couldn't take anymore when he suddenly stopped. He helped her stand. He kissed along her neck. He stripped her. Efficiently and quietly.

  Not a word was spoken. Her shirt and bra were tossed onto the chair. Skirt yanked down. Panties peeled off. He kissed the side of her waist, taking his time moving the flat of his tongue over her curves. He lifted her back unto the bed and buried his face between her legs, claiming her with his mouth. She tried to be ladylike, but she failed, grinding up against him begging for release. He gave it to her and she rode the orgasm like a tsunami. Her head was still spinning when he turned her back over the pillow, her legs stretched out behind her. He kissed between her shoulder blades, nipping the center cleft. His hands moved under her, cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples. She shuddered with desire. He settled on the edge of the bed and reached over her. She felt the paddle make a circle on her flesh. The first slap was feather light. He was arousing, not correcting. Little whaps against her warm skin. The leather grew warm and melded with her skin, glowing. She was glowing, she felt it. Radiance poured from her heart, and through her pussy. She felt her energy pulsing like the tide. She was aware of her connection to her man and their being nestled by the universe. Love was powerful and she loved him so so much. She became aware of Killian rubbing her back. “Cass? Baby? You with me?”

  She nodded. She was on the edge of something huge. “More,” she whispered. “Please, please. More.”

  “That’s my sweet girl.” He continued to slowly paddle her pink bottom and she spread her legs. When he punished her, he would insist she open herself to him to correct her inner thighs. This time she offered herself, opening like a rose. He stroked her thighs and swatted them with his fingers, moving back and forth with tiny stinging slaps. “You belong to me.”

  “Yes,” she
whispered, “that's what I want.”

  He stroked her center. “This belongs to me.” She murmured her assent. “Your heart belongs to me.”

  She was overcome, she could only nod. He gently reached between her bottom cheeks. She found herself whimpering, this always frightened her a little, although her husband had always been patient and gentle. He stood behind her insisting her legs spread wider. He pressed against her rosebud. He was tender, but insistent. Her desire rose up like a dragon and forced her to surrender herself. He entered her slowly, tiny bit by tiny bit. She gasped and whimpered.

  “You hold still,” he whispered. “Take me. You will take every bit of me. Every time. Everywhere.” She began to cry. He stroked her cheek and stilled within her.

  “No,” she whispered. “More. Please, please don't let me stop you. I need you to be the strong one.”

  He moved deeper and kissed the ridge of her cheekbone. “I am. I am your man.” He moved deeper, her resistance had ceased. She allowed herself to receive every bit of his manhood, stroke after stroke. His left hand held her hip taut against him, she could not flee, she would receive him. His right hand slid between her legs, rewarding her capitulation. A tear coursed down her cheek.

  She had found it. “My soul belongs to you,” she whispered. The spark roared to life and they came together wildly, floundering, tangled in flesh and spirit.

  * * *

  Cass and Killian had shared a quick kiss as he had dropped her off at the recording studio. He was off to “touch base” with an old friend at the Museum of Natural History. Killian had reached out to some old colleagues and they all seemed to think his being hired was essentially a done deal. Cass couldn't worry about it too much, she had a staff meeting at 7:30 AM. She was still not confident about her relationship with the rest of the staff. Tabby sauntered in, wearing giant glasses, converse high tops and a baggy shirt dress. She conducted the meeting using terms like “demographic motility” and mentioning that after the debacle that had been Good Morning with Evan she had felt compelled to “dial in legal.”

  An older black woman, whose role was entirely unknown to Cass took pity on her and whispered, “She called the show’s lawyers, it's all fine. No one is suing us.” Well. That was a comfort. The first episode had done very well with the focus group. Cass had no idea who those people were and, if she were prone to conspiracy theories, she would wonder about the shadowy cabal that was determining her future career.

  “I have an idea,” Cass ventured at the staff meeting. She was met with stares from the various people around the table. Ben, the closest thing to a friend she had on staff was nowhere to be seen. “What if we did one wedding from start to finish—and really did it. Not a fifteen-minute overview—step by step. With a real bride and groom and real issues—venue, expenses? All the real nitty gritty.”

  She was losing them fast. She plowed on. “There have been lots of wedding shows. Lots. They all get condensed down to a twenty-minute sound bite, that doesn't tell the viewer how things were done. We can offer something new.” The silence made beads of sweat break out on her forehead. Had she really just had a staff meeting for her wedding TV show and essentially said that the world didn't need another one? Fuckity fuck. Well, nothing for it but to plow on.

  “The current trend for DIY means that every bride will need to decide what to do herself and what to pay for. Figuring out what a reasonable person can do.” She glanced around at the producers, stylists, and chefs. “See, most brides don't have you guys. So the issue of ‘should I spend a bajillion hours calligraphing wine corks? Should I let my Aunt Rita make the cake? Is a calligrapher worth the money?’ are questions that keep brides up at night.” She glanced down at her hands. She’d given it a shot.

  Tabby nodded, readjusting the chopsticks that speared her messy bun. “That could appeal to our target. Bring cohesion to the wedding narrative.”

  “Yeah, that's what I was thinking,” Cass mumbled.

  Yet another producer added, “We would have to find a bride though.”

  “I think I might have one. What about asking Sarah Huntley?”

  The diverse people around the table suddenly had one thing in common. They all froze, all eyes on Tabby. Tabby closed her eyes for a minute with her fingers tapping on the table.

  Cass considered offering the reasons she had for suggesting Sarah. Sarah was intelligent and successful—Sarah was a perfect stand in for the sort of viewers they wanted. She paused, unsure if remaining silent was a better strategy. Presumably these other people all had at least an idea what each other did. If they were keeping quiet, perhaps Cass should too. Only when the diminutive overseer snapped her eyes open and barked, “We’ll run with it!” did the rest of the table explode in agreement.

  Tabby continued enthusiastically, “That will allow us to offer synergy and a certain market saturation.”

  “And tie in with my appearance on Good Morning with Evan.”

  “That’s what I said,” Tabby continued.

  “Oh.”

  * * *

  The restaurant was a farm to table outfit. Cass was very aware that she might not be working in Chicago for very long, and by the Gods, she was going to restaurant her ass off while she had the opportunity. Sarah breezed in, crisp blazer, pencil skirt every inch the confident professional woman. Cass didn't beat around the bush. Before the bruschetta with truffle oil had arrived, she had made her bid.

  Sarah seemed to like the idea. “I don't know about being followed and stuff, but if it means I get you to do my wedding, I’m all for it. I loved the parts of your blog where you talked about your own wedding.”

  The waitress had arrived and Cass had eagerly given her order for free range chicken roasted with local blue cheese and bacon under the skin. She felt such a connection with her dinner guest that she suddenly reached over and clasped her wrist.

  “I want you to have exactly the wedding you want.”

  “I have been sort of dreading the whole thing. It’s no fun. I don't mind being in front of a jury but those skinny little clerks at the bridal stores make me feel like crap.”

  “It’s important,” Cass insisted. “Think of the difference you can make. Some brides will see your gorgeous wedding and think, ‘I am not a size 0 but I deserve the wedding I want.’ You can't put off things until you reach some ideal. That's setting yourself up for misery.”

  “You mean—fat girls deserve happiness too?” Sarah was grinning.

  “Well, I-I’m sorry,” she stammered.

  “No. It’s okay. They do. We do. I do.” Cass agreed wholeheartedly.

  “You aren't what anyone could call fat.” Cass smiled. “I am what some people absolutely call fat. But I’m active and healthy and it’s all good.” She found herself confiding in Sarah. “I was engaged before—before my husband I mean.” Sarah nodded in understanding. “I was trying to meet his ideal, but I never could. And then I found Killian. When I felt valued, then I was able to make some changes. It’s weird, I know.”

  “No. It's not.”

  “I am not skinny, by any means, but I have lost some weight. Living the life you want can't wait until the scale says you deserve it.”

  Chapter Four - The Alpha-bed

  Killian had stopped by the studio to take her out to eat. His resume had been sent on up the chain and was now being looked at by some big muckety muck at the Chicago Museum of Natural History.

  She basked in their shared happiness. They were walking back from eating dinner, when she told him about Sarah and her visit to the website. “So I’m guessing a lot of them live in their Mom’s basement, but they all are convinced they are alphas.”

  Killian’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh, are they now?”

  “Yeah, they all have these sort of pseudo sciency reasons why women are supposed to be monogamous, but the alpha wolf has an imperative to impregnate as many females as possible.” She shook her head.

  “Real science now knows that alpha wolves don’t
really even exist.”

  “What? Yes, they do.” She was arguing with a PhD in wildlife management who had grown up in Slick Trench, Alaska… about wolves. Yes, that made sense. She stopped in her tracks so suddenly, that the people walking behind her swore as they veered around her. “Why does everybody think they do?”

  “One study. The researcher has even said that he was wrong. He was studying captive wolves in an artificially constructed pack.”

  “No way!”

  He grinned, and, as always, her heart did a little flutter. “Way! It would be like studying a season of ‘big brother’ and then deciding you knew how a nuclear family worked.” She was gobsmacked, a word that she decided was not used nearly enough. “I am gobsmacked,” she said, thoroughly satisfied with herself.

  “Turns out, the ‘alpha’ (he waggled his fingers into air quotes) actually pair bonds and raises offspring.”

  “You should go unto that dumbass site and tell them that.”

  He steered her unto the elevator of their apartment building. “Or, I could spend my time doing things that are worthwhile.” He pushed the button for the fifth floor.

  “Confronting evil idiots is worthwhile.”

  “Agreed, but we have other stuff to focus on. Nothing you or I say about a pitiful bunch of Man Babies is going to cause any of them to say hmmm… ‘Those people I don't know who disagree with me, might have a point.’ We don't have time for that.”

  They did have lots on their plates. She had her show, Killian was meeting with a committee about his possible job early in the morning. They shifted the piles of folded clean clothes off of their bed and stretched out. She had to climb up on her knees to reach the pile at the furthest side of the bed. He plunked down on the bed beside her and wrapped his arm around her middle trapping her. She was waiting for the familiar slap of his hand against her bottom. Instead, he stroked her inner thigh. Slipping his finger inside the elastic of her panties. circling her until she was panting with desire. His cock sprang to attention the second he unzipped his fly and he slammed inside her faster than she would have thought possible. She rocked back against him, feeling her own power. She clutched at the comforter and rested her weight on her elbows and he plowed deeper and deeper. She felt him sag against her as he gave into his release. She buried her face in the covers and fought for breath. Killian gently helped her undress.