Bound to be Tempted: Emergence, Book 4

by Becca Jameson

  “You’ll learn to do that without making a sound. I know it’s new, but soon.”

  She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  Next, he shocked her by lifting her onto the counter so fast the breath whooshed from her lungs. “Spread your legs so I can see your pussy while I cook, baby.”

  She inched her thighs apart, grabbing the edge of the counter to keep her balance. He’d never requested this of her before. Normally he had her kneel at the table or in the kitchen, out of his way.

  “Sit straight. Hands behind your back.”

  She followed his directives, lengthening her spine.

  “Perfect.” He reached inside her pussy with one finger and then dragged it back out to trail it up and over her clit.

  When he sucked his pointer into his mouth, she stiffened to keep from flinching or moaning. “Excellent.” He turned and pulled things from the refrigerator and set them on the counter next to her. Every few moments he touched her somewhere: her thigh, her nipple, her clit… Just a brief flick of his finger, enough to keep her on edge and drive her higher as he worked.

  She remained quiet. She’d fought with him the first few nights about helping him, and he’d made it clear he was going to do the majority of the housework because she worked longer hours. He wanted her naked and horny, nothing else.

  Next to her, he diced vegetables—onions, carrots, broccoli. He picked up a baby carrot and nonchalantly pressed it into her pussy. “Hold that for me, would you?” He went back to work.

  The carrot was small, but its presence inside her seemed like a cucumber for how erotic it was.

  When he took a break from chopping to make a drink, she watched him intently from her peripheral vision. He dropped several ice cubes into a glass, one at a time with no haste. How could he make a drink so damn sexy?

  Next he added cold water from the refrigerator, the sound of it filling the glass making her shiver with desire, though she had no idea why. Perhaps because everything he did, he did with a specific intention. The man wasn’t just thirsty. He had a plan. He always had a plan.

  Sure enough, he offered her a drink, holding her neck tipped back with one hand while he let the cool water run into her mouth. She found she was actually thirsty and welcomed the liquid. At the last second, the ice broke apart in the glass and sent a splash of water running down her chin, her neck, her breasts.

  Carlton didn’t comment, but he tipped her head back into his preferred position with one hand while the other, still holding the glass, leaned too close to her chest and pressed the cold surface against her nipple.

  “Sorry, baby.” He kissed the tip gently as though he’d truly committed an accidental infraction and had somehow injured her. When he stepped back, the little heart swayed in front of her. He reached into her pussy with two fingers and pulled out the carrot, which he tossed in the sink. Then he set the glass down between her legs nonchalantly, strategically placing it against her pussy, as though that were the only counter space available, and went back to work.

  Every noise in the room seemed more pronounced as he turned on the stove and tossed the vegetables into the popping oil. Every smell increased as her senses went on high alert. She fought the urge to pull away from the cold glass at her pussy, knowing he would come up with something much worse if she moved even a centimeter.

  He lifted the glass, took another sip and set it back down, pushing it closer to her center.

  Her pulse beat in her thighs, all her blood running to her pussy, her wetness mixing with the condensation on the glass to create a pool on the counter between her legs.

  Carlton ignored her plight as though nothing were amiss. He tossed chicken into another pan, the sizzling making her jump enough to cause the glass to teeter forward before settling back against her. She cringed as he turned toward her, catching the disturbance. “Sit still, Maggie. You’re too squirmy tonight.”

  She nearly moaned. Need grew as he worked.

  The next time he picked up the glass, he let his fingers drag through her spread lips. “Baby, you’re so wet. Is my cooking that sexy?” He took a drink and then reached into the glass to fish out an ice cube.

  Maggie inhaled sharply and held her breath, waiting for whatever plan he had for that melting ice. She’d stared at it all this time, knowing it wouldn’t end in water while resting in that glass.

  Sure enough, Carlton tapped it against her nipple, making the little bud hypersensitive.

  She flinched.

  He set a hand on her back and stroked the other nipple with the ice. “So wiggly, baby. I need you to learn to stay still for me.”

  Stay still… His favorite words. And damn him for using them so often she was constantly a needy ball of nerves.

  Back and forth he moved the ice, from one nipple to the other. And then, casually as he had tossed the carrot in the sink, he pushed the ice cube deep inside her pussy.

  She braced herself. The cold was intense inside her, making her pussy clutch at the ice, which aggravated her when she’d rather push the offensive cube out.

  Carlton reached back into the glass and grabbed a second, larger cube, which he added to the first. He went back to work, stirring the vegetables and chicken in the pans while she clenched at the ice cubes and fought the impending orgasm.

  When he stepped back, he fished out another cube.

  She didn’t think she could take any more. The first two had not melted inside her.

  This third one he didn’t press into her though. Instead he lifted the hood off her clit with his free hand and flattened the cube against her nub.

  Margaret moaned loudly, the sound coming out all on its own.

  “As much as I love your noises, I haven’t given you permission to make them. Curtail the sounds, baby.” He spoke soothingly as though her infraction were no big deal, when she knew without a doubt she would pay later. Pay dearly. Pay with denial. His favorite.

  When the ice finally melted against her clit, he lifted her face with his freezing cold hand and met her gaze with a smile. “Ah, baby. I love that look. The one where your eyes are so glazed you can’t quite see me.”

  She blinked.

  “It makes me so fucking hard when you look at me like that.” He released her entirely and went back to work.

  Stunned, she watched him, or tried to anyway. Her body was on fire, her thighs shaking with unfinished need. Her nipples pleaded for release they wouldn’t get anytime soon.

  Carlton didn’t touch her pussy again while he cooked. He would know she was too close to withstand any contact. But he did jiggle the hearts dangling from her nipples several times, reverently admiring them with small kisses or displaying them by lifting her breasts up in his palms. He was without a doubt a nipple man.

  With dinner finally ready, he set a huge plate on the kitchen table, as usual, and then lifted Margaret from the counter. He patted her ass. “You know what to do.”

  She did. Careful to keep her legs spread, she padded toward his chair and kneeled on the floor in her spot. The moisture from the ice and her arousal dripped down her leg, making her struggle to keep from fidgeting.

  Carlton took his seat and proceeded to feed her succulent bites of stir-fry. He always fed her first, his own needs secondary. He watched her closely, learning her capacity better each day, making her feel treasured. In between bites, he gave her a drink of water or wine. Even when he chewed his own bites, she felt his gaze on her throat, her mouth, her lips.

  It was almost overwhelming how absorbed he was. And still her body hummed with need.

  When the meal was over, she bit her lip to keep from requesting that he let her clean. He’d made that clear also. Not yet. He wanted to do everything for her.

  When he was almost finished, he excused her to use the bathroom.

  She lifted herself off the floor, almost reluctant to leave his presence. It w
as absurd, but she liked the way he looked at her, denying her any privacy. Not that she wanted him to follow her into the bathroom, but she found herself missing his gaze when she was out of his sight.

  He was in the bedroom when she emerged. He held her phone out. “It rang. I thought you should know.”

  Margaret took it from him and glanced at the caller ID. “My mom.” Damn. The woman wouldn’t leave her alone.

  “You should call her. That’s four nights in a row.”

  She nodded. “I should.”

  “You want some privacy?”

  Bless him for asking. She almost cried at how sensitive he was, a complete contradiction to what she would find on the other end of the line when her mother picked up. She found herself unwilling to do it alone. She had nothing to hide. He knew the score. And his proximity might even soothe her. “No. Stay. Please, Sir.”

  He took her hand and led her to the bed, where he patted the mattress. “Lie down. Relax your body. You’re so tense when your mom calls. I hate it.”

  She followed his instructions, climbing onto the bed and stretching out, the phone still clutched in one hand.

  Carlton, completely dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, crawled up next to her and leaned on one elbow. He set his hand on her belly and massaged. “Call her. I’m right here.”

  It felt weird calling the woman with Carlton at her side. Weirder still that she was naked and he could drive her to distraction if he so chose.

  She hit Redial and waited, hoping by some miracle her mother wouldn’t answer and she could leave a message. But luck wasn’t on her side.

  “Hello? Margaret? Finally. I’ve been calling you for days.”

  “I know, Mom. Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “Listen. I’m glad you called. We’re having a family lunch here on Sunday. I want you to be here. You haven’t come to the house in ages.”

  “Mom—”

  “One o’clock. Your Aunt Barbara and Uncle Rocky will be here. They want to see you too. It’s been months since you’ve seen them.”

  “Mom, I can’t. I have plans.”

  “Cancel them. Just this once, Margaret. Do something your father and I request.”

  Your father and I… As if her mother had a firm bone in her body. She knew her father had put her mother up to this.

  Margaret cringed. She lifted her gaze to meet Carlton’s. His eyes were narrow slits of concern. His hand pressed into her, anchoring her amazingly. He said nothing. He nodded. He could hear every word. Her mother was loud. He was telling her to go. Did he think she would take him with her? She wasn’t ready for something like that.

  On a sigh, she responded, “Fine, Mom. But only for a few hours. I have work to do. It’s a busy time at the office.”

  “Perfect.” Her mother’s voice sounded so excited Margaret almost felt guilty. “We’ll see you Sunday then. One o’clock.” The woman hadn’t asked her grown daughter if she wanted to bring anyone with her.

  It was just as well. Facing her family the way she needed wasn’t something she wanted to do with Carlton at her side. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  She hung up and handed him the phone.

  “I’m proud of you.” He kissed her lips briefly as he set the cell on the bedside table. “That gives you four days to figure out what to say to them.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “I’m not sure I want to tackle them yet. And besides, my aunt and uncle will be there.”

  “All the more reason. Isn’t that your father’s brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said yourself those two were tight and you thought many of your father’s ideas were learned from his older brother.”

  “Yeah.” She set her hands on top of the one he still had on her belly. “They have gone to the same church since before I was born. My aunt and uncle went there first and dragged my parents down the same path.”

  “I’m sorry, baby.” He kissed her again. “Put it out of your mind for tonight. We’ll deal with it more before you go over there.” He nibbled a path to her ear.

  “You aren’t mad I didn’t suggest bringing you with me?”

  “No. Not at all.” His tongue landed on her earlobe, making her flinch. “I know this is something you have to do on your own. I’ll be here for moral support before and after.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next few days went smoothly, balancing work and play. If someone was following her, she tried to ignore it. Her imagination had gotten out of hand. Surely she was simply being paranoid. Staying in someone else’s house, waking up in a strange bed, assuming a new role that she found herself loving—it was enough to make anyone panicky. When would the other shoe drop? She’d never been this happy. And her fear of losing all this had gotten the best of her.

  She spent her days at the office as one persona and her evenings at Carlton’s as another, entirely different persona. High-powered stress, number crunching, keeping customers happy took the first ten hours. After that she flipped a switch and let Carlton take charge.

  It was amazing. Beyond her expectations. And she found herself staring at Carlton, wishing he could see how good they were together and take her on permanently. The man never insinuated any such thing, however. He looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars, but his words still spoke of this temporary arrangement.

  Carlton was perfect in every way she could imagine. His quirks were few and far between. He was constantly freaky about her safety, but she tried to internalize every weird incident as his way of showing how much he cared rather than finding him to be controlling.

  He demonstrated not an ounce of jealousy or lack of trust. He never mentioned a word about people looking at her or her eyeing them. He just seemed to genuinely worry about something happening to her. Obsessively at times.

  If she admitted he was controlling, she wouldn’t be able to tolerate him. After living under the controlling hand of her father for most of her life, no man was going to control her now. It scared the fuck out of her that she even allowed herself to submit to someone. She’d struggled with that her entire adult life, worrying about her motivation. Had her father made her this way? Shouldn’t she fight against it, lift up her chin and take control of her own life?

  Every time she considered leaving Carlton to go it alone, she couldn’t visualize a life without him. Damn him and his two weeks. Damn herself and her need to be controlled. The juxtaposition was stressful.

  Add to that her paranoia and she was on pins and needles.

  Every night when she left work, she watched her back. Every time she approached her car, she scanned it for evidence that someone had been there, left her a note again, tampered with her car in some way.

  On Friday, she went out to lunch. As she reached her car, she came to a stop, her hands shaking as she eyed another fucking note on the windshield. After several deep breaths, she picked the corner up with two fingers and carefully set the envelope on the passenger seat. Lunch would have to wait. Enough was enough. She needed to go to the police.

  Her heart pounded as she drove to the nearest station. A normal person would call her boyfriend and tell him what was happening. Was Carlton her boyfriend? Not hardly. And besides, the man would freak out and insist she no longer drive alone. Losing her independence to some stalker would send her over the edge. She couldn’t do it.

  She wouldn’t. She inhaled deeply as she pulled in to the station, resolved to turn the problem over to the police and keep Carlton out of it.

  Margaret entered the police station, spoke to a kind woman at the front desk, and then waited for only moments before an officer assisted her.

  “Ma’am.” He shook her hand. “Officer Brantly. I understand you’ve received some threatening letters?”

  “Yes, on my windshield. The first one I opened before realizing what it was. But this time, I didn’t touch
more than the corner to set it in the car. It’s lying on the front seat. I drove straight here from my office.”

  He smiled politely. “Good choice. Give me a sec to grab some gloves and I’ll follow you out to retrieve it.”

  Less than a minute later, Officer Brantly was back at her side, ushering her to her car. He carefully picked up the note and slid it into a plastic bag. “Did you touch the windshield or the hood much?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “’Kay. I’m gonna send some guys out to see if they can pull any prints. Come on back to my office. I’ll take down some information.” On the way down a long hall to Brantly’s office, he stopped by another office and handed the note to someone else.

  Brantly turned toward Margaret. “It’s a red Camry, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned back to the other man and asked him to dust for prints.

  It took over an hour for Margaret to provide the officer with all the details of the first note and then the circumstances of the second. She called her boss to let him know she would be late returning.

  Halfway through the conversation with Officer Brantly, a female cop stepped into his office and handed him a note. She left without saying a word.

  Brantly read the note and handed it to Margaret. “Well, someone is threatening you. Does this make any sense?”

  Margaret held her breath as she read the words.

  Listen, bitch. I don’t think you understand. You need to straighten yourself out unless you want a repeat performance. Then again, it seems you like pain. So maybe fucking you up won’t do a bit of good.

  Margaret’s eyes teared up. She hated herself for not staying stronger, but she was suddenly overcome with emotions. Who the fuck was harassing her? It almost sounded like it could be the same people who’d attacked her the first time. But that was impossible. Why now? After all these years?

  Brantly spoke again, gently. “I assume this means something to you?”

  She nodded, but it took her several minutes to form words.