I nodded.
He walked across the room, opened my dresser—coincidentally choosing my underwear drawer—and put the gun away.
He stood back in front of me. “This on the other hand,” he took my hand and placed it on his erection, “is yours.”
If I’d had panties on, they would have been drenched.
He opened my legs with the side of each hand and kneeled between them, mindful of my injured foot. He slid two fingers inside of me.
“Wet,” he said, bringing the fingers to his mouth. “And delicious. Close your eyes.”
His hand sensually caressed my arms, mesmerizing me as he moved up and down, and then he lifted them. Before I realized what was happening, he’d handcuffed my hands above my head.
Hot.
Then he kissed me, deeply and passionately. My tongue met his and danced a wild, passionate tango.
I felt his body come down on mine, his hard-on against the flat of my stomach. The ripping noise of a condom packet opening followed.
“Stay still,” he whispered. “This may not to be the best sex we ever have but it will be the most meaningful because it’s our first time… and it’s just for us.”
He pressed his hips against mine, and sought my center. His cock was at my gateway, nudging, pressing.
I was wet, and ready, from the past few days of foreplay that had culminated in Herc, as my fake boyfriend, apprehending my real stalker.
He slid in, his first thrust smooth and deep. A soft groan escaped my mouth.
“I liked taking care of you,” he said, his body melding to mine. “And I think I can get used to that. But I want to take care of you in this way, too.”
My heart was all fluttery. My legs tremored and fell to the side, opening wide, as he pressed in deeper. My muscles clenched onto him.
His tongue found mind again, kissing me with urgency.
I wanted to grab his ass and pull him more completely into me, but my hands weren’t free. My hips moved fiercely, desperate for all of him, until pleasure spiraled through me. I bit his shoulder as I came.
“Open your eyes.” His pleasure escaped his lips in a sexy groan as his passion poured into me. “This is for you.”
He leaned his forehead against mine as we caught our breath. It felt so good to give him pleasure.
After a long pause, he reached for the key, and uncuffed me. He rubbed my wrists.
“I think I just came up with a name that describes how we met,” he said, huge smile on his face. “It was a happy accident.”
There were many people in our way those first few days, but somehow, we knew we had something special. Only Herc and I understood the whole truth about two souls with broken parts who somehow stumbled together in life.
Epilogue
Six Months Later
It turned out that my producer Mike Greene leaked the story about Herc using his badge to meet me. He caused the police department scandal and media shit storm that nearly ended us before we started. But we considered it the thing that sealed us together.
Herc also discovered Mike was responsible for hiring Sean, a love-sick fan of the show, and planting him in my apartment building to spy on me. Through doorman gossip channels, Sean attained a description of Herc and passed it on to Mike. That’s why Sam read revealing details I never shared—such as Herc’s hair and eye color. Poor Sean couldn’t curb his compulsions and became more of a stalker. He’s in recovery. Mike is awaiting trial.
Herc has graduated from undercover work as my boyfriend and to full-time fiancé. And he’s kept his day job. He can share everything with me because I don’t kiss and tell on radio anymore. I left that crazy show.
Because of the attention we got as a couple, I was offered a new job as a magazine advice columnist and I got a book contract.
Our injuries healed and I finally did get to mount my hot detective Basic Instinct style, sans the ice pick. We continue to explore hot cop monkey sex as we evolve our relationship. Herc moved in and I go to bed every night feeling all is secure. And that I am loved.
The End
A.C. Rose
A.C. Rose is a sex and love journalist who also writes very steamy romance books. As a former editor of an iconic women’s magazine, sexy stories and beautiful men have long been her beat. She has written extensively on sexuality, relationships, female desire, and the “kissing book” industry. Her first job in publishing: She was hired to add great sex scenes for women into male-dominated erotic fiction—and she got paid to do it!
Visit her website here:
www.acroseauthor.net
Visit her blog here:
www.acroseauthor.com
Don’t miss these exciting titles by A.C. Rose!
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Anthologies
Hero Undercover
A Thief for the Duke
By
Megan Michaels
©2017 by Blushing Books® and Megan Michaels
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
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Michaels, Megan
A Thief for the Duke
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter 1
Charles William Ellingsford, the Duke of Norfolk, stared out of the small window in his carriage as it bounced along the narrow cobblestone streets of Carlton, North Yorkshire. The busy street, filled with booths at the weekly fair, vendors selling fresh produce, meats, and wares bustled with activity shouting from their booths, the din filling the area on this fine, warm day. Customers haggled loudly for lower prices, accompanied by the peals of laughter from women and children, all the pleasant sounds of summer wafting into his lonely carriage.
Charles looked forward to this vacation all year, loving their country home, Carlton Towers. His family had taken holiday in North Yorkshire for generations, but this year felt different to him. Carlton didn't hold the same magic it once had.
His heart was laden with sadness so deep, he found it hard to breathe…a melancholy he couldn't shake. He needed a wife, someone to share his dreams and desires, someone who would love him, giving him children—heirs to carry on the family name—and well…to share his bed also. Charles imagined the fun and laughter of a duchess to vacation with here, the frolicking they could do, and again, he wondered if it would ever happen for him. Would he find happiness? Was it in his destiny?
Most of the year, he resided at Arundel Castle in Sussex. It had been the castle and home of his family for centuries. He'd played and run through the long halls as a child, delighting in his grand home, unaware of his good fortune. It wasn't until later, in his teens, that he appreciated having been born to the aristocracy, never having to worry about his next meal or clothing.
Charles loved the cold, hard stone walls and the austere atmosphere of the castle he called home; the hand-hewn rock walls reminded him that those in power were to be hard, cold, and unyielding because appearances were everything. If any weakness was shown, it was to be done quietly, reserved for times of solitude. He'd been trained that warmth and kindness had a time and a place, but
never in front of the masses or the watchful eyes of spectators, because it would be viewed invariably as weakness by one's enemies.
Yes, he was well aware that he was known to be stern, harsh, and severe. A reputation that he'd worked very hard at attaining and maintaining. But inside? Inside, where no one was allowed or had knowledge of his feelings? He yearned to show softness, speaking words of kindness and love. To someone special.
Someday.
He mused, staring out of the carriage; someday, he'd let only the love of his life know the depths of his heart. Sighing loudly, he wondered if it would ever happen. At twenty-eight, most of his peers had married and were filling their nurseries with babies.
The noise on the narrow streets rose, people running past his carriage with shouts of, "Stop! Stop, you bloody waif!"
"Rolf, let me out!" Charles shouted up to his driver, and it stopped so suddenly, he had to brace himself from smashing into the seat across from him. He flung the door open, following the crowd toward the commotion.
And with his usual air of authority, Charles Ellingsford the Fourth pushed his way through the throngs, with shouts of, "Move out of my way! I need to get through. Step aside, people. I need to see what is the matter. Move!"
He continued in this manner until standing near the clawing and shouting little catalyst of all this chaos. Blinking, he stared at the disheveled girl, surprised and befuddled that someone so small could be the issue at hand.
"Step aside. Let her speak!" He roughly pushed the crowd back. The people moved, letting go of her body, giving Charles the authority to handle her.
Finally being free of the hands that bound her and wasting no time in her unrestricted state, the waif turned, doing her best to flee.
Charles snatched her arm, catching her just in time. "Oh, no, girl, you're staying here."
The petite blonde began to thrash once again, looking nothing less than a whirling dervish, arms and legs flailing, teeth gnashing, and he swore she even growled.
Not one to be bested by either a small woman or a child, he placed a well-deserved and firmly placed swat to her backside, startling her into standing still, all movement ceasing, except for the tears gradually welling in her beautiful, crystalline blue eyes.
Nodding at her solemnly, Charles decided she'd finally reached a state of listening, and he addressed her, "That swat on your derriere, my dear, is only the beginning of what you'll receive, if you decide to act in such a manner again. Clear?"
Her jaw worked with a momentary grit of her teeth but she released it quickly, swiping at her tears, nodding back pitifully.
"Answer me with a loud, clear voice when I address you with a question."
"Yes…sir."
Pulling on his suit coat and vest, he righted his clothes after the wild skirmish, taking the time to even tighten up the cufflinks on his sleeves before continuing, "Now, tell me, girl, what have you done to cause everyone to be in such an upheaval? And do not lie." He crossed his arms over his chest, widening his stance, waiting for her response.
"I…was hungry. I took an apple." Her eyes glance furtively toward the red-faced vendor who, apparently, sold the apples at the Carlton Market.
Turning to address the man, Charles said, "Sir, is that what happened?"
"Yeah, she took me apples. I work hard for 'em, you know, and I can't have every damn little chit in Carlton stealing them, neither!" He waved his fist at the girl, the veins in his forehead bulging.
Digging into the small pocket of his vest, Charles pulled out a coin, tossing it to him. "Will this cover your daily sale of apples?"
The vendor's eyes widened, "Yes…th-thank you, sir."
"Go back to your stand; you've been rewarded for your future silence and kindnesses in letting this girl go. Let those in charge handle this…child." Charles waved his hand for the man to shoo, watching him hurriedly leave.
It was then, the constables showed up, pushing their way toward Charles. "What's going on here?" Their crisp blue, swallow-tailed uniforms appeared a bit dusty and bedraggled from the plentiful activity at the busy, unsavory market.
Charles cleared his throat. "According to…what's your name, girl?"
"Ettie." The girl tilted her chin upward with a bit of attitude that was more than unnecessary, considering her misdeed.
"That is not your formal name. Give us your full birth name."
"Henrietta Leticia Beaumont—Ettie." She narrowed her gaze at him, and surprisingly, it didn't make him want to upend her like it normally would have. Instead, he fought the urge to smile at her. The minx didn't like following orders or, in this case, even giving him her full name. She needed to have some of the starch taken out of her, but he admired her fire. A bit of sassy independence kept a woman interesting, but more often than not, the miscreant needed constant boundaries to keep it contained. The prospect of this wasn't unsavory to Charles.
Turning his focus away from the blonde beauty, he spoke to the two bobbies impatiently waiting. "Henrietta apparently was hungry and chose to steal an apple, instead of begging for mercy. The vendor has forgiven her and, as you can see, isn't even present to press any charges."
Each man grabbed one of her arms, and one of them shouted, "Come along then, thief, off to jail with you."
"Wait!" Charles stood, expecting the men to halt their actions. Instead, they dismissed him completely and continued with the thief to the jail. "You can't just take her; I need to…" He paused.
He needed to do what? He wasn't actually sure, but he knew getting her out of prison was his next task.
"Rolf! Rolf!" He ran back to the carriage, calling toward his driver who'd waited patiently where he'd left him. "Bring me to the magistrate, immediately."
He hopped into the carriage, the whole of it wobbling from his hurried entry, and he flopped into the velvet seat, adjusting his waistcoat, pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. They needed to hurry or Ettie would be spending the night in prison, which was no place for a woman…or child.
And bollocks! I need to determine what the bloody hell she is—a woman or child!
Having lost his parents in his early teens, he understood the loneliness and despair one could feel, but again, having the good fortune of being raised as an heir to the throne, the staff and other living relatives assured his continued care and upbringing in their absence.
But Ettie, apparently, didn't have such a luxury. Ettie. The name had sweetness to it, more genteel and innocent sounding than Henrietta, a name befitting someone so angelic, almost cherub-like with her soft golden curls framing her round face and piercing blue eyes. Once cleaned up and dressed properly—and some much-needed work on her manners—she'd be a centerpiece to any table.
Grabbing the leather handle by the window, he prevented a tumble as the carriage lurched to a stop. Leaping out, he shouted up to Rolf, "Prepare the guest room in my wing and alert Randall and Matilda that I'll be bringing a child to the house who will need to be cared for. They'll know what to do. Hurry and then return to me."
His faithful butler and housekeeper would know how to prepare for the waif. Both had been instrumental in caring for him as a child, under the direction of his parents, and then later, when he needed firm guidance as an orphaned teen, their steadfast discipline, and caring concern had kept him on the straight and narrow. Not having needed their guidance for many years now, they'd moved into other roles in the castle, but he had no doubt they'd fall back into their previous jobs with great ease.
Children were a weakness for him, well, and women also. His heart had a soft spot for both—wishing to protect and guide them, keeping faithful watch that they not be abused or ignored by society or others. His need to protect was deep and not a trait easily ignored.
Climbing the many steps up to the large brick building, he flung the doors wide open, entering, he had no doubt, with concern etched on his face.
"Where is Magistrate Fitzalan?" His shout, probably louder than was necessary, echoed off the stone w
alls, and the petrified clerk blinked rapidly at him, her throat visibly working to swallow her fear.
"Uh…in his office, sir. But—"
"I need to see him now!"
"You can't just go in there, sir." The patter of her footsteps on the tile indicated she was giving chase behind him, which he duly ignored, and he swung the heavy wooden door with Magistrate Fitzalan on a centered gold nameplate open.
"Magistrate Fitzalan, we need to speak about a waif and thief being brought to your jail. I have a proposal."
Chapter 2
Ettie rubbed her head, looking down at her fingers. Blood still appeared, but it had lessened. When that brute tossed her into her cell, she'd banged her head and scraped her shoulder, as well, the pain making her wince just swinging her arm slightly.
The cell had darkened since she'd been thrown into it, and looking out the window down near the end of the hall, it appeared it would be dark soon. She rubbed her arms briskly, wishing she'd known this would happen; she would've stolen a cape instead of an apple.
How did I end up here?
It wasn't long ago, she'd been happy. Her small family did laundry for the wealthy, making a decent living. Food wasn't an issue and neither was housing.
But all of that became a distant memory when her parents died of influenza, two winters ago. Initially, she'd been able to continue with the laundry, but being alone meant she couldn't take as much in, and then the money slowly dwindled until she'd been unable to pay her taxes, losing the house and being forced to live on the streets. The rest crumbled quickly, leaving her in tattered clothing that didn't protect her from the elements, and she'd become hungry, scavenging for food…and stealing. In all honesty, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she'd find herself in prison, she known it, although she tried her best to avoid it…and more than likely, others had predicted this fate, as well.
Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys Page 56
