by Andi Madden
Arms wrapped around her middle, his palms covered her breasts and then his lips touched the side of her neck. “This is officially the last time I allow you to tell her how you want it.”
He kneaded her breasts until her nipples puckered. “The next time, you’ll do as I say. Deal?”
If there ever would be a next time… “Deal.”
His erection rested thick and hot against the crack of her ass. His hands slid down her stomach, cupped her mound.
Her moan drowned out his hoarse groan as he found her swollen, ready. His mouth brushed her spine as he dropped to his knees.
Tracing a finger between her butt cheeks, he said, “It’s hard to stay upset at you when your ass has the cutest freckles I’ve ever seen.”
He kissed her there. Silly little kisses that made her heart ache. She wasn’t prepared that he was gentle, still took his time, still went to his knees to kiss her.
“Whatever you want,” he said, “I will do for you tonight.”
She wished he would just take her, without asking, without waiting for her approval, in whatever way he wanted.
She lifted her arms above her head, crossed her wrists. “Tell me you tied my hands.”
For a breathless moment, she feared he would laugh, would reject her wish for play pretend, then his hand wrapped around her crossed wrists, pinned her to the tiles.
“Your hands are tied,” he whispered against her neck, increasing the pressure on her wrists just a notch to make his point. “Don’t fight it or I’ll have to punish you.”
Chills erupted over her skin, eyes fluttered shut. “Yes,” she whispered, savoring his last words that had shot straight to her pussy. “Spank me if I don’t behave.”
He nibbled at her shoulder with his teeth, just enough to hurt, just enough to bring pleasure. “Anything else I can do for you,” he murmured, catching her earlobe between his teeth.
“Put your fingers between my legs, touch me, tell me how it feels,” she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs, and tensed as he slipped his right hand between her legs while holding her wrists against the wall with his other.
“Swollen,” he said roughly, and then pushed a finger inside her, “and hot, wet.” He slipped out of her pussy and rimmed her ass. When he pushed his finger inside, he choked out, “so tight.”
“Please,” she moaned, bucking against him when he worked his finger in and out of her ass then slipped another finger inside her pussy. In and out, he moved, excruciatingly slow, almost detached. “Please stop,” she begged, and drew in a disappointed breath when he did just that.
“What else do you want?” he asked, his fingers trailing up the side of her rib cage, tickling her.
“I want your cock in my mouth,” she said, wondering how it would feel if he held her by the nape of her neck and ordered her to suck him.
“Your hands are tied,” he said, amusement ringing from his voice. “Sorry, you can’t turn around or kneel before me.”
He increased the pressure but she wriggled one hand free only to yell out in pain as he spanked her with his flat hand so hard on the ass that stars danced before her eyes. “Behave, girl,” he said roughly, sending her pussy into a spasm of contractions as the pain grew into sharp pleasure.
“Please,” she moaned, moving her hips against him, seeking his touch, not caring if he spanked or stroked, anything, but she needed the release.
As if sensing her condition, his fingers found her clit, working her in lazy circles. “Faster,” she breathed, “do it faster.” This time, she knew what she wanted when she wriggled her hand free.
Pain spread from her ass to her pussy as his hand landed on her ass, the smacking sound making her aware how loud her own breathing had become. “Do it again,” she said, craving the heat his spanking created, the high the pain left her in as it slipped into arousal.
She crossed her wrists again over her head, hearing him swear under his breath.
“Don’t scream like you are one breath away from getting off…” he said behind her, and clamped his hands around her hips. His cock slipped between her legs, rubbing over her pussy, prodding against her clit.
“Now,” she said. “I want you inside me now.”
He pushed inside, pushed all the way in. She pumped against him, seeking the stretch. The heat. He adjusted his stance behind her, tilted her hips. He began to fuck her in earnest, all play forgotten. Long, hard strokes hammered her toward climax, and when her hand slipped between her legs, he didn’t stop her. He clamped his hand over hers, following the strokes she gave herself, as if trying to learn.
“Now,” he whispered when her hands fell away.
Her orgasm hit her in violent shivers and she screamed out, bucking against him
He shuddered, his cock jerking as he spilled his come. When he didn’t stop stroking her clit, she tried to wrangle free but he held her in front of him, working her sensitized flesh until another climax erupted, shocking in its intensity. When her knees gave way, he caught her round the middle.
“I want to lie down, I think,” she said, barely noticing how he hauled her into bed, still wet from the shower. Curling up on the bed, she heard him moving through the room and it dawned on her he might be thinking about leaving.
“Stay, please,” she heard herself say, voice small. “Stay the entire night.”
“I can’t, Liz. I have to—” He stopped, drawing in a hard breath. The mattress gave way as he slid on top of the bed. His arm wrapped around her chest as he pulled her against him. “Forget it. Sleep,” he murmured against the nape of her neck.
“Only if you promise not to sneak away if I do,” she said, feeling his mouth twist to a smile against her skin.
“Sleep. Everything will be fine, I promise.”
“Liar,” she whispered, but he stroked her back and pulled the sheets up, his body warmth enveloping her until she sighed with contentment and gave in to the illusion he would be staying, and protect her.
Chapter Eight
She woke with a start.
Reassuring herself he was next to her, she reached to her side.
The bed sheet was cool underneath her palm, not even a trace of him lingered. And nothing felt remotely fine.
And the black notebook was propped up on her nightstand, a handwritten note stuck to the cover.
She picked up the note, read it. Read it again. And again because it wasn’t making any sense. Underneath a phone number, he had scrawled, Call Simon Parker and tell him everything. You can trust him.
P.S. Don’t burn down the house.
P.P.S. You look cute asleep.
The note fluttered from her fingers as she got out of bed.
Stepping in front of the dresser mirror, she pulled her hair away from her face into a small ponytail and secured it with an elastic. Her dark eyes seemed huge and she critically observed the dark circles, the fine net of wrinkles etched into the skin underneath her eyes.
It didn’t matter that Ben had left her, taking with him all the warmth and joy she’d felt when she had fallen asleep in his arms. He’d left her alone to deal with her confused feelings, with the budding hope he was also feeling a connection that went beyond sex.
And he’d left her alone to deal with the book.
Simon Parker, she thought. The name was familiar… The DEA guy from the website. Quickly she booted her computer and loaded the bookmarked site. She wanted answers and they were just a phone call away.
She picked up the note from the floor, grabbed her cell phone, punched the string of numbers before she changed her mind. Drumming her fingertips on the closed book, she heard a brisk “Parker, how can I help?”
“This is Liz Walker,” she rushed out. “And I have information about Ben Chase and about a certain notebook. In fact,” she closed her fingers around the worn leather binding, “I’m holding the book in my hand.”
Dead silence greeted her on the other line then she heard something clatter in the background as if a chair had
toppled over. She allowed herself a small smile, wondering if they had started tracking her phone to locate her, like they did in the movies.
Then she heard someone let out a long breath. “Ms. Walker, please call me Simon, and do exactly as she say. Don’t move away from your phone, stay on the line and tell me again what you hold in your hand.”
Despite everything, she laughed. “Simon,” she said, “call me Liz. I am in the possession of Mr. Fuentes’ notebook.”
“If this is the case,” he answered, “I will be your best friend for the rest of your life.”
* * * * *
Exactly sixteen minutes later, she opened the door for Simon Parker and a SWAT team.
They swarmed her place without regard for her personal space, without showing her a search warrant, without even sparing her a glance, except for one wiry man dressed in dark slacks and a crisp gray shirt with rolled-up cuffs.
It had been easy spotting Simon, who was the only one not wearing black or carrying a gun and because he greeted her with the words, “The book.”
“Why the National Guard?” she replied, but gave him what he asked for.
He carefully leafed through it, and it was as if a weight dropped from his shoulders, the sharp furrows on his forehead suddenly smooth. He barked out a genuine-sounding laugh—which lasted about three seconds—then he yelled at someone named Drake and dropped the book inside a plastic bag.
The SWAT team filed out of her shop and apartment in the same efficient way they had streamed into it.
“Very well,” Simon said, “and now we have time to chat.”
“You’re not going to arrest me?” she asked, only half joking.
Simon shrugged. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” he said, taking her by the elbow, throwing a glance around. “Anywhere where we can sit?”
She nodded to the staircase. “Upstairs,” she said, and began climbing the stairs.
He followed, his footsteps sounding hollow. Deep unease settled over her and it wasn’t easy to shake off the notion she was somehow guilty as sin.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said. “I think I’d like to have a tea, if you don’t mind. Want some too?” she vanished into the kitchen, heart racing.
When she came back, she settled down on the bed with a hot mug in her hand while Simon sat at her desk, his face again inscrutable and no trace was left from his previous joy. She must have imagined it.
“What happened here,” he asked. “A fight?”
She followed his gaze, noting the torn-up bed, the ropes, torn clothes on the floor.
Ben trusted this hard man whose features weren’t unpleasant, far from it, but everything about Simon Parker screamed that he saw the world in black and white, good and bad, guilty and innocent. She somehow doubted that he allowed for gray areas.
“Why would Ben ask me to tell you everything,” she asked quietly.
“I have no idea, Liz,” he replied. “I didn’t even know you knew him. But why don’t you start at the beginning and stop with when you gave me the call?”
“Off the record?”
“Sure,” he said, kicking off his shoes as if to show her he wasn’t on duty.
“How long have you known Ben?” she asked, wondering how many had fallen for this shoes-off-see-I’m-off-duty trick.
“I’ve known Ben since I married into his family.”
When she stared at him for too long, her mind still trying to compute his remark, he said, “Ben was the best man at my wedding. I’m married to his sister and he is my daughter’s godfather.
“Whatever you have to tell me,” he said, leaning forward, “it will stay in this room.”
“Ben told me to trust you.”
“Then why don’t you?”
And in a leap of faith, she did just that.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, she got up from the bed to tip her cold tea into the sink. Stretching her legs, muscles stiff, she felt utterly exhausted.
Making herself a fresh tea, more to give herself something to do than anything else, she tried to collect her thoughts. Simon had declined every offer for food or drink, and still sat with his crossed legs at her desk. Now he stood and proved that he was only human too when he stretched his arms, joints popping.
“Bottom line, Liz, the streets are safer tonight because of you.”
“What happens next?” she asked, taking a sip of tea and burning her tongue.
“I’ll write my report, the Writer will get a life sentence once he’s back on his feet, and my wife is scheduled to leave the hospital in two days. As far as I am concerned, life is good.”
She shared a smile with him, seeing the stars in his eyes as he mentioned his wife. For a man like him, she thought, it must have ripped his heart apart that the killer sent for him had found a cruel new mark in his wife Gabrielle.
“In your report, how big a role will I play,” she said, and added, “or Ben?”
He gave a sigh. “Liz, you turned in the notebook. You are at the front and center of it. Ben, however, won’t be.” There was a hard edge in his voice.
“But Ben was just the first at the scene when Gabrielle was shot,” she said, trying to catch his eye. “You never honestly believed he shot his own sister?”
He made an impatient gesture. “Of course not, but he had inside information he wasn’t sharing. Then he vanished completely. I had to put him on our wanted list.”
“But not anymore?”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” he said. “If you hadn’t told me what happened inside the hotel, I’d have never guessed. The security tapes are gone and will stay gone knowing Ben. I wish he hadn’t taken things into his own hands.”
“But he was successful,” she said quietly. “Without him, you wouldn’t have the notebook.”
“You forget who I am working for. I am perfectly aware of my brother-in-law’s questionable past, and it is only for the benefit of my wife that I overlook,” he nearly choked on the word, “his past. But allowing him to take justice into his own hands is not something I will allow. Not if I already had undercover agents and informants drawing the net tighter and tighter.”
“But your wife was shot,” she whispered, trying to understand his cold logic when Ben actions had proven to be successful—if a tad on the unlawful side. “If it had been one of my loved ones…” she didn’t finish the sentence because she believed in an eye for an eye.
“And this is why I represent the law, and not you or Ben,” he said coolly, making her swallow and hope she’d never be on his Most Wanted list.
“If Mr. Fuentes isn’t the respected businessman I thought him to be, why was he offering me a business deal? Was it all a scam?”
“He probably scoped you out beforehand.” He shook his head. “He did have a solid reputation in some circles. He laundered drug money by investing in legit businesses like yours,” he said, raising his eyebrow. “If you had signed the contract, you would have been in his pocket.”
He stretched out his hand, which she shook hesitantly. “If I have more questions, I’ll be in touch, so please don’t leave the city for the foreseeable future.”
“I won’t,” I said, “but I can’t stay in this house anymore.”
“Reason?”
“Broke.”
To her surprise, he gave a short laugh. “Well, one more reason not to vanish from my radar. There’s a check heading down the road, and if procedure isn’t questioned along the way your name will be on it.”
“A check? What do you mean?”
“Liz, while you were innocently attending the entrepreneur meeting, you got caught up in a running investigation against a known criminal and you were able, while fighting for your own life, to secure the crucial evidence that slipped through the cracks of my own planted undercover men,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “And you turned it in the next day after your initial shock subsided. I am happy to tell you that there is a reward on the Writer’s head for anyo
ne helping with the arrest.”
“But that’s not me, that’s Ben,” she whispered.
“No, it is not. Because you handed me the book.” Simon gave her a pat on the back. “Looks like Ben passed on the reward. And he isn’t even the one who brought down the man who nearly killed his baby sister. Any idea why he would sacrifice all that?”
“No, no, I really don’t.”
“I’m sure you will figure out eventually.” And to her surprise, he gave her a wink. “Good luck, Liz.”
Chapter Nine
“Are you sure you don’t want company? We could order in dinner.”
“I’m fine,” she said, and all but shoved Jenna over the doorstep. “I’d rather be alone tonight.” For various reasons, she thought, and taped the last moving box shut across the top.
“Okay,” Jenna said, giving her a thumbs-up. “See you tomorrow. You’ll see, the move will be a walk in the park!”
She smiled and waved through the glass window as Jenna slid into her car.
With Jenna’s help and two hired hands, they had packed up her professional equipment faster than expected. Now all that was left were a few odd items in her apartment, which she planned to pack before the moving truck came in the morning.
Walking up the stairs to her bedroom, she felt as if the last four weeks had passed in a busy blur—the negotiations with the bank to help with immediate cash problems and to support her new business plan. If only she had opened their letters to her sooner, then she’d have known that they were willing to help her, provided she met all their conditions.
But the final piece was still missing—her new retail site. The bank manager had made it quite clear that it all came down to picking a highly visible, highly trafficked area. But the properties to lease in those kinds of areas weren’t exactly affordable. Something she would continue to worry about tomorrow.
She sank down on the mattress, curled her fingers into the sheets and then ran her hand along the bed’s footend. As always, the cool metal made her palms itch and her heart flutter. It was easy to imagine a pair of handcuffs dangling from the thick iron bars of the foot- and headboard.
