“This was way before medical pot, but people have been using weed as medicine for a long time. So, he ran—and smoked—a ton of it. He would give half his stuff out to other vets like him. He didn’t care about the risk—he just wanted to help people.
“So eventually he retired, and I took over the plane while he handled the connections. And we made a ton of money. But then pot started going legal all over the place.
“Uncle Jake and I decided to go legit. We poured our seed money into a legal pot farm out in Humboldt County, and settled down to become growers and producers. That’s where my money came from.” I shrug, wondering how awkward this is going to be. I have hinted around at it with her, but she had no idea of the scope until now.
“Wow, that’s kind of a new one for me. I’ve never even smoked.” Her voice has a nervous laugh in it, but she doesn’t look angry or put off.
“Well, I can fix that any time—after Jenny’s bedtime, of course. So it doesn’t bother you?”
She shakes her head, smiling a little. “Not so much. You’re so careful around your daughter that it doesn’t exactly make me worry you’re some reckless pothead who is endangering her. Besides, the local cops respect you.”
“Yeah, well, they had better. That fancy new body armor they have came out of my pocket.” I go back to turn the chicken again, letting it sit longer on each side now that it has seared. “So my question for you is, is the PTSD from your sister, or is it from something else?”
“A mix, probably,” she admits in a soft, sad tone that gets me in the gut. “My sister made my childhood rough, and then made my adulthood even rougher after we lost our parents. But that’s not why I went through so much therapy in the last year, no.”
“You feel like telling me what happened?” I coax, not quite using my command tone. She has baggage, and I need to make sure it’s not the kind that will cause trouble for me or for my daughter. I’ll help her either way, but since I crave her in my arms so much, I need to make sure.
Then she tells me. The car bomb that took her parents—and almost killed her, too. I hadn’t made the connection between last year’s explosion in the Garden District, but now I do the math.
Unstable sister. Unknown, uncaught bomber. Murdered parents. Broken faith. Now I just want to hold her so I can drown out all this crazy shit she’s been dealing with.
Instead, still treading carefully, I finish fixing her lunch.
“You know, one of the priests I talked to yelled at me for giving up after I woke up in the hospital. He told me I damned myself.” She sips her jasmine tea and watches me bring over the sandwiches: chicken on toasted baguette with Dijon sauce, Roma tomatoes, and lettuce.
“Priests are as likely as anyone else to be complete tools, honey. He hadn’t been there. He had no idea what it’s like to have someone die right in front of you, especially someone that you loved for a long time.” I settle into my seat.
She looks up at me. “But you do.” It’s not a question.
I think of the water rushing around me as I smashed the window of Mary’s sedan to free my tiny daughter from the rapidly flooding car. I managed it somehow, her coughing and crying the whole time, and got her to the rescuers on shore.
But when I went back for Mary, she fought me. She wanted to sink with that car. I have a long, faint scar on my arm, almost three years old, where she slashed it open with a twisted bit of metal to keep from being dragged free.
“Yeah,” I mutter quietly. “Jenny’s mother, she, uh ... well, she killed herself. Drove her car off a pier with her and Jenny in it. I was right behind them. Thank God, because I managed to get Jenny out. But Mary was gone.”
She gasps, and then nods, lips pressed together and her eyes brimming. “You do know, then. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.” My throat is tight suddenly, and I have to look away for a moment. “Look, whatever happens with your sister, I promise you that you’re not facing it alone anymore.”
She looks at me like I hung the moon, and suddenly the savory-smelling sandwiches can’t keep my interest. “That means so much to me, Carl. I’m just sorry we had to meet in such bad circumstances.”
“Yeah, well, better that than not meet at all.” My cock aches and throbs inside my jeans, and I feel the familiar craving for her softly curving body rise up to overwhelm me again.
I don’t know which of us gets up first, but we meet halfway around the table and seize hold of each other. She clings to me like a mast in a storm and offers her mouth, eyes bright and hooded. I kiss her fiercely, until she goes a little limp in my arms.
“Push my limits, please,” she whispers against my mouth. “I know you’ll be careful with me.”
Ungh. Now I’m so turned on that I can barely see straight. “All right. But I want to hear you tell me to stop if that is what you need. If you can’t speak, slap my arm three times. Do you understand me?”
There’s no time to negotiate much, but I’m damned well negotiating limits and safe words. I don’t play without them.
She stands there, frozen. I lift an eyebrow and slide my hand from her side over the mound of her breast, finding her erect nipple through the soft green fabric. I stroke it sharply, and she gasps. “Y-yes,” she answers, and I nod, satisfied.
“Then let’s go upstairs.” I scoop her into my arms and chuckle as she gasps again.
Chapter 8
Emmeline
I freeze up inside for a moment as he scoops me into his arms. It’s something new, and a little risky, and my stomach flutters with nerves. But my choices are pretty clear: stop and stay in my comfort zone, or trust him, step out of it, and fulfill these cravings that I barely understand.
I choose the latter, and he takes me up the stairs, my heart pounding wildly as I struggle against what almost feels like stage fright. Except that instead of getting up in front of a public speaking class, I’m trying to lose my virginity—to a great guy, I might add. I can’t afford to let my anxiety or inexperience get in the way.
Except ... it’s more than that. Shayla’s voice hisses at me from my memories, darkly amused at my self-consciousness. Once he sees the width of your ass under that skirt, he’s gonna throw you back down the stairs, you fat slut.
No. Stop it. Stop. I shudder and cling to Carl harder, burying my face in his chest, feeling his heart beat strongly against my cheek. He holds me closer. He’s into this.
Suddenly I get angry—really angry. My shitty sister isn’t even here and she’s still messing up my life. Fuck Shayla. She thinks any ass is huge because she doesn’t have one.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” he rumbles softly in my ear as he reaches the top landing. I can hear mild concern in his voice.
“Um.” I don’t want to admit how nervous I am, or why. It’s embarrassing. But then again ... if I don’t tell him, he might think it’s him I have a problem with. Or sex.
“I ... I’ve never been naked in front of anyone before,” I finally admit.
He blinks down at me, and then smiles slowly. “Well, believe it or not, pretty much everybody is self-conscious about their first time, baby girl. Even me.”
I stare. “Even you? But you’re so ...”
He laughs as he carries me down the wide, breezy hall into a master bedroom three times the size of my own. The dark, polished wood floor, beams, and furniture stand out against the pale plaster walls and ceiling. His low, broad bed is covered with a velvet coverlet of deep green.
“You think I was this confident at sixteen? Nope. You earn it, every bit of it.” He carries me over to a dressing mirror next to his wardrobe and sets me gently on my feet. “Lucky for you, I’m here to help.”
He leans over my shoulder from behind and kisses me, his mouth teasing mine. He lingers for only a moment before he strips off his flannel shirt and tosses it aside. I stand there facing my reflection, but watching his in the mirror.
“It’s funny. I’ve been dreaming about seeing your body for months, but here you are shy abo
ut it and hiding in all these clothes.” He runs his hands down my sides and over my hips, and I shiver at the soft pressure.
His hands seem to radiate heat as they slide over me, caressing me through my clothes. He takes my face in his hand and gently turns my head to face my reflection. “Look,” he murmurs in my ear. “Let me show you how I see you.”
I look at myself in the mirror as his hands slide over me, and my gaze reluctantly trails from the path of his fingers to the body he’s caressing. The body I almost concealed under a nun’s habit, forever safe from scrutiny or criticism.
He reaches around me from behind and slides his hands over my shoulders. “Step out of your shoes, dear.”
I do, wiggling my toes in relief. He kicks the pumps gently aside and reaches around to start slowly unbuttoning my blouse. His breath stirs the hairs on the back of my neck ... and then his lips start caressing my skin.
I see my eyes widen in the mirror, and then hood. My head droops to the side, everything leaving my mind but the warm caresses of his mouth on me. His nimble fingers tug each little pearl button free of its hole; between each one he dips his fingertips into the gap in the fabric and spreads it wider.
“Now seriously, sweetheart,” he purrs in my ear, “do you really see anything here that’s not to like? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
I meet my own eyes in the mirror as he unbuttons my blouse and slides his hands inside to rub and knead my breasts. His thumb does that teasing little back-and-forth across my nipple, and I see myself smile and toss my head slightly with pleasure.
He slides the open blouse off my shoulders, and I look at the smooth skin and dark, lacy bra he reveals. I suck air in through my teeth, my nerves threatening again. I feel so vulnerable, just standing there. But then I catch the look on his face, and the feeling starts to fade.
His eyes are wide with delighted fascination, and he cups my breasts reverently, like they’re treasures. When he bends to kiss my neck again, he lets out a hungry little growl that excites me more than anything he’s done to my body so far. This body, which I’m familiar with to the point of contempt, but that he desires.
His hands fumble at the belt of my skirt. I hesitate, my stomach getting jumpy ... and then steel myself. I shimmy my hips a little to help him pull the cloth down over them, and he grunts with pleasure as my ass bumps against his crotch. It actually makes me smile a little. Well, guess he doesn’t think my ass is too big.
My skirt hits the floor along with my half-slip, and his hands immediately slide down to cup the cheeks of my ass and knead them firmly. “Your body is fucking amazing,” he growls in my ear, “and I won’t hear anything else about it.”
He sets his teeth against my shoulder, nibbling his way across it and over the back of my neck. His powerful hands caress me roughly, deliciously, moving around and over my hips, up my belly, until finally he cups my breasts through the lace again and starts stroking them.
He uses the scratchy lace and the thin silk beneath artfully, teasing my nipples as I squirm and moan. His mouth runs down the top of my spine, until finally he reaches my bra clasp—and opens it with his teeth. I gasp, and then hurriedly slide the straps off my shoulders so he can pull it off me.
My gasp becomes a low moan as he tosses the bra away and starts rubbing and teasing my bare skin. Every time he touches my nipples it sends electric shocks straight down to my aching cunt. My whole body feels awakened ... and full of longing I don’t understand.
My hips circle reflexively as he strokes me and nibbles at my neck, bumping my ass against his crotch until he groans and starts grinding back against me. I feel his erection rub against my ass cheeks, barely caged by fabric.
My eyelashes flutter, and I’m panting and whimpering in his arms while my hands pluck impatiently at the hip straps of my panties. I wiggle out of them and kick them away into the dark.
“It feels so good,” I whimper. My knees are buckling, and my eyes slide closed with pleasure. He scoops me up again and carries me to his bed. The coverlet is silky against my back and makes me tingle more as I slide onto it.
I look up to see him staring down at me fiercely as he unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down. His cock gleams like it’s been polished as it springs up against his belly from a nest of golden hair. I wonder if he’ll thrust into me right away—and then cry out in surprise as he lunges forward to pin me against the bed.
His cock slides against my thigh as he dives for one of my breasts instead, growling softly as he takes my nipple into his mouth. He starts to lick it in long strokes—and I shake, pressing it eagerly against his lips, wanting more.
The first hard suck forces me to muffle a scream against the nearest pillow. It’s too much pleasure—so much that it almost scares me. I squirm and cry, even as my arms and legs wrap around him eagerly. I edge closer to telling him to stop with each long pull, my heart pounding so hard ...
“Oh! Oh, oh, too much ... too good,” I sob, and he backs off, looking down at me as he licks his lips.
“You think you can be a good girl and take it for me?” he rumbles in a voice that makes my cunt ache even harder. “I’ve got a treat for you if you do.”
I run my thigh against the shaft of his cock and feel him shiver. I take a deep breath. “O-okay.” For him, I’d do anything.
Seconds later I have to bite back screams. He’s pinning me down. His huge hands circle my wrists, his thighs pin my legs, and even though my body fights reflexively from overloaded nerves, I don’t tell him to stop.
I moan and stretch against him, stunned by how good it feels, my toes clenched and my feet sliding rhythmically against the coverlet. My legs are tangled up with him, and every now and again I feel him thrust impatiently against my thigh. His mouth is so hot that it feels like it will burn me, but I can’t stop pressing my breasts against his face.
When he lets go of my wrists, I can’t control my hands. They’re in his hair, clutching his shoulders, grabbing the coverlet. His mouth lifts away from my breast and moves to my other, while one big hand grips my whole vulva and starts kneading it. He’s gentle at first, but as I rock against him insistently, he pushes harder
My whole body burns with pleasure. I can hear my voice rising to soft yelps as tingles start to wash outward through my body with every press of his hand against my pussy. Then he pushes down harder—and holds his hand there as he starts teasing my breasts with his mouth again.
My hips rock against his palm as much as I’m able with his weight holding me down, pushing the top of my sex against him, where it aches the most for contact. My thighs part further ... and then he shifts his grip and I feel something sleek and hard pressing into me.
We both gasp and shudder as he inches forward. It hurts, but only from the unfamiliarity of being stretched open. I dig my heels against the back of his calves and my fingertips into his shoulders, and push back as he sinks in deep.
“O-ohh, God,” he groans, belly flexing against mine as I twine my legs around him. He holds himself still, panting and shivering as his hand keeps working my sensitive flesh. I manage to look up just once as he leans over me—and see his eyes wide open, as if he’s about to start screaming himself.
I writhe and buck under him as his hips press lower and he groans through his teeth. I can’t stop moving now. Something’s building inside me as heat and tension gather between my thighs.
Suddenly the ache turns into bliss, blowing through my body in waves that nearly white out my mind. I let out a high sound through gritted teeth, and feel him start to thrust hard as my flesh clenches around his shaft. I push hard enough to lift him a little—and a second explosion rolls through me right on the heels of the first.
He seizes my hips and pulls me closer, pounding into me feverishly, his eyes wild, his voice growing louder and hoarser with every sharp cry he lets out.
I sob against his shoulder, overwhelmed and blissed out all at once ... and then he shouts twice and lets out a long, purring groan as he stre
tches over me. His hips start to roll slowly and sensually ... and I feel a rush of warmth inside of me. He lets out a contented rumble and settles over me slowly.
He catches himself on his hands, shivering and gasping for breath. I caress his back, crooning wordlessly, and he settles his head on my shoulder. “Good girl,” he whispers hoarsely.
I open my eyes from a doze a little later and find myself in his arms, the coverlet wrapped around us and my head pillowed on his bicep. “Did I prove my point?” he murmurs sleepily, nuzzling my hair.
I giggle giddily, too relaxed from satisfaction to feel self-conscious. “Yes,” I murmur. “Yes, you did.”
Chapter 10
Carl
“What do you mean, they’re dropping the abuse investigation against Shayla Lacroix?” It’s all I can do to keep my voice low and calm. “There are witnesses—”
“There are witnesses to just one incident, man,” Jamie corrects quietly. “That’s the start of a case. But we can’t go forward until we have more.” He hesitates, and the length of the hesitation as he lingers over his beer catches my attention.
I shake my head. I’ve spent the last two weeks caring for Emmeline, drying her post-nightmare tears and coaxing her out of her shell. The sex has been spectacular ... but it’s still pretty light on the spices.
Emmeline isn’t going to be ready for any real kind of submission training until that bitch Shayla is out of her life for good and she’s settled her head about both her abusive relationship with her sister and the murder of her parents. And the police have suddenly stopped doing their damn jobs.
“Jamie. In the past ten minutes you have told me that the investigation of Emmeline’s parents’ murder has been dropped due to lack of evidence, the investigation of her abuse has been dropped due to lack of evidence, and now they’re calling off the investigation of the guy who showed up at Emmeline’s doorstep. You want to tell me what the hell is going on?”
He tenses and glances around in an odd way. I frown and follow his gaze. He almost looks like he’s worried about someone listening in. But the other patrons in this dark Irish pub are more worried about their lunchtime beers than us. “I’m not at liberty to say, which sucks.”
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