by Lana Lachlan
Anna screamed at the pain, tried to pull herself forward over the arm to get away but he held her down and squeezed again, this time harder. Anna panted as the pain dug into her flesh, but there was excitement as well. Oh God, there was so much excitement.
Anna scrunched her eyes shut to take his first slap. He spanked her long and hard and with every blow, she cried at the agony. On and on he went and when he finally stopped, Anna felt as if her bottom had burst into flames. She wished desperately to rub her butt to relieve the burn, but he’d started again. On top of last night’s bruises, the pain was excruciating and when he fisted her ponytail to hold her vice-like for his hardest slaps yet, Anna sobbed and lay limp, too weak to scream any more.
Throughout, he hadn’t spoken but Anna didn’t need him to tell her he was preparing her for sex… for fucking. Never had she dreamed that having her bottom spanked could be so arousing nor had she ever thought of sex as fucking as it always sounded so crude. Yet here she was, being spanked and about to be fucked like he had the sex worker only a handful of minutes ago. She was nothing but a body to be used and discarded. It should repulse her yet it made her want the whole dirty act even more than last night.
She felt her thong being dragged down her legs, felt his huge hand curling around her thigh and a thick finger push inside her sex. Only then did he make a sound and that was merely a grunt as he crudely rubbed her wetness around her inner thighs.
She felt his hand leave her, presumably to push down his jeans and those white boxers that she’d never forget for the rest of her life. Then she felt his knee edging her legs apart and his hips against her backside. Anna whimpered in need at the feel of his penis breaching her sex. Even half inside, she puffed at the uncomfortable but thrilling stretch.
He began to pump her further open, and Anna, greedy for the pain of his entry, ground her hips back.
“Steady, girl. You’re only a little thing.”
He paused, shifted his weight a little and then she felt his hand on her thigh before he slapped her exactly at the point when he shoved all the way in.
Anna reared up at the double ecstasy only to be pushed down again and held firmly against the sofa arm. He settled into a relentless rhythm of deep thrusts, shifting her hips every so often to keep her in position, his animalistic grunts and her puffs the only sounds breaking the silence of the vast loft. With her face in the sofa seat, her butt high in the air and her feet jerked off the floor with every drive, she felt sleazy and cheap and utterly powerless but dear Lord, it felt so good. He had her so expanded, she could feel the shaft kneading both her G-spot and clit, taking her close to climax. She had zero control, zero desire to have control and seconds later when her body rewarded her suffering with the most powerful orgasm she’d ever known, Anna could only sob her delight.
He stopped on a groan and Anna felt his ejaculate spurt deep. Even after he’d finished, he remained inside, his fingers splayed around her hips, holding her captive as though reluctant to let her go.
When he finally left her, he rested a hand on her back. “Stay where you are.”
Anna peeped over her shoulder to see him slip on his jeans before disappearing into the bathroom. Lying over the sofa arm with her sex exposed and utterly ashamed of herself, Anna moved to stand up when she heard his deep growl coming toward her.
“I said don’t move.”
He rubbed something cool over her butt. “Arnica cream to help with the bruises.”
It soothed the fire although it did nothing for her self-disgust. And, as if to complete her humiliation, he patted her butt like she’d been a good girl.
“Now that that’s out of the way,” he said, pulling up her thong. “It’s time to talk.”
On shaky legs, Anna stood up, primly straightened her skirt and then fell on the sofa as her legs gave way. With him standing over her, she felt at a disadvantage, something she only ever felt with Grandmama and sometimes with Julian when he got stubborn, like he had over the wedding date. Everyone else she treated with cool, calm confidence. She was, after all, a Cabot.
He dragged an old armchair close to the sofa, sat down and handed her a rag that might have once been a handkerchief. “Here, take this.”
Surely he didn’t want her to use it down there? “I’m fine.”
“Dry your eyes, girl.”
Amazed that he even cared about her tears, she accepted the offering and made a show of dabbing her cheeks before hastily dropping it on the sofa seat.
“First off, who are you?”
“You know who I am, you unspeakable…”
She couldn’t think of an insult she hadn’t used.
“If you start with the name-calling again, I’ll toss you out and you won’t get whatever you came here for. Now, who are you?”
“Annaliesa Cabot,” she told him sullenly.
A frown hovered over his eyes. “Are you one of the Cabots?”
“Yes.”
He blew a breath. “That explains a lot. So you lost your fancy purse. Go buy another one.”
Anna shook her head in exasperation. “As you very well know, it has something valuable inside.”
“Actually, I don’t. Tell me.”
If this was an act, he had it down pat. “My engagement ring.”
His brow lifted in surprise. “So the little princess has been fucking away from home. Am I the only one, Annaliesa Cabot?”
“Yes… no, I mean yes you are the only one.”
Was that a grin of satisfaction?
“That’s beside the point, you doofus,” she nipped, knowing she’d be pushing her luck with the insult. “And just so you know, everyone calls me Anna, except for Grandmama, but she’s seventy-five and the family matriarch and refuses to use nicknames and abbreviations. And while we’re on the subject of names, is Gage your first or last name?”
Her blabber earned her a lazy grin. “Either or.” He relaxed back in his armchair and did a man spread. Anna, still stuck in idiot-mode, stared at his crotch, unable to contain the sexual ache threatening to derail her again. When she managed to force her eyes back home, he winked.
“You wanna go another round, Ms. Cabot?”
“Mr. Gage, or should I say, Mr. Blackmailer,” she began with hot cheeks. “Barely an hour ago, you sent me an email with the intention of extorting money from me. So how much do you want?”
He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Well now, I’ll have to think about that.”
Desperately needing this over with, Anna made her offer. “I’ll pay you five-hundred-thousand although it will take a few days as I’ll have to find a convincing explanation for my trust fund manager.”
“I see. That’s a lot of money.”
“Of course it is, you cretin.”
He shifted forward in his chair. “I warned you, missy. One more and you’re out. You got that?”
When she didn’t answer, he half got to his feet before Anna hurriedly nodded. “Yes.”
He settled back. “Good. You’ve been playing away from home and it’s gotten you into trouble, I get that. But even rich brats need to learn respect. Now if your royal highness will show me the email, I’ll take a look.”
Grudgingly, Anna gave him her phone. He looked it over, handed it back. “One of the three men from last night is named Sutton. That’s the only name I heard. They may have swung a U-turn to follow me… saw me carrying you into this building. They were pretty pissed at losing you.”
“I suppose that could have happened,” she admitted.
“Who were you with at the club?”
“My friend, Cristal, but I’ve known her all my life. Anyway, she left before me with her ex-boyfriend. I was supposed to get a cab but well… you know what happened.”
“So that leaves Sutton. He wasn’t the driver so the limo may not be his. I’ll get someone to run the plates all the same.”
Surprised that he could do that, she asked, “Is it legal?”
He shrugged. “You want your purse b
ack, don’t you?”
So many things about him were bad for her. Within minutes of coming here, she’d tumbled into sex with her enemy and in doing so, had given him the advantage. If he really was the blackmailer and this was all a sham, he could now do whatever he wanted with her life—go to her family for more money or leak everything to the press. There was nothing to be done but trust him.
She nodded, aware she could be making the biggest mistake of her young life.
He stood up. “Right then. What’s your cell number so I can contact you?”
“My phone was in my purse so I had to get a new phone and number.”
“Let’s have it.”
While Anna retrieved her phone, he started for the open kitchen giving her a breathtaking view of masculine back and the tightest buns she’d ever seen. His back tattoos were mostly black in color and very intricate and it was hard to tell what they represented without a closer inspection. Interesting all the same and quite beautiful even though she didn’t approve of people covering their bodies with pictures. But this man wore his tattoos like they belonged on him.
Standing, she felt his cum seeping into her thong. Hastily, she shoved her skirt between her legs to dry herself while checking to see if she’d messed his sofa. Hard to tell with all the beer stains. Following him to the kitchen, she wrote her number on the greasy pizza box lid while he poured himself coffee from a machine that looked as old as it was dirty.
“Don’t you ever clean this place?” she sniped, looking around for something to wipe her hands on.
“Are you offering?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned. “I guess you’ve never been near a kitchen.”
“We have a chef,” Anna pointed out tartly. “Although sometimes I microwave things in my apartment when I’m home.”
“That must be an effort.”
Anna teetered on the edge of calling him another name then thought twice about taking the risk. “Text me when you have news, Mr. Gage.”
When she turned toward the door, she felt his hand on her butt and though she hated his insolence, her body simmered to the touch.
He squeezed a little, making her gasp. “Now remember to put the cream on your bottom tonight. Works great.”
In fury, Anna spun a circle to face him. “Do you spank your prostitutes, you big ass?”
No smack but she still held her breath.
“Pros, Ms. Cabot, know what they’re doing.”
Anna had no idea what he meant by that, but it sounded like another insult. So what? She had no intention of returning to this hole ever again and soon it would be all over and that would be that. With her nose high, she flounced across the loft, her wedges making so much noise, Axel whined.
She heard Gage chuckle as she slid back the door. “Have a nice afternoon, ma’am.”
Anna stepped into the elevator, only too aware that her afternoon would be anything but nice.
Chapter 3
“Boss, you gonna get in the ring or stand there playing with your dick?”
“Give me a minute.”
The trouble with ice princesses is they got in the way of a man’s work. Monday through Saturday, he spent afternoons training boxers at Cutter’s Gym and Tuesday through Saturday, he kept the peace at the Fortune Club although after her visit yesterday, his mind hadn’t been on either. And it wasn’t her blackmail problem that had him distracted so much as her. He’d enjoyed her far too much, so much so, that he’d caught himself daydreaming crazy thoughts about having her again.
He’d Googled her name, found she was the daughter of Robert Cabot and stood to inherit a mountain of money. Her fiancé was some pompous-looking ass by the name of Julian Frankland the third and they’d be married on July fifteenth. Not that he cared one way or the other about the princess’ love life but he found it an interesting choice for a husband. The girl’s spanking had probably been her first and if Frankland the third’s stiff face was anything to go by, it would be her last.
He’d also followed up on his offer to locate the owner of the limo. Within an hour of her leaving his loft, Gage had called one of his middleweights who knew someone who knew someone who worked in police records. He had the limo owner’s name in five minutes but getting Sutton’s details had taken longer and it wasn’t good news. Blake Sutton, wealthy trader and all-round douchebag, had a history of harassing women. There’d be no holding back on that right hook if Sutton showed his face at the club again.
“Boss!”
With a sigh, he slipped on focus mitts and climbed between the ropes to face heavyweight Bayfield Bullock, also known as The Bull, and the biggest and meanest boxer he’d ever trained. Few boxers were prepared to spar with Bullock, not only because of his size and attitude but because he had a habit of getting carried away and overhitting. People ended up on the canvas before they knew it.
Bullock started skipping around, slapping his gloves together. “What’s on your mind, Boss? Haven’t ever seen you not ready.”
Before Gage could bring his hands up to take the fighter’s first punch to the mitts, Bullock playfully jabbed him in the gut.
“Prick,” Gage wheezed before delivering a sharp, satisfying uppercut to Bullock’s jaw.
Despite Bullock wearing a head guard, the punch still sent him staggering back against the ropes, rocking back and forth while he steadied himself. “Damn, you can punch, big guy.” He rubbed his jaw with a glove. “You should be back in the ring, fighting. Why’d you give it up?”
“You know why.”
“But when you got out…”
Bullock stopped when Gage scowled. It wasn’t something Gage liked to talk about. Prison had taken far more than six years of his time. It had robbed him of his future… his chance to be a professional. He’d grown up in a rough neighborhood, his alcoholic father walking out on his mother when Gage was eight. From then on, it had been no money, feuding parents and a miserable mother who’d eventually died of a drug overdose soon after Gage’s thirteenth birthday. Left to bring himself up with a second cousin who didn’t want him, he’d mostly stayed out of trouble and in his last year of high school had been offered a college football scholarship. He’d started boxing as a way to harden himself but within weeks, his trainer had told him he was one of those rare gifted fighters who could go all the way. So he’d opted out of his college scholarship to work his way up through the heavyweight ranks, building his reputation knockout after knockout, working hard to perfect his skill and biding his time until he had the necessary physical maturity to go for the big one. Then at twenty-seven, prison had ended it all. He could start again but he’d lost the hunger to be a pro fighter and truthfully, he now enjoyed being on the outside of the ring, helping young guys get their start. He’d turned a corner in his life and all he wanted was peace and quiet without complications, especially the kind that involved princesses.
Bullock sent a flurry of hard jabs at Gage’s mitts. The boxer was a brawler by nature, but he’d need more than raw power against the speed and flair of the current champion.
“Get your left foot further back, Bullock. Your balance is off.”
Bullock wasn’t listening. The guy had his attention on the door.
“Listen up, fathead,” Gage snapped, then turned when he realized everyone in the gym had their eyes on the door.
What the hell? She stood in the doorway, clasping her little purse in front of her, all wide-eyed and chewing her lip. She wore a short blue sundress and a pair of white high heels with ankle straps. Gage knew every guy in the room would be staring at her legs. Hell, he stared at her legs.
He removed his mitts. “I’ll sort this.”
As he left the ring, she spotted him and smiled. He hadn’t seen her smile before and it felt as if the whole gym had flooded with sunlight. She really was something and way too dangerous for a man to risk dropping his guard.
“What are you doing here?”
She seemed nervous, understandably so with fifteen or so sweaty men staring at her as though their dreams had come true. The girl was more than beautiful and classy; she was straight out stunning with her long dark hair in glossy waves, her rosy cheeks and full mouth, which she now had in a pretty pout.
“I wanted to see you.”
“About what?” Gage barked.
She didn’t answer because her eyes were fixed firmly on Bullock’s dancing around the ring.
“You gonna introduce us to the little lady,” he heard someone yell from the back of the gym.
They were all grinning, no doubt wondering how he knew her and why a classy woman would come to a rough, men only gym in the industrial area of east New York, miles from her natural habitat.
Bullock’s distinctive guffaw boomed across the ring. “Yeah, Boss, where’d you meet her?”
“Get back to work, Bullock, or it’ll be an extra hour on the bag for you.”
“Fuck you,” he chuckled.
The guy was still chuckling when Gage gestured to a chair for the girl. “Sit while I change.”
She sat down and promptly crossed her legs. Christ, did she have to do that? Parked there like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, her hands folded in her lap and those pins on show. He doubted the princess even realized her effect on the men’s libidos or maybe she did since she’d started rearranging her skirt and it had gone up an inch.
After a warning glare at the men to be polite, he turned to the girl. “I’ll be back in five.”
By the time he’d changed out of his sweats into jeans, shirt and leather jacket and was back in the main gym, she had stationed herself in front of the ring to watch Bullock sparring with one of the younger heavyweights brave enough to get in the ring with him.
She bounced on her heels in excitement as Bullock floored the kid with a right cross. “Did you see that?”
Fuck Bullock for showing off. “Yeah, I saw. He’s doing it for your benefit.”
The girl’s bouncing had made one of the straps of her dress slip off her shoulder and with the dress being almost backless, it was obvious she didn’t have a bra on. It hadn’t gone unnoticed as several of the men were gawking. No prizes for guessing their thoughts.
