Unchained

by Suzanne Halliday

  “Or what?”

  Whispering in her ear, he told her exactly what. She heard the words ass up. And something about how sexy it was when her legs shook as she came.

  Was it too late to tear their clothes off and start now?

  Shocked when she felt his hand slide inside the front of her panties, she melted down the second his fingers found their destination.

  Calder bit her earlobe and grunted. “Somebody likes it dirty.”

  He was correct about that. Having lived a mostly celibate life after her Daniel had died, she’d been mildly shocked at how quickly she became aroused when he took things to lewd and crude territory. If anyone else ever spoke to her like that, she’d probably smack them good. But hearing all that dirty talk coming from Calder? She was helpless in her response.

  No use in pretending—she widened her stance and wrapped her arms around his neck, hissing when his fingers slid into her body and then quickly whimpering as he hit all the right spots.

  “Look at me,” he growled demandingly.

  Slowly but surely stroking her with his fingers, Calder ground the palm of his hand on her sensitive clit while massaging her inner walls with lovely precision. With her clinging to his neck and her gaze focused solely on him, she surrendered to the pleasure and lost herself in a swift, pulsing orgasm.

  “You are fucking fantastic, Duchess,” he told her after withdrawing his fingers and patting her still trembling mound through her panties.

  Her only response was to kiss him slowly. Deeply. Passionately.

  On their way out of the house, she stopped to search her purse and the table where she kept her odds and ends for her phone. Why was the damn thing never where she thought it was?

  Leaving the house without it was out of the question. Calder kept close tabs on her whenever she left the Villa. Stephanie liked to tease him about his macho ways even though they both knew full well she gloried in his overprotective nature. And besides, she had a ton of resources on her phone she wanted to share with Betty and Cheryl. Starting with her ideas for a Mommy and Me event that would bring in all sorts of contacts and business for Stork Creations.

  “Honey, have you seen my phone?” she called out. Whirling around to see if he knew the whereabouts of her missing phone, she wobbled slightly as her head spun to catch up.

  “Whoa,” she muttered. She blindly reached for something, anything to grab.

  Calder was on top of her in a flash. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she choked out weakly. “Felt dizzy for a moment.”

  And then she gracefully slithered to the floor.

  Panic gripped him when all the color drained from Stephanie’s face, and she went limp as her body collapsed. He caught her long before hitting the floor was a possibility.

  Oh, dear lord. What was happening?

  Cradling his love, he carried her unconscious body to the sofa in the formal living room and carefully laid her down. Shoving a pillow beneath her feet to raise them above her heart, Calder replayed every first-aid course he’d ever taken in his mind searching for what to do.

  He didn’t know what the equivalent was for the phrase a Spanish angel of mercy, but that was who appeared to save the day.

  “Meester Calder,” he heard Carmen mutter. “What happened?”

  Meeting the housekeeper’s worried frown, he said, “I don’t know. One minute, we were getting ready to go out, and the next, she blacked out.”

  “Maldición!” Carmen swore as she bent over Stephanie’s lifeless form. “Run to the kitchen and bring back a wet towel. Órale!”

  Sprinting for the kitchen, he grabbed the first towel he found, turned on the faucet full blast, and wet it, as water splashed everywhere. Running back to the living room, Calder was relieved to see Carmen on an ottoman patting Stephanie’s hand.

  Handing her the towel, he dropped to his knee and took over squeezing his fiancée’s hand as the wise older woman gently swiped the cool, wet cloth across Stephanie’s forehead and up and down her cheeks.

  “What happened,” she asked in a small voice.

  “You passed out,” he told her, being careful to keep the worry from his voice.

  “Oh. Really?”

  Carmen pushed some stray hair from Stephanie’s face. “When did you eat last, Meesus Stephanie?”

  Had they eaten breakfast? Fuck. He was so rattled Calder couldn’t remember.

  Stephanie struggled to sit up, but both of them pressed her back.

  “Um, I had coffee earlier. And a nibble of toast. Haven’t been hungry.”

  Carmen’s critical frown didn’t do anything to alleviate his anxiety. How had he dropped the ball and not known she wasn’t feeling well?

  Carmen stood up and gave Stephanie a kind smile. “You stay put. I’ll heat up a scone with some honey butter.” And then she was gone.

  Calder kissed the hand he held so tightly. She turned her head and met his gaze. The color was back in her cheeks, and she looked fine. He took a deep breath and gave thanks.

  “Scared the shit out of me, Duchess. Don’t ever do that again.”

  Stephanie’s sweet smile calmed his frazzled nerves. Turning on her side, she lay still and held his gaze. “I love the way you take care of me.”

  Since he hadn’t picked up on her lack of appetite or the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day, he couldn’t do anything except frown with skepticism.

  Kissing her hand again, he silently vowed he’d do a better job from here on out. And he would too even if it meant tailing her like a private detective.

  DRAE WAS BUSY counting all the ways he was going to hell as Victoria rambled on and on, running around the kitchen in a frenzy of activity as she made him breakfast.

  To say she was on a manic high was missing the mark by half a mile.

  The second his eyes opened after the best sleep he’d had in ages, he’d known he was fucked. Something was digging into his hip, so he’d rolled to the side and searched until he found the coil of knotted shibari rope. He then realized the other piece was still wrapped around his wrist.

  Things didn’t improve after that.

  His wife, when she finally woke up, was a little too bright-eyed and agitated for his liking. To make matters worse, when she tried to get up from their bed, her wince and the trouble she had moving worried him that he’d gone way too far the previous night.

  When she came back from the bathroom, he watched her carefully feeling nothing but self-castigating dismay when he spied a clear set of his fingerprints bruising the delicate skin of her upper arm. And because that wasn’t enough to horrify him, the eye-boggling hickey resembling the state of New Jersey marring the skin on her neck and shoulder sealed his status as a king-size dick.

  None of that, however, prevented the wild man he’d kept under wraps for nine months from roaring with approval and urging him to take her again. And again.

  That was what he got for letting the beast out of its lair after depriving his primal self of his wife’s desire for so long.

  Climbing on him like a piece of playground equipment, Victoria wasted no time putting her morning bad girl first. Too late to wish he’d gotten out of bed before she jumped him; Drae waged a mighty internal battle.

  The wild man won. Hands down. And so easily he should really be ashamed.

  Handling her like a rag doll, Drae lifted her up and eased her delicious heat down onto his cock. Victoria was so tiny next to his size that he had no trouble taking control—lifting her up before bringing her down over and over as he forced his hungry cock inside her.

  Bucking with determined force each time he lowered her, he became swept up in the raw carnality of their coupling.

  Her eyes glazed with a powerful lust his body sought to satisfy. The sound of his name on her lips as she whimpered sweetly fired him up even more.

  He was massaging her tits, her arms hanging limply at her sides as she ground her gushing pussy on his cock, when she made things worse by hoarsely muttering, “I
love when you fuck me.”

  Dammit. Why did she have to say that? The wild man enjoyed her words a bit too much.

  A thousand filthy words came to mind, but thank god, he kept them bottled up. Didn’t mean his ravenous cock and neglected sex drive didn’t rise to the challenge, though.

  She wanted to be fucked? Fine. And he was just the man—the only man—to do it.

  Moving her legs, he showed her how to sit on her feet instead of her knees while he held her by the waist and penetrated her so deeply she threw back her head, clutched his arms, and groaned as a fresh flood of her arousal coated his dick.

  It was glorious.

  A rhythm built. Slowly at first until he was furiously thrusting up on every downward pull. She was like putty in his hands, accepting the ferocious fucking like only she could.

  Could he make her come on command?

  “Victoria,” he ground out. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel your pussy quiver.”

  She was magnificent. Completely at his mercy, he slammed her body onto his several times. Then it happened, and he was transfixed by the beauty of the moment. Her orgasm rose like a huge wave, bigger and bigger until her body tightened so much he cried out. Then the wave broke over the top of them, and she shook all over.

  His cock erupted with a fury, filling her with his seed. Jerking and pulsing, he felt every spurt and roared his pleasure into the quiet bedroom. She collapsed on his chest and shook uncontrollably for several long minutes.

  When he was finally able to lift her off, he knew for sure his one-way ticket to the gates of hell was guaranteed when she flinched, and he realized, belatedly, that she was now sporting some gnarly bruising where he’d gripped her waist.

  New fucking Jersey on her neck, his fingerprints on her arms, and a circle of pain from his demanding grip.

  And now here they were, acting as if nothing unusual had happened. Her insistence that she make breakfast was a red flag. But of what, he had no idea.

  Drae kept up his end of the bizarre breakfast interlude but downshifted to left-brain mode. More than a familiar comfort zone, it was where he did his best work. Blowing off the momentary worry that he was overthinking things, his rational mind went through a logical, orderly diagnostic review of the matter at hand.

  Watching his wife fly around the kitchen like a celebrity TV chef jacked up on way too much Red Bull as she went about throwing together a staggering menu of food, he struggled to make sense of her performance.

  Did he want coffee? Or Espresso? She could make either, she assured him with bright eyes and wringing hands.

  No to coffee? How about fresh squeezed orange juice.

  Ham, bacon, or sausage?

  Or no—wait. Steak and eggs. She could make him steak and eggs.

  In a sentence, she was all over the damn map.

  A big skillet on the stove sputtered with the sound of frying bacon. A pile of waffles, enough to feed a family of four, was stacked precariously on a platter next to what appeared to be a steaming bowl of his favorite potatoes and peppers.

  It wasn’t so much the questionable excess of the impromptu breakfast feast that grabbed his attention as it was the frenzied way she acted.

  Fawning over him as if he was a VIP, she raced around, trying to anticipate his every need until her feverish exertions shattered his calm.

  Angry with himself for everything from the Cuban missile crisis to the sinking of the Titanic, Drae felt singularly responsible for causing everything wrong in the world. And especially for putting his sweet Victoria through whatever fresh hell she was battling.

  Whatever it was, he thought without the shadow of a doubt, it was his fucking fault.

  Crushing uncertainty assailed his composure. What was he doing wrong? She was miserable if he was a gentleman and a hyped-up mental case when he wasn’t. Why the goddamn fuck wasn’t there a middle ground? He needed her. Badly. Needed it to be the way it was before … before pregnancy threw so much shit at them, they drowned under the weight of it.

  All of a sudden, she started to cry. And not a quiet boohoo. No. Not even close. Between one calm minute and the next, she erupted into wails of sobbing. It freaked him out so badly, Drae ejected from his seat and ran across the kitchen to her.

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” he ground out miserably.

  Before he could pull her into his arms, she threw up her hands and switched gears so fast he got whiplash. The emotional cries turned to waspish displeasure. Unloading a hellfire missile of female censure she yelled, “What is the matter with you? I mean seriously, Draegyn. What. The. Fuck.”

  Pushing him away, she stomped to the platter of waffles, picked it up, and hurled it into the trashcan.

  “Here I am bending over backward to make you happy, and you haven’t said a word. Nothing. What?” she demanded angrily. “I’m a shitty cook? Is that it?”

  What? Drae shook his head and grimaced. “Victoria,” he pleaded with what he hoped sounded like sensibility. “Honey,” he said with half a smile, but she wasn’t having it.

  “You know, I just don’t get it. What am I doing wrong?”

  What was she doing wrong? Wait a minute. Wasn’t that the same question he’d been asking of himself?

  “I can’t keep up with your mood swings.”

  Okay. This was a joke, right? She was accusing him of being the one with the mood swings?

  His wife was on fire—unloading on him with both guns in a mash-up of crazy misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and off-the-charts moodiness.

  She turned the stove off and slammed a lid on the pan of bacon. The frenzy of activity picked up again despite the angry tears. Tearing apart a deep drawer overflowing with storage containers, she proceeded to save the potatoes while heatedly rambling on and on.

  “You know, I get the whole taking it easy while pregnant thing. But I really thought once the baby came and I wasn’t half a hippo, things would get back to normal.”

  He wondered if this was what an epidural felt like because with every word she bit out, he felt a slow, cold drip feeding his nervous system and leaving him numb. From panic.

  Tossing pots and pans around with a fury he found alarming, Drae kept looking for an opening so he could step in and maybe calm her down. But she was on a roll, and he was barely bringing up the rear as she plowed ahead.

  “But no!” she snapped bitterly. “Then all that crap with Daniel’s birth and well, you know.”

  Now see, he thought. Here’s the thing. He didn’t know, and that was what the real problem was.

  After wiping down the counter, she tossed the towel aside, slammed her hands on her waist, and met his gaze full on. He nearly broke down blubbering like a baby at the sight her tears made, rolling in twin rivers down her cheeks. A crying Victoria was too much for him to handle.

  “And now,” she accused with a sneer filled with the sound of her pain, “it’s been months of Mister Nice Guy, Mister No Sex Without a Condom who, quite frankly, Draegyn, is a complete stranger. That’s not who I married.”

  She eyed him first with something that felt like desire but quickly vanished under a wave of apathy.

  “You’re making me crazy with all the nicey-nice, and you know it. So last night, I figured it was time to take back our sex life.”

  He winced. Oh, Jesus.

  Should he have kept his mouth shut? Yeah, probably. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  Her head whipped back as if he’d struck her. Oh, my god. No. He said that wrong. Wait.

  “Sorry for what, exactly? Sorry that I tied you up and took advantage? Sorry that you fucked me without protection? Sorry that you’re stuck with me? Which one?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But that’s what you said.”

  “Victoria,” he pleaded. “I love you. Let’s just calm down and talk about this.”

  “I never said anything about love, Draegyn.”

  Uh-oh. He didn’t like how that sounded. Or felt.

  “
I know you love your son. And I know you love the idea of us being a family. I guess”—she shrugged—“that’s a powerful form of love.”

  It was his turn to react as if he’d been slapped. What was she saying?

  With a sadness in her voice that he felt straight through to the marrow of his bones, she murmured, “This isn’t working. It’s making me crazy.” When she placed her hands over her heart, it crushed him to see the anguish he was causing.

  “I can’t do hot and cold, Draegyn And I can’t take the way you pick apart what I’m doing like I’m a Tinkertoy.”

  Well, he’d certainly fucked this up.

  “What do you want, Draegyn? Just tell me what’s going on in that steel trap mind of yours. I can deal with it.”

  Oh, fuck no, she couldn’t. Hell. He barely could. One of them was a freefalling mess, or maybe both of them were.

  He wanted his wife and family, but he couldn’t reconcile that need with the complications his wild man brought to the table. Protecting Victoria and Daniel from his selfish ways and the darkness he sometimes felt was his only thought.

  “You’re my wife. I love you. But you’re right. We’ve got some things to work out.”

  She didn’t look relieved in any way by what he said.

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  He hesitated. And then came to a decision. They needed a break before things got even worse.

  “I think we should take off for the weekend. Just you and me. Daniel has more family in this compound than either of us had growing up. He’ll be fine.”

  He softened his voice, tried to reach for her, but she evaded his touch.

  “You’re my priority, honey. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

  The look she gave him was not the loving gaze he’d hoped for and a quick assessment of her body language and the glacier he saw forming in her eyes let him know some part, but he wasn’t sure exactly what, of what he’d said had ticked her off.

  Whatever it was, she kept it to herself.

  “Fine.” She sniffed. “I’ll make a reservation. Lacey suggested we check out her and Cam’s favorite hotel in Vegas.”