by Kaliana Cole
“Nice try, brat, but the shirt is staying where it is.”
Bailey refrained from stomping her foot as she sautéed the onions and crushed garlic in olive oil. She’d been trying to get his shirt off all week, but Jory didn’t do casual nudity, or even lay around shirtless watching TV. He locked the bathroom door, too. Did that speak of paranoia, or did he really know her well enough to suspect she might walk in on him? The lack of sleepwear on the washing line told her he did go naked at night. “It’s not fair. You have seen absolutely all of me, and you won’t even take your shirt off around me?”
The smug bastard just smiled and pushed the pile of picked leaves toward her. “The shirt is the last line of defense. It’s staying right where it is in case you burrow any farther under the first and second.”
She threw in the pork mince for browning. “What are they?”
“My self-control and my morals.”
“I don’t see what morals have to do with it, Jory. I’m a grown woman. Unattached and free.”
“I practically raised you, Bailey. If something went wrong, you didn’t run home to your mother. You ran to me. You still do,” he pointed out in exasperation. “For god’s sake, I bought your first pads when you were too embarrassed to talk to Grace. It’s wrong.”
Bailey wondered who he was trying to convince, her or himself? “People’s hearts grow with them, Jory. Love changes and grows.” She looked straight at him and raised her chin defiantly. “I’m not a little girl, and we are not related. Nothing stands in the way but your stubborn ass.”
She attacked the mince with a wooden spoon, violently smashing lumps that formed. Jory’s spluttering was music to her ears. She couldn’t rattle his tree very often, but it was rewarding as hell when she managed it. He threw his hands in the air and went upstairs. She hoped he didn’t see the victorious little smile that curled her lips. By launching a frontal assault on his moral compass, she had undermined his legendary self-control. Life was sweet.
Dinner promised to be slightly strained until Jory tasted the food. His groan of appreciation sounded downright orgasmic. Bailey’s new goal in life became to wring that sound from him with something other than her cooking. Hands, mouth, body—she didn’t care, she just wanted to hear it again. Repeatedly.
“This is amazing, Bailey. You’re right. Bought sauce just won’t cut it anymore. Have you got any more of this garlic bread?”
“It’s bruschetta, and yes I do.” It was a pleasure to cook for an appreciative man. Mark had just grunted and accepted it as his due. Jory made it all worthwhile.
A quick and easy modified tiramisu for dessert kept up the Italian theme. Jory ate two helpings before pushing back with a groan. “You’re going to have me fat as a pig in a week, Bailey. That was unbelievable. How come you’re not cooking in a restaurant?”
“I did for three years. I stopped when I was six months pregnant with Nathan. I started burning my belly on the stove, and kitchen hours don’t mix with motherhood, so I didn’t go back.” She stood and collected the plates with her eyes wide open to hold back tears that threatened whenever she thought of Nathan. She missed her son like crazy.
She could feel the weight of Jory’s gaze and knew she wasn’t fooling him. She was grateful when he let her walk away without questioning her tears. She stacked the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen, pulling herself together. When she returned, Jory had taken up position on the sofa instead of in the armchair he habitually sprawled in.
He patted the leather next to him. “I’m going to make you cry,” he said honestly. “Better if I start off holding you than having to change seats halfway through.” He even had tissues sitting in reach on the coffee table.
Bailey had been expecting this for the entire last week. It wasn’t like Jory to let sleeping dogs lie. She didn’t need to be told twice to sit down in his arms. She snuggled in beside him, tucking under his arm. Being upset was a small price to pay to be held in his embrace.
“Tell me what happened with Nathan, baby.” It wasn’t a question.
She sucked in a deep breath, exhaling noisily. “Mark and I had shared custody before the divorce was finalized. It was going well, or as well as it can with two people sharing a child, and then Mark moved his girlfriend in with him. She works from home, and Mark decided they could provide a better environment for Nathan than me putting him in day care four days a week to go to work. Things got a bit nasty, and Mark hired a PI to follow me. He found out I was going to Shivers and a couple of other clubs and confronted me when I went to pick up Nathan from his work.
“We had an altercation, and that gave him enough to take to the family court. He got me declared unfit, and I only get one supervised visit a month.” Tears welled despite her matter-of-fact voice, and Bailey let them flow free, hands gripping Jory’s arm where it wrapped her.
“You can fight it, love. An altercation and going to a D&S club isn’t enough to lose custody over.” Jory’s voice was deep and reassuring, but Bailey laughed mirthlessly.
“I wish there was a way around it. I’d do anything to have Nathan with me, but I laid Mark out in front of six witnesses, including a state judge, and was heard to tell him that he was a dickless wonder who wouldn’t know how to please a woman if his life depended on it.”
“That would do it.” Jory pulled her closer. She could feel his smile curve against her temple, but there wasn’t much warmth in it. “Was it a good hit?”
“It was fucking spectacular.”
“That’s my girl.” He reached over and plucked a tissue for her. “When is your next visit?”
Bailey dabbed the tears away and blew her nose inelegantly. “Not until the end of the month. I lost last month because I was in the hospital. It tears me up, I’m his mother and I’m missing so much of his life. Nathan is growing so fast now. I can’t believe he is off to school next year.”
“I’ll drive you down for your visit, if you like.”
“It’s a long way to go for a half day, Jory. I don’t expect you to do that.”
“I want to check out Shivers and a few of the other clubs there anyway. Andy was talking about going, but he would tread on too many jurisdictional toes. We might spend the night there.” A night away with Jory? She could do that.
“As long as I don’t have to beat off any skank-hoes calling you ‘master’ it will be fine.”
He chuckled. “Is that a real word?”
“It is now.”
“Fine, but you don’t get in there unless you’re collared and I’m holding the chain. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”
Bailey shivered at the thought of being collared and leashed. If it was anyone but Jory, it would have been a resounding ‘hell no’, but it was Jory. “So I get to be your slave for the night?”
“No, you’re all pet—you shouldn’t be allowed out without a keeper.” He did have a point there. “Have you finished being soggy?”
“As long as you don’t make me cry again.”
“Well, stick a movie on and get back here before I change my mind.”
Bailey found the longest movie she could and put it on. If Jory was letting her cuddle, she wanted every moment she could get.
She wasn’t a Lord of the Rings fan, but it just went on and on, perfect for her purposes. The problem was that Frodo had only just met up with the rather tasty-looking Viggo’s character and her eyes slid shut. The closing credits were scrolling down the screen when Jory roused her.
“That backfired, didn’t it, brat?”
An inarticulate grumble at being disturbed was all Bailey could manage. Did that man miss nothing?
“Go on. Get to bed. I’ll pack the dishes away.”
Bailey dragged herself up the stairs and into the spare bed. Knowing Jory slept on the other side of the wall was one hell of a temptation. She wished she’d thought to pack her vibrator—the noisy plug-in one. Jory wouldn’t have it in him to ignore that sound night after night. But tonight she was too tired to make him
listen to her sighs as she worked herself to orgasm as she had for the last three nights since her bandages had come off. Her clothes fell to the floor, and she slid between crisp cotton sheets and immediately into a coma-like sleep.
* * * *
It started out as a gentle sigh that had Jory reaching for a pillow to put over his ears. He hadn’t realized how thin the internal walls were in the cabin until he’d laid awake listening to Bailey get herself off in the adjoining room. He was sure she strung the performance out for his benefit—no one took that long to come at their own hand. But this sigh was followed by a moan that was not in any way linked to pleasure. Cries and thrashing had him springing from his bed. The nightmares he had expected had arrived.
He turned on her bedside lamp and knelt on the rug beside her solid timber bed. She thrashed wildly. Her head swung violently, and heartrending tears soaked her crumpled pillow. Her muffled cries of “no, no, no” seized his heart.
“Bailey! Wake up, baby. Everything is all right. Just open your eyes.” He put his hand on her quilt-covered back, trying to rouse her from the nightmare without giving her further reason to panic. Her midnight-blue eyes sprung open, but there was no one home behind them. Her hands flayed wildly at his head.
“Easy, Bailey. It’s me, baby. It’s Jory.” His voice reached out through the haze of panic. Awareness seeped into the tear-filled eyes. A broken cry erupted from her throat as she wrapped her arms around him. Jory enveloped her shaking form, holding her close. “I got you, baby. I got you.”
She buried her face against his shoulder, and her tears fell against his skin, running freely. Her whole body convulsed with the force of her sobs. “Don’t let me go,” she begged.
“I won’t baby, you’re safe now.” He kissed her hair and rested his chin on her head, waiting for the storm of her weeping to pass. Slowly she calmed. An occasional hitch and sniffle wracked her, but she was over the worst. Jory went to reach for a tissue, and she scrabbled at him desperately. “Just getting you a tissue, love. I’m not going anywhere.” He wiped her face, dabbing gently. “Lay back down. Good girl. Now roll over and I’ll hold you.”
He followed her beneath the quilt, pushing the sheet down between them to screen his groin. He hadn’t grabbed any shorts in his rush, and no matter how good his intentions, Bailey’s plush ass nestling against it was not something a cock could ignore. Not even an obedient one like his.
He had no idea she was naked until his chest met the bare, satiny skin of her back. And then it was too late.
She cozied up to him, bringing her body into flush alignment with his. It felt like a missing piece had been slid into place. She fit just right against him. Her head tucked in under his chin, her ass snugged into his groin. His top leg naturally followed the bend of hers, her lower inner thigh a silken pillow beneath his. His arm curled around her, refraining from cupping a full breast by the thinnest of margins. All the tension drained from her body. His, on the other hand, was on high alert, a hound sniffing the wind.
“Jory?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Can you leave the light on?” The catch in her voice said she was five years old again, while the lush, womanly body pressed against him sharply reminded him otherwise. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I’ll be right here in the morning.” Whether he would still have his sanity or not was a different story.
Bailey gave in to sleep quickly. Her slow, even breathing was easy to feel, pressed against him. Jory had no such luck. He decided that if he made it through to daybreak without molesting her he would qualify for sainthood. He brought his breathing and heart rate under control with some basic exercises, and sleep was starting to look like a real possibility.
And then she rolled over.
Her hand slid across his waist to splay on his back, and her silky thigh slipped in between his rough ones. Soft, full breasts pressed against his lower chest, and she snugged her hips against him. The hot kiss of her belly against his cock told him the sheet was gone. Only the fact that her breath still came deep and even made him hold his ground.
It was torture. Sweet, agonizing torture.
His cock was hard enough to pound nails. Every blood vessel in it throbbed with a life of its own, surging in erotic demand with the need for stimulation, but he ruthlessly stood fast. His control hung on by a thread as he employed every trick in his extensive repertoire to maintain it.
In order to master someone else, you first needed to master yourself.
Jory had thought his control was unshakable—the old, immovable object—but Bailey Verne was the irresistible force that shot it to hell.
The scent drifted up to him. It was so faint at first it was all but lost amid her floral shampoo and the ghostly, lingering traces of her perfume. The musky allure of feminine arousal. Jory closed his eyes and wondered what heinous crimes he had perpetrated in a former life to deserve suffering like this.
Whatever Bailey was dreaming now was no nightmare. She began to move against him, slow sultry movements, barely more than the tightening of supple muscles. Her large nipples furled and poked at the hard, flat plain of his chest. The perfume of her arousal filled the air, danced along his palate, and went to his head quicker than bad moonshine. The folds of her sex became slick and slid so easily against his hair-roughened thigh.
The hitch in her breathing was his only indication that she awoke. Her writhing never ceased, but nor did it escalate. “Jory?”
A grunt was all he could force past his clenched jaw.
She tipped her head back. Her lips skated up his neck and along the stubble on his jaw. “Make me feel good. Make me forget.”
He capitulated with a heartfelt groan. His lips seized hers roughly, slanting across them. He captured her moan of hunger and released one of his own. The clash of teeth on teeth pulled him up. Bailey had had enough rough for ten lifetimes.
He backed off, keeping his kiss deep but gentle, dipping and sliding. Her taste rocked his senses. Her body was all over him. Silken skin. Soft and feminine curves. Hungry hands. Her thigh hooked over his hip. The soft, wispy regrowth on her mound caressed his hip as she rocked against him.
“I’m all yours, baby. Take what you need.” Jory took his demons in hand and let her take the lead, relinquishing control like he never had before.
She ate at his mouth, nipped his lips, and licked softly into his undemanding kiss. Her hands caressed him, explored his lean strength, followed the furrow of his spine and clutched him close. His mirrored hers as they caressed the body he had seen so much of, exploring and savoring succulent fruit he had forbidden himself so long ago.
He knew he should stop. Knew it was wrong.
But if it was wrong, why did it feel so fucking right?
“I need you to take me. I don’t want to be in charge, Jory. Please.” Her plea spurred his lust, his resident demons exulting in her need to be dominated.
Jory rolled her to her back and braced his wide, lean body above her. He collected one hand, running his own down the length of her arm to trap it in his grip. He pinned it above her head before capturing the other and bringing it to meet its mate above the spill of golden curls.
He gathered her wrists in one big hand and looked into the dark pools of her eyes, dilated with need. “You sure this is what you want, baby? If you want sweet and gentle, you need to be in control. I can’t do that.”
“I don’t want sweet and gentle. I just want you.” Bailey arched beneath him, scraping his chest with the fiery tips of her breasts. “Please, Jory.”
The plea on her lips was more than he could take. This soft and submissive Bailey was a far cry from the ill-mannered hellion who teased and taunted and wouldn’t know “please” if it bit her on her saucy little ass.
The growl that rumbled from his chest was utterly feral, animalistic and wild. Fire lanced through his bloodstream, sending sparks of passion and glowing embers of carnal need to burn his mind as he blanketed her body. Hot, silken flesh
branded his senses as her thighs parted naturally to cradle his hips.
He gathered one of her thighs. Hooked his elbow beneath her knee and left her helplessly exposed to his mercy. “Look at me, Bailey. You keep looking right at me.” He moved his hips, grimacing as his cockhead butted with uncanny precision against her lubricious entrance. The slick flesh convulsed, sucking at him like a tiny mouth. Begging to be filled. Pleading to be plundered.
Staring into midnight indigo, he pushed into her molten cunt. A long, slow guide that went on and on, until he found her end a full inch before their pelvic bones clashed. He pinned her with his gaze and relentlessly continued, seeing her mouth part, hearing a fevered cry escape.
“Fucking perfect.” He watched her revel in the sharp-edged pleasure as he rolled their pelvises together and made her take every last hairbreadth of his throbbing shaft.
The roll of her hips intensified. The hot, slick pearl of her clit sought satisfaction furiously. The overriding need to dominate, to possess and conquer, had him lifting her leg higher, denying her purchase but sinking him infinitesimally deeper.
“You don’t come until I say so, brat. If you want me, you play by my rules.” He withdrew slowly before thrusting back in, his voice deepened and rough. “That’s the way. Take all of me, baby.”
Her pelvis tilted and pushed against his hold, striving to swallow every last bit he had to give. “Like a fucking glove,” he rasped, retreating, only to sink right back in.
Like a slow but devastating dance, she moved with him. Her breasts heaved as each thrust found her cervix and wrung a gasp from her throat. Her midnight gaze burned him with sheer sexual need, holding his even when his eyes dropped to watch the dance of her hard-pointed breasts. He looked into a need that matched his own and took them higher.
He felt the sweet clench of her flesh around his marauding cock and heard her cries of rising ecstasy. Lust clamored at his brain, screaming for satisfaction, for more fodder to feed his demons. His cock demanded more, always more, to sink inside her tight haven until they were both too sore to move and too exhausted to care. His self-control ceded some hard-won ground to the twin demons of lust and engorged flesh.
