by BETH KERY
“You’ve never done this before, right?” he asked.
“No.”
He continued to caress her in the silence that followed. He molded a buttock to his palm.
“It’ll sting a little. But I’m not doing it to cause you pain.”
“Why are you doing it, then?” The words popped out of her throat in a rush.
“Because it turns me on. A hell of a lot. And I have good reason to believe it’ll turn you on too. I want to make you burn with me, Angel.”
Before she could respond, he smacked the paddle against the ass cheek he wasn’t caressing. A cry of surprise popped out of her mouth. He was right—it didn’t hurt, but the crack of leather against skin sent a jolt of excitement through her pussy. She went very still when he lifted the paddle, expecting another spank.
Instead, he softly rubbed the tingling flesh.
Then he paddled her again. And again.
Once she became used to the fact that the paddle didn’t cause her pain, but increased her excitement exponentially, she found herself raising her hips slightly, offering up her bottom to Alex’s paddle. She grew so frantic with excitement that she could feel the air tickling the wet tissues between her spread thighs. She squirmed as much as the taut ankle restraints would allow her, desperate to get friction on her pussy.
Alex paddled her a tad more forcefully and she went still, panting next to the mattress.
“Keep still, beautiful.”
Angeline continued to pant heavily. She heard how thick his deep voice was with arousal. He liked paddling her while she was restrained.
He liked it a lot.
The realization made her a little crazy. She gave a low growl of thwarted desire, lifted her tingling fanny and wiggled it.
She knew very well it was the equivalent of taunting a bull with a bright red flag.
If she thought she’d understood the consequences, she’d thought wrong.
Alex caught her hips from below, keeping her from lowering her ass. She cried out in surprise when he cracked her elevated bottom several times with the paddle. Whap. Whap. Whap.
A surge of animal lust went through her. She continued to wriggle beneath Alex’s paddle, but he didn’t seem to mind the moving target. By the time he gave a low, ominous growl and tossed the paddle onto the bed, Angeline’s ass felt hot and prickly. The delicious sensation had transferred to her sex. Her clit sizzled and burned.
She opened her heavy eyelids a moment later at the sound of paper ripping. She hoped it was Alex opening a condom, and had her prayers answered a moment later when she felt him place his opened palm on her inner thigh.
Their desperate moans twined as his cock slowly carved its way through her melting flesh. He must have had the bed made specifically for his unusual height, because his feet were still on the floor, and he stood upright as he entered her.
“Oh, God,” she groaned when he finally pressed his balls to her buttocks. She felt so overfilled…so incendiary. Her eyes went wide when she saw him reach for the paddle.
He swatted her once while his cock throbbed deep inside her. She exploded like she was dry timber and he’d dropped a lit match on her.
When she returned to Earth, she mistakenly thought it was her thunderous orgasm that was making the bed shake. It only took her a moment, however, to realize it was Alex doing that as he fucked her long, hard and thoroughly, the sounds of his grunts of pleasure ringing through the air. She lifted her hips as far as the ankle restraints would allow her, meeting his thrusting cock, matching him stroke for stroke.
Loving every second of it.
“You little tease,” he grated out as he rocketed into her, filling her to capacity, rubbing some deep, sublime spot that made her eyes cross in pleasure. He swatted her ass with his palm, but it was the sweetest kind of reprimand.
Angeline shut her eyelids tightly, overwhelmed by sensation. Drowning in pleasure. He rode her hard, but in that volatile moment, she didn’t want it any other way. Only this frantic, skin-slapping, total abandonment would do.
He held her hips captive and drove into her to the hilt. She cried out sharply when she felt him jerk inside her. The sensation of Alex’s cock convulsing as he came sent her over the edge. Orgasm slammed into her, the blast of pleasure mixing in her overwrought brain with the sound of Alex’s sharp—almost surprised—shout of ecstasy.
He came down over her a while later. She loved the sensation of his perspiration-damp skin pressing against her own. He gasped next to her ear, his breath coming raggedly, before he landed a kiss.
“You made me lose control, Angel.”
“I meant to,” she whispered between pants.
“I know. We might have to do something about that,” he said as he lightly bit the shell of her ear and she shivered.
“You can try.”
“I plan to.”
“Nothing will work. I like it too much.”
“Like what?” he asked, his voice sounding muffled because he was pressing kisses to her neck.
“When you lose control.”
He grunted. Angeline couldn’t tell if it was in irritation or amusement, but she strongly suspected it was more of the latter.
They never slept on that Christmas Eve.
They asked each other question after question and told insignificant childhood stories. She told him about her teenage dream to become an actress, and he told her about seriously considering entering the NFL draft.
They couldn’t stop touching each other. Again and again, their desire flamed high and they made love. Once they did so without the restraints—Alex making the missionary position and hot, lingering kisses seem like the most erotic way of making love in all the Kama Sutra.
And another time, with Angeline fully restrained—wrists and ankles to the bed. She shocked herself yet again by her total abandonment to the experience.
By her total willingness to give herself to Alex Carradine.
The final time they made love, they did so in front of the lit Christmas tree and a dying fire. When dawn broke, Angeline looked out the patio doors onto a clear, crystalline Christmas morning. She glanced down at Alex’s dark head resting on her breasts as he slept.
Silly to think it of a man she’d known for two days, she knew, but she couldn’t remember ever appreciating a Christmas gift so much.
Angeline wiggled in her warm cocoon, sleepily trying to avoid whatever was interrupting her profound sleep. She buried her face in a hard chest and inhaled, smiling when the increasingly familiar scent of musk, spice and male entered her nose. Experimentally, she rubbed her body against the warm solidness next to her, moaning in her sleep at the erotic feeling of bare skin sliding against bare skin. Despite her body’s instant reaction to the long length of brawn and muscle pressed tightly against her, the warm, heavy blanket of sleep weighed on her consciousness.
Unfortunately, the loud banging in her head would not give way to her delicious, sensual lassitude.
She pried open one eyelid.
“Oh, shit.”
She sat bolt upright in the nest of blankets Alex had formed for them last night, the top sleeping bag clutched to her breasts.
She stared out the patio doors, her mouth gaping open. Mitchell Carradine stood in several feet of snow, his gloved knuckle pressed to the glass pane. He looked back at her, his face pale.
“Oh, God,” she moaned miserably. She’d never so wished so much that she could just disappear…melt into the floor…fade to mist. Her eyes skittered around the room, searching for shelter. Mitchell’s gaze on her felt like a burning laser. She noticed that the clock on the mantel read 12:45 p.m.
They’d stayed up all night talking and making love, and then slept away half the day.
“Alex…wake up,” she hissed.
Alex groaned and twisted his head on the pillow.
“It’s your father.”
Some of her misery must have penetrated his thick sleep because his blue eyes suddenly popped open. His features remained impass
ive as he studied her. Even though she stared at his face, and not at the patio doors, he suddenly turned his head and saw his father.
Angeline began scurrying frantically to unzip the sleeping bag, wild to wrap one of the covers over her so that she could escape the mortifying moment. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to inform Mitchell that she’d had wild, abandoned sex with his son? No, instead Mitchell had to witness them naked in bed together!
Tacky. Classless. Smutty. Those and a dozen other self-recriminating words resounded through her brain as she squirmed around trying to break free like a worm on the end of a hook. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex swing his arm in an arc in a furious go away gesture. She paused in her struggling and glanced in surprise at his face.
He looked cold and furious as he glared at his father.
Mitchell must have read his son’s expression easily enough because he turned and plodded through the thick snow. Angeline wasted no time in flinging back the blankets and dashing toward the hallway, ignoring the sound of Alex’s deep, sleep-roughened voice calling out to her in a tone that sounded irritated, concerned and a little perplexed all at once.
Forty minutes later she walked out of the bathroom, showered, dressed and reasonably composed.
There was no two ways about it. This situation sucked. It was the direct opposite of how she’d hoped to break the news to Mitchell about what had happened between Alex and her.
But what was done was done. All she could do was use honesty and tact to make the best of a very uncomfortable situation.
Both men looked up when she left the hallway and entered the kitchen. They leaned against the counter, two tall, handsome men, each of them compelling in their own way. They each held a coffee cup and examined her soberly. Through the haze of her anxiety, she noticed that Mitchell looked ready for the cover of the Eddie Bauer catalogue, wearing a dark green shirt, khaki pants that perfectly fit his lithe frame and brown leather lace-up boots. For the first time, she realized that Alex had inherited the color of his eyes from his father, although there was no comparison to the impact of their gazes. Alex’s stare was much more penetrating than his father’s.
Certainly Alex’s eyes could be exponentially colder when the mood struck him, she thought in rising disorientation when she briefly locked eyes with Alex.
“Angeline, you look lovely. Merry Christmas,” Mitchell said.
She started to return the cordial greeting, but the ridiculousness of the words given the bizarre circumstances made her pull up short.
“Mitchell. I…I don’t know what to say.”
Mitchell set down his cup on the counter. His charming grin spun her even further off balance.
“It’s not as surprising to me as you might think, Angeline. I’m only a man. Of course it’s never fun seeing a man beat you to a lovely woman—especially your own son—but at the same time… Well, like I said, it’s not entirely a shock to me. Like I was just telling Alex, I recalled very well how taken he was with you several years ago. I had a good feeling something like this might happen.”
Angeline glanced at Alex, looking for assistance. She started back slightly when she saw the glacial fury in his eyes. The impact of his gaze struck her like a slap to the face. Her mouth fell open in surprise. She blinked to alleviate the acute burn in her eyes. Oh my God…how could Mitchell have wrought so much pain in such a short father and son meeting?
She felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.
She laughed shakily. “I…I’m afraid I’m at a loss here.”
Alex set down his coffee roughly, causing a clanking sound of ceramic against granite. “According to Mitchell, he masterminded it all. He planned for us to get cozy up here all by ourselves,” Alex said, his deep voice vibrating with anger.
Mitchell’s face pinched with irritation. “Don’t put it like that, Alex. Don’t be melodramatic about it. Neither one of us could argue that Angeline is a lovely, gracious woman—she’d be such an asset to you. Her background is wanting, true, but no one can deny that her brains and beauty far surpass any detriments in that arena. I know you think I’ve never cared about you, Alex. But I remembered. I remembered the way you looked at her that evening at that bar. I’ve never seen you look at a woman like that. I thought there was a good chance, don’t you see?”
Angeline just stared in stark disbelief when Mitchell looked to her, an appeal in his eyes.
“I thought there was an excellent chance of getting you two together.” Mitchell glanced back at his son imploringly. “Don’t you see? It was my way of showing you I really do care. What better gift could I have given you, son?”
A thick, awful silence ensued.
“Don’t you dare call me son,” Alex growled aggressively at the same moment that Angeline yelled, “What’d’ya mean you knew I’d be such an asset to him? No,” she bit out sharply when Mitchell tried to interrupt her, his manner conciliatory. “Are you trying to tell me the only reason you asked me out to begin with was to play pimp for your son?”
“Angeline—” Alex began tensely, but Mitchell cut him off.
“Well, God knows you’re not my type,” Mitchell said.
Angeline just stood there, horrified, as Mitchell Carradine, charming, handsome, sophisticated name partner at Littleton, Marks and Carradine glanced down over her body. She watched, as if through a department store window, as Alex hauled back with his fist and clobbered his own father.
In that volatile, disoriented moment, Angeline couldn’t say she was sorry.
Chapter Twelve
Angeline had turned down the thermostat in her Old Town condo before she’d left for her parents’ house last Wednesday. She shivered as she flipped on some lamps in the dark living room. Too depressing to consider how excited she’d been leaving the city just days ago…how anticipatory she’d been about spending a cozy vacation with Mitchell Carradine.
How could so much have changed so quickly?
Not only had she fallen for Mitchell’s son, but she’d discovered that Alex had every right to carry such deep resentment for his father. Mitchell had been speechless with fury when he’d staggered up from the kitchen floor following Alex’s punch, clutching his streaming right eye. He’d just stood there, wavering in his expensive leather boots for a few seconds as he glared at his son with a mixture of fear, anger and sheer disbelief.
When he’d opened his mouth, looking like he was about to lecture Alex, Alex’d lunged. Mitchell had scurried out the back door and neither Alex nor Angeline had seen a glimpse of him since then.
Those things were bad enough, but they weren’t even the kicker, Angeline thought as she adjusted the thermostat in her condo and her furnace kicked on.
The real knockout punch had come after Mitchell had left and Alex had returned from plowing his driveway and the road with a snowplow he owned. Angeline suspected he’d entered into the flurry of activity in order to cool his frothing temper. She recalled the way he’d studied her when he returned from plowing, his glance quick and concerned, as though he searched for cuts and bruises after a battle.
Then he’d looked away, and Angeline’s stomach had felt like it dropped.
“I’m sorry about this, Angeline. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in a family battle.”
She’d smiled reassuringly and stepped toward him. She stilled when he took one step back.
“You’re not to blame for your father’s bad behavior, Alex.”
He said nothing, but she saw the tension in his jaw.
“Alex.”
She waited until he turned the full impact of his stare on her. When she saw the uncertainty…the regret…in eyes, where she’d only seen stubbornness and fierce pride before, her breath popped out of her lungs. She’d been stunned by Mitchell’s crass display of insensitivity earlier, but the hesitancy in Alex’s gaze left her reeling. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d been relying on his steadfast attitude that their being together was right. It’d been his
pillar of certitude that she’d clung to during her storm of doubt.
“You said what was happening between us had nothing to do with Mitchell,” she’d said in rising disbelief.
“I didn’t think it did,” he mumbled.
“But you’ve changed your mind?”
“Look, Angel—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, drawing herself up tall despite the sudden ache in her side…the pain of a wounded pride, a stark reminder of her foolishness.
He sighed dispiritedly. “You’re misunderstanding me. It just…it was a shock to hear him say he’d planned for you and me to get together. Don’t tell me it didn’t flatten you as well. I just need some time to absorb it all.”
Angeline shook her head as the truth settled on her chest like a weight. “I don’t believe it. Could you be any more obvious, Alex?”
Fire flickered in his blue eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked slowly.
“Just that the idea of fucking me seemed real appealing to you when you thought you were screwing dear daddy over in the process. But the second you find out you were actually dancing to your father’s tune all along, doing exactly what he wanted…well I suddenly don’t seem too interesting anymore, do I, Alex? Mitchell always said you were a rebel without a clue.”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” he roared. He closed his eyes as if he’d been surprised by the fury in his voice. “Goddammit, Angeline,” he said more quietly. “Please don’t make this worse than it is.”
Angeline had never really tasted bitterness before that moment.
“Of course. I wouldn’t want this to be any harder on you than it already is, Alex. You say you need some time? Tell you what. You’ve got all the time in the world.”
She’d stormed off into the bathroom and slammed the door, turning on the faucet so Alex wouldn’t hear her furious, bitter crying.
It was incredible. She’d given herself so completely to him. It made her cringe to think of how she’d submitted utterly to him sexually…submitted to her own flagrant desire.
And it had felt so good…so right.
