Erotica: Handcuffing Inhibitions (New Adult Romance Bundle)(Erotic Sex Taboo Box Set)

by Rachel Wilson

  She backed off just enough to whisper, “I think I’d like to leave with you now.” She looked up at him through her lashes, and she could see his pupils dilated so far there was no color left to them. Oh, yeah, he wanted her with every ounce of his being.

  Callie expected a pricey car, maybe a Porsche, since she didn’t frequent clubs that didn’t offer the richest of prey for her hunt, but she was pleasantly surprised when what’s-his-name escorted her with an arm around her waist to a silver Mercedes sports car, so new she didn’t even know the model. But she knew it was pricey and hit speeds illegal anywhere but the Autobahn in Germany.

  With the top down, Callie let her hair blow around her and turned her face up into the wind, and her hand crept into her date’s lap and between his legs. She stroked him as he steered, driving him to madness and his speed higher on the highway. At this time of night and in this area, only the most pretentious of cops would bother to try to pull them over; the rich practically owned the law around here.

  Callie was more interested in assuring the guy didn’t lose his nerve – or his erection. She needed a deliciously erotic night with – Terrance? Trent? Trey? – to feed her sexual appetite and she wasn’t willing to risk his inability to perform.

  He pulled into a complex of upscale condos and drove toward the back, into a garage under one of the largest units. It was swanky and ritzy and everything Callie looked for when she picked up a guy on a Saturday night. He shoved the car into park and shut off the engine, lunging toward her and kissing her with bruising force as his body pressed her into the door of the car. She writhed beneath his weight, moaned as his hand cupped her sex.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked with a breathless laugh against his lips. He grunted and sat up, shifting his cock in his pants before opening the car door and running around to open hers and help her out. She didn’t need help, but she pretended she’d had a little too much to drink. She loved playing the role of the buzzed girl who wasn’t quite making decisions with full awareness, even though she was in complete control of her actions.

  Inside, the kitchen was pristine, complete with every possible modern appliance in stark black, which contrasted beautifully with the sharp white of the walls. He led her through the living room, furnished with contemporary pieces that had clean lines and perfect angles in shades of red and yellow against a dark suede background. Up the stairs, there were pictures lining the walls in silver and gold frames, probably family and friends, and she purposely turned and avoided looking at the pictures. She didn’t want that intimate knowledge of the guy.

  The bedroom was perfect, masculine with taste. He had a platform bed with a slatted headboard and matching adornments, and the walls held paintings of exotic animals. The sheets were luxurious Egyptian cotton with a high thread count that felt almost like silk to the touch as she lie back and pulled him on top of her.

  He fumbled a little, and Callie took one of his hands and placed it directly on her breast. “Don’t be shy, babe,” she told him. “I want you all over me.”

  He stared at her like he’d just been given the key to a bottomless treasure chest, and then he pulled at her blouse, uncovering her breasts, which were barely covered by the lace demi bra she’d chosen for the evening. His lips seared her skin as he kissed across the swell of her breasts, and she cried out in delight.

  She tore his shirt, knowing he could afford to replace it, and kneaded the hard pecks beneath with her fingertips and working her way down his abs, tracing the lines between them before sliding around to trail up his back. He shivered and groaned, and Callie laughed seductively.

  She boldly reached between them, shoving a hand between his legs, and stroked him roughly through his pants. He clenched his teeth and pushed her hand away, reaching for his fly and taking out his cock. Callie reached for the waistband of his pants and pushed them down around his ankles so he could kick them off. She had her jeans peeled from her body before his pants hit the floor, and she stretched beneath him, shameless in her nudity as his eyes drank her in and nearly choked.

  With a swift roll, she was on top of him, slithering along his body and using tongue, teeth and fingers to bring all his senses to life, awaken his nerve endings from head to toe. Callie licked circles around his nipples, nibbled a line down his stomach, and tickled the tip of his erection with her long, freshly manicured nails. She saw his eyes roll back in his head an instant before she covered him with her mouth, sucking gently, and she chuckled as he fisted his hands in the sheets. She was greatly enjoying herself.

  When she’d had her fill of the taste of him, Callie crawled back up his body to take her own pleasure. He grabbed her hips eagerly, his face full of strain as he worked to hold himself in check. He was ripe, his cock swollen and ready, and she teased him, rubbing her wet folds over his shaft as he tried to press into her. But she wanted him wild with need before she covered him.

  At long last, she aligned her core with him and impaled herself, coming instantly with a scream of passion as her inner walls throbbed and convulsed around him. He grunted as she rode him hard and fast, keeping the orgasms rolling over her in wave after wave of complete ecstasy. She lost herself in the fireworks that erupted behind her eyelids and the sounds of her own bliss, the whimpers and cries of pleasure.

  The man beneath her bruised her hips with his fingers as he dug into them with his grip, and she reveled in the pain accompanying the pleasure. It was everything she yearned for, the feeling she could only find in these furious couplings. Her whole body burned as she came again and again, each wave larger and stronger than the last.

  Callie felt her lover ready to erupt, and she bounced on him, skin slapping against his as she increased her speed and force, and when he exploded, bursts of light blinded her with a final release of her own. She collapsed onto him, the sticky sheen of sweat on both their bodies connecting them in the afterglow of their sexual release.

  She rolled from him at long last, spreading herself wide so she could cool off quickly. She could never quite fall asleep or bring herself to dress in this condition, and she was never quite sure which scenario would feel more appropriate at the end of a tryst like this. Tonight, though, her head spun with the tequila she’d consumed and the fury with which she’d relieved her tension, and she let her eyes fall closed and dozed.

  Chapter Two

  She awoke around dawn, finding one arm and leg thrown over her body. She wrinkled her nose as her one night stand snored in her ear, his face buried in her hair. Thankfully, he’d had enough to drink last night that she could slip out from under his pinning limbs without disturbing his sleep. He simply snorted loudly and readjusted.

  Gathering her clothes, Callie hurried into the bathroom to dress, not wanting to make too much noise and wake him, and she texted for a cab, receiving a confirmation that one would arrive in fifteen minutes. It seemed like forever, but once she had her clothes in place and her hair pulled out of her face, she barely had time to make it outside before the nondescript car pulled up. She smiled as she climbed in, loving that money could buy anonymity. This cab company had her information on file, and because they used discrete cars, no one thought anything of her riding around in them early on a Sunday morning.

  She had about two hours to clean up and get dressed so she could meet her parents for a quaint little brunch at The Bordeaux. There were perks to being the daughter of a famous, although retired, supermodel and the stepdaughter of a tycoon who owned one of the largest five-star hotel chains in the world. But there were also things that drove her crazy, like having to appear to be the good little girl and putting on a show for the paparazzi that insisted on sticking their noses into the business of every socialite in the country.

  All too often, the men she picked up told her she should be a model, and that was the last thing Callie wanted to hear. She wanted nothing to do with the lifestyle her mother had lived, and neither did she want to take her mother’s advice to ‘settle down’. Danielle Fors
ythe had ruled the fashion world, starting out as a runway model and reaching a height in her career the likes of which Cindy Crawford and Tyra Banks envied. She’d partied like an animal until she was partied out, left the model scene, and ‘settled down’ with Connor Marks, the father Callie barely knew.

  Of course, Callie didn’t know the circumstances of their divorce, but it didn’t matter, she thought as she showered away the sweat and sex of the man whose name she still couldn’t remember. The point was, the marriage had lasted only three years, and then her mother had attempted to get back into modeling. Instead, she’d decided she didn’t want to be in the fast lane anymore and had married Gary Carmichael, who had legally adopted Callie when she was five.

  He wasn’t a first timer, either, divorced and having an eight year old son at the time. Keegan Carmichael had been quite the nerd, with glasses and dark hair that hung over them in an unruly fashion. He’d been skinny and awkward, and Callie, already on the fast track to popularity in first grade, had pretended not to know him or made fun of him with her friends. After two years of suffering his presence, Callie hadn’t minded in the least when her stepfather had sent him away to school in Switzerland, claiming he needed the discipline of a boarding school in Europe after his grades had fallen a bit.

  From that point on, Callie had once again been an only child, and she’d reveled in the attention. Her loser of a stepbrother had opted to stay in Europe after graduation, and she’d overheard her mother talking with Gary, who she’d never referred to as her father and still didn’t like with his militant style. Apparently, Keegan had started using his mother’s maiden name, Pierce. As much as she looked down at her stepbrother as a nerd, she didn’t particularly blame him for his choice. Callie had considered using her mother’s maiden name more than once and only refused because she looked too much like the former model and didn’t want to be recognized as her daughter.

  She gazed at her reflection in the full length mirror on the back of her bathroom door as she dried off and smirked. Settle down! Her mother must have lost her mind to think she would do something like that before she was forced to retire this body. The truth was, she could easily have followed in her mother’s footsteps, and she would have, if her wicked stepfather hadn’t forced her to enroll in a prep school when she should have been getting headshots and auditioning.

  Rather than feel sorry for herself, Callie had made her own life for herself, assuring she was just as much in the public eye as Chloe, Kim, or Paris, and she often made headlines in the tabloids for her Saturday night outings. It pleased her, mostly because it pissed Gary off royally, and it made her mother fret. The woman had still been pretty enough to grace the cover of a ‘where are they now’ magazine, but over the last three or four years, Callie had her dying her hair to hide the gray and getting Botox to hide some of the wrinkles. But she couldn’t pass for less than thirty anymore.

  Callie felt it was fitting punishment for the two of them, and it made her happy. She didn’t think she’d find true love in the midst of high society. Everyone here married for money or prestige or beauty. She had no intention of doing so, and she knew it would be unacceptable to look for love below their ‘class’. She rolled her eyes as she searched her closet for something appropriate to wear to a brunch where she was going to be the epitome of the perfect young lady. This country claimed to be free and forward thinking, but the social order demanded as much from citizens here as some of the backward countries that still believed in things like the caste system.

  With a sigh, she pulled out a fitted navy sweater, a starched white button down shirt, a pair of khakis that were styled like riding pants, and her brown faux-fur lined suede boots. That should please her mother, her wicked stepfather, all the other families meeting at the high end restaurant, and any photographers. She donned the clothes, tapped on a light cover of makeup, and blew her hair dry so she could twist it up in a proper knot at the nape of her neck.

  Satisfied with the transformation from vixen to virgin, Callie found a pretty little white Michael Kors clutch with inlaid pearls transferred her coral pink lipstick and powder pack with her small wallet into the purse, and checked her appearance one more time before going downstairs to find Charlie, her personal driver. He sat in the kitchen at the table, reading the morning paper as usual, and smiled up at her as she strode confidently into the room.

  “Well, Ms. Carmichael, you’re looking lovely this morning,” he greeted, folding the paper and rising instantly. He grabbed his cap from the table – Gary insisted all of their drivers wear a proper British chauffeur uniform – and ushered her out to the black Mercedes sedan he drove her around in. Sometimes, Callie wished she could just have him drive her home from her little escapades. She really did like him and trusted him dearly. But it would be too easy for Gary to track the mileage on the car and ask questions. By using one of the credit cards her mother gave her, she could hide the frequency of her indiscretions from the Nazi of a stepfather she tolerated.

  “Did you sleep well last night, Miss Carmichael?” Charlie asked as he started the car and maneuvered around the other dozen cars in the garage that was more of a labyrinth of parking. He always tried to be pleasant and make conversation, and since the rest of the staff at the house was stuffy and curt, Callie appreciated it.

  She yawned slightly at the reminder of the short hours of sleep, but she nodded. “I actually did, thank you. It just wasn’t long enough.” She glanced back over her shoulder as the pulled away at the old manor house on top of the hill. It really was cliché, and she couldn’t seem to understand what it was about the man or the money and property that had attracted her mother to Gary Carmichael in the first place. “Charlie, have you ever thought about working for someone else?”

  The driver chuckled and gazed at her in the rearview mirror. “I admit, I’ve thought about it many times over the last twenty years.” Callie cringed; he’d been working for Gary since she’d moved into the manor, and it made her feel bad to think she’d gotten him stuck in this role. “But I doubt anyone else would pay me as much as Mr. Carmichael does, especially to do so very little. You do realize I draw a full time salary for driving you around, right?”

  Callie thought about that. Especially since she often rode to her Saturday night party location with a friend and took a cab home, she didn’t actually need Charlie nearly as often as Gary and her mother took advantage of their drivers. She warranted maybe fifteen hours of his time a week at most, and a lot of that was spent shopping or eating with friends so he could wander around and do his own thing while he waited.

  “I guess it’s a bit of a cushy job,” she admitted. “But I have to ask you a question. What are you going to do if I ever get to move out of this museum?” With all the antiques and untouchables decorating the majority of the old, square eyesore, that’s exactly what it felt like. The gym, Callie’s room, and her own personal office/library were the only places she was at all comfortable, and while she was a spoiled, privileged child, she liked to go down to the kitchen and sit at the ‘servant’ table to eat and relax. It didn’t matter if she had perfect manners there.

  Charlie shrugged. “I guess I’ll dip into my savings until I find another job. Maybe I’ll use what I have to open a café that serves those little finger sandwiches Mrs. Carmichael and her friends like so much. Or maybe I’ll open up a barbecue ribs house,” he laughed.

  She leaned forward. “I didn’t know you wanted to own a restaurant.”

  “You never asked. I don’t know if I do or not, but my wife has talked about it for so long I’ve been thinking about it as you got older. I know you don’t want to get married today, but I figure you turn 25 in a few months, and you’ll get your trust fund and take off. I need a plan of some sort.”

  Callie laughed heartily. “This is true. Maybe I should take you with me, and then you’ll still have an income while you open your restaurant or whatever. And you can find me another driver. I don’t trust my own judgment.” They both l
aughed, but Callie was only half joking. He was right; she couldn’t stay here forever, and she doubted that, once she had access to her trust fund, dear old stepdad would tolerate her under her roof anymore.

  That was fine with her. She’d buy a place she actually liked and still have plenty of money. She’d make some investments; maybe find a stockbroker who would help her with her finances in exchange for a little help with his libido. And she could live off that money while she partied and did her own thing without it reflecting poorly on ‘the family’.

  Chapter Three

  Charlie drove her right up to the entrance of The Bordeaux, and she waited while he came to open her door and help her out. Callie didn’t need him to do it, but the few times she’d started to get out without him performing the role to his satisfaction, he’d been offended. So now, she just let him have it his way, and she pretended the pampering was expected when really, she was flattered he wanted to treat her this way.

  The doorman nodded to her with a smile. “Welcome, Miss Carmichael.”

  Sometimes, it was nice frequenting the same locations all the time because the help remembered her. Other times, she felt like a freak show because everyone seemed to know her by name. This was one of those days she was a little paranoid. Something about the interlude last night had her looking over her shoulder. It was silly; she probably wouldn’t recognize the guy if he walked up to her right now. Would he recognize her? If he did, she would just blow it off as someone she met at a dorm party a few years ago, especially since she still couldn’t pinpoint his name.