Hot Pursuit

by Julie Ann Walker

  “I can be…demanding in the bedroom,” he said, and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “Oh-kay?” She’d meant it to be a statement. It came out as a question. “Meaning…what? You give instructions or—”

  “I like to be in control,” he told her, still hovering close. Still looking at her like kissing her was the only thing he could think of doing, and holding back was stretching his willpower to the breaking point.

  “And what does that mean?” Visions of the red room of pain, of whips and chains and spikes and ball gags circled around inside her head and splashed a cold glass of water on her ardor.

  She knew a lot of women found that whole Fifty Shades thing sexy. But she preferred her pleasure to come with a side of more pleasure. Pain was for gym workouts and mornings after too much booze, thank you very much.

  “It means that, yes, sometimes I give instructions. But it also means that I like to have a woman at my mercy.”

  Her chin jerked back until her head butted against the door. “Okay, bucko. Time to stop beating around the bush and shoot me the straight skinny. Are you saying you wanna whip me? Gag me? Put clamps on my nipples and drag me around by my—”

  He silenced her with a kiss that was as short as it was eye-crossingly hot.

  “None of that,” he whispered against her lips. “You don’t mix business with pleasure. I don’t mix pleasure with pain.”

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  “But I do fancy a bit of bondage,” he said, and it felt like a hot, hard knot tightened inside her womb. “I like to tie a woman up. It turns me on knowing she is helpless to withstand the pleasure I give her.”

  “Oh-kay.” This time it was a statement.

  “I’m hardly saying I need to do it every time. But sometimes, it’s all I want, yeah? Will you be okay with that?” He ducked his chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Some women don’t enjoy feeling that vulnerable. They aren’t keen on giving up control. They don’t trust enough to—”

  “I’m fine with it,” she said. Or rather panted.

  She had never been tied up before, but she’d fantasized about it plenty. In fact, it was her favorite fantasy.

  In her job and in her life, it always fell on her to take care of things, to be in charge and make sure everything ran smoothly. The thought of letting someone else shoulder the burden and take the lead, the thought of…letting go was incredibly freeing. And incredibly erotic.

  A smile slowly stretched his delectable mouth. “You’re certain?”

  “Stop talking now.” She fisted a hand in his hair and pulled him down for a kiss.

  He didn’t resist, taking possession of her lips in a way that had goose bumps breaking out over every inch of her skin. Cupping her face, he angled her head this way and that until she was dizzy with the suction of his mouth, with the soft, slow dip and retreat of his skilled tongue.

  When her treacherous knees started shaking again, threatening to stop doing their damn job, he seemed to know. He palmed the back of her thigh and hooked her leg around his waist. And then…

  Oh, and then she lost her flippin’ mind because he rubbed himself against her. Christian Watson rubbed his dick against her. And it was hard. And it was big. And it made heat and moisture slick her panties.

  The friction was so good. Better than good, in fact. It was totally amazeballs. And if he kept it up, she would c—

  He grabbed her other leg, hooking it around his waist before spinning her away from the door. She thought he was walking them toward the bed, which was why she was so confused when he set her on her feet beside one of the windows. She grumbled her displeasure when he stopped kissing her. That is, until she saw his intent.

  He reached for the chenille rope that held one side of the velvet, buttercup-yellow curtains back.

  “Provisions,” he said after he’d untied the length of rope and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans.

  To her utter dismay, a giggle of delight burbled from the back of her throat. An actual giggle. For Pete’s sake, she was not a woman who giggled.

  Christian lifted a brow, studying her. “You like the thought of being tied up, don’t you?”

  “Maybe” was all she allowed, clearing her throat because she was almost certain she felt another idiotic giggle threatening, and she refused to give in to it.

  “I think this agreement of ours might work out perfectly.” He untied the other side of the curtains and stuffed that length of rope in his back pocket as well. His accent made the word perfectly sound more like puhfectly.

  “Now.” He looked her up and down, fingering the hem of her sweatshirt. “Let’s be rid of this, shall we?”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “But…uh…what about those?” She motioned to the lengths of chenille in his pockets.

  “I’ve found it’s easier to undress women before tying them up.”

  “Would you please stop talking about other women?” She scowled at him.

  First it was some women don’t like feeling that vulnerable. Then it was some women don’t like giving up control. Now it was easier to undress women before tying them up. If he used the term one more time, she might be tempted to take those ropes and hog-tie him. But not to do dirty things to him. Rather, to smack him around until he promised to forget every single woman who’d come before her.

  Uh-oh. Oh no. That’s dangerous thinking.

  “Jealous, darling?” That infuriating self-satisfied smile was back in place.

  “Oh, shut up.” She whipped her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it to the floor.

  Huzzah! She pumped an imaginary fist when, instead of saying something arrogant or smug, he made a breathless noise—it sounded sort of like unhhh. Then he swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple clicked in his throat.

  His eyes landed on her pale-pink bra, traveled slowly over the lace of the cups, and settled on the little red rose sewn between them. His eyes settled on the rose. Not her boobs. The rose. Damn.

  Suddenly, whipping off her sweatshirt didn’t seem like such a good idea. Even though the weak afternoon sun was beginning to sink toward the west, there was still enough light to show him that, true to her word, she didn’t have much in the way of boobs. On her good days, the most she could hope to fill was a B cup.

  Self-conscious, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Don’t.” His voice was like gravel crunching under tank tracks. Pulling her arms away, he fingered the little red rose like he couldn’t help himself. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “Psshh,” she scoffed, but then immediately sobered because the look in his eyes said he was telling the truth.

  “May I?” He trailed his fingers over the gentle slope of her breast before slipping them beneath one thin, silk strap.

  A nod was the only answer she was capable of giving him. Her voice had ceased working the instant the tips of his fingers grazed her skin.

  Slowly, like he was unwrapping a delicate gift, he pulled the strap off her shoulder. The second strap soon followed. When he reached behind her for her bra’s clasp, she ducked her chin, not wanting to see his face when he realized how little she had to offer. Her bra was one of those push-up things. It lifted and plumped and gave the illusion of a fullness she didn’t truly possess.

  A finger slipped beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his heated gaze. “Stop trying to hide from me, Emily. Never hide from me.”

  Her nostrils flared when, with a snap of his fingers, her bra was undone. Oh, for heaven’s sake, he was good at that. The scoundrel!

  Then all thought leaked out of her ears because he was kissing her. Like kissing the holy hell out of her! In fact, his kiss was so deep, so thorough, so completely panty-slicking that she didn’t notice he’d pulled off her bra until he broke the suction of their m
ouths and took a step back.

  Her first instinct was to cover her breasts. But instead she gritted her teeth, thrust up her chin, and watched his eyes drift over her. His study was so intense it almost felt like a physical touch. And when his gaze fell on her nipples, she sucked in a breath, shocked to feel her areolas tighten, squeezing the centers into tight, painful buds.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. “So soft and round and topped by the sweetest pink nipples I’ve ever seen.”

  Okay, so if there was one nice thing she could say about her boobs, it was that her small areolas, which were barely bigger than her nipples, gave her girls the appearance of heft. And looking at him looking at her with so much hunger, with so much wonderment, she began to feel a confidence she’d never had before.

  Christian didn’t look at her and see small tits. He looked at her and saw tits. He was such a guy. And she couldn’t be happier for it.

  Not asking permission this time, he cupped her left breast. His palm felt hot and rough when he plumped her high. The pad of his thumb was deliciously abrasive when it feathered over her distended nipple.

  Oh, for the love of Robin Ventura. There went her knees again.

  She reached for the windowsill to steady herself. But her hand slipped off the edge, causing her to stumble and glance over her shoulder to locate the recalcitrant sucker. No sooner had she steadied herself—not only thanks to the windowsill but to Christian’s warm hand curling around her hip—then movement outside snagged her attention.

  “Eep!” she squeaked and grabbed the curtains to cover her breasts.

  Oh great. Not only had Christian turned her into a woman who giggled, he’d also turned her into a woman who eeped. What came next? Flowers in her hair? Frilly dresses? Jeez!

  “What?” Christian came up behind her. “What is it? What did you see?”

  “Uh…Angel,” she said. “I saw him heading into the trees.”

  “You’re certain it was Angel?” His hand on her hip, the feel of his cock pressed into the groove of her ass combined with his voice so near her ear to have her on the verge of losing her balance. Again.

  “Of course. Who else would it be?” She stepped away from him before she melted into a foolish Emily puddle on the ground.

  “Perhaps I should go investigate. I could—”

  “It was Angel,” she assured him with a frown.

  “But just to be safe—”

  “Ugh,” she grumped. “You are so clam-jamming me right now, man.”

  “I beg your pardon.” He actually looked affronted. It was sort of cute. “What does that mean?”

  “You know.” She rolled her hand. “Like cock-blocking, except for girls.”

  A snort escaped him, and she could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek. “Such a way with words.” He shook his head, then nodded. “Right then.” He whipped the curtains away from her chest.

  She eeped again. Which made it official. She was an eeper.

  “Let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?” He bent and scooped her into his arms. And damned if she didn’t giggle. “I was about to toss you on the bed and get you starkers.”

  “Starkers?”

  “Naked, darling.”

  “Oh, then by all means.” She waved a lofty hand toward the big four-poster bed with its cream and canary quilt and fat, fluffy pillows.

  * * *

  That’s right, Lawrence thought with a lip-curl of disgust. Go ahead and shag that skinny bird while you can, mate. It’ll be the last fuck you ever get.

  He and Ben had stuck to the tree line and skirted ’round to the back of the manor house. Lawrence had made the mistake of stepping forward to get a better look at the movement he saw in the window when suddenly he’d been presented with a view of sweet little titties. Luckily, the dark-haired woman hadn’t seen him before he slipped back into the shadows of the forest.

  “Too skinny for my taste,” Ben muttered, still watching the window.

  “Skinny, fat, short, tall.” Lawrence shrugged. “As long as she’s got a pair of suckable nipples and a wet cunny, I’m in.”

  Ben snorted. “He always said you lacked discerning tastes.”

  “Who?” Lawrence asked. “Our esteemed brother?”

  “Yeah.” Ben nodded.

  “He was one to talk.” Lawrence chuckled. “You remember that time we were in London celebrating his acceptance into SAS training and he left the pub with that totty in six-inch heels?”

  “The one who looked like she mighta had an Adam’s apple?”

  “He ever tell you what happened after he went back to her hotel room?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Me neither.” Lawrence grinned. “Which is funny ’cause you know how much he liked to brag about his conquests.”

  “Quiet as a church mouse the next morning, wasn’t he?” Ben asked.

  Instead of answering, Lawrence burst into laughter. He covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head, watching Ben’s eyes twinkle in the gloom of the forest. But his humor died a quick death, because almost immediately he was reminded that their brother was gone and they’d been placed in this impossible situation because of the man who was currently warm and cozy and dipping his wick into some pretty, dark-haired chickadee.

  Rage instantly replaced his amusement. A bitter curse took the place of the laughter on his lips. “We’ll wait ’til late before making our move,” he said, his mind spinning through scenarios and latching on to the one that might possibly work.

  “And then what?” Ben asked, all the playfulness gone from his voice. “If we do ’em in the house, there’ll be evidence. Blood everywhere.”

  “We won’t do ’em in the house. We’ll get ’em to come outta the house.”

  Ben glanced at him, trepidation in his eyes. He still wasn’t totally with the program.

  Well, get with it, little brother, Lawrence thought. It’s the only way.

  “How do you propose we do that?” Ben asked.

  “The woman.” Lawrence smiled, some of his humor returning. Only it wasn’t the warm humor of a fond memory. It was the cold humor of forthcoming revenge. “We simply hafta get the woman.”

  And then he laid out his plan.

  Chapter 16

  Emily’s brown hair fanned out on the quilt when Christian tossed her on the bed. She bounced, her pretty little breasts jiggling delightfully. The sight had his dick throbbing so hard he had to reach down and give it a tug to soothe it.

  “Hey!” She came up on her elbows, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. “What’s the big idea?”

  “Told you I meant to toss you on the bed before taking your clothes off. Never say I’m not a man of my word.”

  “Oh. Right.” She nodded, avidly watching him position himself between her spread legs. “You did say that, didn’t you?”

  When her attention pinged down to his cock, he realized he was still stroking himself. “You want some help with that?” The look in her dark eyes was positively devilish.

  “Yes.” He slipped his thumbs beneath the elastic waistband of her leggings. “I most certainly do.” When she reached for him, he caught her delicate wrist. “But not yet. First, I have other things to attend to.”

  “Oooh. I do like the sound of that.”

  He grinned at her, lying there with a smiling face and smoky eyes, so open, so honest. So completely uninhibited. Apparently, Emily approached sex the way she approached life, with vigor, candor, and unabashed eagerness. It made his silly heart sing and his even sillier cock pulse with anticipation.

  This will be jolly good fun, he thought. Then he realized that, no matter how often she vexed him or teased him or provoked him, when it came down to it, she was fun. Being around her—trading insults or barbs or kisses or quiet moments in the kitchen before she’d had her first cup of cof
fee and he’d had his first cup of tea—was fun.

  He hadn’t had much fun in his life.

  Perhaps that’s why he’d fallen so hard for her. She gave him something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing and didn’t know he’d always yearned for.

  “The first time I make you come,” he told her, pulling her leggings over her flaring hips and down her silky thighs, “it’s going to be with my fingers.”

  She flopped back on the bed, crossing her arms beneath her head. Her breasts pointed impertinently toward the ceiling, making his mouth water.

  “Mmm,” she hummed. “Tell me more.”

  “The second time I make you come”—he bent to work loose the laces of her hiking boots so he could slip them off her feet—“it will be with my mouth.”

  He saw her brow pucker as he was pulling off her second sock. “What?” he asked, loving that she was lying there, letting him have his way with her, offering no help and no protest.

  Tough, tenacious, take-no-guff Emily Scott was allowing herself to be vulnerable, allowing him the control he craved. It spoke more eloquently of her strength and confidence than anything else ever could.

  “I’ve never been able to come from oral sex,” she admitted, and the thought of another man with his head between her legs, with his mouth on her, made Christian grit his teeth. “I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s me. Or maybe I’ve never been with someone who was any good at it.”

  “I’m good at it,” he promised, whipping her leggings off and tossing them over his shoulder. Now she was naked except for her panties.

  God love her, they were pink cotton. Simple yet charming. Unadorned but still somehow gorgeous.

  Just like the woman who wears them, he thought.

  “And you are a man of your word,” she said, watching him from beneath hooded lids.

  “Indeed.” He reached for her panties.

  The small smile she wore disappeared when he slowly, gently ran a finger along the waistband. To his delight, goose bumps rose across her flat belly.

  “And now,” he said, “for the pièce de résistance. You ready?”