Against the Rules

by Tori Carson

  His scrunched face told her that the idea was abhorrent. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “The men that I know don’t own candles, let alone light them.” Though he denied it, she still checked his finger for a ring or signs that one had been there recently.

  He raised his hand to her eye level. “No ring—no wife. Not even an ex-wife.”

  That distant, cool look pooled deep in his eyes again. She knew she should drop it, but she couldn’t. “Girlfriend then? Steady or otherwise?” She kept her voice light and casual.

  “No.” He met her gaze. “Channy, I’m a die-hard bachelor. I’m not looking for, nor do I want, a relationship.”

  Staring at a flame, she focused on her voice. It would not quiver. “That’s cool. No worries. Just double checking. Rule fifty-eight clearly states never infringe on another woman’s territory.”

  Even his tub was perfect. Huge. Sunken. Waterfall faucet that burbled like a natural brook. The candles danced and sparkled off the glass blocks that formed one wall. God, she was in over her head. She wanted much more time with this man. Forever might not be long enough. They just meshed together, shared the same tastes, politics, likes and dislikes. Why couldn’t he see that?

  Reese stepped into the tub then knelt at her feet. The sight of him took her breath away. When he poured body wash into his palm and began bathing her with slow, deliberate strokes, it made his rejection of anything steady that much harder to take.

  “More rules? Girl, you’re killing me with this!”

  “It’s only fair,” Chantel whispered as his hands warmed her already sensitive skin. “What you’re doing to me is absolutely sinful. If I’m going to go to purgatory, I want some company.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about. After tonight, I’m convinced you’re an angel sent from heaven.”

  Chantel wanted to cry. How could he say something so sweet after just professing to be a hardcore bachelor? Maybe it was just an act. All his sweet talk was just nonsense to get a woman into his bed. But she had already been in his bed, and on his floor—and every other flat or semi-flat surface in his house. He no longer needed to try to seduce her. Maybe he was such a consummate rake that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

  “What kind of soap is that? It feels tingly and fresh,” Chantel asked, needing a safe subject in order to get her emotions under control.

  Honestly, she had never felt like this before. A queen, pampered and loved. The candles and scent of the bath along with his strong, talented hands caressing her body had her head reeling. How was it possible for him to evoke such strong feelings within her when his every word tried to push her away? He had made it clear that he wasn’t in the market for anything long-term. She needed to get her heart out of this and just enjoy what he was willing to give.

  “I knew a lady once who was seriously into aromatherapy. She used it for everything from relieving stress to curing a cold.” He chuckled like it was of no consequence, but Chantel noticed the faraway look in his eyes.

  “I tried it one time to humor her.” He shrugged with a sad smile. “I don’t know. I use them from time to time.”

  Instantly, Chantel was jealous. Whoever this woman was, she clearly meant something to him. Maybe that was the problem. Her mind began turning over the possibilities.

  Clearly this mystery woman was a source of pain. Maybe to keep from being hurt again, Reese had subconsciously started believing he liked being a bachelor. So, he kept it casual, with no emotional buy-in. Just sex, plain and simple. Sorry, tough guy. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him to push her aside like yesterday’s floozy.

  * * * *

  Foster rode like the devil was hot on his heels, but that couldn’t be—he’d taken the driver’s seat many years ago. Death didn’t scare him. He welcomed it. He drove with reckless abandon considering he had an explosive device in his breast pocket. He didn’t mind dying, he would just prefer to take a few bastards down first.

  Number one on his list was Sammy, Mr. G.’s favorite henchman. As he neared the roadhouse where Sammy was known to spend his evenings, Foster slowed down and turned onto a side road used to bring in supplies.

  Parking his bike out of sight, he went in on foot. Staying in the shadows and behind cover, he eyed the parking lot until he found the distinctive bike he was looking for. His son had described it well. The candy apple red tank was truly a sick piece of art. Images of skulls swirling in mist had looked cool to a little boy.

  Skulls would never appear cool to Foster again. A few years back, he’d been one of the first agents to burst through the doors of the chop shop Sammy ran. He’d already realized that his crusade to save the world was a fool’s goal. For every offender they took down, another—often worse than the last—took their place.

  It hadn’t taken long before the lure of easy money had been too good to pass up. How did the agency expect a man to raise a family on the shit they paid him?

  He worked his ass off and never seemed to have enough to pay the bills. Why shouldn’t his family have the best? Why should they scrimp and do without, when he had the opportunity to provide for them? It didn’t seem like much to look the other way on occasion. The amount of drugs the agency took in were a mere flash in the pan compared to what actually crossed the borders. What did it matter if some of it made its way back into the dealers’ hands? If people wanted to fry their brains, what did he care?

  He had burst into the garage, intent on damage control. It had been nearly Christmas and he’d known that the reward from Mr. G. would be spectacular. Somehow the chief had received intel alerting them that something big was going down. As soon as word had made it to Foster, he’d notified Sammy of the impending bust, assuming that all incriminating evidence would be removed.

  He had been partially correct. The drugs and stolen parts had been moved. The dogs couldn’t find a single sniff. Pissed off that they’d been wrong, the other agents had really tossed the place. He had played along. Using a crow bar, he’d pried the lid off an innocent-looking oil barrel. The sight still haunted him, though if he were honest with himself, he’d seen much worse in the time since.

  Foster wiped the sweat before it dripped into his eyes and tried to ignore the shiver of disgust that ran down his spine. Every time it was the same. Every time he allowed himself to think about the child Sammy had skinned alive then dismembered and put in that vat of acid, he almost puked.

  The sadistic bastard had videotaped his crime and left it for them to find. Hardened agents with years of seeing every depravity conceived of couldn’t sit through the viewing. The child’s horrified screams just killed him inside. And he knew. Absolutely knew that Sammy would do the same to Bobby.

  Well fuck that. He would do tonight what he should have done years ago. That bastard was going down.

  As silently as possible, he made his way to the chopper. It seemed like hours, but precaution was necessary. He knew what would happen if he got caught. Once he reached the motorcycle, the bomb was rigged in a matter of minutes and spliced into the ignition. Foster disappeared into the dark. A specter of death, he sat and waited.

  * * * *

  Standing up, Channy scooted behind Teague. “Sit on your bottom.”

  He quirked his head, wondering what she was up to. “I give orders, I don’t take them.” His hard-earned sense of paranoia had his body on alert. Normally, he didn’t allow anyone close behind him.

  “Please… Sir.” She sounded unsure of herself.

  He preferred to be in command of every situation, yet Little Red needed some confidence building and since he had nothing else to offer her, he turned over the reins. For now.

  With long, sure fingers and beautifully dainty hands, Channy began to massage his shoulders. Every knot she found and worked away. When he was sure she had dissolved every last bone in his body, she began kissing his neck, teasing his ear. His male ego was proud to see that at least one bone regained its rigidity.

  The loud pop of
the shower gel lid momentarily broke the spell she had him under. His clarity didn’t last long as her talented fingers were replaced by her breasts, the nipples hard and full. He growled as she swirled them over his shoulder blades. His groin throbbed and tightened into a familiar ache.

  “Turn around.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “What?”

  He laughed, but since he didn’t like anyone behind him, he gladly turned around then slid backward until his head rested on a pad built into the tub.

  Channy slid her leg over his thighs and rested her bottom there. She ran her hands across his chest and through his hair.

  He’d never received a scalp massage before. It was oddly comforting. Teague closed his eyes and surrendered his body to her. She’d never know what a huge gift he’d just given her. He never let his guard down, especially in the presence of another person. If he could, he’d sleep with his eyes wide open.

  As her hands moved through his hair, she rose up onto her knees, bringing her breasts into contact with his chest. Her pussy’s silky lips slid along the ridge of his shaft. His eyes sprang wide to watch her erotic ride.

  Her head was tipped back, and she jutted her breasts out of the water to rub against him with each stroke.

  Teague wrapped his hands around her ribs and began to caress her nipples with his thumbs, amazed that his fingers almost touched along her back. How could someone so small and petite rock him so easily?

  Their eyes locked as she shook her head in obvious disapproval. “No way, mister. Hands off. It’s my turn. Time the gander got a little of his own medicine.”

  Chuckling, he eased his hands back into the water, but not before he ran them down her body, causing her to tremble. “I think you’re mixing up your metaphors there a bit, darlin’, but I get your point.”

  Her slow, sensual ride was driving him insane. Her breath was coming in gasps. Then she shifted her weight—again.

  With her toes, she pulled up the drain release, causing some of the water to escape as she scooted back to the other side of the tub. “Spread your legs.”

  He did what she’d asked, wondering once again what she was up to. She had such a determined look on her face. Hmm, Teague decided he liked her taking charge.

  Channy moved back toward his knees then sat on hers. First, she ran her hands up his legs. Just as he settled in to enjoy the soothing effects, he felt her nipples trailing behind her hands. Taut peaks that called to him. Oh, she was torturing him for sure, and by the look on her face—she knew it.

  When her hands moved toward his sac, he groaned. Firm fingers surrounded and tantalized then lightly danced across his body. A feather-light touch causing chills to course through him.

  With his head resting on the pad, eyes closed, just enjoying the decadence, he was completely unprepared for the sensation of her mouth sliding down his shaft. He gasped as he felt her tongue swirl around the head. Shocking the hell out of him, he felt her take the entire length of his swollen cock into her mouth. Little Red had many hidden talents.

  His eyes widened as she tightened her mouth around him. Slowly, torturously, she pulled back. As her lips neared the head, he felt her tongue dance and tease the highly sensitive ridge that ran his girth.

  In desperation, he grabbed her and held her still. “Darlin’, you gotta stop. I’m a mere mortal. Unless you hold up there for a minute you’re gonna have a whip cream surprise.”

  With her forearms, she brushed his hands away from her. A deep, throaty laugh was just about his undoing, but he held on. He made a mental note to check the sides of the tub tomorrow for gouges, his grip so hard it was bound to tear through the metal surrounds.

  Meeting his gaze, her eyes sparkled with mischief. Little Red had turned into a hellcat.

  One hand circled the base of his cock, while the other one held closer to the head. With a look of utter enjoyment she began sucking him as though he were a scrumptious dessert. Her darting tongue caused erotic jolts to course through his body. He wanted to lay his head back and die from the pleasure, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

  When he was sure he couldn’t take any more, she intensified her assault. Taking him fully into her mouth, she moved like a woman possessed. Up and down, sucking and swirling. He was going to explode. Not just his organ, but his whole body was burning with need. He literally shook from it.

  “Darlin’,” he groaned. It was the only warning he could give her.

  Clutching the tub, he threw his head back, grateful for the pad that prevented a certain concussion, and exploded with such force he felt his whole body spasm and throb.

  Slowly, methodically, she milked each pulse from his cock as his body thrummed in ecstasy. He’d had many, many blow jobs in his day, but this had felt different. Seeing the joy on her face while she gave him such pleasure was a treat.

  It seemed an eternity before his breathing and heart rate approached the normal range. Holy shit. “Darlin’, you could kill a man doing that. Not that I’m complaining. I mean—what a way to go.”

  She beamed just as he’d hoped she would. He wanted to build her self-esteem, but he wasn’t lying. “Where’d you learn that?” he asked. He obviously owed someone a huge thank you. “No, don’t tell me. I might have to kill him.”

  Her naughty chuckle sent darts of aftershocks all the way to his toes. “You taught me.”

  “Me?”

  “I watched your expressions and followed your cues,” she answered shyly.

  “Damn, I’m good,” he announced with dramatic pride.

  Channy dissolved into a fit of giggles that melted his heart. God, I’m in deep shit. He picked her up and toweled her off before tucking her into his bed. She looked good there. Like she belonged.

  “Reese?”

  “Yes, darlin’?” He wrapped an arm around her as she snuggled against his chest.

  “I didn’t expect it to really be like this. I mean… Is it…? I don’t know how to ask this… Is it always like this?” She was sliding her fingers between the hairs on his chest.

  He wasn’t sure where she was headed with this conversation and he needed to cut it off before she started hearing wedding bells. “You’re a submissive. Your body responds to dominance.” Damn it all. How can I tell her the fireworks between us are normal and not be struck dead by lightning for telling such a whopper?

  “If you’re asking if sex between all Doms and subs is as explosive as that… No. We seem to have similar kinks and more than a little chemistry.” Seeing the pride and expectancy in her eyes twisted his gut. It didn’t matter how hot the sex was, this had to end. “As you scene with other Doms, you’ll find you mesh better with some than others.”

  For a moment, she tensed in his arms, confirming his fears. Little Red had been thinking further down the road than just this weekend.

  He was such an asshole. He should have sent her packing, but one night wasn’t enough. Hell, the weekend wasn’t going to be either, but at the end of it, he’d find some way to let her walk out of his life.

  As he assumed the spooning position, she wiggled her butt, fitting it tight against his groin. Like a proper soldier it came to attention. Teague gave her cute little ass a whack just for fun. “Behave yourself. We’ve gone through an entire box of condoms. If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you sleep in while I hit the store first thing in the morning.”

  She wiggled a bit more before telling him, “I thought I was being good!”

  “Oh no, baby. You’re better than good.”

  Chapter Five

  Chantel was slow to wake up. Her body was deliciously sore. As the light shone through the window, she began to examine her actions. Sleeping with a man she knew virtually nothing about—not once, but more times than she could remember—was definitely an ‘OMG’ moment if ever she’d had one. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. His pillow, in his bed. What had she been thinking?

  From outside she heard a car door slam, the engine rev to
life and the car driving off down the road. Then she remembered his comment, ‘We’ve gone through an entire box of condoms. If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you sleep in while I hit the store first thing in the morning.’ Obviously, he was out buying more. Holy crap, what was she doing?

  Chantel flung herself from the bed. She was in so much shit. She simply didn’t do things like this. She looked around the room and couldn’t find a single piece of her clothing, but she did find a button-down shirt thrown over the chair back.

  Once she had covered herself, the panic became manageable. So, she didn’t know much about him. She knew he wasn’t married or dating anyone. She knew he worked for a reputable company. And she knew he treated her like no man had ever treated her before.

  Besides, if she was honest with herself, she knew she’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Okay, the only viable solution was to learn more about him. With that in mind, she began a thorough but quick search of his home.

  After pulling out drawers, checking in closets and medicine cabinets, she had learned absolutely nothing about Reese and quite a bit about herself. Chantel pulled the shirt tight around her and sat on the couch. Along with her morals, she had apparently tossed out the Golden Rule too. The idea of anyone going through her things made her skin crawl, yet she had done just that. And not to just anyone either. No, she had violated a man whom she was growing real feelings for. She definitely didn’t like herself very much at that moment.

  Reese had been gone much longer than she had anticipated. How long did it take to buy a box of condoms? Oh well. One more quick look around couldn’t hurt. Just to make sure she’d put everything back the way she had found it.

  What surprised her most was the complete lack of anything personal. No pictures of family or friends displayed in frames or tucked in a drawer. No memorabilia or keepsakes. It was as sterile as a hotel. The only things that remotely showed that the house was lived in were the closet full of clothes and shelves of books.