by Tara Rose
“You know it would, baby girl.” He struck each ass cheek three times in rapid succession, and she drew in a sharp breath. This was what she waited for. This exquisite combination of pain and pleasure. As he rubbed the spots he’d just spanked, she tried to hold still, but her orgasm was so close that she was desperate to come. “So…should I text him, Eve? Ask him to close up that garage of his and come over? We could spend the entire day in here, spanking you, flogging you, and fucking you.”
“Sarge, please….” Eve moaned loudly as he began to spank her again. Between the image he’d just painted for her and the way he was wielding the gloves this bright October morning, Eve was out of her mind with need.
“Please what? Tell me what you want.” That voice. It melted her brain at times it was so sexy and commanding.
“I want to come.”
His lips nuzzled her neck, forcing another loud moan from her. “You’re not even close to being allowed to do that, baby girl.” The humor in his whisper nearly sent her over the edge. She heard him take off the gloves, and then the whistle of the twin floggers through the air reached her ears a split second before the tails fluttered over her ass cheeks, quick and light, more like caresses than strikes.
Phil always warmed her up this way, and it served to increase her arousal to crazy heights as she anticipated the intensity strengthening and whether he would stop before it really began to hurt, or if he’d push her limits a bit more this time. He never played the same twice, and she loved his attention to such a detail. He’d told her once that it was his mission never to bore her. As if that were even possible.
He was going full throttle this morning. Eve moaned and writhed on the bed as the pain became pleasure and the pleasure became pain. She slipped away to a place somewhere between the two, and gave her mind and soul over to it. Her ass cheeks were on fire, but her pussy was so wet and her clit so swollen, that she knew it would take only the lightest touch on that bud to push her over the edge. She could probably contract her Kegel muscles and do it herself, but half the fun of fighting to conform to Phil’s rule was the anticipation. She secretly enjoyed withholding her climaxes as much as he enjoyed overtly doing so.
When Phil finally stopped, she heard him panting. He caressed the tender areas he’d just punished with one hand. “Baby girl, what color are you?”
“Green, Sarge.” Her voice sounded far away. Eve had the sensation of floating on the bed, and the blindfold enhanced that. She gave into it and let her mind slip away.
When he asked her another question, she heard his voice but not the words. A hard smack on her right ass cheek brought her back to reality. “I asked you a question, Eve.”
“I’m sorry, Sarge. I didn’t hear you.”
He caressed her ass cheeks again, and then his warm breath was close to her ear. “All right. I’ll give you a pass on that one. I asked if you want me to fuck you now.”
“Oh, please…please, Sarge. Yes.”
Phil’s hands stroked the sides of her legs from her hips down to her ankles, over and over. When his tongue began to follow, Eve moaned loudly, knowing she couldn’t take much more. She had to have him, now. His tongue was on her ass cheeks now, soothing the sore, puffy skin. She sighed as he spread them apart and licked her pussy from behind. She wanted to arch her hips so he could reach her clit, but she knew better.
She’d tried that once, after he’d told her not to, and he’d tied her to a chair and made her watch while he beat off in front of her. She never wanted to be denied like that again, so she forced herself to let him set the pace now.
When she finally felt his dick tease the opening to her wet slit, she moaned louder, but all that earned her was a soft chuckle as he continued to tease her. “What do you want, baby girl? Describe it to me.”
“Sarge, please…” Eve was so close to coming it was ridiculous.
He reached underneath and gently caressed her clit. Then he leaned close to her ear again and whispered in such a sexy voice that Eve’s pussy contracted. “I won’t let you come until you tell me, Eve.”
She could barely breathe let alone talk. “I want your dick inside me, Sarge. I want you to fuck me rough and hard, or soft and slow. Whatever you want. Just put it inside me. Please. Please let me come. Please…”
He kissed the top of her head. “That’s what I wanted to hear, love. You may come now, beautiful Eve.”
Phil slid his cock into her swollen pussy, and Eve’s orgasm crashed over her before he was even halfway inside. She writhed on the bed and muttered incomprehensible words as wave after wave of delicious ecstasy spread throughout her body. Even when it was over, Phil didn’t stop. The man had incredible stamina.
He reached under and massaged her breasts, and then he withdrew and gently turned her onto her side, lifting one leg to fuck her that way. She loved it when he did that because he also rubbed her clit and played with her nipples at the same time, enhancing every exquisite sensation.
Eve reached for him, wanting to touch him, but he caught her wrist with one hand. “Just relax, Eve. This is all for you right now.” She moaned again at the loving tone in his voice. When his thrusting became quick and rough, she knew he was close. His cries of pleasure joined hers as he came, and then he pulled out and took off the blindfold. He wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair and back. “I think we’ll just stay in here all day and keep doing that.”
Eve smiled. “That works for me, Sarge.” She’d stay in here for the rest of her life, doing nothing but fucking Phil, if she could. She was so damn happy, and so blessed, that there were days Eve was afraid to go to sleep. She didn’t want to wake up and find that the past two years had been a dream. Nothing in her life had ever been as perfect as Phil.
Chapter Two
Knox Parkwood wiped his hands on a greasy rag next to the 1965 Chevelle Malibu hardtop he was working on. Its owner, Nash Stonecraft, was trying to restore it but couldn’t work on transmissions to save his life, so he’d brought the car to Knox last week. Nash was in no hurry, but he had about a dozen old cars that Knox would kill to get his hands on and help him restore. If he did a fast job with this one, maybe Nash would trust him with the others? Knox could certainly use the business.
“How are you today?” He shook Nash’s hand.
“Can’t complain.”
“I’ll have this done today or tomorrow, at the latest.”
“You weren’t kidding. You work fast.”
Knox gestured inside the garage. “It’s not like I have a lot to do.”
“No, I guess not.” Nash eyed the mural that Knox had painted on the back wall, as he always did. “I still can’t get over that. Every time I come here I see something in it I missed the last time.”
Knox couldn’t help but smile. The mural was something he’d done for fun. Like Nash, he had a love of art and art history. But unlike Nash, who had an MFA in Art, Knox had never gone to college. He’d painted the mural because he loved antique cars and he loved art. But it was the auto detailing and mechanical work that paid the rent. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I’d kill to have something like that in my house, but not of antique cars.”
“What then?” It was an old conversation. Nash had danced around the issue of hiring Knox to paint murals in his mansion so many times, that Knox no longer got his hopes up, but he played along with the game, regardless.
Nash shrugged. “I don’t know. I have all the art I love hanging on my walls, but this is special. This is something you create from another person’s ideas.”
Knox ignored the undertones. He knew that Nash wasn’t bragging, merely stating facts. Knox could no sooner afford to hang prints of Van Gogh or Monet on his walls than he could buy a home in the neighborhood where Nash lived. His home was the apartment above this garage, and he was grateful to have it. “I told you I’ll paint one for you. Just tell me when and what you want on the wall, and I’m there.”
“Oh, you know me. I’m full of great ideas,
but that’s as far as most of them get. But seriously, Knox, you should do his for a living.”
Knox bit the inside of his cheek. What could Nash possibly understand about having to earn a living? “If I could, I would.”
“You’re happy doing this, right? Detailing autos and rebuilding transmissions? You enjoy this work, don’t you?” Something in Nash’s tone tugged at Knox’s gut, despite the fact that Nash was out of touch with reality at times. This guy’s family was one of the wealthiest in town, and despite their notorious past and rumored one-time association with Mafia thugs, Nash had weathered his share of storms.
He’d lost both parents by the time he turned fourteen, and had been the sole heir to the family fortune since that day. But he didn’t run the businesses. He let others do that. Instead, he ran Indulgence, the BDSM club in Passion Peak, from the basement of his mansion on Cheyenne Boulevard, simply because he liked to be surrounded by like-minded friends.
“I love it, Nash.” It was true. Knox loved everything about his garage. The smell of antifreeze and grease, the cement floors that were cold as hell in the winter, the prints of 1920s roadsters hanging on the other three walls, and the winches hanging from the ceiling. He felt at home here, like he’d been born to do this. But he also felt that way when he was drawing or painting, which is why he’d covered the back wall with the mural.
Nash nodded several times. “Then that makes you a lucky man.”
Knox couldn’t even say why he asked. Nash had a lot of friends, but Knox would be damned if the man didn’t look in desperate need of someone to talk to right now. “You want to have a beer with me, Nash?” Knox glanced at the sky. “I don’t imagine we’ll have too many days like this soon. There’s talk of heavy snow this weekend.”
It had been the right thing to ask. Nash actually looked relieved. “Yeah, I don’t imagine so. I’d love a beer.”
Knox retrieved a couple of Coors from the small fridge in the back of the garage, and then pulled over two camp chairs and set them in up in front of the Chevelle so they could watch the traffic on Pioneer Lane while they talked. “I heard they caught Trace Coleman on your property again.”
Nash shook his head. “Not him. Two of his film crew and one other man.”
“Who? Someone from Passion Peak?” Trace Coleman was a fake ghost hunter who had a crappy cable show and, as the residents of Passion Peak had recently discovered, a penchant for targeting historic and wealthy homes around the country, looking for hidden money, stocks, or jewelry behind walls or in holes in the ground. Nash’s property contained one of many abandoned mine shafts in the area.
“You must be the only person in town who hasn’t heard this.”
Knox chuckled. “You know me. I ignore everything when I’m working on something this epic.”
This time, Nash chuckled. “I’d hardly call this piece of shit ‘epic.’”
“But it will be one day. So who was the other man on your property, and what were they trying to break into? One of the houses?”
Nash took a long sip of beer. “No. The mine shaft. I found documents in my basement recently that detailed what’s supposedly buried in there.”
“No shit. What’s buried in there?”
Nash gave him a droll look. “Enough jewelry from a heist in Grand Junction to give me a legal headache the size of Texas. I’m sure I’ll have to dig it up eventually, but right now my team of attorneys are trying to find legal reasons why I don’t have to.”
“Wow.” It seemed inadequate, but Knox didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine sitting on something like that and acting so nonchalant about it. “So who was the third man?”
The look Nash gave him this time wasn’t droll. It was dark and confused. “The third man was Dalton Metcalf’s father, Leland.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“What the hell is a man who runs multimillion dollar companies doing hanging out with someone like Trace Coleman?” Leland Metcalf was one of worst asswipes that Knox had ever met. He’d once brought a 1975 Rolls-Royce to Knox and wanted him to restore it for pennies on the dollar. When Knox refused because what Leland was willing to pay worked out to be less than minimum wage, Leland had threatened him with everything from blackballing him around town to suing him. Knox had told him to get his ass off the property and never return, and that had been the last time he’d seen or spoken to Leland Metcalf.
“Dalton said he’s known for years that his father wanted to get his hands on whatever Dalton’s grandfather and my grandfather had hidden around town. But even Dalton never believed his own father would scale a brick wall around someone else’s property to do it.”
“Christ. He actually did that?”
Nash nodded and drained his beer. Knox did the same, and then pointed to Nash’s empty bottle. “Want another one?”
Nash shook his head. “You know what really sucks about all this? When it makes the papers outside of Colorado, and I know it will as the FBI builds a case around Trace, every fucking treasure hunter in the country will swarm this town.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I have. And so has Chester. We had a long talk about it yesterday with Tommy.” Chester Smithson had been mayor of Passion Peak for almost thirty years, and was so well-respected that most of the residents joked they’d never let him leave office. “What did Chester and Tommy say? Do they have any ideas how to keep that from happening?”
“None.” Nash glanced at his empty beer bottle. “I will have another, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
Knox started to get up, but Nash was on his feet. “I’ll get them.” Nash took two beers out of the fridge and handed one to Knox, then took his seat again. They watched a few cars drive by, then Knox frowned as a medium-blue 1992 Pontiac Grand Am cruised past. Knox only noticed it because it wasn’t a factory color, and he knew every car in this town by sight, but he’d never seen this one before. It was also the third time he’d seen the car that morning.
He pointed toward the car, glancing at Nash. “Do you know who that is?”
Nash shook his head. “No clue. But I only know the cars who are at my club routinely.”
“You need to get out more.”
“Tommy says the same thing, but then I always tell him that I don’t notice him out very often. When he’s not at my club, he’s working.”
Tommy Farley was a detective on the police force and was great friends with Phil, Knox’s cousin. “Phil says everyone on the force calls him Insomnia Man. He never sleeps.”
Nash laughed. “That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember it. Ian would love that.”
“How are things with you three?” Ian was one of Nash’s friends who, along with Nash, was now a Dom to Angela Davidson. Knox only kept up with who was a Dom or a sub to whom because Phil was in the lifestyle and had told him about Brett Warner getting beat up by someone in Rifle recently.
Brett was Angela’s ex-boyfriend, and she’d recently had a nasty shock when he posted a video of them having sex on YouTube. He’d taken it before Angela had dumped his sorry ass, but she hadn’t known about it until Carma Mandanici, one of her friends, had found it online. By now, most of the town had seen it. Phil said Tommy had tried to get it taken down, but couldn’t do so.
Angela was also friends with Eve, Phil’s fiancée, and Eve had been pretty upset by the video. Knox understood that reaction perfectly. It was a shitty thing to do, especially since Brett had done the same thing with Becca Rawlings, one of the women he’d been cheating on Angela with.
Knox’s ex-wife Zoe had cheated on him. Only once, unlike Brett who had cheated on Angela way too many times, but Knox still burned with anger and hurt whenever he let himself think about it too long. He could only what imagine what Angela had gone through with Brett.
Nash’s smile was nothing short of brilliant. “Things are wonderful. You may not have heard this, but Angela is pregnant.”
“Oh?” By
Brett? Knox couldn’t imagine Nash would be smiling about that, but he wasn’t sure how to ask.
“Yes. Ian and I are thrilled. And no, we don’t care which one of us was the sperm donor.”
Knox breathed a mental sigh of relief. Angela and Brett had been an on-again, off-again couple for at least ten years, so anything was possible, but he was glad to know it wasn’t Brett’s child. He shook Nash’s hand. “Congrats, man. That’s awesome. I’m happy for all three of you. Tell Angela I said so, okay?”
“I sure will.” Nash took a sip of beer and gave Knox a thoughtful look. “What’s going on with your love life?”
Knox snorted. “What love life?” He gestured toward the garage. “This is my life, right here. Zoe got to keep the shop and I got to keep this.” After the divorce, Zoe had taken back her maiden name, along with the shop both she and Knox had once owned. It was the only way he’d been able to keep his garage and auto detailing business away from her bloodsucking attorneys.
The Unique Boutique downtown on Juniper Street catered to women half of Zoe’s age, but because the closest mall in Grand Junction was almost two hours away, she raked in the money from it, while Knox fought for every customer he had.
“I’m sorry, Knox. But I don’t know where this town would be without this place, you know? You do great detailing and can fix anything on any car.”
Knox smiled. It was a kind thing for Nash to say. He loved his work, but late at night he became so lonely that it actually caused him physical pain. He couldn’t snuggle up to a fuel injector or a chrome wheel. And who in this town would choose a grease monkey over someone like Nash, with his money and alpha-male aura? Zoe had been the only woman who had chased Knox, but now he understood why. She’d seen him as a pushover. It was difficult for Knox not to see himself that way most days. The fact that she’d cheated on him didn’t help.
