With a silent count and his tally reached, he dropped the flogger. Kneeling on the concrete floor between her splayed legs, his hands curled around her hot, pink, punished—well, sort of—ass cheeks. Pulling her forward, he eyed the proof of her desire on the inner aspects of her thighs that glistened with her juices before he pressed his face against her and inhaled her sweet scent.
Desperate to taste her, he licked between the seam of her lips, slowly dragging his tongue from the mouth of her fluid opening up to her swollen and protruding clit.
“Delicious,” he groaned against her fragrant flesh.
*****
So engrossed was she in the pleasure of his mouth, she registered, but didn’t react to the sound of ripping Velcro or with her legs now free, that his hands caught her thighs and lifted them onto his shoulders. All she cared about was his magical tongue focused on and devouring her pussy. The feel of his lips and tongue busily eating her felt freakin’ divine, but the image of his gorgeous face pressed between her legs as his dark eyes burned up at her was burned indelibly into her brain.
“Ohmigod.” She cried out as her fingers curled around the cold metal bars, holding on. Her head fell back and she gave herself up to the pleasure of T’s mouth.
He murmured against her heated flesh as he came up for air, “Sweetest damn cunt, ever.” The reprieve only lasted a moment then his tongue dove back in, and she swore he mentioned something about pecan pie, but she was too out of her mind to ask.
“Ready to come for me, darlin’?” The buzz of his words almost making her fly apart.
“Yes, Sir, God yes! I can’t take anymore.”
“Then do it, come on my tongue.” As he gave his consent, his mouth dipped lower and he drove his tongue deep in her center. She screamed, convulsing around him. As she came, he didn’t let up, licking, lapping and swirling as she exploded on his wickedly talented tongue.
The next moment, she was back on her feet and his lips claimed hers. She tasted herself, and though she found her own tangy taste a far cry from pecan pie, on him, she found it highly erotic. As was the hard length of him driving up inside her. Without freeing her mouth, his big hands lifted her legs and curled them around his hips. Once she had him gripped tight, he grabbed hold of her ass cheeks and slammed into her. Only able to hang onto the bars and take him, she gave herself up to his driving possession enjoying every hard thrust and exquisite withdrawal.
She felt herself hurling toward another climax. Her body was alive from his touch, every inch of her vibrant from the heat and glide of his skin against hers. Her sensitized clit throbbed with each hard thump of his every inward thrust. It was simply too much to keep another orgasm at bay.
Angling her head, she whispered against his ear in a low moan, “Please, T.”
“Yes, baby,” was all he said as a groan rumbled up from his chest and he pumped faster, driving deep, her muscles clamping down around him. She couldn’t contain her outcry of sheer delight as she came once again. He was right with her, arching his head as he groaned his own completion. She nuzzled her face against his exposed throat—the only caress available without her hands—and basked in the sounds of T’s pleasure.
Aftercare was a sublime blur. He was gentle while uncuffing and unclamping her. Once freed, he carried her beyond the cell walls to the bed on the other side of the room, one she’d been too overcome by lust and incredible sex to even notice. He laid her down and proceeded to bathe her with tepid cloths followed by the slow massage of lightly scented lotion everywhere, paying extra attention to her wrists, both tender nipples, and her flogged ass and thighs. Her Dom then held her while she’d dozed off. She vaguely remembered walking out with him much later and promptly falling asleep again once he’d tucked her into the plush passenger seat of his big truck, waking again only briefly when he slipped her into her bed at home and climbed in beside her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Angie, baby, wake up.”
Still half asleep, she rolled to her side, bumping into his big body where he sat on the edge of the bed. Glancing at her clock, she frowned, stating the obvious. “It’s four a.m.”
“I’m on call, darlin’. Got a skiptrace to run.”
Her head, still heavy from lack of sleep, flopped back on the pillow. “I’m glad I’m not a bounty hunter. Four a.m. call outs suck.”
The amused laugh that shook his body also shook the bed.
“How long will you be gone this time?”
“Depends if the skip has more than half a brain. Hopefully, he doesn’t and I won’t be too long.” He found her lips in the dark. “I’ll call you tonight.”
“Okay, T. Stay safe.”
“I will, sweet thing. Look what I have to come home to.”
That made her feel all melty and tingly inside. With his mouth so near, she couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close, offering her mouth for a deeper kiss as a reward for saying such a sweet thing. His voice was gruff, her breathing unsteady, when he lifted his head several minutes later.
“Sorry, baby.”
“You’ve gotta run, I know.”
She felt the press of his warm lips against her forehead before he strode from the room.
“T?”
His head popped back around the door jamb.
“Your mother was expecting us for dinner.”
“Shit! I’ll call her.”
“She was depending on me to get you there. I guess I’ll have to let her down.”
“I’ll explain. She’ll understand.”
“I’m not so certain.”
“We’ll reschedule. It’ll be fine. Bye, baby.”
“Bye, T,” she whispered to the empty doorway.
*****
T called Sophia who turned right around and called Angie, insisting she come anyway. Feeling awkward about going to her new… What exactly did she call him? Lover? Boyfriend? Dom? Whatever the term, having dinner at his mother’s house without him, felt odd, so she tried to get out of it. As luck would have it, Sophia Portman was as charming and stubborn as her son and she found herself walking up to the house at twenty before five with a bottle of wine in her hand, the same Shiraz T had brought her.
Sophia and her husband, Hank, T’s step-father, welcomed her warmly. Hank seated her on a stool at their big kitchen island that doubled as a workstation, uncorked the wine to let it breathe—whatever that meant—and went back to chopping vegetables for a salad as Sophia drained the pasta.
“I made Antonio’s favorite. He’ll be disappointed to have missed it.”
“No, I won’t,” came a deep voice from the front room, followed by thudding footsteps.
“Tonio!” Sophia quickly dried her hands on her apron and went to greet him. “I thought you got called away with work.”
He dutifully bent his head and kissed her proffered cheek. “Luckily, this skip wasn’t too bright. I apprehended him while he was still saying goodbye to his girlfriend, from her bed.”
Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me about the dangerous fugitives you work with. I don’t want to know.”
Amusement flickered in the brown eyes that met Angie’s as he quipped, “They’re rarely dangerous when naked, in bed, and getting busy.”
“Enough!” his mother cried, covering her ears. “I get the very vivid picture. Ew!”
He grinned, moving passed her to where Angie sat. “Little bit,” he murmured in greeting as he cupped her cheek, his thumb beneath her chin tilting her head back. His lips covered hers, the kiss including a little lick of his hot tongue along her bottom lip. Heat zipped through her body. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she breathed, “Hi, T.”
He smiled, whisking the residual moisture from her lips with his thumb. As he moved away, the lingering warmth he’d incited in her body settled in her cheeks. Seeing Sophia beaming with delight having taken it all in, she flushed even more.
T didn’t notice, or if he did, it didn’t show as he lifted the
lid of the big stock pot on the stove. Bending slightly, he inhaled. “Mm, mm. Angie, Ma’s gone all out. Her ragu is better than any I’ve ever tasted anywhere in the world, even Italy.”
“Grazie, bello. Your grandmother’s recipe is divine.”
“Ragu?” she inquired.
“Pasta Bolognese, dear,” Sophia explained, crossing to take the spoon from T after he took a taste. “I make it with four kinds of meat: pancetta, ground chuck, ground pork and veal. I add sautéed onions and fresh garlic, but that goes without saying, it’s ragu after all. There’s also carrots, red wine, tomatoes and cream. The spices, however, are a family secret.”
Moving away to let his mother deal with her sauce, T lounged against the counter, his eyes alight with a teasing humor. “She could tell you, darlin’, but then my uncle, Don Luigi, would have to come over from the old country and whack you.”
Sophia lightly smacked his arm while Hank guffawed and Angie grinned.
“Tonio! Be serious. You don’t have an Uncle Luigi and you know our family never had mafia connections. Angelina might believe you, then what would she think of us?”
“She knows I’m joking, Ma.” He looked at his step-dad and lifted his chin in greeting. “Hank. Didn’t mean to leave you out of the greetings. My only excuse is the sauce was calling to me. You know how it is.”
“I do, son. I married your mother for her sauce.”
Sophia cast them both an exasperated look. “Stop it you two. I’m trying to make a good impression on the girl and you are making us seem coarse.”
“It’s fine, really, Sophia,” Angie assured. “I work with T, and the Rossi men cut up and tease constantly, as does my family. It makes me feel right at home, honestly.”
A buzzer sounded. “That’s the bread. We’re ready to eat.” Sophia shooed them toward the dining room as she opened the oven and the heavenly aroma of garlic and browned bread wafted out.
The evening was very enjoyable. The food was delicious, the conversation lively, Sophia was charming and Hank was a hoot. His hand evident in his raising of T because he had certainly instilled his sense of humor in him. T was relaxed and affectionate with her, which never seemed to pass Sophia’s notice. Following dinner, they retired to the wide front porch that ran the length of the house for coffee and dessert, Sophia’s mint chocolate chip cannolis.
The older couple took two of the wicker rockers, while T guided Angie to the porch swing. There they gorged themselves on the sweet cream pastries, before settling back to sip their Perfetto, a dark Italian coffee blend with a hint of caramel. With his long arm resting along the back of the swing, T pushed them gently with his foot.
“This has been nice,” his mother murmured, her eyes cutting to her only child. “We should do it more often.” It was a not so subtle hint that T let slide. He deftly turned the conversation to other things. After an hour of easy conversation, they said their goodbyes. T engulfed his mother in his big arms for an affectionate squeeze while kissing her cheek. Sophia in turn surprised Angie by pulling her in for a motherly hug.
She waved them off from the porch steps, beaming brighter than the full moon when T took her hand. Hank slipped his arm around her shoulders, and said in a whisper for her ears alone, “Don’t print the wedding invites just yet, sweetheart.”
His deep voice carried in the night air to where T walked her to her car. He sighed heavily. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize for your parents. I like them. I mean Hank and your mom.”
“You can call Hank that, I do. He raised me since before I started school.”
“I’m glad you had him after your dad died. Raising you alone would have been hard on your mother.” With keys in her hand, she leaned back against her car door, looking up at him hesitantly wondering what came next.
He didn’t make her wonder long. “Your bed or mine, darlin’? Your choice. Either way you’re sleeping in my arms tonight.”
She had no problem with that. “I’d like to see where you live.”
“Good choice. My back will thank you in the morning, short stuff.” He grinned as he tucked her hair behind her ear and lowered his face for a brief kiss. “Follow close. We have to head further out of town to get to the farm.”
It took about twenty minutes down several dusty back roads until they pulled onto a winding tree lined paved drive. At the end, she was stunned by the sight of his house. Climbing out of the car, she stood in the open doorway staring at the white stone and brick two-story Cape Cod style house with three steep pitched dormered windows on the upper floor.
“This is what you call a farmhouse?” she asked when T approached.
Glancing over his shoulder, he turned, walking backward the last few steps until he came up alongside her and stared up at it too. “Gram’s idea sparked by a trip to New England a few years back. She fell in love with the style and did some renovation. Structurally, it is still the farm house built back in 1927 although you can’t tell from the outside.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Let me show you inside.” Without waiting for an answer, he slung his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the front door. The house had a wide porch like his parent’s did, a swing conspicuously absent. Inside was as modern as the outside with gleaming hardwood floors, neutral colors, and tasteful décor. The living room had an impressive wall of brick that made up the fireplace.
“That’s the original brick, restored. They updated almost everything: wiring, plumbing and all the flooring is new. I’m glad they kept the high ceilings and wide doorways while they brought everything else up to code.”
He led her through the open floorplan lower level, to the back of the house and a set of double doors. These led out to a huge stone patio shaded by tall trees with several benches scattered about. He took a left, pulled her through the kitchen, and out an arched doorway that led to another flight of stairs.
“I’ll give you the full tour tomorrow. Tonight, I want to show you the master’s suite.”
“What?”
“My bedroom.”
“Oh. The way you said that I thought...”
“Nope, my home dungeon is in the basement.”
“You have a home dungeon?”
“The better to bind and whip you with, my dear.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am, baby. You’re so easy.” He led her through a set of double doors at the end of the upstairs hall. “This is the master bedroom and although I don’t have a dungeon, don’t be surprised if you find some strategically mounted eye bolts here and there.”
Thoughts of being bound to his bed had her heart racing. It quickly returned to normal, as she glanced around the very standard, though well-decorated bedroom. She scanned the headboard before making a thorough perusal of the room. There wasn’t a bolt, shackle or spanking bench in sight, to her utter disappointment. Realizing the twisted turn of her thoughts, she smoothed out her expression, giving him a sidelong glance to see if he’d noticed. Of course, he had, his shit-eating grin broadcasting the fact.
He tugged her over to the bed and sat, pulling her between his knees. Without wading through anymore chitchat, he got busy undoing her blouse.
She focused on one other thing that she’d noticed about the room, the entire house for that matter, until he got her so distracted that it left her. “You’re very neat,” she observed. Surprisingly, for a bachelor, the bed was made and there wasn’t a single article of dirty clothing strewn about the floor.
“Cleaning service,” he murmured as he popped the last button and separated the material.
“On Sunday?”
“I’m not a complete barbarian. A drill sergeant taught me to make my bed and put away my dirty socks in basic.” His head dipped to the valley of her breasts and his mouth found bare skin. Slowly, he licked with the tip of his tongue up between them. “Now, detective, can we put this line of questioning aside until I’ve had my wicked way with your body?”
<
br /> Whatever she had asked, had left her head already. “What line of questioning?”
He grunted his approval, as he stripped the shirt from her shoulders and down her arms. He didn’t return to what he was doing. Instead, his hands came up and curled into the cups of her bra, tugging the satiny material downward until her breasts sprang free. The nipples stood out in hard peaks, ready for his mouth. Angie watched as his tongue came out and licked all around one tip slowly. Opening his mouth, he sucked it in, drawing on the hard nub with exquisite suction as he lashed it inside with his tongue.
She had the overwhelming urge to sink her fingers into his hair and pull him in closer, but when she tried, she found that she couldn’t. He hadn’t unfasten the buttons at her wrists and her hands were stuck in the tightly fitted cuffs in her inside out sleeves. She struggled to get free.
“T,” she murmured, “I’m caught.”
Her nipple came free of his mouth with a pop. He spun her around, chuckling when he saw her dilemma. She felt his hands at her waist. Expecting to be freed, she was surprised a moment later when she heard a quick zip, felt a tug and her skirt landed with a whoosh around her feet, the material effectively hobbling her. When she was whirled back around, she was greeted by T’s wide grin.
“You are indeed caught, and you’ve spared me the need to rig up these.” He held up a pair of fleece lined leather cuffs “For the time being, of course.”
Her breath caught as he bent her forward over his knee. She found her face and chest in the mattress, hands effectively restrained behind her back while his roamed her near naked body. The pulse in her chest kicked up again.
“I’m in the mood to play.” As he spoke, he popped her bra clasp. Both large hands smoothed over her back, brushing her hair over her shoulders and the straps of her bra out of the way. With fingers splayed wide, he stroked slowly down the length of her spine, his hands bracketing each side. It felt divine, his fingertips digging in as he went, in a sensual massage. When he reached the small of her back, he didn’t stop, hooking his fingers into the lace of her panties and peeling them down until they rested at mid-thigh.
What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6) Page 27
