Willows, Jennifer - Bound by Accident [Moreland Brothers 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Jennifer Willows

  “Hey,” Mak stuttered out, looking at the man in front of her door.

  “Hay is for horses, Makenzie.” Makenzie saw Charyn was joking with her just a tad, most likely wanting to see her cheeks redden.

  “So what? People can have hay, too.”

  “Liar, I dare you to eat some hay.” She smiled back at his response.

  Their playful banter stopped when they heard a throat-clearing sound. When they both went silent, her mom spoke.

  “So this is the something, huh. I think someone was telling you to mind your manners, Makenzie.”

  Stepping forward, Charyn stuck his hand out, introducing himself. “Hello, I’m Charyn Moreland. It’s nice you meet you. And as cliché as it sounds, I see where your daughter got her beauty from.”

  “Nice to meet you as well, Charyn. I am Sharon Stafford, Makenzie’s mother.” She hugged him. “I heard that you were the brave man that helped my baby girl out. I hope she treats you right. And if she doesn’t, call me. I’ll get her. She’s stubborn but not too old to take a switch to.”

  Laughing at the picture that made, Mak reddened at the thought that most likely Charyn would happily wield the switch himself. Her mom hugged them both again, and walked to her car.

  Charyn left his shoes by the door, padding sexy bare toes to the kitchen.

  “Do I smell pot roast?”

  “Yep, it’s got a couple more hours, though. It should be done by five or so.”

  “You may as well call it leftovers.”

  “Why?”

  “You promised me dinner, remember? I’m going to take you to Raleigh for Thai and a movie. We leave in an hour.”

  “Dang, wish my mom hadn’t made me forget about that. I was excited to be in my comfy clothes and ready for a night in.”

  “You’ll be happy you came. Don’t push me. I might have to take a switch to you.”

  Charyn reached for her, Makenzie barely dodging away. She spun off to the bedroom, already trying to decide what to wear. She left the tights, changing the shirt to a man’s button-down in black. She belted the waist, opting for a black ballerina-flat shoe. Her hair, still damp and in the towel, was combed carefully with lots of product and left to air-dry. She spent most of the time on her face, wanting to look as fantastic as she could. Using cream foundation, instead of her usual mineral powder, gave her skin a dewy look. Her eyes were done in green shadow and black liner, taking time to make sure the colors were vibrant. Mascara, a small bit of blush, and she was done. After putting everything away, she looked in the mirror.

  Mak asked herself endless questions, nervously. “Will he think I look nice? Even if he does, what if others don’t? What if I look like a hag next to him?”

  Taking a few deep breaths, she took the plunge, walking out to him.

  “You look amazing.” His statement was simple. His eyes spoke of something more complex. He touched her chin with one finger and thumb. Tilting it with faint pressure, he kissed her. She looked him in the eyes and the kiss deepened, then stopped abruptly.

  “Wha—”

  “Too tempting, I wanna keep you here.”

  “Okay? Well, let me grab my bag.” She took out a black jeweled clutch purse. It was wallet sized, only big enough to hold the barest of necessities, ID, debit card, lip gloss and cell phone. He escorted her outside, opening the Hummer door and helping her up in the seat. When she looked in the visor mirror, Charyn had eaten off half of her gloss with his hungry kisses. She reapplied her M.A.C gloss in the mirror as he deftly navigated the Hummer out of the city.

  The drive was easy, made quicker by laughter. They spent time deejaying the CD and MP3 players and poking fun at the other’s music choices.

  “Who listens to Milli Vanilli anyway?” Charyn asked.

  “I do.”

  “I think you did that to get back at me for playing William Han.”

  “You might be right.”

  When they arrived at Dojo, the Thai restaurant, Makenzie was in love. The place was Thai fusion, many cultures making their stamp on the decor and food. The seating, low cushions, and squat table were colorful and semi-private. She could see the other diners, but a bit of neck craning would be involved. Each table grouping was curtained off in gauzy fabrics draping tent-like from ceiling to floor. Every section was a different color. Their tent was gold, and all the items in the small dining space were slight variations of the same color, from the charger plates to the napkin holders.

  When the server came by, he handed them bamboo-backed menus and waited.

  Charyn requested the house special wine and a spicy peanut shrimp appetizer.

  “I like this place. The decor is great.”

  “There’s something special about this place. They have a show that I wanted you to see. It will help you know a little more about what I want to do to with you.”

  Face scrunched, Mak said, “What does that mean exactly?”

  “What I said. You have to see it to believe it.”

  The waiter came back, food in hand, and poured a sample of the wine. Charyn accepted it after tasting. Once the plates were set up, the server left them alone at the table. He moved to the cushion next to her, chopsticks in hand. To start, he fed her a bite of the crunchy prawns, followed with a sip of wine. Next, he served himself, and the pattern continued. When the last shrimp was eaten, Mak asked, “Why didn’t you place an order for an entree? Are we leaving to go to the movies?”

  “To answer your questions, no, we are not leaving now. I didn’t place an entree order due to the fact that the Dojo only makes one entree a day. Each night it is different, but only one item is offered each evening.”

  “That’s pretty unusual.” Mak didn’t quite get what the ramifications of the meal were.

  “Remember when you asked me why this place is special? This restaurant serves a different meal every night. Each meal corresponds with a certain sexual act. Depending on what night it is, you can see anything. One night, a sixty-nine. The next, bondage. The one after that, anal. Next week? Who knows.”

  Jaw unhinged, Mak asked, “What is for dinner and entertainment tonight?”

  “Japanese rope tying. The meal is a Thai noodle dish.”

  “Japanese rope, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  Shocked but not appalled, Mak sat, childlike, peeking through curtains to see the other occupants. Were they normal everyday people like her neighbors? Were they like her? As her vision panned the room, a gong sounded. The small pockets of chatter silenced, as if a hand clamped down, shutting every mouth at once. Lights dimmed everywhere, and the faint trails of Nag Champa were visible as they drifted through the room. Their server came back, bowls ready. She barely saw him do his job. She knew he gave them the dishes based on the smell of spicy peanut sauce and noodles. As the last server left the room, a door opened, two robed figures walking to the center of the room.

  The taller of the two spoke. His voice was strong and carried over the expanse of the dining space. “I am Master Johng, and this is my slave, Miri.”

  Master Johng first told Miri to disrobe them both. Head bowed, she removed his covering first, folded it and placed it in a basket. Hers was next, treated the same as his. When she finished, she kneeled in child’s pose. Master Johng wore some clothing, a pair of lounging pants in black silk. Miri was nude, save a brief panty that was really two wide straps through the crotch and attached to a wide ribbon at her hips. The only other clothing Miri wore was a set of clamps at each nipple, connected with a small, delicate chain. Master Johng had her stand, afterwards removing a long length of rope from the basket. He started with her torso, tying the piece around her, knotting every so often. When her torso was finished, he moved upward. Banding her arms in knots forming a seam, he did the same to her legs.

  Mak was so enthralled with the show her food was cold before the first bite. Charyn pulled Makenzie into his lap and fed her a few bites of the dish. It was spicy, and the heat traveled south, warming her.

 
Charyn spoke for the first time in long minutes, asking, “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s…interesting.” Why am I wet?

  “I’ll take that for now. Wait till you see the rest of it.”

  “Don’t really know how much more of that I can take.”

  Looking back at the scene, Mak saw Master Johng hog-tie Miri, using the harness he fashioned from rope earlier. While Charyn distracted her, Miri had a set of rope panties added. The knots there were near the mouth of her sex and just below the waist. The master pulled a series of chains from the nearby post and attached them to the harness at several different points. He walked back to the post, hoisting the main chain, pulling taut until she was in the air and was swinging level to his chest. Once positioned to his satisfaction, he tied the chain off at the post. Miri screamed as she started sailing in mid air, begging for mercy. Her master had none, slapping an exposed patch of hip. He tugged the rope panties from the back, and Miri went mad. She flailed in her bonds, tears rolling down her cheeks. After a few moments, she silenced, though fat tears crept down her face. A huge smile crossed her lips, and she flew in her swing, carried by the momentum she created with her orgasm.

  When the swing stilled long moments later, only then Mak realized she was grinding Charyn, her hip motions jerky. He moved his hands to her waist, coaxing her stilted rocking into smooth circles. She leaned her head back into him. She wanted him, now. She had to have him. She placed her hand on his, moving it to her breast. The spicy food and show had her wet and left her skin tingling, too tight around her.

  Charyn spun her to face him, as the dim lighting faded to near black. The darkness allowed the night’s entertainment to leave, successfully cloaking their exit. He took her hands, imprisoning them behind her in one of his. The sounds of the other diners taking pleasure were pronounced, a symphony of sensation. She heard several people coming, the menagerie of grunts and moans musical. Charyn opened her shirt, popping open button after button. When he reached the belt, he pulled the shirt down her torso, leaving it half on. She felt him inhale the air around her exposed skin, the pulling of air affecting her more than a direct touch. In the darkly lit space, he caressed her breast, nuzzling it with a damp lip. When his lips passed over it, she moaned, complaining.

  Charyn took the pebbled skin in his mouth, drinking from her. Sucking her deep, the long pulls of his wet mouth nearly half-engulfed her breast. Makenzie heard herself groan when her unattended nipple tightened painfully. Switching to the neglected breast took less than a moment. The sensations were so intense, she was left wishing he had two mouths to give her, and felt so greedy for more. She cried out, an anonymous voice begging in the dark.

  “Please, more, please.” Next she pleaded, her hands trapped in the shirtsleeves, helpless.

  She knew Charyn heard her, felt his cock harden further to give her what she was begging for. He pulled his cock out and gave her one hand back, pulling it through the shirtsleeve. She used it wisely, stroking him for all she was worth. Uncrossing her legs, she wrapped them around him. Stroking him between their bodies, she let him go, working her crotch against his. The multicolored tights were less than tissue paper between them, and she could feel him, thick and long, scraping against her pussy with each hot pass the head gave her clit.

  Moments later, Mak felt everything in her give way. Her head tossed back, hair kissing her bared spine. Charyn clenched her hair tight in one fist, forcing her to arch farther back. His mouth ate her nipples, suckling gaping mouthfuls of the areola, a man seeking sexual nourishment at the breast of his lover. Her peak was miles long, and she screamed the whole journey. Charyn released her hair, hands pulling her forward. He ground her pussy harder, forcing a smaller peak on her. She whimpered, still sensitive from the last climax. Her wet heat soaked his cock, and as he came, a long grunt forced along with it. She opened her eyes, surprised to see the lights were full again, bright as when they arrived. Looking around, she saw curious eyes everywhere. In all directions couples peered through curtains and unashamedly watched them. She ducked her head, unsure what to say or think about the voyeurs and her place within them.

  When they left Dojo, Mak’s legs were still like jelly and barely worked enough so she could stand unaided. Charyn fastened her clothes just enough to get the necessities barely covered. Her shirt revealed a long strip of skin to mid chest, and he still carried her belt in one large hand, the other held her at his side. If the shirttails didn’t reach her midthigh without the banding of the belt, all the watchers would see the sex juices darkening the spandex fabric. Several couples winked at them as they made a quick exit. Still mortified, Mak was blushing red all over, and she could feel the heat washing over her skin in waves. But not all was from the voyeurs at the club embarrassing her. Some was because she liked, no, loved it.

  Charyn was silent the entire ride, the SUV eating up I-40.

  The silence, heavy, blanket-like, was rife with expectations. Mak still wore her shirt, but between the missing buttons and ejaculations, the item was no longer fit to wear. She carried Charyn’s seed on her breasts, soaking her bra thoroughly. The tights were little better, her and his ejaculations staining them.

  They arrived back in town when Charyn spoke. “Makenzie, will you come home with me tonight?”

  Mak didn’t know what to say. She just didn’t want to be one of those bimbos he probably was used to, throwing him the drawers. On the other hand, he was glorious, and she wanted all of him, now.

  What do I do? She thought, confused and not knowing what would be best. Do I let him take me, just tonight, no expectations? Or do I hold out, maybe try to make this work? Go home to my lonely bed or see where the night would lead with him?

  “I can see the emotions written on your face. The confusion you’re feeling combined with desire. How about a compromise? I won’t make love to you tonight, but I will touch you.” Charyn just looked at her, no pressure in his gaze for her choose one way or the other.

  The words heated her. There was no way could she have a repeat of Dojo without raping him. Hell, she was there now. She was torn in two. Half wanted to run away, with a metaphorical tail between her legs, screaming. But the other half was pure vixen, pleading with her to take it, whatever he could give her. She could take him, now preferably. It wouldn’t take much. Makenzie was hungry, had never felt it so acutely. After a lifetime of water, she had her first taste of wine, and needed more. She could feel him still, and the ghostly sensations flashed her back to Dojo.

  “I don’t know if that’s possible. My body is screaming for you, and I don’t think I could be satisfied with anything less than your cock tonight,” she stated baldly, no artifice or ability to find any.

  “That’s what I’m talking about, Makenzie. I’ve never been so starved for anyone before, either. However, I can satisfy you with less than my cock tonight. I could use my hand, a toy, my tongue. Whatever I choose, you would come until you passed out.”

  The stark, naked words made her hot, and she let her body decide for her, closing her eyes. She nodded, and he made a U-turn headed for his house.

  Chapter 9:

  Story of Big Os

  “Are you sure, Makenzie?” Charyn asked. He didn’t clarify, but she knew what he was asking.

  “What if I said no?” Makenzie wanted to toy with him. She never had released her inner vixen, and Charyn was perfect to cut her teeth on.

  “If that were the case, you would be at home right now.” She saw Charyn meant it.

  “Then why ask me?”

  “I just wanted to be a gentleman as long as possible. You’re about to see a side of me that I keep hidden for good reason.”

  Makenzie shivered and didn’t open her mouth for the rest of the drive, which was longer than she expected. Most likely, with her mood even five more minutes was too much to wait.

  Charyn’s house was by a local beach. About half an hour from town proper, Ft. Fisher Beach was primarily used by local residents. It wasn’t a
hotbed of activity but a place where runners could jog the sandy beach without tripping over tourists in summer. His house was fairly large, with a wide porch and huge windows, and fashioned from bricks. There was some grass, but it was sparse and patchy in the waning moonlight. He led her to the front door, opening it up, and hefted her in his arms, carrying her inside.

  Happy to be where she wanted to, the vixen inside her was silent and let him carry her through the living room, just outside the foyer door. The room was very masculine, though not black and chrome, as expected. The room was an eclectic mix of dark-chocolate leather and masks. The masks represented numerous tribes, fully covering the fireplace wall. His flooring was marble through the space scattered with Persian rugs. Most of the rugs’ dominant color was a dark green, some a royal blue. As he settled her on his leather, brass-studded sofa, she looked over the sidewall, filled with books. Many were hardbacks, some even first-edition classics. Beside the large shelves was a small table, wire-framed glasses propped up on top. Everywhere she turned there was something else to see of interest. This was a lived-in home, filled with things one acquired on trips, some beautiful, others tourism tacky. A large conch shell and painted large rock were next to a snow globe on the mantel. Another shelf held a carved bone figure and its mate, a shot glass from Peru. He strode back as she made her assessment, holding glasses of unknown liquor on the rocks.

  He handed her one, and said, “Do you like the bat cave?”

  Mak laughed, awkwardness broken by his flippant statement.

  “Yes, it’s amazing. Masculine but homey, with an elegant twist.”

  “Thanks, I did it myself. The house was a shambles when I bought it, rotten wood, holes everywhere. It’s taken the last five years to get it to this point, and I still have a few projects to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, the yard and the attic space are being converted into a loft.”