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

by Jennifer Willows

  “Wowser, can I see?”

  “Sure, lemme take you on the nickel tour.”

  Standing, he left their glasses of liquor on the table. He took her room by room through the house. He explained that the house was built with six bedrooms, but now had four.

  “When I first closed the sale, my ex-fiancée was going to be in charge of the renovations, but we split up before the ground broke on the first scheduled remodel. I really didn’t know what I wanted, but the house was unlivable at first, and I slept every night on the kitchen floor. It took three weeks of intense work, but I did the kitchen and the lower-level bath. I had to be able to eat, and a bathroom is a must-have. So it went from there, a bedroom next, then the living room. Then I worked on the patio space. I’ll show you that at the end. It turned out better than I planned.”

  Walking the layout of the house, Mak fell in love. The two downstairs bedrooms were really designed with kids in mind. One was a deep blue, fitted with a twin bed and dressers. The other was purple, kitted out the same as the first. Walking the curved staircase, she saw one small yellow bedroom, which was attached to the master bedroom. This one she could see as a nursery, the size and location making it perfect for that purpose. When she reached his room, she tried to imagine it beforehand, but his personality and decor didn’t give her enough clues.

  He opened the door. “This is it,” he said, waving her inside. The bedroom was immense, taking up at least one-third of the square footage on the second floor. It was set up similar to a studio apartment. At the front of the space were a small couch, a television, game systems, and movies. Further back, a bed almost spanned half the wall. The colors were very neutral. The walls, a rich glossy color, reminded her of peanut butter. The bed was draped in lush fabric, white-on-white shantung duvet. The pillows were large, super soft, all filled with goose down. They were kept in a similar palette, rich earthy tones. There were plants here and there, bamboo in chunky earthenware, a single bonsai tree on the bedside table. The wall at her right was covered in ivy, streaming from a window box spanning the floor. Behind the bed, the wall rose higher, a large bank of windows overtaking the whole of the wall. When she saw the beauty of the space, she was speechless. She could sleep in this room forever and never get bored of it.

  Everything about the space called to her, and she wanted nothing more than to roll in the bed with him. She could smell the earth in the pots, tasting it mixed with the scent of man. Her man.

  She asked about the windows to change the track her mind traveled. “What about hurricane season? That window isn’t gonna make it.”

  He replied, “If you look closely, the windows are set on a chair rail. The panes were installed independently of each other. This wall has reinforced steel, through the drywall and between each pane. If I pull the steel shutters down outside, all the windows are covered.”

  “That’s pretty awesome. Had to cost a mint, though.”

  “Not really, the house was a steal at a bit over a hundred thousand, the repairs were mostly done by me, and so I only spent about the cost of the house to do most of it.”

  “Not bad at all. So, are we going to see the patio?”

  “Yes we are, come on.”

  Headed downstairs, she grabbed her purse and texted Charli, advising her of her whereabouts and dinner. Lord knows with the weekend she had her friend would freak out when she didn’t come back. Then she’d be loaded and hunting for bear.

  Holding the whiskey glasses, Charyn held one out to Mak. She accepted it, following behind him to the back door. When she walked outside, the expanse greeted her. Welcomed her. The backyard led to the surf, a small fence providing a sense of privacy. She was standing on the back deck, the wind and moon calling her itchy hand. Mak wished she could sketch everything around her in a panoramic view. Damn it. She had no supplies whatsoever and now was desperate to sketch the beach. Makenzie asked Charyn for a paper and pencil. When he returned, there was a small set of stubs, the triangular tool used to shade sketches. He handed her two pencils, both with perfect sharp ends. He handed her a large pad last, smiling at her.

  Mak grinned back, helpless to do anything else. She snatched up the pencil and paper, squatting low. When she sat fully, she was posed Indian-style, pad in her lap. She moved quickly, knowing she was at the whim of the elements. The moon, ripe and full, contained much-needed light. But the clouds, dark and puffy, could render the natural light useless in a finger-snap. The picture formed in patches as she added more detail. When she touched up the shadow around the lone seagull, she finished, hand cramping. She picked up the whiskey glass, sipping the slightly watered-down liquor. It still had bite, and the mellow warmth hit her all at once.

  * * * *

  Charyn watched Makenzie sketching in the moonlight. She saw the simple beauty of the scene, and he wanted her. The sea and sky had no impact on him. Only she had that honor. He never thought to find a woman that fit every part of him. Pieces that he didn’t know existed, let alone missed. Before Makenzie he was willing to settle for a simple life with a woman that fit him on paper. After meeting her? There was no way that a cardboard cutout of perfection would suit, and nothing but the fire he felt with her would satisfy his urges. He could see his life working well around her, how well she fit him. No other person had ever had such a cataclysmic effect on him. Not even Tami’s betrayal affected him so strongly or came near to sullying his longing for Makenzie. For some reason, the little minx could leave him weak with laughter and wanting at the same time. No other eyes appeared to him like hers, so expressive and full of life.

  She set fire to his blood, beautiful and earthy, and he wanted her to accept she felt the same. It had taken him years to get to this point, and now that he found his complement, Charyn refused to let grass grow beneath his feet. He knew he had to take it slow, let her hold the reins a bit. He would let her set the pace, at first. Then he could reap the rewards when he finally wore her down.

  He watched her, eyes lidded low. The night darkened even as he saw her sit upright from her hunched pose, stretching her arms skyward. Picking up the glass, she downed the snifter in several deep sips. He saw her hand was cramped and took the glass from her. Glass on the patio table, he pulled one hand in both of his. Stroking her palm with his fingers, he rubbed the mound at the base of her thumb. He heard her moan, the sound made from the tight muscles releasing. When he was done, she kissed him, mouth closed. The kiss was sweeter, more romantic than before. He loved the feel of her lips pressed to his, moist and flavored of whiskey.

  Taking her hand in his, they rose, gathering her sketch, supplies in hand. Inside, he took her to the kitchen, asking her if she was hungry.

  “Yes, for you.” He swallowed, and his nostrils flared wide from her unabashed request.

  Charyn watched the emotions playing in her unfocused gaze. He wanted her attention on him, always on him. First, the belt banding her waist was discarded. Then, he placed his hand on her cheek, stroking south. Fingers trailed her neck, carried sloping to the shoulder. When he reached the hem of her ruined shirt, he ripped the blouse upwards, scattering the few buttons left from the episode at Dojo’s. He saw her lick her lips, and he wanted to taste her mouth. Unable to find a reason to deny the urge, he lifted her onto the kitchen counter.

  His mouth planted against Makenzie’s, tongue dueling hers back. Her lips tasted of the sweet sweat a lover gives during sin, and he wanted more. He wanted to see her, all of her. The tights were next, tossed left. She was wearing panties, and he wanted to see her now and needed no delays in his satisfaction. He grabbed the garments offending him and pulled at each hip, ripping them off her body. The motion was swift and savage, and Mak shrieked, jumping a foot off the counter.

  Charyn soothed her with gentle hands, though his words were not, whispering, “Don’t wear these anymore. If I see them, they’ll go the way of this one.”

  Scraps in hand, he tied them around her wrists, just loose enough to slip a finger in-between the bonds.
Wrists bound, he forced Mak to leave her needs in his hands. What good hands they were going to be to her. Charyn couldn’t wait to show her the many facets of pleasure. She had no idea how much sensation an arm or leg held untapped beneath the skin. His touches were feather light, and he left her longing for a firmer touch. She was lost in the sensations assaulting her.

  Charyn knew Makenzie forgot to care she was nude, spread before him, a feast of flesh. He finally gave her his mouth, hot, wet, sucking every part of her. He suckled the skin by her ribs to make her giggle, the underside of one breast, but not the other, to hear her groan. There was ample time given to lick the underside of her arm and the back of knees. When he leaned over her, she capitulated, begging him to finish it, and her.

  “Please, Charyn…I can’t take it.”

  * * * *

  Mak arched into the heat of his mouth, now teasing the crease of her thigh. He spread her legs, hands washing down her pussy, folding the lips back, exposing the oyster of her sex. He French-kissed her, tongue fucking her. She jerked, keening noises falling from her lips. He used his mouth, lips, tongue, teeth, even his after-hours’ shadow, all playing a role in the height of her arousal. She fought her ties, sodden panties trapping her wrists. Her legs spread wide, wishboned on the kitchen counter. He speared her with two overlarge fingers, plunging them deep. His hand cupped her breast, thumbing the nipple, bringing her higher. She whimpered under his mouth, hands roaming her.

  Her skin buzzed with sensations she was too untried to understand or speak of. Makenzie had never been in a state of rapture before. Until Charyn had gotten his hands on her, the only thing she knew was that the word rapture existed in the dictionary.

  He didn’t seem satisfied with her ready capitulation, and through the mop of hair in her face she saw him bite his lower lip as if thinking. If he kept it up, Mak was sure she was going to pass out before the night was over. She certainly didn’t want to waste time unconscious for any of this experience.

  Charyn’s efforts doubled and suddenly he was everywhere all at once. His fingers plucked nipples and teased her wet pussy walls. She couldn’t hold back and squirmed over the countertop. Her ass squeaked as she slid over the polished granite.

  “Be still. Don’t make me give the first punishment already, Makenzie.”

  “I can’t help it!” Couldn’t he see that? Makenzie was beyond controlling her own actions. Charyn’s tongue split open her wet need and polished her clit. He lifted his head from her undulating hips.

  “Yes, you can. For telling me that, you’ve just earned your first punishment. No coming until I say so.”

  “Please. I’ve never…done this before.” She didn’t mind begging as long as she got what she wanted. His answering smile was smug and possessive with her confession.

  “Good. Now you can see how a real man finishes his meal.”

  His tongue moved back into position and changed the rhythm she danced to. He took pleasure in keeping her from orgasm. She could hear it in the satisfied slurps he made at her labia when he cleaned her weeping juices from the folds. She knew that she was nearly mad with frustration and holding back her peak. Somehow Charyn could sense the crucial moment where one correctly placed breath would send her off like a rocket. At that moment he would stop, watching her gyrate until she backed off the plateau. Once he returned to what he was doing, he always gave one flat pass of tongue to gather her nectar first. It reminded her of licking an ice-cream cone in summer, the way he collected the juices coating her pussy. When he licked her dry, he would make her wet all over again. One moment he would suck her clit and the next flick the beaded nub in random patterns that left her near tears with pent-up lust. This time, when he lifted his head Makenzie was shuddering but silent.

  “You’re a good girl.” Makenzie nodded. Yes she was. At this point she was whatever he wanted. However he wanted.

  “You want me to make you come?” She nodded so quickly, Makenzie thought she probably looked like a bobblehead. But she would give nearly anything to experience the explosion that he was building inside her.

  Makenzie was mistaken before and assumed she was a virtuoso, but he had true mastery of her. He put all her self-taught knowledge to shame. By the time he used one calloused index finger to stroke over the hood of her clit, she was on fire. She came without a sound, no air in her lungs to use her voice. The orgasm buckled her legs, seized her spine rigid. The only part of her willing to operate was her hands, bound extremities clutching at him greedily. She came down, gasping for oxygen, his fingers lodged in her pussy. That’s what made him a Master, and she began to understand what surrender meant. The giving away of control, the total exchange of her will for his. Every sensation was all for her complete satisfaction and ultimate pleasure at the hands of an artisan.

  * * * *

  Charyn’s cock was huge, larger than usual, due to his throbbing arousal. The whispered confession of her lack of experience made him even harder than he could remember in his life. No other man had ever taken care of her the way he would. Whoever Makenzie’s last lover was, it was his loss, and Charyn’s gain. A dumbass fool, wasting a hot sopping pussy like hers. Her sex was juicy, a tasty fruit he wanted to suck free of nectar for every meal. Breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, and frequent midnight snacks. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from her pussy, the entire bottom half of his face drenched with her orgasms. Looking at the sight she made, he wanted more. More of her, right now.

  He spent a moment in thought. What would he do next with the wanton siren in his arms? Decision made on what would follow in her education, he lifted her from the counter. The orgasm pooled beneath her, dripping from her still as he pulled her in his arms. A splash of her juices wet the shirt he still wore, wetting his belly, and a single droplet hit the floor between his bared feet. The tiny plop of juices was audible, and Makenzie lowered her burning-red face to his chest at the sound. There was no pussy wetter than hers on earth, and Charyn was impatient for the moment when his cock could sample the juices firsthand.

  He carried her upstairs, to his room, the place where he would ravage her again. He promised her that they wouldn’t have straight sex tonight. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t spread her open again, and in fact he planned to make her come all night. When they reached the door, she rubbed her head against his chest, weak motions showing her to be replete. The massive bed awaited, and he wanted to make her hair stand straight while they lay in it together.

  He laid her on top the cover, and she spoke, the words hoarse, “Maybe you should get a towel or something. This is some really nice bedding.”

  Charyn laughed. He was shocked she would come in huge puddles on the kitchen counter and then hesitate to sully the bed. “It’s not going to matter. You’re going to come so much tonight, the bedding is going to get soaked anyway. You may as well just enjoy it, and me.”

  Face aghast, Mak stuttered her retort back, “More? But I just dripped onto the floor of your kitchen. I don’t know what more you can do to me.”

  “You’re going to find out.”

  That shut her up, left her lying in his bed, panting for him.

  “Wait here.” Charyn walked away.

  He used the moment to start a bath running and went back to Makenzie, watching her attempt vainly to sit upright. It was noted with satisfaction that Mak’s quaking legs were unable to bear her weight. Charyn picked up the soft weight of pure woman and sat her in the steaming-hot, waiting water. The bath was huge, large enough to hold four people with comfort and space to spare.

  He saw her take note of her surroundings. First, he noticed her attention went to the mirror facing the tub. It was gold framed and showed the whole of the bath and occupant. Charyn saw her hair was snarled, and he had nothing to offer her save his own brush. He was a simple guy, and the longest he let his hair grow was a few inches. Not enough to waste on a comb. She was able to improvise, and he watched as she used her fingers in her hair, combing through the mess. After getting rid of mo
st of the tangles, she plaited it back away from her face. Seeing a bottle of soft soap she sniffed it, and her eyes said she was curious about the smell. The scent was his, a preferred musk and sandalwood. She then poured a generous amount in the water, bubbles frothing upon contact. Waving her arms and legs, she splashed bubbles about.

  For Charyn, the sight of her, wet and cavorting in the water, made him ready to play with her. He stripped down, leaving his clothes on the floor. When he climbed in the tub behind her, Makenzie lurched forward, surprise written on her face. He smiled, and while fitting her to him, turned on the tub jets with the flick of a wrist. Adding a bit more hot water, he laid back, keeping her pinned against him.

  Long moments later, he took a soft sponge lathered liberally with the fragrant soap. He washed her, limb by limb. Arms and legs covered in suds, he washed her back, pushing her forward to reach the lowest part of her hips. Then he pulled her back to him, washing the front of her body, sweeping strokes over her belly then chest. Still soaked in soapy froth, he cradled her close, taking his fingers and moving them lower.

  Charyn spoke softly, the tone of his voice low, near a whisper in volume. The words were soothing, yet stirring. He told her how beautiful he found her. He told her how much watching her at the peak excited him, how she moved him in every way possible. Makenzie rested her head on his chest, eyes closed, letting his touch show her how he felt. While she forgot about the mirror in front of her, Charyn hadn’t. He saw every reaction, live and in color. Her reflection spoke volumes, as he watched her gnaw at her lower lip, biting the already-chafed flesh.

  * * * *

  Makenzie was more than burning with the torture his hands had started with the sponge, and she wasn’t sure if her body was ready to go there again. His caresses were sending her mind and body separate places, the water doing an ill job of soothing the flames burning her. Her control was shot, and Makenzie was close to peaking harder than she could take. She let him soothe her, knowing if she kept barreling up the summit she would pass out. He allowed her to back off, his hands still for the moment.