Liberating Lacey (19 page)

Anne Calhoun

rising and falling more rapidly when she unbuckled his belt and opened his button and zipper.

Then she locked her eyes with his, looking up at him as she went down, kneeling before him on the unforgiving slate floor in her kitchen.

Her considerate lover would have suggested they move things to the living room or the sun porch, in deference to her knees. Officer Anderson, however, simply unclipped his gun from his belt and set it on her kitchen table, then shifted his hips to facilitate her pulling his jeans down and releasing his shaft.

She’d had plenty of practice since her first lesson in the sun porch three months ago and she put every single trick she’d learned to very good use. She licked his straining length to make it slick, then took him all the way to the back of her throat in one long, swallowing move. As she reversed she wrapped one hand around the base and cupped his testicles with the other. Up and down, up and down, working his length with her hand and mouth, each action steeped in the confidence she knew how to please him.

His breath hissed between his teeth. “Fuck, yeah,” he murmured.

Her eyes had drifted shut, so she opened them and peered up at him, pausing at the very tip of his shaft to tease him with a flickering lick. His implacable gaze a sharp contrast to his ragged breathing, he laced his fingers into her hair and took control of the pace. Desire arced through her body, ratcheting up with each stifled grunt, the tense and release of his strong fingers against her head. Every muscle in his body stiffened, his shaft swelling on her tongue, then a mere second later he jerked and let out a guttural groan, his semen pulsing onto her tongue.

When he was well and truly done, when the tension slackened from his limbs and he combed his fingers out through her hair, she let him slip from her mouth. She sat back on her heels and idly tousled her hair as he buttoned up. The scene had played out exactly as she’d anticipated, but under her satisfaction ran a vein of disappointment at the quick end.

Alarm bells went off when he didn’t reach down to help her to her feet. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and offered her an amused, condescending half-smile.

“Very nice, Ms. Meyers. But that’s not what I had in mind.”

* * * * *

When he said a blowjob wasn’t what he wanted, Lacey’s expression was so pricelessly shocked Hunter almost laughed out loud. Was that all she’d fantasized about, a quick release for him, nothing for her?

To his relief her open-mouthed astonishment quickly disappeared behind the snooty, arrogant look so suited to her role. She didn’t question his statement, just followed his lead, rising smoothly to her feet and cocking an eyebrow at him, as if she was the one with all the power, as if her lips weren’t wet and swollen from sucking his cock.

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“That’s too bad, because it’s all you’re getting.” She was backing away as she said it, putting the kitchen table between them, then she turned and bolted for the French doors leading to the west end of sun porch.

Reacting automatically, Hunter shouldered through the door to the living room and paused in front of the matching doors at the sun porch’s east end. Through the glass he could see the wicker furniture clustered around a games table, but no Lacey. Keeping an eye on both the door to the kitchen and a third of the sun porch, he paused and listened.

A faint rustling noise reached his ears over his shallow breathing and the patter of rain. The brush of a lining against skirt fabric or silk stockings, he decided. She was close. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to the kitchen swing open less than an inch, then heard the thud of Lacey’s feet heading back toward the sun porch.

Acting on instinct, he strode back to the door to the kitchen, then ducked and twisted as the door swung hard against his shoulder. At her muffled exclamation he pushed the door open and grabbed for her.

He got a fistful of cinnamon hair. Lacey yelped as she came up short, both hands reaching back to her scalp. He eased up on his grip when he got an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his body, but he didn’t let go. A quick, possessive massage of her scalp seemed to calm her; she took a slow, purposeful breath and stood, trembling in his arms.

“Nice try, honey, but we’ve just scratched the surface of what I’m getting.” That ended any show of submission. She shoved at the forearm clamped hard around her waist and at the same time elbowed him in the ribs. Amused by her struggles he tightened his grip and lifted her off her feet, carrying her up the stairs and into her bedroom. The door slammed closed with a kick of his booted foot. He set her down none too gently then clicked on the lamp on the end table and sprawled back on the chaise, legs crossed at the ankle.

“Strip,” he said, linking his fingers behind his head to watch the show.

“Excuse me?” She stood less than a foot in front of him, defenseless as hell in her tight skirt and no shoes.

“I’m going to get real bad-tempered if I have to repeat myself,” he said in a softer version of the voice that got criminals out of a car and down on the ground. “Your clothes. Take them off.”

She turned for the door.

“I have to chase you down again, you’re getting fucked where I catch you.” Color was high on her cheekbones when she turned back to face him. A slightly off-balance look mixed with the heat in her eyes, the same thing he’d seen in the restaurant when she asked him why she had to clearly state what she wanted. It turned her on. He couldn’t give her much she didn’t have, but he could give her this, the space to explore how it felt to turn control over to someone else.

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Her fingers on the buttons running up the front of her dark brown jacket ended any thoughts about the emotions behind what they were doing. She undid them, one by one. The fabric slipped silkily against her blouse as she slid the coat off and tossed it at him. He caught it and held it to his chest, the faint scent of Lacey’s perfume and skin rising from the warm jacket.

When she started on the blouse, he spoke again. “The skirt first.” If today was like any other day, she’d be wearing thigh-high silk stockings and a pretty pair of panties. He wanted a couple of teasing glimpses of sexy lingerie peeking out from under the hem of her blouse.

A dark pink stained her cheeks, but he knew the difference between Lacey’s aroused flushes and embarrassed blushes so he didn’t back off. She’d asked for a bad-ass cop. She’d get him as controlling, unmanageable and demanding as he could stand to be with her.

The blouse tightened across her breasts when she ducked her head and reached behind her for the button and zipper of her skirt. He didn’t worry about not being able to see her hands, just waited for her to shimmy the skirt down and step out of it.

The hem of the butterscotch blouse skimmed her hipbones when she straightened.

Her stockings were nude, as usual, with white lace at the top. His heart rate went into double time when he realized the panties were the pale pink of cotton candy. He loved the sweet, virginal shades of her underwear, the delicate lace so seductive it didn’t need bold colors or strategic cutouts to drive him wild. The sets must have been expensive because the label was in French, but she let him rip it off her like she bought them by the six-pack at Wal-Mart.

Her hands on her hips, a faint smile teased the corners of her mouth as she caught him staring at her like an idiot. “Like what you see?” Ignoring the echoes of his own arrogant question at Buff the night they met, he took his time, treating himself to a long, slow, assessing look at the length of her legs, topped by the demure, secretive underwear. “So far,” he said, trying to sound bored when every inch of revealed skin sent blood thumping through his body. “The blouse. Slowly.

Start at the bottom.”

The smile disappeared. In repayment she took care to tease him with the blouse, parting the slowly opening edges to give him a glimpse of her bellybutton, her breastbone, then the edge of her bra. Sneaking peeks through the messy layers of her hair, she let the fabric slip from her shoulders. It caught at her elbows while she undid the buttons at her wrists, framing her body and the sexy pink underwear in soft brown before the blouse slid to the floor to land on the skirt.

Damn, double damn, she looked like sin on a stick, the lace topping her stockings, her red curls dark behind the pink lace over her mound, her breasts plumped up by the bra. Once he got his hands in her hair, kissed the fullness back into her lips, got a sexy flush going on her collarbone and neck, his prim entrepreneur would look like a pinup dream.

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“You sure you didn’t have sex in that bathroom?” he asked, falling back on the convenient “offense” to justify his big, bad self on her front porch.

“I did
not
,” she snapped, imperious even in her underwear. Where did she learn that haughty tone? He’d never heard Lacey talk to anyone like that, not once in three months of dating.

“Wrong answer,” he said then surged to his feet. To her credit she didn’t back away, just put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. The snooty, confident look faded when he crooked his index finger through the front clasp of her bra and popped it open. She gasped and backed up a step, lifting her hands to stop the lace from pulling away to reveal her nipples. Seizing the opportunity, he reached for the shoulder straps, stripping her of the bra before he twisted her arm behind her to direct her toward the bed.

“No,” she said, pushing back against him when she came up against the edge of the mattress.

“You want me to make you?” The question was rhetorical. He lifted her and followed her up on the bed. In the time it took him to get his shirt off over his head she was poised to make her escape at the opposite side of the bed.

“Don’t make things worse, Ms. Meyers,” he said as he dragged her back against him. “Face the wall. Like that. Good girl,” he praised, as if she was actually cooperating.

When she sat back on her heels facing the wall behind the brass rungs of the headboard, he urged her elbows up. As he snugged up behind her, bare chest to her back, aligning his knees outside hers, her upraised hands automatically slid behind his neck. That wasn’t where he’d normally put them for this maneuver but it would work while he played good cop for a second.

She made a questioning little noise that turned into a whimper as he cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples into hard, dusky points. When the caresses made her bite down on her lower lip and push her knees against his, widening their stance on the pale green comforter cover, he reached behind him with his right hand and palmed his cuffs. At the same time he locked the fingers of his left hand around her left wrist and brought it down behind her.

He had the steel bracelet, warm from its place at the small of his back, around her wrist before she comprehended was he was doing. When the cuff clicked into place she startled and gasped, twisting in a futile effort to look behind her. Pressing his advantage of surprise, strength and experience, he gripped her right wrist and secured it to the left.

The look she shot him over her shoulder was pure vamp, hell in her eyes as she gave the handcuffs a good yank. “That was a dirty trick,” she said. While she was still very much in character, right down to the pout, the words were a little breathless.

“Never said I’d play fair,” he replied as he leaned back, blatantly admiring the erotic sight of her delicate wrists, cuffed and resting on the pink lace bikini panties. He stroked her curves from hip to ass, then ran his index fingers under the lower edge of 139

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the panties. Goosebumps prickled along her arms and her nipples tightened. Still looking over her shoulder she shuddered, her eyes now heavy-lidded and aroused.

“You like?” he asked.

She turned to look straight ahead. “Not at all,” she said, but he heard the desire in her voice.

“Too bad,” he drawled as he nuzzled into her hair to find her sensitive ear. Using both hands as a visible, tactile reminder that she couldn’t, he brushed the hair back from her ear and bit down gently on the edge. Withdrawing his hands from her hair, he smoothed both palms up from her hips, over her ribcage, to her breasts, where he pinched the nipples with just enough pressure to make her squirm and sigh.

“What do you want?” she asked, a hint of desperation in the question.

Dark currents of submission and restraint swirled around them in the still room. He kept silent, caught up in the soft weight of her breasts in his hands. Rain streamed down the window panes, the coursing streams twisting and twirling in the light from the street lamps. In front of him, confined between his knees, Lacey bent her head. He could smell the faint sweat that had broken out at her nape, the rich tang of arousal mixed with it, feel the rapid beat of her heart under the soft flesh of her breast, her nipples, hard, eager. When he slid his fingers into her panties, he knew she’d be hot and wet for him.

But for now, just for a moment he let her be, let her breathe, anchoring herself in the physical and emotional space they shared. When the starch sapped from her spine, leaving a beautiful surrender in her pose, he bent close to her ear.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he whispered, “when you tell me what you did in that bathroom.”

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Hunter’s words fell in a rough, tumbling growl into her ear. Lacey froze, her hands tightening into fists against his bare, ridged abdomen as her toes curled from the bolt of lust that shot through her body.

The game was shifting, changing in ways she hadn’t anticipated, but this was still familiar. A negotiation, of sorts. She resisted, he pushed, but she knew she could resist until he just took her. She was at a disadvantage, but she’d never give up.

His big hands, so casually possessive now that she was under his control, plucked at her nipples, then pinched and rolled. The sharp wave of pleasure that coursed outward from the hard peaks made her head drop back. The sensations of his shoulder under her head, his hands on her body, slithered down to pool in her belly, all the more powerful for her inability to stop them.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said, forcing a hint of defiance in her voice.

“Really?” he asked with mock surprise, tightening the pressure on her nipples. “A hot little piece like you? You don’t seem innocent to me.” Indignant, she opened her mouth to respond, but he nipped her shoulder. “Ready to confess?”

“No!”

“Then stop talking, Ms. Meyers.”

She almost,
almost
said, “Make me,” like an unruly ten-year-old, but the indubitable certainty that Hunter would improvise a way to make her stop talking kept the words in her mouth.

A low rumble of laughter vibrated against her pinned arms. “Good decision,” he said.

Then he put his hands back on her body, his breath rhythmic but shallower than normal. He bent his head and rubbed the rough stubble coating his jaw against her cheek. His eyes focused intently on his hands and the unwavering attention fascinated her. What caught his eye? The difference between her pale, protected skin and his tanned hands, or the smoothness of her flesh contrasting with his abraded knuckles and calloused fingers?

Or perhaps it was the response his hands coaxed from her body. A flush moved up her breasts as they swelled in response to his touch and electricity coursed from her nipples through her belly to her clit. Her pulse pounded in all the places she wanted him to touch. Her lips and the skin of her inner thighs, both desperate for his kiss. Her clit, plump and wet for his fingers. But he avoided those places, coming close but never 141

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touching. As captive as the woman in his dream, she knelt on delicate silk of her duvet cover and fought his efforts to slowly, methodically, drive her out of her mind.

“You look so sexy wearing my cuffs,” he growled.

Oh, God. If he started talking, she was done for. At his words sensation ricocheted from her throbbing nipples to her poor, neglected clit. Sweat prickled behind her knees, at the base of her spine as she twisted in his grip.

“I’m gonna leave them on when I fuck you. Feel how hard I am? That’s from thinking about every stroke, so hot and wet.”

With a high-pitched whimper Lacey’s head dropped forward, but instead of the relief she sought, she found more torture. Hunter gave a low chuckle and put his devious mouth to work on her sensitive neck. Alternating licks and bites with gentle sucks, he made his way down her cervical spine and over the soft skin of her shoulder.

“I’m gonna spread you wide under me and watch you take it all, over and over…right here.” He left off teasing one nipple, gliding his hand down into her panties. His fingers slid past her clit to circle her sensitive opening and suddenly all she could think about was how good he felt when he pushed inside.

The need to touch him overwhelmed her. She reached for him, stopped short by the cuffs biting into her wrists, ruthlessly halting her movements.

“Oh yeah,
I
like,” he said. “No distractions, nothing keeping me from doing this…” His rough finger circled her clit, slick and swollen at the top of her wet folds.

“Yes, oh yes,” she sighed in relief, arching into his touch.

“No, oh no,” he replied, amused dominance in his voice. He lightened his touch and widened the circular motion. The rising tension slackened, but he kept her on a simmer and added his other hand to the mix, pushing first one, then a second finger inside her.

Now released from his taunting grasp her breasts seemed to swell and throb in the dark air of her bedroom. Again, she jerked against the restraining cuffs, desperate to cup them and soothe the nipples, or bat his taunting hand away and rub her clit.

“So fucking sexy, watching you like this,” he murmured as she writhed in his arms.

“The poor guy probably didn’t know what hit him. Those pink panties look so sweet, but you’re hot enough to burn the fucking house down.” She growled, actually
growled
with frustration, and ground down on his hands. He laughed again and pulled his fingers from her panties to trace her lower lip with the tip of his middle finger, then watch as her tongue flickered out to taste her own arousal.

“See how hot you are, honey?” he said, the fingers teasing her clit maintaining the same steady, torturously unsatisfying pace. “Come on, just tell me. Then we can move on to paying your debt to society.”

Oh,
God!

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“I won’t,” she said. Her resistance was waning, but she could feel his need growing as well. Sweat slicked their skin where they touched and his breathing, while controlled, had taken on a harsher edge. Maybe he would break first…

“Fine by me,” he said. “I’ll just bend you over right here. You think I won’t fuck you long and slow and deep and leave you hanging?” Her mind split wide open at the image of her cheek pressed into the embroidered flowers on her silk duvet cover, her hands immobilized at the small of her back while he held her hips and satisfied himself. “You wouldn’t!” She should have known better than to challenge him. Without a word he withdrew his hands and sat back and suddenly Lacey discovered something worse than enduring Hunter’s sensual torture—enduring it with no relief.

Twisting to look over her shoulder, her gaze met his, hard and unyielding. A popping sound made her eyes zip down to his hands, working at his fly. With deliberate slowness he tugged the remaining buttons free from their holes, his shaft straining through the front of his opened jeans. He put one big palm flat between her shoulder blades and began to push her forward.

She loved to win, flat-out loved it, that competitive spirit driving her ongoing reluctance to admit she begged, that she needed him more than he needed her. It was time to change her tactics. Give a little, gain a lot.

“Wait!” she cried.

His touch lightened immediately, but remained, barely grazing her skin, a vivid reminder of his intentions.

Flushed and trembling with desire, she prepared to give him what he wanted.

“Fine. I’ll tell you everything.”

* * * * *

The words were sullen and unwilling, the surrender of a militant who planned to wreak havoc on her captor or escape at the first chance. But if she’d thought her surrender would make him lessen his relentless assault on her senses, she was wrong.

“I don’t like your tone or your attitude, Ms. Meyers,” Hunter said as he pushed her down flat and straddled her backside. The cuffs made a metallic clink as he manipulated them, then her wrists separated. “Turn over.” Now! She brought her hands under her shoulders and pushed up, past wasting energy on words. It was no use. Poised above her, he flipped her with ease, the muscles in his bare torso flexing in the light from the lamp by the chaise. He brought her hands, one still locked in the cuffs, over her head, looped the free cuff behind a spindle in her brass headboard, then secured her other wrist. Wearing only her stockings and 143

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drenched panties, she brought up one leg, then the other, undulating as she tried to get free.

“No, oh no,” she moaned.

He pushed her legs flat and together then straddled her, the muscles in his arms shifting under the skin as he surveyed her defenseless body. Her heart rose into her throat at the taut anticipation and stark desire etched in the hard planes of his face.

“Start talking,” he said, his gaze roaming her breasts, the swell of her hips, the wet heat between her legs.

She glanced up at her restrained hands. “Suddenly I have nothing to say,” she said, but even to her own ears, her tone had lost its edge.

He kissed her. Hard. Stopped the words in her mouth with the pressure of his lips and the sweep of his tongue.

“This works better. It’s easier to shut you up if I don’t like what I hear.” She stared at him. His eyes, dark, clear green, were intense, but in complete control.

He bore most of his weight on his knees and forearms, but still lay close enough to her for her to feel the hard, slow hammer-beat of his heart against her ribs, his pulse reverberating through hot damp skin stretched over muscle and bone.

He bent to the sensitive spot just below her ear, following a hard nip with a gentle lick. “Tell me what happened,” he said, the words wafting against her skin.

Her eyes slid shut as seductive sensation rippled along her tightly wound nerves, but she shook her head.

Silence from him. That scared her more than his commanding words.

When she felt him use his denim-clad knees to spread her legs wide, her eyes flew open. A quick twist of his big hands and her panties dropped useless to the bed. He braced one hand flat beside her head, gripped his shaft with the other and guided it toward her aching cleft. “Time’s up.”

Outmaneuvered, outmatched, outplayed, her surrender was reluctant but real. “I swear I didn’t know he was going to follow me in!” He sat back on his heels but scooted forward, draping her thighs wide and high over his as he planted a hand on either side of her head, then bent at the elbows to kiss her. This time she felt the reward in his mouth as he leisurely flicked his tongue over the roof of her mouth, then traced the edge of both her lips.

The thick stubble on his jaw rasped against her cheek as he murmured, “He seduced you? I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true! He picked the lock on the door and came in after me.” The words trailed off into a whisper as he pushed back on his hands and bent to tongue each throbbing nipple. The wet caress provided a form of relief before he said,

“You could have said no.”

“He was so persuasive and I…I wanted to do it,” she confessed, tugging on the handcuffs as she arched her back to thrust her nipples toward his teasing mouth.

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“Bad girl,” he said before catching each bud between his teeth. She whimpered at the sharp caress. “And then?”

“He wanted me to…touch myself for him.” Why was it so hard to say? They’d both been there, both participated, but she’d held out for so long that speaking the words cost her more than she’d thought.

Voicing them into the still, hot air of her bedroom also made her insanely hot.

“Here?” He laid his big palm on her throat.

She groaned at his deviousness. “Lower!”

“Here?” Now his hand was at her breast, squeezing and pinching.

“No! Lower!”

The weight and heat of his palm drifted lower and lower, until he cupped her mound. “You must mean here.”

“Yes, but lower, lower…”

Then he slid the pad of his index and middle fingers on either side of her clit, stroking her swollen, desperate bud exactly as she had in the bathroom. “Here?” he asked, his voice all innocent inquiry.

If she’d had her hands free she would have smacked him for his choir boy tone.

“Yes, yes, there!”

She felt sure he’d stop or continue to tease her without mercy, but the perfect pace of his fingers never slowed and the pressure never lessened. Desperate and now completely without modesty or shame she spread her legs for him, gave him full access to her body. For a brief moment she opened her eyes but the sight of him looming over her, his stark gaze roaming over her quivering body and reddened nipples made them fly shut again.

“Did you come?”

“Yes,” she moaned.
And I’m going to again, so please, please don’t stop…

“Did you like it?”

“Yes! God, yes!”
I need this so badly…

“Do you want to come now?”

If she’d had breath to laugh, she would have, but all the air was trapped in her lungs as she poised on the edge of the abyss. “Yes! Please, oh please, don’t stop, please, please don’t—“

He didn’t stop. The slick strokes of his fingers sent her over the edge, fierce bursts of heat and light pulsing through her body. Stars burst behind her eyes while shudders rippled to her fingers and toes.

When she opened her eyes, too satiated to be embarrassed, he was still above her, restraint carved in the hard planes of his face.

“I thought you didn’t beg.”

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Her response had nothing to do with the scene and everything to do with them. “I do for you,” she whispered.

A wry, almost Hunter-like smile, then he said, “Good. Keep saying that magic word and I’ll call your debt paid.”

He set about making her surrender complete, licking down the midline of her body, dipping into her navel before settling between her legs and curving one arm around to spread her folds from the top to blow gently on her throbbing clit. Still in the grips of a fierce need, she arched her back, pleading mutely with him. But he made her wait as he licked the delicate inner folds, dipped his tongue inside her, applied a gentle pressure with his rough chin.

When he pushed two fingers inside her and crooked them against the bundle of swollen, sensitive nerves, she let out a gasp and rocked her hips toward him. When he sucked her clit her back bowed off the bed. The cuffs thwarted her instinctive attempts to wrap her fingers around his powerful biceps and press against his talented, knowing mouth.

The climax built in strength and power until she was undulating on the bed, praise and pleading gasps floating into the hot, still air of her bedroom. “Oh so good…please don’t stop…oh yes, like that…just like that…please…
please
…” Then she couldn’t talk. The relentless, agonizing build stole her ability to form words and the orgasm blew away her capacity for thought. When she subsided to trembling and gasping, she opened her eyes to find him back on his heels between her legs, his chest damp with sweat as he shoved his jeans down just enough to free his shaft. He braced one forearm beside her upraised arms and gripped her hip with the other hand, positioning the broad tip at her slick opening. She gasped as he pushed forward, thick and hard and stretching her swollen, sensitive channel.