Naughty Bedtime Stories: In Three Words Page 6

  To my left is a short hallway with two doors on it, and to my right is an open-plan kitchen much like my own, only twice the size and the oven alone looks like it would cost me three months’ rent. There’s a blender, a toaster, a microwave and a top-notch coffee machine. It’s all shiny chrome.

  The only thing that stands out is the fat, ginger fur-ball curled on the back of the sofa. The cat looks up lazily as I walk toward it, and narrows its green eyes at me. I hold out my hand, fingers spread, to let the cat sniff me. It gives my hand a quick sniff and then laid its head down again.

  “That’s Tabby. She’s not very friendly,” Colton says, passing by the scratch Tabby on the head.

  “That’s okay. Mine is a pervert.”

  “You have a cat?”

  “Bagpuss.”

  He chuckles, amused. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

  I sit carefully on his astonishingly white sofa and watch him walk to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and pulls out two glass bottles. “Red or white?”

  Ooh, wine. I need little booze right now. “White.”

  He takes out two glasses and fills each with sparkling white wine. He carries them over and joins me on the sofa, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. I take my glass and sip it. It’s crisp and cool. Lovely.

  We sit in awkward silence for a moment, each sipping our drinks. Then he says suddenly, “I’m surprised you came.”

  As if there had really been any chance I wouldn’t take him up on his offer. My willpower is weak. “Really? Why?”

  He swishes his wine in his glass. “I thought perhaps I’d scared you off.”

  I smirk. “I don’t scare easily.”

  “No,” he says slowly. “You don’t.”

  His eyes meet mine and we stare at other for a few long moments. The tension between us rises to an electric level, and he snaps first. “Fuck it,” he growls. He puts the glass down on the coffee table, and then he’s on me.

  His mouth finds mine hungrily, his hands circling my wrists and pinning me to the sofa. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him close against me. I can feel his erection straining against his jeans zipper.

  Tongues sliding, limbs tangling, bodies writhing. We’re a hot mess fueled by a desire so strong it’s magnetic. I tilt my hips up into him and he loses his balance. We topple off the sofa onto the floor, laughter breaking our kiss. I’m half on top of him and his arm is around my waist. We’re both laughing and kissing at the same time and I realise that this could be so much more than just sex. If we let it.

  Colton gets to his feet and pulls me up, keeping hold of my hand as he tows me down the hallway toward, I assume, the bedroom. He opens the door and tugs me inside. I only catch a glimpse of a King-sized bed with corner posts, before he slams the door and pins me against it. I gasp, surprised by his aggression and turned on by it.

  He’s like a wild animal, all teeth as he nips his way down my neck, just hard enough to sting. I lift my chin, my fingers weaving into his hair, my nails digging to his scalp. He grips the hem of my shirt and steps back to whip it off over my head. I forwent a bra, and the cool air hits my breasts, making my nipples pebble. Colton growls, ducking his head to suck the sensitive nib in his mouth, his hand squeezing my other breast.

  I jerk as his tongue flicks back and forth over my nipple, a mewling sound escaping my lips. I’m so horny it almost hurts. I could probably come just from his mouth on my breast. Tossing my head in agitation, I am desperate for something more. But he breaks away, and points toward the bed. “Strip and get over there,” he commands.

  I do as he says, kicking off my heels and shimmying out of my tight leather jeans. I’m left standing in my satin panties, and he glares at me. “When I said strip, I meant all of it,” he snarls.

  “Yes, Sir,” I breathe. I slip off my soaked panties, and they fall around my ankles. Then I give him a coy look from under my lashes. “Is that better, Sir?”

  “I told you not call me Sir.” He looks at me like he’s going to eat me alive. I wish he would. “Get on the bed. On your knees. Face the foot of the bed.”

  I obey. I hear the rustle of his jeans hitting the floor, and I’m unbearably tempted to look. I turn my head, but I don’t even catch a glimpse before his hand meets my buttocks, and I yelp at the sudden pain. “Don’t move.”

  I bite my lip. I want him to spank me again. Harder. I like it. But I behave and keep my eyes on the plain grey wall in front of me. Wood creaks, and I see him in the corner of my eye, opening the bottom drawer of the nightstand. He pulls out ties? No, scarves. Black satin scarves. He’s going to bind me.

  Colton stops in front of me, bare-chested. His abs are like bricks, and I can see his cock stretching the material of his tight, grey boxers. I want it in my mouth. Between my legs. He takes my hands and binds them together with one scarf, and then uses the end of it to tie my hands to the railing at the foot of the bed. The railing is low, so my ass sticks up while my elbows rest on the mattress.

  He places a finger under my chin, tilting my head up until I meet his eyes, straining my neck. He bends and places a rough kiss on my mouth before murmuring, “I want you to suck me, Serena. Will you do that?”

  I lick my lips eagerly. “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes S-Colton.”

  With a nod of approval, he slides off his boxers, and his erection springs free. I don’t have a ruler, but he’s at least eight inches long and as thick as my fist. I don’t know how much I can take before gagging but I’ll try my best.

  He steps closer to the bed and holds himself steady to let me wrap my mouth around his cock. My lips slide over his smooth head, my tongue following the ridge on the underside of his penis. I go as deep as I can, pushing the limits of my gag reflex. Slowly, I draw back, stroking my tongue back and forth until I reach the corona at the base of his head.

  As I bob back and forth, sucking and licking, he moves his hips in time with my movements, holding onto fistfuls of my hair – encouraging but not pushing. I bob faster, pausing every few stokers to flick my tongue over his head. He groans, his grip on my hair tightening. “Fuck, Serena.”

  He steps back abruptly, his cock twitching, and I gasp for air, strands of my hair sticking to my damp lips. Colton moves to the nightstand and I hear him rip open a condom wrapper. The sound makes me wriggle in excited anticipation. I feel his weight as he slides onto the bed behind me. His hands cup my backside, and I slide my legs a little further apart. He shifts and the tip of him rubs oh-so-gently against my opening from behind. Impatience makes me growl, and he rewards/punishes me by slapping my rear, knocking a sudden moan from my mouth.

  “More,” I gasp.

  “No talking,” he barks, another smack landing on my left buttock. I bite my tongue, swallowing the begging whines rising in my throat.

  A long finger penetrates me, and I lower my head, biting my knuckles. It feels so damn good as he tickles my G-spot. “God, you’re so wet, Serena.”

  “Yes,” I gasp.

  He removes his finger, and presses the insides of my thighs until I spread them further. I can’t see him, but I sense him moving, and then he’s pushing inside me. I moan loudly as he enters, pressing himself deep into me. He pauses once he’s in, giving me a moment to get used to the size of him and the sensation of him inside me. Once I stop quivering, he starts thrusting. Slow and gentle at first, teasing me, teasing himself. Then his control snaps and he starts pounding into me, racking a moan from my mouth with every thrust. I wouldn’t be surprised if the two floors above us hear me and complain about the noise.

  He’s hard as stone, hitting my G-spot over and over until I feel my insides clenching tighter and tighter before releasing like a snapped rubber band. I hiss, “Fuck yes!” as my limbs tremble with the force of my orgasm.

  Colton groans but keeps moving, slamming into me harder and harder, drawing out my orgasm. Then he grunts and his fingers dig into my hips as he explodes, his cock twitching inside
me. He lays his forehead against my spine, and I feel he’s sweating. We both are.

  After a moment, he pulls out and reaches over to swiftly untie my hands. We collapse side-by-side, sprawled out, sweaty and naked. He rolls his head to look at me, his eyes dark as pine needles. Then he says, “I don’t want you work at the club anymore.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “I said, I don’t–”

  “I heard you. I mean, why?”

  He looks up at the ceiling and says quietly, “I’ll find you another job. With better pay.”

  I prop myself on my elbow and look down into his face. “Colton, that doesn’t tell me why you want me to stop working at the club. I can’t just quit my job because you want me to. I need a damn good reason.”

  He reaches up to touch my face, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Serena, do you think I sleep with all my Subs? The last Sub I slept with was my girlfriend for four years – before she cheated on me of course. But you…I can’t control myself with you.”

  I eye him warily. “What are you saying, Colton?”

  “I’m saying,” he murmurs. “You are mine.”

  “And if I disagree?”

  “You’re free to go, of course. But I don’t think you’ll disagree. I think you see as much potential in us as I do.”

  I couldn’t deny he was right. Still, I didn’t like him telling me to quit my job. But he promised to get me a new one, with better wages. And I didn’t doubt he would. And even if this didn’t work out, it would be a lot of fun. An experience to remember.

  “Serena?” He touched my chin. “Your answer?”

  “Can I give you my answer after round two?”

  He laughed, loud and rough. “You want to play that way? Fine.” He rolled over on top of me, already hard again, and I got ready to go again.

  As soon as he was inside me, I whispered, “I’ll be yours.”

  Anywhere But Here

  Alexis D. Craig

  They called him Dubs, short for Dublin because his family came from there. Verdant fields in a faraway place that most people associate with beer, whiskey, and potatoes, almost even in that order. Land of his parents, and a fair number of relatives, he’d only been twice, once in college between semesters and once upon the death of his maternal grandmother. Both times the nickname never sat right with him, like he wasn’t worthy of it.

  His classmates gifted him with the moniker in the police academy and it had stuck like it was sewn into his flesh. Like it was somewhere he couldn’t see and couldn’t reach with a seam ripper even if he wanted to remove it. He never introduced himself with it, most people in his acquaintance coming to know it only after meeting his best friend and work partner, Sean O’Leary, a man only slightly less Irish than himself. A man with whom this evening he was celebrating their collective promotions to sergeants.

  Strange to think of himself like that, or that longhaired hooligan currently pretending to toss his fiancée in the pool, but the title was interesting and Rick hoped it would be worth the trouble it had been to get. He hadn’t been keen to leave narcotics, and really hoped to remain in the investigations branch of the police department once they found a place to put him, but he knew he’d go where he was sent, even if that meant someplace like the downtown district, which was, in his mind, really closer to a retirement home than an actual police station, but he’d never say that out loud.

  “You look awfully glum for someone we’re supposed to be celebrating.”

  The unfamiliar voice cleared his thoughts and their veil from his eyes, bringing them to the uniquely fathomless dark eyes of one Miss Cheyenne Richmond.

  “Who says I’m not celebrating?” he countered.

  She was an intriguing mix of edge and elegance. He’d met her a few times through Ellie, Sean’s fiancée. Cheyenne always seemed very buttoned up on the outside with her heels, shirts that showed off just the right amount of mocha skin to set his imagination on fire, curve-hugging skirts that modestly stopped at her knees while emphasizing her spectacular ass, jewelry that matched down to the tiniest detail, and her hair up in twists or braids. In talking to her the few times he had, he had the impression that she could be the best kind of hellion. Even now, with her slightly reddish dark curls tamed into a fountain of ringlets that burst from a ponytail at the base of her skull and in her silk halter dress held up by an impressive silver circlet on her neck and heeled sandals that brought her almost to shoulder height, she seemed more present than one just making small talk at a party.

  “Hmmph,” she disagreed with a sniff as she sipped from her mostly empty champagne flute. The tinkling of her bangle bracelets that matched her dress brought his eyes to her delicate fingers. She was like a work of art he wanted to study endlessly. “Could’ve fooled me. You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

  Busted. “I’m happy, truly.” It wasn’t quite a lie, exactly, just not the whole truth. “I guess my mind just got hung up on the fact that we’re having a party out by this pool and no one is actually in it.” That was a lie, but then, he wasn’t really prepared to unpack all the anxiety he’d been storing up.

  Cocking her head to the side, she followed his eyeline to the glowing aquamarine waters that were practically as still as glass but glittered from the interior lighting. “I suppose.” It didn’t sound like she believed him.

  She stared a moment longer before bringing her probing gaze back to him. He always got the impression that she could see through him, that any artifice he constructed between himself and the world around him was merely a shadow for her, an umbra she could traverse without a second glance. Instead of challenging his prevarication, though, she let it go. “Of course, it could just be that everybody looks a little too nice to think about jumping into the chlorine.”

  “You certainly do.” The words leapt out of his mouth like they were fleeing armed captors, out and gone before the ramifications were considered. He meant them, without a doubt, but Rick was undecided as to whether or not he meant for her to hear them.

  “Flattery, Detective?” Her tone wrote paragraphs around the two words. She didn’t seem opposed to his attention, which was a bonus, and she seemed cautiously interested.

  “Truth. Flattery has a mercenary component to it that I’m not entirely comfortable with.” Not that he felt her unworthy of flattery, far from when he couldn’t take his eyes off her sexy, bare shoulders or her sturdy, sexy legs free for public viewing, but he wasn’t one to use lines.

  “Coming from you, I believe that. Thank you.” She smiled shyly and stared across the pool at their mutual friends.

  He shuffled a little closer, careful not to crowd her. “‘Coming from me?’”

  She shrugged and wrinkled her nose briefly. “Anyone else, that’s a line designed to get in my panties. Smooth, admittedly, but still.”

  He appreciated that she had such a high opinion of him, though he had to admit he felt a bit unworthy of her praise since his brain stalled out the moment she’d casually mentioned her panties. It was hard being a civilized guy sometimes. He set his empty champagne glass on a nearby table. “You wanna get outta here?”

  Her intriguing eyes narrowed and a lone eyebrow rose. “What kind of outta here are we talking about exactly?”

  He wasn’t quite sure himself; he just knew he wanted out of the party and still wanted her company. “I don’t know, just away. Like you said before, anywhere but here.”

  She seemed to mull it over as she finished her drink. Finally, she set her glass on the table next to his. “You intrigue me Detective, I’m sorry, Sergeant Cahill.”

  It wasn’t an outright refusal, but he didn’t want to appear too hopeful. “Enough to come with me?” When her eyes narrowed and she chewed on the inside of her cheek, he offered, “I can swear I’m not an axe murderer if that’ll make you feel better.”

  Cheyenne barked out a laugh. “Oh, well, in that case…” She looked him over from fresh haircut to uncomfortable dress shoes. “Okay. Let me
go tell Ellie I’m leaving and I’ll meet you outside.”

  He nodded as she set off for his best friend’s fiancée and he sought out his best friend.

  Rick found Sean kicked back on a chaise lounge chair off to the side as he watched Ellie flitter around and play hostess. Sean had long since abandoned his tie and shoes, content to relax with a longneck beer dangling from his fingertips and dripping condensation on the cement underneath. “You outta here?”

  Rick hummed his assent as he took up a chair next to his best friend. “I think so. I’m heading to the lake tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.”

  A much-needed weeklong retreat to his boat from his real life was exactly the recharge he needed. Something about the water, and the solitude, seemed to restore something in him he continually lost, yet diligently sought. The addition of company to his evening wasn’t even up for discussion.

  “Sounds good. Still okay if we come down on Sunday?” They’d planned a cook out at his place and, while it wasn’t a sprawling manse, he had more than enough room to accommodate Sean, Ellie, and Guinness, the couple’s floppy bloodhound.

  “You bring the beer,” Rick teased.

  Sean laughed and swung his legs off to the side of the chair. “Like you’re going to run out.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Cheyenne made her way to the wrought iron gate of the fence surrounding the pool. “Hey, I’m planning to be down there a week, and I wouldn’t want to put a dent in my supply.”

  His friend rose from his chair snickering. “Get the hell outta here, jackass. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  Rick followed Cheyenne’s path, stopping briefly to kiss Ellie on the cheek before he, too, vanished out the gate and into the parking lot. He found her lurking on the sidewalk in the shadow of one of the many carports that studded the condo lot.

  “I didn’t see a Camaro, so I figured I’d wait.”