DIRTY DADDY Page 13

  “I want to play a game,” she said, still hating the way her voice shook but loving the fact that he paused, slowed, listened.

  “What sort of game?” he asked. His cock twitched against her, and — oh yes, yes, he was on the same wavelength as her.

  “I want you to tell me what you would have done if you had captured me.”

  He went incredibly still, marble still. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded against his chest. “I’ll tap out if I can’t handle it. I need to hear a story about how this could have been different.”

  “Just a story?”

  Her body was surging with need in slow, steady waves. “Not just a story.”

  Another one of those almost silent breaths. Slow, steady, controlled.

  “Okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head. And then he moved, taking her hands from where they lay now, pressed lightly on his chest to keep her balance, to her sides, and then behind her back. He held her hands there with one hand while the other stroked the side of her body in long, possessive sweeps. Without a hand to balance, it was difficult to keep her head lifted. She lay down on his chest, giving in to the adrenaline rush and letting it wash over her.

  “If I had picked you up in that park,” he said, his voice quiet as he chose each word carefully. She gasped at what his voice did to her. It had more growl than normal, more heat and intensity, and that shot straight to the core of her, surging through her in a broad rush that made her pussy clench and her hips shift against him. “I would’ve taken you somewhere private. I would’ve stripped you down to your bra and panties. And you would’ve woken up in a chair, your hands and feet bound. The room would’ve been warm enough that your body was still comfortable, and you wouldn’t be tightly bound enough to hurt, but you wouldn’t have been able to free yourself. And I would’ve been there when you woke up. Watching you.”

  How had she gotten so wet so fast? Her panties were soaked against her body, and her nipples felt hard enough to cut glass. She could feel every beat of her heart in the swelling of her clit, and she wanted so desperately for him to be touching her more than he was. She turned sideways, just a little so that her breast was available. He obliged by cupping the flesh through her shift, finding the nub of its peak, and teasing it with his thumb. She gasped and shifted against him.

  “When you were awake, when I was sure you were with me and watching, I’d lean down over you. I’d ghost my breath over your body until I came to your thighs. I’d press a kiss against your inner thighs, and then I’d trace my fingers up that sensitive, ticklish flesh until I was pressing my touch against the seam of your panties. I’d push them aside, and I’d run my tongue over you.”

  “Yes,” Emma heard herself murmuring. “Yes, please.”

  He lifted her easily as if she weighed hardly anything, and sat her down on the couch again. He helped her wiggle out of her jeans, and when she lifted her hips again, her panties.

  “Keep your hands back,” he said, using his shoulders to press her knees wide and scoot her ass close to the edge of the couch. He pressed his tongue against the seam of her, and she was arching up into his mouth in a wordless gasp of her entire body.

  He didn’t waste time with gentleness. He circled her clit with his tongue as his fingers spread her open, fucking her mercilessly. She closed her eyes and imagined the room he’d given her, imagined being bound, and found that it pushed her harder towards the edge. She didn’t know why, and at the moment, she had no interest in analyzing it. She just wanted more. More than she had, more than she’d thought she could have. She wanted his fingers and his mouth, and him fucking her.

  When one finger soaking wet with her juices made careful path inside her ass, she let it, groaning deeply at the feeling of incredible fullness that tore through her as he pumped into her more gently now. But the slower speed didn’t make it any less extraordinary as he slid another finger into her pussy, stretching her wide and pressing hard into the walls of her cunt, searching out the places that made her swear and buck for him.

  When she came, it was fast and blinding, stars and explosions all through her body, leaving her biting back the grunting screams that threatened to escape. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit, gently easing her through the waves of pleasure until oversensitivity roared in and she had to gently swat him away. She caught her fists in his shirt and hauled him up beside her, moving easily into his lap and kissing him. He tasted like her, and like him, and like them. The combination made her feel dizzy with something more tangible than delight.

  “Fuck me,” she murmured.

  He shook his head. “It’s okay.”

  “I know it is,” she said, kissing him again. “I know you’re fine, and you’re good with it, and you did this for me, and whatever else is in your head, but I’m asking you, unless you really and truly do not want to, do this for me as well.”

  There was a moment where something delicate hung in the balance, and then he let go of his restraint, and his hands were hot on her body again. He lifted her again, swinging her into his arms and moving quickly through the small hallway to his bedroom. Her bare ass felt odd hanging down, but she hardly cared. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his pulse until he growled and tossed her on the bed. She yanked her shirt off over her head, hearing a seam make an ugly sound that she’d have to investigate later — but right now, the only thing she cared about was getting him as close as possible.

  Dean stripped off his own shirt and pants in record time. The way he plunged onto the bed with her made her think that he would take her almost viciously, but instead, everything slowed down to a glacial pace. His mouth moved over her body, stopping at her nipples, her neck, her earlobes. He kissed her while he teased the head of his cock over her still sensitive pussy. He nestled himself in the cleft of her lips and dragged himself over her flesh, slick and almost painful. She begged him to move faster, to bury himself in her. He wouldn’t give her — or him — the satisfaction. He continued to move against her as slowly as he wanted to.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked after an eternity.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her voice was gone, too shaken to be loud, too full of pleasure and desire to be anything other than needy.

  He slid into her, tip to hilt, in one smooth motion that left them both shuddering. He slipped his hand under her hips, pulling her just a little closer to him so that she could take just a little bit more of him.

  “Like this?” he asked.

  “Faster,” she replied, trying to move her hips to urge him on. His grip was too tight, keeping her too still, pierced into place by the length of him, the delicious press of him.

  He leaned down, locking her mouth against his in a searing kiss that twisted up her belly and made her buck against him, but still, he kept up the same steady, rocking rhythm.

  “No,” he said. “You told me to do this, you don’t get to choose how it happens. I can stop, or I can keep going, but this is how I want to be inside of you, Emma. I want to be delicate. I want to be dependable.” She could see the moment where his breath caught in his throat, and he had to close his eyes tightly before he could open them and proceed. “I want to be yours.”

  Something flared through her, not lust or an orgasm, something more emotionally intense and deeply powerful. She matched her movements to his, trusting him as he dragged his cock over the places deep inside of her that needed a release. When it was close, she slipped a hand between them, idly flicking at her clit a few more times. That, more than anything else, seemed to finally break his reserve. He didn’t speed up so much as each thrust became more urgent, more demanding. He slapped into her harder, pulled out more deliberately, and slid home again with the incredible power of gravity. Her orgasm broke over her just a moment after his started, and their cries twisted up together as he finally, delightfully, collapsed over her, pinning her to the bed with the solidity of his weight.

  ###

&nbs
p; She dozed for a little while. When her eyes opened again, Dean was next to her, his head pillowed on his arm, his gaze focused firmly on her face.

  “Hi,” she said quietly, stretching carefully. Her thigh brushed against his hip, and she wanted him all over again, even as tired and sore as she was. When her hands smoothed over his belly, though, he caught them gently, bringing them up to his mouth and pressing a light kiss against her knuckles.

  “We need to talk some more,” he said.

  “Okay,” she replied. It was interesting, being naked in someone else’s bed. That hadn’t happened in a while. She had had plenty of dalliances, not so many cuddles. She tried to relax into and wrap herself up in the sensation, enjoying the flow of it over her skin. It was nice. Comfortable. Safe.

  The idea of being safe with this brute of a man seemed so counter-intuitive that it almost made her afraid. How could she possibly be willing to daydream about such a thing? Yet here she was. Feeling safe. She wasn’t ready to say that she was throwing away all the respectability and privilege she’d worked for, but whether the moment was fleeting or not, it felt like something deep and powerful for now. She wasn’t ready to walk away from that feeling either.

  “What did you find when you got back to your house?” he asked.

  It was the question she’d been dreading.

  “He’d been there,” she said, thinking that if she just said it, all at once, maybe it would be easier. “The man who kidnapped me. He had been there. He took Mia’s backpack. I guess because I told him her medicine was in there.”

  “Did he touch anything else?”

  “Not that I could see,” Emma said. “I thought it was okay, and I tried to go to sleep, but I just couldn’t do it. So, I came here.” His face was still and quiet, and she didn’t like that. Shouldn’t he be comforting her or reassuring her that she had been safe? Wasn’t there something he was supposed to be doing?

  “You shouldn’t have stayed there,” he said. “What if something had happened to you? What if he’d been waiting for you? You should’ve called me. I would’ve come and gotten you.”

  She shook her head firmly. “Are you kidding? You were asleep on your feet when you left. I didn’t think there was a chance of you making it back to my place without hurting yourself. And honestly? You were so quick to leave, I wasn’t sure you’d pick up your phone if I did call.”

  He winced visibly, and she tried not to be frustrated. It was the truth, she reminded herself. There hadn’t seemed to be any point at all in letting him know what was going on.

  He seemed to brush away the conversation with a move of his hand. “We’ll argue about that later,” he said, and it was adorable how he assumed there would be a later. She didn’t correct him, however. “Tell me everything you can think of about the car. The man. All of it.”

  Emma tried not to sigh. He’d done this twice before he’d been willing to leave her as well. She turned all the details over in her mind — and at the very end, something finally sparked. It had been strange at the time, but then so much had happened and she hadn’t thought to mention it. “He had a bullet, hanging from his rearview mirror. Just the casing, and on the butt end, there was a star scratched into it. Like snipers do in movies. To mark their kills or whatever.”

  Dean nodded. “Okay. That doesn’t mean anything to me, but it gives me some ideas about who we should call, and where we should be asking questions.” And then he went completely still. “No, wait,” he said, and she did. “On Fred’s chest,” he said, his voice a low and terrified rumble, a combination that Emma did not enjoy at all. “Connell said there was a carving there. Of a star. I—do you think?”

  “Yeah,” Emma said, torn between running from the room and snuggling into him closer and asking for protection. “Yeah. I think the same man killed Fred and kidnapped me.”

  “But why? You don’t know anything about Fred Killian, and if someone were trying to get me, grabbing Fred would be a terrible play. What the hell is even happening here?”

  Emma opened her mouth to say something else, but Dean shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. Here’s the thing. We’re both fucking exhausted. Too much is happening, way too fast. We need more information, but we need it to be good, reliable information. I’m going to text this to Connell, and then you and I are going to get some sleep. Because we need to be able to help my little girl when we know what we’re doing. But us standing around with our thumbs up our asses isn’t going to help her, it isn’t going to help us, and it’s not going to help Connell find her.”

  It hurt so much to do it, but Emma nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Good,” he said. He picked his phone off the table and tapped in a message, then set it down on the bureau again. He laid back on the pillow, opening his arms wide to her. “C’mere.”

  “Are you sure you trust me near that power tool of yours?” she asked, but she settled into his arms without any objection. He was semi-erect against her belly, but not insistently hard. It was both a relief and a shame, all at the same time. She was exhausted, but her body craved him in a way that continued to surprise her.

  “If you behave yourself, I’ll behave myself,” he said. His hips shifted against her stomach, and she felt him tense just a little bit more.

  “One more for the road?”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said, and she honestly thought he might just slide right inside of her. She was wet enough, and he was coming to attention at a shocking pace. But instead, he put a hand on her hip and turned her over, pressing her down into the mattress as he slid behind her. “Tell me what you want.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dean

  In the morning, Dean let Emma get into the shower and turn on the water before he followed her into the room. There was another quickie while she was pressed up against the shower wall, him kneading her breasts and her fingering her clit until she clenched around him, making him blow ferociously inside of her. They cleaned up, giggling at each other like everything was just fine.

  He loved it, and he hated it, all at once. He couldn’t shake that moment when he’d left her at her apartment, and it had seemed like he would never see her again. How he’d felt that, sitting with that, aching for her, wanting her so very much.

  He traded a few messages with Connell, who said that there wasn’t anything yet, but he was still running down leads. They set up a time to meet at the clubhouse that afternoon.

  “I need to go check on Abbey,” he said after some time had passed.

  They took his bike, and she slid behind him like an old pro. They hadn’t talked about it at all in their cheerful banter that morning. What she expected from him. What she wanted, besides his physical presence. What was going to happen next.

  He tried to push those worrying thoughts out of his mind. She felt sweet and right behind him, her thighs tight around his, her arms wrapped around his middle. That was all that mattered right now.

  Sue was gone when they got to Abbey’s. His sister-in-law was curled up on the couch, looking small and fragile, tucked up in blankets. Yesterday, she had the fury of someone who needed to stay alive. Today, he could see the wounds the entire situation had inflicted on her. The dark circles under her eyes and the puffiness of her eyelids told him plenty about how she was doing. She had been crying. She hadn’t slept well. But she was here. She was alive. That was a start.

  “Hey,” he said after she let them in, then retreated back to her small nest. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Sue went out for coffee and bagels,” Abbey replied. “She said she was going to get a bunch of things. I’m sure there will be plenty for you two as well.” There was a quick, momentary pause, and then she asked the question that Dean had known she was going to ask, and that still tore him up inside. “Dean, where’s my baby girl? How did you fuck this up so badly?”

  Even though he was prepared for it, he flinched back. “Abbey, I—”

  “No,” she said. There wasn’t any anger in
her tone, which seemed strange. God knew he was furious with himself. Why shouldn’t she hate him too? “Just tell me what’s happening. What are you doing to find her?”

  He sagged into one of the chairs opposite her perch on the couch. After a moment, Emma sat down in the matching chair, but she stayed perched, instead of relaxing into the chair’s embrace.

  “We’re running down every lead we possibly can. Connell is on it. He thinks he might have something for me this afternoon. But he wants to know everything that you can remember about what happened.”

  Abbey was quiet for a long moment, and then she shook her head gently. “I don’t know, Dean. They hit my car, took me while I was on the phone with you. They drugged me, kept me drugged. I didn’t have my meds, and my brain was zapping out every other second. I don’t remember much of it.”

  “But it was a they? More than one person?”

  She was quiet for a minute, then nodded. “Yes. Two. Both big, strong. One of them picked me up and tossed me in a car, the other got into my car. What happened to my car?”