Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial

by McCormick, Jenna

  Greg gives me a cool once over. “I don’t see your name on her, either.”

  I stand up. “You know what? You can have my chair.” Drink in hand, I move off to the bar, hoping my absence will defuse the situation.

  Coming here was a mistake. I see that now, and scan the room for a familiar face that’s sober enough to drive me home. I spy a tall form lurking in the doorway.

  “No frigging way,” I breathe, but it’s him. Connor is here, and from the look on his face, he isn’t happy about it.

  Our eyes meet, and the crowd seems to part before him as he moves toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I came to get you. Don’t push me, Baily.” His rough voice sounds deadly and fraught with warning.

  “Push you? You left me alone with all those horrible people.”

  His hand circles the back of my neck, feeling very much like a collar. “To answer the phone. And while I did, you ran off with another man.”

  I open my mouth to deny it, but the sound of breaking glass cuts across the room, followed by the heavy thud of male bodies hitting the floor. The crowd surges back from the fight like a retreating tide.

  “Oh shit.” From my perch on the barstool, I see Greg and Eric rolling around on the floor together, pounding the hell out of each other.

  “We’re leaving. Now,” Connor says. It’s not a request.

  Securing me against his side, he makes his way through the crowd.

  “Stop,” I say, but he ignores me. “They’ll kill each other.”

  “Saves me the trouble of doing it,” Connor growls, and then we’re through the doors and out in the night.

  Connor’s convertible is parked on the street. He secures me inside, even reaches across my body to buckle my seatbelt. His angry movements are incredibly efficient, not an iota of wasted effort as he circles the car and climbs in, roaring away from town.

  If I thought the drive to the bar with Eric was disconcerting, it’s nothing compared to being trapped beside a livid Connor Edge. “Connor—”

  “Quiet.” The word is issued like a whip crack, and I actually flinch away. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

  But I’m no wilting daisy to be intimidated. “Your assistant told me you were on the way to Manhattan. I thought you’d left without saying goodbye.”

  He inhales audibly. “So, instead of looking for me to confirm that, you run off to a bar and start a fight?”

  He’s twisting the facts to feed his anger. “It’s not like that.”

  Ahead of us the traffic light switches to red. Connor turns to me slowly, his voice deadly quiet. “Baily, shut up, or I swear to God, I’ll stuff you in the trunk.” The icy look in his eyes says he is absolutely serious. Biting my tongue, I slump back into my seat.

  Simmering with rage, it takes me awhile to realize we aren’t headed back to the Rosemont. “Where are we going?”

  Connor ignores me and turns off the main road and up a steep, winding hill.

  “Connor?”

  Silence. The top is down and my hair is whipping in my face. I do my best to secure it back with one hand. Connor’s an excellent driver, handling the car deftly, not speeding, hugging every curve in the road. Despite our current misunderstanding, driving with him and experiencing such fiery passion harnessed by an inescapable yoke of control turns me on. My nipples are rock hard against the soft cups of my corset top, and my clit throbs in time with my increased heartbeats. One quick rub would send me over the edge. Or maybe not even a touch, just another of those blazing looks from Connor.

  He pulls into a small private airport, directly in front of an open hanger. I wait as he exits the car and says a few brief words to a man, presumably the pilot, and then strides back to me.

  “Out,” he commands.

  Though I scramble from the convertible, I protest the entire time. “Connor, I can’t go anywhere. I have obligations.”

  “I’ll have you back to work by Monday morning.”

  What if something happens to Pops and I can’t get to him? I’m not free to just take off whenever the mood strikes me. I’m confined to my tiny world by more than finances. “You don’t understand—”

  He whirls on me, gets in my face. “You don’t like this? Use your safe-word right now, and it ends. All of it.”

  I open my mouth but can’t form the word. I feel like Dorothy, imagining Kansas from the magical land of Oz. But clicking my heels together wouldn’t fix what was wrong with my grandfather, wouldn’t send me back to school and make my life what I wanted. It would only keep me from following the yellow brick road, leave me in monochromatic misery in a world without color.

  My lips compress together in a tight line and I shake my head.

  “Then get on the damn plane.”

  I get on the damn plane.

  * * *

  The jet is small but luxurious, with six oversized leather seats on each side in rows of two. I sink into the window seat and buckle myself in. After checking to make sure I’m properly secured, Connor sits on the other side of the aisle and stares out the window. His fists clench and unclench, clench and unclench. It seems wiser to leave him alone.

  Whaddya know? You do possess a sense of self-preservation, Snarkarella pipes up. I was wondering about that.

  “Shut up,” I mutter at her under my breath. She’s one to talk, never around when I need her.

  The engines roar to life and I close my eyes, reliving what happened at the bar. I owe both Greg and Eric an apology. I hope the police weren’t needed to break it up. Why didn’t I just go home?

  The question follows me into a fitful sleep. I wake when Connor leans over me, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. He murmurs something too low for me to hear.

  “Don’t be mad,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “But you did.” He pulls away, returns to his seat.

  Snuggled under the chenille throw, I drift off again, too physically and mentally exhausted to argue with him anymore.

  The next time I wake, the jet is taxiing and Connor is seated beside me. “We’re here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “East Hampton. I have a house here.”

  Of course he does. Shaking off the fog of weariness, I follow him down the steps of the plane and into the waiting limo.

  The elderly driver leans in. “Everything you requested has been secured, sir.”

  “Thank you, Randolph.” Connor nods politely.

  “What did you ask him for?”

  “Clothes for you, some food, and a few other sundry items for our stay.”

  “What about your guests at the Rosemont?”

  “Fuck them,” he growls, turning those glittering blue eyes on me. The layer of ice has thawed, leaving behind a fire that warms the cold places inside me,

  “No thanks,” I murmur.

  The corner of his mouth kicks up. “You don’t care for my circle of friends?”

  “They’re a bunch of back biting ass-muppets.”

  His grin is full-fledged. “I’ll subtract five, just for that.

  “Five what?”

  He merely smiles. A shiver zips the length of my spine.

  Connor’s house here isn’t nearly as ostentatious at the Rosemont. In fact it’s more of a refurbished seaside cottage, done on a slightly grander scale. Connor helps me from the limo and escorts me into the house. The main room has vaulted ceilings and the entire rear wall is made up of reinforced glass that comes to a sharp point in the middle. Though it’s dark, I can just make out the white froth of sea foam.

  “It’s lovely,” I murmur, running my hand over the marble countertop, taking in the glint from stainless steel appliances.

  Connor merely grunts, steering me through the main room toward the back of the house.

  “Bathroom’s through there.” He points across the large space. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  He shuts the door and I hear a lock tumble. Oh
no, he didn’t just lock me in his room? There’ll be hell to pay when he gets back if he did.

  Then I notice the sliding glass door. Vertical blinds hang in front of it, but when I try the door, it slides open, letting in a whiff of cold, salty air. Okay, he’s not trying to imprison me, just make a point. I can deal with this.

  I use the bathroom and wash my hands and face, ridding myself of all the remaining makeup. Since I have nothing to change into, I keep my dress on but kick off the heels. I fantasized about Connor stripping away each layer when I pulled them on, and damned if I’m going to give up that fantasy just because he has his jock in a twist.

  A fire snaps in the hearth, dispelling the damp chill in the air. Though the house must have been closed up, it doesn’t have that musty, unused scent. Instead it smells clean, like a fresh breeze. The bedside clock tells me it’s after five in the morning, but I’m wide awake, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, almost sick with anticipation.

  The lock tumbles and Connor appears carrying a black suitcase. “Come here.”

  I think these are the clothes he mentioned earlier, until he flips the lid open. All the air rushes from my lungs.

  It’s a portable sex toy kit, clearly brand new, as many items are still in the packaging. Dildos, vibrators, plugs, clamps, oils in every color of the rainbow. And then there’s the darker stuff. Cuffs, switches, paddles in different shapes and sizes, floggers, a crop, lengths of rope, and even a coiled whip.

  My mouth has gone dry, but I manage to croak, “QVC having a special?”

  He doesn’t even crack a smile. “Not exactly.”

  Unzipping the top portion of the suitcase, he extracts a manila envelope, which looks oddly out of place next to Hoarders: Kink Edition.

  Handing me the envelope, he whispers, “As promised.”

  I feel my eyebrows knitting, displaying my confusion. What did he promise me that would fit in an eight by ten envelope?

  Moving closer to one of the low lamps, I scan through the first page. My mouth falls open when I realize I’m looking at the test results from Connor Edge’s last physical, six weeks before.

  “A clean bill of health,” I whisper. “You remember that conversation?”

  Connor nods.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Will you remember this one?”

  “I don’t know,” he admits. “But you will. And you’ll help me remember what I need to know.”

  Our eyes meet and hold, and he lunges for me. The way I wanted him to this morning in the forest. No, that was yesterday morning. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  His hands are in my hair. His lips fused to mine, tongue plunging and marauding, until my oxygen-starved lungs demand I push him back.

  “Connor,” I breathe as he kisses his way down my neck, one hand sliding up my leg, toying with the garter there. My body is wet for him. I wish he’d rip my clothes off and take me hard against this very wall.

  Connor pulls away. “No.”

  I feel dizzy, and stumble without his support. “No?”

  His eyes glitter in the firelight. “First, I have to punish you.”

  7

  “Punish me?” Is he kidding? “But I already told you—”

  “It doesn’t matter why. Bottom line is, you didn’t trust me.”

  “You don’t even trust you!” I scream. My hands are fisted at my sides and I’m shaking with absolute frustration and rage.

  “That’s why I need you to,” Connor says quietly.

  My indignation deflates at his words. He’s right. I told him I trusted him, and then I didn’t support my words with actions. I was so insecure about the soiree, so convinced he was looking for a way to ditch me, that I listened to his bitchy little secretary instead of seeking the truth from him. I could have called his cell phone, or gone looking for him, even checked to see if his car was still there. But instead I abandoned all hope. “What are you going to do?”

  “Take your dress off.”

  Closing my eyes, I reach for the knot at my neck.

  “Look at me.” His words snap out like a lash from that whip. “Keep your eyes on mine.”

  My eyes pop open and I swallow with effort. Somehow, it’s harder to do with him holding my gaze that way. There’s no dark corner where I can hide, because he sees everything. My fingers shake as I slowly fumble with the knot. Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, it’s free. I catch the fabric as it slithers over the swells of my breasts. It’s ridiculous, I’m still wearing the corset bodysuit and Connor has already seen my body. But there’s something about knowing he’s looking that heats my blood.

  “Baily, look at me,” he repeats and I realize that though I’m staring straight at him, my focus is internal. Somehow, Connor knows it.

  My lip quivers and I sink my teeth into it. He sucks in a sharp breath. “What did I say about that?”

  I squeak and release my bite, but it’s too late. Gripping my wrists, Connor pulls my arms apart, setting the fabric of my dress free. We watch it snag on the flare of my hips for a moment, then pool at my feet. He helps me step out of it and skims his fingers across the bare expanse of my chest.

  “On your knees.” His voice is husky.

  Said knees are wobbling, so it’s probably just as well to kneel before him.

  “Undo my belt.” He rocks forward until his fly is in my face.

  I stare up into his eyes, wondering if this is part of my punishment.

  “No,” he says, as if reading my mind. “This is my reward for not throwing you onto that bar and claiming you right then. I’ll paddle your ass red after. Unzip me.”

  A sharp thrill tears through me like a bolt of lightning. I realize I like his cool, crisp commands. He’s taking what he wants from me, and that turns me on, makes me wet for him. It saves me from having to second and third guess my every action.

  I push his pants down and shiver at the sound of the belt buckle hitting the floor.

  He’s not wearing underwear, and his massive erection is all I can see. Leaning forward, I’m about to take him in my mouth when he says, “Wait.”

  He moves away, and my chest fills up with disappointment that he’s changed his mind. I want him in my mouth. I want the taste of him on my tongue, want to feel him doing as he promised, fucking my mouth. Somehow I know he won’t make me choke or gag. It’ll be perfect, like everything else about him.

  He makes me feel perfect.

  Connor snags a pillow from the bed and drops it before the hearth. He snaps his fingers and points, and my sex creams at the display of outright dominance. This man deserves every last ounce of pleasure I can wring from his body.

  “Now, show me what that wicked little mouth of yours can do.”

  Using the very tip of my tongue, I dab at the slit in the crown. His cock bobs, and I grasp it in one hand while tracing the vein down the length to the root. He’s all salt and masculine spice, the velvety smooth skin encasing rigid steel.

  Fingers spear into my hair, holding it away from my face. My mouth waters for a deeper taste even before he orders, “Suck me.”

  Staring up into his eyes, I suckle the crown in my mouth, swirling my tongue over the end, teasing him.

  The fingers in my hair tighten to the point of pain, and I wince as he growls, “More, Baily. Take me deeper.”

  Oh, how I love tormenting him this way. But we both want the same thing. His cock is huge, and I don’t know how much of him I’ll be able to manage this way, but it won’t be from lack of effort. Widening my jaw, I slide farther down his shaft.

  He throws his head back, the very picture of ecstasy, as I suck on the hard male flesh. I feel it throbbing in my mouth, pulsing with every beat of his heart, desperate for release. Hollowing my cheeks, I slip back and then forward again, taking him deeper than I’d ever imagined I could.

  But still he isn’t satisfied. His hips buck forward, shoving the hard length even deeper. I suffer a moment of panic before he withdraws and then does it again, hittin
g the back of my throat.

  “You can take me.” His voice is soft, that jagged edge hooking me, making me believe whatever he says. “Just breathe through your nose and relax.”

  I don’t have the will to fight him. Removing my hand from the base of his shaft, I stare up at him, trusting him completely.

  The wetness of my mouth coats his girth, making each slide easier. Sinking my nails into the taut muscles of his ass, I let him show me the rhythm, just like when we danced. He’s leading us. All I have to do is let him.

  His length hits the back of my throat, and I swallow. “Good girl,” he rasps. My throat muscles milk his head the same way my pussy does, urging him to give my body everything he’s got.

  Our eyes lock, him fighting for control, and me on my knees but feeling oddly powerful as I see him hit his breaking point. His eyes seem to shimmer as he starts to come, spurting hot jets down my throat. I swallow it all greedily, alive with feminine power like I’d never known before.

  Then it’s over, and he cups my jaw as he pulls out, his cock still semi-hard, but obviously sated for now. He sinks onto the pillow next to me and pulls my head against his chest, so I hear the pounding of his heart.

  We’re both out of breath. My body thrums with unspent lust, my breasts practically heaving out of the top of my corset. I need to come, need his hand or his mouth or his cock between my legs. But I’m afraid to ask for it, to make any demands at all. Connor’s touch is magic, and it seems greedy for me to ask for more than he’s already given.

  Maybe I should just take matters into my own hands.

  He moves back, his movements much more relaxed now. “On your hands and knees.”

  Oh hell, I forgot about the punishment. Possibly because unfulfilled sexual cravings seemed torturous enough. “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he growls, and I whimper. Something about sex with Connor strips away all the façade of civility, until I’m left with nothing but raw animal instinct. Leaning forward, I place my hands on the hardwood floor, my body flushed with more than just the heat of the fire.