Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial

by McCormick, Jenna

  There’s a big, fat understatement. I try to imagine purchasing a huge estate and the ones around it just for privacy. Rosemont already feels like the middle of nowhere sometimes, and knowing that everyone for miles works for Connor seems ludicrous.

  “Ms. Harrison?” Connor calls out and the mousy new hire peeks around the corner. “Take off early today.”

  “But I haven’t finished—”

  “Go home.” Connor repeats with steel in his voice.

  She nods and retrieves her coat and purse from the nearby closet. “Yes, Sir. Goodnight Sir, Ma’am.”

  I start when I realize I’m the Ma’am she’s addressing. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Harrison. Have a good night.”

  She smiles at me and then bolts for the front door.

  “She is absolutely terrified of you,” I remark.

  He doesn’t say anything, just hauls me out through the kitchen to the pool.

  I stare down at the clear water and shiver. It’s only about seventy degrees out and with the sun going down, the water will feel like ice.

  “It’s heated.” Connor says as though reading my thoughts.

  I whip my head toward him. “Since when?”

  “A few weeks ago.” He gestures toward the water. “Test it.”

  Crouching by the side, I dip my index finger in. Sure enough, warmth coats the digit. I close my eyes, exhilarated. The last time I went in this pool amazing things happened.

  “Tell me what you did first.” Connor’s impatience is clear.

  I stand up and think back. “It was about midnight and I was alone.”

  “You shouldn’t swim alone. It’s not safe.”

  I just look at him. “Are we doing this or are you going to lecture me?”

  He scowls, but gestures for me to continue.

  I move to the gate where I’d entered last time. “I had a towel and my cell phone and I was wearing a robe. I took the robe off and set it on this chaise.” I point to the chair and then reach for the buttons of my shirt and shrug out of the fabric.

  “What are you doing?” he rasps as I reach for the button on my jeans.

  “Getting naked. It’s an essential step in skinny dipping.” I shimmy out of my pants and fold them neatly on top of my shirt. My hands find the clasp on my bra and I hold his gaze. “You did want this to be a real reenactment, right?”

  A muscle jumps in his jaw. He knows I’m up to something and I doubt he likes the notion. Everything in our relationship so far has been on his terms, whether he remembers it or not. I want to fix what’s broken between us, but I also need him to know I’m a force to be reckoned with.

  He shifts uncomfortably but he doesn’t glance away. “Go ahead.”

  I nod as though I’ve been waiting for permission and remove my bra and underwear. A month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to strip down to nothingness at dusk, knowing a man like Connor Edge is looking at me. But he appreciated my body before and I’m betting he still does.

  If not, I’ll walk out of here humiliated for the final time. A girl can only take so much rejection.

  With that thought in mind, I execute a clean dive into the pool, arc upward until I clear the surface and start a leisurely backstroke. I stare up at the darkening sky. The water cocoons me in warmth and my wet nipples tighten in the cool air.

  “Now what?” Connor’s voice is hoarse.

  “You came in after me, fully clothed, and grabbed me from behind,” I say.

  The words are barely out when there’s a huge splash. Those strong arms wrap around me and press me back against his solid chest. I want to sigh and sag against his heat, but this is for him, so he can regain his memory of what happened during one of his blackouts.

  “What happened next?” Connor’s rough voice is soft in my ear.

  “You asked me who I am and how I got in here. I told you I was the groundskeeper and you called me a liar. Said that Thomas Sinclair was the groundskeeper.”

  I’m not sure, but I think I feel him flinch. I touch my fingertips to his forearm. “You want to stop?”

  “Keep going.”

  “I tried to explain I was his granddaughter and you said it was convenient that I roamed the grounds at night. You said, and this is a direct quote, ’More likely you’re here to seduce Mr. Edge.’”

  His arms tighten. “Why would I refer to myself in the third person like that?”

  I’ve spent hours wondering about that as well. “I don’t know. Saying you came across as paranoid is an understatement. Then you started touching me.”

  “Where?” He stirs restlessly behind me, shifting his hips so I can feel his erection through the thin material of his mesh shorts.

  “My breast. The left one.”

  “Like this?” His fingers are soft and possessive.

  I close my eyes because he can’t see my face, and relish the contact I’ve missed so much. “Exactly like that.”

  He nuzzles the side of my neck. This isn’t part of our script, but it’s impossible for me to point it out. I’m melting against him, overwhelmed by all the sensations his tenderness evokes.

  “Now what?”

  I’m breathing harder, turned on to the point of mindless need. Is it the few simple touches after so long without, or the reenactment of the most recklessly carnal moments of my life that affects me so?

  “Baily?”

  This is important. I have to focus if I want Connor to remember those blank spots, because I doubt he’ll feel whole until he does. Sucking in a shaky breath, I say, “You asked if we should wake Mr. Sinclair to verify my story.”

  The thumb stroking over my nipple pauses. “I did?”

  “Yeah. I told you he was otherwise occupied. You said, ‘How convenient.’”

  “And then?”

  “You pinned me against the side of the pool.” My sex clenches as I remember his rough treatment.

  But he doesn’t move.

  “Connor?” I try to shift in his arms, to see his face, something to give me a clue as to what’s going on. Suddenly his grip tightens around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

  “Tricky little witch.” Connor spins me in his hold until I’m staring into his eyes.

  The change in him is so startling that I yelp in surprise. The knowledge is there, the frustration and rage tightly leashed once more. The reproduction just backfired, because the civilized aloof man is gone and the beast in him is awake.

  And he looks hungry.

  “Connor?” I ask warily. “You okay?”

  I haven’t seen this version of him—his blackout self—since our trip to the Hamptons. And though he’s a domineering tyrant, I’ve missed him. “How much do you remember?”

  “Everything.” His eyes narrow. “I know you’ve been a bad girl.”

  “You’re aware of everything that’s happened to him? To you, I mean?” I bite my lip, unsure of how to differentiate between them.

  The corner of his mouth kicks up. “Very much so. I’m here to do what he won’t.”

  “What’s that?” I whisper. I am in awe of this dominant, commanding side of him.

  “Take you to task for your misdeeds.”

  “My misdeeds?” He makes it sound as if I have a rap sheet the length of my arm.

  He doesn’t answer, just shifts his ironclad grip to my wrists and tugs me out of the water.

  “My clothes,” I protest when he drags me back toward the house.

  “You won’t need them.” Sensual promise fills his voice.

  I’m shivering from more than the cold and am relieved when we reach the kitchen.

  “Wait here,” he commands.

  I pause, dripping onto the floor as he disappears. My heart rate kicks up. His commanding presence excites me beyond reason. If I had any sense, I’d bolt for my cottage and lock myself in. The man is going to punish me, intentionally cause me pain. So why am I still standing here, shivering in anticipation?

  I’m always wary with the other Connor Edge that I�
�ll somehow make a misstep that will drive us apart. This version of him makes the rules perfectly clear and isn’t afraid to exert his authority over my body.

  He returns carrying a fluffy white towel. Instead of handing it over, he proceeds to dry me off, starting with my hair. The look on his face is focused concentration. Time seems to slow around us as he works his way down my body, each swipe of the towel drying moisture and marking me with an invisible brand of ownership.

  “Connor,” I whisper.

  He looks up, those celestial blue irises piercing me with lust.

  I reach forward and cup his cheek in my hand. The growth of whiskers prickles my fingertips. “Are we going to be okay?”

  I admire that he doesn’t rush to reassure me. His answer holds more weight because I believe he is being honest.

  Rising to his feet, he tosses the towel aside. “Only if you trust me. I can give you the world, I want to, but I need you to have some faith in me.”

  He’s said this to me before. At the time I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to do as he asked. But I also didn’t understand how much I wanted to be with him. “I do.”

  He nods once. “We’ll see. You remember your safe-word?”

  I nod.

  He turns to the pantry and retrieves what looks like a hand made out of roots. Holding it up for my inspection he asks, “Do you know what this is?”

  “No.”

  “Raw ginger. I bought it from an oriental supermarket this morning.”

  “I’m not really hungry.” I say.

  His smile is malevolent. “It’s not for eating, it’s part of your punishment.”

  How exactly does that work? I imagine it would hurt if he hit me with it but it seems like an odd choice for punishment.

  Pointing at a chair he says. “Sit and watch me prepare it.”

  When my bare backside comes into contact with the chair I remember I’m still naked. How odd that I forgot.

  Connor removes a wicked looking knife from the chef’s block and tests the blade. I swallow hard. If he tries to cut me I’ll safe-word so fast his head will spin. My heart may bleed for him, but that’s as far as I’m willing to take it.

  My worry is in vain because he places a cutting board on the counter and positions the root carefully. Instead of lopping off one of the protruding fingers horizontally, he makes the slice into the thicker, hand-like portion of the root, until the chopped off piece is about five inches long. Setting the larger portion aside, he begins to whittle away the outer layer.

  The object taking shape under his deft handling looks almost obscene. It’s wider, thicker at one end, and the way he’s smoothing the surface with each stroke makes me squirm. He’s patient and meticulous as though he has all the time in the world. When it’s finally devoid of any rough edges, he carves out a concavity near the thicker end, working steadily until a hollowed out ring is visible around the circumference.

  He takes a bowl down and fills it with cold tap water. “Raw ginger burns when it comes into contact with the skin, so we have to be wary of getting any near our eyes.” He drops his little project into the bowl, then turns back to the disfigured hand. Snipping off a smaller end digit, he peels away half of the outer layer before adding it to the bowl.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. Just what the hell is he planning to do with that thing?

  Connor slips the leftover root into a ziplock bag and stores it in the fridge. He turns to face me, an evil grin in place that makes my heart pound. “Have you ever heard of figging?”

  “No.”

  Picking up the bowl, he says, “You’re about to become intimately acquainted with it. Follow me.”

  He leads me out into the main hallway, then up the stairs. I’ve never been in this portion of the house before. All the doors are shut and Connor passes several before leading me inside a bedroom with an antique four-poster bed and an adjoining bath. Black and royal purple is the main color scheme, giving the room an almost Victorian feel.

  “Shut the door and climb up on the bed.” Connor sets the bowl down on the nightstand.

  “This isn’t your room, is it?” Again the lack of personal items, the vibe of the space at war with the mysterious man before me.

  “This isn’t where I sleep, no.”

  Disappointment fills my chest. Whatever he’s about to do to me, he doesn’t want it to happen in his own living space.

  The bed is almost obscenely high and wide and I clamber up and crawl to the center.

  “Stay just like that.” Connor says.

  “Um…?” I pause and look over my shoulder to where he’s standing at the foot of the bed. I’m poised like a cat on all fours on top of the rich purple comforter. “Like this?”

  He nods, studying my exposed backside. “Exactly like that.” He’s blocking the huge antique mirror over the dresser, thank goodness, otherwise I’d have an unobstructed view of my ass. Bad enough he has one.

  Connor moves closer. “Tell me what you are being punished for.”

  “Not trusting you?”

  “What else?”

  I blink at him, unsure how to answer.

  He leans closer to me, runs a hand down the bumps of my spine. “You deliberately risked your life not even twenty four hours after someone took a shot at you. You didn’t trust me enough to keep you safe, to take care of you.”

  “Can I at least explain why?” I thought he already knew why I’d run off.

  He speaks softly and I hear the slightest trace of his Southern heritage. Usually he speaks crisply without an accent, and I can always tell he’s genuine when I hear that soft drawl. “The why doesn’t matter. You didn’t come to me, didn’t trust me to help you. I will always drop whatever I’m doing to help you regardless of the consequences. What you want is of utmost importance to me, yet you left without a word.”

  I hang my head as shame washes over me. He’s right, I didn’t trust him to help me. I’ve become so used to having no one willing or able to help. “I’m sorry.”

  The gentle hand pauses at the small of my back. “Can you tell me why you didn’t come to me first?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say because time was of the essence but deep down I know that’s not the real reason.

  “I was upset. I didn’t know if you would help me after what I told you about my mother. I thought you were looking for an out.”

  Fingers tighten in my hair and he yanks my head back while he rubs his groin against my ass. Understanding, patient Connor is gone. “Do you really believe that there is anything you could tell me that would quell my desire for you? If I can get past—” He cuts himself off with a vicious growl.

  “Get past what?” I ask but he ignores me, releasing my hair and standing back “Connor?”

  He retrieves the long finger of ginger from the bowl. My eyes are glued to it. “What are you going to do?”

  “Spread your ass cheeks for me so I can put this inside you.”

  17

  “Inside me?” I squeak. He can’t possibly mean what I think he means. “You said it burns!”

  “That’s why it’s punishment.” There’s a devil glint in his eyes.

  My fingers curl into the shimmering satin bedspread. “I don’t know if I can handle this, Connor.”

  “Then say your safe-word and leave. If you don’t fully trust me, we need to know right now.” He waits patiently for me to decide.

  I think about the careful way he prepared the all-natural butt plug. He knew what he intended to do all along, knew I might back out but he went to the trouble anyway. For me, because he trusts me, wants me.

  The same way I want him. Fully, with no limits regardless of the personal cost. If he needs this then so do I.

  Slowly, I release my locked elbows and lower my upper body onto the mattress. My hands tremble as I grip my butt cheeks and heat scalds my face at the searing humiliation. That must be part of his elaborate punishment. Connor knows exactly which buttons to push.

 
“Good girl,” he rasps. I’m absurdly pleased by the emotion in his voice, the pride those two words convey. And then I feel it, the bulbous end pressing against that tight ring of muscles. The foreign sensation has me panting.

  “Relax,” he tells me.

  “Don’t you need to lube it up or something?” It feels so big. I’ve only ever experienced his fingers and tongue there before. In comparison the ginger root seems enormous. I seriously doubt it will fit at all.

  “No, the water is enough. Lube would actually block some of the sensation.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” I grumble. Though I can’t see his face, I’m sure he’s smiling at my reluctance. A hand glides through my hair, stroking gently as though he’s petting me, soothing me.

  He presses slowly, but insistently and my body finally surrenders. The plug glides in all the way up to the tapered portion, which locks it in place.

  “How does it feel?” he asks.

  “Odd?” I’m not sure what else. My body is adjusting to the sensation of fullness and nerve endings tingle slightly. “How long are you going to leave it there?”

  He ignores my question. “Lie on your back now and close your eyes.”

  I do as he asks, rolling onto my back.

  Connor goes in the other room, and I hear the sound of water running in the sink. Washing away the ginger so it doesn’t burn his skin the way it’s starting to burn mine, no doubt. Closing my eyes only intensifies the sensations.

  On his return I hear him slide open a drawer in the dresser. “What are you doing?”

  Silk skims across my ribcage, such a gentle caress at odds with the sting in my ass. I squirm. The plug stays in place. My pussy is yielding liquid and my heartbeat throbs in my clit.

  The silk sweeps over my breasts and across my nipples before disappearing. Placing my feet flat on the mattress, I arch up, trying to get away from the sensation that now borders on pain.

  I let out a squeak as one foot is yanked out from under me and my eyes fly open. “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure you keep still.” Connor doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, which is tying my foot to one post with the length of silk. “You’re squirming a lot.”

  I try breathing through my nose, but am finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the throbbing burn in my rectum. Connor moves to the other foot and yanks it straight. Then he does the same with my arms.