The Wicked Collection

by Vivian Wood

  His look was grave, and she’d already braced herself for a refusal. To her delight, he wordlessly pulled his shirt over his head and his jeans down off his hips. Still silent, he got into the hot tub, donned only in his boxers. “Getting in?” he asked.

  She worked every angle, took every advantage to show off her body. The long legs sliding into the bubbling water in tandem, the exaggerated leaning over to wrap her hair into a loose knot on top of her head so he could take a long view of her cleavage. She moved toward him, but he moved to the other side. She tried again—and again he slipped away.

  With a growl of frustration, Ellie realized it was no time to play fair. She released her breasts from her top with a single pull of the string. Now she had him. His eyes were glued to her, and he didn’t move when she settled onto his lap, straddling him. His hardness was already pushing into her folds, even with the material between them.

  He was hesitant at first, of course. Wouldn’t make the first move. Ellie leaned into him, a shroud of confidence blanketing her. As soon as her lips touched his, he came to life. Plunging his hand into her hair, he kissed her deeply. In seconds, the roles shifted and he was the dominant one. The frustration melted out of her. You can do anything you want to me.

  Her nipples were aching, demanding attention. Between her legs, there was an insistent throbbing she’d only felt once before, last night. Gripping her hair, he yanked her head back, exposing her neck. Working down the hollow of her throat, his mouth engulfed her breasts. He knew this territory now, pulled and sucked like he owned her.

  Tentatively, she reached down to his hip and let her fingers slowly work their way to his cock. Henry pulled her hand away with a frustrated sound. Ellie lowered herself, no longer making her nipples so readily available to his lips, but now their hips met and she was sliding along his length. He kept his fingers entwined in her hair, controlling her movement.

  She could already tell by his touch, how their bodies fit together with ease, that the sex between them would be like nothing else. He slipped one skilled hand between them, below her bikini bottoms, desperate to finger her again. She felt two of his thick fingers slide into her, and she pushed into him greedily.

  “Oh!” she said as a small touch of pain rushed through her. What? She’d been getting herself off for years. She thought she’d broken her hymen years ago. Apparently not completely.

  Henry looked at her quizzically, and she felt her face turn red. Henry withdrew his hand, picked her up in the water and set her aside. His face was stony, his body shaking with anger as he pulled himself out of the tub.

  “Henry!” she managed to choke out.

  “Forget it,” he said, pulling on his jeans, erection clearly gone. “It wasn’t meant to be, Ellie. At least you can still say you’re a virgin.” She watched him storm off, struggling to put on her bikini top and too embarrassed to leave the comfort of the water just yet.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Pounding up the stairs, Henry couldn’t tell if he was more angry or horny. What the fuck does it even matter? Shit. Why did Ellie have to be so damn hot? The way she looked at him with that dangerous combination of innocent and sinful drove him insane. Why was it that the only woman he couldn’t get out of his head also happened to be his best friend’s baby sister? The worst part was that he couldn’t even leave! He'd promised to stay and safeguard her. Where the hell is Eli? He’d tried numerous times to get through to the White House, but couldn’t connect with Eli.

  It hadn’t always been like this. When they were getting ready to graduate high school, and Ellie was just a kid, they spent countless days at Eli’s family house, hiding away in the “rec room,” which was really just a semi-finished basement with an old foosball table.

  “Come on,” Eli had told him as they rolled a weak and sloppy joint. “You gotta go to prom, man. Stephie will be expecting it.” Stephie. She was the only high school girlfriend who had stuck around with Henry for more than a date or two. The others—and there were plenty—were quick to pick up on how he’d gone from boy to man fast junior year. They were, as Eli put it, intrigued. That was, until they quickly sussed out there was something not quite right with him.

  “Stephie,” Henry repeated. “Yeah, man, I don’t know. She just wants to dress up. I don’t really think she cares who she goes with.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Eli said, taking a big pull on the freshly lit joint before falling into his usual coughing fit.

  “I’m not,” Henry protested, reaching for the roach clip. “It’s just not my thing. You know? You’re all set to be prom king and shit. You’ve got a reason to go. Besides, you like that kind of high school crap.”

  “We are in high school,” Eli said. “It’s our last big shebang before the whole world changes. Come on, it’ll be fun. You guys can ride with us.”

  “Thanks for the charity,” Henry said with a laugh, leaning back into the oversized bean bag chair. “Besides, you don’t even like Stephie.”

  “I don’t have to like her,” Eli said. “But, c’mon. It’d be weird without you there.”

  “What’s that smell?” They hadn’t even heard her come in.

  “Ellie!” Eli said. “Go back upstairs. I told you, you have to knock before coming down here when the door’s closed.” Eli was frantically waving the thick smoke out of the slit of a basement window.

  “I did knock,” Ellie said, her face screwed up. “You didn’t answer.”

  “If I didn’t answer, that doesn’t mean come in!” Eli said, embarrassed to be caught by his kid sister.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Henry said. “What’s up, Ellie? How was school?”

  “Good,” she said, giving him a shy smile.

  “What are you in, now? Eighth grade? Tenth?”

  “Kindergarten!” she said, laughing.

  “Oh, wow,” he said.

  “You’re funny,” she told him, turning around and going back upstairs. “But you both stink.”

  Eli had been so flustered that day, but still so intent on making sure Henry enjoyed the last days of high school. How could he violate that kind of bond—and over Ellie? No. He couldn’t do that to Eli, or Ellie. He’d just have to get over it. Where the hell were those Secret Service agents Meredith promised?

  Out his bedroom window, he could make out the snow-covered pathway down the mountain. Even with yesterday’s snowfall, the warmth of the day had softened the ice, making the roads nearly passable. This was it. This was his chance. Surely the agents would be there any minute.

  Pulling on a sweater and socks, he stomped downstairs.

  “Henry?” Ellie called to him from the living room. “Where are you going? Henry?”

  With a slam of the back door, he silenced her voice. Climbing into the driver seat, he saw scenes from horror movies flash through his head. Please start. Please start. Please start. The SUV roared to life. Pushing the snowflake button on the gearbox, Henry whipped into reverse and started down the mountain. There was no way Ellie’s little sedan would make it. The SUV was barely holding on to the road well. He prayed she wouldn't try, wouldn't attempt to come after him.

  It took him thirty minutes to reach the main road. On a dry day, it would take ten. Maneuvering down the narrow backroads, he passed through town, plowing past the grocer with the overly friendly clerks and the post office declaring that this really was a bona fide destination. At the far end of the two-light town, what seemed to be the only bar was lit up like a little neon drop of Las Vegas in a hillbilly hideaway. This’ll do.

  Henry had always had a soft spot for dive bars. Planted at the bar, he took solace in the gruff bartender who fulfilled his role by painstakingly rubbing the wooden bar with a cloth whenever drinks weren’t being prepared. A man a couple seats down nodded at him before returning all attention to his own sad glass.

  “Hey.” A young blonde snuck into his line of sight. “Y’all ain’t from ’round here,” she told him, as if he didn’t know. In another time, he
would have found her drawl charming. Now, her blue eyes and tanned skin just highlighted how unlike Ellie she was.

  “Sure ain’t,” he told her. She tilted her head, curious, and backed away.

  Round three of Jim Beam’s Devil’s Cut. “I like a man who can drink.” This one was older than him, but she’d kept herself up nicely. Dark brown hair, olive skin, and glittering green eyes. She was trying too hard, her shirt cut too low and her skirt too tight.

  “Must be heaven for you in here then,” he said. She stiffened, and he attempted to soften his words with a smile, but she’d already moved on. None of these women or girls could interest him. It was all Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

  Ellie. It was like the wind blew her in. All eyes in the bar turned to watch her walk through the doors like she owned the place, three agents in tow. Scowling at her, he turned back to his drink. At least she didn’t drive here herself.

  “Damn. You see what just walked in?” The middle-aged man two seats down, who’d clearly seen some rough days, had barely said a word to him since he'd sat down. Now he was looking Ellie up and down, not giving a damn about the three very large men skirting her. He may as well have been fucking her with his eyes.

  “I’ve seen it plenty,” Henry told the man, a darkness in his eyes. “You’re not gonna be seeing much from now on if you keep looking.”

  “Shit, boy,” the man said, downing the last of his whiskey. “Just talkin’.”

  Someone fed the hungry jukebox—the blonde from earlier. First it was a song from the Black Snake Moan soundtrack, Samuel L. Jackson’s distinct voice filling the room. Only in a hick town would such a soundtrack make it on the machine. The blonde grabbed a biker with an impressive handlebar mustache and pulled him up to dance with her.

  Next was Tupac. There wasn’t going to be anything newer here—and that was being generous. “How Do U Want It” filled every inch of the room, commanding nearly everyone to the makeshift dance floor that occupied any open space. Ellie was drawn to the blonde, her hands in her own auburn hair and eyes closed. She can pretend to not see me all she wants.

  When the blonde grasped Ellie’s hips, one of the agents made a move for her. Ellie brushed him away. The biker made his way behind the blonde, making a sandwich of her with Ellie. Again, an agent tried to intervene, and Ellie shook her head at him. Henry watched from the corner of his eye.

  By the time Tupac gave way to an old school Foxy Brown song, a young, muscled guy Henry hadn’t noticed before was heading straight for Ellie. He caught her by surprise, gripping her waist from behind. Ellie’s eyes opened wide, but when she turned her head and saw who it was, she smiled.

  He couldn’t handle much more of this. Of what? Was it jealousy? The boy lifted his hands slightly, but Ellie placed her hands over his and guided them back to her hips. To those sweet peaks of her pelvis, bending over and grinding herself into him. Henry made eye contact with an agent, who merely shrugged at him.

  The look on the boy’s face said it all—he’d hit the jackpot. With one hand, Ellie reached up and draped her long hair to one side, tilting her head. Her invitation couldn’t have been clearer. The boy leaned down and started kissing her neck.

  That did it. In a flash, Henry was across the dance floor. “Hey! You gonna settle up?” the bartender called. He grabbed Ellie’s wrist and started pulling her toward the door.

  “Hey, dude!” the boy said. “That ain’t cool.” But he made no move to follow them.

  Henry could feel the presence of the guards behind him, but sensed they weren’t going to intervene. “What the fuck, Henry?” Without a word, he shoved her into the passenger side, clicking the child safety locks as he slammed the door.

  Getting in the driver seat, he could see the agents revving up their own rig, ready to follow them. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” she spat at him. “Mind your own fucking business.”

  “You are my business,” he told her, grabbing her by the back of the head and pulling her in for a kiss. It was long, hard, with an inevitability to it he was sure they both felt.

  Ellie went silent when he pulled away, shocked. She ran a finger over her lips, already swollen and flushed.

  He’d made his decision. Starting up the engine, Henry threw the SUV into drive just as the bartender emerged from the heavy wooden door, blinking into the fading light and waving a credit card.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She curled away from him in the passenger seat, unable to gauge what he was about to do. She was freezing, her coat forgotten on a barstool. The entire ride back to the cabin was spent in silence. It took him miles before he flipped on the heat. Occasionally, she glimpsed the agents’ SUV in the mirror, but they were keeping a good distance. Henry slammed the brakes as he parked the SUV in the driveway, and she reached quickly for the passenger door.

  “Did I tell you that you could move?” These were the first words he’d spoken to her since the bar. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He’s really pissed.

  Henry got out and walked with determination around to the passenger side. In one movement, he had her door open, lifted her out, and draped her over his shoulder. She knew, instinctively, not to protest.

  One of his arms was curled around her knees, the other bracing her ass as he carried her upstairs. All she could see was his back and occasional glimpses of the now-familiar cabin flipped upside down. Her hair was a waterfall, nearly brushing each step. One dangling shoe fell from her foot. The other followed as he reached the landing.

  Like she weighed nothing, he tossed her onto his bed. “You’re about to get what you want, now,” Henry told her, stepping out of his boots while unbuttoning his fly. She was a cornered animal, pushing herself away from him to the top of the bed, until she could feel the solid wooden beams of the headboard pressing against her back. Like most prey, she was torn between excitement and fear, unsure of exactly what was to come.

  As Henry whipped off his shirt, she heard a mewling. Where’s that coming from? It took her a second to realize it was her. Henry moved toward her, gripping her bare feet and pulling her down onto her back. Her long button-up shirt rode up, but she resisted the urge to pull it down. She coiled her fingers around the bedframe posts, needing something to steady her. With a swiftness she’d never seen before, he tucked a finger into her leggings and stripped them off of her, revealing her tiny red thong and a sliver of her pale stomach.

  He reached toward her underwear. Take them, she thought to herself, even as she was somewhat scared of the sudden shift in him. Wrapping a finger around the apex of the thong material, twisting it tight, he paused. As he looked up at her, she prayed that her eyes weren’t giving her away. Why isn’t he moving?

  Not breaking their eye contact, he twisted the material around his finger once more. She gasped as the strip tightened all the way from her ass across her lower lips and clit. He jiggled it slightly, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. When he stilled again, she couldn’t stop herself from grinding into the material, trying to recreate that sensation that he so easily managed.

  Smirking at her, he coiled the thong a third time, an impossibly tight screwing that almost, almost tread into painful territory but still toed the line. The pressure between her legs was putting her on edge. Again, he started to jiggle the fabric up and down. Slowly at first, then increasingly faster. She felt her grip loosen on the bedframe, but she wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Instead, she allowed her head to fall back, and the mewls to turn into low moans.

  Henry stopped the bouncing, and immediately she pushed herself into the fabric. Her thighs opened wider, knees falling to either side. “Look at how wet you are,” he told her. She could feel it, the wetness trailing down the inside of her thighs. “Look,” he repeated, and she raised her head. He uncoiled the fabric from his finger, pinching the stretched-out fabric where it met her clit and lifting it so she could see. She’d soaked the cherry-red satin to a deep crimson. Part of her was embarrassed. Part of seeing
what he could do to her with so little turned her on even more.

  He grasped the material with both hands and ripped it apart with ease. “Now take off your shirt.” Her hands felt glued to the post. Only two buttons remained, but the long-sleeve shirt felt like the only safety net left between her and whatever Henry had become. “Don’t make me say it again.”

  Dutifully, she let go of the post and propped herself up on the pillows. Her hands were shaking as she undid the first button, then the second. “Show me,” he demanded.

  Shyly, as if he hadn’t seen them before, nibbled and sucked on them just days ago, she spread open the shirt to reveal herself. “No bra,” he commented, nodding. “That’s what I thought.” She blushed, feeling dirty. It’s not what you think, she wanted to tell him. In her rush to get to him, as soon as the Secret Service agents had walked in the door she’d scurried to get dressed. Finding a bra, or more suitable underwear for going out in the cold, hadn’t really been a top priority.

  Henry rose to his knees and pulled down his boxers. His erection sprang from beneath the band. It was the first time she’d really seen his cock like this. The occasional brushes and reaches she’d tried before hadn’t prepared her. It looked huge—and like there was no way she could take it all.

  She heard the mewling start again, but Henry reached down and grasped under her arms, forcing her to her knees and facing him. His warm, slightly rough hands moved from her collarbone to her shoulders, sliding her shirt down, past her elbows and gathering at the wrists. Trying to help, her nipples hardening more every time they brushed against his chest, she shook her hands to free them from the sleeves. “Stop it.” His voice turned her body to stone.

  In one hand, he gathered the shirt tightly at her wrists, binding her. With the other, he gripped her thigh and pulled sharply. In a second, she was on her back, knees pointing to the ceiling and with hands unable to move from the makeshift bind.