by BJ Wane
The blanket dropped to their feet as her low moan echoed from her mouth into his when she opened for him. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the rigid nipples a sharp contrast to the plump softness cushioning his tense muscles. Exploring her mouth with tongue-stroking thoroughness, he slid his hands down and under the nightshirt to palm her buttocks, grinding his cock against her mound. Demanding need born of fear and frustration overrode any lingering doubts about going down this path with a woman he had thought unsuitable for his desires. As her arms squeezed his shoulders and one long, smooth leg wrapped around his thigh, it was obvious her current needy state burned as hot and fast as his. For now, that was enough.
Letting go of her right cheek, Mitchell gripped a fist full of Lillian’s deep red hair and tugged her head back as he released her mouth from the hard pressure of his possession. “Now,” he demanded. Spinning her around, he pushed against her shoulders, urging her to bend down to the couch. “Brace your hands on the seat.”
“Mitchell.” She groaned his name, swaying her hips as he shoved the silken top up and yanked down the black panties to bare her lily-white ass.
A hard swat left behind a bright red imprint and drew a shudder, but she didn’t move from the position. “That’s Sir, or Master Mitchell when I have you naked.”
She whipped her head around and gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “You’re doing it again.”
He cupped her damp pussy. “Want me to stop?”
“No way.” She huffed and turned back around, muttering, “Sir.”
Another smack reddened her opposite buttock. “That’s what I thought.” Fingering her wet pussy, he released his cock and sheathed himself, the urgency to take and possess riding him hard. Slick, swollen muscles clamped around his pumping finger, the rucked-up top giving him an enticing view of her dangling, hard-tipped breasts. Nudging her feet further apart with his foot, he stepped between her spread legs and replaced his finger with his shaft, sliding smoothly between her plump labia.
“Yes.”
Lillian’s breathy acceptance coincided with the tight clutch of wet vaginal walls around his cock, drawing him deeper inside her. Mitchell leaned over her back, reached around and filled his hands with her breasts as he said into her ear, “Fast and hard, pet. Brace yourself.”
As promised, or threatened, depending on how she took that warning, he tweaked her nipples, straightened and held her hips still for a deep, carnal fucking. Her grunts and heavy breathing matched his as he rammed into her quivering depths over and over, the spasming clutches of her pussy pulling his climax forward too soon but with irresistible force.
“Shit, Lillian,” he ground out as she splintered in orgasm around him with a cry and tight squeezes. She didn’t say anything, just shook her head as her elbows gave out and she lay facedown on her bent arms emitting softer mewls.
Mitchell saw stars as he exploded into the latex with faster, harder strokes, as if he couldn’t get enough. He hadn’t come that hard in years, and as Abbie’s image filled his head, he prayed she approved because there was no going back for him. Now, as his head cleared and he pulled out of her still gripping body, he had to figure out how to get Lillian on board.
“You’ll stay in my room, with me, while you’re here.”
Okay, I can do this, Lillian decided as Mitchell tossed her over his shoulder and carried her toward the back of the house. Calling him Sir hadn’t been difficult, not with her lust skyrocketing with that purposeful look on his face as he’d hauled her against his wide, warm chest, ridding her of the body-numbing cold. As soon as she’d come into contact with his body heat and his mouth, it had been so easy to give in to his control, let him take her over and not have to think, just feel.
She laughed as he tossed her on his bed and whisked her night shirt over her head. “This he-man stuff doesn’t work for me,” she insisted, her heartbeat going haywire as he ripped her panties off.
“Prove it.” Mitchell spread her legs, his eyes traveling from her gaping pussy to her face, nailing her with one of those fixed gazes that said he was focused solely on her and no one or nothing else.
Her humor fled as he trailed a finger up her slit then down her crack to dampen that taboo orifice, drawing her attention to the pinprick tingles from those slaps still racing across her buttocks as she shifted on the bed. She still struggled with understanding how one man could cause her pain she wanted nothing to do with and another make her burn and ache for the blistering sting of his hand connecting with her bare flesh.
“You’re thinking too hard.” Mitchell kept his eyes on hers as he continued to glide up and down between pussy and anus while stroking his semi-erection into a steel rod.
His salt and pepper hair hung in disheveled thickness around his face and neck, soot still stained his cheek and chest and those firm lips were set in a tight line as he waited for acceptance. Arousal replaced conflicting thoughts and she arched into his hand. “You’re right.” Reaching up, she gripped his forearms and pleaded, “Fuck me again, please.”
“Please what?” he asked in a silky steel voice as he dragged his cock up between her cheeks and through her slick pussy lips.
Lillian gave in with a shudder. “Sir.” He filled her with a single, womb-bouncing plunge, wrenching a cry from her constricted throat and abolishing all thoughts except one. More.
Bryan couldn’t believe it. Letting himself into his motel room, he grabbed the bottle of bourbon on the desk and poured himself a hefty swallow. He still shook inside, unable to comprehend how he could have been so careless. With disgust, he stubbed out the cigarette. He’d barely made it back to his car around the corner from the doctor’s residence when the wail of sirens came screeching up the street. When the fire truck and cops pulled in front of the garage he’d just broken into, he noticed the smoke drifting out of the open upstairs door as Lillian came running down the stairs. Nervous sweat still ran down his back to pool at the base of his spine.
Lifting the bottle, he skipped the glass and took the next long pull from the container as his wobbly legs gave out and he sank down onto the bed. B and E was one thing, and in this case, the ends justified the means. But causing a fire that could have taken a life was something he never would have attempted intentionally, not even for his brother. He fished her cell phone out of his back pocket, swearing when he couldn’t find any pictures. Jesus, all for nothing again. Tossing the phone on the bed, he reached for his and pressed Brad’s hospital number, hoping he was awake, and if so, he would have his cell.
“Where the hell are you?” Brad’s tired voice came through the line and relief eased Bryan’s tension.
“In Billings, Montana, and it’s nice to hear from you, too. You gave me quite a scare, little brother.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m not infallible after all. Why the hell are you in Montana?” he grumbled.
“Because this is where I tracked your assaulting ex to. I managed to search her computer and now have her phone, but can’t find any pictures of herself with bruises. I think she lied to you.” Exasperation colored his tone as he took another swig of alcohol, his earlier blunder still haunting him.
There was a long pause and some cursing before Brad snapped, “I told you to let it go. Why didn’t you listen?”
“Because I’m not letting her get away with landing you where you’re at now. Fuck that, Brad, you could have died from her jealous assault.” And that still scared him, even more than coming close to causing real physical harm to Lillian tonight.
“She takes pictures with a high-resolution camera that she usually keeps in her car, but, seriously, Bryan, leave her be. I’ll recover and be back on my feet in no time.”
Brad’s tired voice reminded him how close he’d come to dying, and made it difficult to nix his plan to bring Lillian in. “Get some rest. I’ll head back and be there before you’re discharged,” he replied, but not before he got that camera. He couldn’t risk her or the cops connecting him to the fire tonight, leaving him
no choice but to set aside his desire for justice, like Brad wanted. But the least Bryan could do was ensure she didn’t return with her blackmail threat in the future.
Chapter 11
Lillian had slept like a baby spooned in front of Mitchell, her buttocks nestled against his groin, his bearded chin resting on her head with his arm wrapped around her waist. It was a shame she awoke alone, she thought as she slid out of bed. She would have enjoyed going another round with him. From the first moment they’d met, he had known exactly what she needed to get through whatever phase of grief or adjustment she was struggling with and it still baffled her how she could accept and enjoy his sexual dominance when everything in her rebelled at giving a man, any man, an ounce of control over her. Living under the strain of Brad’s depraved threats for a month should have soured her for good against all men. She was honest enough with herself to admit something had changed and clicked that last night at Mitchell’s cabin when he unselfishly set aside his desire to spend that time alone to deal with his own loss to aid her in coping with Liana’s death.
Picking up the bag of belongings he had gathered from the smoke-ruined apartment, she padded into the attached bathroom marveling at how far she’d come in such a short time. And all due to someone she never would have believed could slip past her shield of independence.
Nothing to do about it now except go forward, she mused as she went through the meager remains of clothing left to her. Two pairs of pants, jeans and slacks, one long-sleeved top, a tee shirt and a pullover sweater. The only underwear she now possessed were the ripped panties lying on the bedroom floor. “I’m a perv,” she muttered as a heated thrill swept through her that she denied aloud. “He might like to go commando, but not me.” First on her agenda today was a shopping trip into Billings. Make that second, she amended when her stomach growled.
Lillian helped herself to a shower and dressed in the jeans and top before opening her purse to see what make-up items she might still have inside. Right off she realized her phone was missing and prayed it had dropped out when Mitchell picked up her bag. She found him in the torn-apart kitchen, his cell to his ear as he flicked her an assessing, head-to-toe look before finishing his call.
“Thanks, Maggie. I’ll be in by noon. What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as he clicked off.
“You know, I may have come around to your way of thinking when it comes to sex, but I still dislike how you can read me with such accuracy. It’s just creepy.”
“Deal with it and answer my question.”
Okay, this part of his bossiness she did not care for. “Look, Mitchell…”
He stalked toward her but she held her ground, lifting her chin as he stood toe to toe with her. “Someone was upstairs with you, while you were sleeping, vulnerable to whatever crime he wanted to commit. Stow your objections to my officiousness until we figure out who, and why.”
Lillian took a deep, calming breath and nodded. Pointing out the danger to her last night of an even worse crime than breaking and entering doused her annoyance with the effectiveness of a splash of cold water to the face. “Fine, for now. My cell is missing. It probably fell out in the apartment. I need to get in and look for it.”
He shook his head with a frown. “I picked up your purse by the top and kept it closed, but we’ll check. If we don’t find it, our first stop is the sheriff’s office.”
“Don’t you have to get to work?” she asked as he steered her out the front door.
“Not for a few hours. The clinic’s receptionist is rescheduling my morning appointments. This, and you are more important.”
She tried not to read too much into that grumbled statement that gave her a warm fuzzy. They didn’t find her phone in the smoke-damaged apartment, or any clothing that didn’t reek to the point of rendering it unsalvageable, so they drove to the precinct where Grayson was waiting for them. “What’s on your phone that someone would take such a risk for?” Grayson questioned as he wrote down her information.
“There’s nothing of importance on it, no banking information or credit cards. I’m very careful about that, so it had to be random.”
“No, it didn’t.” Grayson leaned back in his chair, removed the toothpick from his mouth and dropped a bombshell on her. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Brad McCabe being in the hospital, recovering from a brain bleed caused by a concussion, would you?”
Shock drained the blood from Lillian’s face, and it was only Mitchell’s large hand closing over hers on the armrest of the chair that kept her grounded as she worked her mind around that startling information. “I had no idea,” she murmured. “I swear, he was fine when I left, maybe a little dazed, but good enough to continue his tirade against my leaving.” She looked from the sheriff to Mitchell, resigned to reliving that morning for their benefit. “My sister was pronounced brain dead that morning, following six weeks in a coma and…” She paused, refusing to mention Brad’s blackmail, the reason she stayed. “And I’d had enough, wanted out to be alone to grieve. You should understand that,” she said to Mitchell, her tone accusatory with frustration.
“Continue,” was all he said.
Shrugging, she gave them the bare bones. “He came home to find me packed up, ready to go except for two large paintings I was carrying downstairs. I wasn’t expecting him, but he’d heard about Liana. He came at me, the first time he ever went for my face, and I realized how far he was willing to go this time. After the kick to my ribs, I managed to get up and swing the one painting I still held at him. The frame caught his temple and he went down. I ran out with him well enough to curse me, able to get help if he needed it. That was weeks ago.”
There was no censure or criticism on either man’s face. Grayson kept writing as he replied, “Since that’s out of my jurisdiction, I can’t get a doctor’s report. I’m waiting to hear back from his brother, hoping he’ll be open to talking.”
Lillian scoffed. “Don’t count on it. Bryan idolizes his baby brother, covers for him every time Brad gets so much as a speeding ticket.” Pushing to her feet, she gave in to the need for fresh air. “I have things to do. Are we done here?”
“For now.” Grayson nodded at Mitchell and he clasped her hand again and led her out.
As soon as they stepped out of the small precinct, she rounded on him, insisting, “I’m fine, before you ask. If you’ll take me back to get my car, you can get to work.”
“After breakfast. So you know,” he added, setting out toward the diner, “you will eventually have to reveal the rest of the story between you and McCabe.”
Lillian didn’t reply. She had enough to think about to keep her on edge for a while.
Mitchell hated that cloud of shame that darkened Lillian’s eyes whenever he mentioned her ex. She wasn’t a meek woman, or gullible, which meant there was a reason she’d stayed with the bastard after the first abusive incident. He tried not to push her for answers – at first because it was none of his business and he had believed he would never see her again after she left his cabin. Since then, he’d been waging a battle with himself over his growing interest in her and how far he was willing to let it go. He never considered another committed relationship was in the cards for him, and had been content with being among the lucky few who got to spend years with that one special person everyone hoped they would meet.
After taking her back to his place, he drove to the clinic admitting he wanted it all again, this time with someone who was the complete opposite of his beloved Abbie and yet, perfect for him as much as his wife had been. Lillian would keep him on his toes, challenge his dominant side and fill the void Abbie’s death had left in his life. He didn’t question how he could love two such opposite women, not after learning the hard way how short life really was. He didn’t go looking for another relationship, but he wasn’t going to waste any more time denying what was staring him in the face after she’d come so close to real harm from that fire.
Mitchell went into his office before seeing
the first patient and checked his calendar for the week. The clinic appointments were light, but he started his new once-a-week position as the on-call trauma surgeon at All Saints Hospital in Billings on Friday. As much as he had reaped the benefits of an easier, slower professional pace since relocating here, he had discovered he didn’t want to let his surgical skills lapse all together. Seeing no appointments scheduled as of yet on Wednesday afternoon, he blocked those hours off, planning to take Kurt up on his offer to bring Lillian out to the ranch for a ride. Leslie, a grade school teacher, was off this week for spring break, and the more he could aid Lillian in cultivating friendships here, the easier it would be to talk her into staying.
Between now and then, he was sure he could come up with a scene to take her mind off her troubles and demonstrate, once again, how much she enjoyed his sexual kinks.
For the first time since losing Abbie, Mitchell returned home after work without dreading the emptiness waiting for him. With signs of spring popping up came longer days and he found Lillian on the back porch perched in front of her easel wearing a paint-splattered smock and sad expression. She looked up as he stepped outside and those expressive eyes masked whatever she had been thinking about as a small smile tilted the corners of her lips.
“What’s up, Doc?”
“My hunger.” It was his turn to grin when arousal swirled in her eyes. “For dinner first, pet.” She didn’t disappoint him when she scowled.
“Why must you continue using that ridiculous nickname? I’m not hungry. Go away.” She waved her hand, dismissing him and picked up a paint brush.
It was then he noticed how pale she was, the dark circles under her eyes. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he asked, “Are you feeling okay?”