That did not mean, however, that she stayed out of his bedroom. No, on the first night that she was released from the hospital, he had insisted she stay with him. In his bedroom. She had earned it.
It was where she was now, but not to rest and recover.
Dallas was being gentle with her, and it was torturous. Delicious and awful.
Her hands were bound in a silk kerchief to his bedpost. He had helped prop her up enough that it didn’t pull on her wound, but it did leave her open and vulnerable to his ministrations.
He had started with a massage, heating oil between his hands and then rubbing every inch of her exposed front. His hands were strong, kneading deep. Now they swirled around her breasts, making them feel full and sensitive, her nipples aching and tight.
“Stay still, you don’t want to hurt yourself.” He admonished, his voice low and husky with desire.
She was trying to, but the way he was touching her everywhere but where she most wanted it had her lifting her hips, moaning.
“Dallas, please,” she pleaded.
Instead he moved off the bed, his naked body moving lithely to a table, where there were candles there that he had lit. He picked up one, long and tapered, wax already dripping down the sides. Mariel’s eyes grew huge as he carried it back to the bed, carefully crawling beside her.
“You wouldn’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He did. With one hand he cupped her hot slit, sliding a finger inside. She gasped, finally being touched where she needed the most. Then he began his torture.
Dallas stroked the inside of her gently, his thumb circling her clit until she felt the peak of an orgasm approaching. Just when she was about to come, he dripped the candle onto her skin. The burn was exquisite. It was also distracting. As the wax cooled, he would brush it from her skin, kissing away the sting.
Over and over he did this, bringing her to the edge, dripping the wax over her nipples, her hips, her inner thighs…
Mariel was one, long exposed nerve, wound so tightly that she didn’t know how to separate the pain from the need to climax. She began writhing, needing release so badly she ignored her wound. That was when Dallas set the candle away, kissing her and stroking her hair.
“Shhhh, Mariel.” He kissed her temples, the hollow of her throat. “Shhh, come back to me.”
She managed to stop wriggling her body, stop pulling at her bonds. She couldn’t stop the desperate sounds escaping from her throat. They were pitiful, dark, raw pleads. He heard, and she saw him smirk.
Delicately Dallas slid himself between her oiled and sweat soaked thighs, easing his thick length inside of her. They rocked together, slowly. She ached with the fullness of him, her eyes glued to his as they both moved, gently.
She saw his climax on his face, his eyes squeezed tight as he shuddered inside her. Seeing his release set off own and she came, hard, finally getting the release she so needed, squeezing the length of him until they were both gasping.
After, he untied her and bathed her, making sure she wasn’t hurt.
As she lay in his arms, sleep pulling her under, she knew he’d never hurt her again. And she would do her best to keep him from hurting, too.
That meant protecting Roger.
Excerpt
“We both know your tastes can be a little eclectic. There was that whole business a few years ago…”
Senator Roger Taylor had been cleared of any potential guilt over the Ellen-money laundering fiasco. They’d moved on to hit the campaign trail aggressively, and it had paid off; he’d won his seat by a landslide. The home office had moved from Alexandria, Virginia to right in the heart of Washington, D.C. and Paige had moved into Roger’s bed. Everything was going great… or it should have been.
But Ellen’s words, spoken moments before she’d killed herself, haunted Paige. Roger’s tastes in bed had been far from eclectic. He was an amazing lover, but things were pretty vanilla. He wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t mention what had happened. She had even tried to bring it up with Dallas, his brother. That’d gone nowhere; both Taylor’s pleaded ignorance and kept their mouths firmly shut.
On top of everything else, they had never discovered who the mysterious “S” had been, which caused no small amount of anxiety for all of them. Roger was focused on the Senate now, but she knew it gnawed at him constantly. After all, who could scare someone like Ellen so badly she chose suicide over failure? And where’d he disappear to?
Roger liked to keep her busy as his personal aid. She had also noticed that, whether he meant to or not, he was keeping her out of his inner loop. It riled Paige that she was good enough to sleep with but not good enough to trust. Roger was forgetting that before she worked for him, she had worked as an investigative journalist. When something didn’t smell right, she knew how to get at the source. Well, things smelled pretty rank from where she was, and that meant getting answers. Even if she had to do it alone.
Corrupt Policies
Coming in April 2015
Pre-order Available!
About the Author
Penelope L'Amoreaux grew up in North Carolina but never fully mastered the accent. She skipped a lot of high school and went to more colleges than Sarah Palin. It took a long time to figure out something she loved doing enough to stick with it. When she isn't writing, she helps build airplanes and rocket ships, attempts to do yoga, and drinks a lot of red wine.
find me on twitter: @p_lamoreaux
You can also find me on my website, here: www.penelopelamoreaux.com. I blog as well as provide updates on stories!
Sign up for my newsletter Here.
Corrupt Practices Page 12