Take Me

by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin

  He was thinking again. Thinking was the enemy. “I have something to say, and you need to hear it.”

  She nodded and pushed the door closed to release the chain.

  The apartment was small but clean and cheerful. Hailey had done a good job of making a home for them.

  “All right, you’re inside. What is it?” She crossed her arms over her chest, and it tented the T-shirt she wore. It reminded him of a baby bump, and he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch her there. It steeled his resolve.

  “Chloe, I don’t ever want you to be uncertain or scared or hurt. I know that’s how you’ve felt, and I am so sorry.” He reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away. It was tiny compared to his, but strong. He remembered guiding her through the scale on his old acoustic; she’d pushed the pads of her fingers into the strings until they left angry red marks. You’ll callus up if you keep practicing.

  “It’s not that—”

  “No. Let me talk.”

  She blew out a breath. “Okay.”

  “We can fix this. We can make this right. I want to keep you safe, keep our baby safe. Security and family and forever, all of it.”

  Tears glistened in her eyelashes. “What are you saying?”

  He dropped to one knee, still holding her hand. “Marry me, Chloe Miller.”

  She tugged him up, pulling him into an embrace. “Is that really what you want?”

  Cupping her jaw, he skimmed the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “Absolutely.”

  She leaned into his touch, lips just skimming his as she spoke. “I love you.”

  Love. This wasn’t about love. This was bigger than love. She was confusing lust with love anyway. He’d done the same thing, let his judgment be clouded by base emotions. She’d learn eventually. He’d be what she needed, and what she needed was a rock.

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  She stumbled back as if his words repelled her. “What did you say?”

  “I’ll take care of you. And the…baby. You won’t have to be alone.”

  Hurt flashed through her eyes. “No.”

  He blinked, confused. “What?”

  “I’m not going to marry you.”

  * * *

  He looked so adorably confused that Chloe almost lost her resolve. Almost gave in to the plea in his eyes. Almost said yes. And wouldn’t that be sweet? A husband to take care of her and the baby. She wouldn’t have to be alone. A fist clenched her heart.

  “Is that what I am to you?” she asked quietly. “Someone to take care of? A charity case who showed up on the back step of the church?”

  “Chloe—”

  “I see what you’re doing. You think I’m young. You think I’m stupid.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

  She laughed. He hadn’t denied thinking she was young. Well, she was. But neither was she going to be steamrolled by his kindness. It was a form of bondage, that kindness. It would bind their hands together with chains instead of gold bands. That wasn’t marriage. It was pity.

  “I’m not getting an abortion, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not,” he said, but something flickered in his eyes. He had been worried.

  “And you’ll be able to see the child. I won’t keep you from him. Or her.”

  His gaze darkened. “So you’re making this decision for both of us?”

  “I’m making this decision for myself. I deserve more than a husband who wants to take care of me.” She spat the final words, hating how he’d thrown them in her face. Right after she confessed she loved him. “I never had a father growing up. I’m not looking for a replacement.”

  His head jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “Is that how you see me?”

  She ignored the hurt in his eyes. “Tell me it’s not like that,” she challenged, stepping closer. Her voice dropped as she reached for him. As she backed him against the wall. “Prove it to me.”

  The hair curling over his collar was silky soft, at odds with the unruly spikes it always formed. She let her fingers slide down his chest. There was so much of him. It wasn’t always obvious because he had a way of putting people at ease. Accommodating, that was the word. So damn accommodating he froze when she swiped her thumb over his chest, right where his nipple would be. Ah, there it was, hardening so she could swipe it again.

  She smiled. “You like that?”

  “You know I do,” he groaned as his head fell back. “Chloe.”

  He was always like this, so pliant. Holding back and letting her take the reins. Like when she put her hand on his jeans, and he bucked into her palm. Yeah, he liked that. She knew he did.

  “Stop,” he gasped.

  But she couldn’t quite believe him, not with him thrusting in a rhythm she remembered. “You don’t want me to stroke your cock?” When he didn’t answer, she squeezed. “You don’t want me to get on my knees?”

  “Jesus. Chloe, we can’t.”

  A smile curved her lips. Because okay, this part had always been fun. The denials, the restraint. All the way up until he let everything go. He resisted all the way up until climax—and then he roared with release. His fingers left bruises on her hips, and that was how she knew he’d surrendered.

  Not only to her, but to his own lust.

  He kept himself back from what he wanted. She couldn’t live like that. Not even if she got safety. Not even if she got him in return.

  She pressed her breasts against him, and God, that was so good. They’d been sensitive lately. She worried it would hurt if they did this again—but no, it felt better. Every nerve ending awake and sparking, a conduit for his heat. Her body slid all the way down his, unbearable friction that drew a grunt from him.

  His buckle came apart; his zipper came undone. The hem of his boxers tucked down. It was like tugging on a loose string and watching the whole thing unravel. Him. He was unraveling, leaning back against the wall and letting her take out his cock.

  “Prove it,” she whispered. Prove he was more than her caretaker. Prove he was more than a youth leader. She needed him to prove she meant more to him than a mistake, something to fix.

  She wanted him to love her. But maybe lust would be enough.

  His eyes flared as he looked down at her, stroking him in her hands. “Oh God. Jesus.”

  “What do you want, Pastor Tim?”

  “We can’t do this. You’re…you’re pregnant.”

  “So what? We’ll be married but never have sex, is that it?” One stroke. Two. “Do you want me?”

  His cheeks were stained pink with arousal. “Yes. Damn it. Yes.”

  She leaned forward, lips parted, ready to kiss the tip. To suck him deep. He jerked away and nudged her back at the same time. She fell with an oof onto her ass, legs splayed. He was turned away, righting himself, straightening his clothes.

  When he turned around, the bulge was still clearly visible. Lust strained his expression. But his eyes were veiled. “Marry me.”

  Too cold to be a question. Too hollow to be a command. What did those two words mean when spoken like that? They meant duty.

  And she’d already been the albatross around her sister’s neck. She wouldn’t also be his. Wouldn’t use his money. Wouldn’t risk his career plans to become a pastor. Wouldn’t face that dead look in his eyes every night when he came home.

  She stood, narrowing her eyes and pretending he hadn’t hurt her. “Take whatever white horse you rode in on and get the hell out.”

  Chapter Nine

  Hailey handed the phone back to a grinning Moe. He reminded her of Animal from the Muppets, the crazy hair and the whirlwind of energy that surrounded him. It should have been creepy, the way he was sizing her up, like he was actually taking measurements of her body and trying to peer inside her eyes. But somehow it was just sort of inviting, like he saw her, and no less flattering because he probably did that for everyone.

  “You look familiar,” he said, nar
rowing his eyes.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “No, wait. It’s coming to me.”

  She waited, not sure what else to do, especially when he was blocking her way. “Right, well…”

  “Judy Garland.” He snapped his fingers. “I knew I’d figure it out. You have the bedroom eyes and the husky voice. I’d recognize that voice in my sleep.”

  She sighed, her fifth-grade Halloween costume coming back to haunt her. With the braids and the blue dress, it was an undeniable likeness. Even grown-up, that hadn’t changed. Tripping down the yellow brick road with a tin man on her arm, that was her. She would have preferred to be like someone a little more glamorous. Ginger Rogers, maybe. Hailey doubted Fred Astaire had asked her to sign a sex contract.

  Or maybe he had. That would be kind of hot.

  Moe stepped back. “Come on. Ask Bartender here to close you out.”

  Bartender assumed an ironic expression at Moe’s command. “Room number?” he asked.

  “The penthouse, please,” she said meekly.

  “I’ll take you up to his room before His Highness gets impatient,” Moe told her as the bartender rang her up.

  Too late for that. Lock had sounded very impatient on the phone. Would he really spank her? Her body tightened all over, her skin growing taut, nipples hardening beneath the gauzy fabric of her shirt. She wanted him to spank her.

  She’d always wanted that, but she’d never asked her old boyfriends to do it. Because they didn’t want it, not really, and she couldn’t stand for them to think they weren’t enough for her. Even if they actually weren’t enough for her. It was better to let things drift apart, like wind through a pile of leaves, dismantling them a little at a time until nothing was left. She’d even used Chloe as an excuse. I’m just in a weird place right now, she’d said, much like Chloe’s missing lover.

  The bartender slid a receipt across the ebony bar top, which she quickly filled out with a large tip. Easy to do since it was just a number on a piece of paper, unconnected to her. Like the contract. Just a piece of paper. But she knew it meant more than that, or it would by the time Lock was done with her.

  Moe had a key card that worked the elevator, and he waved between the doors as they closed her in. Down then up, up then down. Alone again, she leaned her head back against the leather wall tiles, marveling at the topsy-turvy feeling in her stomach.

  Was this how it felt to be super rich? Because it was kind of fun, actually, like a trip to the amusement park. She always let Chloe convince her to do the tallest, fastest ride. She’d clutch the bar for dear life, and her stomach would feel just like this, all turned over and inside out. And in the pictures at the end she’d always have a huge smile on her face.

  She raised her fingers to her mouth, just to see. Her lips tingled, extra sensitive, curved into a small smile.

  When the elevator doors opened, Hailey stepped into a dark room. Déjà vu assailed her from when she’d come up with Lock. Before she’d had sex with him or signed the contract. Before she even knew who he was. It felt like a lifetime ago, as if that had happened to a much younger version of herself, but that had only been last night.

  While she’d been gone, he’d drawn the curtains, blocking out the glossy sunlight she’d seen earlier. Recreating the intimacy they’d already shared. He was in front of her before she realized it, surrounding her before she thought to fight. She was up against the wall, pinned there by him, and she sighed in unexplored relief. A rocky cliff, this relief, only safe from a distance. He ran his mouth down her jaw, along her neck, hurtling her closer to crashing waves. God, how quickly they could turn to sex. The only thing they had was sex.

  “You’re in trouble,” he muttered.

  She was gasping, panting. Drowning. “I came straight here.”

  “Not good enough.” He paused suddenly, his body stilling. Only then did she realize how she’d been practically riding his thigh. Good Lord.

  Deliberately, as if to make sure she couldn’t misunderstand, he grasped her hand and raised it above her head. The other followed, leaving her captive in the bondage of his body, his fingers biting into her wrists. Did he see how much she yearned for that? Did he realize it bound him too?

  “Did you find who you were looking for?” he muttered.

  She’d talked to some people, but now all she could see was him. He filled up her vision and consumed her breath. “Not yet.”

  “Even if you had, you would have to stay. Three nights.”

  “One down,” she whispered.

  “One down,” he agreed, nudging hard flesh against her hip. “And when I woke up, you were gone. What was I supposed to do with this?”

  He was taunting her. Testing her, something whispered inside her. A deep-seated feminine knowledge that knew exactly how to deal with a man in this state, needy and cruel. He wasn’t the only one hungry for it. He wasn’t the only one who wanted it to hurt. That thick, pulsing erection, probably sticky with precum. What was he supposed to do with it?

  “You have a hand,” she whispered.

  He chuckled darkly. “I’m going to enjoy making you pay for that.”

  God, she was counting on it.

  * * *

  With her wrists trapped under one hand, he was free to explore her body without her fingers asking questions, making demands. He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes flashed curiosity and heat. She wet her lips, pink tongue darting and retreating, drawing him in. The scent of maple syrup lingering on her breath. She probably tasted like—

  No. He wasn’t going to kiss her. His goal was torment.

  He skimmed the length of her arm, over the top of her breast, down her belly, lingering just below her navel until she rocked against his thigh again. That wet mouth falling open, the damp heat scorching him. Something about her face, the flush in her cheeks, the widening of her eyes—he’d had lap dances that weren’t this lewd, this delicious.

  “Are you going to, you know, spank me?” She bore down on his thigh, as hard as she could with her body pinned, grinding, finding the friction he was trying to withhold. But her voice was light, like she’d asked him if he was going to make lemonade. If he did, he wouldn’t use any sugar. Except he would, for her. If she asked him with that same voice and pressed herself against him when she did.

  Her nipples were hard points pushing against the thin fabric of her T-shirt. She’d gone downstairs like that, no bra, tits on display. His tits to play with. He flicked one with his thumb, pinched it between thumb and forefinger and rolled it cruelly. Kept rolling it. She squirmed, arching herself more fully into his hand, sucking that bottom lip into her mouth. He could make her use her mouth again, tie her hands, fuck her face. He could spank her like she so obviously wanted, needed. He could carry her to the bed, spread her legs, and consume her long past the point she begged him to stop. What did he want? He wanted to kiss that syrupy mouth while she jerked and writhed and came all over his leg.

  “Fuck it.” He let the gravitational pull of her mouth draw him down, let his tongue slip into the space between her lips.

  She did taste like syrup. Like waffles. And a home he’d never known. The warm slide of her tongue against his. The soft, sweet swirl of it. It was too much. She tugged against his grip, trying to yank her hands free. Probably so she could draw him down deeper. He didn’t let go, wouldn’t. He pinned her more tightly. Bit at her lips. Tweaked her nipple harder. Anything to put an edge on this sweet ache. Still she bucked against him, harder and faster. Frantic.

  “Oh God.” She moaned her orgasm into his mouth. And then she stilled. He’d gotten his wish.

  “You’re going to pay for that too.”

  * * *

  Hailey spent the final pulses of her orgasm on the hard ridge of his thigh. The soft, worn denim of his jeans was now damp from her excitement, but she couldn’t find any embarrassment. Her whole body felt wrung out, sated and soft and impossibly desperate to d
o it again. He’d flipped a switch inside her with that contract, found the secret sexual part of her and put it on display. She tried to rock against him, to nudge herself toward another peak, but he tightened his hold on her wrists, pulling her up on her toes. He shook his head.

  She managed not to say a word she was thinking, not please or more or never ever stop, but he knew anyway. She could see him read them from her eyes, feel the way his cock jerked against her hip in response.

  His thigh disappeared from between her legs. His firm hands released her. She was spread lewdly against the wall, and all alone for it. It would have been cold without the fire in his dark gaze, licking its way down her body.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen next,” he said. “You’re going to walk over to that sofa and bend over the side. You’ll flip your skirt up so I can see that tight little ass. And then I’m going to spank you until you’re so fucking wet it drips down your leg.”

  His voice was like crushed granite, washing over her and leaving her skin butter smooth. She could see herself following his directions. She could feel a phantom drop of arousal along the inside of her thigh.

  “And when your pussy’s nice and wet, all swollen and thick, I’m going to wrap you around my cock and fuck you until I explode.”

  God. Her body twisted inside, in ways that were no longer pleasure—she was pulsing with something else. With need. The world had gone black-and-white. White was the empty space, the left behind, the sunny smile to hide all her pain. He was inky black, coating her with knowledge and filling her up inside.

  “Now,” he said.

  On shaking limbs made of rubber, she pushed off the wall and walked to the sofa. Its hard angles and shiny leather didn’t look inviting, but when she draped herself across the side, it molded to her body. She reached back and flipped her skirt up. The sound he made as he sucked in a breath said he didn’t know she’d been bare underneath.