by Roxie Rivera
And she knew it.
She liked having him on the verge of begging. Her gaze had gone smoky and dark. Hovering over him, torturing him with her sweet cunt, she looked different. She was more flushed than he had ever seen her. Her nipples looked bigger, darker, and he could see the bluish green shadow of veins just under her skin. He hadn’t ever noticed them before and would have put more thought into why but she started to talk and he damn near lost his mind.
“I saw a toy the other day.” She rubbed her clit against the head of his cock. A hint of a smile crossed her face as he flexed and tried to arch underneath her. “It was a sleeve that goes over you right here.” She rubbed along the full length of him, and his breath hitched. “It vibrates here,” she touched the base of his shaft, “and here.”
“Fuck,” he growled as she ground her clit against the throbbing head.
“I thought about buying it. I thought about tying you up in my bed and leaving it on you while I work on my class assignments. It’s wirelessly controlled. I could turn it up and down until I’m ready.” She placed both hands on his chest and lifted her backside in the most torturously slow motion. When he felt the tip of his cock slide just inside her, he gritted his teeth and prayed he wouldn’t come just yet. “How fast do you think I would come with your dick vibrating inside me?”
“Buy it,” he growled. “Buy it, and you can do whatever the fuck you want with me. Just don’t fucking move.”
“Like this?” she asked, her face mocking him as she stood and stepped away from him.
“Aston!”
“Patience is a virtue,” she replied in an annoying singsong voice. “Wait.”
He didn’t want to wait. He wanted her. Now.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. Her hot mouth was suddenly on him. That wicked tongue of hers glided over him. She flicked at the sensitive spots she had discovered in their first wild nights together and sucked him in the way he liked the most. One of her hands played with his balls, and the other scratched lightly at his lower belly and chest. He couldn’t focus on one sensation over the other. It all felt so fucking good. Her mouth, her hands—she was driving him fucking insane.
She hummed hungrily and slurped in the most unladylike way. The sound and feel of her mouth working on him had his toes curling into the thick rug at the base of her bed. His fingers were already tightened into fists, and he started to feel that warning coil low in his belly. He was so ready to come, to feel her swallowing down his cum. His breaths came in shaking pants, and he closed his eyes, anticipating the explosion to come.
But she stopped.
She fucking stopped.
“Aston! Fuck!” His shout echoed off the vaulted ceiling as his entire body tensed. He jerked against the ties. For a second, he thought about breaking them, about jumping to his feet and kicking away the bench before throwing her onto the bed and pounding into her. Inhaling a ragged breath, he pushed away the thought. This was her game. She was in charge.
In the next moment, she was straddling him again. She faced his feet this time and was too high up on his chest to mount him. It quickly occurred to him what she wanted. He grinned devilishly. A few times, he had tried to drag her onto his face like this, but she hadn’t been able to relax and enjoy it. Apparently, she had overcome those issues tonight.
She leaned forward over him and pressed her pussy against his mouth. He didn’t need any instructions from her. He knew what she wanted, and he was going to give it to her. She shuddered and moaned as his tongue traced her. Pressing back even more, she silently beckoned him to please her. He wasn’t about to disappoint her.
He swirled his tongue and flicked and sucked at her, eating her like the juiciest fucking peach. She rewarded his effort with moans and whimpers. He teased her for a while, keeping his tongue everywhere except the one place she wanted it. When her hand moved over his cock with a featherlight stroke, he slid his tongue into place and fluttered it over the stiff nub there. She swore quietly and grasped his thigh, her short nails digging into his skin and marking him like the wildcat she was.
She stroked him with stuttering movements, her focus taken away by his mouth between her legs. Her thighs started to tense, and he could feel them squeezing against his shoulders and neck. Just when he thought she was close, she pulled away from his mouth for a few seconds, panting and clutching at his leg again. The real torture of having his hands restrained finally hit him. He wanted to grab her thighs, to pull her down on his face and hold her there while he made her come. He wanted her to go wild, to thrash and scream while begging him to let go, to stop licking her and making her come so hard.
She repeated her teasing motions, letting herself get close before jerking away from his mouth. He nipped at her thighs, kissing and sucking any part of her soft skin he could reach. After a few times of denying herself, she finally settled herself back into place and lowered her body until she was flat on top of him, her breasts against his belly, her cheek against his stiff cock.
It didn’t take much to send her over the edge. He swirled his tongue around her clit before drawing it between his lips. She cried out his name and climaxed. Her strangled cries filled the room as she rocked against his mouth, taking everything he had to give and letting herself revel in the sheer bliss of it.
She sagged on top of him. The weight of her was nothing. He loved the way it felt to have her draped across him like a blanket, her lush body keeping his warm. His cock ached, and his balls were throbbing. All he could think about was being inside her, touching her, loving her.
“Untie me,” he practically begged. “Let me fuck you, Aston.”
She rose on shaking legs and knelt down to undo the makeshift restraints. He sat up quickly, blood rushing to his head, and shot to his feet. He didn’t even give her a chance to stand fully before he reached down and lifted her from her kneeling position. She gasped at his show of strength and then giggled uncontrollably when he tossed her onto the bed. She bounced on the big bed and dropped back against it, parting her thighs and welcoming him to take her.
He climbed onto the bed and grabbed her hips. In a quick movement, he flipped her over, shocking her again with the use of his power. He was always keenly aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than her. He always tried to move deliberately with her, to treat her with care and not like some lumbering brute. Sometimes, though, he wanted her to feel the real strength of him. Like right now.
He dragged her up onto her knees and grabbed a handful of her braid, lifting her head and straightening her back. He waited a moment, uncertain whether she would tell him to loosen up or slow down or be more careful. The only word that came out of her mouth was a desperate, “Please.”
If she expected him to thrust into her like some barbarian, she was disappointed. He teased her in the same way she had him. He gave her just the tip and then a little more and a little more until he finally bottomed out in her slick pussy. Her thighs were a mess, shining and wet.
His strokes were smooth and forceful at first. She met him stroke for stroke, her back arched beautifully and her chin high. He could easily imagine her in the role of submissive, graceful and delicate and eager to please. The possibilities between them were endless, and he couldn’t wait to try them all.
Spurred on by her endless cries, he thrust harder and rougher. His hips moved in a steady rhythm, and soon, she was reaching between her legs and framing her clit with her fingers. He moved off both knees, lifting his right foot and planting it beside her to give him better leverage. She damn near squealed when he thrust at the new angle. “Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben!”
The flutter and squeeze of her pussy was enough to make his head explode. He lost control then, giving in to the animal side of him that demanded he fuck faster and harder. She screamed his name even louder, and he let go, letting his pent-up release flood out of him and into her.
When she collapsed forward onto the bed, he followed, dropping down on top of her in a sweaty heap of flesh and heat. He was t
oo heavy to stay that way for long. Even though his tired muscles protested, he lifted up on his palms, arms flexing, and kissed a slow trail down her spine as he moved off of her. He rolled to the side and met her shy, almost nervous gaze. “Come here.”
She moved into his waiting embrace, curling up against him and resting her head on his chest. She held onto him, one of her arms snaking under his and the other clutching at his hip. “Was that okay?”
At her soft, worried tone, he kissed her forehead. “That was way more than okay.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
Amused by her concern but also loving her all the more for it, he smiled. “You didn’t hurt me.” He brushed loose, damp strands of hair from her face. “Did I hurt you? At the end?”
“No.” She pressed her lips to his chest. “It was perfect.”
They stayed like that for a while, stroking and petting gently while trading lazy kisses. Eye to eye, he cupped her cheek and nuzzled his nose against hers. “I love you, Aston.”
She smiled. “I love you more.”
“Impossible.” He kissed her tenderly. “Utterly impossible.”
She started to speak, but the unexpected ringing of the doorbell startled them both. Frowning, they sat up as the doorbell rang again and again. Someone wanted their attention.
“My phone,” she said, reaching across him. He snatched it first from the bedside table and gave it to her. She opened the app that was connected to the security system. The doorbell camera gave them a view of the front door—and the police officers stacked one behind the other, ready to make entry.
Fuck.
Chapter Ten
“Get dressed.”
I shot a panicked look at Ben but did as he had ordered. His voice had morphed from tender and loving to deep and harsh. Irritation and anger vibrated off him in waves. He wasn’t mad at me, of course. He was furious that the police were at my front door and probably thought it was his fault somehow.
“We’ll be down in a minute,” Ben snapped at my phone after activating the microphone one the security app.
“Sir, Houston PD. We have a warrant.”
“I’m sure you do, but it’s after fucking midnight. We have to get dressed.”
Ben tossed the phone onto the bed and stormed over to his hastily discarded pajama bottoms and shirt. I ran into the closet, stopping just long enough to grab a towel to tidy up before pulling on the first pair of shorts and tee I found.
When I came back into the bedroom, Ben stood near the windows overlooking the front lawn. He had pulled back the blackout panels to reveal the blue and red flashing lights. Even from this distance, I could see his jaw clenching. He was angrier than I had ever seen him.
“Ben,” I reached for his hand, “promise me you aren’t going to punch a cop.”
His scowl softened. “I promise.”
“I mean it.”
“I’m not doing anything that will take me away from you.” He kissed me hard. “When we get downstairs, stand away from me. Don’t put your hands in your pockets or behind you. Keep them in view. No quick movements.”
“Ben, they’re not going to shoot us!”
“You don’t know that,” he insisted, his voice thick with worry. “The police don’t show up with flashing lights after midnight in this part of town unless they’re trying to send a message. Do you understand how serious this is?”
I swallowed hard. Was he right? Was this some form of intimidation? I didn’t like to admit that I had certain privileges that others in the city would never experience. I had never had problems with the police. I had never been profiled or strong armed or brutalized.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “Normally, the police would reach out to me, have my lawyer get involved and arrange a time and place for questioning or a search.”
“Yes,” he said, seemingly glad that I had accepted his view of the situation. “Get your phone. Call your lawyer. Now.”
“Right.” I grabbed my phone from the bed and made the call. Holding onto Ben’s hand, I let him lead me out of the bedroom and downstairs. He turned on lights as we moved, letting the police follow our movements through the windows. We had made it almost to the front door when my family’s longtime attorney answered.
“Hello?” A gruff and sleepy voice answered.
“Dick? It’s Aston McNeil. I’m so sorry to be calling so late, but there are a bunch of police at my front door with a warrant. I don’t know what to do.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dick grumbled in that Texas twang of his. “Hang on, Aston.” There was shuffling in the background, and he seemed to be addressing his wife, Charlene. “Aston? You still there?”
“Yes.”
“Answer the door. Ask to see the warrants. Don’t let them in until you’ve read them. Tell them your legal team is on their way.”
“Okay.” I beckoned Ben to move out of the way, but he refused to let me open the door. His shoulders squared, his stance defensive, he stepped forward and unlocked the door. He seemed ready to take whatever brunt of violence might be bursting through the door at any moment.
“Aston McNeil?”
“No,” Ben practically snarled.
“Mr. Beciraj?” Detective Dawson appeared in the doorway. His easy, gentle smile from the other morning was gone. Now, he was all business. “Can you step aside?”
“Wait,” I said, rushing forward and drawing a frustrated glance from Ben. “My legal team is on their way. I need to see the warrants first. Please,” I added, softening my expression to show I wanted to cooperate.
Detective Dawson stretched out his hand. “Here.”
I took the folded papers from him and began to read them. I took my time, reading each word carefully as I tried to make sense of why the police were at my door. The police stared on in exasperation, their irritation with being forced to stand outside growing. When I reached the end of the second warrant, I frowned and met Detective Dawson’s stony gaze. “This is an arrest warrant for Calvin and a search warrant for my house—where I expressly told you that my stepbrother wasn’t welcome and hadn’t visited in weeks.”
“You wouldn’t be the first sister to hide a family member she swears she hates and hasn’t seen in years,” the detective replied. “We have to find him. The sooner you let us inside to search, the faster we’ll be out of your hair.”
“I don’t understand how you convinced a judge to give you a search warrant to look for a man in a house where he hasn’t lived in more than ten years.” Still blocking the door, I turned my attention to the papers again and studied the signatures. “Judge Garland? He signed this? He signed this knowing it was Calvin you’re looking for? In my house?”
Detective Dawson briefly averted his gaze. “Yes.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want,” he countered, “but we are coming inside. It will be better for everyone if you step aside.”
“Or what? You’re going to arrest me?” Knowing that they had somehow fooled elderly Judge Garland, one of my father’s favorite golf buddies, into signing this piece of crap warrant made me angry. The judge had been the one who helped my father and stepmother find a private school that would take Calvin after he had been expelled from every school in the city. Judge Garland had been the one who had suggested my stepmother have Calvin evaluated by a team of psychiatrists so he could be locked away where he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone.
He was also nearly ninety years old and on the cusp of finally retiring. The invitation to the retirement party his wife was hosting was on my desk. The word at the country club where we all played golf was that he had been diagnosed with some kind of memory problem—dementia or Alzheimer’s. He hadn’t been handling cases, just occupying a seat until he reached the milestone retirement date he had set for himself.
“Aston,” Ben warned softly, his big hand settling on my shoulder in a reassuring way.
Exhaling slowly, I looked the detective squ
are in the eye. “You know what? Go head. Come in here and search my house. You won’t find anything. And me? I’m going to call Judge Garland. Or, maybe I’ll just walk six doors down to the end of the cul-de-sac where he lives and ring his doorbell?” At that, the detective blanched. “The judge is a very old family friend, and he knows all about Calvin. I’m sure he’ll be able to explain to me why he signed this warrant. I’m sure it’s all perfectly legal and ethical.”
Detective Dawson hesitated. He seemed to realize he had overplayed his hand. Maybe he wasn’t the one who got the judge to sign the warrant. Maybe it had been someone else in his department. Still, the ax would come down on his neck. Once Dick arrived and realized what was happening, he would go ballistic.
Stepping aside, I let them in with a flourish of my arm. “Be my guest, gentlemen.”
Ben’s jaw tensed as he moved closer to me. He had one hand on my waist and shifted his body in a way that shielded me from the stream of police officers and crime scene techs walking through the door. Leaning down, he whispered, “You sure about this?”
Lifting the warrants to cover my mouth, I answered just as quietly, “The judge who signed these is senile. There’s no way any of this is legal. You were right.” I glanced up at him. “They’re here to send a message. They’re trying to scare me.”
“They fucking failed,” he murmured, drawing me closer. Glad to share in his strength, I leaned against him while we watched police officers march through the house. I wasn’t worried about anyone trying to take anything. Anything worth taking was hidden away in safes, and the security system had cameras in everywhere but the bathrooms and my bedroom, all of them recording and storing their data on the cloud.