Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6)

by Cat Mason

  “You don’t scare me,” I snap, narrowing my eyes. “I’ve blown out birthday candles with more heat.”

  The grip on my hair becomes tighter, forcing my head up so that our mouths are just a breath apart. His nostrils flare, a growl tearing up through his chest that levels every inch of me. Then he moves.

  Dominick attacks my mouth, stealing what little breath I had left. His lips move, tongue thrusting into my mouth the second I gasp for air. His hard body presses into mine while his kiss consumes me, causing every ounce of my resolve to crumble. One of my hands wraps around him, clutching the back of his t-shirt, the other gripping the back of his neck in an attempt to bring him closer. An explosion erupts between us. The inferno spreads through my veins, every inch of me on fire, burning so hot I don’t think I’ll survive it.

  Yanking my hair again, he breaks the kiss and exposes my neck. His teeth skim my jaw as his free hand grips my hip, lifting and rolling me into him. Shit. Every inch of his body presses hard against mine. The world fades away, along with every thought in my head. His lips brush my ear, his hot breath over my skin causes a desperate moan to escape my lips. His hand moves over my thigh. Sliding up the hem of my dress, he cups me through my panties. “This hot enough for you?” he asks, his voice low and so smooth it has goosebumps raising over my skin. “You gonna tell me to stop, Ireland? Say the word, Baby. Tell me this doesn’t feel good. I’ll stop right now.”

  “Dominick,” I moan, breathlessly, unable to say anything else. The invisible line has been crossed. I didn’t plan it, but I know there is no turning back now. I have no fight left in me, and as much as I enjoy watching him suffer, I might self-combust if he stops touching me.

  My hips involuntarily rock into his palm, seeking more friction against my throbbing clit. “That’s what I thought,” he growls, meeting my eyes.

  “I hate you,” I pant, but it lacks all conviction.

  “You may hate me, Baby,” he growls, biting down on my bottom lip. “but you still want this.”

  Wrong.

  It’s gone far beyond want, whether I admit it to him, or not. This is need. Complete, unadulterated desperation that can only be quenched by him. Now.

  Taking my mouth again, Dominick brushes my panties aside before thrusting two fingers inside me. I cry out into his mouth, my hips rocking faster as I chase down my release. Bringing up my right leg, I wrap it around his hip, opening myself more to him.

  I am lost to sensation overload. His fingers, his mouth, his hard body pressed to mine, it’s all too much. My cries are all swallowed, greedily, as he kisses me. His other hand comes down and supports my ass, his fingers digging into my heated flesh. My thighs tremble, my knees threaten to give out from under me as tremors of pleasure rattle throughout my body.

  “Let go,” he says against my lips. The two words meaning something very different than how I used them moments ago. The look in his eyes as he watches me is dark and forceful. It’s scary, but in a way that makes my stomach jump in anticipation.

  His thumb finds my clit, rhythmically strumming in time with his fingers thrusting into my pussy. The erotic beat he plays with my body sends me over the edge. The orgasm that hits me, tears me apart. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. My eyes roll into the back of my head as I fuck his fingers, enjoying every second of the ride.

  Chapter Eleven

  Boot Face Tattoo

  Mack

  Fuck.

  Damn her. Ireland was taunting me with every outfit change. Every sway of her hips as she walked to the mirrors was perfectly executed to drive me out of my goddamn mind. As much as I tried to keep my cool, the dress she has on now, was my breaking point. I know what is beneath that bullshit excuse of a dress, I’ve had the soft skin beneath me. The thought of her going out in public wearing a scrap of fabric, not even big enough to be a hand towel, made me murderous.

  Every time she challenges me it is like an electric jolt to my cock. Nothing like the goddamn Taser though, because this revs me up like a porn star raging on speedballs. I never knew fighting with a woman could make me so horny. My cock is so hard right now, it could stamp holes in the concrete beam I have her body pinned against, but as much as I want to bury myself inside her, I can’t bring myself to unleash the beast.

  It’s not lost on me, that this woman hates me with a passion. Being that she has tried to drop kick my dick and balls up into my sinus cavity; I’m not exactly ready to give her another opportunity to do any lasting damage.

  I think my hesitation is a smart move on my part…

  Burying my nose in her hair, I inhale the sweet scent of honeysuckle and vanilla. Visions of spreading her across the hood of my car and fucking her until she screams my name play on a loop in my head, doing nothing to ease the massive case of blue balls I feel coming on.

  My phone vibrates from my pocket, scaring the shit out of me. “Can I move now, Ireland?” I ask, slipping my fingers from her pussy and resisting the urge to lick them clean.

  Her leg falls from around my hip immediately, eyes flying open wide. “What did you say?” she asks, staring up at me.

  “Phone,” I say, reaching out to make sure she is steady on her feet before releasing my hold on her. Grabbing my phone, I don’t bother checking the notification on the screen. “Yo,” I say into the phone, putting it to my ear.

  “Need you back at the house,” Camaron says into the phone, her tone clipped. “Now.”

  “We’re on our way,” I say, opening the passenger door and helping Ireland inside. She says nothing, but, honestly, I am thankful for her silence. I’m not sure I can handle two women bitching at me at once. “You’re a woman, you know how long this clothes shoppin’ shit takes,” I laugh into the phone.

  “It’s an emergency.”

  Oh shit.

  The three words make my blood run cold. Disconnecting the call, I nearly sprint around the damn car. Within seconds, the car roars to life and I’m heading for the exit of the garage. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I reply quickly.

  “Yeah,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at me. “I bet.”

  I don’t say anything else. Honestly, I have no idea what to say. The entire drive back to the house, I rack my brain, trying to figure out what in the hell could have happened for Camaron to call me and not Henry.

  Most of the questions I have are answered the moment we pull up the drive and I spot the ambulance parked in front of the house. My heart stops dead in my chest. Immediately, my brain begins running possible scenarios as I shut off the engine and leap from the car.

  “Oh my God,” Ireland says, running across the drive trying to keep up with me.

  I stop mid-step the second I see two uniformed EMTs wheeling Rae down the walk on a stretcher. Tears stream down her cheeks as he clutches her belly. “What the hell happened?” I shout, finding my voice.

  “She got dizzy and fainted. Her blood pressure is through the roof,” Henry says from behind me, his voice icy and harsh. “Turns out that the doctor put her on meds and bed rest weeks ago for pre-eclampsia. That doesn’t even include how whacked out her blood sugar levels are right now.”

  Oh shit.

  Turning to face him, I meet his harsh stare. His eyes are cold and hard. “You gotta know, I tried to--” I start, but his fist connects with my jaw, silencing me.

  “You knew!” he shouts, shoving me hard with both hands. Stumbling back, I slam into the side of the Suburban. “You knew and still chose to keep me in the dark about all this shit. That’s my woman. My fucking baby!” Grabbing my shirt, he punches me again. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you with my bare hands if anything happens to her or the baby.”

  “When you’re done wailing on me,” I bite out, wiping the blood from my now split lip. “How about you go ask Rae why she didn’t tell you? Why she begged me not to?”

  Big Man lunges and it’s total chaos. The women are screaming, while Hunter and Aiden leap from the porch
and attempt to pull him off me. “Big Man,” Hunter yells, gripping his arm with both hands. “Rae needs you in the back of that ambulance with her right now.”

  He releases his hold on me, letting my body slump to the ground. His eyes go to the back of the opened ambulance and Rae, her body racked with sobs. “This isn’t finished,” he bites out, heading for the ambulance and climbing inside before the doors close behind him.

  “Damn,” Hunter says, holding out his hand to me. “I totally just saved you from getting a boot face tattoo.”

  “My hero,” I mutter, waving him off and pushing to my feet.

  Not bothering to look around at the shocked faces of everyone around me who watched this play out, I head into the house. Part of me knew that Rae’s secret shit would end badly. You don’t keep shit like that from someone. Especially not Henry.

  It doesn’t matter that I have been cooking and taking care of the kids while everyone was out on tour because Rae needed to rest. Yes, I did as much as I could to make things easier for her, but it wasn’t enough. Rae’s physician, Dr. Masters, along with her OBGYN, had told both of us months ago that being diabetic could increase her risk of developing pre-eclampsia. After taking every preventative measure we could, she was still officially diagnosed. We were sent home with medicine for her elevated blood pressure and told to keep her off her swollen ass feet as much as possible.

  The more I pressed for her to take it easy, the more she turned into what Jazzie and I lovingly refer to as the Preggersaurus. Hormonal and stubborn as hell. No matter what I said, I was wrong and that was okay with me. As long as she plopped her ass in the recliner, or the bed, and got her feet up, she could nag at me as much as she wanted.

  When everyone got home, I was sure Rae would sit Big Man down and let him know what was going on. Especially when, with the medicine and resting, her blood pressure slowly continues to creep higher and higher at every check. Only cure, according to the doctors, was to deliver, but the little brut wasn’t exactly done baking in there yet.

  So it became a waiting game.

  Walking into my bedroom, I head straight for the adjoining bathroom to clean up. I groan when my eyes meet the mirror and my jacked up face. My bottom lip is split and my jaw is already starting to swell unevenly on one side. Grabbing the black hand towel from the rack beside the sink, I turn on the cold water and run it under the faucet. Pressing it to my lip, I wince and hiss out a breath.

  “Hey, Killer.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ireland step into the room. “Cam asked me to bring this to you.”

  Coming up beside me, she places a white first aid kit on the sink, then places her hand on my arm. “You okay?”

  “Never better,” my reply is clipped.

  Opening the lid, she begins taking out things and arranging them on the black marble. “You need that cleaned up.”

  “I got it.” Turning away from her, I toss the towel on top of my pile of dirty laundry in the corner.

  Stepping around me, she glares up at me. “Why are you determined to make it so hard for me to be nice to you, shit stick?” Reaching out, she pinches my nipple through my t-shirt. Hard. “If I have to dismember you just to patch you up, stubborn ass, I will.”

  “Jesus, fucking hell!” I shout, trying to push her away. “That hurts!”

  Pinching harder, she twists so hard tears spring to my eyes. “I will rip it off and make you eat it,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Now, sit your ass down and shut the hell up.”

  “Okay, okay,” I reply, holding up my hands in surrender.

  Steering me by my nearly dislocated nipple, Ireland doesn’t stop until I sit down on the closed toilet seat lid. “Now,” she says, releasing her grip, “was that so damn hard?”

  Something is…

  Turning her back to me, she toes off her heels and begins washes her hands. Grabbing a small box of hydrogen peroxide wipes, she faces me again. When she steps between my legs, and her thigh brushes mine, all hell starts to break loose in my jeans. Looks like my dick didn’t get the memo that Ireland playing doctor isn’t going to end with any part of her wrapped around him. Carefully, she cups my jaw as she cleans away the blood from my mouth and chin. I hiss out a breath the minute her skin meets mine.

  “Sorry,” she says, pulling back. Her face softens, the tips of her fingers sweep softly over my jaw, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. It takes everything in me not to bite it before fucking her against the tile wall of my bathroom. Jesus fuck, what is she doing to me? “Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asks, dropping the wipe in the wastebasket.

  Yeah… My cock.

  Think she’d believe me if I told her orgasms are like duct tape and can fix anything?

  Closing my eyes tightly, I shake my head. Visions of her hair wrapped around my fist while fucking her mouth have my dick pounding against my zipper like the DEA breaking down doors during a meth lab bust. That hot mouth sucking me past those plump lips, her tongue sweeping the underside as she cups my balls.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she asks, tilting my chin upward. Forcing my eyes open, I nod. “You’re all flushed.”

  “I’m good.” Grabbing her arms, I ease her backward so that I can push to my feet.

  Her eyes sweep downward, a slow smile spreading across her face when she takes in the very embarrassing, denim erecto-tent that I am currently pitching. Reaching over, she grabs a disposable ice pack and cracks it on her knee to activate it. Pressing it to my face, she grabs my hand, forcing me to hold it in place. She bites her lip, no doubt suppressing a giggle. Her eyes go to my straining hard on and back to my face. “Might wanna ice that down too, Killer,” she says, patting me through my jeans before disappearing from the room.

  ***

  By the time I get myself together and head toward the main part of the house, things have seemed to settle down some. Camaron is on the phone with Henry getting updates on Rae’s condition, while the guys sit around the table making bets on how many punches it will take Henry to knock my ass out next time he sees me. Sadistic bastards. Daisy and Chase have headed into the kitchen to make dinner, while Ireland has taken the kids in to the den to watch a movie.

  “Dude, someone call the NFL,” Hunter says, pointing at me when I step into the doorway of the office. “We found the missing air from Tom Brady’s footballs! It’s been pumped into the right side of Mack’s face!” he shouts, slamming his fist onto the table as he roars with laughter.

  “How is she?” I ask Camaron when she hangs up the phone, ignoring Hunter.

  Leaning back in the chair, she sighs. “We are looking at an immediate delivery via emergency c-section.”

  I nod, because that’s exactly what I figured. “We were told it could come to that,” I reply, running a hand over the back of my neck and squeezing. “Just hoped it wasn’t this soon.”

  “I’ll want to head over to the hospital as soon as possible,” Cam says, facing me. “Henry, Rae, and the baby are going to need all of our support right now.”

  “I’ll call Mike,” I say, remembering that he checked in with Big Man yesterday, saying he was heading back to town. “Get him to help hold down the fort here.”

  Camaron nods, but says nothing. Though, she doesn’t have to. The downcast look of disappointment in her eyes is all too familiar. I tend to do that to the women in my life. Nothing I’m not used to, of course. Hell, my own mother blames me for everything that has ever gone wrong in her life, all because my sperm donor’s spunk was immune to her birth control methods.

  My unplanned conception was her untimely social suicide. Who in their right mind would be lining up to play sugar daddy to a woman who comes with a red headed little bastard tagging along?

  Though we only have used him on tour dates, Mike doesn’t hesitate when I call. He jumps into his truck and is at the house within minutes. Surprisingly, Ireland offers to stay behind with Mike and the kids so that everyone else can go to the hospital and show their support together, instead of in
shifts.

  The labor and delivery floor of the hospital is possibly the most stressful place I have ever been in my life. The faces of some of the men pacing the halls make it very clear why the windows are all sealed shut. Every time an alarm goes off, it causes a full on panic.

  Understandably, every one of us is on edge.

  By the time we got there, Rae had already been rushed to the operating room with Henry refusing to leave her side. Without being immediate family, the nurse at the desk is unable to give us much information other than that before showing us to the waiting room and telling us to stay put.

  “They really should include an open bar in the birthing plan,” Hunter says, rolling his shoulders. “Not even my kid being born and I’m about to ask the nurse for something to take the edge off.”

  “Neither booze, or blowjobs, are included in the hospital’s plan of treatment, Hunter,” Chase giggles, slapping his arm.

  “It’s a girl,” Henry’s voice booms from the doorway, capturing everyone’s attention at once. “Apparently, Jazzie told Rae all girls should be named after princess or super heroes. We named her Kara,” he says, smiling fondly. “After Supergirl.”

  It’s like a stampede. Everyone in our group is on their feet and surrounding Big Man before he can even step inside the room. Aiden, Grayson, and Hunter nearly tackle him to the ground in their excitement and the girls are all sobbing, emotional messes.

  “What are the Docs sayin’?” I ask, interrupting the happy moment with the harsh reality that we aren’t out of the woods yet.

  Henry’s eyes meet mine, stress radiating off his broad shoulders in waves. “They’re monitoring Rae, making sure her vitals are all stabilized now that she has given birth. As for Kara,” he breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “They’re running tests in the nursery. She’s stable; so the blinds are open, if—”