It was Alex’s turn to drop his jaw and gawk.
“It would seem,” she blithely told him, “that a bit of mild impact play and some easy restraints are pretty normal these days.”
He continued to stare open-mouthed. It wasn’t every day that she got one over on her master tactician husband.
“What does that mean, Meghan?”
“It means, my love, that you can lock up the vibrators if that’s what floats your boat, but there’s nothing wrong with a flogging seduction. That is my way of telling you to cut out the nicey-nice approach. I get it. You love me, and I’m pregnant, but sheesh, Alex, you’re making me work too hard! Why’s it always me with the sexting? Your fingers broken?”
“Is that a complaint? About our sex life?” He had just the right amount indignant outrage in his voice to let her know he was kidding.
“I’m letting you top the shit out of me on a daily basis,” he continued in his sexy Dom voice, “so what more do you want?”
“A little rope.”
Meghan made no secret of her fondness for restraints. Her mind quieted when they began a rope ritual. She could feel her husband’s concentration and focus and marveled at how he made the process arousing and calming at the same time. The twin feelings of being exquisitely present and connected to her lover changed the way she looked at the dominant and submissive dynamic. Something was deeply, deeply satisfying to know how focused he was on her and that her pleasure, not his, was the bedrock of the D/s part of their relationship.
Alex sighed heavily. “Can I admit something?”
“Of course.”
“I’m unsure where the boundaries are, love. And there’s no guidebook or anyone I can ask.”
“Oh.” Hmph. She hadn’t looked at it that way. “Well, if it helps any, Dr. Sterner put it this way.”
He groaned, and she squirmed slightly.
She held up her hands to make the point. One palm up and she said, “There’s darkness,” the second palm, “and there’s light.” She pressed her palms together. “As long as we stay on the light side of the line, and I’m physically comfortable, there’s nothing to get worked up about.”
“I can’t believe you talked to her.”
“Alex, it’s not as uncommon as you imagine. And I didn’t walk in there with some jpegs and say, here’s what our kinky looks like. As a matter of fact, Dr. Sterner had a good laugh. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re pretty tame.”
He didn’t look convinced and blurted out, “I don’t want the kids to think I’m a pervert.”
“Well”—she giggled—“it’s far too late for that. And besides, Daddy’s depraved wickedness massively turns Mommy on, so they know that too.” She shrugged. “I’d say it’s a draw.”
She gave him a few seconds for that to sink in and casually asked, “Do you think your dad’s a pervert?”
“Say again?” he asked with the most adorably shocked expression.
“Your dad. Cristián. Is he a pervert?”
“Hardly,” he finally scoffed.
Meghan smiled. “Well, I have it on good authority,” she told him with a snarky fake cough that sounded like Ash, “that in your parents’ early days, they did a lot more than just rock out with the cock out.”
He smacked his forehead and groaned, “Oh, my god.”
“As a matter of fact,” she told him with more giggle than smirk, “some ass slapping and a dog’s-eye view was their go-to.”
The idea of Alex’s distinguished father slapping Ashleigh’s butt while he moved in from behind made her start giggling.
“So I’d relax if I was you. Are you a product of your parents’ brand of fuckery? Probably. Just like I am,” she added with a sassy smirk. “It’s healthy and loving and sometimes comical. Where’s the problem?”
“This is why I love you, double M.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just this?”
“Well, this and your ass. Oh, and tits. I like the tits very much. Oh, and your mouth. Yep.” He smirked. “You have a very talented mouth.”
“What about my cooking skills? You love that too?”
He faux gasped. “You insolent wench! Here I am trying to protect your feelings, and you’re pandering for insincere compliments.”
“You could take care of that with a spanking.”
Alex burst out laughing, took her wrist, and with almost no effort, he gave a slight yank that sent her very carefully face first over his lap. Next thing she knew, her dress was pulled up, her panties pulled down, and her beast was enjoying her ass.
His fingers traced the Valleja-Marquez crest tattooed on one cheek. “Mine,” he growled before a perfectly landed slap made her moan.
Less than fifteen minutes later, she was naked and on the floor with a demanding beast making sweaty, glorious, gushing love to her. She still wasn’t happy about the fugly maternity underwear, but Thunder Cock was doing his very best to make her forget all about the upset of earlier.
8
Pounding out a steady rhythm with his feet, Cam powered through the excruciating burn and heaviness in his thighs. He was running like his next breath depended on it. The sound of his breathing was only second to the noise his shoes made pounding the ground.
Overhead, the early morning sun shone brightly, and everywhere he looked, he found the Arizona beauty he loved.
Sweat soaked his t-shirt, but still, he kept running. The sheer physicality of a sustained run was what he needed to drown out the worries cluttering his mind. It didn’t help that he was fucking exhausted. Not sleeping had a way of fucking with a guy’s Chi.
Suck—blow—suck—blow. The thumping cadence of his strides pushed him past the shadows cornering his thoughts. In order to clear his head, he had to, well—he had to clear his thoughts.
Lacey was the obvious first thought to step front and center, but he pushed her aside for now. Once he went there, nothing else would matter, and since an awful lot mattered, it was best to establish a pecking order.
Next in the spotlight was Alex.
He ran along and waited for the endorphins to crush his anxiety where the Major was concerned. When that didn’t happen, he focused on the center of his worry and let the feelings wash over him.
There was nothing to look back on and like about the period when Alex was engulfed by his wedding and extended European honeymoon. Leaving Cam and Drae in charge of the day-to-day Justice crap meant stepping into Big Daddy’s shoes. And he hadn’t enjoyed the experience.
Oh sure, he’d earned a fuck load of brownie points for a plethora of high-value agency hires and somehow managed to keep Drae from losing his shit over the fuckery that went down at the Villa with the elders. And he, along with Parker and Calder, managed to avoid taking Finn O’Brien out to the desert and leaving him there so from an overall standpoint—winning.
But he hated every second of the responsibility and formed a new appreciation for what Alex handled so naturally.
Some guys were born leaders—it was in their blood—and Alex was the perfect example. But he, Jason Cameron, wasn’t that guy and had no interest in developing a taste for either power or control.
The sun was starting to enter its brutal vector, so he turned the dial down to a leisurely run. No use in killing himself.
Lately, the boss had been showing more than a few signs of strain. They’d all gotten so used to Alex 2.0. The version after Meghan appeared and straightened his ass out.
The recent changes bothering him hadn’t happened overnight, and the man went to ridiculous lengths to create a smokescreen. Inklings of dark shit appeared as soon as their honeymoon was over—and Cam returned from almost having his butt blown to kingdom come.
With his senses on high alert after the ordeal he’d barely survived, Cam picked up a subtle undercurrent. And this undercurrent had a distinctive military feel to it. Drae noticed it too, but they hadn’t talked about it until recently.
Alex’s incendiary reaction to the Feds showing up on his lan
d without a heads-up and effectively spiriting Cam away to rescue their fucking asses yet again told quite a story. He’d gone batshit, and before anyone knew what was happening, a ring of security surrounded the family that was harder to get through than at the White House.
Something was up, and it was a hell of a lot more than Meghan being pregnant with twins.
Geez, and better not touch the added complication of the Major’s parents moving home and unmarried Sophie turning up blissfully pregnant.
Drae and Tori, thank fucking Jesus, were currently up to their eyeballs in a period of deep contentment. Tori’s second pregnancy had been uneventful so far. And Drae? Holy shit, man. Somewhere between fucking everything up and getting his wife pregnant again, he’d become the wise old man of their group. Bestowing wisdom and advice like Tinkerbell sprinkled fairy dust.
He smiled, thinking about his friend. Draegyn St. John qualified as a certified piece of work. They were complete opposites but uniquely the same. Bound together for life by everything they experienced during their Team Justice days, he relied on Drae’s arrogant fuckery as much as Alex’s all-powerful command.
In a rush, a thousand small details crowded his mind.
Brody thought he might have a dog for Dylan. He should call him later and get the whole story.
Another Team Justice member, Roman Bishop, had his hands full at the moment. Cam had helped his old friend with a confidential seek and find. With Alex’s enthusiastic blessing, he’d put the full resources of the agency at Roman’s disposal. It would be interesting to see how that scenario unfolded.
Calder—good ol’ howl-at-the-moon Calder Dane—was getting married. To Drae’s mother-in-law. Shit, but that part of the story was funny. Cam couldn’t be happier for the guy. Stephanie Bennett was one hell of a lady, and who else but Tori’s mother could stun them all, Calder included, with a pregnancy at fifty.
Oh, fuck. He suddenly remembered he had to get back to Betty’s friend Cheryl. She was coordinating a massive group baby shower for the women, and she needed to know what Lacey’s favorite flower was. That one was easy. Roses. His wife loved roses.
Not all that long ago, he was a miserable fuck getting up there in years with a grim outlook on life. For shits and grins, he was even considering buying land back East—someplace in the woods where he could run around naked and shoot up shit if that was what he wanted to do.
His feet hit the ground over and over. A brief chuckle rumbled out as he concentrated on his breathing. Running around naked and shooting shit was normal within the boundaries of the Villa. Hadn’t they proved that point yet again at Calder’s bachelor party?
His wife hadn’t been especially thrilled with his drunken bullshit that night. Cam smiled as he remembered the stern wifely lecture and how she repeatedly smacked his hands away when he tried to touch her. He tried assuring her that the others were way more fucked up than he was, but when he stumbled over an ottoman and pulled a muscle trying to catch himself, she shook her head.
What would he do without Ponytail’s gentle sweetness? Even when she was pissed, he knew she loved him without equal.
Which reminded him. The video of him and the guys fucking around on his wife’s exercise pole another time they were shitfaced was making the rounds again. It never went outside their intimate group of Justice rabble-rousers, but it was still disconcerting when Alex’s and Parker’s dads had themselves a right royal laugh after an extended viewing.
If he didn’t find a way to squash that thing, and soon, there was a real possibility it’d end up on somebody’s social media.
Lacey.
His feet pounded on.
God, he loved her so much.
Slowing down, he staggered clumsily to a stop and bent over with his hands on his knees. Taking in huge breaths, he watched his stomach move in and out from the effort. The heat from the sun warmed his sweat-soaked shirt.
From the small water camel he wore like a backpack, Cam took a long slug of water and glanced around at the familiar scenery. He’d done well here in the desert Southwest. Raising a family at the Villa gave him the best of two worlds.
He thought of his son, Dylan Henry Cameron. The kid was nothing short of amazing. For all their personal issues and quirks, he and his wife made a beautiful human being with Dyl. Lacey was right—sometimes he did come off like a miniature version of Alex.
Would their daughter be the same?
Cam was anxious for her arrival. Even though Lacey’s medical team said everything was fine, a subtle undercurrent of anxiety had existed almost from day one. He couldn’t put a finger on it nor could anyone else. It was a low-level thrum. A sense that maybe everything wasn’t quite right. This pregnancy had not been the uneventful walk in the park that they got the first time. Early bouts of debilitating nausea set the stage for everything that followed. His wife seemed breakable, so he was worried.
He turned in a circle and made a panoramic inventory. Had he come to any conclusions now that his thoughts were clearer?
Yeah. Kind of.
Alex was hiding something. And since that wasn’t his style, Cam knew whatever it was would end up being big.
Drae was currently positioned near the life rafts with plenty of vests and safety rings available. Was it hugely amusing that St. John was in charge of keeping the ship afloat? Yes. Completely.
Roman Bishop was back in the loop. Who woulda figured, he thought with another long guzzle of water.
And then there was Lacey. She needed him right now. More than ever. Something wasn’t right, and it was stupid to pretend otherwise.
He grimaced.
She was the chink in his armor. His Achilles’ heel. If anything happened to her, he’d be broken beyond hope.
Alex was keeping a major secret, Roman wandered back onto his radar, and Lacey was in a precarious and vulnerable state of unknown origin yet-to-be-determined outcome. Only Drae was on guard—on duty.
They were, as a group, in unmapped territory.
Uncomfortable awareness skittered along his nerves. The future was in motion, and god only knew where these things would lead.
“You look gorgeous.”
Tori whirled around when Draegyn’s throaty growl surprised her from the doorway.
The tea-length chiffon gown with the princess neckline fit perfectly. The dress was dyed to match the same red shade as a new pair of Louboutins that were a gift from her husband. She ran to him, jumped into his arms, and proceeded to leave red lipstick kisses all over his face.
“Hey, now.” He laughed. Setting her down, he kept an arm around her waist and asked, “What was that for?”
“That, my super sexy secret agent man, is what you get for wearing a tuxedo. This is what you wore,” she cooed with her fingers stroking the jacket lapels, “the first time I ever laid eyes on the infamous playboy, Draegyn St. John.”
“Do I make you horny?” he teased in an awful parody of Austin Powers.
Laughing happily, she patted his chest. “Only on Tuesdays. And alternate Saturdays.”
“How’s my kid?” he asked with a very possessive caress of her barely visible bump.
She put her hand on his and smiled. “Well, let’s see. This morning, Danny’s sibling had a hellacious craving for Captain Crunch. Scarfed down two servings and then drank the milk from the bowl.”
“Good kitten.” He smirked.
“Don’t start with that.” She laughed. “We don’t have time for frisky.”
“Aw, babe. Really? It’d be so simple. Either bend over or jump on. No need to undress. We’ve got this!”
“Draegyn St. John! I’m serious. My mother is getting married in a few hours, and I’d like to show up wearing clean underwear.”
He had an argument at the ready that made her smack him on the arm.
“I’ll be the cleanup crew. Spit polish and everything.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You’re what’s wrong with me, so stop acting put out. O
r innocent.”
The arm around her waist pulled her tight against him. When he put his other hand into his pocket and leered at her with a super-sized helping of bad boy and just the right touch of 007, she melted.
“Lady’s choice if you speak now.”
“I just want to go on record,” she snarkily ground out while struggling to keep a straight face, “and say that you are an oversexed nightmare.”
Pursing her lips, she struggled and pushed out of his arms. Filling the air with a long-suffering sigh, she reached under her dress and wiggled out of her panties. It was no easy task, but she did it.
“If you mess up my hair, I will murder you.” She made this edict with some eyeshade and a pointing finger.
Draegyn’s face was that grinning leer he did so well. The one that acknowledged her surrender. “I knew you’d come around.”
She just looked at him. This was one of his favorite stupid man-jokes.
“Get it? Huh?” he asked with an elbow shove. “I knew you’d come—around my cock.”
“Shut up,” she growled.
Then she went to her knees and attacked his pants.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he yelped.
“This is what you get for coming home with underpants on your head.”
“It was Cam’s fault. I told you.”
Tori worked her nimble fingers on his pants until everything was out of the way and nothing was between her and the majesty of the St. John penis. With a brazen swirl of her tongue around her lips, she looked up at him and asked, “Is this for me?”
He answered, “Only for you,” and stroked her face.
She beamed her happiness and blew him a little kiss.
“Hold on,” he stammered when she began stroking his hard, warm length. “Tell me how this ends. No surprises. I don’t want Calder to kill me.”
“I thought first I’d indulge in some oral, and then it’s probably best if we end with a bend over scenario.”
“Bendover.” He snickered. “We live in the right place.”
“Seriously? That’s what you say while I’m handling your manhood?”
“Manhood.” He sniggered. “You’ve been reading trashy romances again.”
Everlasting (Family Justice Book 6) Page 10