Under The Cover Of Love

by Carolyn Faulkner

  What had gotten her into serious trouble was the fact that, when he'd gone down into her cellar to bring up a couple of heavy cases of emergency water for her to tuck into her pantry after having gone through her supply when the power was out this winter, he'd noticed that the smoke detector down there was non-functional. In fact, it was hanging open, sans batteries.

  He disconnected the bottom of the unit and brought it upstairs with him, stalking angrily around the house to find her curled up on the wicker loveseat on her deck, almost asleep in the sun.

  "Ahem."

  Jenna looked up at him and then gulped hard at what he had in one of his big paws, knowing instantly that she was in trouble. He was bearing down on her like the wrath of God, his face set darkly, and damn, the man could be intimidating when he wanted to be!

  "Why is this not working?"

  Knowing she was going to regret it, but unable to stop herself, she said, "Uh...perhaps because there are no batteries in it?"

  His eyebrows rose at her tone. "And why would there be no batteries in it, pray tell, when it could save your little ass from a fire or carbon monoxide poisoning caused by your ancient furnace, your propane space heaters, your gas stove or your gas washer and dryer?"

  Although she was flattered that he thought her ass was small when it wasn't, she knew he was not going to be happy at her answer and that this was definitely not going to end well for her. She could already see the way his jaw was set. He was not happy.

  "I – uh – well, it was harping at me that the batteries were low one day when I was down there, so I – uh – took them out and then promptly forgot to bring fresh ones down?" she answered with a small, nervous smile at the end.

  "And how long has it been like this? And don't lie to me, Jenna."

  Jenna had to look away from him – his eyes were about to bore holes in her. "Well, I meant to fix it, but –

  She found herself hauled unceremoniously to her feet, before she could finish her sentence, and bent over the railing of the deck seconds later, her shorts and panties around her ankles almost before that.

  One big hand on the middle of her back held her there for a long, vulnerable moment. "Don't you move a muscle, missy. I'll be right back."

  Merck left her only long enough to find something suitable with which to punish her, and he knew just what would do the job right. He went into the kitchen, where she had a small, solid oak cutting board hanging on the wall that was only about eight inches long, but it had a good-sized handle that fit his hand well and a broad head with a considerable heft to it.

  He'd threatened her with it last night, playfully, while he was helping her fix dinner, and now he was going to use it for what would be its more primary purpose. If he had been going to stick around longer than another day or so, it would definitely get more use his way than hers.

  Jenna began squealing as soon as she saw what he had in his hand when he returned. "Merck, no! You can't use that thing on me!"

  "I most certainly can and I will. I can't be around to watch over you all the time, but I can make sure that you'll think twice before you're so cavalier with your safety."

  The first swat made her scream.

  "Merck, no – you can't!"

  "I think I can, Jenna," he responded firmly, but he paused, regardless, wondering if she'd changed her mind about letting him discipline her.

  "No, not out here – my voice with the water – it'll carry."

  Heaving an inward sigh of relief that her reason for delaying her punishment hadn't been what he'd suspected at first, Merck couldn't believe he'd been so incensed that she'd allowed herself – needlessly – to be in danger. He hadn't even considered the fact that he was leaving himself open to discovery just because he found the idea of spanking her this way – in this position, out in the open, to be infinitely titillating. What he wouldn't have given not to have the restraints under which he was currently functioning.

  But he did, and she was right.

  "Thank you for reminding me of that," he said through clenched teeth as he grabbed her wrist. "But it's not going to get you out of a good, hard paddling."

  And it certainly hadn't.

  He'd closed the sliders behind them, pulled the curtains closed and proceeded to make her scream again, from beginning to end, even over his lecture, during which he informed her that he'd hadn't always been undercover, and that he'd seen his share of burn victims when he'd worked in cooperation with the fire department.

  Accenting each word with a sharp swat, he ground out, "And I cannot bear the idea that something like that might happen to you, just because you couldn't be bothered to change the batteries in your smoke detector."

  And then he'd taken her, just like that, with her bent over the end of the bed, her carmine red bottom still sizzling as he pressed against it, bringing her to a hoarse climax she would have sworn moments before would have been a complete impossibility, considering the condition in which he'd left her bottom.

  He'd made her scream just as hard as she came as she had while the paddle rained mercilessly down on her vulnerable backside.

  But now, hours later, she was – sitting a bit gingerly – but thoroughly enjoying watching him work out and trying not to wonder just how much longer he was going to be with her.

  The harsh sound of the phone jarred the both of them, since the house had been so silent. It was so surprising that the two of them just looked at it for a moment, and Merck even picked it up as if he was going to answer it before he remembered that this was not his phone to answer and handed it to her.

  She picked it up, listened for about three seconds, saying nothing, and then hung up.

  He gave her a puzzled look. "Wrong number?"

  Jenna laughed. "No, just my pharmacy reminding me that I have prescriptions to pick up the next time I go into town. As soon as I hear the recording I know they're nagging me, so I hang up." She got up, handed him back the phone, carefully not looking at him as she did so, her voice quiet and strained, "Well, now we know we have phone service. Didn't you have someone you needed to call?"

  He did, but he was loathe to do it, with her looking and sounding so down about it. There was nothing he could do about it, though. As much as he wanted to stay here with her – and he did – in other circumstances, he would have quit on the spot and never left her side. As it was, he'd already spent more time here than he should because of her. He needed help to get this situation resolved, before he could even consider returning to his job – if, indeed, he survived the attempt, which was not a given by any means... Things had gone down all wrong – what should have been a relatively easy bust had gone all to hell in a split second, which pointed to someone having ratted him out, and, although he hated to consider it, he thought he had a pretty good idea who that someone was.

  But that meant that there was really no one on the force he felt safe revealing himself and his whereabouts to. He was so far undercover that very few people, even the higher ups, in the organization even knew he was out here, and – until he had more proof than just his hunch – regardless of how right he thought he was, he couldn't risk calling someone who might well betray him. Now, if it had just been him, he would probably have considered trying to draw the other guy out, to force a confrontation of some sort and get him to show his hand, but there was no longer just himself to consider, and he would never put Jenna in danger like that.

  He owed her his life, but it was much more than that. More than he'd ever felt towards any other woman. Even what he'd had with Simone, which he would have said was as close to true love as he'd ever gotten in his life, paled in comparison to what he felt for his gutsy, plucky, beautiful-assed, stubborn, headstrong, loving, caring Jenna.

  Well, not his, really, but he'd certainly taken to thinking of her as that in his mind.

  Wishful thinking, he knew, but that didn't stop him from doing it.

  He loved her, he admitted to himself baldy. He'd never thought to be struck by it within a matter
of a few days, but there was no denying the power of it. It welled up within him every time he so much as heard her talking, or smelled the flowery scent of her shampoo, or felt her surrender her pleasure to him, often bringing his own in a sudden explosion caused directly by the power and sight of her caught in that whirlwind of bliss.

  Still standing right where he'd been when she'd handed him the phone, Merck leaned around the open archway to see her working on supper, that too slim back stiff, sniffling occasionally, feeling his heart cramp painfully at the sight of her shoulders shaking. Jenna being in any kind of distress would have given him that feeling, but in particular, that which he caused and his presence in her life made it just that much worse.

  Everything in him wanted to go to her and comfort her, to soothe her with his words and his tongue and his body. But she was right. He needed to make this call – really, he needed to have made it days ago.

  All he could hope was that he had not compromised his last chance, somehow, too, knowing what that would mean, because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this contact was completely incorruptible, and would choose death rather than compromising his security in the least.

  His eyes remaining on Jenna as long as they could before he closed the office door, punching the numbers into the phone angrily, as if that was going to make it easier for him to leave her when it came time for him to go.

  But he knew that nothing was going to achieve that.

  When he was done, he put the phone back on its charging cradle in the living room. Dinner smelled wonderful as it simmered in a big pot on the back burner of the stove, but he couldn't find her anywhere.

  Merck frowned deeply. He'd made it a rule that she was not to leave the house without telling him – for her own safety – and he didn't think she had since he'd awakened from his fever. He was instantly on alert, his gun appearing in his hand as if by the magic of long practice, every sense primed, pumped but not nervous. He'd always been unusually calm, even when things went south, but then he'd been a loner for a while – it had been quite some time since he'd had a partner, since he'd had anyone else to watch out for while on the job.

  He skulked stealthily around the house, alert to any unexpected movement or sound, but there weren't any. Having made the circuit of the downstairs, he checked the bedrooms up, but she wasn't there, either.

  So he headed resolutely for the door, stepping outside in the daylight, the sun feeling good on his face, scanning everywhere for her and keeping close to the house, constantly scanning around him for her, or anything unusual or out of place – for any sign of potential danger.

  Still, no Jenna.

  It wasn't until he'd gone all the way around its perimeter and was nearly back where he'd started, he saw her coming out of a path into the woods, her head down, and he knew she had been crying.

  That she was still crying.

  He slipped quietly towards the back door, his eyes never leaving her, his breathing constricted at the pain in his chest from the tears he knew were because of him and him alone.

  Jenna looked up halfway across the yard and immediately began to jog towards him, whisper yelling urgently, "Get back in the house! What if someone sees you?" and crowding him forcibly – well, as forcibly as he let her – back into the den, her forearms on his chest, their legs entangled, pushing him backwards with all her might, closing and locking it behind her without really turning away from him.

  The obvious concern for him that she didn't bother to conceal just made his heart hurt that much more, even though she wanted a spanking – her disobedience called for one. But he wasn't sure he could deliver it in the face of her upset.

  Instead, he bent to kiss tenderly, leaning down to wrap his strong arms around her with great, conscious gentleness and straightening to lift her off her feet, carrying her with him to her bedroom.

  He could taste the tears that she'd been unable to dash away as she'd run a hand over her cheeks while rushing towards him, more pouring down her face as she would have crumpled but for his arms around her, pressing her forehead into his neck and sobbing pitifully.

  "Shh-shh-shh," he soothed, kissing her temple. "I'm so sorry, Jenna." The list of wrongs he'd done her was always on the tip of his tongue, foremost in his conscience, but he couldn't get it past the lump in his throat.

  All he could do was love her, right there, right then, with everything in him.

  And he did.

  Chapter 7

  He kept her right where she was and sat down on the end of the bed, his eyes locked with hers, one big hand cupping her cheek, the other at the curve of her waist. "I should be spanking you right now," he mentioned almost casually, although he looked and acted anything but.

  She surprised the hell out of him, not by protesting vehemently – he expected that. Instead, her lips trembling, voice unsteady, she responded in a shaky whisper, "I know. I just – I just had to get out. Get away."

  Voicing a fear, he asked, then held his breath. "From me?"

  Jenna looked stricken at the thought. "No, no...from the...from the tension. From the situation." She looked him straight in the eye, vowing reverently, "Not you. Never you."

  He saw the truth of what she was saying in her eyes. Merck sighed heavily. "Aw, Jenna, I'm so sorry to have dragged you into all of this. Especially the way I did –"

  She silenced him with a kiss. "Please, don't talk any more. Just touch me like you're not going to leave me." Tears spilled down her face. "Please."

  Dear God, she didn't need to beg him.

  He reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over, knowing she was braless beneath. Her breasts were works of art; she had told him when they were sharing uncomfortably personal secrets in the dark of the night that she thought they were too big, but he had simply replied that they were perfect, and he had meant it. They were a handful, even for his big palms, firm and tipped with wonderfully generous nipples that he could spent his life suckling on.

  But he didn't touch her at first, just undressed her, holding her hand to help her off his lap, then pulling her shorts and panties down, then off, and reclaiming her again, in the exact same position to twine his arms around her, holding her very close.

  "Shouldn't you take your sweats off?" she asked almost shyly, sneaking looks up at him.

  "Darlin'," he drawled, "if I take off my pants, this is going to be over much too soon. You are entirely too potent and powerful for me to be expected to control myself around you."

  He was always saying things like that to her. He was very expressive about his desires, often telling her – in the middle of an otherwise mundane discussion – and in excruciating detail, just how much he wanted her, and what he was going to do to her when dinner was over or when he finished with his makeshift workout.

  And he always made good on his promises.

  She tried not to make comparisons – why, she wasn't quite sure – but Abel was nothing like him. In fact, Abel was his opposite. Merck – who had known her for much less than a week – and had already praised her more times than her ex ever had in the all the years they were together. Abel found fault in everything about her and didn't hesitate to let her know – loudly – how many deficits she had as far as he was concerned. Abel had hit her with his fists when he got angry. Merck spanked her, but somehow that didn't make her feel anything but attended to and looked after.

  Merck seemed to revel in everything about her. Most especially, a submissive side that seemed to bloom within her, because of him and the way he treated her.

  That alone made it very hard for her not to fall in love with him, and that battle was long since lost.

  He leaned forward, kissing her passionately, and then making his way down her throat, stopping – as he had gotten into the habit of doing – at the tiny divot the tip of his knife had left, which was probably permanent. She didn't seem at all worried about it, she wasn't a vain kind of a woman – and it wasn't noticeable unless you knew to look for it – and he did.


  "Sorry," he whispered repeatedly as he kissed that tiny wound repeatedly.

  "Stop, Merck…"

  "Shh," he said as he pressed his fingers to her lips. "I don't want to hear anything from you but moans and panting and keening, baby girl. No words. Not just now." He gave her a rakish grin. "Later, you can beg me for your release."

  With that, he rearranged them – while displaying his strength in moving her as little as possible so that they were at the top of the bed and he could lean back against a couple of pillows, his long legs stretched out before him.

  But she remained perched atop him, above a growing bulge that his sweats did nothing to conceal. Once he'd settled them, she found that she was unable to keep herself from rocking her hips against it, seeking stimulation of a bud that she continued to drag against that rough fabric. His mouth and tongue lingered at her collarbone, nibbled behind her ear, licked and then gently bit her shoulder, and finally settled, as she growled deep in the back of her throat. Tugging a tight, eager nipple into his mouth, alternately nipping less than gently then soothing the roughly handled area with his tongue, he drove her crazy with the alternate, contrary sensations.

  Wanting to accent those even further, and knowing a good deal about what she liked already, he reached behind her and pulled the scrunchie out of her hair, adoring the way that it flowed and waved down her beautiful bare back. But he didn't let it just lie there. He couldn't. It called out for him to use it in a way that would bring them both closer to the edge.

  Merck took hold of the end of that silken swathe and began twisting it, wrapping it up in itself, making it easier to control, thus controlling her, as he twined his big arm up in it, leaving his hand to grasp it closest to her scalp. Pulling gently, but inexorably, and giving her no choice but to arch her neck first and then her entire back, forcing her, as she was, to present him with even more and better access to those luscious breasts, as well as even more interesting parts south.

  "Put your hands behind you, honey, brace them on my legs and arch your back as much as you can while you spread your legs. That's it," he encouraged, making her leave herself even more vulnerable to him and his inquisitive fingers and mouth.