The brief oral teasing he’d given her earlier was nothing compared to the way her clit throbbed now. Her pussy was wet, ready, eagerly anticipating the spanking she was about to receive.
When she was positioned over his lap, he used one snap-clip to capture her wrists together behind her back. He patted her on the ass.
“What comes next?”
She squirmed. “You’re going to put a butt plug in me.”
“Good girl. And how do good girls ask?”
Swirls of deeper subspace drew her down. “Please put the butt plug in me, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
She heard the snick of him opening the lube, and a moment later, she felt him drizzle it down the seam of her ass. Followed seconds later by the feel of the butt plug pressing against her rim.
It wasn’t even the biggest one they owned and she wanted it inside her. Now.
The sooner it was in, the sooner he’d spank her, and then the sooner he’d start making her come before he fucked her into a happy exhaustion that would leave her sated and sleepy and ready to curl up against his side.
The only thing that shut her noisy brain off for any length of time, that blessed subspace.
And both her men knew it, knew she needed it.
He slowly worked the butt plug inside her as she tried to arch her back and rock her hips to urge him to go faster. Cris refused to be rushed and stilled her with his other hand pressed firmly in the small of her back, pinning her in place.
“Someone’s eager tonight, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled against the mattress.
Achingly slow, Cris fucked the butt plug into her ass, a little more with each thrust until the widest part of it was inside her and her body eagerly gobbled the rest of it, the flared base firmly wedged between her ass cheeks.
He wiped his hand off on the towel and then patted her ass. “There you go.”
She let out a moan, her need growing by the second, explosive. He wouldn’t need to use any of the French trigger phrases to make her come tonight. Her pump was primed and ready.
With Tilly facing his left side, he grabbed the back of her collar with his left hand, and stroked her ass with his right. “Quick spanking for my good girl, and then you’ll get the orgasms. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
His right hand fell still and she held her breath, waiting, knowing damn well he was watching her breathing and would time the first strike during her inevitable inhale.
She did, and he did, making her gasp as he started spanking her, hard and fast, alternating ass cheeks as he did until she squirmed in his lap and struggled not to kick her legs. Some of the swats landed directly on the base of the butt plug, only adding to her torment and making her even hornier than the spanking.
When he finally stopped she lay there gasping for breath. She felt him reach for something, that something clearly identified when he pressed the head of the Hitachi between her legs and flipped it on to high.
Tilly’s back arched, toes curling as the first orgasm ripped through her.
“Good girl,” he cooed, chuckling. “Such a good girl. My good girl took her spanking, and now she gets her reward.”
All she could do was moan in reply as he held the vibrator pressed against her clit. He would do so until he was ready to let her go or she finally safeworded.
She wasn’t quite ready to give up just yet.
Apparently, he couldn’t last as long as she could tonight. She gasped for breath again a few minutes later as he pulled the vibrator away and turned it off. He eased himself out from under her and turned her so she lay over the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.
Stepping between her legs, he grabbed her wrists with one hand and fed his cock into her pussy with the other.
Their happy groans echoed when he bottomed out inside her. Unclipping her wrists, he braced himself against the bed and started to fuck her, hard and fast.
“Dammit, Redbird, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re coming like that.” Every thrust against her freshly spanked ass only kept the orgasms rolling through her, his body pressing against the base of the butt plug still inside her adding to the delight.
Tonight he didn’t last very long. Several more thrusts, and he was groaning, filling her, falling still on top of her with his lips trailing down her spine.
“You’re so beautiful, baby, and I love you so much.”
She lay with her eyes closed, finally catching her breath. “I love you, too, Master.”
Words she’d never dreamed she’d ever say again.
Words she’d never wanted to say to any other man but him.
And now she had Landry, too.
He helped her to her feet and held her under the shower as they cleaned up. A few minutes later, they were spooned together in bed and she already felt sleep taking her.
He nuzzled the back of her neck. “Sleep well, baby.”
“You, too, Master.”
Chapter Four
Wednesday morning, Tilly gave Cris all due credit. She’d expected him to make another comment about renting a car, but by the time they pulled up to his office, he hadn’t said a word about it.
Which left her feeling guilty for putting him through this aggravation.
Which in turn irritated the snot out of her for feeling that way. She wondered if he was not asking her about renting a car deliberately, knowing that she’d feel guilty.
I need serious help.
She had already swapped places with him and hit the Interstate—freeway, she corrected herself—when she realized Cris had, once again, left his personal cell phone in the car.
Dammit.
When she reached her office, she texted his work phone from his personal cell.
Guess what you left in the car again.
He immediately called her. “Sorry. Can you please watch it for me today? I get work calls on it. If anyone texts or calls me, give them my work phone number.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Now she really felt guilty. Had she not been so stubborn about this in the first place, it’d be a non-issue.
Okay, so maybe when I pick him up, we’ll go rent a car. I can drive his and he can take the rental.
Tilly had finished with a lunch meeting and was driving back to her office when she heard Cris’ cell ring from where it lay in the passenger seat. He’d received about eight calls on it and over a dozen texts already, all work-related.
Dammit.
Part of her wondered if he left it on purpose, just to push the issue.
Fuck it. They’d rent a car. LA traffic wasn’t like Florida traffic.
And still, his phone rang. Technically, she shouldn’t answer the phone while driving. Unlike Florida, in California she couldn’t hold the device and talk on it while driving.
Grabbing it, she didn’t even glance at the screen before hitting the green button and the speaker mode, dropping it into her lap. “Cris Guerrero’s phone.”
When the caller didn’t speak right away, Tilly thought maybe the call had dropped. She glanced into her lap and saw it was still connected. “Hello?” Tilly asked.
“Who is this?” a woman asked.
Tilly’s instinctive reaction was to ask who the fuck this was, but she reined it in. “I’m Tilly LaCroux, Cris’ wife. He forgot his cell phone. Can I help you?”
“His…wife?”
Tilly’s grip on her mental reins started slipping as she struggled to keep her thoughts from wildly running into dangerous territory. “Yes, his wife. Who is this, and how can I help you?”
She silently added “bitch” to the end of that question.
“I’m…My name’s Sofia Guerrero. I’m his cousin, Fi. He told me I could always call him at this number.”
Tilly immediately relaxed as she negotiated traffic, even as her confusion increased. She thought she might have heard Cris mention a favorite co
usin before. As far as Tilly knew, he hadn’t seen or heard from her in years, had lost contact with her. She’d been the only member of his family Cris had talked to after his father died.
Tilly and Cris rarely discussed their families of origin. Tilly’s mom died in an accident, and she never knew her birth father. Her step-father raped her.
Needless to say, she wasn’t close to anyone other than her adopted family of friends.
And her two men.
Cris’ parents had disowned him as a teenager, and he’d survived an abusive couple of years living at his uncle’s house before he’d landed a college scholarship, graduated high school, and then while attending college met Landry.
“What can I do for you? Cris is in meetings all day today, but maybe I can help.”
The woman started crying. “I need help.” Her voice dropped. “Please. He threatened to hurt my baby if I tried to leave.”
In the background, Tilly heard what she thought was the sound of a baby crying. “Where are you?” Tilly said, upshifting from professional mode into full-on Domme mode. She pulled over into the next parking lot she came to and shifted the car in park. “Can you call 911?”
“I can’t.” The woman cried harder. “I told him I was going to leave him the other day and he beat me up again. I was going to go to a shelter, but now I can’t. He’ll have his friends lie for him and get out of it and hurt me and the baby. Cris told me once, years ago, that he’d help me get away. I need to leave now. Before he comes back to the apartment this evening. Me and the baby. If I call the police, his friends here will see it, and he’ll run.”
Beat her up again?
That sealed it. “Give me your address.” Tilly grabbed her phone and plugged the info into it, mapping it. “I’m in Burbank. It says it’ll take me about forty-five minutes to get to where you are.”
She knew Cris would spank her for this, and fine, she’d let him. But it would take her hours to get to his office near Anaheim and back at that time of day. She wasn’t even sure where his meetings were today, either. He might not even be in Anaheim.
“You get everything together you can carry,” Tilly ordered. “Including anything you need for the baby. And any paperwork you have, like birth certificate, health records, photos, all of that stuff. Do you have something to write with? I’ll give you my cell phone number.”
“Okay.”
Five minutes later, Tilly was weaving through traffic, heading for the 5 and hoping to holy fuck that, for once, luck would be on her side.
She had a flash of brilliance and wheeled into a home improvement store, racing through the aisles and finding what she needed, checking out in less than five minutes. Then she was back on the road and hitting the on-ramp to the Interstate.
Tilly didn’t give a fuck what they called it in LA, it was still an Interstate.
And she wished like fuck she was in Florida, because she’d have a good friend with a concealed carry permit she could call for backup in a case like this.
* * * *
Fortune favored the bold, Tilly knew. She had traffic on her side and managed to beat the navigation system on her phone’s estimated arrival time by five minutes.
Giving her enough time to pull over once again and prep.
She took the lighter and tested it, dropping it into the left pocket of her blazer. She popped the cap on the can of wasp spray and had it ready in her lap.
Calling Fi back, Tilly’s pulse pounded in her ear until the woman answered. “Hello?”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. But we need to hurry. His friend next door left to go to the store.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be there in about two minutes. Do you have a car seat for the baby?”
“No, it’s in his brother’s car.”
Tilly was eagerly looking forward to meeting “him” and teaching “him” a lesson.
But not yet.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get a new one. Just be ready.”
Tilly’s adrenaline was pumping by the time she pulled into the ratty apartment complex’s parking area. She kept the can of wasp spray in her right hand and hit the button on the key fob to lock her doors with her left thumb as she ran for the apartment.
A young woman who looked like she’d been used as a punching bag opened the door when Tilly knocked.
Fuck. Tilly couldn’t help but let nurse mode at least visually assess her. Both her eyes were blackened, the right nearly swollen shut. Bruises ringed her neck, and she held her left arm close to her body, like her shoulder might be dislocated.
Scanning the spartan, dingy apartment as she walked in, Tilly said, “Introductions later. Where’s the baby?” Tilly sniffed the thick, close air and smelled old sweat, beer, cigarettes, and what she was pretty sure was the odor of pot.
The woman pointed to the couch where a baby, who couldn’t be more than a couple of weeks old, was strapped into a disgusting-looking carrier. She appeared to be a baby girl, judging by her dingy pink onesie.
Tilly stuck the can of wasp spray in the right pocket of her blazer, grabbed the carrier, and shouldered the overloaded, filthy diaper bag setting next to it on the couch. “What else do you have?”
“My purse, and those.” A laundry basket and two garbage bags sat by the door.
“You have everything you need? Paperwork? Pictures?”
“In the diaper bag.”
“Come on.” Tilly grabbed the heavier-looking of the two bags and headed out. The woman grabbed her purse and the laundry basket and followed her out to the car.
Tilly popped the trunk. “Dump your stuff in there.” She put the baby on the backseat and buckled the carrier in as best she could. She’d passed a Target close by and knew they’d have what she’d need.
The woman got the rest of her stuff from the apartment and brought it out.
Five minutes later, they were speeding out of the parking lot, Tilly relieved she hadn’t had to use her improvised blowtorch on anyone in the process.
Working to stifle her anger, Tilly didn’t look at the woman as she drove. “I’m Tilly.”
“I…I thought Cris was gay.”
“It’s…complicated.”
“I thought he reconciled with Landry?”
“He did. Landry’s my husband. It’s complicated.”
“I thought you said you’re Cris’ wife?”
“I…am. Sort of. It’s really complicated.”
“So you’re living here in California?”
“No, we live in Florida. We’re only out here for a few days this trip. It’s…complicated.” At the next red light, Tilly looked at her. “First things first, we need a car seat for the baby. Then I’m taking you to a damn hospital to get checked out.”
She shook her head. “I can’t go to a hospital.”
“You can, and you will. Money isn’t an issue.”
“That’s not the problem. They’ll take my baby if you do.”
Alarm bells rang in Tilly’s skull. “What are you on?”
“I’m not! I’m clean, I swear. I haven’t used since I found out I was pregnant with her, but I’m on probation. If I tell them I was living with Monroe, they’ll put me in jail for violating.”
“Why?”
“Because…” She burst into tears. “He’s in a gang. He’s got a record. There’s warrants out on him. Him and his brother, both. It’s his brother’s apartment.”
Fuck.
Oh, there was a helluva punishment caning in her immediate future, Tilly knew. And she’d take it. She deserved it for being a terminally stupid idiot and racing in there when she should have called the cops—and Cris.
“Okay. First things first,” Tilly said, “I need to get the baby a car seat.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“I said I would get it,” Tilly said. “You stay in the car.”
When Tilly arrived at the Target, she grabbed both her and Cris’ cells and tossed them into her purse. “I’ll be back s
hortly. Stay here.” She got out, unfastened the baby’s carrier from the backseat, and pocketed her car keys.
“Why are you taking her?” Sofia asked.
“Because I need to know her size,” she lied before she closed the door.
Like hell she’d leave a baby with that woman she’d just met, the mother or not. Especially knowing the woman was on the run from a violent gang asshole, and admitted being on probation.
The baby wasn’t leaving Tilly’s sight.
She got inside the store, carefully set the carrier in the cart, pulled another cart behind her, and headed for the baby section. Not only did she get the car seat, she got a new diaper bag, diapers, clothes, wipes, formula, bottles, and a folding playpen-crib—everything they’d need for their little guest.
Wasn’t hard to guess what she’d need, because she helped with Leigh’s baby all the time and knew the routine.
The car seat had a detachable carrier, which was good because this one was…gross.
Tilly returned to the car, with two carts full of stuff, and proceeded first to strip the baby and thoroughly wipe her down with wipes before changing her diaper and getting her dressed in a clean, new onesie. All while Sofia watched.
Then Sofia held the baby in her good arm while Tilly figured out the car seat, got it installed, then got the baby buckled in.
Tilly stood and looked at the woman. “What’s her name?”
“Katherine,” she said. “Katherine Crista Guerrero. I named her middle name after Cris. Sort of. He’s Cristo. I call her Katie, or KC, sometimes.”
Tilly struggled to soften her drill-sergeant approach. “How old is she?”
“Two weeks tomorrow.”
Fuck. “Are you breastfeeding?”
Sofia shook her head. “I tried and I couldn’t. I’ve still got some formula in the diaper bag. I get WIC and food stamps.”
Well, score one for intuition. The woman looked practically emaciated. With the trauma she’d obviously been through, it was no wonder she couldn’t breastfeed.
Tilly held her hand out. “Give me your cell phone.”
The woman looked confused, but handed it over without complaint. A cheap-ass burner. Tilly checked the call log.
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