Wicked Games (McCade Brothers novella)

by Samanthe Beck

She would have smiled if her lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Whoops, Ian, almost blew it, didn’t you? The fingers in her hair tightened. He didn’t use the hold to take control of the depth or pace of the proceedings, but she could tell he wanted to. So it surprised her when he suddenly let go. What the…?

  He leaned over her, more or less pinning her head between his lap and his torso, and lifted the hem of her skirt. He tucked it up into the back of her dress. When he had her bare from the waist down, save for the thong, he straightened and groaned, which she guessed might have been in combined appreciation for the view he’d just arranged for himself in the mirror behind her and the feel of his entire dick cradled securely in her mouth. She kept her lips tight, hollowing her cheeks to suck him as hard as she could. Because she knew she had an audience, she flexed her glutes at the same time.

  “You’re spectacular,” he muttered as she reversed course at a leisurely pace.

  When she reached the top, she looked up at him, ready to try her hand at some other head games. “Did you like that, nice and slow and steady? Or do you want it faster and deeper?” She knew exactly how he wanted it.

  “Jesus. Faster and deeper.”

  “Please,” she prompted.

  “Please,” he managed through a clenched jaw. “Faster. Deeper. Please.”

  The “please” sent a burst of triumph through her. In reward, she gave him faster and deeper. He cupped the back of her head and simply rested his hand there, unbelievably gentle, considering the violence of the breaths exploding from his lungs.

  She didn’t want gentle tonight. She wanted him thrusting and pumping and so desperate to come that he lost all control. So she teased him, ruthlessly, sliding her mouth up his length to the very tip and letting him hang there, just barely captured between her lips. Then she waited.

  He cursed. She smiled, and he slipped another precious millimeter.

  “I won’t do it,” he ground out. “I don’t…fuck—” He grabbed the seat with both hands, lifted his hips, and chased after her retreating mouth. She repaid his efforts by taking him in again, all the way, and giving him a good hard suck as she made her journey back up.

  It took a few more round-trips, but finally she had him perched at edge of the chair. She reached into his bunched-down shorts and found the boys. Continuing to torture his shaft with her mouth, she jostled and squeezed his balls. Conflicting, almost inarticulate words reached her ears.

  “That’s so good…so fucking amazing. I can’t take anymore…Christ, okay a little more.” But just when she had him so close she could almost taste his orgasm, he groaned, “Enough,” and pulled her up onto his lap. He fisted a hand in the back of her hair, held her still, and stared at her for a long moment.

  “You really want to do this?”

  This time his question contained an unmistakable thread of anger, and it unleashed a whole host of volatile emotions in her, including excitement. Feeling dangerous, she squirmed in his lap, lining up her hot, wet center with his thick, pulsing shaft. “That’s why I brought you here.”

  “You want me to fuck you.” His voice went flat. Resigned. Disappointed, even.

  Now her temper spiked. He’d let her walk out of his life. Yes, she’d broken up with him, but dammit, he’d always been able to read her like a large-print novel. He always understood her motivations, and even if for once he didn’t, the bottom line was he hadn’t cared enough to fight for her. Who was he to judge how she conducted herself now?

  “I want you to fuck me blind.” There, Ian. Swallow that. “Do you think you can manage that one little thing?”

  He stayed still and silent for so long she figured he knew, and was going to call off the whole charade. Screw it. She reached for his mask, but he caught her hands.

  “No. That’s one thing you don’t get, Angel.”

  Yes, she was a passably good actress, but how could he still not realize she knew it was him? Or maybe that was just how he wanted to play it? Temper edged up another notch, and so did desire. Game on. Good actress or not, she could portray a pissed-off, not-getting-what-she-wanted version of herself in her sleep. She ground against him, fighting a moan as her inner muscles tightened in anticipation of every steely, unyielding inch. “I’m sorry, but you seem to be operating under the delusion that you’re in charge here.” She tried to free her wrists from his grip.

  He held on, easily.

  She dialed her temper up a degree. He’d expect her to take a “no” badly. “Take the damn mask off.”

  “I said no. Behave. Or do I have to show you how I handle girls who won’t behave?”

  Behave? Oh, he had balls. “You did not just tell me to behave.” She struggled like a woman truly determined to get the mask off, shift the balance of power back to her, to win. He evaded her hands. Then he stood up, spun them, and, before she caught her breath, had her bent over the back of the chair.

  Chapter Five

  “You son of a bitch,” Stacy panted. “I suppose you think this puts you in control?”

  With you, never, he thought as he adjusted his loose, one-handed hold on her wrists, and awkwardly tugged his jeans up. She flexed her wrists, testing his grip, and he knew she now realized she could shake him off anytime she wanted…if she wanted. A part of him hoped she did. Another part agonized at the thought. “You made the rules, remember? No holds barred. Nothing off-limits. Sound familiar? But hey,” he patted her backside, “I understand. If I’m too much for you to handle, that’s all you have to say and we’ll call it a night. Seven little words.” He leaned over until his mouth brushed her ear. “Do you need to say it, Angel?”

  He barely had time to step out of the path of the lethally sharp high heel she aimed at his shin. She swore. He straightened and laughed, although there was nothing the least bit funny about how he felt right now.

  Furious more accurately described his state of mind—pissed beyond words that she would do something so stupid, and dangerous and just plain reckless as have sex with a stranger, especially now, with some unbalanced idiot out there sending her hate mail.

  Hurt came in a close second. Here he was, missing her so much he could barely think of anything except how to get her back, and she’d clearly moved on. Yes, she’d broken up with him. Yes, she was free to do whatever or whomever she pleased. No, that logic didn’t diminish the hurt. Not in the least. And how the hell could she not realize who he was by now? He didn’t want to be a hysterical schoolgirl about things, but she’d treated his dick like her best friend for a whole fucking year. Tonight she’d had him in her hand, and her mouth, and while he’d felt like he’d come home for the first time in godforsaken weeks, she’d been none the wiser? Hell, yeah, that hurt.

  Lastly, because somewhere along the line she’d transformed him into a sick, masochistic head case, he was also ridiculously, excruciatingly turned on. The sight of her, face down, ass up, spitting mad and spoiling for a fight, made him determined to turn her into a quivering mass of need—exactly what she’d reduced him to with her antics this evening.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever you’ve got. The real question is, am I too much for you to handle?” She stomped her foot and connected with his instep.

  A white-hot pain shot up his leg. It hurt like a mother, but even the pain made his cock throb, because it came from her. “I’m making a rule. No kicking,” he grunted and smacked her ass. Not hard, but with enough palm to make a very satisfying slapping noise.

  She let loose an equally satisfying cry—part shock, part passion—and then, bold as ever, kicked him in the shin. This time, however, she used no force. The halfhearted effort told him what she really wanted. He spanked her again. This time her cock-twisting cry edged over into a throaty moan, and he wondered if it was possible to have a coronary if all the blood in his body surged straight between his legs. Could he get so hard he might actually lose circulation to some vital parts? Fuck it. Some things were worth the risk. “Follow the rules, or I
’m not going to play. Your choice, Angel. You want some more?”

  A restless, edgy sound served as her reply, and she pushed up onto her toes. He took that as a yes, and responded with another swat to her vulnerable backside. Her husky moan wound him painfully tight. Probably pure theatrics on her part, but his dick didn’t know the difference, which made continuing the game an exercise in self-torture. Still, he refused to crack first, so he bluffed. “I can keep this up until one of us comes, but your sweet little ass is getting awfully pink, and you may need to sit down sometime in the next couple days.”

  She held her position a moment longer, out of defiance or hope, he wasn’t entirely sure, and then sagged and rested her forehead against the seat of the chair. “You’re a bastard,” she said, breathing heavy.

  The sentiment sounded so heartfelt, he couldn’t help but grin. “Undoubtedly.” He smoothed his hand over her rosy cheeks, gently, because he knew they had to be stinging just a little by now. She lifted her hips and pressed herself into his touch, like a cat. Their eyes met in the mirror. He caressed her again, lingered to tickle his fingertips along the crease. His grin deepened when she tensed and bit her lip, but failed to stifle a sigh of pleasure. “You’re going to be begging this bastard to make you scream before I’m done with you.”

  “In your dreams.”

  He traced the vee of her thong. “I’ll bet you’re so wet right now, you’ve soaked right through these very sexy panties you’ve been showing off all night.”

  “Bite me.” She struggled to stand up.

  “Don’t you worry. We’ll get to that, but, in the meantime…” He leaned over her to keep her in position and sent his fingers on a slow, unerring journey down her thong and into the juncture between her thighs, where she was warm, and soft, and very wet. “Oh yeah, I win the bet.”

  She called him another rude name, but stopped struggling. A few more gentle passes over the slick silk had her widening her stance and arching her back to give him better access.

  The urge to tear her panties off and bury himself inside her rushed through him. Somehow he resisted. “If I let go of you, will you stay put?”

  A muffled, affirmative sound served as her reply. She’d turned her head back to the chair and he couldn’t see her face. He decided it wouldn’t do. “Say, ‘Yes, sir. I’ll stay put.’”

  Her head popped up at that, and he caught the flash of hot blue eyes in the mirror. “You arrogant son of a—”

  “Now, now. You’ll hurt my feelings.” He stopped stroking between her legs, and then removed his hand completely when she tried to grind against the base of his unmoving thumb.

  Her frustrated groan had him choking back a laugh. “Yes, sir. I’ll stay put,” he prompted.

  Stubborn Stacy held out another moment, but then finally surrendered. “Yes, sir. I’ll stay put,” she gritted between clenched teeth.

  “Good girl.” He let go of her wrists and waited to see if she’d keep her word. She lowered her arms and held on to the seat of the chair. “Good girl,” he repeated. “Since tonight is Halloween, good girls get a treat.” Then he knelt behind her, lifted the ski mask up over the lower half of his face, and bestowed hot, openmouthed kisses over every inch of her punished backside. Her throaty moan vibrated along his lips, his spine, his aching balls. He ran his tongue down the line of her thong, deliberately leaving a wet trail. She gasped and bent farther forward, offering him more.

  “Greedy,” he teased and retraced his path, enjoying the way she writhed and lifted in an effort to increase the contact. With his tongue between her cheeks, he reached around and swept his hands up her ribs until he cupped her breasts. He massaged the soft undersides, while he kissed his way along the now-wet groove nature had so generously provided. He could happily spend hours right there, in part because she had the world’s best ass, but also because he knew she loved having him tease her like that. Some nights, Stacy was the one to roll onto her stomach, shove a pillow under her hips, and let him amuse himself—kissing, licking, biting his way ever closer to her tasty little clit, and then backing away, again and again, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Then he’d spread her legs wide, lift her hips, and keep the pressure on while she pushed herself to the very brink…and beyond. But he wasn’t sure she’d permit the intimacy tonight, under circumstances where, in her mind, she didn’t know him from Adam. Only one way to find out. He pushed his tongue under the strip of her thong, pinched her nipples and took the plunge.

  She cried out.

  His heart hammered in his chest. His pulse pounded between his legs. Whatever blood was left in his head abandoned ship, making it hard to think, or decide if she’d uttered a cry for more or a plea to stop. “No holds barred,” he reminded her.

  “Oh, God, I know, but…”

  “Whatever you want, Angel”—he brought his hands to her waist and licked her again—“just ask nicely. Faster? Deeper? Lower?”

  “Lower,” she panted and leaned so far over the chair he worried she might topple.

  He draped one arm over her hips to secure her, slid his other hand up the back of her thigh, thumb going deep at the top to spread her cheeks a little wider. “Lower, sir,” he corrected, and sank his teeth into the lush curve where thigh turned to buttock.

  “Lower, sir,” she managed. He angled his head between her thighs and went lower. The next sound he heard was her soft, helpless whimper when he slid his tongue under her panties and into the sweet, wet heat waiting so impatiently for his attention. He set to work, teasing, tormenting, laving in, and out, and around his favorite playground, but never actually touching her tender, swollen clit.

  Her whimpers turned sharper, more urgent. She started arching her back, jerking her hips higher, trying to get him exactly where she needed him. Typical. There he had her, bare-assed and bent over a chair, and still she fought for control. How could he not love her?

  He jerked her panties down. “Beg me to make you come.”

  This time there was no pride, no hesitation. “Oh, God, yes. Make me come. Please, sir, make me come.”

  He dove in and delivered a tongue-lashing she’d never forget. Her orgasm rolled through her like an earthquake, in ever-intensifying stages, and he felt every one of them. Her knees went weak. The thigh muscle under his hand fluttered uncontrollably. Then she bucked, and squirmed, and finally reared up on her arms, threw back her head, and cried out to high heaven, so loud and long he wondered if someone might hear her over the racket of the party and come pounding on the door. He would have loved to keep right on kissing, sucking, and stroking her straight through the first orgasm and headlong into the next, but the crisis in his pants couldn’t be ignored another second.

  He stood and toed his shoes off. Then he grabbed the condom from his pocket and shoved his jeans and shorts down. He pulled them off, careful to remove his leg holster and clutch piece in the process, but kept those tucked in his jeans, out of sight. Stacy stayed put for once, leaning limp and breathless across the back of the chair. He lifted her into his arms and dropped down onto the chair so she straddled his lap.

  “Was that what you were looking for, Angel?”

  …

  Stacy rode out the last trembling aftershocks from the mind-numbing orgasm—the kind of full-body meltdown only Ian could deliver. Shaky, sweaty, and tingling like she’d been struck by lightning, she barely registered when he lifted her and put her on his lap. She opened her eyes and immediately tumbled into his. Dammit. He pinned her with an expression she couldn’t fully read, but made her heart want to flip over in her chest and expose its soft underbelly. Which only proved she was, in fact, her own worst nightmare. No faceless stranger could lay claim to the title. She held that honor all on her own.

  Was that what you were looking for, Angel? He’d spoken quietly, but she heard the test in his voice, as if daring her to push him even one more inch.

  Oh, she dared. Pushing him was about the only thing she did dare do at this point, because she knew full w
ell her resolve would collapse like a house of cards if she came clean about their charade. And God only knew what confessions would come spilling out next. She could think of only one thing more frightening than admitting to him that she’d secretly longed for more than he’d offered. Namely, him offering it.

  Staring down a no-win situation had always made her do reckless things. Why should tonight be any different? She twisted her lips into a calculating smile, cocked her brow, and went on the attack.

  “That was a nice start. I hope the rest of you is as talented as your tongue, because it’s been way too long since I’ve had a good, hard, anonymous fuck. I’d forgotten how much I liked that kind of thrill. And that, Mystery Man, is exactly what I’m looking for from you tonight, just so we’re clear.”

  The minute the words left her lips she knew she’d pushed him too far. His eyes narrowed and burned with a heat that practically singed her skin. The hands at her waist tightened, and for a minute she thought he might push her off his lap and walk out the door.

  Her lips trembled in spite of her best efforts to lock her smile in place. She held her breath.

  …

  Jesus effing Christ, nobody on earth could piss him off like this woman. His vision actually went red. A part of him he barely recognized wanted to shake her until whatever goddamn block she’d put up in her head against their relationship rattled loose. Another part—one he recognized as raging and hurt and ravenous to pay some of that back—burned to give her the good, hard, anonymous fuck she claimed to want. He’d give it to her until he had her crying for mercy again, and then, when he had her ready to do anything…promise anything…to get some relief, he’d pull the damn mask off, look her square in the face, and make her say his name like a prayer while she came.

  “You got it, sweetheart.” With that, he slammed his mouth down on hers and kissed that infuriating smile right off her lips.

  She moaned. Her hands dived into his hair, and she held on and kissed him back with the same fervor. He felt himself sinking under and fought to stop the descent. Hell no. This was not going to be a duel for control. He was going to have her.