by Mia Downing
“Kneeling isn’t humiliating for me. It shows my desire to please.”
He chucked a pillow on the ground. “Then kneel. But on the pillow. The hardwood floors are murder on the knees.”
She slid from the bed and kneeled on the pillow, her hands on her thighs, her deep red hair cascading over her pale skin as she lowered her head. It was the most incredible sight, and his stomached tightened along with his cock. He swallowed—it had nothing to do with the pizza—and rose to walk around her.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Your shoulders, here,” he touched the width of them, “the muscles ripple. And the way your back blends into your buttocks, that seductive curve of the small of your back…” The pads of his fingers skimmed her flesh, through that dip, trailing to the crack of her ass. “Your skin is so creamy next to the deep red of your hair. I would paint you like this if you let me.” He swallowed another lump in his throat. “Look at me,” he commanded.
Violet eyes met his. She looked at him expectantly but with patience, as if his next command was the only thing on her mind.
“Are you allowed to talk?”
“Not unless you command it. Or ask me a question. Sir.”
“You did this all the time?” At her nod, he shifted uncomfortably, hoping this wasn’t what she eventually wanted here, in the house, full time. He liked all facets of Charlotte, from the diamond hard to the molten gold. Something told him if her happiness was his destiny, then submissive Charlotte twenty-four/seven wasn’t the solution. “It sounds like a lot of work, on both sides.”
“Lazy,” she whispered. Her face fell, and she dropped her eyes to the floor.
“What?”
“I would have been punished for that. I’ve forgotten quickly how to be submissive.”
A part of him curled up and died at the thought of punishing her for telling him the truth. There was no way in hell he was breaking Charlotte. He’d seen the results of that already. His goal was her happiness. So what would make her happy?
He thought for a moment. “Your punishment is you have to give up one slice of your pizza,” he commanded, using the voice from the Medieval fantasy movie, all balls and glory. The starving island nation of Charlotte would regret that one slice. “And you have to surrender some of the brownies you’ve hoarded. Rise and eat, woman. You need strength if I’m to take you again.”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, but she rose and did his bidding, hiding a half smile. “Do you have any other negotiations?”
“Negotiations?”
She nodded as she sat on the bed and put the plate back in her lap. “That’s what Doms do. They negotiate things they want and need in bed. What they need from a relationship.”
“Do you get to voice what you want?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.” She cocked her head at him. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was not to be hurt, physically. I’d do clamps or a spanking with a hand only, but that was it.”
“What do you want now, Charlotte?”
Charlotte blinked. It was as if time and space had shifted, only it was Aaron before her instead of Chase, asking her what she wanted. Her heart pounded like it did in the hotel so many years ago as she contemplated the next step in her life. Only she didn’t have an answer. None of the options were safe.
The old part of her loved easily and completely, no questions asked. She could see that old part of herself loving Aaron. He was sweet, kind, and gentle, and she realized that was exactly what the cold, hard, and mean in her needed.
“Charlotte?”
She glanced at Aaron, so handsome cross-legged on the bed, his cock semi-hard between his thighs. Her goals didn’t allow her to have wants or needs. But she could cater to his.
“I want to be the woman who helps you break the Anderson record,” she whispered, her hand at her throat. That wasn’t at all what she wanted, but it was safe.
She expected a smart-assed remark, a grin, or a whoop of joy because sex camp was in session. But instead, he stared at her, using the same locking gaze Jake used when he wished to search her soul. “I don’t want you to be ready for me, Char. For sex, I mean. If you’re horny on your own, fine. But I don’t want that to be a part of the deal.”
Her eyes flew to his. What? Why? So odd, this punk of a man.
“I want to bring you there. Myself. Okay?”
She nodded, trembling just a little, because that nod was all she could manage. How different, to want to share her pleasure, own it from the beginning. So…unselfish. She never would have thought that of Aaron, the punk snot.
He shrugged, and she realized she was staring, so she dropped her gaze. “I expect lots of foreplay if we’re going for four. And I need you to talk to me, so I can learn you better. So none of this silence crap.”
The gentleness of his demands tugged in her tummy. He did want to own her. Possess her. Just in his own way. “Anything else, Sir?”
“No more Sir. And I read somewhere that you’re to shave—you know.” He gestured to her pussy. “I don’t want you to shave, unless you want that. If it’s humiliating, then don’t. I want you to be proud and kick-ass. I don’t know if kick-ass women have pubic hair or not, but whatever. I like you as you are.”
“Okay.” How odd that he didn’t want to change her, to mold her into something else.
He nodded and ran a finger down the length of her nose, then lifted her chin upward so she would meet his conflicted gaze. “I want you to be my Danger Girl. Can you do that, for me? I want you to be dangerous, hot and girly, and if ditching the panties sometimes makes you hotter and more dangerous, then go for it. That’s what makes me horny as hell, when you’re hot and ready to kill me, all at the same time.”
And he was horny as hell, his cock lengthening, jutting out from his crossed legs. Her breath caught in her throat, and she struggled for understanding. Clarity. She met his gaze, the pupils widened with lust, every breath shallow. If she touched his throat, the pulse there would be rapid under her fingers, just like hers.
She’d never thought of Charlotte as attractive. How could she be, to any man? She was an assassin. Her training had taken over and had made her something unlovable. Until now.
Aaron wanted her to be…Charlotte.
Need slammed into her, the desire so great if she didn’t have him inside her, she’d burn to a crisp on the duvet. Her pussy creamed, aching to be filled, hard and fast. Her skin and breasts tingled, needing him over her, touching, sucking, caressing. He wanted to be the one to make her ready, and he had with his gentle demands and needs.
She rose on shaky legs, set their empty plates on the tray on the bureau, the pan of brownies on top for later. Then she returned to the bed where he sat, looking confused and expectant, more gorgeous and hornier than a man had a right to be. She would have tackled him, straddling him, but he probably wasn’t ready for that yet. Not with his past.
Instead, she flopped on her back and dragged him on top of her, reveling in the hardness of his body, his weight between her thighs. “I’m hot and ready to kill you. Right now, punk.”
His eyes flared with excitement. “How?”
“Death by sex. You game?”
“Hell, yes. Kill me.”
“If you survive, maybe you’ll earn another blow job,” she growled and kissed him, hard and demanding, his Danger Girl until the power shifted.
Then she would only be his girl.
Chapter Ten
Aaron rose the next morning, surprised to find Charlotte gone, the tray of paper plates and other picnic sundries gone. He’d swear it was all a dream except the room smelled of pizza and sex, and her panties hung over the arm of the chair. He felt mighty sore, like he’d fucked an army of Charlottes, every muscle on fire and stiff and his cock unable to muster even a little wood.
It was the best feeling, ever.
He pulled on some pajama pants, rifled through his drawers for clothes to chang
e into after a shower—his water bill would break the bank, all these showers—and went out.
To see his Danger Girl dressed, sitting on his brother’s lap—sidesaddle, not astride. Jake sported facial hair again, his long hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Charlotte whispered something, then tugged him close and kissed him. Not slow, not fast, not intimate. She pulled away, wrinkled her nose, and stood.
Those violet eyes met his, and she smiled, one of delicious delight. Aaron didn’t know if he should yell or just wait, because she could still kill him. He waited. She approached, rose on tiptoe, kissed him a lot longer and more intimately than she had kissed his brother, and whispered, “No facial hair. That’s a deal breaker.”
She sashayed down the hall and into Jake’s room, the door banging shut.
Aaron turned to stare at Jake.
His brother flung his hands in the air in immediate surrender. “I didn’t instigate that. I asked her about date night, she gave me a smile and plopped down. Honest.”
“Should I be mad she’s making moves on you or just let it go.”
“If she wanted me, she could have had me by now. She kisses me for work purposes. We’ve lived together, but she has always felt like a sister. I wouldn’t worry.” Jake cocked his head, studying Aaron with intensity. “Why was she crying?”
Sure, asshole, turn this back on him. “We had a…misunderstanding.”
“Charlotte doesn’t cry. Not in eons.” Jake hesitated. “Did she have a nightmare?”
“Nightmare? No.” He’d done this all on his own. Aaron glared, knowing now why she did it so much. “This is really awkward and weird.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I fucked up, but I made things right, okay? And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”
Jake assessed him for a long moment and then nodded. “I am regretting giving you children a ball to play with. I should have known she’d try to shoot it, and you’d question the thing to death until there was nothing left to play with. Oil and water, you two, and they don’t mix. Maybe she’s vinegar. She’s awful acerbic at times.”
“Give us time to learn the rules, dude. She hasn’t shot me yet.” Aaron didn’t agree about the not mixing. If you shook oil and vinegar really hard, it became salad dressing. “You knowing we’re sleeping together is weird. So can we just pretend it didn’t happen, and if she comes into my room, we’re just playing cards or something?”
“Yeah, no.”
They both sighed. Jake finally said, “She ate all the brownies, didn’t she?”
“Yep.” She had devoured them after he’d made her come again, this time unbound, her ordering him to fuck her harder. He hoped he got used to her wanting it that rough, because the thought of hurting her scared the hell out of him, and not because she could snap his neck.
“Shit,” Jake said. “I’ll have to learn how to make a cake. That’s my next chore. God damn that woman of mine, making me cook for the bottomless pit. Tia doesn’t get that a pan of brownies is not going to make Char fat or happy.”
Aaron’s head snapped up as he remembered something from the night before, that Jake had said. No, Charlotte couldn’t be happy, not when something in her future loomed, all dark and scary. “What is she training for?”
Jake sucked in a breath. “What?”
“Her endgame. What is she training for? I sort of listened in on your private conversation, which sort of led to her crying.”
Jake stood and gave him a stare that vied Charlotte’s for frosty. “Don’t ask, Aaron. Don’t ask her, don’t ask me, okay? It’s just easier. Don’t fall in love with her, don’t do anything more than just enjoy this moment in time. I took a big risk in pushing her in your direction. Don’t make me wish I hadn’t gambled.”
“Okay.”
“Are you sure you get it? This is sex only, something we Anderson men get all too well. She knows this, too. Wrong of me, wrong of her, but there it is.”
“I get it.” But he didn’t. He wasn’t so sure he wanted just sex anymore, and no one had asked his opinion.
“Good.”
Charlotte came back down the hall, glowering, holding a shirt Jake must have pulled from the dryer this morning. She shoved it in Aaron’s face, pissed as hell. “You washed my shirt.”
Aaron waved away the now nice-smelling shirt that had been stinky when he’d scooped her up from Jake’s bed. The shirt had practically begged him for washing. “Yeah. I did a load last night. Jake put it in the dryer. Why?”
“Oh, Jesus, don’t do her laundry, man. Just don’t,” Jake muttered, a hand on his brow. “I should have told you sooner. Don’t touch her stuff.” He said a little louder, “Char, you can sleep in my bed if you want.”
“I’ll be fine.” But she chucked the clean shirt at Aaron, stormed back down the hall, and slammed Jake’s bedroom door.
“Really? Because the shirt needed washing,” Aaron hollered after her. Then he turned to Jake. “She’s not sleeping with you, pervert.”
“Don’t touch her stuff,” Jake warned. “Look, don’t talk to her about this, either. Just let it go, say you’re sorry when she’s not so pissed and don’t touch her laundry again. If she’s not sleeping with me, then you’ll have to sleep with her. Not sex, sleep.” He stood. “I’m off to work. Don’t forget what I said. Sex only, don’t touch her shit, don’t do her laundry. Your balls will thank me later.” He slapped Aaron on the shoulder and walked out.
There was no way in hell Aaron was letting this go. All this fucking nonsense over a shirt. And he didn’t appreciate being used for sex only. He stormed down to the back bedroom, opened the door, expecting her to be tossing stuff around. Instead, she was on the floor doing push-ups, the guy way, and she wasn’t struggling.
“Okay, tell me why I couldn’t wash your stinky shirt? Because that sucker reeked of some other man, and granted, I dragged you back to my bed, but you smelling of another man is a deal breaker.”
She glared and did push-ups faster. Good lord, he knew she was fit, because there wasn’t a single soft spot on her entire body. Her ass flexed, and he swore he could have bounced quarters off of it. It made his cock as hard as a rock.
“Answer me, damn it. Whose shirt is it?” Aaron thought for a moment, digging deep, because her baggage seemed to rule everything. “Your husband’s?”
“No.” She glared harder and went to one-handed push-ups, her left hand behind her back. Aaron broke out in a sweat, watching her, knowing if she were on her feet, he’d be on his ass, wishing he could see straight to do push-ups.
He glanced around the room. Her bag was on the floor, and one of his T-shirts was on the top, draped over the side. He leaned over, tugged, and gestured to her with it. “You stole my T-shirt, too. Thief.”
That got her attention. She leaped to her feet and yanked it out of his hands. “I’m not a thief.”
He grabbed it back. “Are, too, this is mine.” He sniffed it. “And it’s not a clean one.”
“You can have it back.”
“Damned straight.” He thought for a long moment, staring at her, her floral scent washing over him, overriding his own smell. So familiar. He knew her, but from where, and it was more than the wedding. He glanced at the shirt, and then back at her. “I was missing T-shirts in England.”
“So?” But she looked rattled and turned away a little too late. He saw a flicker of something. Not fear—Danger Girl didn’t do fear. But it was something that made him wrack his brain. Why did he remember the tattoo, her scent… Which was why when she rescued him, she wasn’t so scary, like most women. He knew her, damn it. He just had to place where.
Missing shirts, England, cute gofer girl he had tried to ask out… Bingo.
“You were in England, weren’t you? Shit, yes. That’s where I know you from. The set.” He spun her around and stared at her. “Eyes were lighter blue, carrot red hair, different accent. Glasses, right?”
“No.” But her eyes were wide with actual, real fear. Buste
d. So busted.
“Don’t lie to me, baby. You were on location, spying on me. Stealing my T-shirts. You going to sell them or what? They’ll be worth something after this weekend. You should toss in a used condom, too. You’d be surprised what the girlies will buy.”
She backed away, her eyes wide. “Aaron, no. It wasn’t like that.”
Aaron sighed. He honestly didn’t think she’d sell his stuff online, but once judgmental, always judgmental. It rattled him more that she was there, in England, watching him. Stealing his shirts. “Then enlighten me, Ma’am.”
She tossed her hands in the air in surrender and started pacing. “Okay, yes, my job was to watch over you. Celia mostly, because Chase had this feeling that she was up to something besides wanting to screw you senseless. I was there, and my job was to not speak to you at all, which was hard, because you kept trying to corner me and get me alone.”
“I wanted to ask you out.” He’d been drawn to her, but she had avoided him like the plague.
“Yeah, I know. Do you know what Chase would have done to me? I got in enough trouble over England. I didn’t need that, too.” She tugged at her ponytail. “The first night we were here, I overheard you whining to Jake that I didn’t know who you were. I know everything about you, Aaron. I have a dossier on you. I know you’re AB negative, you had your appendix out when you were twelve, and you’re allergic to cherries.”
“Helpful.” And creepy.
“Oh, that’s not all I know. I know you like whisky, like Jake, and during that movie, you snuck shots whenever you could. You showed up buzzed to more than one scene. When Jason Smythe asked you to do lines, you thought he meant script lines. To your surprise, he offered you coke instead. You said no, but you were so tempted to get high. What will happen on the next movie, Aaron? What will keep you from going down that path?”
“You’re going to turn this back at me?” But she was right. He’d wanted to get high in the worst way but had been afraid. He’d never even smoked pot. His brothers just drank and whored as teens—no drugs. He worried like hell about the next movie because he wasn’t sure what would keep him from temptation.