“Carl!” Kat took off at a dead run in the direction of the cottage.
Please, Lord, let the ground swallow me.
Dalton grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “What the hell happened?”
The tears broke free. “I—I—I had sex with Carl, and I paid for it!”
Chapter Six
“Carl! Carl, damn it, wake up!”
Carl groaned and rolled over, frowning at Kat’s strident shriek. “Goddammit, woman, it’s my day off.”
“What did she do to you? Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”
Carl finally opened his eyes, bright sunlight nearly blinding him. When he realized where he was, that he was naked and Kat was on the bed with him, he almost rolled off the edge. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He gathered the sheet around him toga-style and dodged Kat’s hand as she tried to touch his forehead.
“Carmen said she—well, she didn’t say what she did to you, just that she was so sorry, and I—”
“Carmen...” Looking around, he couldn’t find her. “Where is she?”
Kat stared at him as if she thought him mad, raised a finger toward the door, and said, “She left.”
“Left? She can’t!” He scrambled from the bed, tripped as his feet tangled in the sheet, and stumbled through the door.
“Hey! Carl...?”
He didn’t stop at Kat’s concerned call. Holding the sheet at his waist with one fist, he slammed the other against the front door to shove his way outside and ran down the path—just in time to see Carmen slip behind the wheel of a sleek little convertible.
“Carmen, stop!”
She glanced his way. The engine rumbled to life.
Carl ran, uncaring of the expense his bare feet would pay for his dash across the crushed seashell lot. He darted past Dalton, vaguely heard him say something about a torn-up check, and skidded to a halt in front of the car. He slapped a hand on the hood.
Having been looking over her shoulder to back up, she spun around to face him and frowned. He could tell she’d been crying. Her cheeks were damp and splotchy. Her eyes still glistened with unshed tears.
“Get out of the way.” She fought with the gearshift to get it into first, grinding the gears.
“Mistress, stop. Please—”
“Don’t call me that. I’m n-not your mistress. K-Kat is. I’ve no right to do what I did to you. I’m s-so sorry.”
“No, wait. What you did? Mis—Carmen, wait. Let’s talk about this.”
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. She squeezed her eyes shut tight.
He took advantage of that, rounded the hood of the car, and leapt over the door to plop onto the passenger’s seat. The move startled her.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get out.”
“No.”
She scowled at him. “I said, get out.”
He turned toward the door but, instead of opening it, he buckled himself in with the seatbelt.
She gaped then shouted, “Katriona, come and get your slave out of my car.”
Carl crossed his arms over his bare chest, cast a glance down to ensure the sheet still hid everything important, and gave her an I’m-not-going-anywhere smirk.
“What seems to be the problem now?” Dalton said, approaching the car with Kat by his side.
“Your slave will not obey and get out of my car.”
Kat looked at him then at Carmen. “He does have a tendency to misbehave, but you see, today’s his day off. He only answers to my orders when on the clock so-to-speak. The rest of the time...” She gave a sympathetic, and completely helpless, shrug.
Carl bit the inside of his right cheek to keep the smile from escaping.
“Dalton...?” Carmen asked in a tone emblazoned with last-ditch hopefulness.
“Don’t look at me. He’s never obeyed me worth a damn.”
She slapped the steering wheel with an exasperated, “Ugh!”
Carl ducked his head to hide his grin as she rattled off a string of Spanish—expletives, no doubt.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to explain to him what you told me,” Dalton continued. “Trust him to hear you out, and listen to whatever it is he’s so determined to discuss with you. Then, if you still want to part company, I’m sure you’ll find a way to kick him out, sheet and all.”
She gave him a long, hard look. He didn’t see it, but he felt it. “Will you. Please. Get. Out.” She spoke as if she were talking to a hardheaded child or thought he lacked understanding of the English language.
“No, ma’am.” He kept his face and gaze down, although he could spot her scowl out of the corner of his eye. “Not until we talk...in private,” he said, adding the last part as a not-so-subtle hint to the other dominant persons present.
The crunch of seashells told him they heard his message and willingly offered him the privacy he needed.
“I’m warning you; I’m leaving.”
He didn’t budge, not even an eyelash.
“You can’t ride around town like that. Get out, and I’ll call you later.”
He grinned, shook his head, and didn’t believe her for a minute.
“Fine! Fuck it. If you want to sit there like some frat-boy at a toga party, be my guest, but don’t expect me to put the roof up.”
She slammed her foot on the gas pedal and peeled out of the driveway.
Wind whipped at his hair and the corner of the sheet that hung over the door. He gathered it in and held onto it. He knew his cover wouldn’t blow out since he sat on some of it, but he didn’t need a white flag waving at every passing motorist. He’d been in costume and seated in Kat’s Vette while pulled over by a cop one too many times already. He didn’t feel like explaining his choice of attire, or lack thereof, to anyone else with a badge and handcuffs.
Especially with a distraught, teary-eyed woman at the wheel. Thankfully she didn’t drive recklessly once the tires hit blacktop.
“Carmen, say something,” he said, his tone guarded, his volume loud enough to overcome the wind.
She ignored him and turned on the radio, tuned to a Spanish station.
Okay. He had one pissed off Domme on his hands, and no clue as to why. But if she wasn’t going to talk, then he would. She hadn’t ordered him to be quiet and, with the way they were going, he doubted he would obey even if she did.
“If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. I’m a very patient man. I can wait as long as it takes.”
She glanced his way then glared back at the road, her luscious lips pressing into a tight, thin line.
He let several more miles go by—waited for her to turn onto a residential street that he recognized. It led to the Montgomerys’ estate.
“Are you from Spain, too? Any relation to the Montgomerys?”
No answer.
“Have you known Olivia long? Dalton said you were their guest at the club.”
No response.
“Do you realize how adorably sexy you look when you’re angry?”
Her jaw ticked, her knuckles whitened, but she kept silent. The wind whipped her long hair about, which added to the vision of feminine pique.
After a while, she turned into the drive and pulled into a slot in the multi-car garage. He watched her turn off the engine and remove the key before he opened his own car door to get out.
She got out and started to walk away.
He rounded the car to follow. “Mistress, please—”
She spun around to face him. “I said don’t call me that.”
He stood still, the sheet like a drape around his legs. “What did I do that was so wrong that you had to leave...?” He left off the word me at the end as an odd, uncomfortable tug in his chest made him wonder at the importance of that question. Why should it matter so much to him?
Her expression softened. “Oh, no. Dios, no. You did nothing wrong.” Tears once more beaded along her lower lashes. A blink released one to trail down her cheek. “Don’t you see? I
did.”
“You?” He took a tentative step forward, the urge to snatch her into his arms strong.
“You told me you aren’t a gigolo, but I treated you like one. I paid for you, had sex with you.” She turned away. “The things I said...the things I ordered you to do...all for money.”
“No!” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him. The sheet fell in a pile at his feet, and he didn’t care one whit.
“I’m so sorry, Carl, but you don’t belong to me. I had no right to—”
He kissed her hard, shutting off her apology. How could she possibly think the night they’d had together—that everything he’d done—had been for money? He recalled Dalton’s words earlier and pulled back enough to ask, “Dalton tore up your check, didn’t he?”
She tried to push away, but he held on to her upper arms. Her palms pressed against his bare chest. Her gaze locked with his. “It changes nothing except that the women’s shelter pays the price for my stupidity.”
A sudden wave of anger swept through him. He shook her once, just enough to cause her eyes to widen and her lips to part. “You did nothing wrong. Do you understand me? Nothing.”
She was already shaking her head, so he released her arms to cradle her face.
“You bought a three-day stay in a cottage with me to serve your meals and pamper you with an occasional massage. What I chose to do beyond that was my choice to make. I did what I did because I wanted to, not because you’d bid in a charity auction. You didn’t offer to pay me to hold you in my arms. I wouldn’t accept a dime for the time I shared with you in that bed, and you damn sure aren’t paying me to do this.”
He claimed her mouth in another kiss, this one filled with all of the frustration and need that dueled inside his body. She stiffened for a brief moment before melting against him. He wrapped an arm around her to hold her in place while he continued to explore the warm recesses of her mouth with his tongue.
Slowly her hands crept upward, over his shoulders and around his neck. His cock was now the only stiff thing between them. He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the entry door of the house. After a muffled yelp, because he refused to release her from the kiss, she clung to him, but he noticed her grip wasn’t nearly as tight as the last time when she’d feared he might drop her. That flicker of increased trust made him smile as he pulled away to look at her.
Without a word, she turned the knob, and he stepped into a large, immaculate kitchen. He let the door close and moved toward the granite countertop island, but she said, “Stop.”
Years of training as a submissive kicked in enough that his steps halted instantly. But he didn’t release her or put her down. He thought she was having second thoughts, and as much as he wanted to fuck her, he wouldn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do.
He held his breath, but released it on a sigh when he realized the error of his assumption the moment she said, “The alarm. I have to turn it off.”
He turned back to see a keypad on the wall and carried her near it. After she punched in the code, she wrapped her arms back around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.
Carl closed his eyes briefly, raised his face toward the ceiling, and took a deep breath. He wanted to see her stretched out on a bed, her ebony waves spread out to frame her face, but the urgent throb in his cock had him heading for the island instead.
He set her on the countertop and nudged his hips between her legs. With one arm around her, he ran his other palm gently over her cheek, down her neck, and let his gaze follow.
Her eyes were shut, her kiss-plumped lips slightly parted, and she lifted her chin in sweet invitation—one that he was more than willing to accept. He pressed a kiss to her chin then traced the delicate line of her jaw with more light nips. When he locked on to the tender skin just below her ear, the short nails of her fingers bit into his back. He suckled there because he wanted to and knew by the telltale whimper that escaped her mouth that she wanted him there, too. The suction with which he drew on her flesh would leave a mark, at least for a little while, and the idea of seeing his mark on her body made him that much harder.
He slipped a hand beneath the T-shirt she wore and cupped a breast, pleased to discover she hadn’t donned a bra. Without asking, he lifted the shirt. When she raised her arms to let him remove it entirely, he smiled. She lowered her arms, leaned back on her hands, and gazed at him through thick lashes.
He didn’t meet her eyes, instead choosing to watch his hand as he trailed it over her body from her jaw to her navel and up to her perfectly rounded breasts. His other hand remained splayed on her thigh, his thumb lightly caressing the smooth flesh mere centimeters from where he most wanted to be. He inched the hand closer and slipped a couple of fingertips beneath the hem of her shorts.
He looked up to see her eyelids drift lower and the pink tip of her tongue sneak out to swipe across her lips. He flicked his thumb across one erect nipple and noticed the catch in her breath.
His cock throbbed with the need to slide into her moist depths, to feel her warm body grip him in divine torture, but he didn’t want this time with her to be only about what he wanted. He had to show her that what he’d done at her command the night before fulfilled his wish as well as her own. That he chose to serve her, pleasure her, lo—make love to her.
He bent over her to lave the tip of one breast. His fingers went to work on removing her athletic shorts. She lifted her hips, which enabled him to slide them down her legs and over her sneaker-clad feet. He didn’t bother to remove her shoes. She hadn’t bothered to wear panties. And he didn’t know whether that meant she never wore them or she had been in such a rush to leave him that she didn’t waste time with extra layers of clothing.
He sucked her nipple into his mouth while his hands rubbed circles over her thighs, hips, and buttocks. He moved on to devote the same attention to her other breast and, although his thumbs drew nearer to her cunt, he held off. Close enough to make her whine and slide forward.
He longed to hear her tell him what she wanted, but knew now was not the time to ask for such things. Besides, even if she kept silent, her naturally dominant nature made her demands clear in other ways. Her nipples were hard. Her back arched, and her hips lifted toward his touch. As her ass balanced on the edge of the island’s countertop, the heels of her sneakers made their presence known with nudges on the back of his thighs.
He got the picture and fought with a smile as he kissed his way down her body. He paused to lightly tongue her navel then positioned her legs over his shoulders. But instead of going where she urged him to go—where he wanted to be—he turned and bit her inner thigh hard enough to make her gasp, but not hard enough to cause real harm.
She held herself up with one hand and grabbed a handful of his hair with her other. Yes, she liked that, so he did it again and felt the urgent tug on his head—an attempt to make him hurry.
As you wish, he thought with an inner smile. He ran his tongue over her thigh in tiny circles, each one drawing nearer to her center. Then without warning, he jabbed a finger into her wet pussy.
“Oh! Ohh...” Her startled cry turned into an erotic hum as he added a second finger and then a third in rapid succession. With each thrust, he curled his fingers to rub across her G-spot while he used his other hand to tease and pluck at her clit.
Her heels dug into his back, her fist tightened on his hair, and her thighs shuddered with simmering arousal. He couldn’t wait another second; he had to taste her, make her come. He pushed deep inside her and timed the thrust perfectly with the hard suck of his mouth on her clit. A second and third draw followed. By the forth, she came with a long, sharp scream, her body wracked with shivers. He pumped his fingers into her some more to draw out the last of her orgasm and drank in the juices of her climax.
When he finally stood, he realized she’d collapsed back onto both elbows, her chest rising rapidly with each pant she took. Her eyes remained closed. Her head was tipped b
ack, and her legs hung in a limp sprawl over each of his arms. She was the very image of a sensual siren, sated on pleasure, and a temptation to sin.
He was just getting started.
His cock ached for more of her, a need he chose to answer with a quick, solid thrust into her body.
“Oh, fuck!”
The intensity of Carmen’s exclamation matched the spike of pleasure that sliced through his body. He damn near climaxed right then. Every muscle he had locked up in his attempt to stay the rising tide. He gritted his teeth and froze, his cock buried to the hilt.
He sucked in a huge lungful of air and squeezed his eyes shut until a kaleidoscope of light burst inside his mind. He held still, too afraid to move, while the walls of her pussy contracted around his cock in the most exquisite torment.
He felt every beat of his heart pulse inside his cock like a constant jab prodding him to move. Take. Seek his own release.
After a moment, she raised her head and opened her eyes to reveal a dark, passionate temptation. He knew he should look away, but she’d captured him with such unvarnished desire that he might as well have been bound hand and foot to her side.
Her lips opened on a sigh, and he was drawn in. He had to taste her. Fuck her. Make her his.... My mistress.
He lifted her toward him with a hand at her nape and claimed her mouth with his own. Her arms wrapped around him in a sweet embrace. He pulled his hips back and shoved forward again. And again, never once releasing her from the kiss that bound him to her with a strength that surpassed any chain.
He grabbed her ass with both hands and held her firm while he powered into her. She threw back her head with a gasp for air, and he latched onto her neck. She clawed at his back and met each thrust. Her pussy fisted him, milked him, enclosed him in moist heat.
His balls drew up tight, the climax imminent, but his mind fought against it.
“Mistress, please! I can’t—”
“Come,” she shouted.
He rammed in hard, lodged against her womb, and welcomed the orgasm that erupted from him.
Chapter Seven
Anna Leigh Keaton & Madison Layle - Incognito 06 - Charming Carmen Page 6