by Mina Dorian
Catherine moved towards her clothes. She dropped the bra and panties on the seat of the chair, then slipped on her skirt and blouse. She was still fumbling with the buttons when Markus grabbed her hair again and dragged her with him towards the door. She struggled and he pulled a knife from the pocket of his leather jacket flicking open the blade.
“Stop that!” he hissed at her, waving the knife in front of her face, then yanked her forward again.
He is completely insane!
Catherine’s whole body shook with fear and tears welled up in her eyes as she stumbled blindly forward.
Markus had pulled her halfway across the office when he suddenly stopped and let go of her hair. Catherine collided with his shoulder before she realised what was happening. She took a quick step backwards to put some space between them.
Catherine looked up and could have wept with relief. There, leaning casually in the doorway of her office, one eyebrow raised in question, stood her own private Lancelot, her knight in shining armour.
Jon’s voice was low and menacing when he asked, “What the fuck is going on here?”
Markus was dumb enough to try to reason with Jon. “Nothing. I came to get what is mine. She’s my wife. I’m taking her home.”
“No.” Jon and Catherine spoke simultaneously and their gazes met briefly. Jon’s calm expression reassured Catherine.
Markus grabbed her arm again and pulled her towards the door. “I have no time for this,” he snapped. “Our flight is leaving at eleven o’clock from Stansted and we still need to get to the airport.”
Catherine dug in her heels as best she could and shook her head vehemently. “No” she said again, this time with a little more confidence.
After that, everything happened very quickly. Markus whirled around to face her, knife in hand, his face contorted with rage. He grabbed her right arm with his left and brought his right hand forward to thrust the knife at her again. Catherine screamed in panic when the blade pierced the skin of her throat just below the collar. She tried to fend him off with her one free hand, but Markus was stronger and the knife came perilously close to her face. Then the hand that held the knife suddenly disappeared as Markus was pulled backwards by a strong arm around his throat. Catherine saw him struggle and writhe in Jon’s grasp, then he suddenly went limp and sank to the floor.
“Is he dead?” she whispered.
“No, unfortunately the bastard is still alive,” Jon said. “I just pressed on his larynx and put him out cold.”
“How did you know how to do that?”
“I took a first-aid course when I decided to become a Dom. It seemed the smart thing to do.” He shrugged. “You’re bleeding.” He took out a clean handkerchief from a pocket and pressed it to the cut on her throat, which was now bleeding profusely. He pulled his mobile phone from his jacket pocket with the other hand. He flipped the phone open and punched in a number. “Greg?” he barked into the receiver, “can you come over to your office right away? We have a situation here and I need your help with handling the police.” He listened for a moment then said, “Thanks,” and flipped the phone shut.
Jon’s gaze focused on Catherine’s face. Tears ran down her cheeks now but she didn’t really know why she was crying.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “I will call the police and an ambulance in a second. We had better just say that Greg and I were picking you up for a beer after work and that I walked in while Markus was trying to kill you. Take off the collar and put on your underwear, please. This had better look as vanilla as possible when the police arrive. It’ll all go much smoother and we don’t really have to lie to them. I mean—he is a raving lunatic out to kill you.”
Catherine nodded. She wondered briefly how Jon knew Greg but dismissed the thought immediately. There were more important things to think about now. She hoped Markus would be locked away for good. She didn’t think she would ever feel safe again with him still out to get her.
The ambulance arrived first and a young paramedic took care of the cut on Catherine’s neck. Fortunately it wasn’t too deep and as she needed neither stitches nor a tetanus shot, she didn’t have to go to the hospital. Markus was a different case. They were still trying to wake him up when the police arrived in the form of two middle-aged male constables and a younger female officer in civilian clothes. They listened to Jon’s version of events, then Catherine’s. Markus began to stir before they were done. The paramedics checked his throat and pronounced him healthy enough to be arrested. Catherine watched, stunned with relief, as her ex-husband was handcuffed and dragged out of the office. They could hear him screaming and cursing all the way down the stairs. Catherine supposed that calling the police officers names wouldn’t really help his case. She hoped the two constables had at least some grasp of German to fully appreciate his colourful tirade.
Two hours later, Catherine, Jon and Greg had finally signed their reports at the police station and were sent home.
What a night!
Catherine shuddered when she thought about Markus’ claim that he had wanted to take her home. She had been lucky—lucky to be alive and not dead on her office floor, or on the next flight back to Germany with her soon-to-be ex-husband, the psycho. She rested her head against Jon’s shoulder as they walked towards his car and he put his arm around her, drawing her close to his side.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s all going to be fine. I’m here to take care of you now.”
Somehow, that sounded so damn reassuring that Catherine almost began to cry again.
Epilogue
Catherine lay back in the warm, rose-scented water of Jon’s big bathtub. His arms were wrapped around her, and he was slowly teasing one nipple with his left hand while the other played lightly between her thighs. She was sitting in the circle of his legs, leaning against his broad chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She could feel his semi-erect shaft at the small of her back. The man truly was a machine! They had made love twice tonight already. First, he had frantically fucked her in the hallway just after they’d got home. He had taken her standing up, her back to the wall, her skirt and panties pushed out of the way as she’d wrapped her legs around his hips to take him even deeper. They had both been moaning and panting with need and it had been over quickly. After a few minutes of feverish coupling they had both climaxed hard, then slid to the floor in a tangled heap. They had needed to get the panic out of their system, she guessed.
After that, Jon had dragged her over to his big bed to make love to her more slowly. He had kissed her deeply while they’d rolled in the rose petals on the silky black sheets. The different textures had felt incredibly smooth and arousing on Catherine’s bare skin, and she had giggled with pleasure while Jon had let more rose petals rain down on her body.
Jon had made her kneel on all fours and rubbed warm, scented oil into her pussy and arsehole. She had relaxed under his touch, her eyes drooping closed as his hands caressed her most intimate openings. But then the oil had begun to work its magic. It had driven her wild, her pussy tingling with need for him, the sensitive nerve endings around her arsehole burning for his touch. She had gasped and rocked herself back against his hands. He had told her to hold still and enjoy it while he teased her slowly and carefully, his touch never quite enough to make her come. Catherine had whimpered, her whole body shaking with the need to climax again, but Jon had been relentless, teasing her only just enough to keep her on the brink of orgasm, then stopping again until she cried out in need and frustration.
Her writhing and crying had earned her a few hard slaps on her buttocks, interrupted by more teasing, so the stinging pain mingled with the pleasure of Jon’s caressing hands until Catherine hadn’t been able to control herself any longer. She had climaxed so hard that she had seen bright stars explode under her closed eyelids. Jon had taken her from behind, driving himself first into her pussy, then her arsehole until she came again, while Jon was groaning with the strength of his own orgas
m.
And now it felt as if the man would soon be ready to go again!
It was three in the morning and the room was dark except for a few candles. Catherine stared out of the window, her gaze fixed on the dark water of the Thames without really seeing it, her thoughts wandering. After making love to her, Jon had made dinner and brought out the champagne to celebrate their one-week anniversary. She had let him fix the collar around her sensitive neck again, but she hadn’t been prepared for his question.
“I would like you to move in with me,” he had said, “not as my sub or my slave but as my partner, as an equal in all things. I want to play with you and make love to you whenever the fancy takes us and I want to wake up with you in my arms every day. I know that what we share is not a full-blown D/s relationship, but I think it could be so much more. With you I feel I can do whatever I want—whatever we want. And, Catherine, I sincerely hope you feel the same way about me. Will you please come live with me?”
She had been dumbstruck, ready to start crying again. What was it with her and tears lately? And she still wasn’t sure how to answer him.
What if she really was a bad judge of character? Wasn’t her choice of a husband proof enough of that? How could she throw herself head over heels into a new relationship when she hadn’t even managed to get a divorce from Markus yet?
Catherine sighed. Jon hadn’t said he loved her and, in a way, she was grateful for that. Markus had once promised to love and cherish her and it had all been lies from the start. With Jon she was very sure that he would always be honest with her. But did she dare move in with him? She had only known the man for a week, for God’s sake!
Catherine sighed and wiggled a little when Jon circled her clit with clever fingers then let them travel downwards. Who was she kidding? There wasn’t really much of a choice. She was already head over heels in love with him. She turned her head to the side and kissed his jaw.
Jon smiled. “Let’s go to bed, my love. You can tell me your decision in the morning.”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Hot Buttered Strumpet
Mina Dorian
Excerpt
Chapter One
She wasn’t, strictly speaking, his type. He usually preferred petite blondes with perky tits. This woman was too tall, too lush. Hell, there was too much of her in all directions. When she walked through the bar, heads turned and mouths opened, which was probably an advantage in her line of work.
Wren Delahaye stared at the barmaid as she deftly served her customers. This wasn’t one of the small, private beer-houses that had sprung up all over town after the 1830 Beer Act almost a decade ago. The taproom of the public house on London’s seedy waterfront was large and more than half the tables were taken, even so late on a blustery autumn evening.
The barmaid wove her way among the tables, expertly avoiding groping hands and pinching fingers while keeping the men hooked with her lovely smiles. And she truly was a sight—wild reddish curls framed her round, lightly freckled face like a halo. Her bright green skirt that matched the emerald colour of her eyes swished around her legs at every step. Her ample breasts threatened to burst out of her corset when she leaned over to serve a customer another tankard of ale, the tops of her rosy nipples clearly visible through her white linen blouse. When she walked, her hips swayed from side to side like tidal waves.
Those broad, womanly hips weren’t half bad, actually. Wren wondered about the barmaid’s pussy. Would she be a redhead down there as well? The thought of spreading her creamy thighs made his cock stir.
His brothers, both already foxed to the gills, followed the direction of his gaze. They had come to this part of town, slumming as it were, for want of something better to do on a boring Wednesday evening. However, no one had contested the right of three well-dressed gentlemen to be here, although they had certainly been ready to knock the breath out of anyone who tried, just for a little sport. As sons of an army officer who had been rewarded with a peerage for his services at Waterloo, they hadn’t been gentlemen long enough to forget how to fight dirty.
In the absence of a good brawl there really was something to be said for the entertainment the stunning barmaid offered. As she made her way across the room towards them, Robert’s mouth fell open, a tiny rivulet of dribble running down his clean-shaven chin making him, for once, look like a complete idiot. Thomas jumped from his chair, toppling the piece of furniture over backwards in the process, and yelled, “Oy, you! Cumoverhere!” much too loudly since the woman was already passing their table.
Wren tried to pull his older brother back down. Thomas could be a real pain in the arse when he was drunk. Like right now. Ignoring Wren’s hand on his arm, the tall man took an unsteady step forward and caught the red-haired barmaid’s wrist in a painful-looking grip, steadying himself by holding on to the edge of the table with the other hand.
“Wannahavagudtime?” he garbled, leering at her tits.
She looked at him with a cool gaze from narrowed green eyes that seemed to question Thomas‘ ability to give anyone a good time, drunk or sober.
Wren decided to rescue her, although she didn’t really look like she needed rescuing. “Don’t listen to him, he’s drunk,” he said, smiling at her apologetically.
“I can see that,” she answered in a low, husky voice that went straight to his groin. “And I don’t do drunks.” She brushed off Thomas‘ hand, dismissing the tall man completely as she took in Wren’s appearance with a slow, appreciative glance.
God, Wren thought, why couldn’t the society misses his mother kept dragging him to meet be more like this?
The woman smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with hidden emerald fire. “What about you, sir? Would you like to offer me a good time, too?”
He swallowed hard, a little shocked by her directness. Usually wenches were attracted by Robert’s angelic looks or Thomas‘ easy banter, ignoring him unless he made the first move. He got his fair share of women, sure enough, but he usually had to approach them himself, if he wanted some. His hardening cock interrupted his line of thought, informing him that, indeed, he did want some. Preferably right now. It didn’t take him more than a few seconds to work this out and he began to nod quite vigorously then managed a choked, “That would be nice.” I sound like a complete fool.
But the woman smiled again and leaned over him to whisper in his ear. “I finish work at two. Take a room upstairs and leave your door open for me.” Her breathy voice tickled his ear and her position offered him an unobstructed view of her ample breasts and pert, pink nipples. He almost came then and there. He closed his eyes for a moment to get his rampant erection under control. When he opened them again, he saw her walking back towards the bar, her glorious hips swaying with every step she took.
* * * *
Wren lay on the large bed in a sparsely furnished but surprisingly tidy room above the bar. A fire was dying down in the hearth and the room was comfortably warm. There was a candle on the washstand across the room and two more were burning on low tables on each side of the bed, so the room was light enough. He had decided to leave the candles lit so he could see what she looked like without all those skirts on. Wren wasn’t much in favour of women’s fashionable clothes. In his opinion, they concealed far too much.
The anticipation was almost killing him. He had briefly contemplated jacking off but had decided against it. He wanted to come inside her at least twice tonight, taking first her mouth then her pussy and maybe the back entrance later, if he could muster the stamina. Those lush hips surely had him hooked on her arse.
Wren sighed. He had heard a church clock strike two a while ago and the noises from downstairs were fading as the last patrons left the bar and staggered home. He felt as if he had been lying here for hours on end, but it couldn’t have been more than one. He had wanted to send the drunken Thomas off with Robert, but he hadn’t been sure if they would make it home safely. So he had taken a second room for the two of them to sleep
off the cask of ale they seemed to have shared earlier. Then he had taken a walk outside, trying unsuccessfully to get his uncomfortably hard erection under control. When he got to his room a little later, he poured water into the bowl on the washstand and cleaned his hands, face and cock. He wanted to make a good impression on her. Even barmaids must prefer to suck clean cocks.
As he lay on the bed, he listened for footsteps on the stairs but didn’t hear anything. He began to wonder if the wench had merely been trying to make some money from having him let a room. After all, why should she want to share his bed?
Just when he was becoming impatient enough to get up and go downstairs in search of her, he heard the door open quietly and a reddish shock of hair appeared in the crack. She looked straight at him, then smiled and opened the door wider. She bent at the waist to pick up something she had obviously set down outside the door before peeking in. When she entered the room he saw that it was a tray covered with a rough blue cloth. She set the tray on the low bedside table and uncovered a tankard of ale, a few slices of coarse brown bread, some cheese and a small dish containing butter as well as two apples and half a cucumber.
Wren’s stomach growled and she giggled. “Thought you might be hungry after all the waiting, sir,” she said, smiling at him.
She sat on the side of the bed, spread butter on a slice of bread, put some cheese on top and handed it to him. Wren took a large bite and realised that the bread was quite good, as was the cheese. He smiled back at the wench. She nodded and buttered another slice of bread, which she ate with relish.
It was strange, just sitting with her, sharing a meal in silent companionship. Somehow more intimate than fucking her would have been. Wren chewed on his bread, contemplating the woman. She looked younger than she had downstairs, certainly younger than his own thirty-two, and more vulnerable. Wren realised that she had been putting on a show for the sake of the customers in the bar.