Renegade (Phoenix Rising)

by Blake, Brynley

  It sounds like he’s reciting a research article. Which is possibly true. Walker has an incredible memory. It’s the only way he was able to make it to his junior year of high school without knowing how to read.

  “You should teach a class on this.” My attempt at levity is not working. I am growing more and more apprehensive—and more and more aroused—each second.

  “There’s a hands-on-ankles pose. Try it. Keep your knees and back straight.”

  I slowly grasp my ankles, feeling the heat flush my face.

  I wait for the blow with my heart thumping, but after what seems like an interminable time, he finally says, “Good. You can stand up now. Let’s try kneeling in a chair.”

  He grabs the black-and-white, padded, armless chair McKenzie and I picked up at an estate sale last year and effortlessly yanks it around. “Kneel in it facing the back of the chair with your upper torso slightly leaning over the back.”

  I follow his directions, moving as deliberately and sexually as possible. Two can play this game.

  “Now arch your back a little.”

  There’s a long silence, and I wonder what he’s doing.

  “You look perfect,” he says softly. His voice becomes more businesslike as he continues. “This position really showcases a gorgeous ass. Kind of like high heels make a woman’s legs look shapelier, kneeling in a chair makes her butt look curvier and more enticing.”

  I find myself wondering if he thinks my ass falls in the gorgeous category. Not that it matters. All I care about is what Declan thinks.

  “Okay. Let’s try over the desk. Or in our case, the table.”

  My gaze follows his to the kitchen table.

  “Bend over it with your chest and your cheek pressed to the table.”

  I arrange my body over the table like he’s instructed. The smooth wood feels cool and sensual against my nearly naked skin, and I can feel the telltale trickle of arousal between my legs. This is hot as hell.

  “Put your arms over your head.”

  I do as he says, realizing it forces my back to arch like it did when I knelt in the chair. Is he getting as turned on as I am? If he is, he doesn’t say. He just continues on as if he’s teaching algebra to a class full of bored teenagers.

  “Widen your stance a little.”

  I inch my feet farther apart, conscious of the increased vulnerability I feel as my sex becomes exposed, along with my bottom.

  “This is a fun position for role play—maybe you didn’t turn your homework in on time or you were caught cheating. Not that you would do that.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice and know he’s referring to the time before we officially met, when he tried to cheat off my math test and I got angry. His voice is closer, and I can tell he’s standing behind me now.

  “In this position, most doms worth their salt will make you stand on your tiptoes while you’re being spanked. Not only does it elevate your ass more, but it’s fun to add penalty swats every time your heel accidentally touches the floor.”

  His voice sounds a little husky now, making his instructions feel like a seduction.

  “You seem to be enjoying this a little too much,” I mutter.

  He just chuckles. “You’re the one who asked for this.”

  My heart is pounding, and I brace myself as I wait for the feel of his hand on my ass.

  “Okay. You can stand up.”

  I push myself away from the desk, oddly disappointed that he hasn’t actually spanked me.

  “Some doms like their girls to lie facedown on the bed with their hips and pelvis lifted by pillows for easy access and…additional diversions. But that one’s pretty self-explanatory, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

  So that’s it. Walker’s taught me a lot tonight. Why the hell do I feel let down?

  “Thanks,” I say. “That was, um, really helpful. I can’t wait to try it for real with Declan.” I turn to go into my bedroom, but Walker’s voice stops me.

  “Oh, we’re not finished yet, sweetheart. There’s one last position.”

  I turn to see him sitting on the black-and-white chair. He pats his lap. “Come here.”

  Chapter Six

  Walker

  This is going to fucking kill me. Gemma caught me off guard when she walked into the room wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of black lace panties and a matching bra that was just revealing enough to send my imagination into overdrive. I was far from ready to begin this charade she’s somehow talked me into, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes that I’m not used to seeing—a rare vulnerability that’s not like Gemma at all. It stirred something inside me, and I acted on pure instinct.

  I kissed her. And my world came to a fucking standstill.

  You’re not supposed to kiss your best friend, or want the things I wanted in that moment when I pinned her wrists over her head and touched her lips with mine. I tried to brush it off, tried to brush her off. I knew that if I was going to talk her out of this dumb-ass submission thing she’s hell-bent and determined to sign up for, I needed to have the upper hand, and that meant some serious regrouping. But when Gemma wants something, there’s no stopping her, and I knew I had to head her off at the pass. I went into full dom mode—or at least what I hoped was full dom mode—and started throwing down rules and protocol and putting her through a series of submissive positions that I was sure would violate every feminist bone in her body. But I hadn’t accounted for how stubborn she can be when she wants something. It’s one of the things I admire most about her, probably because I’m exactly the same.

  Her eyes had flashed, but she’d pulled each position off with a grace and innate sensuality that had my cock throbbing. She’d found it arousing, too, if the tight little points of her nipples were any indication. Even the spanking positions hadn’t fazed her. I’d played it up, thinking she’d beg off, but she’d looked oddly disappointed when she thought we were through. And then she threw down the gauntlet, saying she’d try more with Declan. Obviously, I’m going to have to up the stakes to put an end to all of this before it goes any farther. I’m going to have to actually spank her.

  I sit down in the upholstered chair and pat my lap, my intention clear. Her eyes widen, and then she slowly crosses the room and arranges herself over my lap, her toes barely skimming the floor as her full weight rests in my lap. Her sweet little rounded ass is perfectly positioned over my thighs. Holy fuck! I hope to hell she can’t feel the hardness of my cock through my jeans, but the pope himself would get turned on if he had Gemma in an ass-framing thong draped across his lap like this.

  How the hell are you supposed to spank a girl? I’d done a little research, armed with the list Declan had given Gemma after I thought she’d gone to bed, but I’d only gotten through the basic rules and protocols before she showed up all ready to be dominated. I’d read several posts on spanking technique (thank God for Tumblr and the internet), but reading how to do it and actually doing it are two vastly different things. I’m not prepared for this.

  I run my hand experimentally over her ass. It’s soft and smooth and supple; her skin is like liquid satin, and so beautifully pale. Her body is rigid, and I find myself stroking my hand over her back, moving up to her neck and shoulders as I knead the tension away. She slowly relaxes into my touch, and I caress her hair, smoothing it gently. Her hair is almost as soft as her skin, and I have the urge to tangle my fingers in it. I move lower, pulling her legs apart slightly before stroking up her thighs to caress her ass a little more deliberately this time. She tenses up again, so I repeat the process several more times—rubbing her back and shoulders, pressing them down a little more each time, brushing her hair away from her face, then rubbing her ass.

  I experimentally squeeze each sweet cheek roughly a few times. A muffled moan escapes her lips.

  “You okay?”

  She nods but doesn’t say anything.

  Alternately rubbing and squeezing her butt cheeks with my right hand,
I grip her waist just above her right hip with my left hand as I lightly press my elbow between her shoulder blades to keep her pinned against my lap.

  I feel like I did on a mission in Afghanistan, when my team was advancing on a target house in the desert and a suicide bomber detonated right as we were about to infiltrate it. Time stops, anticipation hangs heavy in the air, and you know you’ve got no choice but to go in. I raise my right knee slightly, turning her bottom up to a better and even more pronounced advantage, and I smack her ass with the open palm of my hand.

  She gasps, and I spank her again. And again. And again. I vary my technique, experimenting with cupping my hand slightly with my fingers closed, using an open palm (which seems to get more dramatic squirms from her) and spreading my fingers as I spank her, carefully gauging her reactions to see what she likes. At first, I massage her bottom after every few strokes, but then I focus on the strokes themselves, varying the speed and intensity in proportion to her response. A few soft slaps followed by harder blows. A few slow, even strokes, then a short burst of rapid-fire smacks that have her wriggling all over my cock.

  With her pale skin, it doesn’t take long for her ass to glow pink. I stop and scrape my nails lightly over the sensitive skin, and she groans and squirms deliciously.

  I spank her again, a little harder this time, some perverse part of me determined to push her to the point that she will quit, that she says her safe word and admits this isn’t for her and she’s not going to see that asshole Declan again, much less consider being his submissive. I hit the same sensitive spot four, five, six times, and her hand flies back to try to stop me. I grab her wrist and hold it against the small of her back. Her body tightens, struggles, turns. She lifts her head and shoots me a look that I can’t quite decipher.

  I lift an eyebrow. “Want to use your safe word?”

  Her eyes flash, and this time, I don’t need any translation. I know sheer defiance when I see it. She lowers her head, raises her ass, and wiggles it antagonizingly. I can’t fight back my grin as I spank her a few more times, mixing it up so she doesn’t know what to expect. A few spanks and then a few sensual light strokes across her hot skin. A few more, followed by the warmth of my tongue tracing the sweet curves of her bottom. The appreciative little noises coming from her are going to fuel my fantasies for months.

  I don’t know if it’s her struggling, the way she writhes against my cock, her mound grinding against me, or the sight of her gorgeous ass reddened and upturned in my lap, but I’ve got a raging hard-on. I’m going to have to quit or risk blowing my wad.

  “Count to five and we’ll be done,” I say.

  She starts to count, and I smack her ass with each number. When she reaches five, I lift her off my lap and set her on her feet. Her cheeks—all of them—are red, and her breath is coming in short little huffs. We look at each other for a minute, neither of us knowing what to say.

  “You did good,” I admit.

  She smiles. “And you doubted me!” She rubs her ass tentatively. “You didn’t go easy on me.”

  “You didn’t want me to,” I counter.

  “True.” She bites her lip, and I inexplicably want to kiss her again. “I’m going to go to bed. Charlotte’s picking us up at eight.”

  “Perfect.” I stand up and move the chair back to its usual spot.

  She walks deliberately toward her bedroom with a pronounced and deliberate sway of her gorgeous now-reddened ass. “You know, I’m going to totally rock this,” she calls back over her shoulder.

  That’s what I’m starting to be afraid of.

  The blast of a horn from downstairs announces Charlotte’s arrival to drive us to the airport. I pound on Gemma’s door. “You coming?”

  “One second.”

  She hasn’t come out of her bedroom yet this morning, and I’ve been hoping it’s because she’s busy with last-minute packing, not because she’s trying to avoid me. That would suck. Of course, if she is, we’re going to talk about it and work it out. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that asshole Declan come between me and Gemma. But first she’s got to come out of her damn bedroom.

  Five minutes later, Gemma emerges, looking comfortable but every inch the artsy photographer in a pair of black leggings, a white tank top, a faded but somehow stylish-looking jean jacket, and white Converse high-tops. I, on the other hand, probably look like a homeless refugee. I tossed and turned last night, unable to sleep. I blame my cock. I’d been aroused by everything that had happened with Gemma. Of course, it hadn’t meant anything. Any red-blooded male would get aroused with a pretty, almost naked girl squirming around in his lap. But since I threw down the asinine rule that she couldn’t come unless I said so, it didn’t seem fair if I did, so I suffered all night. In the future, I’m going to have to think through all these rules before I start spewing them out to her.

  The horn blares again.

  Gemma frowns. “Dammit. Why is she early? I need coffee.”

  “She’s actually late.” I take her bag and hand her a travel mug filled with coffee with two sugars and splash of milk, just the way she likes it. I swat her butt playfully. “We’ve got to go!”

  I do it without thinking—it’s a gesture I’ve done a hundred times—but suddenly it brings back a flood of memories I need to forget.

  She rubs her butt.

  I grin. “Ass sore?”

  She grins back. “Nope. Never better.”

  And all is right with the world again. I follow her out the door and down the stairs, still smiling like an idiot.

  “When are you guys going to be back?” Charlotte asks as she maneuvers her Ford Focus through the rush hour traffic on the way to the Charleston airport.

  “I don’t know yet,” I volunteer. “It depends on what we find out and when we can see Dr. Morris’s family.” I glance over at Gemma. “Have you been able to reach them?”

  She shakes her head. “I left a message for his wife yesterday, but I haven’t heard back from her. I’ll call again once we get to San Francisco.”

  I nod and turn back to Charlotte. “Whenever it is, don’t worry about picking us up. We can Uber home. Any luck finding the necklace?”

  “Not yet. I’ll keep looking.” She looks at me guiltily. “I’m sorry I borrowed it. McKenzie said it was okay, but I—I shouldn’t have.” She sighs. “I just missed Liam, and I wanted to wear the last thing he touched. It sounds crazy.”

  Not for the first time, I wonder if Charlotte had feelings for Liam. Now that I think about it, Liam once said something about Charlotte that had made me think he was interested in her as well, but he quickly brushed it off, saying she was his little sister’s best friend and way too uptight for him.

  “Not crazy at all,” I reassure her.

  She frowns. “It’s weird how it just disappeared, though. I never took it off—I didn’t want to—until the night before last, just before my krav maga class. When I came home, I couldn’t find it. I thought I’d laid it on the night table, but it wasn’t there, so I must have put it somewhere else. I can’t seem to keep my head straight since Liam died.”

  I ruffle her hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m sure it’s somewhere in your apartment. Just let me know when you find it.”

  Two hours later, Charlotte has dropped us off, we’ve checked in and boarded, and we’re on our way to the City by the Bay. Gemma and I have lucked out and have the row to ourselves; I’ve taken the aisle seat so I can stretch out my legs, and she’s curled up in the middle seat next to me.

  “Is it weird to fly on a regular plane?” she asks.

  “It’s fucking luxurious,” I say, puffing my chest out and leaning back with my fingers laced behind my head. “The military planes we usually fly on are noisy and uncomfortable. The seats are just cargo nets, so most of the time, if it’s a long flight, we opt for lying on the cold steel floor of the plane and black out on Ambien for the duration.”

  Her eyes widen. “That’s terrible.”

  I shrug
. “It is what it is.”

  It’s been a long time since Gemma and I have had this much time together in person. I saw her at Liam’s memorial service, but I had to leave less than twenty-four hours after it was over, and both of us were focused first and foremost on being there for McKenzie. We have a lot of catching up to do. She fills me in on their girls’ weekend in Vegas, how the wedding business is doing, and about a photography show she’s been invited to attend in the fall. I tell her about the mission that took Liam’s life and how I’ve slowly been coming unwound since then. Talking to Gemma has always been easy. She listens intently, every thought and emotion transparent on her face and in her expressive eyes. She has that rare quality of knowing when to press for more details and when to sit with me in silence. I find myself telling her how I don’t believe Liam was illegally running guns.

  “But I thought you said Noah brokered the deal with him personally,” she says. “Do you think he’s lying?”

  I sigh. “No. I wish I did. But Noah’s one of those guys who has integrity grafted into his bones. I believe him. I just think there’s something we’re missing. I know Liam better than anyone. He wouldn’t have done that,” I maintain stubbornly. “This whole situation makes no sense.”

  She covers my hand with hers and lays her head on my shoulder. “This is one of the things I love most about you. You are loyal to a fault. I loved Liam, too. But sometimes, if it looks like a rose and smells like a rose and feels like a rose, it’s probably not a dandelion.”

  I laugh at her analogy and ruffle her hair. “I know. I just can’t let it go.”

  “Then don’t,” she says resolutely. “If you really believe, in your gut, that Liam’s innocent, there’s got to be something to it. I’ll help you. We’ll get to the bottom of this together. Forget Noah and NCIS and the Navy SEALs. No one’s tougher and more resourceful than a couple of kids from the wrong side of the tracks who defied the odds and made something of their lives.”