What is the reward, Sir? She squirmed, rubbing her legs together as she stared at what she’d typed.
And the man returned with a smiling emoticon.
That only made her wetness increase. She moaned and turned in to the pillow to capture the sound as if someone might hear her. Which was absurd since she lived alone and only shared one wall to the left of her condo with a nice old man who had very little hearing left.
I think you’ll figure that part out soon enough, if you haven’t already, he added to the smiley face.
Touch yourself. Stoke your fingers between your legs and tell me how wet you are, baby.
She stared at the screen. Touch herself? Now? She took a deep breath.
Now, Emily. Just do it. I’m not asking you to fuck someone in front of an open window. I’m asking you to stroke your fingers through your pussy under your sheets in your bedroom. Are you wet?
Emily scrambled to get her free hand under the blankets, knowing she would have to type one-handed if it proved necessary.
At the first contact against her clit, she lifted her hips in the air, her heels digging into the mattress. He hadn’t asked her to go for a long exploration of her private parts, however. So, she quickly dipped her middle finger into her pussy…and moaned at the contact, unable to believe how sensitive she was under the remote direction of Rider.
Baby?
Very wet, Sir.
He sent that damn smiling emoticon again.
Good girl. Don’t hesitate when I ask you to do something.
Okay, Sir.
And remove your fingers. Let me take the reins and control your orgasms. I promise they will be much more intense than ever before if you submit to me and follow my rules.
Goose bumps climbed up her spine. His rules…
She lifted her shaking hand back out from between her legs and took a deep breath, bracing her heels against the bed as she tried to control her arousal.
Later, baby.
Later, Sir.
Emily lifted up to a sitting position, shivering as the blankets fell to her waist, stroking her tits mockingly. She needed to get up and get some things done around the house. If nothing else, she needed to occupy her mind to keep from thinking about how badly she needed to come.
Not to mention the last time she’d been this horny had been—never.
Before she managed to step away from the bed, her phone pinged again.
Geez. Persistent isn’t he?
She reached for the phone, but smiled when she saw this new text was from her brother Mike.
Hey, twerp. You free for lunch Monday?
She quickly texted back. Sure. She hadn’t seen him for a few weeks. His schedule was hectic, but he always squeezed her in eventually.
Great. I’ll pick you up.
Perfect. Noon?
Yep.
She set the phone back down and padded away. At least she had that to take her mind off her new crazy life.
Chapter Seven
Rider had just finished issuing a ticket to a teenager who thought it would be cool to do seventy-five through the center of town. As Rider turned around, he stopped dead in his tracks. He reached for his helmet absentmindedly as he watched Emily emerge from a restaurant in the same strip mall where he’d pulled the kid over.
Surely it couldn’t be her. The woman he stared at laughed, her head tipped back, her gorgeous blonde curls blowing in the summer breeze. That wasn’t what bothered him. This Emily had her arm wrapped around the bicep of a man who led her from the restaurant to his car.
Rider still didn’t move. He’d left his helmet unbuckled, his fingers now fisted at his sides.
Was there any chance the woman wasn’t Emily?
He squinted at her as she slipped into the passenger seat and swung her sexy legs over the runner before closing the door. It was definitely her.
Rider’s blood boiled.
The man she was with got behind the wheel and started the engine. Rider noted the license plate without a thought. He was trained to do that anytime he witnessed anything suspicious.
And this was beyond suspicious.
What the fuck is the matter with you, dude? So, she’s out with a guy? You don’t own her. You never for one second discussed anything about exclusivity with this woman.
Fuck. Two semi-meetings in a club and a few texts does not a relationship make. Besides, what do you care? You don’t do girlfriends. She’s not even your type.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop himself from tossing his leg over the seat of his bike and firing up the engine. Before he knew it, he was following Emily and her man down the road.
He kept a distance at first, having no idea what he planned to do. Follow her home? He didn’t know where she lived yet. They hadn’t exchanged that sort of information.
Or worse, he might be following them to the guy’s house.
He gripped the handlebars tighter.
And then he got his break. The guy rolled right through the stop sign. Perfect.
Let’s see how sweet librarian Emily feels when she sees my face leaning in the car window.
Rider turned on his lights. He watched as the man driving glanced in his rearview mirror and then pulled to the side of the road.
Rider eased behind the Toyota Corolla and stepped off his bike. He unbuckled his helmet, but left it on is head, as he rounded the car.
The driver lowered his window.
“Sir, did you realize you didn’t come to a complete stop at the stop sign you passed?”
“No, sir. I didn’t. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”
Rider leaned down so his face was visible to Emily for the first time. “I’ll need both your licenses, please.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. Her eyes were wide saucers. Priceless.
He knew it was uncalled for, requiring Emily to produce her license too, but at this point he wasn’t sure what her real name might be. If she was with this man driving the car, dating him, or hell, maybe he was her boyfriend, perhaps everything she’d told him had been lies.
Again, why the hell do I care?
He watched as Emily fumbled with her purse and pulled out her license with shaky fingers. Her face was beet red when she lifted her hand to pass her license to Rider. He swore he saw her shake her head subtly as if imploring him not to reveal he knew her.
The guy in the driver’s seat produced his license from his wallet. He didn’t seem to notice how flustered Emily was, or else he himself was concerned enough about getting a ticket that anything else happening was out of his radar.
Rider took the licenses and stepped away from the car. He set both IDs on his motorcycle seat and looked at Emily’s first. At least she hadn’t lied. Her name was indeed Emily Townsend. Thirty-three years old. He scanned her address and then punched it into the notes on his smartphone. Might come in handy someday…
Next he picked up the man’s license. He nearly dropped it when he saw the name. Michael Townsend. Same fucking address.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Married? His head nearly exploded. He had to think to remember to breathe through the fury. For eight nights he’d been thinking about this woman, pondering a myriad of things he wanted to do to her and with her, and the bitch was fucking married.
Deep breaths. Finish the job and get out of here.
Rider ran the plate on the car, operating on auto pilot. It was indeed registered to Michael Townsend at the address on the driver’s license. No prior tickets or warning.
Rider took a deep breath, picked up the IDs and strode back over to the car, fighting the urge to punch the driver, who hadn’t done one damn thing to deserve it. As far as Rider knew anyway.
He handed the licenses back through the window and nodded at Michael Townsend. “Be more careful, sir. Stop signs are there for a reason.”
Michael eyes widened in shock. “Of course. Thank you. I will.”
Rider walked away. It took a great deal of strength, but he did it. There
was no reason to issue the man a ticket. That hadn’t been his intension. Rider had all the information he needed.
He spun around and took off in the opposite direction before Michael pulled away from the curb. He had to put the entire episode out of his mind in order to finish his shift. He was a cop for heaven’s sake. He needed his head on straight.
Later that night, he flopped onto his couch and stared at the ceiling. He’d peeled off his uniform and pulled on a pair of loose shorts. After working all day in the heat of summer in full uniform, he needed to cool off.
His mind immediately processed the post-lunch events.
So, Emily Townsend was married. Who the fuck cared? She never said she wasn’t.
Dude, I believe it was implied.
And this was why he didn’t date. Too fucking complicated. Women were a pain in the ass. Thank God he’d found out sooner rather than later, considering how attracted he’d been to the sexy librarian.
Librarian… The crazy woman had been incredibly concerned about being found out by her coworkers. Had it all been a ruse when really her concern had been about her husband?
She was so damn sweet and innocent. It was perplexing and incongruent that Emily had ever entered Extreme, let alone allowed a man to hit on her. Maybe she’d sincerely gone there to support her girlfriend and then been titillated by his attention.
Enough to take her panties off and let me put them in my pocket? Twice?
Rider blew out a long breath and heaved himself off the couch. He needed to get some sleep.
»»•««
Emily slept poorly Monday night. Her mind had run at sixty miles an hour ever since Rider had pulled her brother over that afternoon. Talk about a coincidence. What were the chances? Bless him for not saying a word. She would have kissed him if she’d been given the opportunity. She was in no way prepared to share her dabbling in the world of BDSM with her family. Mike would have a heart attack. Her forays into submission didn’t need to be shared with anyone except Virginia at this point. After what happened to Claire, her family would flip if they thought Emily was heading down a similar path. There was no way they would understand it was unlikely Claire’s issues had anything to do with Extreme.
Luckily, Rider had caught her subtle plea to not out her and ignored her completely once his initial shock had passed. And, on top of that, he’d let her brother go with a warning.
How had she not known the man was a cop?
He hadn’t offered much information about himself as of yet. He’d grilled her a bit about her life, but hadn’t shared many details concerning his own.
A cop. She’d watched him pull away on his motorcycle, thinking he was suddenly ten times sexier than she’d originally thought.
Mike had been so preoccupied with getting pulled over he hadn’t noticed anything about her reaction to the sexy hunk sauntering back and forth between his bike and the car.
Damn he was hot in his uniform. Even better than when he was dominating her at the club.
As she tried to sleep, her mind raced. Had Claire simply dabbled in BDSM? Or had she been so involved she spent at least one night a week sober and clean to enjoy the club?
The sun peeked through the opening in the curtains, forcing Emily to roll over and bury her head in the pillow. She was exhausted from tossing all night.
And something bothered her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she suspected it had to do with the fact she hadn’t heard from Rider yet. She’d assumed he would call or text her later in the day when he got off work, but it hadn’t happened.
She’d waited up late, staring at her phone, but nothing.
Maybe he’d been on shift late and not wanted to risk calling her after she’d gone to bed.
She had work to do. She needed to get up and dip into her stack of books before the entire day slipped away.
She prayed she could stay awake and keep her mind occupied with YA stories after a sleepless night.
After a quick shower, where she paid special attention to her shaving routine, she slipped on a sundress and headed for the kitchen.
As soon as she opened the refrigerator, she knew she would have to go to the grocery store before anything else today. A severe lack of staples confronted her.
Just as well… It will keep my mind occupied for an hour or so before working.
∙•∙
Rider sat outside Emily’s condo like some kind of stalker. He’d only meant to find out where she lived, but once he’d arrived, he hadn’t been able to leave. A car sat in the driveway, but not the one from yesterday. Her husband must be at work.
He needed to be at work soon himself. He was already suited up and sitting on his motorcycle.
Suddenly the front door opened and Emily stepped outside. When she turned to lock the door, Rider found himself drawn to her. He lifted his leg over his motorcycle and sauntered in her direction. His cock stiffened at the sight of her in a short sundress flared around her tiny hips. He wondered if she wore underwear, knowing he’d never find out.
He was pissed. His strange unexplainable anger had eaten away at him since yesterday afternoon. At the very least he wanted to tell her how totally uncool it was she’d impersonated a single woman.
Why? Why the hell do you care? The idea he gave two shits made him angrier. He’d done scenes with married women many times. Of course, their husbands generally knew about the event, and often watched, but not always.
Maybe Emily’s husband knew about her visits to Extreme. Perhaps there was a logical explanation for everything. If he could rein in his aggravation for one minute…
Emily turned around after locking the door and startled. “Oh.” She set her hand on her chest, but her face widened in a smile. “You surprised me.”
I’ll bet. He kept walking until he was right next to her, invading her space more than socially acceptable.
She stepped back and lifted her gaze to his, her brow furrowed. “You want to come in?” She motioned behind her and lifted the keys.
Rider nodded. It was probably best. He didn’t want to confront her on the steps.
Emily turned to unlock the door, her fingers notably shaking. She glanced over her shoulder as she reopened the front door. “I was hoping you would call or text today.” She stepped inside.
Rider followed. He glanced around her front room. And then he strolled farther into her space, feeling bold. He wasn’t usually an ass, but he felt betrayed somehow by this mockery of a woman who’d led him to believe she was single, available, and willing to submit to him.
Hadn’t she?
Emily remained quiet. He could hear her shut the door and step farther into the front room, her tiny sandals clicking slightly on the hardwood floor.
He took a deep breath as he perused her space. Feminine. The walls were painted a light yellow. The couch and chairs were a combination of sunny colors that complemented the walls. Oranges, browns, reds, yellows. Throw pillows sat strategically at the ends of the couch. Books were piled on every surface.
The mantel had several pictures sitting across the wood ledge. Rider’s gaze zoned in on them. He stared for a moment at a photo of her with a younger version of herself. The woman looked familiar. Must be a sister. And then he grabbed the next picture he saw from the mantel to look closer. Emily and her husband, years younger, standing next to an enormous redwood. It must have been taken on vacation in California.
She cleared her throat behind him. “Thank you so much for not saying anything yesterday. I wasn’t prepared to tell Mike about you.”
He set the picture down calmly, battling his irrational instinct to throw it against the wall, shattering the glass. He lifted his gaze to find her with her head tipped down, scraping the floor with one toe as though there were a smudge that needed removal.
That answered one question. Mike, as she called him, didn’t know.
“You’ve put me in a very awkward position. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She jerked her gaze up
to meet his. “Tell you what?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.
Was she dense? Words spewed from his lips. “That you’re married, of course. Did that detail not seem important to you? I’m not in the habit of taking on married submissives. It’s not my style.”
Her face changed in an instant, her eyes widening until the deep blue orbs seemed enormous. Her mouth opened wide as she inhaled sharply. And then she shook her head. “I’m not married.” She jerked her gaze to the picture on the mantel. “Mike? He’s my brother.”
Now Rider was shocked. He couldn’t move a muscle, even to breathe. He opened his eyes at least as wide as hers and stared into her gorgeous blue ones. Finally he found his voice. “Your brother?”
She nodded, biting her lip in between her teeth, clearly holding back a chuckle.
Rider relaxed his shoulders and shook his head before he set his palm against his forehead. What a doofus. “Oh God.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea you’d misunderstood.”
“You have the same last name. Hell, you have the same address. I ran the plate.”
She nodded. “He used to live with me. Just moved out a month ago when he got a better job.”
“I owe you an apology.” All the wind was knocked out of his anger so fast he felt exhausted.
She stepped forward. “No, really. I should have realized. I was so concerned about you not acknowledging me in front of Mike, it never occurred to me you thought we were married. When you didn’t call or text last night, I thought you were angry with me.”
He chuckled. “I was. Extremely. More than I’d like to admit.”
“Sorry for that.” She came closer, her smile widening. “You care.”
“What do you mean?” He cocked his head as she approached him.
“I wasn’t sure I was more than an experiment for you. But you care.”
He shook his head, not a bit sure why he felt like defending his reaction. “I’m still your trainer. Don’t misunderstand. I just don’t like to be played. It’s your business if you want to cheat on your husband or keep some secret from him that you dabble in BDSM on the side, but I didn’t want you lying about it to me. I want you to be straight with me. Many Doms might tolerate that sort of thing. But not me.” Okay, maybe me. But not with you. He’d looked the other way in the past when he’d been unsure about a woman’s background, but not this time. Not with Emily. Something was different about her.
The Fight Club - Boxed Set Page 47