Claimed by the Bad Boy

by London Saint James

  “Shut up,” she said.

  His brow arched. “What did you just say to me?”

  “I said, ‘shut up.’” She put her mouth so close to his, her breath gusted across his lips. “I need you to kiss me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Present.

  The hours and days following the cabin ordeal had been hectic. The sheriff’s department and police department required statements while conducting their investigations. Molly’s mother and sister went ballistic when they got word, and Ryker’s family went about as nuts as her family had when they became privy to the details, too. And then, came the aftermath fall out at Horizons. The board of directors was very interested in the relationship between her and Jack, so she’d been in the hot seat, answering questions for them, as well.

  It was as though everyone in Denver was well acquainted with her personal business, especially when the abduction hit the news channels and newspaper. However, Ryker had stuck to her side, keeping her sane through it all.

  Now, a few months later, Jack was in jail and had been denied bond. Things were returning to normal, and Ryker wasn’t as skittish to let her out of his sight. Although, while he’d been over protective, Molly enjoyed every minute of his bossy, “I’m the man–you’re my woman, and I’m going to insure your safety” demeanor.

  “Babe, are you dressed yet?” she asked, while blow drying her hair, peeking her head out the bathroom door.

  “Woman,” he said in his playful tone, putting his pants on. “Stop asking me if I’m dressed yet. You’re still wearing a towel.”

  “Yeah, but all I need to do is slip on my dress. Besides, I’m always ready before you are.”

  “Not always.”

  She chuckled. “We can’t be late for dinner. Your parents will be upset if we’re late.”

  Shirtless—with stomach muscles on display and that fantastic V-cut leading into his hip she liked to trace with her fingers and tongue—he came to her, tugged the blow dryer from her hand, turned it off, and placed the dryer on the counter.

  “You might as well accept the fact, we’re going to be late,” he said, the instant before his mouth met hers.

  Melting into him, she wasn’t going to protest the point. And when he tore the towel from her body and went to his knees, she thought, Screw it. They could be late.

  “Put your foot on the side of the tub, and open for me, Molls.”

  “Ryker….”

  “Do it, Molly.”

  Her hands slicked down her stomach, over her mound of Venus, and she spread her lips apart with her fingertips, placing one foot on the side of the tub.

  “Jesus H. Christ. I love to see you spread for me.”

  She’d thought she was prepared, but she wasn’t.

  “Oh, God, Ryker!”

  He buried his nose and mouth into her sex, devouring her, and if it hadn’t of been for his big hands holding her hips, Molly would have crumpled to the floor.

  He grumbled into her sex, “God damn I love this pussy,” sending the sweet vibration of his low rumble straight into her core, hurdling her fast and furious into the realm of mindless.

  When he fingered her while licking and flicking her clit, her head fell back—the tips of her hair tickling her ass.

  She moaned nonstop as Ryker sucked her in long pulls, then twirled his tongue around her aroused bump. Yep. She was done for. “I’m going to come.”

  “Give it to me. Come on my tongue, sweetheart.”

  Man did she. Her orgasm came fast from her toes, and burst out the top of her head. “Shit, babe!”

  Shaking, he picked her up, set her butt on the counter, undid his fly, and powered into her.

  There was nothing better than being balls deep inside his woman’s body, feeling her mold around him, and shudder.

  “I love you,” she said, breathless, white knuckling the edge of the marble top.

  “I love you, too,” he said. “But sometimes love doesn’t seem to be the right word.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m addicted to you. Obsessed. Captivated. Enthralled,” he said, dipping to sample a ripe nipple when she arched her back to take him deeper into her sweet snatch.

  With a breathy moan she asked, “Enthralled?”

  “Yes. I want you all the time. So much, it hurts.”

  “Ditto,” she said, placing her finger to his mouth, shivering when he scraped the tip with his teeth.

  God he had to have her sprawled out. On the bed.

  Keeping himself deep inside her body, he banded his arms around her torso. “Put your arms around my neck and your sexy legs around my waist.”

  When she complied, he walked them out of the bathroom, lay her on the bed, manacled her hands over her head in one of his, and worked her until she came around him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, screaming her pleasure.

  “That’s it,” he said, powering past her climax. “F-u-c-k….”

  When he ground himself into her, pulled out, plunged back in, and rocked his hips, she came for him again, breasts swaying, with that rosy pink hue meandering up her chest and cheeks. Damn, he would never get tired of seeing her turned on and flush.

  Pulling back, just enough so he could witness his glistening dick moving in and out of her body, he groaned. “You’re mine.”

  “Yours,” she rasped, her fingers curling tight into her palms.

  He was going to lose it. “I’m going to come so hard for you.”

  “Come, babe. I want you to.”

  With one last thrust, his cock jerked inside her clutching cunt.

  The quiver in her belly called to him. Ryker pulled out of her warmth, releasing in three hot spurts across her lushness and that sexy belly button ring that drove him crazy, before he collapsed down beside her.

  “Your mother’s going to give you the what for, for being late,” she said, still breathless. “And since we’re going to need to shower again, we’ll be epically late.”

  God. He cherished this woman.

  “Yeah, well, she’ll get over it,” he said, rolling, placing his hands on either side of her head, his lower body slipping up between her delightful thighs.

  She slid her delicate hands up his back, then traced her nails down his spine before gripping his ass. “You can’t be able to go again so soon?”

  “Sweetheart,” he said in his low rumble. “Do you doubt my mad skills in bed?”

  Giggling, her reply had him smiling. “If there’s one thing I will never doubt, it’s your mad skills, babe.”

  Epilogue

  Present.

  Molly’s hands shook as she gripped on to the bound stems of the flowers in her hand, although she didn’t know why she was so nervous.

  “Are you ready?” her sister asked, fluffing the flowing train.

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait a minute,” her mother said. “It’s only right we follow tradition. You have something borrowed, something blue, and something new, so I wanted to give you something old.”

  Molly smiled wide. “What is it?”

  “I was cleaning out some old boxes from the basement a few weeks ago, and I came across this. I thought you might want to keep it.”

  Her mother held out a shoebox covered in rainbows and unicorn stickers.

  “Oh, gosh, Mom,” she said, wistful, handing her flowers to her sister, taking the box she hadn’t seen in years. “This was my treasure box when I was a kid. Thank you for saving this from the landfill.”

  Her mother nodded. “I’m going to go take my seat, but I want you to know just how proud of you I am, baby girl. I love you, Molly Anne.”

  They hugged. “I love you, too, Mom.”

  “My beautiful girl has grown into a gorgeous young woman.” Her mother swiped a tear and sniffed. “He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”

  With a loving smile, her mother kissed her cheek, then stepped out.

  “Give me a second,” Molly said to her sister. “And th
en we’ll go.”

  “All right.” She placed Molly’s white rose bouquet on the table. “Whatever you want. This is your day, Moll.”

  After Mary left, Molly placed her treasure box on the oval table by her flowers, lifted the lid, and smiled. There, tucked inside, she saw a cheap beaded necklace she’d made at summer camp, some plastic dime store rings, a few Valentines she’d saved, the key to her diary, a pressed wild flower, and then the crinkled piece of paper that had been folded and unfolded so many times, she was surprised it was still intact.

  Plucking the lined notebook paper up, she read what she’d run into the house and written after Ryker Cage spoke to her. He’d been jogging up the sidewalk, and stopped just before the driveway of his parents’ house. She had been twelve, and it was the day her family moved in next door to the Cages.

  Reading the words written in big, curling letters and blue ink, she held back the tears.

  I just saw the cutest boy in the world. And, one day, I’m going to marry him.

  Being careful not to damage the note, Molly refolded the paper back into the little square, and tucked it away into the flowers of her bouquet. Taking a deep breath, she put the lid on her treasure box, took her flowers in hand, and made her way out the door of the dressing room.

  “Ready now?” her sister inquired, standing in the hallway, dressed in the long, black-and-white flowing gown, which looked fantastic on her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

  Molly hooked her arm into her sister’s as the notes of “Pachelbel’s Canon” started, giving them their cue. Together, they stepped through the open doors.

  Everyone who’d been seated in the pews of Saint Paul’s stood and turned toward her. In her mind, she registered their smiling faces, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away from one face. Ryker’s. He was standing at the front of the church, beneath the wisteria arch, wearing a stunning black Armani tux. And the way he looked at her, with those piercing blue-green eyes, took her breath away. Then, he smiled. That dimpled smile she loved.

  Magic.

  Those nerves she’d been experiencing, dissolved into nothingness, and it was all she could do to keep her steps smooth and even, because fancy white wedding dress or not, Molly wanted to kick off her sparkling heels, clutch the sides of the flowing material, hike the satin up from the floor, and run up the aisle at full speed to get to him.

  When she reached the front of the church, the classical music she walked down the aisle to faded away, and he held out his hand for her. Without hesitation, Molly took hold, fingers curling around his, stepping up beside the bad boy who’d claimed her heart years ago with four simple words.

  “Hi. I’m Ryker Cage.”

  The End

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  Spanked by the Bad Boy by London Saint James

  Chapter One

  Tiffany Brooks heard the familiar tocato-tocato-tocato sound of a purring motor. She swiveled in her office chair to look out the window and saw him park his custom chopper next to her car on the paved lot of Stoub Engineering.

  Straddling his chrome bike wearing chunky leather-work boots, jeans, and a simple white T-shirt, Declan Cage set her heart to pitter-pat.

  She touched her chest and groused, “You’re not attracted to him, Tiffany.”

  Tucking a piece of sable-brown hair behind her ear, she straightened her shoulders and put on her toothy-white smile.

  “Good morning,” she said when he entered the building.

  “Morning, Ms. Brooks.”

  She observed him coming toward her desk and willed her face to look pleasant, yet restrained. She needed to keep her gaze particularly uninterested in him although the smug politeness she plastered across her features was hard to accomplish. Declan had a swagger that made her want to gawk at him.

  “How are you today?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “And you?”

  “Fabulous.”

  Her response was a blank faced, “I’m sorry. I’m not good with names.”

  He crinkled his brow, and the muscle in his jaw flexed. Yeah. There it was. The look. She’d definitely gotten under his skin.

  “I’m Declan.” He turned slightly to show her his back and gestured over his shoulder toward the logo. The silver skull ring he wore on his thumb gleamed. “From DC Construction,” he said. She couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles bulged beneath the shirt.

  “Oh yes.” She waved her hand about.

  She knew who he was and had immediately recognized him the first time he’d sauntered into the office over a month ago. She’d played it cool then, and she’d play it cool now. Besides, revealing her little secret would be nothing but detrimental. Yet even if it was a dangerous game, she loved bugging the hell out of him with her I’m-bad-with-names thing, especially since she imagined he wasn’t used to a woman forgetting him.

  Continuing with the I’m-a-busy-professional-who’s-not-impressed-by-you farce, she casually glanced at her laptop, flipped the lid closed, then looked back up at him. “How may I help you today?”

  “Matthew called me this morning. He said he left some plans here and I should come by to pick them up.”

  “Plans for the Cherry Hills project, right?”

  Declan smiled, and his dimples made an appearance through the brownish stubble on his face. Tiffany shook her legs beneath her desk a couple of times then stopped the nervous movement, glad he couldn’t see them.

  “Yes,” he said. “For the parking garage.”

  She rolled her chair back and stood, sliding her hands down the sides of her hips, hoping to smooth out any wrinkles in her skirt and secretly wishing to bring attention to her curves. She removed her sweater so the silk and lace tank top hidden beneath could be seen. When she flopped the garment over the back of her chair, she straightened her spine and pressed her ample breasts out.

  “Follow me,” she said, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

  Satisfied she’d given him a fairly good view of her hourglass figure, she glanced up. Declan stood beside her, and even though she wore four-inch heels, he towered above her. His height sort of intimidated her, but her body didn’t seem to impress him.

  Crap.

  He pulled a cell phone from the leather holder hooked to his jeans and stared at the screen. “Sorry,” he said in a bored tone. “I forgot to send a text.” His fingers tapped. He put the phone away in a lackadaisical manner. “Lead on.”

  Unwilling to let his lack of interest faze her, she gave Declan her back and walked. “The plans are in Mr. Stoub’s office.”

  “Super,” he said.

  She sashayed across the room with her chin held high, stopping at the marble counter across from the conference room and pointing toward the fancy coffeemaker. “There’s fresh coffee. Can I get you some?”

  “No. I’m fine. But thanks for offering,” he said.

  “Mm.” She continued toward the office, Declan following her. “Well.…” After walking in, she eyed several elongated white tubes sitting on top of the oversized desk and gestured toward one wingback chair. “Have a seat. It will take me a second or two to find the right drawings.” She walked around the office furniture as Declan sat on the edge of the chair. Picking up one tube, she read the label. “Sawyer,” she said and set it down in too much of a rush. Her hand accidently hit the other containers. They jostled and started to roll. She tried to stop their momentum, but several of the cylinders went over the side and hit the floor. “Geez Louise.” Tiffany sidestepped and bent to get them.

  Declan had already jumped up to help her.

  “Here, let me,” he said, coming to her side and squatting next to her.

  When he reached for the mess, his right arm brushed against the top portion of her left shoulder. She sucked in a breath at the contact and thought her heart would stop from the frisson of energy snapping over her skin. Every part of her body became awar
e of him. He was potent. And virile. A rough, intoxicating man in his prime.

  Refusing to be reduced to a quivering weakling, she reminded herself he was only a man, akin to any other, and turned to see his face. “Thank you.”

  He met her gaze. “Anytime.”

  Those eyes. The color of the sea. Deep, blue-green, and fathomless.

  Who was she trying to kid? Declan Cage wasn’t just any man. She looked away and focused on something else.

  Tiffany fixed her attention on the clutter she’d created, but she was still watching him—staring at his large hands while he gathered up the blueprint holders. She licked her lips and pictured those hands on her body, fondling her.

  “I think this is what you’re here for,” she said and tugged one tube out of his grip. “Cherry Hills.” She turned the container around so the label faced him. He nodded. “I’ll trade you.” She switched her lone cylinder with his three, tucking one up against her side before she straightened and went to the desk. “I’ve tried to get Mr. Stoub to put these plans away and not keep them out like this.”

  Carefully, Tiffany placed each blueprint tube alongside the others and watched to make sure she wasn’t going to have any runaways. When she was satisfied they were going to stay in place, she glanced up.

  Declan had already taken the plans out and unrolled them, eyeing the specs where he stood.

  “This is exactly what I need,” he said.

  “Great.”

  He slightly turned the large parchment. The cords in his tanned forearms worked, jumping beneath the light smattering of crisp, sun-bronzed hair. His biceps flexed. She focused on the tattoo. The tatt wandered up his right arm and kept going—the end hidden beneath the material of his T-shirt. She made a fist, trying to stop the itch to trace the colorful artwork imprinted on him, and studied the width of his shoulders and breadth of his chest instead. Compelled, her gaze lowered to his jeans. Oh, my. The denim was worn white in all the right places.