by Blake, Zoe
His head reared back as he sucked in a long breath through his nose. The heat of his anger was palpable. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock as it pressed against her stomach. It was a threat…a promise.
“Not your commander?”
She could feel the rumble in his chest as he practically growled the words.
Phoebe hesitantly shook her head no. Her stomach clenched as she tightened her inner thighs, mashing them together. God help her but this clash of wills turned her on. There was this sick thrill in courting danger…and there was no mistaking that defying Michael was courting danger.
“You’re right. I’m not your commander. I’m your fucking daddy and it’s about time you recognized my authority and accept my protection.”
Before she could protest, his head swooped down, attacking her mouth, claiming her for his own. He tasted like whiskey and coffee. Warm hands ran up the side of her thighs to grip her ass. Phoebe’s eyes sprang open when she felt the tips of his fingers tease the seam between her bottom cheeks before they slid between her clenched thighs to caress her through the thin fabric of her panties.
“You’re already wet. For me,” he said against her mouth as he nipped at her bottom lip while two fingers played with the seam of her panties before dipping underneath to feel the soft lips of her pussy.
“Oh god,” moaned Phoebe as she clutched at his shoulders. The harsh feel of the damp wool of his overcoat strangely snapped her out of a heated seductive haze. “Wait! Stop! You can’t! Someone will see.”
“I don’t give a damn, princess.”
Easily lifting her against his strong frame, Michael stepped to the side and sat on the bay window bench, forcing her to straddle his hips. The soft lining of his thick overcoat cushioning her knees, Phoebe couldn’t focus. It was if she were floating under a warm sea of water.
Michael’s hands dipped into the V-neck of her sweater and ruthlessly forced it down, exposing the soft curves of her breasts. Keeping his intense gaze trained on her, he slowly lowered his head. She watched as the tip of his tongue flicked her pert nipple. Her head fell back, a moan escaped her lips as her eyes squeezed shut.
“Look at me, baby,” he ordered.
She obeyed.
Once again riveted by his gaze, she was transfixed as his tongue swirled around her nipple. Teasing her.
Phoebe rocked her hips, rubbing herself on his cock through the heavy fabric of his uniform pants, feeling a thrill of victory when he moaned in response.
His arms wrapped around her middle and yanked her closer as his mouth descended on her breast, sucking the nipple in deep, allowing his teeth to skim her flesh as he laved her with his tongue.
Phoebe’s fingers gripped his hair as she pulled him closer. The buttons and metals on his uniform coat scratched her delicate flesh. The slight twinges of pain and the cold, harsh feel of metal against her warm skin only spurred her on.
“God dammit, woman. I need to fuck you,” he ground out as he wedged his hand between their entwined bodies. Lifting her skirt up in front, he fisted the sheer fabric of her thong and pulled, snapping the tiny piece of material in two.
Over their harsh breathing she could hear him unbuckle his belt. Tilting her hips upward, she rubbed herself against the back of his hand as he lowered his zipper, freeing his thick shaft.
“Lift up on your knees.”
Phoebe hesitated. As with the last time, she felt a pang of fear over the idea of taking his large cock into her body, knowing it would give equal measure of pleasure and pain.
“Lift up on your knees,” he repeated, his voice harsh with lust. “If I have to ask again, I will flip you over and fuck you from behind.”
“I don’t—” breathed Phoebe, overwhelmed by his arrogant possession of her body.
The wide head of his cock pushed against her tight entrance. There was a sting of pain as he forced it in…but then he paused.
“Just say yes, daddy.” His demanding tone let Phoebe know he would give no quarter in the matter. “I want to hear you say it.”
Phoebe tried to sink her hips down, to push her own body onto his shaft but his large hands on her hips prevented her.
“No. Say it, little one.” His eyes glowed a dark, cobalt blue under lowered brows. His heavy, even breathing mingled with her own.
Running both her hands along the harsh planes of his jaw, feeling the scratch from his five o-clock shadow against her palms, Phoebe captured his gaze.
“Yes, daddy.”
With a guttural groan, Michael pushed down on her hips, impaling her small body on his cock. Her cry of painful pleasure was swallowed by his kiss. He started to move. Driving his hips upward, he thrust inside of her. Phoebe’s body was thrown against his chest from the force of his thrusts. Reaching past his shoulders, she laid her flat palms against the cold window panes.
The threatening black clouds had finally broken into a fierce storm. Heavy raindrops splattered against the glass as the wind outside raged and howled.
The tumult outside matched the one inside the library.
Grabbing her hip with one hand and covering her mouth with the other, he began to pound into her small body. His hips lifted off the bench with every thrust as she rode his cock.
“Come for me, baby,” he rasped along the column of her neck as he sunk his teeth into her skin.
The windows behind him had begun to cloud over with condensation from the heat of their bodies. She could hear the hum and bustle of people on the floors below them. Yet nothing else mattered but the strong feel of his arms wrapped around her middle and the pulsing thrust of his cock between her legs. Feeling her body tighten as the pressure built, Phoebe leaned back, trusting in his grasp. Her upper body felt suspended in mid-air. Tightening her knees against his hips, his cock went in even deeper. Opening her mouth on a silent scream, her eyes screwed shut as she threw her head back, relishing in the waves of dizzying pleasure which crashed over her.
She was only dimly aware of his muted groan as he came deep within her tight passage. His large hand splayed over the soft skin of her stomach as they both waited for the final tremors, the pulsing pleasure to ebb.
* * *
Phoebe felt shy and anxious as they descended the small brass spiral staircase. Michael insisted on carrying her stack of books. Searching the faces of the few midshipmen hanging about the lower level as well as the older man who was checking out her books, Phoebe was relieved to see no censorship. Tucked away in the quiet upper loft, no one seemed to have suspected what she and the commander had been about.
Exiting the library, the frigid blast of air tinged with stinging raindrops cooled her heated cheeks.
“I…well…um…I guess I’ll be going now,” she said awkwardly as she tried to shove the books on local Indian tribes into her shoulder bag.
His only response was a low chuckle. “Where is your coat?”
“I don’t have one with me. It’s fine. It’s only a short walk to my building.”
Ignoring her protests, he shook off his wool overcoat and placed it over her shoulders. She was instantly enveloped in the warmth of his scent. Then taking her shoulder bag from her, he placed an arm around her lower back and guided them past the archway onto the rain slicked path back to her building.
Neither said a word as she pulled open the heavy metal door to her building. She shrugged out of his coat and started to say thank you, hoping to leave him at the entrance.
Michael grabbed her hand and led the way down the hall.
Once at her door, Phoebe tried again to get him to leave. She needed time to process what had just happened.
The passion. His anger. His accusation. The daddy kink.
It was all swirling about her head.
After another awkward attempt, Michael grabbed her by the chin and forced her gaze to his. “I’m not leaving, princess.”
With a sigh, Phoebe rummaged through her shoulder bag till she found her room key. As she pushed it into the lock, she rea
lized the door was already opened. Pushing it wide, she flicked on the light and let out an exclamation. Before she could utter a word, Michael’s arm swept in front of her, immediately placing her body protectively behind his own.
“Step back. Stay in the hall,” Michael ordered as he took a step into her room. He maneuvered quickly around the confined space. Checking the closet, bathroom and under the bed.
Phoebe took a tentative step into her room.
Her trashed room.
The bed covers were ripped to shreds and the mattress tossed. Clothes were scattered about the room. The desk and chair were on their sides. On the wall over her bed, in blood, was the symbol of the wendigo, a large circle with several crisscrossing lines and the overlapping drawing of a skeletal face in the center.
She watched in shocked silence as Michael pulled her suitcase from the closet and began picking up her strewn clothes and tossing them in.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You’re not staying here. Grab your things from the bathroom. You’re coming with me.”
Rubbing her face, trying to quell the rising fear in her chest, Phoebe struggled to stay calm and focused. “It’s fine. I can pack my own things. I’ll grab a room at the motel in town.”
Circling around the bed, Michael stormed toward her. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he said, “Do you honestly think I’m going to allow you to stay in a motel?”
“This is not about what you will or will not allow! You can’t just order me about! You don’t own me!” she raged. It wasn’t really anger at him or even his high-handed protectiveness. She was frightened and lashing out. This was supposed to be just some quick story she did to please the owner of the paper. Now her life was being threatened by some crazy person who probably thought they were possessed by the fucking mad monk’s ghost! What the fuck!
“The minute you walked through my office door you became mine, which means you’re mine to protect. I don’t care if I have to toss you over my shoulder and drag you back to my place kicking and screaming, but rest assured, babygirl, you are spending the night with me…in my bed…under my protection. You got that?”
Faced with well over six feet of dominant male determination, Phoebe could only nod yes.
Chapter 11
With no further protest from Phoebe, Michael gathered all her things and ushered her out the door. The commander of the academy was afforded a small brick home on the edge of campus. With neither of them having an umbrella, there was nothing left to do but run through the sheets of rain till he reached his front door. Leading her inside, he began to turn on the lights. Sparing a glance for Phoebe, he was alarmed at how small and vulnerable she looked. Walking over to her, he easily swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs. Placing her on the bed, he went into the master bathroom and began to run a hot bath. All the while, she sat there still and silent.
Michael walked up to her. “Arms up.”
She obeyed without a fight…which was what worried him.
He carefully pulled her gray sweater over her head. He then unlatched her black lace bra. Tossing them both on the bed, he knelt before her and removed first one than the other knee-high boot, giving each chilled foot a comforting squeeze. Lifting her under the arms, he raised her to her feet and unhooked her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. He had what was left of her black thong still tucked in his pocket from their lovemaking in the library. Picking her up once again, he walked her into the bathroom and slowly lowered her into the steaming hot water. The impact of the water thawed her reserve.
Phoebe grabbed onto his upper arm.
“There’s something I need to tell you. I’m not a—”
Michael stopped her with a finger to her lips. “It can wait. You take a nice hot bath while I prepare dinner for us. We’ll talk then.”
Leaving her to soak in the tub, Michael walked back into the bedroom and stripped out of his wet uniform. Tossing on only a pair of jeans, he walked barefoot downstairs. Checking that the front door was locked, he headed to the hall closet. Pressing his thumb to the fingerprint lock on the safe, the moment the door sprung open, he removed his 9mm Glock. Grabbing a loaded magazine, he closed the safe door and headed into the kitchen. With the gun within reach, he began to prepare dinner for them both.
* * *
Phoebe arrived downstairs dressed only in one of his white dress shirts and a pair of his white tube socks. The socks were so large they looked like leg warmers over her small calves. His shirt reached to well below mid-thigh. Michael felt his gut clench. It was the first time he was seeing her without her standard cat-eye makeup and red lips. She looked beautiful.
“I left my suitcase down here, so I borrowed one of your shirts. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind in the least,” he said with a wink. “Sit. Wine?”
At her nod, he poured them both a glass of cabernet. Heading back into the kitchen, he returned with their plates and joined her at the table.
“I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs. It’s the one thing I know how to cook well.”
“Actually, it’s one of my favorite dishes.”
“Good.”
They both sat in silence for several minutes. Michael eating. Phoebe mostly twirling the pasta around her fork and taking fortifying sips of wine.
“You know. I’m a pretty sensitive guy. You’re going to hurt my feelings if you don’t at least pretend to like my cooking,” he said teasingly.
Phoebe smiled. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not that hungry.”
“Grab the bottle and our glasses and head into the living room. I’ll join you in a minute.”
“No. I’ll help with the dishes.”
“No you won’t and that’s an order.”
He was pleased when she obeyed him without further argument. After cleaning up, he joined her. The living room was furnished comfortably in masculine shades of royal blue, maroon and gold. Engravings of notable naval ships graced the walls and a beautiful brick fireplace dominated one wall. Michael had lit a fire to warm up the room while she was in her bath. As he walked in, he noticed she was curled up on the sofa with one of the throw rugs covering her legs.
He had never been the sort to want to settle down, but seeing Phoebe in his home, wearing his shirt, he felt a strong desire to want to spend every night like this…with her. Sitting next to her on the sofa, he watched and waited. He had learned through years of interrogations of enemy combatants in the military that silence was actually one of the greatest motivators to get someone to talk.
After several minutes, she broke. “How much do you know?”
Stroking the back of his knuckles down her cheek, he said, “Sorry, princess, that’s not how this is going to work. You’re going to tell me everything. Right here. Right now.”
Watching her sigh as she toyed with the stem of her wine glass, he could practically hear her weighing her options. Hopefully, she came to the correction conclusion.
She had only one. Him.
He knew he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. There was no denying she had been lying to him, probably from the start. He just needed to know about how much she had been lying. The one thing he was confident about was she was not lying about her reaction to him. What they had was too raw, too primal to be a lie. He also knew she had placed herself in danger by trying to investigate alone the murders of those two women. What he didn’t know was why.
She tucked a lock of honey blonde hair behind her ear before meeting his eye. Taking a deep breath, she said, “My name isn’t Phoebe Pringle.”
Michael smiled. “I figured as much, although I have to confess, I like Phoebe. It suits you.”
“My name is Phoebe…but it’s Wilson. Phoebe Wilson.”
“So, Phoebe Wilson, mind telling me what you are doing at my academy and why you lied?”
“I’m an investigative journalist. I’m here to see if there was a naval cover-up of the murders of Mary Bruen and Annie Port
er,” she burst out in a rush. Her eyes were wide and glistening as she waited for his response.
A journalist.
He figured as much. Her shoes were far too impractical for her to be private investigator. He had warned his supervisors in the navy it would only be a matter of time before someone from the press caught wind of the story. The details of the murder were too salacious, too gruesome.
“And what have you learned?”
“Wait. You’re not going to comment on what I just said?”
“What is there to say?”
Amused, he watched her beautiful green eyes light with anger and defiance.
“Nothing. There is nothing to say,” she burst out, obviously hurt.
If he doubted for a moment she felt anything for him beyond his usefulness in her investigation, she just chased it away right there with her disgruntled pout. His adorable princess thought he was being dismissive of her…of them. She was mistaking his lack of response, his calm demeanor, for disregard. Mistakenly thinking he regarded her as a quick fuck so her real name didn’t matter…it was past time she realized she was his…and he played for keeps.
Taking the wine glass from her fingers, he placed it on the coffee table with his own. He then grabbed her arms and pulled her over his lap.
“What are you doing?” she cried out.
Flipping up the hem of the white shirt, he bared her ass. Raising his arm, he brought his hand down on her right cheek. The loud crack as his palm met her skin echoed around the quiet room.
“Are you crazy?” she screeched.
“That was for lying to me about your name.”
He raised his arm again and spanked her left cheek. A cherry red palm print appeared almost immediately. “That was for putting yourself in danger.”
Phoebe kicked and screamed but could not dislodge his restraining arm across her lower back.
Deliberately spanking the generous under curve of each bottom cheek, he yelled over her hollering, “And that was for thinking that what we have is so superficial it can’t survive a few obstacles. Do I need to continue?”