Chapter 22
CHRISTIAN
M ore and more often these days, I find myself wondering how I got so damned lucky.
Not only is Starling one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, she’s also hardworking, compassionate, brave, funny, and a stone-cold weirdo who jumps into our role-playing with every bit of her considerable heart and soul.
“That’s right, captive, work yourself for me,” she says as she pushes me onto my back on the furry blanket and straddles my hips. “Let me see you stroke yourself.”
“Yes, mistress.” I jerk my cock slowly from base to tip as she draws her furry bra up and over her head, treating me to a delicious view of her slightly dirty tits.
She’s smeared something on herself—black makeup of some kind?—to make her look like a barbarian warrior princess fresh from battle, and call me a sex pervert, but I am here for it. I am so here for it, I stop stroking myself, needing a break from erotic stimulation before I embarrass myself, only to earn a sharp smack on my thigh from my domineering warlordess.
“I said stroke yourself, captive,” she says, cupping her breasts in her hands. “Displease me again, and I won’t let you suck my nipples while I ride you.”
“I apologize, mistress,” I say, gripping myself at the base of my cock and squeezing, willing myself to retain control. “Don’t take the nipples off the table. It would be my honor and privilege to worship your breasts while you take your pleasure from my lowly, unworthy cock.”
Her lips quirk, but she regains control, staying in character as she murmurs, “Your cock is lowly and unworthy, but…I like the shape of it.”
“You do?” I bite my bottom lip as she begins to tease her own nipples, making me even crazier to get my hands—and my mouth—on them.
She glances down, the feel of her gaze on me enough to make me even harder. “Yes. And the way it glistens at the tip for me.” Her eyes slide back to my face, connecting with mine with enough electricity to make my heart skip a beat. “What do you call that, captive?”
“Pre-come,” I say, the need to be inside her so strong, I can’t resist arching my hips, lifting her a few inches into the air. “It means I find you very, very sexy.”
Her mouth hooks up on one side. “You have a thing for strong women who steal you away to their tents and demand that you give them your seed?”
“I do.” I pause for a second, a little surprised when I realize the “knocking her up” part of the fantasy is pretty hot. But that’s the best part of this kind of play. I learn new things about Starling—and myself—all the time. This was her addition to my barbarian suggestion, so it must be something that gets her worked up, too. Leaning into that, I add in a husky voice, “Knowing you want me to come inside you, to fill you up with my seed and give you a baby. It turns me on so much.”
Her lips part, her breath rushing out as she skims her hands from her breasts to the top of her tiny leather shorts. “I like the way you talk to me, captive. If you please my pussy as much as you please my ears, I might even let you finish on top.”
Before I can say, “Thank you, mistress, that would be fucking amazing,” she shifts to one side of my hips and quickly disposes of her shorts, revealing she has absolutely nothing on underneath.
She straddles me again, granting me a glimpse of her wet pussy in the candlelight that nearly undoes me all over again. But I clench my jaw and her hips in each hand, maintaining control as she fits my cock to her entrance and slowly sinks down.
She lets out a soft moan that summons a growl from low in my throat. “Yes,” she says, shifting forward to brace her hands on my chest. “Your cock pleases me, captive. I like the way you fill me.” She rises up until my head is barely held inside her before grinding down hard again. “I like it very much. You may worship my breasts as your reward.”
“Thank you,” I murmur as I cup her breast hard, squeezing the flesh as I flick my tongue quickly back and forth over her pebbled tip. “You taste like heaven.”
“I taste like the heat of battle,” she says, her breath coming faster as she rides me hard, taking her pleasure in a way that’s sexy as fuck. “And divine feminine power and red meat and campfire.”
“And all my dirtiest dreams,” I agree, lifting my hips as she slams down on my cock again, making her cry out.
“Yes,” she says, gripping the fur above my head for leverage as she strokes faster. “Just like that. Fuck me just like that.”
I’m pretty sure she’s fucking me , but I’m not about to argue with my warrior princess. “Yes, mistress. You feel so good, your pussy wet and dripping on my cock. I can’t wait to fill you up with my come, my baby.”
“ My baby,” she corrects, her breath hitching as I catch her nipple lightly between my teeth. “Lineage descends through the mother in my…clan… Oh my God, oh my God, yes!”
She slams down on me one last time, her hips rocking as she rides out her orgasm. I can feel her slick walls gripping me tight as she comes, but I fight the urge to join her with everything in me, too desperate to have my barbarian on her back to lose it now.
“Permission to fuck you hard on top,” I grit out as her blissed-out moans and whimpers begin to grow softer and farther apart.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, captive, take your reward.”
A beat later, I have my arm tight around her waist, flipping us over in one smooth motion, rolling on top without pulling my cock from her dripping pussy for a second. “Now, it’s my turn to claim victory on the battlefield of love,” I say as I grip her behind her thighs, pushing them up and out until she’s spread wide for me. I glance down, watching my cock drive in and out of her wet heat, pretty sure I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life than her pleasured and open and ready for me to come inside her.
“I’m going to give you that baby you want, mistress,” I say, taking her with the same savage vigor she employed in her turn on top, slamming my cock into her welcoming body as she moans and wriggles beneath me.
I come with a roar she echoes as she tumbles over a second time, and I silently give thanks for my girl, this tent, and the best Thanksgiving surprise ever .
Afterwards, we lie side by side on the soft fake fur, catching our breath for several minutes before Starling giggles.
I roll my head toward her. “What?”
“Claim victory on the battlefield of love,” she echoes, repeating my line.
“Too cheesy?” I ask, grinning. “I can pull it back a little next time.”
She shakes her head and tosses her bare leg over mine. “No way. In the moment, I was totally into it. It only got funny after.” She giggles again. “Kind of like my furry bra.”
I grip the inside of her bare thigh possessively. “No way. I love that bra. There’s nothing cheesy about that bra. That bra slayed.”
“You slayed,” she says with a happy sigh. “I love your pervert ways.”
“Right back at ya, beautiful.” I trail my hand up her thigh. “Never change. I want to keep perverting it up with you for a long time.”
“So, you’re not planning to break up with me next month?” she asks, but in an idle way that lets me know she isn’t really worried.
Still, I want to make sure she knows just how serious I am about this.
About us…
With one smooth motion, I roll on top of her and pin her wrists to the rug above her head. “No way. You’re stuck with me, woman. That getting you knocked up fantasy was way too hot not to give it a try in real life someday.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really.” I kiss her, slowly, thoroughly, before pulling back to gaze down at her again. “With you.”
She grins. “I kind of figured. Since you’re naked and on top of me.” She swallows, emotion creeping into her voice as she adds, “Me, too. I want that with you. I want all the things with you. But maybe we should give it a year or two, then think about getting hitched before the baby part? That would probably make my mom happy. Barrett and Wren, too. They’ve been so cool about us dating and the sex tape fallout and everything, we really shouldn’t push our luck.”
“All right,” I say with a put-upon scowl. “I guess I can get on board with that plan. As long as I can pretend to knock you up a few times between now and then.”
“You can pretend to knock me up anytime, sexy,” she says, wrapping her legs around my hips. She wiggles against my rapidly swelling cock with a wicked grin. “In fact, you might want to try again right now. We still have two hours before we have to be at your mom’s house.”
“More like three hours,” I say, brushing my lips over hers as I release her wrists. I skim my hands down her arms to cradle her ribs beside her breasts. “The turkey always needs an extra hour to cook, and Barrett is the only one who ever shows up on time.”
“Three hours?” She loops her arms around my neck. “I could do some beastly barbarian things to you in three hours. I have some leather rope in the bedroom. I didn’t want to get too intense my first time out as Ravager the Horny Warlordess, but if you’re game…”
“When it comes to you, baby,” I say, pulling back to gaze down into her face, “I’m always game.”
Her expression softens. “I love you, Chris. I’m so glad you stayed.”
“Me, too. Best decision I ever made.”
And it is. No doubt in my mind.
Nora
A ll morning and into the early afternoon, as I prepare an ice-cream feast fit for a queen and her loyal lady in waiting, I remind myself that I don’t do jerks.
They say nice guys always finish last, but not with me.
I love a nice guy!
I have, in fact, dated exclusively nice guys, and have never had my heart broken. Not even once. Sure, I’ve been sad when things didn’t work out, but my boyfriends were so kind during the “breaking it off” process that I never lost my faith in love, men, or my eventual happily ever after.
And thanks to Gram, I have a loving home where I can retreat to lick my wounds when looking for Mr. Right starts to feel like too much.
I’m basically the luckiest woman in the world.
So…why do I feel so shitty?
And why can’t I stop thinking about Matty McGuire, no matter how hard I try?
“Are you going to eat that last scoop of passion fruit sorbet?” Gram asks, eying my last egg cup full of ice cream across our fancifully decorated dining room table. I went with a “Feast in the Fairy Forest” theme this year, decorating the chairs with gauzy wings, hanging birds and fairies from the ceiling, and weaving tiny sparkly lights through the flower vases.
I sit back in my chair with a huff, laying a hand on my stomach. “No, I’m stuffed. It’s all yours.”
“This is why you’re my favorite granddaughter,” she says, snatching the cup and diving in with one of the little espresso spoons we use for the ice cream feast to make the feasting last longer.
“I’m your only granddaughter,” I remind her with a smile.
Her blue eyes, nearly the exact color of mine, dance above her spoon. “True. But you’d still be my favorite, even if I had a dozen. Still going on your date with Sam this afternoon? He’s a cute one.”
“Yeah, I am.” I glance at the clock above the doorway leading into the kitchen. “I should probably go change, actually. I don’t want to walk the muddy path around the lake in white jeans.”
“You should change for sure,” Gram says, scooping a bite of sorbet between her lips before adding, “and pack an overnight bag while you’re at it.”
I frown. “What? Why?”
“So you can get some, honey,” she says, shocking me to my core.
Gram and I talk about a lot of things, but we never talk about that .
I may be nearly thirty years old, but in her eyes, I’m still that little girl who came to live with her when I was in second grade and so traumatized by life with my flighty mother that I slept on a mountain of emotional support stuffed animals.
“You’re too young and pretty to be on the shelf,” she continues.
“I’m not on the shelf,” I say, indignant. “I go on dates all the time.”
“But you haven’t gotten laid in years.”
My jaw drops far enough for one of the fake birds hanging from the ceiling to fit inside.
Who is this woman and what has she done with my sweet, mannerly little grandmother, the one who wouldn’t say “poop” if she had a mouthful of it?
“I may be old, but I’m not blind,” she says. “Or senile. I know what goes on around this town.” She arches a loaded brow my way. “And what doesn’t . And while I’m all for waiting to settle down until you find the right guy, there’s no sense in torturing yourself, sweetheart. Intimacy is a basic human need. It’s fun and relaxing and good for you.” Her brow furrows with concern. “You do enjoy sex, don’t you? If not, there’s therapy for that. And no shame in asking for help.”
“I…” I trail off. Open my mouth. Close my mouth. Blink and wait to wake up in my bed, mortified that my subconscious served up such an awkward dream.
When that doesn’t happen, I wheeze, “What are you getting at, Gram?”
“I’m trying to figure out if you have some sort of sexual dysfunction or if you’re just a big old chicken.”
My jaw drops again, and Gram reaches over, tapping me beneath the chin.
“Close your mouth, sweetheart,” she says kindly. “Don’t want a fly to get in. I saw one zooming around the kitchen earlier. Don’t know how flies are still pestering us in November, but it’s been a warm winter so far. Supposed to be even warmer tomorrow. You should pack that cute little sweater dress with the pink and blue swirls for your overnight and take your guy to breakfast tomorrow. I can hold down the fort alone for a night.”
“You cannot,” I say, ignoring the rest of the madness for now. “What if your arthritis acts up and you can’t get into bed by yourself?”
She shrugs. “Then I’ll sleep on the couch. One night on the couch won’t kill me. And I don’t have to be anywhere but here at home tomorrow, so I won’t need you to drive me around.” She pushes her chair back and stands, beginning to gather the empty egg cups on the silver platter I used to deliver them to the table. “If you don’t like Sam in that way, that’s fine, of course, but don’t use me as an excuse. I may be fussy and particular and have a bossy streak a mile wide, but I’m no cockblocker.”
“I have expired,” I murmur in a stunned daze. “I’m dead, aren’t I? And this is some weird version of hell where I have to listen to my grandmother say obscene, out-of-character things for all eternity?”
Gram frowns. “Isn’t that the way you say it? Cockblocker? Debbie told me it was. I asked if maybe it should be ‘vagina blocker’ in this case, since we’re both women, but she said that isn’t the way the slang works.”
The last of the blood drains from my face. “You talked to Debbie about my sex life?”
“Your lack of sex life, you mean?” Gram counters. “And yes, I did. Debbie’s my best friend.”
“Debbie’s the biggest gossip at the senior center!”
“She won’t gossip about you,” Gram says, adding beneath her breath, “There’s nothing to gossip about. That’s the whole point of the conversation.”
I surge to my feet. “I’m going to change. I’ll load the dishwasher when I get back, don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll load the dishwasher. And I’ll make my own breakfast tomorrow morning if need be.” She sniffs. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it. Just know that I support you getting out there and enjoying yourself a bit more. There are things I regret in my life but having lots of wonderful sex with your grandfather and the two very kind and generous men I was intimate with before him isn’t one of them.”
“Okay!” I chirp, plastering a smile on my face as I dash from the room, still certain this is a fever dream.
But twenty minutes later, when I leave for my walking date with nothing but my purse slung over my shoulder, the disappointed look Gram shoots me from the couch makes it clear this is very real.
I’ve really been reverse slut-shamed by my grandmother.
What would that be called?
Celibate shamed? Prude shamed?
Whatever you would call it, I can’t help it.
I can’t help it if the only man in town who makes me tingle keeps pushing me away. And I can’t help tingling for him.
When he’s not being a grumpy romance killer, Matty is basically my knight in shining armor. In just the past two months alone, he’s rescued me from a rabid attack squirrel in the park, the cranky pirate cat at the Ren Faire, the side of the road, and from a possible ghostly encounter at Bad Dog’s very own haunted hotel.
For a man who claims he isn’t interested, he sure shows up for me an awful lot.
Yes, I have a knack for getting myself into trouble, but I’ve dated men for years without having them literally sweep me off my feet and carry me away from danger not once, but multiple times. And my gut—and the gossip around town—assures me Matty doesn’t sweep all the ladies. He has a reputation for keeping to himself, in fact, and hasn’t had a girlfriend in years.
But somehow, whenever I’m in trouble, there he is, being sweet and brave and heroic, until the threat has passed. Then he goes back to being Mr. Walls Around His Heart again.
It’s so frustrating!
I should loathe the man.
But I don’t. And when I see his SUV parked behind The Cupcake Factory yet again on my way to the lake—parked there on a day when I know the bakery isn’t open and he has no innocent reason for being there—I can’t stop myself from flicking my turn signal. I have a little time left before I need to meet Sam, and Matty’s unexplained lurking around here has been driving me crazy.
I’m going to get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all, dammit.
I’ll get a straight answer from this man or die trying.
But I don’t really expect to die. Yes, Cassie Ann Sweetwater is a mob boss, but she’s a really nice mob boss, and one of Gram’s old friends from back in the day, when they were just beauty queens competing for a title and Cassie hadn’t committed herself to a life of crime.
As I park behind The Cupcake Factory and swing out of my car, heading toward where Matty’s SUV is nearly hidden behind the pink, fenced-in dumpster area, I’m not worried about being attacked.
The massive arm that wraps around me from behind comes as a complete surprise.
I squeal, but the sound is muffled by a man’s hand slamming down over my mouth, making stars dance before my eyes as he lifts me off my feet. “I knew he had a big mouth,” the guy growls into my ear as he totes me away, back toward the bakery. “Now it’s going to get his girlfriend in trouble.”
I squeal and struggle, but my meaty captor is enormous. There’s absolutely no way I’m getting away from him without help.
And just like that, Matty suddenly appears in front of us, blocking Meaty’s path to the back door of the bakery. I expect him to tell the man to let me go, but he skips that part and goes straight to decking the guy hard enough to send us both lurching to the right. The man’s arm loosens around me as we fall, but it’s too late for me to regain my feet.
I’m on a direct collision course with the pavement when Matty grabs my upper arms and hauls me against his chest.
Then, with our lips mere centimeters apart and our hearts racing in time, he breathes, “Get in my car. Now.”
I pull in a breath, but he cuts me off before I can speak, “I swear, if you argue with me right now, I’m going to spank you when this is all over.”
A sharp bolt of anger mixed with sizzling, electric pleasure zaps through me, and then I’m running toward Matty’s SUV, his big hand still wrapped tight around one of my arms.
He practically tosses me into the passenger’s seat and jogs around to the driver’s side, peeling out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.
As he takes the turn leading away from town at a speed that doesn’t seem wise, he cuts a gaze my way and says, “Scratch that. I’m going to spank you anyway. You clearly need a good spanking.”
My jaw drops again with an outraged huff.
I have no idea what’s going on, but Matty really is a raging jerk.
But unfortunately for me, kind of a sexy one…