Naughty Desires (Naughty Shorts Book 1) Page 7

  “I have a knife.” I pull a blade from the knife block and an amused smile plays over his lips.

  “You want to trade all those misdemeanours in for a felony? Be my guest. I would be more than happy to throw you in my cruiser and take you for a ride, although I can’t promise we’d make it to the station without a detour along a dark gravel road in the middle of nowhere.” He tugs open his belt. “Or you can get on your knees in your cozy little kitchen and show me how sorry you are for breaking the law.”

  “I didn’t break any laws.” Desire pools between my thighs, pounds through my veins at the thought of kneeling at the feet of this seemingly cold, callous man who holds so much power over me. “You can search the house. You won’t find anything.”

  Smirking, he points to the dining room table. How did I not notice his wallet sitting in the center of the table?

  “I don’t know how it got here.” My bottom lip trembles. “I didn’t take it.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” he says, tugging open his fly. “But there it is, sitting on your table, and you’re the only one here. Now get that smart little mouth over here and we can start crossing all those misdemeanours off the list.”

  I sniff, as if I find the whole thing disdainful and make my way toward him. “What you’re doing is illegal.”

  “I’m not doing anything.” He points to the floor. “You’re the one who’ll be doing all the work.”

  “Fine.” I sigh, although my heart is pounding. “I’m telling the truth, but if this is what it takes to get you out of here, I can spare five minutes.”

  I kneel on the cold floor in front of him and look up, shuddering at the intensity of his gaze, his cool detachment.

  “Take it out.”

  I feel those three words as a throb between my legs. We have only begun and already I am so wet I can feel the trickle of my arousal on my inner thigh. My breasts feel swollen beneath the red lace bra I bought to match the gartered panty-and-stocking set I had to have when I walked into Revival’s only lingerie shop.

  His cock, thick and hard, bounces gently in my direction when I pull his pants and boxers down to remove it from its restraint. He makes no move to help me, just watches as if I were something between a mild irritation and a fleeting amusement.

  “Tell me you’re sorry.”

  I swallow hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “Show me. Make it good.”

  I lick his entire length from balls to tip and he doesn’t even flinch. Irritated by his self-restraint when I’m so close to coming all it would take is a single flick of his tongue, I wrap one hand around the base of his cock and pump, squeezing so hard I’m almost afraid I’ll hurt him.

  Chris hisses in a breath and fists my hair, angling my head back. “Take me in. All the way.” He pushes his cock into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat, and I gag. We’ve never played so rough before; he’s never been so deep.

  “Breathe.” He retreats enough for me to recover and thrusts in again. This time I’m ready and I wrap my lips around him and work his length with my hand and mouth moving in counterpoint.

  Need ratchets through me with every forceful thrust and I slide my hand between my legs to pleasure myself. After a lifetime of trying to prove to an absent father that I was worth keeping, I lost sight of what I wanted and what I needed to make myself happy. I wanted a husband who followed his heart. It didn’t matter if he came home with calluses instead of ink stains and coveralls instead of a suit. But I never told that to Chris. I let him take a job I knew he would hate. And I let him sit at home and spiral into depression after he lost it.

  Now I know what I want. I know how to get it. And I am brave enough to take that step. For both of us.

  Chris stiffens, his shaft turning rock hard in my mouth. I increase the pressure and he comes down my throat with a guttural groan.

  “That get you off?” he says after he withdraws. His cock is still semi-erect and I have a feeling we are nowhere near done.

  “No. Of course not.” I stand and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting his cum on my tongue. “But you’ve got what you wanted, so now it’s time for you to go.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.” He points to the floor. “Lie back and spread your legs. Show me how much you liked sucking my cock.”

  Even deep in the game, I balk at lying on the kitchen floor under the bright halogen lights and exposing myself so completely. With the barest lift of an exasperated eyebrow, I turn and bolt away.

  Big mistake. I make it only as far as the dining room before a thick arm slides around my waist and I am hauled back into a rock-hard body.

  “Resisting arrest.” He laughs softly. “You’re making this night even more enjoyable.” With one hand around my throat, holding me still, he strips off my dressing gown and shoves his hand between my legs. “Unfortunately, sweet thing, there is no resisting me.” Pushing my panties aside, he presses a thick, callused finger inside me.

  I almost come right then.

  “So wet. No wonder you were so quick to drop to your knees,” he murmurs in my ear as he adds a second finger.

  Desire shivers through me and my knees buckle. If not for his strong arm around my waist, I’d be on my knees again.

  “Shhhh.” He pumps his fingers deep inside me, teasing my clit with the palm of his hand. But it’s the pressure against my throat that makes me tremble, the control he has that makes me hot inside.

  “Don’t fight it. You’re not going anywhere. We’ll let this punishment fit the crime. I’m going to make it so you can’t resist anymore.”

  “Please . . .” I don’t know if I want him to stop or not to stop, but it isn’t up to me. When he adds a third finger, stretching me as he thrusts deep and hard, dragging his fingertips over my G-spot, and pressing hard against my clit, I am lost. Soaring on a current of pleasure so intense it arcs through my body from my head to my toes.

  Chris holds me tight as I come down, sighing his disapproval. “Naughty girl. You made my hand all wet.”

  “You made my lips all wet. Now we’re even.”

  “Nice try.” I hear the clink of a chain and then cold steel snaps around my wrist. “But we’re just getting started.”

  Chapter Ten

  Chris

  I have never been so hard for so long. Not even her sweet mouth was enough to take the edge off my desire. Lily is fucking perfect, her responses so real I almost feel like the badass cop I am pretending to be.

  I yank her other hand behind her back and snap the handcuff in place. Lily trembles when I push her forward and my dick physically aches. We’ve only just started and all I can think about is plunging deep inside her. But I’m in control of the scene, and I intend to control myself as well.

  “Gonna search you for any other stolen articles you might have taken from our complainant.” I push her over the dining room table, cheek down on the oak surface, and step back to inspect my prize.

  I told her to wear something sexy tonight, and her choice of lingerie is perfect. Her red lace garter belt and thigh-high stockings are stuff out of my wildest fantasies. I’ve always loved red. Every day of the two weeks I waited at the bus stop to see her again, I bought red roses, dropping them off at a local senior’s center each time she didn’t show up.

  “Looks like you had plans for the night, Ms. Meyers.” I snap her bra strap, undoing the catch so the band falls free. “More robberies? Or just more public indecency in the alleys of our fine city?”

  “I’m not a hooker,” she mumbles against the table. “You have the wrong woman.”

  “The wallet on the table says I have the right woman.” I run my finger along her wrists beneath the cuffs. “And she’s going to stay exactly where I put her and do exactly as I say.” I kick her legs apart, and she moans the way she did the first night we were together when I fucked her against a cold brick wall.

  That night is burned into my brain. Every sound. Every smell. Every touch, taste, and sens
ation. I remember the press of her soft hand against mine, the meal we shared, every word she said, the way her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down to the vee of her T-shirt that exposed the creamy crescents of her breasts. I wanted her with a ferocity that took my breath away. But it wasn’t until I pulled her into the alley and she melted against me that I knew she felt the same.

  I unclip the nightstick from my belt, and she stiffens on the table.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Cavity search.” I hold the nightstick in front of her, letting her take a long look at the thick, shiny black surface. Aiden has a wardrobe full of costumes and accessories in his dungeon that he was more than happy to share. “It won’t hurt.” I pause for effect. “Much.”

  “You’re not going to . . .”

  “Oh yes.” I trail the nightstick up the inside of her thigh. Her legs tremble, and I feel a moment of pure male satisfaction. This might be a game, but she can’t hide her natural personality, her need to please. I slide the stick across her labia and up and over her clit. Again and again, until her body softens and her skin flushes with arousal. When I’m sure she is ready, I hold her still and push the nightstick inside her wet heat.

  “Oh God,” she gasps.

  “You hiding anything in here?”

  “No. Please . . . ” She pants her breaths, her hips moving with the rhythm of the stick as I push it in and out of her pussy. Her response makes me feel possessive in a way I’ve never experienced before. Life may knock us about, but when it comes to sex, she has given me the control I need.

  “Easy.” I remove the nightstick and gently slide it between her ass cheeks, resting it at her back entrance. She isn’t ready for that tonight. Hell, we’ve never even discussed anal sex. But now that the walls are down . . .

  “Chris!” She almost rolls off the table in her attempt to get away, forcing me to drop the stick and immobilize her with the weight of my body so she doesn’t get hurt.

  Big mistake. With my cock pressed between her cheeks, it is all I can do to hold on.

  “Chris is the man whose wallet you stole,” I murmur in her ear. “I’m the man who’s going to get it back.”

  I’m a new man. A better man. A forgiven man. Not everyone gets a happily ever after, but then not every man finds a woman who can see the heart of him and set him free.

  “I like my cuffs on you.” I pull back enough to admire the gentle slope of her curves and the way her bound hands rest at the small of her back. “I might keep you under permanent arrest.”

  “And I might never get off if you don’t stop talking,” she snaps.

  “Get off?” I laugh at her slip. “I’m not here to get you off, Ms. Meyers. I’m here to hear you confess.

  “I need a little incentive.”

  Unable to hold back any longer, I shove down my clothing and free my aching cock from its restraint. “How about a big incentive?”

  She looks back over her shoulder and grins. “The bigger the incentive, the better the confession.”

  I enter her with one hard thrust. Her pussy contracts around me, hot and wet. Damn. I missed connecting with her this way. Now that we’re together again, I will never let her go.

  I pull out and drive in again, showing her with my body what I had forgotten over the last year. Lily is mine. Mine to protect, to hold, and to love.

  She writhes on the table and I pound into her. She is so hot and wet I don’t even try to last. I push harder, slide one hand over her hip to stroke her clit. The little bundle of nerves tightens beneath my fingers and I pinch hard.

  Her body tightens, and she screams, her pussy pulsing around me. Too much. One more thrust, and my balls contract. I bury myself deep and pleasure shoots through my cock in wave after exquisite heated wave.

  I collapse on top of her, press a soft kiss to her nape as I fumble in my pocket for the key to the handcuffs. “I didn’t hear that confession.”

  She sighs softly and I pull out and undo the cuffs, rubbing her wrists when she turns to face me.

  “Okay,” she says, looking up at me. “I confess. I took your wallet. That first evening we were together was so amazing and so intense I couldn’t believe it was true. When you fucked me against the wall behind the bar, I reached into your pocket and took your wallet so I could check you out. I thought there had to be something wrong with you. Maybe you were married or you had a girlfriend or maybe you were a psycho. No one had every pursued me like that. No one ever wanted me.”

  It takes my lust-soaked brain a moment to realize this confession isn’t part of our game. It’s for real.

  “I just meant to take a peek in the restroom when we went back into the bar and slip it back in your pocket, but then we were interrupted and we had to run and I couldn’t think of a way to tell you I had it. After you dropped me at home, I went to the police station and handed it in. I’ve always felt so guilty about that.”

  “You’re the good Samaritan?” I am as much delighted by her confession as I am surprised. It always bothered me to think a stranger had been through my wallet. But it was my Lily, who couldn’t believe she was wanted. She will never feel that way again.

  “Yes, and also the thief.” She looks up at me, vulnerable and open in a way she has never been before. We’ve both changed, I realize. And it will make us stronger. “I’m so sorry.”

  “How sorry?” I scowl, but the effect is no doubt lessened by the quiver of my lips. “You’ve just confessed to a serious crime. It’s going to take a considerable amount of time to convince me not to lock you up.”

  Lily gives me a mischievous smile. “How long?”

  “The same length of time it will take for me to make up for the last year.”

  “Forever?“

  “Yes.” I gather her in my arms. “Forever.”

  Thank you so much for reading Naughty Desires. I hope you enjoyed it! Stay up to date on my new releases by signing up for my newsletter at http://bit.ly/SC2news.

  If you’re looking for more Naughty Shorts, keep reading for a sneak peek at Naughty Wishes, the second book in the series.

  Warning: Although Naughty Wishes is about a couple finding their way together again, there is a ménage scene in the book. If that’s not your thing, then take a peek at book 3, Naughty Secrets, a sweeter story about love, loss and longing.

  Naughty Wishes

  By Sarah Castille

  I pull my pink satin bathrobe snugly around me and knot the belt tight. So much for another birthday. Except for a card from my youngest son, Justin, and a kiss from my oldest, Peter, the day has been largely uneventful. And that’s the way I like it. Nothing can stop the slow creep of age, so why the big reminder?

  Still, it would have been nice if Dan had at least remembered my birthday. Although why should this year be different from any other?

  “You coming to bed, babe?” Dan calls out. “Don’t forget to turn off the lights. And make sure that faucet isn’t dripping again.”

  I look up into the mirror and catch a glimpse of Dan climbing into bed. He’s wearing the skull print PJ bottoms I bought him for Christmas and the AC/DC T-shirt from the last concert we saw together, just before Peter was born. Except for a slight greying of his hair, and slightly less definition in his broad, muscular chest, he looks just as handsome as he did when he swept me off my feet at the bar where I was celebrating my twentieth birthday.

  Me on the other hand . . . same shoulder length auburn hair, same green eyes, but my curves are more curvy, and I’ve added an extra plus to my usual plus size.

  I check the tap, turn out the light, then join Dan in bed, carefully leaving a pillow-size space between us. I always leave my robe on until Dan has turned out the bedside light. After fifteen years of marriage, we seldom touch anymore. We sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Rarely have sex. And only hold hands at church on Sunday.

  “Goodnight.” I fiddle with the belt on my robe, waiting for Dan to roll onto his side and plunge the room into blissful dar
kness.

  “I have a birthday present for you,” he says. “It’s under your pillow.”

  “You remembered my birthday?” I rip the pillow away and snatch up the pink envelope beneath, making no effort to hide my excitement. I can’t remember the last time Dan bought me a birthday present, and I stopped reminding him five years ago because it hurt more to see the guilt on his face than it did to just pretend it was any other day.

  “I always remember, Kylie. I just . . . never know what to do anymore. I don’t know what you like.”

  “You’ve lived with me for fifteen years.” I tear open the pretty pink envelope—was it chance or did he remember my favorite color? “How can you not know what I like?”

  “You’ve changed,” he says. “I’ve changed. We’re like strangers sharing a bed.”

  His words send a chill through my veins and I freeze mid-tear. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying open the envelope.”

  With much less enthusiasm I pull out the card and stare at the gold “Happy Birthday” written in script across the front. No age, although I suspect they don’t make cards for thirty-five year olds. No “wife” or “lover” or even “friend” below. No pictures of flowers or balloons. As far as cards go, it is about as generic as they get.

  “Thank you.” I muster a smile and fall back on the good manners my mother taught me when I was young and naïve and full of dreams about love lasting a lifetime.

  “Open it.”

  “Maybe I’ll save some of the fun for tomorrow.” I place the card carefully on my lap. If he’s just scrawled his name inside, I might burst out crying and Dan has never handled strong emotion very well.

  “Please,” he says. “Just look inside.”

  Dan isn’t the begging type. Or the asking type. At least he wasn’t when we first met. He was dominant, possessive, the epitome of an alpha male. And he totally rocked my world. Now, he’s a good provider, a good father, but as emotionally closed off as he used to be open. As a result, his plea moves me to reconsider.