[Siren Classic: Contemporary, BDSM, MF, spanking, wax play, HEA]
Running from the disappointment of her “perfect” fiancé, Cara Landon hoped a fresh start to her writing career would help get everything back on track. However, while researching a story on a notorious criminal, a chance encounter with a new man presents complications for Cara’s emotions, her job, and her life.
When Cara arrives at his door, police detective Logan Jameson is strongly inclined to assist the beautiful redhead, but circumstantial evidence leads Logan to suspect that Cara is not the innocent she pretends to be. Seeking the truth, Logan allows his desire for Cara to shape his actions, and he claims the young woman as his prisoner.
Curiosity and her own physical reactions to Logan lead Cara to learn more about her captor, and she soon discovers that love is its own trap. When the truth comes out, Cara must find a way to remain in the bonds Logan has secured around her.
It was a short drive from Cara’s currently useless car to his garage, but Logan managed to build himself into quite a rage as he navigated the road. Was he really so gullible when it came to women needing help? She had seemed so completely believable as nothing more than a woman caught in a storm with a flat tire. He had taken her utterly at face value. That’s what truly had him fuming. This was getting to be a really bad habit, and it was not like him at all. He had caught sight of her as she had trudged up his lane. He had been standing at his kitchen window waiting for his old fashioned tea kettle to whistle its tune when he noticed her slowly making her way down his drive. He watched as she stopped and stared at his home. There had been a half smile on her face as though she were remembering, or perhaps imagining, good times, and it had completely charmed him. She looked at his house the same way he did. She was wet and bedraggled, but something about her had appealed to him.
When he had opened the door to her and could not resist teasing, the sparks that had flown off her had charmed him even more. He liked a woman who would give as good as she got. No quiet, meek wallflowers for him. He liked women who were full of wit and fire, and this redheaded siren seemed to have both to match his own. Her hair was the color of burnished copper, and as she stood in the rain, he could almost imagine how it would look in the sunlight, and even as angry as he was now, both with himself and her, he realized he was very much looking forward to seeing how it looked in firelight.
When Logan had first caught sight of Cara, he had no idea who she was or why she was walking up to his door, but something had told him it was going to be interesting. When she stood in front of him on his porch, dripping wet, with the top of her head not quite reaching the height of his shoulder, he had felt an unexpected desire to pick her up and carry her inside to warm her up. Then she had looked up at him, her eyes an unusual shade between green and grey, and snapped at him. Suddenly, he didn’t just want to warm her, he wanted to see just how hot she could burn.
Her eyes had a spark in them that called out to something that lived deep inside him, and he had felt it come to life and growl softly. He was always one to help the damsel in distress and never expected or demanded anything in return, but if the damsel was willing, Logan was always happy to make sure she never forgot her gallant rescuer. He had liked his odds with this one. The fire in her promised real passion. She was a woman in need of aid, and he was a guy who liked to help women. He had charm and a softly glowing fireplace. It was a situation tailor-made for seduction. She had responded to the commanding tone of his voice, and the beast inside purred at the knowledge. But he couldn’t push that angle out of the blue, of course. It wouldn’t do to scare the poor thing. They could spend the storm fucking like bunnies, and then he would fix her car and send her on her way with a well-satisfied hug. It was a bit vanilla compared to what he really wanted, but he could enjoy vanilla when the situation presented itself.
All of that had changed now, though. He pulled the car into the garage and then picked up the items he had taken from her front seat. He wouldn’t even have noticed the name and phone number neatly printed at the top of the notebook had she not circled it in red ink. Stuart Marsden. He knew the name and he knew the number. Son of a bitch. Even had he been willing to entertain the idea that it was a complete coincidence, or that there was some innocent reason that the woman who showed up at his door had the name and number of the very man he had been investigating for the last two weeks, he could not ignore the other pieces of evidence that had been sitting on her passenger seat.
He played with the buttons on the digital recorder. It was brand new, and when he played the only file showing in its memory, he heard the woman’s voice repeating the word “testing” three times. The sharp crisp digital memory of her voice held a nervous excited tone to it. The recorder had been sitting atop the small blank notebook with an engraved silver Cross pen. It would appear that his treacherous mouse was a woman with a mission. He buried most of his rage, leaving just enough for a low simmer, and let a slow cold smile come across his lips. It was a smile that would make most women uncomfortable, but light a fire in others. He wondered which type of woman the mouse in his shower was. He intended to find out, and now he was certain that, whatever happened, it was most definitely not going to be vanilla.
“My turn, mouse. I am wearing way too many clothes. Do something about that, please.” He smiled down at her as she slowly began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Between each button, she traced her nails along his flesh and marveled at the way his body shuddered at her light touches. With the shirt disposed of, she then moved to the waistband of his jeans and carefully undid the button and lowered the zipper. She pressed her palm against the hardness of his cock, through his jeans, and heard a soft groan escape his lips. She moved to kneel in front of him, and his hands stopped her. “No, little one, not right now. Finish doing what you were told.” She straightened and slowly pushed his jeans down as he moved to step out of them.
“That’s better,” he said, and he reached out, lightning quick, lifted her by the hips and set her down on the edge of the vanity table. He lifted her knees and fitted his cock to her slick opening and surged forward. “Wrap your legs around me, my sweet, and hold on tight.” Logan pulled out of her slowly, then drove back into her hard and quick. Again. Slowly, he pulled out, only to push her backward sharply with his entering thrust. With each forward motion, she dug her nails deep into his back and wrapped her legs tighter around him. The difference in the movements was devastating to her senses, the hard pressure followed by the slow stroke against her clit making her mad with need for him, and she tried to move her hips to force him to change his relentless rhythm, but he grabbed her ass cheeks in his hands, his fingers biting into her flesh, and held her still.
“You follow my lead, mouse.” He growled into her ear. “Not the other way around.”
One hand left her ass and moved to fist a large handful of her hair, bending her head backward, fully exposing her neck to his questing mouth. He pulled out of her again, excruciatingly slowly, found a spot just above her collarbone and bit down, hard enough to make her cry out from the sudden unexpected pain, just as he surged forward again. The intensity was overwhelming, and she cried out again, this time from a deep need for release. “Please! Oh my god, please, Sir, make me come! I can’t…”
He increased the speed of his withdrawals from her, not yet matching the force of his forward thrusts, and answered her between each powerful movement. “Not even close, mouse. You can wait as long as I say you can. And we have a long way to go. This”—he nuzzled his lips where he had used his teeth—“is just a little punishment for your transgression.”
His words were helping her focus on something besides the ache in her cunt and the pressure on her clit, and once again, through the cloud of passion, she wondered if he did it on purpose. Then what he had said registered fully. She fought to control her breathing. “Punishment! What did I do?”
He thrust deep, holding his position deep inside her, and put his face right next to hers. “I never said you could move again this morning.” Then, maddeningly, infuriatingly, he placed a quick soft kiss on the tip of her nose, pulled out of her, and lifted her off the table and onto her feet.
“But I thought you wanted me to move!” She was almost desperate for the release she had been told only he could give to her.
“I did, but I never said it, and you never asked.”
He reached one foot under the table and pulled out a small cushion. “On your knees, mouse. I think it’s time your mouth and my cock got better acquainted.”
Cara fought back her need and instead began to focus on his. She knelt down and carefully took the head of his cock between her lips, running her tongue in circles all around the head and then down his shaft as he groaned and put his hands on her head, wrapping his fingers in her hair. She reached out with one hand, carefully cupping and stroking his balls as she opened her mouth as wide as she could and slowly began to take him in. Logan let her adjust the pace in the beginning, letting her mouth and throat get used to the feel of him, but as she began to move faster and take him deeper, he pushed her to take a little more. He began thrusting forward into her, fucking her mouth, looking down to watch his length disappear into her mouth. “That’s good, sweetheart, open your mouth for me.”