Wildly Inappropriate (3 page)

She was wet, and he traced her slit with his fingers.

"Ready to listen," she whispered as he strode up the path.

Chapter Three

He plunked her down on a table in a spacious nook at the far end of a huge kitchen, kicking chairs out of his way as easily as he'd lifted her. Frowning, he touched his forefinger to the end of her nose.

"Don't talk."

When he dropped the coiled-up end of her leash onto the golden surface of the table it made a metallic jingle, sounding to Cynda like the lunch bell from her school days. She thought she might be the dish of the day until he turned away, disappearing through an open archway to her right. Leaning from side-to-side, she gingerly rubbed her abused butt cheeks. Those two spots burned as brightly as the copper hood over the massive stove. Cynda squinted at the dual oven doors beneath the six big burners and the fancy china lined along the plate rack over the pine sideboard to her left. Dark marble topped the counters. Through a storm door to her left, she spied a glassed-in room filled with plants. It didn't look like he needed any money.

He came back wearing jeans faded nearly white in places. He hadn't bothered to do up the buttons at the fly. The dark tangle of hair peeking through the wide-open vee made her heartbeat speed up, irrational though that was. Half-dressed, he was less intimidating, but the outline of his cock pressed along his abdomen was plainly visible. Shoving his huge arms through the ripped-out sleeves of a chambray shirt, he stared at her, his brows drawing together underneath the hair spilling over his forehead.

What kind of man gets hard and then gets dressed?
Confusion more than his order kept her lips sealed. Without bothering to fasten the shirt buttons he moved to stand in front of her. His hands slapped the wood on either side of her hips, making her jump. Cynda froze as he leaned in close enough to kiss.

"I won't lie. I goddamn wanna touch you." He choked out a short laugh that didn't sound like he was amused. His breath tickled her lips. "Brian started out by sending balloon bouquets with his offer typed on a little card. They made great target practice. After a couple of years doing that, he sent a stripper over to the garage. She gave my brothers lap dances and left the little portable tape player with her music. I guess his offer was recorded after the music ended, but I don't know, because I threw it out, along with her. My middle brother didn't talk to me for a week." His sudden grin was lopsided. "That was an unexpected bonus."

The chill caressing her skin from the air conditioning seemed to disappear when he smiled. He straightened, but reached to pick up a strand of her hair that had fallen across her chest. "Do you braid it? Corn rows, I think it's called. With long stacks of those little wooden beads at the end? Ten or so, I should think." He rubbed the strand between his thumb and forefinger as if testing the texture.

"Plastic beads," she corrected automatically, forgetting she wasn't supposed to speak.

"Wooden beads." His tone became stern. "And not damn neon. White beads." His smile seemed to soften and the look in his eyes appeared almost shy but his words were bold as brass. "I'd like to hear them clicking together while you ride my cock. Plastic won't make the same sound. There must be a salon in town that has 'em. Straight rows, not those insane zig-zaggy ones I see sometimes. Those hurt my eyes."

His words seemed to sink into her skin. The hairstyle he described was unique to her race, she felt. White girls tried to wear it sometimes, but their hair was too soft to hold the braids for long, and the beads fell out.

"Last year Brian sent six skinny bleached blondes in bikinis. They were supposed to wash our trucks, I guess, but ended up washing each other." Some emotion flashed in his eyes. She thought it might've been scorn. "One of 'em wrote Brian's offer in shoe polish on my windshield." His expression became stern. "Getting those six back into that van was like herding wet cats. Two female customers who had their vehicles up on lifts and couldn't leave haven't been back to the shop since. Now, he's sent you. Why am I finding it so hard to throw you out?"

Cynda had no idea how to respond. The stinging handprints on her butt were warning enough not to think out loud.

"So, I hope like hell Brian picked your outfit and not you. It won't matter, really, because if you want to go through with this, I'll be choosing your clothes." He shoved his fingers through his hair, whirling away to begin pacing back and forth. "What's your name?"

The soft feeling his comment about her hair had induced evaporated with his insult, but she answered his question. "Cynda Avery."

He continued talking, his long legs eating up the distance between the back door and the table where she sat. His pacing made her think he was the one on a chain, but that made no sense. "I'm not going to put my cock in you, Cynda, but if you'll allow me the privilege, I want to make you come. Look at this as an exercise in trust. And to see if we're compatible, before we discuss anything else."

This white boy is nuts. Cute as hell, but crazier than a bedbug.
She laughed harshly, so off-balance by his odd assortment of declarations she forgot she wasn't supposed to speak. "Yeah? And what's in that for you?"

"I'm a man who likes to take control, Cynda, but I don't object to proving I deserve to be in control of a woman's body."

Most men couldn't find their way around a woman with a map. In her experience, the ones who bragged most about their prowess were the worst at sex, and this white guy wouldn't be any different. Still, she couldn't take her eyes off his hands. He propped them on the table again and leaned forward. Staring. She felt him staring, but kept her gaze on his hands. They were large and strong, covered in tiny cuts and scars. Though he wasn't touching her, the burning sensation on her ass made it feel oddly as though they were connected.
Why does every man in the world think his cock entitles him to be listened to without question? Maybe I'm supposed to answer now. What choice is there?

"Okay."

He grabbed her ankle. His large fingers had no trouble with the tiny buckle. The shoe made a loud thump hitting the floor, but she was more focused on the way his fingers curled into the arch of her foot and the stroke of his thumb along the outside edge. Crazy thoughts raced through her head about Daniel—the story in the Bible—and lions while he undid her other shoe. Daniel was a good name for him. He was strong like a lion. She thought he was going to touch her face, but instead, he unsnapped the chain from the idiotic collar King had made her put on.

Gratitude did something stupid to her heart.

"Lie down and relax." Cynda leaned back cautiously, bracing on her hands. Daniel smiled as he eased one large finger beneath the bottom edge of her tube top. "I'm taking this off."

She nodded, forgetting she wasn't supposed to look him in the eyes. He hadn't yet shaved and dark scruff accented his chin. The chin wasn't pointed and it wasn't square, it was a perfect combination of the two. His expression was intent. He tugged her top upwards. She felt an instant's shame about the appallingly small size of her breasts, but when he dragged the band over her head his smile washed that away. The cool air reasserted itself on her consciousness, teasing her nipples. He pulled the stretchy garment and down her arms, but when she lifted her hands for him to remove the garment, to her surprise, he grasped both her wrists in one hand and wrapped the top around them, pinning her hands together. Something about that dissatisfied him and he pushed the band above her elbows. The top was stretched to its limit, leaving no give for her to work the fabric loose.

Her position thrust her small breasts forward. "Does that feel comfortable?" he asked, staring at her nipples. The small buds swelled in response to his gaze. The room felt warm again. Her heart hit her ribs so hard she wondered whether he could hear it.

"S'okay," she murmured. Waiting for him to touch her made her feel weirdly special. He wasn't grabbing at her, yet his eyes seemed to trace every curve.

"Your breasts are beautiful, all dark with pink centers, like flowers. Has anyone ever put nipple clamps on you before?"

She shook her head cautiously. She had no idea what a nipple clamp was but it sounded painful. He reached out to move her hair aside, but rubbed a strand between his fingers again before brushing it behind her shoulder. His palm felt rough when he caressed her shoulder. She didn't have a reference for the way he seemed to be exploring every texture. Her heart stopped beating when he cupped one small mound. Poising his thumb over one nipple, he raised her chin and looked into her eyes with the first touch.

She
felt
his look. It was a crazy thought, but it seemed his gaze stroked her as surely as his hand. A small ache began in her clit. The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to shrink, allowing the green to take over. "N-no. Does it hurt?"

"It does hurt a bit, but it increases the sensation and eventually gives you extreme pleasure. I want to pleasure you, Cynda."

She wanted to please him. She wasn't sure why, perhaps because she'd been dumped in his yard like a stray, and in spite of the way he'd spanked her, he was treating her with more respect than any man had ever done, especially when she was half-naked.

"Go ahead, I reckon."

* * * *

Dan left her on the table and opened the silverware chest that stood against the wall. He selected two sterling serving forks and a larger meat fork before he moved to the counter. The utility drawer yielded the other items he needed. The final piece he left on the plate rack above the sideboard. He could reach that from the table. He took his time, giving her a chance to change her mind or to make a break for the front door.

When he turned around, she was still sitting on the table.

She sank her teeth into her succulent bottom lip when he pinched her nipple just behind the bud, flattening the tender skin. Picking up one of the heavy sterling forks, he threaded her nipple between the center tines slowly, pushing the utensil upward until her nipple rested against the curve between the tines. He let the fork go and connected the male and female ends of a plastic zip tie, sliding the resulting loop over the tines, drawing the tie tight. After pushing the loop down until the tip of her nipple was caught between the plastic tie and the back of the fork, Dan watched the bud swell, pleased with his makeshift clamp. He repeated the process on her other nipple. The weighted handles of the silverware pulled her small tips downward adding, he knew, to her sensation. He tugged experimentally on each handle, getting a whimper in return.

"I'm going to do the same thing to your clit," he informed her, suppressing a smile when her eyes went wide. The skirt was almost as stretchy as her top, and he stripped it down her legs easily. "Let the pressure build, Cynda. Don't fight this, just go with it." Her thong ripped. He winced. He was too eager, but she was just so—foreign. Exotic. He wanted to see her pussy. "Open your thighs for me."

Mentally, he begged her to refuse so he could stop and throw her out but she obediently slid her legs apart. When her thighs parted and he saw the hood covering her clit was the same rosy shade as the tips of her nipples, Dan was spellbound. His aching cock throbbed with approval. The sight entranced him, even as the tight, dark curls rioting over her mound and down the sides of her pussy lips annoyed him. But when he slid one finger along her slit, he felt her moisture.

He wanted to keep his eyes on the lovely sight of his finger sliding through the wet folds of her pussy, but felt he needed to look into her dark eyes. It was difficult now to distinguish her pupil from her iris. "Starting to feel good?" he murmured.

She nodded but he sensed her uncertainty. Dan gave the fork handles attached to her nipples another tug. He rubbed her clit in small circles, feeling it harden and distend. She was squirming eagerly by the time he picked up the large serving fork. Her juices coated his fingers. Positioning the fork so the handle lay over her mound and the tines curved away from her body, he pinched the hooded cover along with her clit, and slid the larger fork onto her most delicate tissue, clamping this fork the same way as before. When he had the large fork secured, he raised the handle to a vertical position. The weighted sterling piece fell forward, pulling against her clit. She moaned, but he still saw fear in her eyes.

"You're going to come for me, Cynda."

"I can't come like this," she replied, her mouth taking on a stubborn tilt.

"We'll see about that."

He stepped between her legs. She looked so sexy framed against the white enameled cabinets and the light wood of the table, he had trouble breathing. Dan lowered his head to suck one distended bud into his mouth, moving his tongue around the hard nub. He scraped the other nipple with the nail on his thumb. Cynda cried out. Her cry was deeper than he'd expected and he liked the sound. He felt the bud in his mouth swell. Dan lingered on the pleasant task, suckling and pinching and teasing her nipples as she squirmed. He felt the heat from her mound though his jeans when she pressed it against his hardness.

He loved thinking up unexpected ways to pleasure a woman. It'd been a long time since he'd felt free enough to do more with a woman's body than simply fondle it and enter it. This was better, to his mind, not that there was anything wrong with regular sex, but he wanted to dominate a woman and to control when and how she got off. The ghost in Dan's blood unfurled its dark wings as he raised his head. "Do you need to be fucked, Cynda?" he demanded.

"Yes. Oh Lord yes, fuck me."

Dan reached around her to remove the top binding her arms. Sliding his arm beneath her knees, he turned her on her side. "I want you on your hands and knees," he demanded, unable to resist giving her voluptuous ass another smack. She scrambled into position with his help. He replaced the garish top around her wrists, wrapping it tightly to bind her hands together. The handles of the fork bounced from her change in position. He gave each handle a hard thump, imagining the vibrations going into her tips. Their weight pulled her breasts into taut triangles.