Wildly Inappropriate (4 page)

He gave the fork attached to her clit several thumps and tugged on it. Her head snapped up. Her ragged cry echoed through him, reverberating through the quiet kitchen. He stared at her ass. His handprints were visible, a deep pink color that made him want to see her ass blush more. When he smoothed his hand over the tiny welts her spine dipped, raising her butt up in the air, a temptation he couldn't resist. His first blows were light taps, but he wanted to hear more of her husky cries. "Your ass was made to spank. I'm sure I'm not the first man to say that."

"N-no. I don't mind it, if that's what you wanna do."

"That's not the same as likin' it," he pointed out, spreading her with his thumbs and digging his fingers into her rounded globes. Her slit was a beautiful shade of deep pink, and he took full pleasure in staring. "Your little pussy sure is wet. I think you do like it."

If she didn't, Dan felt she could go bitch at Brian for talking her into this stunt. He liked it, loved every measured blow he placed on her upturned ass, watching the deep blush rise, the rosy color almost appearing to float over her dark skin. And oh, God, her deep cries seemed to vibrate in his balls. His cock was so hard it ached. The lips of her pussy were slick with her juices. He stopped to rub his palms over the blushing flesh, opening her again just to look.

She was ready. He reached over her shoulder to the plate rack, feeling for the ornate Victorian toast fork, palming the item so she couldn't see it.

The end designed for lifting toast from a tray wasn't quite the width of his palm, but that wasn't the end he planned to use. The handle wasn't as thick as a cock, but it was about seven inches long. It was hefty and roughly the diameter of a bottle cap at the widest point. He rubbed his thumb over the raised spiral pattern circling the handle. He thought the texture of the sterling would give her pleasure.

Her moisture gleamed along the pink crease he found so enticing. Dan slid the rounded end of the handle along her slit, wetting it with her cream before easing it inside her.

"What's that?" she demanded."It ain't big enough to get off on."

"Antique sterling and it's all you're getting. And Cynda, you will come." Dan began fucking the handle into her, watching it pierce her. "Squeeze it, Cynda. Feel the ridges?" He used a forefinger to graze her distended clit. Her back arched as she gasped, and he felt the tug in his hand as she tightened around the invading handle. Tilting the handle upward, he scraped the end against the front side of her channel, watching her carefully until he was certain he'd found the right spot.

* * * *

Cynda's nipples felt like they were going to burst. The fire he'd begun with his spanking sizzled from her clit to her ass. The small circles his fingers made only added to the flames. The thing he'd put inside her was driving her insane. It was too small to satisfy, making her crave something larger. She clamped down fiercely and couldn't help but cry out in frustration. Her heartbeat thudded heavily into the three points he'd bound. When she felt the thing inside her tilt down, pressing toward her belly, the pleasure intensified, but so did her need for something bigger. Thwarted pleasure twined with pain had her on the verge of screaming.

The way he shifted the object made the opposite side of her pussy jealously crave something more. She tightened her inner muscles on it, trying to get enough friction. The object dug into a spot that made her cry out. A hot flash of pleasure suffused her. He settled in that spot, stroking it again and again. The ache from her pinched flesh built until it became almost unbearable. His finger on her clit was too gentle. His soft, insistent strokes made her want to cry with vexation. She thought about pushing her mound down toward his hand, but she feared if she moved he'd lose that spot inside her that was making her insane. If only she could touch herself. She thought she could get her hands loose, but had no idea what he'd do if she did. She threw her head back, moaning. Her spine bowed and that seemed to give her more of the delicious fucking sensation.

She could only imagine what he saw, fucking whatever he held into her with her pussy right in his face.

He began talking. That took her mind off wanting to get her hands loose. "Feels nice, doesn't it? That's the right spot, isn't it? Ride it, Cynda, let it feel good. Press your tummy muscles down onto it."

Cynda pressed down for all she was worth.

"Good girl," he praised her. "You're so wet. I think I'm in love with this pretty pussy of yours, Cynda."

The thing inside her had ridges, she decided, feeling like a ribbed condom, only better, yet too damn small. Frustration was making her crazy, but she couldn't stop moaning. Her nipples and clit seemed to transmit each thud of her heart to her channel. They hurt like hell, but she'd never been this turned on. She looked over her shoulder, suddenly needing to see him, only to find him staring back at her. His handsome face was intent, and his light eyes seemed to measure every little move she made. She couldn't look away. In the back of her mind, her heartbeat became the sound of those wooden beads he wanted in her hair.

Sudden pressure against her clit nearly made her pass out. She looked down her body in shock as he thumped her swollen clit. His hard touch sent a spike of pain to her brain, and it felt good all at once. "I'm gonna come," she gasped. "Don't stop."

He flicked her hard bud again and again as she fucked whatever it was inside her in desperation, straining for her climax. She sensed it was going to be unlike anything she'd ever felt. She strove hard for the edge, thrusting her hips against the invader as the pleasure began to rise inside her. The throbbing in her nipples and clit intensified.

Damn him, just before she hit the peak he pulled the thing out of her.

"I was almost there," she cried, eying the piece of silver as he tossed it onto the table at her side.

He grinned. Lordy, the man was good-looking, even though he needed a shave, but if her hands had been free, she might've slapped him. Then she noticed he was using his thumbnail to pry open the blade of a pocket knife. She shrieked when he moved the sharp edge toward her pussy.

"Just going to take the clamps off, Cynda. Soon as I get them off, I'll let you come."

Panting, she closed her eyes so he wouldn't see how angry she was. She was used to not getting off. Men never really cared about that, no matter what they said, but hell would freeze before she'd fake it now. Not when she'd been so close. Cynda squeezed her eyes closed and bit the inside of her cheek in anger.

A burst of pain in her nipple made her open them. He tossed the fork that had been dangling from her nipple onto the table, a pleased smile tilting his lips. She'd only thought it hurt when he thumped her clit, but when the blood rushed into the tender bud, she nearly passed out. The pain doubled as he undid the makeshift clamps from her other peak.

Her entire world went dark when he removed the fork that had been squeezing her clit. Thank God, he removed the bindings from her wrists and helped her turn. Cynda felt his strong hands under her shoulders. She hovered on the edge of consciousness, grabbing the front of his shirt.

He sucked one flaming point into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue. She felt him slide his fingers inside her, the tips rasping against the same delicious spot he'd found with the huge, odd-looking fork. His two fingers were larger than the metal piece and she rode them greedily, thrusting her pussy repeatedly onto his invading fingers. Her hips arched. The kitchen dissolved into shards of color and darkness. Cynda came harder than she ever had in her life when his palm made hard contact with her abused clit. He wouldn't allow her to stop the crazy pleasure-ride, still thrusting roughly into her over and over. His lips tugged at one throbbing nipple, then the other.

When he finally raised his head and removed his fingers Cynda couldn't stop her contractions. She could only stare helplessly into his intent eyes while her body convulsed again and again. She began to think he willed her to come with his look alone. He pressed the heel of his large hand against her mound, his fingers momentarily cupping her sex while their gazes locked. He began drumming one finger softly against her clit. The tiny slaps seemed to vibrate inside her, setting off new waves of pleasure.

Tears spilled, running down her cheeks. She writhed in his arms, trying to ride out the unfamiliar ecstasy rolling through her body like thunder.

"God, you're fucking incredible, Cynda. So damn responsive," he growled in a ragged voice as he tapped at the tender bud, the gentle strikes subsiding at last into a soft massage.

Cynda felt so wrung out she could have slept right there on the kitchen table. She was certain he was about to shove the erection she saw had pushed above the opening in his jeans into her mouth and ruin this for her, but he lowered her shoulders to the table and stepped away.

He returned with a wet cloth. She was past any kind of shame, obediently allowing him to open her thighs. The warm rag felt good stroking her vibrating slit. His strokes with the cloth seemed almost tender. She closed her eyes when he lowered her to the table and moved across the kitchen, but curiosity made her open them again.

Leaning against the end of bar, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his brows. "Still want two weeks of my time?"

Chapter Four

He carried her to the bathroom and told her to take her time getting herself together, but by the time she washed up and came out, he was nowhere to be seen. Neither were her clothes. Cynda clutched the small towel to her tender breasts and looked curiously around the house. It was easy to see most of the downstairs from outside the bathroom door, since walls in the hallway had been taken down, replaced with square columns which seemed to soar to the arched ceiling that had to be fifteen feet high at the peak.

Grams had worked for fifty years in the same cotton mill. Cynda had sat proudly at her grandmother's side at the retirement luncheon held at the mill foreman's house. That had been the fanciest private home she'd ever been inside until this one. A fine coat of dust covered an elaborate oak hall tree, even clinging to the mirror. Spider webs wove between the big brass hooks with lion's faces on the ends mounted on either side of the massive piece of furniture. Peeking into the rooms, she couldn't help but think this place looked like a movie set whose actors had gone on strike. Everything seemed in its rightful spot but the layer of dust was undisturbed.

The sound of his tread on the stairs sent her heart pounding. He turned toward her at the bottom of the steps and she froze, trying to make sense of the white garment hanging from a padded satin hanger. A flowing skirt draped over his arm. The fabric was so sheer she could see the denim he wore through it.

"Should fit," he stated, handing it to her. "I'll be in the office." He pointed behind him to the right. "Through that room. You'll see the open door."

The bodice of the dress was covered in fine embroidery. The sheer fabric of the skirt was unadorned except for wide-spaced pin tucks that ended in satin-stitched arrows. More elaborate needlework banded the hem in a swath about eighteen inches wide.

She'd never expected to wear something this fine, not even on her wedding day. A script "C" in the center of the bodice caught her eye. Her fingers shook as she carefully slipped the dress over her head. Mingled scents of cedar and some unknown but sweet perfume made her ache in a new way as she slipped it over her head. Every woman craved things this fine; few ever got them. Cynda's feminine soul delighted in the soft way the dress seemed to float around her. This was like wearing a cloud that had been decorated by angels.

The hem stopped halfway down her calves. Her dark shape was clearly outlined beneath the filmy fabric. Cynda turned and twisted in front of the old hall tree, trying to see the entire effect, picturing her hair done as he'd described. Yet it felt somehow wrong to walk barefoot down the long corridor. The sheer cotton made her feel more naked than if she'd been bare and her heart began to ache more than her nipples. She could tell the dress was old, but it was the sort of old that only got better, a fairy-tale dress. Everyone knew there weren't any black girls in fairy tales. The portraits of stern-looking white people under bubbled glass hanging in the front room seemed to agree.

"Who does this belong to?" she asked, stopping awkwardly in the doorway, rubbing the embroidered letter with one finger.

"I'd guess it belonged to my grandmother Chapman." He shrugged. "The attic's full of chifferobes crammed with the things of the women who've been in my family. Sorry if it smells musty." He leaned back in the chair, interlocking his fingers on top of his head. His gaze traveled from her head to her bare feet. "That looks nice on you. Ready to discuss our contract?"

She nodded, still tracing the letter, trying to sort out what she was feeling.

"Other than telling me all the benefits of selling my land for one hour a day for the next two weeks, is there anything else you want?"

"If you want my hair done and the like, I can't afford to pay for that," she blurted, still thinking of the image she'd seen in her head. The way he wanted to see her. "But I could do it myself if I had the beads."

"No problem. I'm used to paying for what I want. A salon will be fine, that way I can describe exactly how I want it done. Did you bring any clothes?"

"No." She'd expected to be thrown out on her ass.

He seemed to take that in stride. "We'll get you a couple pairs of shoes. I'll pick those out. There are plenty of dresses in the attic. I hate pants on a woman, especially in summer. Anything else?"

She smoothed her hands down the dress, trying to figure out the game he seemed to be playing. She knew why she was playing along, but why did he want to play? He was hot. Not just attractive, but downright fine. He could get any woman he wanted, so why did he want to play this game? This couldn't be about sex. He could get that by snapping his fingers.