Long Way Down (Fallen Angels MC) Page 5

  CHAPTER TEN

  A normal person wouldn’t have worked on Saturday just to keep client files up to snuff, update the company blog, and search out new resources that might be of help to the start-ups in their area. But then, no one at Second Chances was exactly normal. Caroline knew exactly where she’d find Jack. She didn’t even text ahead.

  Mason insisted on driving in with her, just in case she encountered any kind of trouble along the way. She didn’t argue. It was sweet. And she couldn’t argue for the danger of the whole situation on one hand, and then refuse the need for protection on the other. It wouldn’t fly.

  He did agree to wait in the car, though, while she went inside to talk to Jack.

  Jack was at his desk, and he didn’t look up when the bell jingled. They kept the office door locked on Saturdays so that they could actually get some work done, so jingles meant that someone was coming in with keys, which, on Saturday, was either Caroline or Jack. Everyone else found better ways to spend their weekends and worked later during the week. “Caroline,” he called out in greeting.

  “Jack,” she called back. It was only when she picked up the chair in front of his desk, dragged it around to the side, and plopped down into it that he looked up. “I need a favor,” she said.

  “So, you’re asking me to find out what account these were deposited to, who did the depositing, and who owns the account? As well as anything else I can find out?” Jack whistled through his teeth. “Caro, that’s a hell of a tall order.”

  “I know it is,” she said, smiling to herself at the way he’d picked up the nickname, the same way Mason had. “I’ll owe you big time.”

  “It’s not just that it’s hard to get information. This stuff is protected for a reason.”

  “They’re using his dead sister against him.”

  “So he says,” Jack said, his eyes cold. “I get it, the guy is good looking—hell, I wouldn’t say no to him if it came down to that—but you’ve known him for a day. You have no way of knowing if anything he says to you, at all, is true.”

  “I’ve seen the books,” Caro said. “There’s something up. And I am not taking his word for anything. If you find out who the account belongs to, we’ll know if it’s him.”

  Jack scrubbed his hands through his blond hair, thinning on top, and shook his head. “I’ll try. I know a guy. He has some resources. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

  “I know you can’t, Jack. But thank you. Thank you for trying. What do I owe you?” She reached for her wallet, and he shook his head, fast.

  “No, no, that’s not necessary. We’re friends, colleagues. I’m glad to help you out. If I can find out what’s happening, it’ll either tell you that he’s trouble—or it’ll tell you how much trouble you’re in. Either way, it’s good to know.”

  “It is,” she said. “But I don’t feel right giving you nothing in trade.”

  His gaze sharpened then, gliding down her throat to the swell of her breasts. “How serious is it with you and this guy?”

  “I don’t know that yet,” she said frankly. “What are you thinking about?”

  He shrugged. “My wife always wished you’d guest star in our bedroom. I always told her that I didn’t think you were into that, but if you really feel like you want to give something back—she’d rip my balls off if I didn’t ask.”

  He laughed quickly--harshly--and Caroline had the idea that it wasn’t just Jack’s wife, Missy, who was interested in the potential of a guest starring role in bed. “No pressure, Caro. I’ll try no matter what, but if you really want to trade? Yeah, that would be a favor worth having.” He waved her off again. “Now get out of here and enjoy your man. I’ll call you when I know something. Or when I know that I’m not going to know anything. Either way.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I owe you.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You really do.”

  She was chuckling as she went back out to the car. Mason lifted an eyebrow at her from the passenger’s seat. “He’s going to look into it. Call me when he’s found out something.”

  “Simple as that?”

  “Well, no.”

  Mason sighed. “There’s always something. What’s he looking for? Cash? More than you can handle? I have something saved—”

  “No— God, no. Actually, he had a very different idea. He invited me to share his and his wife’s bed some night.”

  Mason went quiet and still, which she found interesting. “What did you say?”

  “He didn’t really give me the chance to say yes or no. Said he’d look into it either way, but that if I wanted to repay him, that’d be a way to do it.” She looked away from him and started the car; she had a funny feeling that it was the only way she’d get him to say anything. “What do you think about it?”

  His voice was carefully neutral. “I think it’s your body, and it’s not my place to say what you do with it.”

  “Okay, granted. But if you did have the choice, what would you think?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. “No, it’s not like that. I don’t— it’s not just because we’re not even really together, or because of last night. You are the only person who has control of your body. You decide who has access to it, who does and does not get to play with you. From there, I have the right to decide if your access rules work for me. But I can’t tell you that you can’t do this to repay your friend for his favor. That’s not my place.”

  “Would you do it, if you were me?”

  He shrugged. “I’m pretty not bi, so it’s unlikely. And unless he was a really good friend, I might leap to feeling pressured. But again, not you. You make your own call.”

  Caroline was quiet for a little bit, trying to figure out how to ask the question she really wanted to know the answer to. “I like him. I’ve always liked him. I’ve never let myself think about him that way, because he’s married, and I didn’t know that he and his wife were, you know, into guest stars. So I don’t feel pressured.” She sighed again. “I guess what I’m trying to ask is, if I did this, would it keep us from being able to do more? Down the road? If we all survive this shit?”

  “No,” he said, quick and hard. “It’s actually kind of incredibly hot. And, I’m sorry to be the stereotypical guy, but if I got the chance to partner up with you and another beautiful lady? I don’t know if I’d be doing all this intense analysis.”

  She laughed, and his hand slipped into hers, resting on her thigh. “Yeah, you probably would.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t go with the rugged image.”

  “I like you.”

  He heard what she wasn’t saying, she was pretty sure of it. He nodded, though, and didn’t respond. Not yet. Just nodded.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Once they got back to the house, parked, and went inside, he went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. She followed him, watching him. There was something tight in his shoulders, something harsh in the line of his back. “So all we can do now is wait, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “He gave me the idea it’d be a few hours at least.”

  Mason nodded. “I figure, then, we have some time to blow off a little steam.” He caught her hand and reeled her in, pulling her tight against his body. She gasped at the pressure on her back, and he took her hand, leading it down to his groin. “We still haven’t eaten lunch,” he said.

  “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “I disagree,” he said, his voice forceful, but testing. “I think maybe you want to eat something thick and hard.”

  It took her a second to catch on, and then she smiled. “Mmm. Yes. I do think my appetite is improving.”

  He pinned her hands behind her, holding her easily with one hand. “I want to be rough with you, Caro. I want to slap your ass and bite your tits and fuck you rough before you’re ready. I want to call you names and have you beg for my forgiveness. You on board with that? Tell me if you’re not, and I’ll be sweet and loving and as gentle as you can imagine,
but holy shit, Caro, I want to fuck you until you beg me to let you come.”

  “Don’t call me a slut,” she said, surprised at the words coming out of her mouth. “I don’t want you to call me a slut. I hate that word. Even more than being called a cunt. Call me anything else, and we’re okay. Do anything else. I’ll tell you to stop, that it hurts, if it does. Is that—is that how it works?”

  He ran his hand through her hair again, staring at her like she was an incredibly precious treasure. “Jesus—yes, that’s how it works. That’s exactly how it works. I swear, I’m gonna be so careful with you.”

  He kissed her, once, tenderly, and then his grip on her hands tightened, harshened. “Stupid bitch,” he said, spinning her around and pushing her against the counter. One hand held her wrists tight against the small of her back, the other wandered her breasts, squeezing her nipples into tight points, his knee spreading her thighs. Her hands were pressed back into his cock, and he shifted against her, groaning at the pressure.

  Her body thrilled at his intensity, at the sense of control she still felt in him. She found herself fully confident that he could walk this line, toe it carefully, keep both of them from falling over into actual pain from teasing pain.

  He started opening kitchen drawers and she heard his cold laugh when he found what he was looking for. “Perfect,” he said. “Don’t move.”

  Caroline held herself perfectly still, feeling the thrill of her swelling clit, her hardening nipples, her cleft dripping with moisture. It was strangely exhilarating, not knowing what was coming next, but trusting that he would be careful, move with her, instead of against her.

  The first loop of rope closing around her wrist, though, almost undid her. A thousand horrible memories flashed through her, and she jerked hard, wrenching her wrist away from him. “No,” she said. “I don’t—” She broke off, breathing hard through her nose, wanting to trust, but scared out of her head.

  His hand rested gently on the center of her back, not holding her down, just giving her a place to breathe into and center. “You said that if you wanted me to stop, you were going to say stop or it hurts. I don’t know right now if you want me to stop, or you can’t remember the right words, or if you’re reacting, and you’re okay. I need you to find a way to tell me what you need.”

  She took a deep, slow breath. He was safe. He wasn’t the one who’d hurt her. She wanted to be loose in his hands, feel what he was offering her. She took another breath, and then she relaxed her arms, offering her second wrist up to him. “I’m okay,” she said, and her voice was calmer than she’d ever heard it before. “I trust you.”

  He moved his palm, and pressed a kiss where it had been, in the center of her back. She thought she’d get a tattoo there, later, of a heart. Or a miniature palm. Something.

  The loop of twine snagged around her second wrist, holding her tightly. She thought she could probably twist out of it if she really had to, but right now, in this moment, she didn’t feel the need. She meant it; she trusted that if she did tell him to stop, he would, freeing her as quickly as he could.

  “You’re mine,” he growled in her ear. “What the hell makes you think it’s okay to even look at another guy?” He groped her again, his fingers teasing her nipples into peaks carved of granite. “I think I need to remind you of who I am, exactly.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes. I’m sorry. Yes.”

  He grabbed her by her wrists and guided her roughly down the hall to the bedroom. He pushed her up against the wall, watching her stumble and try to catch herself. She was panting, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed, and she wasn’t scared. Not at all.

  He pressed her up against the wall, easing open the fly of her jeans, tugging her underwear down her hips, helping her balance as she kicked them free. She had just a shirt on, and he leaned forward, breathing into her curls and making her writhe against the wall. “So,” he said, “You do like it rough.” His tone was conversational, but his eyes—god, his eyes. They bored into her with electric desire.

  “Apparently.”

  “I can do rough,” he said, his knees spreading her feet to open her folds, his fingers opening her just roughly enough to make her whimper, to dance that edge of pain. “I love doing rough.”

  “Please,” she whimpered, her knees starting to shake. “Please.”

  “What do you want? What punishment do you deserve?”

  Her eyes had closed; when had that happened? She made herself open them again, looking down into the sharpness of his gaze. It was a way for her to tell him what she wanted. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. “I should be spanked,” she said, surprised by herself again. “You should beat my ass black and blue.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, and she bit her lip, nervous at his expression. “You do like to jump in the deep end, don’t you?”

  “I was very bad,” she said. “I talked to another man about having sex with him without even asking you.”

  “With him and his wife.”

  “And I didn’t even invite you.”

  “That would definitely be the worst part, you’re right. Crouch down.” He helped her down, helped guide her hands around to the front of her body, then pulled her back to the bed. He sat down, then draped her over his lap, her ass hanging up in the air, her hands and legs to either side. He caressed her ass as they sat, squeezing her flesh, separating it almost painfully. “Caro, you’re so wet. Jesus, woman. I know this isn’t saying much, but I’ve never seen you this wet.”

  “For you,” she whispered, unable to get more out than that. “All for you.”

  The first stinging slap came as a completely surprise. She choked back a scream and jerked on his lap. He stifled a groan, stroking the insulted flesh, and gave her a long moment to tell him to stop before he hit her again.

  She didn’t tell him to stop. She stopped short of urging him to keep going, but only just. He slapped her again, and she groaned, wriggling against him. Everything in her body wanted to flinch away from those blows, except for her wet and tense sex.

  It was after just a few blows that he took a turn to groan and lifted her, as easily as if she were a child, and turned her on his lap to face him. She hooked her wrists over his neck, and he lifted her breasts out of the v-neck of her shirt, licking and biting at them while she hissed at the bruised flesh of her ass against the roughness of his denim lap.

  “I hope you don’t like this shirt too much,” he said, and after just a second’s pause, he ripped it, pulling hard, shredding it off her body.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She was glad her bra had a front clasp, as it was next, spared the destruction only because it was easy to manage. He brought her breasts together, teasing her nipples as he ground his hips up into her body.

  She writhed against him, shocked at the stunning sensuality of him taking what he wanted, with her agreement, from her body. She’d never felt like this, never.

  He moved them together, pressing her into the mattress, pulling the remains of her shirt and her bra up around her wrists to tangle them further. He undressed slowly, pulling his shirt up over his head while his lean muscles rippled under his pale skin, dropping his jeans and his boxers down to the floor. Mason stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, stroking his thick cock, his gaze boring into her, making her wriggle more.

  She could feel her body spreading open, relaxing, eagerly opening and heating for him. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, Mason, will you fuck me with that big cock? Will you slide it into me, bury it in me, fuck me until I bruise, screw me until I scream?”

  The dirty talk felt foreign on her lips, but the reaction he had—he shivered a little, his eyes opening wider, darker. He moved up onto the bed, crouching over her torso. She wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted until he grinned and used his hand to gently stroke her lips with the tip of his cock.

  She took him in gently, surprised at the difference the angle made. She was thoroughly aware of how he could push into her from this position,
overriding her body, forcing her past her comfort zone.

  He held perfectly still, letting her take what she wanted, what she could handle, pressing no more than that upon her, but still. She knew what he could do from here, and her body thrilled at the idea. At his control. At the trust.

  As she suckled at his body, drawing her tongue along his length, his eyes rolled up into his head, his lids fluttering closed. She could feel his hips shaking a little, though whether it was from arousal or strain at the position, she wasn’t entirely sure.

  She took her time, though, learning each inch of his thick cock, each vein, each sensitive spot. She watched for where he sighed more, where he tensed, what pressure he wanted and where. She watched as his hand started to move, just a little, at the base, meeting her lips somewhere in the middle. The waves of light fluid started to appear more regularly in her mouth, and she watched his expression as she licked them clear, over and over.