Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1 (10 page)

But it was too short.

She whimpered when he pulled his head away. “Beatrice, we shouldn’t—”

“Shhh. Don’t say anything.” She slid away from him. She’d known he was going to say they shouldn’t do that. He’d warned her when they’d met at the batting cages, hadn’t he? But he’d never said he didn’t
want
to, and she wouldn’t believe it now, anyway. Not after that—their first kiss—had been so amazing. She’d felt how much he’d wanted it. His need had matched her own, she had been able to taste it. And she didn’t want him to take that away. Not yet.

She was the one in charge here.

She straightened up again and reached out a hand, stroking him in slow, gentle circles on the small of his back. At least he wasn’t struggling anymore. She pressed on the paddle, still resting on the hard curves of his ass, to remind him what they’d been in the middle of doing. This time, though, he didn’t fight his bonds. Merely waited silently.

As she’d commanded him to.

She leaned in again so her mouth was close to his ear, and this time she couldn’t resist the urge to nip at the plump lobe. He moaned, his neck muscles working as he tried to push against her mouth. “Of course you may use the safeword, Warren. And I’ll stop immediately. But this…” she tapped the paddle gently against his bottom, “…doesn’t have to be a fight. You don’t have to struggle. You don’t
want
to struggle.”

He relaxed even further at the words, and she felt a surge of accomplishment. She’d been right. He didn’t want to struggle, but he needed someone else to be in control, to tell him that it was okay.

He needed
her
.

At least temporarily.

She suppressed a sigh at the thought and kept massaging his back, slowing her movements until her hand simply rested on his body, exerting a slight pressure. A suggestion.

She picked up the paddle again, but this time, she brought it up a few inches before snapping it down against his ass, keeping her other hand on his back. He winced and groaned, but he didn’t use the safeword.

Good.

She waited for a second, and then raised the paddle again, higher, before bringing it down again.

He drove hard into the bed on a hard exhale, legs flexing, the muscles of his back pulling tight under her hand. Again, she raised and lowered the paddle, fast and hard, and he grunted, grinding in circles even as his flesh started to pink.

He was pulling at the restraints again, but this time it wasn’t in protest. His body was rippling over the bed with every press of his hips against the mattress. The slats of the headboard were actually starting to flex inward he was exerting so much force.

Oh my God
, this was the hottest thing she’d ever seen. He was turned on by this. He liked this. He—

“Kiss me. Fucking shit, Beatrice. Kiss me again
now
.”

She was supposed to be commanding him, but she couldn’t resist the request. A kiss was what had changed everything, in the first place—from protesting the paddle to enjoying it…participating in it. Kissing Warren—pushing herself into the moment—had been about more than a kiss.

She’d felt it. She’d done it without thinking, that first time. And now she wanted to do it again, so badly.

She threw the paddle down and scrambled up the bed, ripping off the blindfold and digging her nails into the knot that bound his right hand. He’d pulled it so tightly she managed to break two of her fingernails as she worked it loose.

“I’m here, Warren. I’m here.” She was trying to reassure him, to let him know that she had heard him, that she wanted it too—to give him what he wanted. But she couldn’t seem to work him free fast enough. A hot, desperate feeling was taking over her body.

“Now, Beatrice,” he gasped, as the scarf came free and he twisted, sitting up and yanking her to him, her mouth pressing against his.

Hell yes.

Warren had never felt anything better than Beatrice kissing him, her breasts pressed against his chest, the rough pattern of her stockings catching in the hair on his legs. It started out soft, with her lips gently caressing his, and then his hand came up to tangle in her hair as he licked into her mouth, pushing his way inside and making her moan.

They shouldn’t be kissing like this. Should they? Hadn’t he said it wouldn’t be right? He’d even pulled away from her the first time, even though it had cost him every last ounce of self-control to do it.

He shouldn’t have given in again so easily, yet he didn’t pull away. He needed this too badly. He needed
her
. And God, it was so good. Despite how wild he’d felt a second ago, he knew this was a
real
kiss and not some lust-crazed moment of insanity.

He didn’t want it to end.

She didn’t seem to want to end it either, since she shifted until her legs were spread over his hips, pressing the hot warmth between her legs into his groin. He was still so hard, but he’d trade his release for a few more minutes of kissing Beatrice.

She made a soft sound of pleasure, deepening the kiss and melting against him. His free hand curled around her hip, holding her in place as he nudged his hips upward, pressing his cock into the thin fabric of those tiny black panties, making her squirm, sliding her body all over his.

Fuck, he was close. She was incredible, the way she got him so hot, so fast.

He broke the kiss, panting. “Beatrice.” He needed her to stop before he came all over that sexy lingerie.

“I’m here,” she repeated, but this time, it was a soft, shy statement instead of a feverish reassurance.

He rubbed up and down her arm, feeling the soft skin pebble under his touch before she gave a delicate shiver. “You don’t have to do this. I wasn’t thinking. It’s not—” He broke off when she dropped another kiss on one corner of his lips.

“I
want
to do this.” Her mouth moved against his cheek, sliding along his chin. “I want to.” With that, one of her soft, warm hands closed around his cock, squeezing a moan of pleasure from him.

“Oh God, Beatrice.” He shouldn’t be letting her do this. He couldn’t pay her for this. He’d told her even before they’d started their Wednesdays it would be wrong to
even
kiss her if he was giving her money.

He’d said it like kissing was inconsequential.

He’d been an idiot.

The kissing…well, with Beatrice, it was the most intense, moving thing he’d ever experienced. It was priceless, and he wouldn’t cheapen it with money, which was why he made himself say the words. “This can’t be part of our agreement. It wouldn’t feel right.” He gave a wry laugh. “I mean, it would feel good—aw, fuck—” He hissed out a breath through his teeth as she stroked him up and down. His balls tightened, and his cock throbbed. He had to stop her. Had to…didn’t want to…his conscience demanded he stop her…

He tugged against the end of the scarf that still restrained his left hand, but the knot held tight.

“Then consider our session over,” she whispered, dipping her head again to kiss him as she started stroking him in earnest, holding him more firmly.

He groaned and let his head drop back. There was no way he was going to stop her now. She’d ended the session. That was good enough. And for fuck’s sake, she felt too good. She knew exactly how to touch him. How much control to take, and how much to give. Her hand was working him just right while her tongue explored his mouth in slow, leisurely licks, and he forgot about everything else and simply submitted to this amazing, sexy woman.

Her hand moved over the head of his cock, rubbing through the drops of liquid that had gathered there before slicking back over the shaft.

“Does that feel good?” She murmured the question against his lips before scraping her teeth lightly over his jaw, and he gave a grunt of pleasure.

“Yeah,” he rasped, feeling his climax building as her hand began to move faster, the pressure increasing until his dick hardened to steel and his thighs locked tight, driving him toward his release. “Fuck, yeah. That feels—that feels—”

She covered his mouth with hers right when his orgasm began, shooting out in long, shuddering spurts. She hummed in her throat as her hand grew more slick with each stroke, milking every last drop of fluid from his body, until he was completely depleted, so relaxed he felt boneless.

“Oh God. Beatrice. Oh shit.” He knew he wasn’t making any sense, but—damn, he felt so fucking
good
.

After a minute, she slowly eased him from her grip and draped her body atop his, resting her cheek on his chest. They lay like that for a while, and the thought crossed his mind that he wished he could stop time so he never had to get up and go home.

Except he did have to. He had obligations beyond this bed.

Too soon, he started to move, and she brought her head up to look at him. “You okay?”

He couldn’t resist reaching out his hand and stroking her hair back from her face. Who would have thought he’d be here, like this, with Beatrice Lawrence?

He wished he could do this every day. He wished he could have her forever.

But his life didn’t have room for that kind of wishful thinking.

He nodded. “I have to get home. Busy day tomorrow.”

She considered him for a second, then whispered, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” She looked so sincere he stopped breathing for a moment and his hand froze, fingers woven in the strands of her hair.

No one had ever called him beautiful. No one had ever made him feel this soft and cherished before. He imagined his mother had done so, when he was a child, but he couldn’t remember such a time. From the age of eighteen, he’d had to be a man. Doing manly things. Thinking manly thoughts. He’d always had to be in charge.

But he couldn’t bring himself to admit he liked being told such things. Instead, he scowled. “I’m a guy. I’m not beautiful.”

She dropped a kiss on his chin. “You are. And you deserve to have what you want.”

He let his eyes close for a moment, imagining what it would be like if he could come home to this every day. To her. But that wasn’t possible. Even if she was willing to have him, how could he give her the kind of attention she deserved when he barely had enough time to spare for the people he was related to by blood? He pushed that dream away.

“I don’t know what I want.” He looked away from her, to where his other hand was still tied to the bedframe. “Except to be untied.”

He grinned, trying to make light of it so he wouldn’t have to admit he really didn’t want to be untied. He wanted her to force him to stay so he’d at least have an excuse for not leaving her.

But fuck—he was too
responsible
to follow that fantasy anywhere.

Instead, he didn’t say anything else while she untied him. He got up, cleaned himself off and dressed in silence. She watched him the entire time, not moving from the bed, even as he laced up his shoes and walked to the door, feeling confused. He wanted to kiss her goodbye, but he didn’t think he was supposed to. This was still a business deal, so it felt awkward to expect that kind of casual kiss, like she was his girlfriend or-or—well, something more than an employee.

But it also felt wrong to leave without one.

Still…despite what had happened, she hadn’t said anything about changing the terms of their arrangement moving forward, and besides—he’d just been thinking he didn’t have time for anything more.

In the end, he settled for a “see you next week”, and a half wave, half salute, before opening the door and stepping into the fluorescent light of the hallway, plagued by the feeling he’d left something important behind but too confused to do anything about it.

Chapter Ten

Oh goodness.
This was bad.

She had it bad.

By Friday afternoon, Beatrice could barely focus on her work. She couldn’t stop thinking about Warren. The way he’d responded to her. The way he’d
kissed
her…

At the time, she’d thought there was something special in that kiss, but now she wasn’t sure. And she was already nervous about seeing him again next week. But why?

Because everything has changed
. Because of that kiss. Those many, many kisses, in fact, one melting into another, going on forever and making a mess of her mind. She had memorized him through those kisses. The shape of his lips against hers. The way his nose bumped over hers when his tongue stroked deep. Those eyes, half-closed, the blue of his irises becoming almost black in the low-lit room. She’d taken him in, breathing his entire being, during the eternity of their lips meeting, and it had changed everything.

For her, anyway.

By the time he’d left her apartment, Warren had seemed completely unaffected, and she’d spent the past two days trying to forget what had happened, but failing miserably.

She was staring at a sheet of proofs, trying to figure out which one would work best with the story they were running tomorrow. She’d been studying this thing for nearly an hour, but thoughts of Warren kept distracting her, making it impossible to do her work. She was about to give up, clap a hand over her eyes and randomly point to one of the proofs on the page when her desk phone rang.

For a brief moment, her heart raced at the prospect it might be Warren, but she immediately chastised herself. He had her mobile number, even if he’d never used it. The first time he called her probably wouldn’t be at work.

She shook her head with a sigh and picked up the receiver. “Beatrice Lawrence.”

“Hey, Bea, it’s Rob. How’s it going with those proofs?”

Rob was a senior reporter at the paper and the one who’d written the story she’d taken the photos for.

“Almost done. I’ll send the file soon.”

“How soon? There are only thirty minutes before we have to get this thing in. I’m worried you’re not going to make it.”

She tried not to let his patronizing tone bother her. He was a good guy, and he was justified in getting nervous about making a deadline, but the way he was speaking to her was so far removed from the way Warren spoke to her. It was like being back in her childhood, being treated like she wasn’t capable of keeping track of her own life.

Powerless.

Fuck this.

“By deadline,” she bit off into the phone, then hung up, not bothering to say goodbye.

She knew it was rude, but she was so worked up about Warren…

She fought the urge to call Rob back and apologize. She didn’t owe him the photo for another half hour, and she resented the way he’d tried to make her feel like she wasn’t doing her job. But at the same time, she was surprised by her own nerve. Before getting involved with Warren, she never would have done something like that. She wouldn’t have demanded the right to her own time.

All these years she’d been on her own, but she hadn’t actually owned her life. Not the way she’d wanted to.

It felt good to step into something she’d been trying to grab hold of for so long without even realizing it.

She owed that step to Warren. But now she wanted to grab hold of even more. She wanted him. But if his behavior on Wednesday night was any indication, she was chasing a truly impossible dream this time.

* * * * *

“Uncle Quinn, wake up! Wake up!”

Warren jerked awake at the sound of Nate’s voice, shouting through the door to his bedroom.
Shit.
Had he overslept or something? What time was it? He groped for the clock on his bedside table. Quarter to five on a Saturday morning.
Fucking hell.
Something must be wrong.

He leapt out of bed and unlocked the door, yanking it open to find a wide-eyed Nate on the other side, one fist poised to knock. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

In that moment, Nate looked younger even than his thirteen years, scared and uncertain as he delivered the news. “Grandpa’s having another stroke. Grandma called 911 already, but she told me to come get you. She needs your help.”

Warren was already racing down the hall, heading downstairs to his parents’ room. “Where’s your mom?” he called over his shoulder.

“She already left for work. She has the morning shift at the diner. I called her cell but she didn’t answer.”

Good kid. Smart kid.
But those thoughts didn’t make it out of Warren’s mouth. He was sprinting too hard to get to his dad, to try to help somehow.

The doctor had warned them this might happen. But it had been a couple of years since the first stroke, and Dad had seemed to be doing okay. Healthy.

He reached the bedroom and strode through the open door to find his mother on the floor, bent over his father’s body as she administered CPR. The older man’s color was okay,
thank God
, but Mom was working hard. She was going to get tired soon and he would need to take over.

He sent Nate to go make some coffee, then knelt next to his mom. He could see the lines of strain around her eyes and mouth. Forget
soon
. She needed him to take over now.

Take control. Take the lead. Take the burden.

He hated himself for thinking those things at a time like this. Mom was plenty burdened already. Even so, it was hard not to feel like the weight of the world was settling on his shoulders once more, and he wished Beatrice was there to help him feel a little lighter.

No time. You have work to do.

Right.

He gently placed his hand on his mom’s shoulder. “Hey, Mom. Let me do this for a while. You go take care of Nate, okay?”

He could feel her wanting to protest, but she knew she was nearing the end of her strength. Thank God she was a nurse by profession and knew when she needed relief. They made the transition seamlessly, Warren’s medical training from being on SWAT working smoothly with Mom’s skilled nursing knowledge.

She didn’t say anything as she watched him pump a couple of breaths into his father before she patted his back and stood, leaving the room to go find Nate.

How did he get here? Living with his parents, a father figure to a kid who was growing up too fast, barreling through life with nothing to show for it. And now trying desperately to keep his father alive so they could all keep doing what they’d been doing for what felt like forever.

Would this be him in thirty years? Or would he be alone, with no one to even bother noticing he was gone, much less save his life?

Fuck, man, you’re getting morbid. Now is not the time.

Warren pushed away the dark thoughts. Everyone was counting on him.
Everyone
. He couldn’t let them down.

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only another ten minutes, tops, the paramedics arrived and took over. Mom went off in the ambulance with Dad, Warren threw on some clothes and grabbed a mug of coffee, and he and Nate followed in his car to the hospital.

The adrenaline started wearing off as he drove, and he found himself immersed in thoughts about Beatrice. What would she think if she could see the reality of his life? If she was smart, she’d run screaming in the other direction, like Jen had. As much as that had hurt, deep down, he couldn’t
blame
Jen for walking out. This was a hard fucking life, and his ex-girlfriend been used to his undivided attention.

The thing was…he’d thought that about Beatrice too—that she would need constant attention from any man who was lucky enough to have her. But now that he’d gotten to know her better, Beatrice didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who couldn’t thrive on her own. She certainly wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. If anything, she had already shown him more compassion and understanding than he’d felt in a long time. And even after that short time he’d spent with her, he’d felt less…weighed down.

“Is Grandpa going to die?” Nate’s shaky voice broke into Warren’s thoughts.

Christ.

Kelly should be here for this. Where was she, anyway? They still hadn’t heard back from her. She was probably already working, her phone stashed away in her locker. They’d have to call the diner directly once they got to the hospital.

Damn it, he was tired. He didn’t want to have to deal with this. But instead, he shook his head and tried to keep his tone as even as possible, like when he’d dealt with the public in that kidnapping last week. They’d trained him in this shit, to function coolly and calmly even when an entire city was at stake. They hadn’t told him, though, that it was much harder when it was one thirteen-year-old boy. As much as Nate was becoming more like a man every day, thirteen was still not adulthood.

“He’s going to be okay,” he replied.

He could feel Nate relax at his reassurance, and he hated how much trust the kid placed in him. But for Christ’s sake, despite how heavy it made him feel to bear the weight of Nate’s fear and hope, in that moment, a part of him wished he really was in control of everything.