Loves Me, Loves Me Knot (9 page)

“Like this?”

With deliberate slowness, she let the fingers of one hand fall away from her nipple and trail down her front, over her midriff, around her navel, and into the springy black curls at the apex of her thighs. When she got there, she stopped, simply letting her hand rest there, not moving.

“Now what, Gage? What do you want me to do now?”

“You know what,” he ground from between tightly clenched teeth.

She shook her head, sending the short wisps of her dark hair dancing. “I don’t. You have to tell me.”

His heart beat against his ribcage like a battering ram, and the muscles in his shoulders and forearms bunched with the effort not to bust the bedframe to get loose.

“Touch yourself, dammit. Slide your fingers between your folds and touch your clit.”

She did as he said, and when she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing back her head, he just about came. He was hard as a spike, hard enough to pound through concrete, he was sure.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she told him as though she were commenting on the taste of a particularly ripe strawberry. And then she raised her head again to look at him. “Now what?”

“Goddammit, Jenna, you know what,” he ground out.

One corner of her mouth twitched with cocky, confident amusement. “I do,” she admitted, “but I’d rather hear you say it. Tell me what to do now that I’m touching my clit. Tell me what to do to make you come.”

Jesus. She didn’t have to do much more than just sit there on his cock, wearing that angel-fallen-from-Heaven grin, and talking about things that would make a saint kick in a stained-glass window.

Panting, writhing beneath her, he said, “Move your fingers. Stroke your clit and make yourself hot.”

“You make me hot,” she murmured, but she did as he asked. While one hand continued to toy with her breasts, she used two fingers from the other to slide around between her folds.

She was wet, the evidence of her arousal glistening on her fingertips and melting around him from where she clasped him tight inside her body. And she used that moisture to ease her motions, to slick the tiny bud that caused her breath to catch and a pale pink flush to climb over her chest and throat.

“Faster,” he commanded. “And move your hips. Ride me like you promised.”

He bent his knees as far as he could, given the restraints threatening to pull his joints from their sockets. It didn’t do much, but it gave him a small amount of leverage to cushion her soft buttocks and aid the upward thrust of his hips.

Blood thrummed through his veins, white-hot and on the verge of overflowing while he took in the sway of her breasts, the bounce of her slim frame, and the increased speed of her hand pressed between their two bodies as she fingered herself.

“God, yes,” he rasped, not caring that he was completely at her mercy and fading fast. “Can you feel it?” he asked, knowing she could, reading the signs clearly on her face and in the way she ground down on him, harder and faster with each passing second. “Can you feel me inside you, ready to burst?”

And, God, was he. His balls were tight, his cock swelling with approaching orgasm.

“Gage,” Jenna panted. Her eyes were open now, wide, bright, and focused directly on him. “Yes. Please. Come with me, Gage. Come with me now.”

And she went, toppling over the edge with a sudden cry of pleasure that reached into his gut and wrapped around his soul. Her slick inner walls gripped and released, gripped and released, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. Didn’t even want to try.

With his own shout of completion, he stiffened and poured himself into her. Wave after wave of pure ecstasy washed through him, through both of them, until he was finished.

Sated. Done for. Wiped out. A five-alarm fire burning the old farm house down around his ears couldn’t have made him budge.

And from the looks of it, Jenna felt much the same. Collapsed across his chest, her cheek fell into the crook of his shoulder while her ragged breaths echoed in his ear.

If his arms were free, he’d wrap them around her, hold her close, but all he could do was turn his head and press a soft kiss against her crown.

Deep down, he was still pissed about what she’d done to get him here, but damned if he had the energy right now to get to the bottom of it. Later, he’d make her untie these restraints and give him some answers.

But for now, it felt too good to have her lying on top of him, covering him . . . trusting him again, at least for a short while.

When the phone rang at eight a.m., Grace Fisher groaned, rolled over, and stuffed her pillow over her head in an attempt to drown out the hideous jangle that ripped through her brain like a chainsaw. After a full sixty seconds, blessed silence reigned once more, but before she could sigh with relief, the ringing began again.

“Dammit,” she muttered, tossing the pillow aside and rolling in the other direction until she could grab the handset from the nightstand.

Contrary to popular belief, she was not always in a good mood and she most certainly did not wake up chipper. Especially not after a long Girls’ Night of eating, drinking, and making mischief.

Punching the talk button, she snapped, “What?”

“Please tell me we didn’t do what I think we did,” Ronnie said by way of response.

Grace rubbed her eyes and pushed into a sitting
position, propping herself against the headboard while she struggled to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

“That depends. Did we scarf enough Mexican food to resurrect the Hindenburg and drink until we passed out?”

“We always do that,” Ronnie replied, sounding somewhat short-tempered herself. “I’m talking about abducting Gage and holding him against his will.”

For a minute, Grace nearly scoffed. What a ridiculous idea. Like anyone could abduct six-foot-three, two-hundred-plus-pound Gage Marshall, who loosely resembled a less green, less pissed-off Incredible Hulk.

But the more she thought about it, the more flashbacks started to spiral through her head.

Downing margaritas and enchiladas and laughing with her two closest friends.

Hugging Jenna when she got depressed about her broken marriage and lack of a man or children in her life.

Crushing tiny white pills and spilling them into a bottle of beer.

Hiding outside in the shadows with Ronnie and then hiking down a dark gravel road until her cell phone got enough reception to call a cab.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. Reality struck with the intensity of a lightning bolt, shocking her to the soles of her feet. She sat up, poker-straight, clutching the phone even tighter. “Oh, my God.”

“No kidding,” Ronnie muttered. “And it was your idea. If we go to prison, I’ll expect you to protect me and claim me as your girlfriend before any Big Bad Berthas start eyeing me like a nice, juicy steak.”

“Oh, my God,” Grace said again, because it was the
only thing she could think of beyond an unending shriek of unadulterated panic.

“Welcome to my world. And if we’re freaking out, think what Jenna must be going through.”

At the reminder of their other friend, the one they’d left alone with the Incredible Hulk, Grace shot off the bed and began to pace.

“Oh. My.
God
. We have to get back there. We have to rescue her before Gage gets loose and kills her, then comes after us.”

Because though Jenna’s ex wasn’t normally a monster of giant green proportions, Grace was pretty sure he’d be frothing at the mouth and tearing the house apart board by board when he woke up and discovered himself tied spread-eagled to the bed.

“Let’s try calling her first,” Ronnie said in a voice of reason. The only one currently occupying the phone line.

Grace’s viewers all thought she had it so together. To them, she was a little Jackie O, a little Oprah, a little Martha Stewart, and maybe even a little Mother Theresa all rolled together.

Ha!
She wondered how they would react when she was hauled away in shackles and a traffic-cone orange jumpsuit. And no belt, because the cops would worry she might commit suicide.

Rightfully so. She was thinking about going to the bathroom and drinking a bottle of drain cleaner right now just to save the state the expense of her trial and execution.

“What if the phone wakes him?” Grace asked. To her, that seemed a bit too much like poking a bear with a stick.

“We’ll call Jenna’s cell. She keeps it in her purse, and her purse was on the dining room table when we left. If he’s still tied to the bed, he won’t hear it—or at the very least, it won’t ring loudly enough to bother him.”

“What if
she
doesn’t hear it?”

“That might mean Jenna and Gage are still snuggled up in post-coital bliss and we shouldn’t be bothering them one way or the other.”

“Or maybe it will mean he broke free, went into a rage, and chopped her up into tiny pieces that he’s even now dropping to the bottom of a deep, dark well.”

“Nice visual, Little Miss Sunshine.” Ronnie made a disgusted noise low in her throat. “Just call her on her cell.”

“Why do I have to call?” Grace yelped.

“Because this whole mess started with one of your
brilliant
ideas.” She drew “brilliant” into three or four syllables and made it sound like a dirty word.

Grace rolled her eyes. For the most part, her ideas
were
brilliant and
did
tend to work out.

So she’d had a bad night—sue her.

“Fine. I’ll call you back when I know something.”

After hanging up with Ronnie, she lowered herself to the edge of the bed and dialed Jenna’s cell phone. As her friend’s classical ringback played in the background, Grace prayed that everything had turned out fine.

She prayed Gage was still unconscious.

She prayed Jenna had gotten herself knocked up sometime around midnight and was now safely back at her own apartment in the city, leaving Gage in the country to chew through his bonds alone.

Lifting her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the wide mirror above the bureau.

And she prayed the authorities wouldn’t come for her until she’d had a chance to fix her hair and makeup. She looked like something the cat had dragged in, then batted around for a few hours, and it wouldn’t do for her viewing public to see her hauled off to prison in such a sorry condition.

Gage was in the middle of another helluva erotic dream. This time, though, the swim toward consciousness went faster and reality dawned much sooner.

It wasn’t a dream—or not entirely.

He was in bed with Jenna.
Tied
to a bed in her aunt’s farmhouse.

As soon as he remembered that, he came wide awake, automatically yanking at his bonds.

Shit, what was
with
her tonight?

She was still on top of him, he was still lodged firmly inside of her, and she’d once again managed to work him into a bit of a lather before he was even fully awake.

Tamping down on his desire, he locked his jaw. “Untie me, Jenna,” he told her in a voice that brooked no argument. “I mean it this time.”

She shook her head, determination etched in the flat line of her lips and the downward arch of her brows. “Not until I’ve gotten my fill. Come on, Gage,” she wheedled, her expression lightening a few degrees. “Be a sport. Let me have some fun.”

Fun, my ass
. She’d never been interested in this kind of fun while they’d been married, and he sure as hell didn’t believe she’d developed a fondness for Bondage for Beginners since their divorce.

“Untie me and I’ll show you fun. I’ll show you all kinds of fun.”

The last round had been nice. More than nice—it had just about blown the top of his head clean off. But if she wanted a night of adventurous sex with the ex, he could show her more creative positions than just “Ride ’em, Cowgirl.”

He wanted her on her back, on her knees, bent over the dresser . . .

“I like things just the way they are. It makes me feel sexy.”

She gave a little swirl of her hips and he sucked in a breath, scrambling for statistics from the Rockets’ last season to keep from shooting off the bed—in more ways than one.

“Besides, I let you tie me up once, remember?”

He hadn’t until she mentioned it, but now he did, and no amount of thinking about hockey or mentally reciting game scores was going to put a halt to the throbbing of his dick.

“Of course, you didn’t really
tie
me to the bed, did you?” She spoke in a low, cajoling tone, leaning down to skim her lips along his chin and cheek. “You cuffed me with those cold, heavy metal handcuffs you carry around all day at work. And you know what? I liked that, too.”

As hard as he fought it, he couldn’t hold back the groan that rolled up from his solar plexus.

“Do you think about that, Gage? Do you think about what we did that night every time you pull out your cuffs? Every time you slap them around someone else’s wrists?”

His body bucked beneath her. Fuck, yes, he thought
about it. Nightly, while he tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep without her in bed beside him. It was often the leading fantasy that played through his head when he needed to jack off just to find a little satisfaction and rid himself of the frustrations of not having her near.

But this was better than fantasy, wasn’t it? At least for the most part.

Oh, if he had his hands free, he’d have flipped her over by now—onto her back or maybe her stomach. He’d have her legs hooked into the crooks of his elbows and be fucking her until her eyes rolled back in her head. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was damn close to getting ready to beg.

She rode him expertly, moving against his desperate motions rather than with them so that the friction between their two bodies grew and sparked like fresh-lit kindling.

“I’m going to remember tonight every time I wrap one of those boas around my neck. Every time I see them, every time I feel them brushing along my skin, I’m going to think of you, think about you filling me and driving me to orgasm over and over.”

She kissed her way across his face and upper chest, but what she was doing with her mouth was nothing compared to the words pouring out of it.