The Wedding Rescue, Book Five (An Alpha Billionaire Club BBW Romance) (2 page)

H
e stood
and reached out his hand for mine. I took it, nervous about what he had planned, but not ready to say no. I knew in my heart that if I stayed where I was our relationship would be over. Whatever was coming, it was important to Dylan. Too important for me to back away, not if I really wanted something with him.

I followed him into the living room where he sat on the couch, his posture oddly formal. I stopped, not sure what I was supposed to do. Dylan gestured to his lap.

“Face down, over my knees.”

Realization washed through me. He couldn’t be serious.

“You’re going to spank me?” I asked, incredulous. I knew people did this, and Dylan was definitely bossy in bed. But spanking me was a little weird.

“Yes,” he said, the devilish glint in his eyes sending heat through my uncertain body. “And you’re going to like it.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, eyeing his lap. Dylan grinned again, that same knowing, determined grin that got me wet.

“You will,” he said. “This is it, Leigha. This is trust. I’m asking you to do something you think you’ll hate. You need to trust that I’d never hurt you. Trust that I’ll take care of you.”

“And if I can’t?” I asked, my voice thin.

“You can.”

I closed my eyes for a long moment, imagining what would happen if I turned and walked from the room. Despite his determination, and his declarations that I was his, somewhere inside myself I was certain this was a deal breaker for Dylan. He wanted my trust. If I wanted him, I was going to have to try. I didn’t want to live my life afraid of loss.

Maybe Dylan would break my heart if I gave it to him. But there was a chance he wouldn’t. All he was asking, this magnificent, brilliant, beautiful man, was for me to give him a chance to prove that he was worthy of my trust. When I thought about it that way, how could I say no?

I opened my eyes to see him, patient and silent, waiting for me. Too nervous to be slow, now that my mind was made up, I crossed the living room and lay across his lap, face down. He reached to position my injured arm safely along my side. My face burned with embarrassment and I was glad he couldn’t see.

I was getting more comfortable with my body, but not enough to feel good about presenting myself to Dylan ass first. My rear end wasn’t exactly my slimmest attribute. Before I could go too far down that train of thought, he distracted me with a sharp smack to the body part in question.

I gasped in a breath.
It hurt
. Not as bad as a knife to the arm and getting stitches, but it didn’t feel good. The second smack, on the other side of my ass, was just as bad. I blinked my eyes against the welling tears. Why did he want this from me? He’d said he wasn’t going to hurt me, and this fucking hurt. The third smack, just where my ass met the top of my thighs, stung like the first two.

“Dylan,” I sobbed. Before I could go on, he smoothed a hand over my smarting flesh.

“Shhh. I know it stings. It always stings at first. This is where you have to trust me. You’re made for this. I can tell.” He stopped his gentle strokes and smacked me again, three times in rapid succession. The pain built with each stroke until my rear end was glowing with it. It took all my will to stay still over his knees while tears trickled from my eyes. I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it. He’d asked for trust.

By the next set of smacks, I was gritting my teeth. Dylan was determined to do this, and I was equally determined not to complain. With everything he gave me, if he got something out of spanking me, I could learn to deal with it. At least, I hoped I could. But I really didn’t get it. Taking a break, he smoothed his hand over my ass again.

“You’re so red, sweetheart. You’re going to feel this for the rest of the day. Probably into tomorrow. You’re almost there.”

Almost where? Almost done? I sighed in relief. I was ready to be finished with this. I braced for the next hit, prepared to weather the pain.

It never came. The smack did, striking the fullest part of my ass with restrained power. It should have hurt. I guess it did, in a way. All I really felt was heat. A weird, prickling heat that was frighteningly close to pleasure. What the hell?

The next smack was more intense. Harder. I shifted into it, the strike of his hand bringing more of that new sensation. How did this feel good? He was still spanking me. Harder than before. I squirmed, brushing my nipples against the fabric of the couch. They were beaded tight with arousal. My body was spinning out of my control.

At the next smack, I arched my back, raising my ass to his hand. It fell, sending hot flares of pleasure everywhere it touched. When I felt the brush of his fingers between my legs, I gasped, this time in shock at how wet I was. When had that happened? One long finger pushed inside and I thrust back onto it.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low.

“No,” I moaned, wiggling to get more of his finger. My whole body throbbed for more. More of the spanking, more of his finger. More of everything.

“At least a few more of these,” he said, withdrawing his finger and laying another smack on my rear end.

This time, I rocked up into it, asking for it with every inch of my body. I took the next one the same way. And the next. My head was in the clouds, drifting in hot, dreamy, pain-sharpened pleasure, wanting only more of whatever he would to give me.

This was it. This was what Dylan meant by trust. And I’d almost walked away from it. The last smack was harder than the rest, a flare of pain and pleasure so acute, it drove me to the edge of orgasm. Writhing over his legs, I heard myself moaning and gasping. He stroked his hand over my red ass with reverent care.

“I think a little more and you’ll come for me,” he said. I quivered under his soothing touch. I would. I knew I would. “Maybe next time we’ll try that. I bet if I clamped these luscious nipples and spanked you, you’d come so fast your head would be spinning.”

I shivered, knowing he was right. I would. I was close as it was, teetering on the edge of release, my body both wound tight and floating in space. Feeling myself move, I realized Dylan was turning me, lifting me into his arms. He carried me through the penthouse and a few seconds later he lay me down in the bed, positioning my bandaged arm out to the side. The soft sheets were cool on my heated backside, a momentary distraction before his body came over mine, his hard cock pressing into me in a long, slow thrust that stretched me open.

Just minutes ago, I’d wanted to run from the way Dylan overwhelmed me. Now it was everything, his body over me, his cock inside me. Everything I could touch, hear, smell, was all Dylan. I raised my legs around his hips, clamping my thighs tight, rocking up into him. If he’d gone a little faster, I would have come right away. As it was, I didn’t last more than a few minutes, driving my fingernails into his shoulders as I came. Dylan kept going in the same steady pace, his mouth on mine as pleasure rose again.

Each time my hips rolled down, the tender, pink skin on my ass burned. Dylan’s sheets couldn’t have been any softer, but my ass was too tender from the spanking. The sparks of pain made the pleasure sharper, more acute. The second orgasm grew slowly, the stretch of Dylan’s cock inside me a fraction better each time he filled me, until I was again on the edge of coming. This time, he was with me. Tearing his mouth from mine, he called out my name as he came, his pounding cock taking me along with him.

Before I could get my bearings, he was up, disappearing into the bathroom. He came out a few seconds later holding a wet washcloth. Careful of my arm, Dylan grabbed my legs and slid me to the side of the bed, spreading my legs wide. He couldn’t possibly be ready again. I could barely move.

The warm, damp cloth pressed between my legs, stroking my still sensitive flesh. I tried to slam my legs closed, the intimacy too much. I already felt vulnerable. Dylan blocked me with his body. Before I could form a verbal protest, he was done. Tossing the washcloth back onto the bathroom floor, he picked me up and set me on my feet.

“Breakfast should be waiting for us. Do you want a robe?” His green eyes twinkled at the question. Did he think I was going to say no? Maybe I’d eat breakfast naked one of these days, but not today.

“Please.” He settled a thin, white, french terry robe around my shoulders. I wondered what else I had hanging in that closet. I hoped I’d have time to explore it later. Maybe when I found out what ‘later’ would bring.

A
wheeled room
service cart waited just outside the front door of the penthouse. Dylan rolled it in to the table where we’d eaten the day before. I took a seat, the smell of coffee and food reminding me I was hungry. Dylan put the covered plates, cups, and coffee on the table, then pushed away the cart. Before I realized what he was up to, he’d picked me up out of my seat, sat down in his own, and arranged me in his lap.

“This is better,” he said into my ear. I squirmed on his lap, feeling weird about sitting there to eat. Wasn’t I too heavy? Putting a voice to my thoughts, I said,

“I’ll crush your legs. I can sit in my own seat.” His arm tightened around my waist.

“No fucking way. You feel perfect, and you can eat right here.”

Hmmph. I made a rude sound in my throat but gave up on sitting in the other seat when he lifted a bite of omelet to my mouth. Ham, cheddar cheese, and rich, creamy eggs. Yum. The other plate had French toast with home fries. Double yum. I let Dylan feed me for a few minutes, unasked questions simmering in my mind. I was learning that I was more likely to get what I wanted if I let Dylan have his way, at least at first. Besides, I was starving.

The eggs were mostly gone when I finally put up my hand to stop a loaded fork. “I’m full, for now. I want some coffee and I want to talk about the video.”

Dylan put the fork back on the plate and poured me a cup of coffee, adding a splash of cream, exactly the way I liked it. He didn’t say anything until I had the cup to my lips and was taking the first sip.

“Axel got the video. His guy followed Steven from the Delecta to his hotel and grabbed him. Axel and his team went through everything. It’s wiped it from every source.”

“Did Steven send it out?” I asked. I guessed the answer was no since Dylan was so calm. But I’d feel better if I heard it straight out.

“No. He had it backed up on a cloud server, but he left tracks everywhere. Axel followed his steps personally and verified the video was gone. They took his laptop and his phone and scared the shit out of him.”

“And then?” I asked. I’d only seen Axel twice, but his foreboding expression at the hospital was enough for me to know I never wanted Axel to try to scare the shit out of me.

“Then they let him go,” Dylan said, suddenly not meeting my eyes. He covered by pulling the French toast closer and cutting it into bite sized pieces with the side of his fork.

“They let him go?” I asked, putting down my coffee. “Why didn’t Axel have him arrested? Because they had to break into his hotel room and then destroyed evidence?”

Dylan cleared his throat. “Not exactly. I think you should go in and press charges later today. But when Axel found out who Steven owed money, he decided he’d let things play out instead of calling the cops.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. The night before I’d been in shock. Not physically, but mentally. My only focus had been on stopping Steven from sending out that video. I hadn’t exactly been evaluating the finer points of the situation. Now that I was safe from Steven and the video was erased, my brain was kicking into gear. If I hadn’t had the threat of the video hanging over my head, I would have reported Steven to the police. So why hadn’t Axel done that as soon as he’d made sure the video wouldn’t go out? Dylan’s answer wasn’t reassuring.

“He hurt you, Leigha. He deserves to pay. Axel saw you in the hospital. We think the same way and he didn’t even have to ask me. When Steven admitted he owed Sergey Tsepov money, Axel decided to let Tsepov handle the justice part.”

“Who is Sergey Tsepov? What will he do to Steven?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Russian mob,” Dylan said, shortly, still not meeting my eyes. “And I don’t know what Tsepov will do to him. Nothing good.”

“Dylan-” I cut myself off. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“What?” he asked, finally looking at me, his eyes blazing. “The police would throw Steven in jail and maybe he’d do some time. After seeing you getting sewn back together, Axel assumed I wouldn’t want to wait that long for payback. He was right.”

“But-”

“But what, Leigha? Are you trying to protect him?”

“No.” Everything in me revolted at the idea of protecting Steven. “No, I’m not.”

“Then what?” Dylan asked, his eyes searching my face.

“I don’t know,” I said. I didn’t. It’s not like Dylan had sent this Russian guy after Steven. Owing money to the Russian mob was Steven’s mistake. Axel and Dylan just hadn’t gotten him out of it by turning him in to the police. Still… “Will they kill him?”

Dylan shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I doubt it. But I’m not in on the specifics of how the Russian mob handles delinquent loans.” He must have seen the doubt in my face, because he went on, “Axel wouldn’t have let them have him if he thought they’d kill him, sweetheart.”

“So Steven’s with the mob?” I asked. I had a hard time picturing it. I didn’t know anything about the mob, Russian or otherwise, but I couldn’t imagine Steven, average, normal looking Steven, a prisoner of the mob. “What happened?” Dylan sighed.

“You’re not going to let go of this until you know everything, are you? You can’t just trust that I’ve got it under control?”

“Are you serious?” Dylan raised an eyebrow at me in answer. “I trust you. As far as I can trust anyone I’ve only known a few days, I do trust you. But this is my life. Steven stole from
me
. He attacked
me
. I know you want to make this easy for me, but I need to know what’s going on. I’m never going to be the kind of woman who wants to hand over all her problems for someone else to solve. If that’s what you want -”

“It’s not.” We glared at each other. Then Dylan sighed again. “It’s not. I know I have a habit of wanting to be in control. You’re going to have to deal with that. But I can work on not taking over.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll consider it my job to keep you from thinking you can take over the world.”

“No. You can consider it your job to figure out a way to put up with me while I take over the world.”

“I can figure out how to put up with you trying to take over,” I shot back, “Just don’t try to shut me out of my own life.”

“So I shouldn’t tell you what Axel found out about your new boss?” I stiffened in Dylan’s lap. I’d forgotten about mentioning my boss’s name the first night we’d met.

“Don’t do anything to my boss. I like my job.”

“Even if you’re working for a guy who’s had three sexual harassment suits filed against him in the past five years? All dropped, and the women involved aren’t talking.”

“Why?”

“My guess is money or threats. Maybe both. But I’ve seen this guy’s picture and money seems more likely.”

I couldn’t say I was surprised. My old boss had been great. He’d had high expectations, and he worked my department hard, but he’d been my first real mentor out of college. His replacement was slimy, way too touchy, and despite that, not threatening enough to get an angry woman to drop a lawsuit.

“What a creep,” I said, reaching for my abandoned coffee cup.

“Do you want me to get him fired?” Dylan asked, casually. I choked on my sip of coffee. Could he do that?

“You can’t just get him fired!”

“Because you think it’s wrong or because you don’t think I could do it?”

“Both,” I sputtered. “Don’t get him fired.”

“So you
do
think I could do it,” he said, grinning at me.

“I don’t want to find out. I can handle this,” I said.

“I don’t like you working for a man like that.”

“Tough,” I said, my mind racing. “He hasn’t actually done anything inappropriate. If he does, I’ll let you know.”

“Will you?” he asked. I sank back against him, relaxing into his hard chest, my half full coffee cradled in one hand.

“I will,” I said. “I promise. I don’t want to be groped at work. If he steps out of line, I’ll tell you. But until then, stay out of it.”

Dylan grunted in response and stabbed a piece of French toast with his fork. I hoped it was for him because I was stuffed. I hadn’t missed that he’d changed the subject earlier. I still wanted to know what had happened to Steven. After fending off the French toast, I said, “So, are you going to tell me what happened to Steven? How did Axel know the Russian guy caught up with him?”

“You really won’t let this go?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” Dylan said. “Axel’s guy sat on the hotel after they dealt with Steven. About an hour after Axel left, Steven came out, got in your car and drove to an empty parking lot behind a salvage yard. Axel’s guy watched to see what was going to happen.”

“And?” I asked.

“And two guys who work for Tsepov showed up. Steven tried to give them your car as part of the payment. They beat on him for a while, then took him and your car somewhere.”

“So they have my car?” That sucked. I needed my car.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dylan said. “I’m getting you another one.”

“What?” I would have screeched it, but I was laughing at the same time. Dylan was nuts. Even if this was the beginning of a relationship instead of a fling, which I wasn’t sure it was, he couldn’t go around spending all this money on me. Ignoring both my protest and my giggles, he turned his head to kiss my temple.

“That car wasn’t you.”

“It was practical. Efficient. I’m practical and efficient.”

“You make yourself sound boring,” Dylan said. This time, he was the one laughing.

“I am boring.”

“Trust me. You’re not boring. And you might be practical and efficient, but you’re also gorgeous, clever, fun, and unbelievably sexy. Not a woman who should be driving a beige sedan.”

“You’re insane,” I said. He didn’t answer. Not in words. Instead, he took the mug of coffee from my hands, set it on the table, and kissed me. I didn’t even try to resist. Since the moment I’d met Dylan, I’d been overwhelmed, confused, and undeniably drawn to him. My analytical brain always wanted an answer for everything, but the rest of me wasn’t worried about the details anymore. I wanted Dylan. I wanted this; his mouth on mine, and his strong hands pulling me close.