Bound to be Dirty (14 page)

“No, Officer. That's all me.”

“That's what they all say. I'll need to verify.” Casting a glance around, she checked that they really were alone. Using her body to block the view of anyone who might walk by, she boldly unzipped his fly and reached inside his boxer briefs to grasp his naked penis.

“Shit!” It jerked in her hand.

She squeezed the hot, firm shaft. “You spoke. You disobeyed me. I'll have to take you in.”

Unless they got arrested for indecent exposure first.

Fourteen

W
as this really his wife? Classy, proper Lily fondling his cock in a public parking lot, setting up some crazy cop-criminal sex game?

“I'll come peaceably, Officer.” In fact, he was on the verge of
coming
right now. It took all his self control to not pump himself against her hand.

She glanced over her shoulder then released him. “Adjust your clothing, prisoner.”

He could barely stuff his swollen organ back into his jeans and zip up. Though his hair and clothes were soaking, he wasn't cold. Lily's coat protected her from the worst of the rain, but wet hair clung to her head in a sexy, fresh-out-of-the-shower way that made him imagine her naked body.

“I should handcuff you, but, uh, I used my handcuffs on the last person I arrested. So you'll drive. Keep your hands in sight at all times and don't make any sudden moves.”

He was tempted to ask, “Or what?” but hell, he was enjoying this. They both climbed into the car and he started the engine.

“I'm taking you to a private holding facility,” she said, and gave him the address of the condo.

What kind of “private holding” did she have in mind? He was tempted to turn the tables, to have the prisoner overpower the cop and take her hostage, but he'd had two nights of being in charge. It was her turn—and anticipation kept him hard.

When he parked the car underground, they both got out. She'd dried her face and fluffed up her hair so she looked almost normal now. She didn't act that way, though. “Clasp your hands behind your back and walk to the elevator.”

He obeyed, finding it disconcerting to not see her, but hear the click of her boot heels on the concrete floor behind him. In the elevator, she had him face the door with his hands clasped at his back, and she stood behind him.

The elevator pinged at the first floor and stopped. “Keep quiet,” Lily hissed as the doors opened.

The gray-haired couple with the white terrier stepped in. The woman's eyes widened at the sight of Dax's soaked clothing. “Young man, you really must remember to carry an umbrella in Vancouver.”

Lily had told him to keep quiet, but he wasn't about to be rude to an elderly woman. “Yes, ma'am.”

The couple got off on the second floor and Lily and Dax carried on to the fourth. She marched him down the hall and unlocked the door to their condo, pulling off her damp coat as they went inside. He automatically took off his shoes.

“Open the closet, prisoner. Hang up my coat then remove my boots.”

He obeyed, tempted to caress her feet, but she pulled away and denied him that opportunity.

“Take out the toolbox, open it, and find a bungee cord.”

When he did, she took the red-and-yellow cord. “Take your sweater off, turn around, and clasp your hands behind your back again. I'm going to handcuff them together.”

He tugged the sweater over his head, glad to be rid of the wet, clingy wool. Naked to the waist, he turned his back, hands clasped, head bowed like a suitably humbled prisoner.

She wrapped the cord around and around his wrists, pulled it tight, and interlocked the two hooks.

Testing, he flexed his arms and tugged lightly, then harder. The cord bit into his skin and didn't give. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could free himself, but he wasn't positive.

“Down the hall,” she said.

He strode toward the bedroom with her following. Having his wrists bound, his freedom restrained—even if just in play—threw him off balance. Emotionally, as well as physically. It was a small taste of what giving up control and trusting someone else was all about—and it didn't come easily. Thank God this was just a game.

When he reached the middle of the bedroom floor, she said, “Stop. Don't move.” She closed the blinds, turned on the lamp on the dresser, then went into the walk-in closet and slid the pocket door closed behind her.

Left alone, he chose not to move. What was she doing? This was more disconcerting than sexy. What had it been? Two minutes? Five? His jeans were cold and wet, his erection a thing of the past.

Finally, she emerged, and his body quickly heated again. Lily wore a tailored, slim-fitting white shirt, buttoned to the neck and at the cuffs, and her long legs were bare. The shirt skimmed the top of her thighs, just low enough that he couldn't tell what, if anything, she wore underneath.

“Prisoner.” She came to stand in front of him. “I haven't decided whether to charge you. If you're a model prisoner, I might consider leniency.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

“First, I need to search you more thoroughly. And this . . .” She reached forward, unbuckled his belt, and yanked it through the loops. “Has to go. You could use it to hurt yourself, or as a weapon.” She flung it across the room and put her hands at the waist of his jeans. His erection pressed against his fly. She fingered the waist button. “As for your jeans, you could twist the legs into a rope and use it to strangle yourself. Prisoner, do you feel an urge to harm yourself?”

He felt an urge to fuck her, preferably with his hands untied. “No, Officer.”

She frowned. “Can I rely on your word?”

Realizing that of course he wanted his jeans off, he said, “Maybe not. I might turn suicidal.”

Her eyes twinkled even as she forced her mouth into a firm line. “I appreciate your honesty. The jeans must go.” She slid the button through the hole and in a quick swoosh unzipped the fly. Yanking on both sides of the waistband, she tugged his jeans down his hips and legs. They pooled at his ankles and he stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Lily squatted and pulled off his socks. When she rose, she stared at the front of his black boxer briefs, where his hard-on bulged against soft cotton. “I have a dilemma. Is that still just you, or did you manage to slip a concealed weapon inside your clothing?”

“Best to check, Officer. You know I can't be relied on.”

She made a choked sound in her throat and struggled to keep a straight face.

When she peeled down his briefs, he stepped out of them and stood with his feet apart, hands bungeed behind his back. It was, basically, the military “at ease” position—except that his cock thrust upward and slightly in Lily's direction. What now? If he was damned lucky, she'd wrap her mouth around him and give him relief, but he figured she had some kind of sexual torture in mind.

She tilted her head and gazed at him, cheeks flushed. “Prisoner, there's something I need from you. Will you give it to me?”

His cock. Damn right. “If I can.”

“I certainly hope you can.” She took a deep breath then said in a rush, “I need an orgasm.”

Okay! Now she was talking. “Yes, Officer. I can give you an orgasm.” Just let him get his hands on that sweet body, peel off the shirt and find out what lay beneath, thrust his fingers, then his cock, deep into her. He turned around so she could unbungee him.

“Oh no,” she said in a surprised tone. “I can't take off the handcuffs. After all, you did say I can't rely on you.”

What? He turned back, saw a challenging gleam in her blue eyes. She wanted him to bring her to climax without using his hands? As the idea sunk in, his cock thickened even more. He'd always been up for a challenge, and he was especially
up
for this one. But there was a potential problem. If he couldn't get her shirt off and carry her to the bed with his hands, he needed words. “Officer, may I have permission to ask a question?”

“Yes, prisoner.”

“I'd be better able to meet your need if I could speak. May I speak?”

She cocked her head and he could see that, while she was pretending to consider his request, she'd already made up her mind. “No. Only to answer if I ask you a question.”

Or, he knew, to call the whole thing off by saying “Skookumchuck,” but no way would he do that.

He stared at the front of her shirt and tipped his head down then up, raking his gaze from hem to neck.

“No. My uniform stays on.”

If she wanted to play dirty, so would he. He could use his body to herd her toward the bed, but instead he sank down on the rug to kneel in front of her. Her legs were close together and she didn't spread them.

He nudged the hem of her shirt upward with his head. No panties. Only pale, naked skin, blond curls, and pink pussy lips tucked shyly between her pressed-together inner thighs. Her scent told him she was aroused and he glimpsed a hint of moisture.

Dax had never realized how automatically he used his hands and arms, and how he relied on them, until he leaned in to lick the vee between her legs. It was hard to balance on his knees with his hands locked at his lower back. But the reward was sweet as he insinuated his tongue between her legs, licking and catching drops of her juice.

She eased her legs apart, and he could lap more freely, exploring her labia, firming his tongue to thrust inside her, flicking it over her clit. With each lick, heat pulsed through his blood to tighten his groin.

Lily gripped his head like she was steadying herself.

He continued to work her, rewarded with a moan of pleasure. Her legs trembled, then she said, “I need to lie down,” and stepped away to walk to the bed.

Hiding a grin at getting what he wanted, he rose. Soon she'd be spread wide for him, quivering and whimpering as he drove her higher until she came. Then he'd plunge his aching cock inside her, and she'd climax again as he drove to release.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “I've changed my mind. I want two orgasms.”

Exactly what he had in mind. “Yes, Officer.” He kneeled and nudged her with his head, urging her to lie back. Her upper body tilted onto the bed, her feet remained on the rug, and her ass was on the edge of the bed. The prim white shirt covered her torso and arms, rode up her flat belly, and left her pink, gleaming sex exposed to him between her bent-kneed legs.

“Oh,” she said with pretended casualness, “I did mention the other rule, didn't I? In giving me these orgasms, you can't use your cock.”

He was taut with the need to come. How would he hold out? Even as a hormonal teen, he hadn't resorted to techniques like mentally reciting sports statistics—not that he knew many anyhow—to stave off orgasm. He figured it was insulting to his partner; besides, if you were having sex, why would you want to think of anything else?

Now, though, he might have to. In lieu of sports stats, he could recall helicopter technical specs. “Yes, Officer.”

He leaned between her legs and used his tongue and lips on her. No slow torture this time; he wanted to work her to climax quickly. Twice. Then surely she'd let him seek his own release. Being the sub in dom-sub sex play was new and strange. Voluntarily giving up control. Trusting that she'd look after his needs—eventually. It disconcerted him, yet also turned him on something fierce.

He knew Lily's body inside and out. When he sucked her clit, her sharp moan told him she was on the edge. Though he couldn't use his fingers, he gave her everything he could: the rasp of his beard against her sensitive flesh, the quick probe of his tongue, the long, flat swipes that made her whimper. And he kept returning to her clit.

She lifted her lower legs, hooked her ankles behind his neck, and pressed herself, writhing, against his face.

Her musk filled his nostrils, her juices were tangy on his tongue, and damn it, he wanted to do her properly. His balls were hard and aching and his cock leaked pre-come.

He remembered his strategy. Helicopter specs. Earlier today, he'd been flying a Bell 429 on sightseeing flights.
Empty weight: 4,245 pounds
, he recited in his head.
Standard internal gross weight: 7000 pounds. External gross weight
—

Lily cried out and shuddered against him in climax.

He licked her, prolonging the sensations until her moans turned to a protest, then he pressed kisses to her tummy, letting her ease off and come down. But not for long. He wanted to give her that second orgasm, and hopefully then get his turn.
Useful load, standard: 2545 pounds.
He returned his attention to her pussy, gentle at first, then more demanding. And speaking of demanding, Christ, he needed to come.
Maximum external load: 3000 pounds.

Hell, it felt like there were three thousand pounds of load in his balls and cock, ready to shoot free. He tongued her clit carefully, knowing it was more sensitive after she'd climaxed.

Her thigh muscles were taut; her body arched into him. “Oh God,” she muttered, “oh God, oh God. Oh, oh!” and then she climaxed again, on a high cry.

He stayed with her until her legs relaxed and she unhooked her ankles from his neck and scooted up the bed. Once she was stretched out flat, she just lay there, the white shirt moving as she sucked in breath.

Dax stood, stretching out his knees. His cock rose straight up his belly, as full as it had ever been, the head purple and shiny with pre-come. If he could touch himself, he'd come in a stroke or two. But with his hands tied, he couldn't orgasm unless Lily let him. She was extracting sexual revenge for when he'd told her she wasn't allowed to come.

She pulled herself up to a sitting position, crossing her legs and adjusting her shirt so her pussy was again hidden. Her eyes widened slightly when she gazed at him. “Well, I'd say that was good behavior.” Her voice was husky, as it often was after good sex. “Perhaps, prisoner, you deserve a reward.”

“Thank God, Officer.”

She shifted onto her hands and knees and crawled across the bed toward him, then again sat on the edge. With lazy movements, she unbuttoned one of her shirt cuffs, then the other, then undid a couple of buttons at the neck. She pulled the shirt over her head, revealing that she wore nothing under it.

Ah, he'd missed those rosy-tipped breasts. The sight of them made him leak another few drops.

“Come here,” she ordered.

Cock leading the way, he obeyed eagerly.