Read Chase Online

Authors: Flora Dain

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Erotica, #Contemporary

Chase

CHASE
Flora Dain
THE WOLFE: BOOK 2

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

More from Mischief

About Mischief

Copyright

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

These days it starts with the bracelets.

They
look
sensational. Trust me, when you’re out on the town with your wrists sheathed in custom-made, 22-carat white gold studded with diamonds, you look like a princess.

But the princess has, let’s say,
obligations
to her prince.

He has them too, like not going too far.

But I bet he’ll get close.

I try not to dwell on this. I love him. I want him to slay his demons because, until he does, this relationship’s going nowhere.

In a way I’m special. I’m the only person on the planet he’s ever trusted. So for him power play is not just a game, it’s therapy. Plus for me it’s a free pass into his heart. And if I can enter and warm it through, then maybe the ice that’s formed around it most of his life will thaw long enough for him to find happiness – if not with me then with someone else.

I’d sooner not dwell on that either. For now I’ll play things by ear. Bottom line, this complex man is well worth the struggle.

The bracelets are new. He keeps them for me. I could never afford the insurance. When I wear them people stare, dazzled by the gems or outraged at the bling, depending on how well they know me. They’re not my usual style.

Nor is he.

Darnley Wolfe
– part businessman, part inventor, part visionary, part damaged,
all male
– is also my lover. But only part of him is available for love.

His company makes millions. It deals in surveillance wizardry, personal protection and, for me, an exclusive line in heartache.

Our first date was last year, a chance collision in a spectacular clinch that lasted nearly eight hours and shifted our universe. Our second date was in high summer. We collided in the Lone Star State, hot on the trail of my ex but soon hotter still for each other as we hurtled into a rollercoaster ride high on emotion, low on trust and powered by wild, pulsing sex.

Our third date starts tonight. Two minutes ago he snapped the bracelets on my wrists. They’re a signal for him and a safety net for me. But the gleam in his eyes tells me they’re a far cry from the handcuffs he’d sooner see in their place
.

Now we’re holding hands as we walk through the luxurious spaces of Camp Akela. His parents’ lavish summer retreat looks much the same as it did when I came back here a few days ago but for us there are big changes.

Holding hands is one of them. Our relationship was under wraps when we first came here. Now it’s spectacularly open, thanks to the meddling of Ryan, my vengeful ex, who managed to splash pictures of us worldwide.

Deep down, I find it kind of hot that everybody now knows Darnley and me are an item. It means when people look at us they must be guessing what we do when we’re alone. And that thought burns me up because I actually
do
know and I glow with arousal every time I think about it.

The second change is the quiet. His parents, Aaron and Lydia, are now back home in Manhattan. His brother Eldon left too, along with my best friend Billy. They’ll catch up with us later. So we’re pretty much alone here, that is if you don’t count the fleet of staff and a security detail big enough to impress the White House.

And the third change – and for me the biggest – is the bracelets. I’ve agreed to accept them along with the conditions he’s attached to them. But now I’m scared. The conditions are specific about me but rather less so about him. They’re supposed to keep me safe, to warn him that I’ve accepted certain terms but also that he takes on certain responsibilities.

Like not hurting me in a fit of over-enthusiasm.

All I know is we’ll go new places. And from what I know of Darnley’s taste in travel, sex-wise at least, that could mean some pretty scary territory.

His hand tightens on mine as we walk through the spacious entrance area. ‘Got any plans for the evening?’ He sounds casual, like I might be dining out round the corner or popping into the nearest deli. Except we’ve already dined – the chef hung on for our visit – and the nearest deli is probably some three hundred miles downstate and there’s not a corner in sight. We’re surrounded by forest.

I press against him, leaning into his shoulder like a hungry feline. ‘Not right this minute. You?’

He wraps his arm around me and hugs me close. ‘Plenty,’ he murmurs. ‘Once we’re clear of the grounds.’

‘We’re going outside?’ This surprises me. So far all our action has been strictly indoors. We’ve disgraced ourselves on pretty well every surface, leaned against every doorway and steamed up virtually every window in the place.

Now he wants to start
outside
?

Like something just hotwired between us he pulls me towards the driveway and we walk quickly, past the golf course, past the lake and further still, pushing deep into the trees. I start quietly to fret. What now? What does he want to do out here that we can’t do in the privacy and shelter of our rooms?

The sun’s low. It may be a fine, warm, late-summer evening but it’s wild out here. There are little noises all around us, birdcalls from overhead, things creeping in the undergrowth as darkness closes in.
Insects
.

At last he stops walking and pushes me up against a tree, pressing me hard against the bark. ‘Kneel.’

His command is so abrupt, his tone so deep I stare for a second longer than allowed. All at once the look in his eyes becomes uncompromising. ‘
Now
.’

I obey, arousal spreading through me. I pant from the forced march. This part I understand. He craves my mouth, using me often and fully, delighted by my hunger. It surges now, a heat wave rising from deep in my belly. I salivate at the very sight of his warm, bulging crotch, already filling with his erection.

‘No hands. Open it with your teeth.’ He stands very still as I pull delicately on his zipper, taking care to go slow in case I snag the contents. He’s so big now he’s straining at the zip, eager for release.

Me too. It’s all I can do to manage this smoothly.

When his shaft finally springs free I admire it for a moment, letting the rich, earthy aroma lurking under the crisp scent of his shower gel warm my senses.


Shit
, Ella. The way you do that …’ He’s husky now, both fascinated and stirred by my adulation. He wants me to suck him fast and hard, I can see. But at the same time he’s enjoying the view.

I try to picture what it is that turns him on so, to see what he’s seeing: its dark purple a startling contrast to my paler skin? Its contours a swollen outrage against the finer lines of my woman’s prim, more delicate face? Or does his curved, rigid girth look almost too big to push into my soft, moist lips?

I sense all this as I lean forward to lick him and he thrusts towards me. It’s always a shock to see his size. A primitive spark tingles down my spine at the thought that something so big and so primal can fit into my soft, tightly furled places, let alone enter my mouth.

But it always does. I bow my head over the crown and take him reverently, wetting as much of his shaft as I can before I have to plunge and swallow. Soon I can tell from his jagged breathing he’s getting very close.


Enough.

Startled, I look up at him and we’re suspended in time and space as he absorbs me with his eyes, relishing the view and savouring my submission. I hold my breath as his monster twitches between my lips, poised on the brink of its pleasure.

‘I want you against the tree. Stand up.’ His voice is husky. He’s not smiling now. He’s in some new, scary dominant place where commands are short and sharp and my obedience is slow and sometimes painful. Down below I start to glow.

Game on.

His eyes encourage me to pull up my top and bare my breasts, letting them bulge forward provocatively. They sway gently as I pant, nervous now. His stern look directs me to loosen my linen crops. I push them down my hips and wait, an eyebrow arched for further tips on how to prepare for whatever we’re doing next. To my surprise he simply turns me round and pushes at my shoulders.


Bend over.
Grab hold of the tree with both hands. Stick out your ass and arch your back.’

Yikes.
I know what’s coming:
a spanking.
But out here? Won’t someone see? Or, even worse,
hear
?

‘Hold still. Don’t move.’

Heart in mouth I cling onto the rough bark, hoping none of his security detail are tuning in. And that’s before I start to worry about ants, mosquitoes. I’m very exposed out here. My arms are aching now as I lean forward. My cheeks burn with shame. I long to straighten up and cover myself.

Someone might see.

And then to my horror I hear him walk away
.
‘Wait. Where are you going?’ I sound shrill, a lost soul out here among the endless trees. I turn round in a panic but now he’s out of my line of vision. All I can hear are his footfalls, padding away, and then coming closer. As his loafers come into view I breathe a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness …
Ow!

I shriek as his hand lands on my rump with a stinging slap that stops my breath. As I open my mouth to drag in air it lands again and again. And again.

Arousal flares.


Quiet.
Did I say you could speak? I said stay there. Keep your legs straight. I’m not going far.’

My bum is burning up and we’ve hardly started. I doubt he’ll leave it there. I rarely get away with just four slaps.

I’m scared now. What’s he doing? It’s taking an age. I strain to hear where he is but all I can hear are rustles in the bushes, the scrunch of twigs and the snap of a stick. Alarm spirals though me. A bear? A wildcat?

It’s worse: a Wolf. Once more I see his loafers coming towards me, and something else. I shiver. It’s the swishing end of a stout, springy stick.

I’m going to get caned.
Or birched. Or twigged. Hit anyway, with whatever that thing is he’s holding.

He fondles my quivering backside with a caress so tender I shudder.

‘Hey, you’re cold. Don’t be scared.’ He pauses for a second. ‘Ella? You OK? You said you’d try it. We agreed.’

‘I’m fine.’ In the silence of the trees my voice is thin and reedy but it’s all he needs.

‘This won’t take long.’ Now he sounds brisk. ‘Don’t move.’

I stand rigid, part scared, part excited. Down below I burn. The rest of me chills as the scared part takes over and I strain to hold still and avoid his displeasure. Something about the way he’s swishing that stick warns me too much wriggling, even in happy anticipation, might be unwise.

But he’s moving plenty. I hear snaps, scratches and shuffles and now small bits of twig land on the ground near my feet as he strips the sapling, preparing it. I shiver as he swishes it a couple of times to test its strength.

His fingertips land on my rear, gentle and warm as he positions me precisely, and then he strokes me again, chuckling now.
He’s enjoying this.

‘Six strokes to warm you up. Then we’ll take it from there.’

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