#if he did drop her then it was mercy because we KNOW Gregory would go to hell and back for the people he cares about

[tharkflark1]

I know the general consensus (and mine as well) is that Gregory isn’t the one who dropped Cassie down the elevator shaft, but I started this before I knew that, I enjoy morally grey characters

Art without the shading under the cut:

[invisibleinorange]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton, Genevieve Delacroix Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes".

--

Penelope didn’t have the slightest clue who might send her a package much less what it might contain.   Her family was barely speaking with her at this point since she’d abandoned them for the Bridgerton home.  To be perfectly honest her initial thought that it was a mistake and the package wasn’t for her at all but Eloise had been so insistent that it was for her and they needed to investigate its contents immediately.

The package had been delivered to the guest room that she was staying in.  It looked enormous as she made her way through the door and caught sight of it from the doorway. No wonder Eloise was so curious about it!

The package was massive, a neat box with ribbon around it in a neat bow to seal it off.  In simple lettering there was her name and the address for her old home. Someone had saw fit to send it from there to here but there was no denying that it was meant for her and yet, she was almost scared of the contents.

When she opened, there was a simple piece of parchment folded over.  She reached for it first hoping for some answers to the who or what.

Inscribed in a handwriting that felt familiar but not something she could put with a person was a simple sentence ‘For when you decide to put away the mourning black’ and it was unsigned. She turned the parchment over as if hoping for there to be more, her face twisting in confusion.

“Do you recognize this handwriting?” she asked handing the letter over the Eloise.

Eloise for her part took it up and rose an eyebrow at the words.  There was a moment of silence before she saw the other girl shake her head no.

“It’s familiar but no,” she said honestly before she egged things on. “Perhaps the contents will give us more of a clue who sent it.”

Penelope nodded forging ahead.  Wrapped curiously in the box was the most beautiful fabric that she’d ever seen and her eyes widened as she pulled it free realizing it was a dress.

Eloise’s jaw nearly hit the floor in surprise as the dress revealed itself.

“You have an admirer,” Eloise declared moving to touch the dress, examine it alongside her friend. “It’s going to look incredible on you – but in order to decide where you should wear it, we clearly need to investigate.”

There was no question that it would fit.  It was perfect. Penelope couldn’t remember ever owning something that looked as if it was truly meant for her.

She laid the dress on her bed before focusing back on the box, looking for any indicators of where it might have come from. It was Eloise who spotted their first clue.

“It came from France,” she said excitedly. “Who do you know in France?

That didn’t particularly answer any questions though.

There was no one that she knew. Her mind searched the last year, conversations that she’d had with people and it was only when she remember a conversation that she’d had with Eloise that a lightbulb went off in her head.

“Benedict,” she said after a long moment.  Surprised at the answer.

“He’s not been in France. We were literally just speaking with him.”

“No,” she said with a hand gesture.  “You said he was friends with the Modiste, right?”

“Well yes,” Eloise said clearly not putting two and two together.

“And you said that she was traveling to France, yes?”

“Yes but – why would Madame Delacroix send you this dress with that note?”

“Benedict,” Penelope repeated, confusion flooding her features.

“Okay but why would he –“ Eloise asked, clearly missing out on something big.

“Because he proposed,”  Penelope finally told her friend.  Sure, it probably should have come up in conversation in the many weeks of her staying there but it seemed easier to not say anything at all since she’d rejected it.

“He what?” Eloise almost yelled.

Penelope covered her friend’s mouth with her hand in an attempt to not disturb the whole of the household.

“Weeks ago,” Penelope told her, removing her hand only when she was certain there wouldn’t be more yelling.  “I rejected it.”

“All things considered should I be worried for Anthony or Gregory,”  Eloise couldn’t help but ask before she realized it might be insensitive. “I’m sorry - I just didn’t expect that but it makes sense.  Maybe he thinks he can change your mind.”

The truth of the matter was that Penelope had all but made up her mind that she wouldn’t but then there was that dress; the perfect dress and the note made sense to her.  He was willing to wait until she was ready to forge ahead.  She closed her eyes for a long moment, willing to conflicting thoughts at bay.  

Maybe she did need to consider the offer.

“What if I did?” Penelope asked after a long moment.

--

Dinner was certainly quieter than usual.  Violet Bridgerton was used to her children being quite talkative but the majority of conversation seemed to be led by Anthony.

There seemed to be something quite curious going on: Eloise kept looking toward Benedict, Penelope seemed overly preoccupied with her dinner, Benedict kept looking between Eloise and Penelope.  She desperately wanted to get to the bottom of this but she knew eventually the truth would come out.

“Did anyone do anything interesting today?” she asked as she cut her quail, taking a bite as she waited for a response.

“I don’t know. Benedict, have you done anything interesting recently?” Eloise asked pointedly.

“I …can’t say that I did,” he responded looking to Anthony for support because he definitely didn’t know what his little sister was on about.

“Don’t look to me,” Anthony responded. “I don’t know what you’ve done.”

“He didn’t do anything but if he did it was most kind,” Penelope finally offered.

“So he did something kind,” Hyacinth said jumping into the adult conversation at hand.

“That doesn’t sound much like our brother,” Gregory added, not one to be left out.

Violet now knew that Benedict had done something but she didn’t know what it was.  Whatever it was Eloise was clear on it, though she wasn’t based on her powers of motherly observation if that thing was actually considered good or bad.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, sounding more and more confused by the moment. “If someone would like to tell me what I did, I’d be much appreciative.”

“So, you didn’t propose to my best friend?” Eloise said from across the table.

“BENEDICT BRIDGERTON,” Violet raising her voice. Her jaw dropped silently. Clearly she had missed that part. “When did you intend to tell your mother?

“Weeks ago and she said no,” he said with a shrug.  He came fairly close to throwing Anthony under the bus for having been the one to lead him down that path but he took mercy.

Penelope was pretty sure if she could have melted into the table and disappeared at the moment she would have because all eyes were immediately on her.

Dinner was growing cold as the entertainment was clearly of greater value to all.

“But he hasn’t given up,” Eloise felt a need to point out. “I caught him speaking with her alone outside. At the time I didn’t know what he was up to but –“

“It was an innocent conversation and she approached me,”  he said, in defense of the situation.

“Eloise-“ Penelope said trying to get this whole thing to stop.

Eloise was too far gone though and there would be no stopping any conversation she felt she needed to have at this moment.

“Well you better invite me along on the honeymoon,”  Eloise said, making an indignant sound. “I still think it’s crazy but – you won.”

“I won?” Benedict asked incredulously.

“Your little gift did the trick,” Eloise said rolling her eyes.

“What gift?” Anthony asked.

“The dress,”  Penelope said after a long moment.

“You bought her a dress?!” Violet asked sounding absolutely delighted.

Anthony and Benedict exchanged glances and Benedict shook his head.  They’d all lost their mind because he certainly hadn’t sent anything.  Would it be wise to argue it at this point?  Benedict was starting to wonder if someone had done something on his behalf or maybe he had been drunk and done something.

“Uh… did I?” he asked.

“Yes and it was beautiful,” Penelope said finally.

Benedict clearly looked unsure what to say and he was almost grateful for the fact that Anthony was the one to excuse himself from the table, look at his brother.

“Well, we’re glad to hear that you like it,” Anthony said.  “We have some other… things to work on but um, yeah- It pleases me to hear you’re reconsidering the proposal.”

Benedict mouthed a ‘thank you’ at his brother and followed him out, moving than he would had the room actually been in fire. He needed to know what in the unholy Hell was going on, especially since their mother was now involved.

The only thing more dangerous than their mother when there was a match to be made was their mother when there was a wedding to be planned.

He wasn’t quite sure if that was the case here but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out when there were more pressing things to figure out first.

[naferty]

Final part!

~~~

Reunion

(Stroganoff au, a/b/o dynamics, stony, Gregory comes for a visit, nobody is happy)

“How dare you,” a voice in the gathering speaks his thoughts. It’s Nana Roberta. Her voice shakes from her fury. “How dare you come here and behave this way. You eat his food and get drunk on his wine and this is how you show your thanks. If this is how your family acts, I am so damn happy Tony got far away from your ignorance and selfishness. I have never seen someone so disappointing in all my life.”

“I’m disappointing,” Gregory scoffs. “I am the son of Howard Stark. I am a genius, a billionaire, an alpha and I am better than he will ever be. What does he have?” He finishes with a sneer and a taunt. His words aren’t slurred yet, but it’s evident that’s the direction they’re going with how close his pronunciations are.

There is a brief pause among them all until a voice rings through the gathering like a shot. “Friends for one.” Jan’s eyes are as hard as steel when she says this. “Friends that actually care and don’t just put up with him. He didn’t pay any of us to be here, but you wouldn’t understand how that works.”

“A family,” Nana Roberta adds. “A real family. One that loves him for just being himself. He has a real brother and a real father in us. You - you have nothing.” Uncle Rhodey and Nonno Terrence straightened at their mention.

“A loving husband,” Peter has never seen his Nana Sarah so furious before. Her sweet and caring voice twisted from her anger. “My Steve would move mountains for him and their two beautiful children. Anyone you could possibly marry will only stay until the money runs out, and then what? I don’t pity the person who gives you a chance. Only a terrible person will be able to stand you.”

“Family,” Gregory repeats with a scoff, “family doesn’t create a successful business or an empire. Only an omega would care for the useless things in life.”

Uncle Rhodey moves forward, “and yet, Tony went off to create his own business all on his own from the ground up. I watched him take every step. He didn’t inherit anything from daddy dearest. He studied and worked his ass off to get where he is. What did you do? Get wasted on daddy’s plastic and claim success when it’s all put on your lap.”

“Last I heard, your title of a billionaire has been renounced,” Aunt Pepper says, “Isn’t Stark Industries down in the millions now?”

Jan takes the question. “I have read Stark Industries has moved lower in the fortune five-hundred and their stock has dropped from the previous month. The CEO’s uncontrolled outbursts sort of has a play in it.”

“That's right. Don't forget about that little rumor proven true of Stark Industries selling under the table. Who was behind that again?”

“Obadiah Stane,” Uncle Rhodey answers. “Some partner there, huh? Didn't you have a public meltdown during your press over that? I remember a lot of yelling involved and hardly any answers.”

“And here you said omegas are the ones who can’t control their emotions,” Uncle Bucky does not look impressed, “or can’t run businesses. Sounds like you can’t run yours either.”

Aunt Natasha shakes her head. “Tony sounds better in general. I pick him to handle things over you any day.”

Gregory’s face is steadily growing redder. Peter isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol or embarrassment. He hopes it’s the latter. This alpha deserves to be embarrassed.

Uncle Sam moves forward, calm and in control as ever but clearly very tired of all this. “Man, do us all a favor and just leave. You’re not helping yourself here.”

Gregory spreads his arms out, apparently composed and ready to start trouble again. “I’m not going anywhere. I was invited, remember? It’s rude to kick out a guest.”

“He’s a Karen,” Shuri whispers to them. It’s very fitting to Gregory’s image.  

At that point, Peter’s had enough of this alpha. “Why did I even invite you? I take back my letter. I take back everything I wrote. We’re not happy for you to be here. We’re the exact opposite of happy and you need to go. Like, now.”

Gregory smiles very smugly, as if he’s just been proven right for something. “You better calm down there, Pete. It’s not healthy to get so emotional.”

The choice of words is no coincidence. Not with the way Gregory constantly mocks omegas and their ‘emotional outbursts.’ Peter is an omega and apparently ordering someone to leave his home is far too emotional for Gregory. No one appreciates the alpha’s words.

Gregory looks ready to say something more, but a voice, a very stern and disappointed voice, stops him in his tracks.

“Just. Be. Quiet.” Gregory sobers up really quickly when Nana Maria speaks. She is breathing deeply and her shoulders are trembling. Her eyes are glistening. They’re not happy tears.

“Mother -”

“Stay silent,” she orders. “I have never been so… humiliated in all my life.” Everyone is looking at her now as she moves forward. Nana Sarah, Roberta and even Winnifred are holding her arms in support. As if any second Nana Maria would fall from the anger. “You have insulted and mocked my family. You’ve embarrassed me and I am so ashamed to call you my son. Had I known this is how you’d lower yourself to…”

With a blink, a tear trailed down her cheek. “Howard was right. Stark men are made of iron. They rust over time because of their bitterness and become hideous. On the inside and outside.”  

Peter didn’t understand, but he got the meaning behind what his Nana meant. The saying must be important to Gregory - what with the way the alpha looks gutted. Nana Maria must have hit hard. Her aim precise and with no mercy.

Gregory doesn’t move, not until Jarvis makes his way to stand next to him. “I think I speak for everyone when I say you need to leave, Master Gregory,” the alpha looks at the elderly man, “and please accept my resignation as of now.”

Peter tunes the rest out. He’s said his peace and his family can handle kicking the man out. Right now, his focus needs to his Mam. He grabs Harley’s arm and drags him back towards their house. Along the way, they’re stopped by their Uncle Clint.

“Hey, I’m sending you a video. Make sure to show that to Tony. I think it’ll cheer him up.”

They nod before continuing their way. Up to the stairs they go once inside and head directly for their parents’ room. There they find their Mam sitting on the edge of the bed with their Pop’s arm around his shoulder in comfort. The sight squeezes Peter’s chest. It makes him feel horrible to know he’s responsible for that.

Quietly, he and Harley join them. Their Pop takes one side and they both take the other.

“Is he still here?” Their Pop asks after a moment.

“Everyone is kicking him out,” Harley tells him. “He won’t be here for long.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter looks at his hands. “I didn’t know. I thought it would make Nana happy and - I don’t know… give us a family moment.”

“We understand, Pete. It’s partly our fault for not telling either of you anything. You weren’t supposed to know until your Mam was ready.”

Mam waves him off. “They were going to find out eventually. I was just delaying it.”

“But not like this, Tony.”

“Doesn’t matter. They know now and they’ve met Gregory. Can’t be helped.”

“I hate him,” Harley cuts in. It makes their Mam laugh.

“I do, too, Har. Trust me. Hate that man with a burning passion, but he is your Nana’s son. We can’t show it in front of her.”

“Actually,” Peter thinks back to what their Nana said, “you might be surprised about Nana. She wasn’t happy with how he acted.”

“We won’t see him again, right?” Harley almost implores them.

“No,” Pop says in a stern tone. “Not if I can help it. He’s not stepping anywhere near our home.”

“Good. I’ll use my potato gun on him if he does.”

Their Pop nods in approval. Their Mam shakes his head. “Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you? You’re taking after your father too much.”

“That’s a good thing, Tony.”

“Not when I have to hide the body.”

“You leave hiding the body to me. I’m the one with the experience, after all.”

“That’s not reassuring, Babe.”

As their parents start to bicker, Peter gets his phone out and clicks on the new message his Uncle Clint had sent. A video pulls up and from just the frozen frame he can tell it’s a recording of what just happened with Gregory. He’s confused at first. How is this supposed to cheer his Mam up?

He trusts Uncle Clint, so he gets their attention and puts the video on full screen. “Uncle Clint wants me to show you this.”

Within seconds of hitting play they hear the angered voice of Nana Roberta. “How dare you come here and behave this way.”

The video continues to show the entire scene Gregory had created and their family fighting back. Now Peter understood. His Mam wasn’t there to witness their entire family fight for him. His Uncle Clint thought ahead and recorded while everyone else isolated Gregory. This video showed how much their family loves Tony Stark. Not the Starks, not the money, not Gregory. They love his Mam. They love Tony.  

Uncle Clint was right. It does cheer Mam up.

[letsplayscrabble-blog]

the fear of losing you. [linstead oneshot.]

- Based on the prompt I received from @wr-trash about Erin being in a hostage situation. This was a new area of writing for me and I hope I did your idea justice! (: [tw: violence, abuse]

She felt the cold metal dig into the small of her back and she winced, dropping her own weapon onto the carpet because they now had a loaded shotgun trained on her abdomen and there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to be able to squirm or punch or kick a single one of them with enough force to get away without someone pulling the trigger and blasting her straight in the head. Hank was cursing and screaming in her earpiece to ‘get the hell out of there’ and to ‘hold on they were coming but damn it you shouldn’t have gone in alone’ and her phone kept vibrating over and over again in the back pocket of her jeans and she figured it was Halstead or maybe even Upton because the brand new detective was her partner after all.

“Pretty girl isn’t as smart as she thought,” one man snarled and he took a step closer to her and she fought against another’s hold but the sock across the mouth came as a surprise and she had to stop her writhing to catch her balance and spit out a mouthful of blood which landed satisfyingly on her captor’s shoe and she had to bite back a few choice words because their pushing of her buttons and getting under her skin wasn’t going to work.

“Where’s the boy?” Erin growled and she fought again but received a blow to the stomach and she should have kept her mouth shut and at least tried for a concrete confession but he had a little boy. He had a little boy and the clock was ticking and she hadn’t the slightest clue what was being done to the child- only that he was somewhere in this house. Their prime suspect was standing right in front of her and she’d caught him trying to sneak in through the neighbor’s yard and they had finally matched a set of fingerprints on the boy’s discarded sweatshirt and this son of a bitch who kept smacking her around was the one who had snatched him without a shadow of a doubt and oh, she couldn’t wait to get the creep alone for five minutes because he would be begging her to stop because she would show no mercy.

“Sir, Riley’s hungry.”

A tiny little girl appeared from behind a door that must have lead to the basement, barely skin and bones with raven colored curls stuck to her face with all of the dirt and grime she’d most likely been sleeping in for God knows how long - and there, behind her, clutching to her skinny fingers of her left hand was the four-year old Intelligence had been searching for for days now, his big green eyes wide in fright as his eyes scanned across the living room full of big, scary men and a bloody detective whose eyes landed on the children almost instantly in complete and utter horror. There was more. “You’re selling them. You’re selling them for money, aren’t you? It’s an entire business,” Erin spat, her teeth clenching in fury because this was far worse than any of them had anticipated and Gregory Lawrence, the ringleader behind it all, had just snatched her earpiece and her phone and shattered them both to smithereens with the heel of his shoe. She could only hope they’d traced her cell to get an exact location because she was well aware that time was running out and there wasn’t a chance in hell these kids weren’t getting out of here. Not if she had anything to do with it.

But she heard the sirens then and a small tiny hint of relief flooded her veins because they’d found her and they were here and they’d be bursting down the door in seconds but suddenly it all went wrong. The two men holding her let go of her wrists and her arms and dashed for the two children, ignoring their screams of panic and shoving a gun to their throats and Erin froze, watching them squeeze even tighter and certain the brutes were cracking ribs as the seconds ticked by. They’d planned for this. They knew exactly what they were doing. They weren’t stupid and weren’t about to get caught. She dove for her weapon which had slid under the coffee table and in an instant she had it trained on Gregory’s face though he had the nerve to stand there with a smirk on his lips and his hands up in the air in a feigned surrender.

“Oh, Erin. Did you really think it’d work out this easily? Shoot me and a kid is dead. There’s three more downstairs. Let your team in and two die. I have plenty more safe houses to choose from, full of children. Give me the gun.”

She hesitated because her gun was the last shot she had at defending herself and any of the children but Riley screamed and she knew one of the men had just broken one of his bones. She’d heard it snap and so she dropped her weapon and slid it on the ground towards the son of a bitch and he picked it up with a sly grin and a flick of his wrist and then he was yanking her towards the front door and she didn’t put up an ounce of a fight because he had those kids and all of their lives were in her hands.

“Lawrence. Fancy finding you here.” Hank’s gruff voice hit her eardrums first as the oak door flung open and it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden sunlight but she saw her sergeant halfway up the sidewalk in a bulletproof vest and she saw Jay right on his heels because she was certain he’d absolutely refused to take sniper on this one when she was in danger and her heart lurched because if she didn’t make it out of this at least she’d know he had her back until the very end.

“Voight. I could say the same to you. Got a reason you’re on my property?” He dug the gun into Erin’s back again and she winced and fought every instinct to squirm and kick and fight back but the second she did the second those kids were shot dead and there was no way in hell she was going to let that happen.

“You have a gun to my detective. Seems like probable cause to me,” Hank shot back and he held out a strong arm to stop Jay from doing something stupid because he was fidgeting and clenching his fists and it was taking a hell of a lot of effort to stop himself from shooting the guy point blank in the face and Hank knew that but it wasn’t going to fly. Not here. He was well aware there was a reason Erin was in the position she was in because she may be stubborn and impulsive and didn’t think things entirely through when it came to a case with a child but she knew how to handle herself and wouldn’t have ended up in the hands of Gregory Lawrence without good reason.

Jay on the other hand was trying to ignore the fact that her nose was bleeding and an eye was already black and blue and she was cradling her abdomen like she’d broken a few ribs and he realized Upton should be the one standing here as Erin’s new partner but Hank had relented after his incessant pleas and he needed to prove to his boss that he could do this and he needed to stay here to be as close to Erin as possible because there wasn’t a chance in hell he could focus on aiming a sniper given the current circumstances.

“Let her go and we can work out a deal,” he finally managed to get out and Gregory had the nerve to laugh and Erin winced again as her jerked her back into the house and out of his line of sight. Damn it.

“Not a chance, detective. You let us all walk out of here and I’ll keep her as insurance. Probably alive.”

Hank had seen it. Jay had done his job and given Erin that two second window to mouth ‘there’s kids’ while Gregory was distracted and that was all he’d needed. It was all starting to make sense though it didn’t make their current situation any better.

“He’s got more inside than we thought. We can’t get to Erin and she can’t move without him hurting the kids,” Hank muttered and Jay’s jaw clenched because he knew all too well what she would do to save all those children and none of the scenarios he could come up with ended with her coming out of it alive.

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?!” Jay snapped and his blue eyes blazed and his heart rate sped up and Hank glared daggers at him because if he couldn’t get a handle on it he was going to get sent back to the bullpen to pace around in hopeless circles and that managed to shut him up real quick because he didn’t plan on going anywhere.

Olinsky’s voice came over their earpieces with even more grim news that he couldn’t get a clear shot on any of them and further explained that each of the men in there Gregory had as a backup was holding a child and he had his own gun on Erin and at the sound of her name Jay’s fists tightened up again but his mind also seized onto the mention of those kids because he understood completely and entirely why she was doing what she was doing. There may be blurred lines on what was right and what was wrong in Intelligence but when it came to saving children your sole purpose became getting them out of there alive and he only hoped Erin would hold off on doing anything drastic because he couldn’t lose her, and Hank couldn’t lose her, and this team couldn’t lose her and he absolutely couldn’t imagine a world without her in it and suddenly all he could think about was wrapping her up in his arms and bringing back his duffel bag into her apartment and tossing it onto the bed he hoped to once again share with her because he never should have left her and he never should have turned away from her because damn it, she could’ve handled it.

Hank pulled him back to reality with a quick nudge of the shoulder and soon they were back on the outskirts of the property and surrounded by the hostage team and multiple other police officers because things were getting bad and time was running out before someone did something stupid and Jay could only hope and pray it wouldn’t be Erin who acted.

An hour went by before he caught a glimpse of Upton rushing towards them out of the corner of his eyes, her eyes blazing with determination and finally, finally- here was his ounce of hope.

“Sarge, I can get in. There’s a window they didn’t seal shut all the way that leads to the basement. There’s three more kids. I- I can’t see if they’re breathing,” she finished, and again his heart lurched because if Erin was already fighting a losing battle she had no chance in hell of getting out.

Hank shifted his weight as he considered because Ruzek and Atwater were out back trying to find another way to breach or at least get a shot off without one of them seeing them and ending it for Erin or one of the kids but things weren’t looking good and they needed something. Anything.

“Do it.”

Hailey nodded and dashed back in the direction she had come from and Jay followed because he felt useless just standing around and he wanted- no, needed- to make sure those kids were okay. His mind kept flashing back to dark, dirty huts nestled in the mountains near Korengal Valley where he found far too many children shot dead by rebels and far too many children starved and shivering and desperate but they were far too afraid to come anywhere near a soldier and so he’d forced himself to forget about them and to keep moving.

He gave Upton one last nod of approval before watching as she wiggled down through the narrow gap, landing softly with a thud in the basement of the place and he dropped to his stomach to get a better view and to help lift out the kids as she brought them over one by one because every last one of them was weak with malnourishment and whatever drugs he’d pumped into their systems to keep them quiet and subdued and he could only imagine what other horrendous things had been in store.

Voight waited for Halstead to return and Upton to load the rescued kids safely in the back of a squad car before approaching the front door again, lifting his first for a firm knock and then Gregory was back with Erin right next to him and Jay fought even harder than before not to lunge at the man. Erin’s other eye was bruising and she was obviously in more pain than earlier because she was fiercely chewing on her bottom lip and that was her tell when she was trying to hold back tears. He knew. He knew her like the back of his hand.

“Alright, I’m here to make that deal. But in a show of good faith, you let the two kids go behind you,” Hank instructed, straight to the point, his head nodding in their direction. The terrified children were in view now from where Hank and Jay were standing, Riley and the trembling older girl whom Erin had learned was named Lena. She’d gone missing three weeks ago. Kidnapped from her own backyard.

She felt Gregory fidget beside her and the gun edge maybe an inch away from her back as he considered but Jay could see that in Hank coming to the front door Atwater and Kevin had snuck in the back and both had their guns trained on the other men holding Riley and Lena and that these good for nothing bastards had made a terrible error in judgement and all he had to give his old partner was a clearing of his throat and she was out of Lawrence’s grasp and ducking behind Hank and then shots were firing from inside the house and children were screaming and Jay dashed inside because he knew all too well that Erin was going to be just fine but she wouldn’t be able to stand it if those kids didn’t make it and at this point neither would he.

Another shot, this time from near the front door and Jay whirled in absolute horror but Hank strolled into the living room with ease and a satisfied grin upon his lips, stepping over the body of Lawrence and his two men on the way and scooping up Lena in his arms and melting into a sweet mess of whispers and smiles and hugs for the comfort of the young girl while Riley latched onto Jay and after a nod in Atwater and Ruzek’s direction they all stepped back outside, the kids safely wrapped up in their arms.

“Jay!” Her hazel eyes found him instantly  and she wiggled out of the back of the ambulance and away from the paramedics because honestly her broken ribs didn’t hurt that bad and her eyes may be throbbing but that could be taken care of later and right now all that mattered was the little boy in his arms and the feeling of his perfect blue eyes as they fell over her because this was a win for everybody, an absolute win and as she clutched Riley to her for a brief moment before handing him off to the medics and his eager and sobbing parents she realized just how terrified she had been as it all finally sunk in.

“You should’ve waited for backup,” he murmured and she winced because he was right and she winced because then he was hugging her and pulling her to him despite the broken ribs and she breathed in his familiar scent and the feel of his scratchy bulletproof vest and then she was on her tiptoes and kissing him and she was smiling and he was smiling and then chuckling, the vibrations making her dimples appear on her cheeks and damn, he had never been more relieved.

“Erin, I- I want to come back home. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” And she grinned again and his hand found her jaw and gently he brought her lips back to hers and she thought she heard Ruzek whistling and hooting and hollering in encouragement but all that mattered was that Jay was coming back home.

[smartgirlsaremean]

The Reluctant Guardian - Chapter 3

The Reluctant Guardian

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: T

Summary: Roderick Gold is about to complete his revenge on the Jones family by inheriting the family fortune and estate, but to his surprise there is one late acquisition: Jones was guardian to a young woman, and that guardianship now falls to Gold. Determined at first to marry her and make absolutely sure all of the Jones assets are under his control, he soon discovers that there is much more to Bella French than meets the eye.

Belle French values nothing so much as her independence, and would far rather die an old maid than lose even a moment of freedom. Her new guardian is intriguing, though, and the more she learns about his past the more questions she has. His reputation doesn’t quite match her own observations, and while she would love to uncover the mystery that is Roderick Gold, she must be very cautious lest she reveal her own secrets and ruin her own plans.

AO3

Chapter 3

When both their visitors were gone, Sophie Hammond finally looked up from her knitting. “Those men are going to be trouble, Belle,” she said firmly.

Belle was still staring at the door behind which Mr. Gold had disappeared. “Hmm?”

Sophie laughed. “Trouble!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Sophie,” Belle protested, her cheeks warming. “It will be a very comfortable, quiet summer, I’m sure.”

“With Sir Gregory sniffing about and Mr. Gold growling him away from the door? Don’t wager on it, missy.”

“He didn’t seem very keen on Greg’s suit, did he?” Belle smiled.

Sophie’s sharp eyes looked over her young charge. “Oh, Belle,” she sighed, “you must be careful, comprenez-vous ?”

“ Oui, mon amie ,” Belle answered, “but I seriously doubt Mr. Gold has any evil intentions.”

“ His intentions! I am talking about yours. I saw the look on your face just now.”

“I can’t help that my new guardian is so handsome,” Belle argued, her blush deepening. “Or that he has such a lovely voice.”

“He’s twice your age, child.”

“Mm. Maybe more than that,” Belle mused.

“Belle!” Sophie laughed in spite of herself at her young friend’s dreamy tone. “That is not supposed to be a mark in his favor!”

Smiling sheepishly, Belle shrugged. “You know I’ve never cared much for young men. I suppose we’ve discovered why.”

Sophie sighed and picked up her knitting again. “Do show the man a little mercy, then, cherie ,” she said dryly. “We can’t have his heart giving out, can we?”

Belle and Sophie were packed and waiting for Mr. Gold well before eight o’clock. They had few personal effects, but those they had were precious to them. Mr. Gold, who had hired two extra carriages and a veritable army of men to move the household, eyed the modest number of boxes and trunks with doubt.

“Is this really all?” he asked suspiciously.

“It is,” Belle smiled, her hands clasped demurely before her.

With a sigh, her guardian dismissed half the men and one of the carriages. “We could almost have carried the whole lot ourselves,” he grumbled. Belle noticed that his brogue was thicker when he grumbled. It was devilishly attractive.

“Perhaps,” she allowed, and bit back a grin when Gold tried to lift one of her boxes himself.

“Damnation, girl!” he grimaced, abandoning the attempt. “Did you pack up the bricks from the fireplace?” Sophie cleared her throat loudly and Gold muttered an apology for his language.

“No, my books.”

“You’re taking the library? Wouldn’t that go to Garnet with the rest of the house?”

“My father’s books he is quite welcome to keep. These are my own collection.”

Mr. Gold looked at the pile again. “How many of those contain books?”

“About half.”

His eyes widened. “You’re aware Jones had a library of his own.”

“I am.”

“And that it has, in fact, a great number of books you’re more than welcome to read.”

“Yes.”

His eyes searched hers and she met his gaze with a gentle smile. At last he shrugged. “So be it.”

He motioned for the men to take the boxes away and stood in the hall with both hands resting on his cane. Belle noticed that although many of the hired men were taller and larger than he, his authority was unmistakable. In much less time than she had supposed, every package had its place and she was sharing kind farewells with the staff of her father’s townhouse. The housekeeper, who had known her from girlhood, even shed a few tears over her. Belle assured them all of her gratitude and her conviction that they would find the new baronet a good master. Through it all, she felt Mr. Gold’s eyes upon her, and she wondered what he meant by watching her so closely.

When they were all situated in his carriage, he lost no time telling her his thoughts. “That was an interesting little scene,” he remarked. “Are you always so familiar with the servants?”

Belle looked at him quizzically. “They served Papa and me very well, some of them as long as I’ve been alive. Why would I not value and respect them?”

He shook his head. “That was more than respect. You like them. You care about them.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they are fellow humans of worth equal to my own.” Her voice sharpened and she was inwardly stamping down a quite irrational amount of disappointment. She had so hoped he was different.

“Oh, dear,” he all but whispered, “you’re one of those, are you?”

“Those?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “I do hope you can keep your...er... sentimentality to yourself, dearie. Might make it difficult to marry you off, and then I’ll never have you off my hands.”

“That would be a terrible shame,” Belle said indifferently.

“Dreadful.”

Belle saw Sophie look pointedly over her spectacles and dropped the subject. Latin and geometry she understood, but the labyrinthine rules of polite conversation she had never quite mastered. She knew she often toed the line between impertinence and rudeness, but she could rarely determine where exactly that line was, especially as it seemed to move depending on her audience.

She had the feeling she could be rather shockingly rude to Mr. Gold without consequence.

“How long did you know Mr. Jones?” she asked when the air between them felt a little less thick.

“We were neighbors for twenty years.”

“So long! And yet I’ve never heard of you.”

“I could say the same of you,” he snapped. Belle was not cowed.

“I suppose there wouldn’t have been occasion to mention either of us to the other. He could hardly have expected us to know each other.”

Mr. Gold merely raised his eyebrows. Belle wondered disrespectfully if his eyebrows ever grew tired of moving up and down in that way. She considered asking him, but the slowing of the carriage drew her attention and she saw that they had arrived. Mr. Gold handed both of them out and gave them over into the care of the housekeeper, who promised them refreshment in twenty minutes’ time. Mr. Gold disappeared to Belle knew not where, and she and Sophie were quite properly left to inspect their accommodations on their own.

A knock on his study door drew Gold’s attention from the letter on his desk. At his invitation Miss French entered, her keen eyes taking in every aspect of the room, but drawn especially to the bookshelves.

“Sit,” he said curtly.

Miss French raised a brow and did as he bid. “My rooms are lovely, thank you,” she said demurely, “and so well appointed!”

“We’ll be leaving for Blackhall within the week, so don’t get too comfortable,” he replied.

“Oh, will we?”

“No use staying here.”

“I suppose not,” she said wistfully.

“You can’t dance or go to parties in mourning, dearie.”

“I know that, but there are other amusements I’d rather looked forward to.”

“No theater or concerts for you either.”

“Obviously. But there are several new scientific papers I haven't been able to send for yet, and an exhibition at the museum, and later this week I’d hoped to attend the lecture on...” Her voice trailed away when she met his eyes. “What is it? You’re looking at me as if I’ve grown another head.”

Gold supposed he must be, because his jaw had dropped at some point and his eyes were beginning to water. He remedied both of those problems and then smirked at his ward.

“I begin to understand,” he sneered with a malice he did not really feel. “The books, the independence, the scholarly pursuits. You,” he pointed at his ward, “are a bluestocking, Miss French.”

“Of the deepest, bluest shade,” she smiled in response. “How could I not be, with a father like my darling Papa?” When Gold merely raised his eyebrows, Miss French elaborated. “He was a scientist. An inventor.”

“Do tell.”

“Nothing particularly useful or noteworthy.” Miss French waved a hand as if to bat away any expectations of greatness. “Mostly he liked to cause explosions in his laboratory and invent gadgets for menial tasks. At one point I had a clockwork tea service that would put sugar in my tea for me.”

“Interesting.”

“Especially as I was unsure how to make it stop without hitting it with something.”

A snort of laughter escaped Gold.

“Papa was so disappointed. He’d hoped I’d eventually discover how to improve it.”

“Are you also of a scientific mind then?” The thought was alarming.

“Not like Papa - though I suppose no one was or ever will be quite like Papa - but he was adamant that I supplement my lady’s education with a few more…less decidedly feminine accomplishments. My father thought no subject unfit for his daughter. What my governesses refused to teach, he taught me himself.”

“Including chemistry and archaeology, I suppose.”

“And mathematics and politics and philosophy and Greek and Latin. I’m not a master of any of them, heaven knows, but if father taught me one thing more thoroughly than anything else, it was to love to learn.”

“Well, your,” Gold cleared his throat, “ intellectual pursuits notwithstanding, we will leave for Yorkshire in two days. I trust you can be ready.”

Miss French’s pretty lips pursed as she thought. “We can send some of our things by cart, can’t we?”

“Certainly. But what could you possibly need that - no, don’t tell me! Your books.”

Miss French smiled and gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “You did say it would be a long and lonely summer. At least I’ll have all my dearest friends with me.” She rose. “Will there be anything else?”

“Yes, dearie, one more thing.”

She resumed her seat and raised her eyebrows.

“I was not being flippant when I spoke of husbands. I’m an old widower with no marital aspirations, and I will not play kindly uncle to you longer than absolutely necessary. When your mourning period ends, you will be presented at court and no doubt inundated with suitors.”

“Inundated! Really!” Miss French’s eyes sparkled. “Not deluged, engulfed, or overrun?”

“All four, most likely.” Gold ruthlessly fought down a smile. “I won’t expect you to take the first dunderhead who expresses an interest, especially as it’s likely to be the lummox himself. I do, however, expect you to consider your suitors very seriously. Ideally, you will be married at the end of the season.”

“You are very optimistic about my marriage prospects. What shall we do if this plethora of proposals doesn’t come to pass?”

“It will.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Your fortune of course.”

The twinkle in her eyes was instantly doused. “Oh, yes. Of course. I am now rich enough to buy the very best husband on the market.”

“Precisely.”

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Gold,” she said seriously, leaning forward. “My fortune is not dependent on your whims. Neither is it contingent upon my marrying. It will be entirely at my disposal when I reach my majority next year - won’t it?”

“What do you…”

“Won’t it?”

“Yes,” Gold sighed in defeat. “Yes, it will.”

“Excellent. Then you may spare me your instructions about marriage and husbands. My father left me with the means to decide my own fate, and I will not allow you to bully me into any such decision.”

“Well, if you aren’t going to marry, what exactly are you going to do?”

“I never said I wouldn’t marry, but either way my plans are my business and no one else’s.” Miss French rose again with an air that would put the Queen herself to shame. “Will there be anything more, sir?”

Gold stared at her, marveling at the way her icy eyes grew frostier with each passing second. He held his silence a little longer than necessary on principle, and to see just how cold her gaze could become. When he fancied he might be able to see his breath on the air, he said, “No. That is all, Miss French.”

She curtsied with mock solemnity and swept from the room, and Gold let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Hell, but she was magnificent. He was beginning to understand that the only safe reaction to Bella French was to avert one’s eyes and make noncommittal noises. Looking directly at her was akin to staring at the sun, and engaging her in conversation could tie one up in verbal knots. She was not one to play by conversational rules, and Gold was dismayed to find that he was often out of his element with her. He was not one for the expected, but he found that he had always relied on a script of sorts: one in which he said the unexpected or unacceptable thing and his listeners reacted with proper shock and horror. With Miss French his outrageous words fell limply to the floor and she would gaze at them a moment, pick them up, use them to fashion words equally outrageous of her own, and fling those words back at him with deadly accuracy.

He was no match for her, and he was used to being matchless.

[sueboohscorner]

#TheWalkingDead Season 8 "Mercy" Recap Plus Questions

Sunday, October 22nd

Oh my goodness, it has finally arrived! The season 8, 100th episode premiere is finally in the history books! And boy did it deliver. From start to finish, fans were on the edge of their seats, breathless, screaming and cheering. It was heard nationwide.

*WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS EXPLICIT DETAIL FR SUNDAY NIGHT'S EPISODE "MERCY." IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN IT, TURN BACK NOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!*

The 100th episode opened up with Rick's eyes shut, showing a foggy vision of a cane and flowers. Then, it comes back to the present. It shows Rick at a watchpoint then Glenn and Abe's graves at The Hilltop. Daryl sends Dwight a message the note says 'TOMORROW.' Tara keeps the time while eating licorice and wearing sunglasses like a boss!

Rick is with the three groups brought into one next to each of their leaders. He gives a speech: "When I first met him, Jesus said my world was gonna get a whole lot bigger. We found that world, we found each other. That bigger world is ours by right. If we come together for it, all of us, it's that much truer. It's ours by right! Any person who would live in peace and fairness, who would find common ground, they're right too. Those who use and steal and carve out the world who make it theirs alone...we end them! We don't celebrate it. We don't have shame about it, either. There's only one person meant to die. And I'll kill him myself. I will. I will." Dwight sends a note back to Daryl. Rick continues. "Then, we keep making the world bigger, together." Ezekiel adds, "Together, bound forever to hold the bar. For He, today that shall shed his blood with me shall be my brother. For She today, my sister." He says as he grabs Maggie's shoulder. Maggie tells them that they've practiced and that they're ready. They just need to keep faith in each other. The world is theirs if they can do that. Carol and Tara lead the walker march, leading them towards the Sanctuary. It shows the cane, the watch, the flowers then Santa Rick waking up. Then, it comes back to the present, Rick opening his red puffy eyes. 

 Carl drives up in Rick and Michonne's lovebird van with a gas can. A throwback to the pilot episode when Rick was wondering around Atlanta was seen as Carl glanced in a car with a dead walker inside. He keeps walking to an abandoned convenience store when he hears a voice. Carl tracks him down, finds his feet and then Rick fires, injuring the man. Rick kills a walker then begins to mark off the checkpoints one by one. Rick looks over their playbook. Gabriel informs Rick sometime later that everyone's ready. Then, he asks Rick if he is. One person, Rick says. Rick says it always starts with one person. Tara, Daryl, Carol, and Morgan meet up at a rendezvous spot. Rick says his goodbye's to Judith, Michonne, and Carl. Rick tells Carl, "This is the end of it," He gets into a truck, and the forces roll out. Carl tells Michonne, "I know you wanted to go with them. I did, too." She tells him that everything hurts but she's helping him defend The Safe Zone. But, it's his show. 

Rick takes down a Savior at another point and raids his things. The Savior continued to tall trash, so Rick released the tied walker and signaled for his people to come forth. The line of shielded vehicles spread out in an open field. Everyone meets everyone. The three group leaders along with Jesus converse. Maggie gives her word that Hilltop Colony will fight with Rick and co. Maggie says she's been fighting since the farm and there's no going back. Rick asks about 'tomorrow.' She says just one more fight and tells Rick she'll be there for at least the first part. Ezekiel mentions the loss of their doctor and offers The Kingdom's doctor for use. He says that today is the day they begin to reshape the world for her child and the children to come. Rick tells her that Hilltop is lucky to have her and that after this fight, he's following her. 

Tara counts down to something but... nothing happens. They watch for a moment before Daryl spots them; the oncoming horde of walkers. They all ride out. About thirty seconds after they've gone, an SUV blows up. The incident is radioed back to Saviors headquarters (The Sanctuary), and they dismiss the possibility of it being"them." Dwight listens to the female who desires blood and tells her that she may just get what she asks for. Daryl, Tara, Morgan, and Carol rig the bomb that's close to the compound. As Dwight moves away from his spot, the two Saviors above him suddenly drop dead. The shielded vehicles begin to move into formation. Then, the forces pile out. Maggie and Rick are first behind the wall. Maggie raises her hand and guns are raised. Rick fired four shots. They wait. Then, Negan and the forces come out. "Well, shit! I'm sorry, I was in a meeting." Negan says. 

When the commercials end, it shows Santa Rick again. He's waking up and looking at the flowers on the nightstand than the clock. He gets up and meets with Michonne.   Carl says that everyone's playing hooky today. Then, it shoots back to the barricade scene. Negan makes a snide comment then says he's isn't feeling a need to fire shots at one another because he's not selfish like Rick and he cares for his people. Rick begins to name off the Saviors that standby Negan currently. He offers them safety if the surrender. Negan laughs. A walker wonders near the trip wire, and Morgan kills it. Negan says its a good deal Rick offered. Then, he asks about himself. Rick tells him he's already shown him. Twice. Negan says he knows the outcome. Then, Negan calls out Simon's name, and he brings out Gregory. Like the coward he is, Gregory tells the people of Hilltop Colony to surrender, that they stand with Negan and if they don't, they won't have a home. Jesus shouts out that they stand with Maggie. Simon tells Gregory that he's disappointed in him and shoves him off the platform. Morgan ducks behind a dumpster as a group of Savior cars come. They get blown up. Rick tells Negan to decide quick. Then, he starts to countdown. He gets from ten to seven then fires, making the Savior compound look like metal Swiss cheese. 

Carol, Morgan, Tara, and Daryl meet up. They wait for the walkers. Daryl leads the walkers closer to the Sanctuary while the others head back to safety. Daryl checks the rounds in his revolver then heads out, blowing up bombs along the way. The crew fires endlessly at the compound. Father Gabriel sends in the RV and Rick blows it up. Negan is seen by himself. Rick is shooting at him. Gabriel gets him to stop. Rick drives out. Gabriel was about to, but he saw Gregory and WS going to help. Bad decision. Gregory abandons the Father and leaves him stranded. 

Carl leaves the stranger his father wounded two cans of food with a note that says "Sorry." Some of the group meets back up in one area. Then, Rickis seem with Daryl. Daryl wants to do more damage, but Rick says no. He tells Daryl he tried to kill Negan but Gabriel stopped him. Daryl asks if Rick's okay. Rick says its not about him. They head out. Rick and Daryl head out to another Savior compound while  Carol and a group hit another compound themselves. Walkers move into the compound as Gabriel runs for his life. He ducks into a building only to find Negan in there, too.

In the foggy vision, it shows an older Judith running up to Santa Rick. Michonne tells him that the people are thrilled for the festival. Judith walks him outside, and we see a thriving community. A red-eyed Rick is seen smiling. He whispers "Mercy prevails over my rath."  

The last scene shoots back to Rick's speech before the fight. He's telling the troops that he doesn't want to wait any longer, either. He says "If we start tomorrow, everything they've beaten, everything they've endured, everything they've overcome, we've already won. We've already won!

Wow! What way to welcome episode 100 into the books! What were your thoughts on this episode? Were the group proactive enough? Could they've done more? What's going to happen to Father Gabriel? Tune back Sunday to find out!

New episodes air every Sunday at 9 p.m. only on AMC.

Editor: Joeleen Gatlin

[anavoliselenu]

Complete me chapter 4

He strides toward me, all strength and power and a confidence that borders on arrogance. This is not the man who spent weeks at the mercy of the German court system only to have his freedom lobbed at him by a stranger. No, this is the man who built an empire. A man with strength enough to beat back the demons I saw this afternoon.

I look at him and feel no chill lingering from the nightmarish shadows that obscured him from me. There is only Justin now. The man that I know—the man that I crave.

This is the Justin who takes charge—who simply takes.

Tonight, all I want is for him to take me.

My body trembles as he approaches, his eyes never leaving mine. He reaches out, and his fingertips brush my neck, flicking lightly over the pearl necklace that I still wear. It is the slightest of contact, but it reverberates through me like an explosion.

I suck in air and tilt my head to the side, elongating my neck for him. My breath is ragged, my skin on fire. He leaves a trail of goose bumps on my neck before his fingertips gently graze the weave of my dress along my shoulder, and then once again stroke my sensitive skin to travel down my bare arm.

He breaks contact and steps away, and I want to weep from the loss.

“Yes,” he says, as if in answer to some question of his own. “This is how I want to see you, standing naked before the world. I want to look at you and know that you are mine.”

“You know I am.” My words are soft, barely a whisper.

“Say it,” he says.

“I’m yours,” I say, because I mean it. More than that, I understand why he wants to hear it. He’s taking back the control that had been wrenched from him—and he’s taking it back through me.

He moves his hand to the zipper at the back of my dress, then slowly tugs it down. Slowly, he brushes the dress off my shoulders. It falls to the floor, the circle of yellow like the petals of a flower. I am left in my newly purchased underwear. A demi-cup bra in a deep purple and matching thong panties. Justin looks me up and down, and there is no mistaking the heat in his eyes.

“Come with me.” He takes my hand and leads me a few steps farther to the window. It’s not floor to ceiling, but it’s close. We are right up against it. Another step and the window ledge would hit me just above the knees. Justin is behind me, his hands on my shoulders and the denim of his jeans rough and cool against my bare ass. In front of us, Munich is spread wide.

Slowly, Justin reaches around and unfastens the front clasp of my bra then eases the straps off my arms. He drops the garment to the floor as I instinctively try to cover myself. “No,” he says simply as he slides his arms down along mine, then holds me firmly at the wrists, my arms now at my sides.

“But the window,” I say, looking out at the stores and offices that rise around us. “The other buildings.”

“No one is watching. The glass is tinted, and there are no lights in here. No one can see.”

I relax infinitesimally.

“But even if they could . . . ” His voice trails off as he releases my wrists. His hands stroke my body, one trailing up until he finds my breast and the tight, puckered skin of my areola. The pad of his thumb flicks roughly over my nipple, and I gasp from the deep, decadent pleasure. His other hand slides down until his fingers sneak under the band of the thong to brush over my damp, trimmed pubic hair. He teases me, his fingers forming a V as he glides over my folds, coming so tantalizingly close to my clit that I want to cry out in frustration and beg him to please, just touch me.

“What if that’s what I wanted?” he whispers. He presses his lips to the back of my neck then lowers himself to trail kisses down my spine, leaving me shivering in the wake of his touch. The sun has dipped below the horizon, and the world outside is fast darkening, turning our window into a mirror. I meet my own eyes in reflection, and see my features soft with desire.

“What if I want you naked before the world, your legs parted, your cunt wet for me?” He is behind me, his hands stroking the curve of my hips. His breath teases the small of my back as much as his decadent words tease my imagination. I have never fantasized about exhibitionism, but right now, I am having a hard time thinking of anything but Justin touching me, Justin fucking me. I don’t give a damn about the windows, tinted or not. I don’t care who sees, I only want to surrender to Justin’s touch. His hands on me, his tongue stroking me, his cock deep inside me.

“Justin—” The word feels wrenched from me.

“Does it excite you?” he asks as he slowly stands, his body sliding against mine as he rises, the brush of his clothing rough against my skin. “Not knowing who might be watching, but knowing that I want you like this? That I want the whole goddamned universe to look down on us and know that no matter what, you belong to me?” He rests his left hand on my hip, his thumb hooked in the thong’s band. The other hand brushes over my belly, then eases down under the triangle of silk again.

I’m desperately wet, almost painfully turned on, and I silently pray for his touch, but once again it doesn’t come. Instead, I hear only his words. “I want you to tell me, Selena. Does it turn you on?”

God yes. I have to fight to speak. “Keep going,” I manage. “Touch me and see for yourself.”

I hear his smile reflected in his chuckle. His fingers brush my skin, but he’s not going south. “Not unless I hear you say it.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

His lips are in my hair, and I feel the reverberation of his words as he whispers, “Me, too.”

I close my eyes, expecting his touch. Craving it. But still it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel the brush of his fingers over the band of this brand-new thong—and then the pressure as he rips it at the back seam. I gasp—surprised, yes, but also aroused by the violence of the action and by the rush of cool air against my damp sex as he pulls the panties away.

“What are you—?”

“Shhh,” he says. “Lean forward, hands on the window. No, don’t argue. Beautiful,” he adds when I comply, then punctuates his words by stroking my now completely bare ass. “Now spread your legs for me. Oh, God, Selena,” he groans. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

“You have me.”

He slides his hands up over my hips, trailing up the curve of my waist. He presses his body against mine, his torso against my back and his hands upon my breasts. “I do,” he says. “But I’m not taking you. Not yet.”

A tremor runs through me, part frustration, part anticipation. I am so hot, so ready, and I do not know what to expect or where he is taking this. I only know that I want to find out.

He stands upright again, then circles me, finally stopping near my right hand, still splayed out against the window. “I like this,” he says, reaching out to run his finger along the pearl necklace that is the only thing I still wear. “It is said that oysters are a potent aphrodisiac, but I think that pearls are equally enticing. It’s rumored that Cleopatra crushed one and drank it in wine in order to render herself irresistible to Mark Antony. But I think I prefer them as an adornment. For that matter, I can think of a few other adornments that I would like to see.”

“Justin—” I stop myself because I don’t know what I want to say other than to beg.

“Stay put,” he says. “Don’t touch yourself. Don’t put your legs together. You’ll come when I let you, Selena, but not before. Break my rules, and I promise you won’t like the punishment.”

I swallow and nod. “But where are you going?” I call as he disappears into the bedroom. I get no answer, and I close my eyes in frustration, hyperaware of every inch of my body. Of the dampness at the back of my neck along my hairline. Of the tiny hairs upon my skin, standing up as if electrified, caught up in this storm that is Justin. Mostly, I am aware of the aching in my cunt.

I do not touch, though I desperately want to, and I am aware of every movement of my body, every brush of air. I can feel my pulse beating in my sex, and my muscles clenching with longing. I am need personified—and what I need is Justin.

He is only gone for minutes, but it seems like I am waiting for hours, lost with my own reflection. A nude woman against a shiny surface, a dream world of city lights blazing behind her. I am like a woman from one of Blaine’s paintings, forever captured by his brush in a state of arousal, never quite able to reach satisfaction.

No, I think. Please don’t let Justin be teasing me like that.

When he returns, he has something in his hand. He sets it on the table behind me. I can’t see what it is, but I think I hear the clink of metal upon metal.

“Justin?” I ask, my voice wary. “What are you doing?”

He comes around in front of me, then gently takes my hands off the glass, easing me back up straight. A slow grin lights his face, and I see both amusement and heat in those beautiful eyes. I expect his answer before he says it—“What I want, Selena. Always, what I want.”

I lick my lips. “And what is that?”

“To give you pleasure.” He moves behind me, to the table, then returns with something in his hand. “Do you remember this?”

He opens his hand to reveal a silver serpentine chain connected by two rings, each with two small metal balls on them. The balls pull apart, creating an opening, then snap back together when the pressure is released. They are nipple clamps, and I shiver from the memory of that exquisite bite of pain mixed with pleasure.

He brushes his thumb over my now painfully erect nipple. “Oh, yes,” he says. “I think you remember just fine.”

I moan as he slowly caresses my breast. “How did those get here?”

His chuckle seems to roll over me. “It’s been almost a month, Selena. I had Gregory pack and ship a few things. Including the small leather case I keep in my closet.”

“Oh.” I wet my lips. “That was very efficient of you.”

“I’m a man who likes to plan ahead.” He catches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezes tight. I gasp, relishing the sharp sensation, the pleasure edging toward pain. With his fingers tight, he rolls the hard nub and I bite down on my lip as electricity sparks through me, racing from my breasts to my wet, throbbing cunt.

“Justin.” I’m not sure what I’m demanding. I can barely form thoughts, much less words. All I know is desire. All I want is more.

Hell, all I want is everything.

As if in answer to my demand, Justin spreads the rounded ends of the ring, then gently releases it, causing the cold silver to clamp against my nipple. There’s more pressure now than Justin had applied, and I suck in air, surprised at first by the fiery pain. It fades soon, though, and I moan in pleasure at the warmth that ripples through me as my body adjusts to the tantalizing torture.

“We’ve gone so far together, Selena,” he murmurs as he attaches the other one. “I’m going to take you even farther. I want to balance on the edge with you, and see you open and wide and wild.”

My breathing is ragged. I’m hyperaware of my breasts, of his touch. And when he slides his hand down between my ass cheeks, his fingers finally—finally—finding me hot and wet and wanting, I cannot help but moan aloud.

“I want to give you everything, Selena,” he says, as his thumb brushes my anus, and I feel the slick lube of my own arousal. “I want the universe spread wide before you. And I want to be the one who sends you tumbling over, shooting off into space, without control, without inhibitions.” I feel the firm increase of pressure, then gasp as something small and well-lubed slips inside my rear.

“And, Selena,” he says, his voice rough with passion, “I want to be the one who tethers you and brings you back.”

“You are,” I whisper. I am as unraveled by his words as I am by the riot of sensations storming through me. “Oh, God, Justin, you know you are. I’m lost without you.”

He moves to face me, then strokes my cheek. With a fervency I don’t expect, he pulls me close. I gasp as my raw, chained nipples rub against his shirt, but he silences me with a long, almost violent kiss.

“Please,” I beg when he releases me. I am helpless, I am melting. The pressure on my nipples sends shocks arcing through my body. That wicked plug fills me, opening me, making me hyperaware of every movement and sensation.

“Please what?” he whispers. “Tell me what you want, Selena.”

“You, Justin. Always you—only you. I want you to touch me.” I reach for him, fisting my hands in his T-shirt. “I want you to fuck me because I’m not entirely sure I can survive without feeling you inside me right now.”

“I want that, too,” he says, and I sag with relief. “But we’re going to have to risk your imminent demise,” he adds with a very wicked grin. “Because I have something else in mind first.”

According to the concierge at our hotel, Club P1 is one of the hottest nightclubs in Munich. The venue is huge and crowded, and the patrons are as polished and bright as the modern interior. It’s funky and fun—and at the moment, I couldn’t care less. My body is too on fire, too teased by Justin’s sweet torture.

The limo ride was bad enough, with Justin demanding that I sit with my knees apart and my hands on either side of me, palms on the soft leather of the seat. He’d dressed me in a shelf bra before we left, leaving my still-chained nipples exposed. In the limo, they brushed against the black silk of my beaded tank top, the sensation making me squirm. And that caused all sorts of other shocks and quivers and pulses to ricochet through my body.

Justin sat across from me, sipping Scotch and watching me with such raw passion that I spent the entire ride in a constant state of unsatisfied arousal.

The ride, thank God, was short, but now that we are here I want nothing more than to go back to the hotel. Dancing, drinking—none of that holds any appeal. All I want is Justin’s mouth on mine, his hands on my bare skin, and his cock deep inside me.

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be getting what I want anytime soon, and so I draw in a breath and try to focus despite this sensual haze in which I am currently living. “You’re glowing,” Justin says, his mouth curving into a self-satisfied smile.

“Glowing?” I repeat. “Jesus, Justin, I’m practically radioactive.”

“Mmm,” he says, looking me up and down. “So I see.” He pulls me to one side so that my back is up against a smooth wooden wall. He presses his hands to either side of me and leans in close. “A bit on edge, Ms. Fairchild?”

“Just a tad.” I catch the scent of him—the whiskey on his breath, the deep, spicy musk of his arousal—and it works upon me like the most potent of aphrodisiacs. In addition to my sparkly black top, I am decked out in a black leather miniskirt, thigh-high stockings, a tiny red thong, and very high, very fuckable heels. I take one step away from the wall and lift myself on those heels, gripping Justin’s shoulders for balance. “I’m still trying to decide if I should thank you for this,” I whisper. “Or if I should figure out a way to get revenge.”

“While I’m very intrigued by the possibility of being at your mercy,” he says, “we both know that you’re as turned on as I am.” He slides an arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. Our hips meet, and I can feel his erection pressing hard against my belly.

“I am,” I admit, sliding my hand down between our bodies to stroke his cock through his jeans. The corner is dark and secluded, but I think I would have stroked him even if we were on the dance floor. I am intoxicated by lust, emboldened by passion. And since Justin isn’t shifting my hand away, I know that he is, too.

“I’m hot and horny and desperately wet,” I murmur, moving my hand in time with my words. I feel him grow even harder and I smile with the knowledge of my own power. “Do you know what I wanted in the limo, Justin? I wanted you on your knees in front of me. I wanted your hands on my thighs spreading me wide, and I wanted your tongue on my clit.”

He is close enough that I can feel the quickening of his pulse and his quick shallow breaths. “I wanted to feel my nipples tighten when you tugged on this chain, and my body tense around this plug when you made me come, so hard and so fast that you’d have to carry me into this club.”

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, his voice so soft I can barely hear it.

“So yes,” I continue, as if I hadn’t even heard him. “I am turned on.” I stroke his cock slowly, because at least for this one moment, I have turned the tables on Justin Stark. “But what I wanted I didn’t get. And that, Mr. Stark, is why I want revenge.”

“You make a very sound argument, Ms. Fairchild.”

“I pride myself on my sharp business skills.”

He steps back from me, his eyes gleaming mischievously, then holds out his hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Come with me and find out.”

He leads me through the crowded club full of beautiful people who are much more interested in each other than us. I’m relieved. We do not look like the Selena and Justin who have been in the German news. I’m in my Girl Goes Clubbing outfit and Justin is casual in jeans and a light jacket over a T-shirt, not to mention a day’s worth of beard stubble. That’s not to say that I haven’t seen a few heads turn when we pass, but I think that is more a product of Justin’s astounding good looks than his status as either a celebrity billionaire or as a man who narrowly escaped a murder charge.

As far as I can tell, the club has two main rooms, both filled with bright colors and shiny surfaces. The DJs spin an eclectic mix, but the theme seems to be techno-club, and while the music isn’t anything I recognize, it is deliciously danceable.

At the moment, however, dancing is not on the agenda. Instead, Justin leads me to the terrace, and we step outside. I pause a moment to take it all in—the candles that illuminate the patrons in a surreal glow. The plush leather sofas and love seats that dot the terrace. Some are in clusters near colored lights and provide a place for energetic dancers to have a drink and get a second wind. Others are secluded, tucked away in dark corners for lovers to curl up together and soak in the atmosphere.

The bouncers downstairs made it clear that no one gets into this bar if they look shabby, and here under the starlight, that policy is obvious. Everything glows, including Justin and me. There is a polish to everything that I see, but I know better than anyone how tarnished something shiny can be underneath, and I can’t help but imagine this place come morning. The sofas stained with spilled drinks. Cigarette butts stamped out on the stone floor. The ethereal candles revealed as nothing more than globby clumps of wax.

Nothing is as it appears. Not this club nor its patrons nor Justin. And certainly not me.

We weave among the other patrons to one of the love seats tucked in a darkened corner. Justin sits, and I start to sit beside him. “No,” he says, then pulls me into his lap so that I am straddling his leg, the hard muscles of his thigh pressing enticingly against the hard knot in my ass as I face him.

I exhale, making a little ah sound as shimmers of awareness crash through me.

“Trouble, Ms. Fairchild?”

I lift a brow and rock my hips, grinding my rear against him and making this hedonistic tempest crackle and pop inside of me. And—if his face is any indication—my lap dance is driving Justin a little crazy, too.

“No trouble, Mr. Stark,” I say, as primly as I can manage despite my body being on fire.

“Christ, Selena . . . ”

He tugs me forward so that I am still straddling him, but now I can feel his denim-clad erection against the bare skin of my thigh above my stocking. I meet his eyes, my heart pounding wildly, then moan when his mouth crushes against mine. One of his hands is around my waist, holding me in place at the small of my back. The other slides under my skirt, his fingers finding the thin strip of silk that makes up the thong, then begin to move in slow, easy circles calculated to drive me crazy.

“Justin,” I whisper. “Someone might see.”

“I want you. Right now. I want to watch you explode in my arms.”

“But—” I look around. There doesn’t seem to be anyone paying attention, and in the dark it’s not obvious where his hand is hidden.

His fingers curve inside me, and whatever protests I might have raised die right then. His thumb presses against my pubic bone as if my body is a handle, and I gasp as he roughly pulls me closer. “Now,�� he repeats. “I want you coming in my arms.”

“Yes,” I say, because I am too wrecked, too wanton, to say anything else. Right then I think I’d let him lay me out on the dance floor and fuck me with the crowd cheering us on. He wouldn’t, though, and deep inside, under this haze of passion and lust, I know that. We’re still in our bubble, hidden in the dark, buried in the corner.

But Justin needs this. This man who once told me he doesn’t do public sex. Because that’s not what this is about. Instead, he needs proof that I am really here. That I didn’t leave after talking with Maynard. That the demons of his childhood haven’t pushed me away.

He needs me to get lost in his arms as much as I need to lose myself to him. To know that he is back—and that he is still mine.

“Yes,” I repeat, because it is the only word I can manage through my jumble of thoughts and emotions. “Oh, God, Justin, please, yes.”

“Good girl,” he says, sliding his hand off my back. I’m vaguely aware that he has thrust it into his pocket, but that is not the hand that interests me. Instead, all of my thoughts are centered on the fingers that are teasing me under my skirt, playing with my clit, making me bite my lip so that I don’t rock back and forth with these building sensations. I’m just a girl sitting in her boyfriend’s lap, after all. Not like a woman about to come like she has never come before from the intimate way that said boyfriend is fingerfucking her.

Just a girl sneaking a brief kiss. Just a girl—

“Oh, God!” I cry, but my shout is swallowed by Justin’s hard mouth over mine. The orgasm rips through me—not just because Justin’s expert fingers have played me so well, but because of the surprising, shocking, totally mind-rocking vibration of the plug with which Justin has filled me. I want to scream with delight, to writhe and make the sparks build again and again. I want this whirlwind of pleasure to keep pulling me up and up, and the fact that I can’t—the fact that I need to stay quiet and still—only increases the fever that is burning through me.

All too soon—or possibly hours later—rationality returns to me. My heart is pounding against my rib cage. I feel as though I have sprinted a mile. And when I lick my lips, I taste blood.

I rub my mouth, but it’s not mine, and it takes me a second to realize that I bit down on Justin’s lower lip. “Are you okay?”

“Baby, you can bite me anytime.”

“Oh my God,” I say. “Oh my God.” And then, “You didn’t tell me it did that.”

He pulls his hand out of my pocket to reveal the remote control for the plug. “A man has to keep a few surprises.”

I sigh contentedly, then slide off him. I curl up next to him on the love seat, discreetly adjusting my clothes. “Wow,” I say. “That was kind of kinky.”

His grin is as playful as my words. “And is kinky good?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Kinky is very good.”

His arm is around me, his hand resting on my hip. After a moment, his lips brush over my ear, and I shiver from the butterfly-soft touch, then immediately laugh when I hear his words—“Your ass is vibrating.”

I lift my brows. “Is that a euphemism for what you just did to me, Mr. Stark?”

“Complaining?”

“Hell, no,” I say.

“Good. But no, it’s not a euphemism. It’s your phone.”

Shit. I realize that he’s right. I’d charged it in the room, then left everything except it and my passport in the hotel. Justin has my passport tucked into the interior pocket of his jacket, but I have my phone in my back pocket, right under Justin’s hand. He plucks it out and hands it to me, but when I answer it, there’s no one there.

“Must have kicked over to voice mail,” I say with a frown. As I wait for the little icon to show a waiting message, I look back at the call information, but I don’t recognize the number. Since the voice mail still isn’t pinging, I assume it was a wrong number and slide the phone back into my pocket. “That reminds me,” I tell Justin. “You got a call earlier. Right before I went to see Maynard. I thought it might be one of the German attorneys, so I answered it, but there was no one there. Did they call back?”

He shakes his head. “Probably not important,” he adds, even as he pulls out his phone and begins to scroll through his call information. I see the instant his face changes. It is subtle and quick, and if I didn’t know his features in such excruciating detail I might not have even noticed. And when he meets my eyes again, there’s no hint that he was surprised or disturbed.

I wrap my arms around myself, fighting an unexpected chill. Once again, Justin is locking his secrets away.

“Who was it?” I say, keeping my voice light but resolute. “Does it have anything to do with the trial or with those pictures?”

“No.” The word is both too fast and too firm. And there is a distance in his voice that bothers me. I tell myself it is only the distortion from this thrumming club, but I don’t believe myself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, which is really the stupidest question in the world, since if he did want to, he wouldn’t be speaking in monosyllables.

“I don’t.” He must see something in my face, though, because a moment later he sighs, then lightly strokes my cheek. “I promise you. It’s nothing.”

A shudder runs through me, desire, yes, but it’s mixed with something else. Something darker. I had thought that after everything we’d been through there would be no more secrets. But now there are the photos. And this call. And I realize that I was foolish to have even entertained the possibility that Justin’s walls had truly come tumbling down. Justin Stark has many layers, and while I am enjoying the process of slowly revealing the deliciousness at the center of the man, I cannot deny the frustration that goes along with the territory.

Justin squeezes my hand. “Don’t look so worried.”

I manage a teasing smile. “I can’t help it,” I say. “I may not be the jealous type, but if you’re getting calls from old girlfriends looking to pull you back into their web . . . ” I am joking, of course, and I expect him to laugh and pull me close as the tension slides off him. I am not prepared for his answer.

“Getting the calls and taking the calls are two different things.”

“Oh.” I thought the call was about the trial or whoever sent those damn pictures or even some business issue. An old girlfriend was not on my radar at all, and I’m certain I look as shocked as I feel.

“I told you I used to fuck around. And I’m sure some of those women want back in my life.” He stands, then takes my hand and eases me to my feet before softly kissing my palm. “I also told you I wasn’t serious about any of them. There’s only one woman I want.”

I cock a brow as I glance at his phone. “Do they know that?”

“I know it,” he says. “And so do you.”

For a moment, there is only silence between us. No, that isn’t true. Where Justin and I are concerned, there is never just silence. There is heat and electricity and lust and need, all harnessing the power of the universe to pull us together. And how can I be expected to fight physics?

I step toward him, sliding comfortably into the circle of his arms, right where I belong. “Do you want to dance?” I ask.

“No,” he says, his tone sending ripples of heat through me. “I want to take you to bed.”

Chapter Seven

“So you’re really taking me to bed?” I ask Justin as we speed down Prinzregenstrasse in the back of our limo.

“That’s my current plan,” he says. “Unless you want to file an objection?”

“An objection? No.” I’m leaning against him, and the space between our bodies hums with sensual energy. The orgasm that rocked me at the club didn’t take the edge off at all. Instead it just ramped up my appetite like a fine wine before dinner, leaving me feeling slightly intoxicated and ready for the main course.

I flash a mischievous smile, then shift my position so that I am kneeling on the floorboard of the limo, my hands resting on his thighs. “But perhaps I might file one tiny change order?” My fingers make swift work of the button fly of his jeans.

“Selena . . . ” His voice is full of heat and amusement and a hint of warning.

“What? I mean, fair is fair. You’ve never fingerfucked me in a club in Munich before tonight. And unless I’m mistaken, I’ve never gone down on you in a moving limo in Munich, either. That’s one of those oversights I want to remedy right now.”

I slide my hand into his jeans, relishing his low groan as I stroke and tease, working my way into the fly of his briefs. He’s deliciously hard, and I only have to shift his cock a little before it springs free, as excited about the possibilities as I am. Slowly, I bend my head, but lift my eyes, so that I am looking at Justin’s face as I gently brush the tip of my tongue over his glans.

I see the shudder that runs through him, and something swells inside me. Lust, power, possessiveness. Control. I know it drives him insane not to be firmly in charge. And I also know that of all the people in his life, I’m the only one to whom he willingly abdicates that control. In small doses, yes. But I still get my moments.

This is one of them.

“Dear God, Selena,” he says, his voice tight. “Sometimes you surprise the hell out of me.”

I only smile. I want to taste him, to touch him, and there is nothing keeping me from taking exactly what I want. Gently, I circle the base of his cock with my hand, the sensation like soft steel against my palm. I press my lips to the head of his cock, then draw him in, my tongue teasing him as I piston my mouth in time with the strokes of my hand against him.

He is already desperately hard, but I feel his body responding, tightening. I hear his low groans. I feel his fingers twining in my hair, then the tension filling his body as he comes closer and closer, and I know that I am doing that to him.

The knowledge empowers me, and I think of my earlier fears about reality sneaking in and breaking through our perfect little plastic bubble of a life. In this moment, though, my fears seem a million miles away.

A ripple of passion cuts through him, and I feel the corresponding pressure in my sex as my body responds to his desire and to the knowledge that I have brought him to the brink.

A sensual hunger courses through me, my own arousal as potent as if his fingers were stroking me. I writhe a bit, wriggling my hips in time with the need growing inside me. I am smug with satisfaction and ripe with the knowledge that Justin is as turned on as I am.

And then I’m shocked as hell when his hands close around my ribs and he lifts me up—then dumps me back on the seat and hooks my legs over his shoulders.

“What are you—” But I don’t bother to finish the question. I know exactly what he’s doing, and I’m proven right when he leans forward, his hands stroking my thighs in time with the movement. His laves his tongue over the delicate skin right next to the edge of my thong.

A tremor runs through my body. “Justin,” I moan. “Holy shit.”

“Hold still.” His breath burns hot upon my sex. “Don’t move,” he demands, and then ensures that there is no way I can obey when he simultaneously flips on the vibrator in my ass, but also nips at the thong with his teeth, teasing my clit in the process.

I cry out and arch up, both in surprise and from the nearly unendurable sensations that are ricocheting through my body.

“Naughty,” Justin says as he turns off the vibration, then cups my ass with his hands. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

I see the devious gleam in his eye and swallow. “I’ll be still.”

“Too late,” he says, then removes the plug, sending another wave of sensations rolling through me as my body rocks in protest. He smiles as he wraps it in a handkerchief and slips it in his pocket. “I think someone likes my toys,” he says. “I’ll have to think of more ways to play.”

“Oh, God, yes,” I say impulsively, eager for whatever he wants to bring on.

He slides down my body, trailing kisses along my left leg as he eases down my stocking until he reaches the strap of my shoe. “This should do nicely.”

I bite my lip, uncertain what he has in mind. “You realize that if you mess up my shoes, you’re in serious trouble.”

“Even if it gets you off?” He strokes my foot along the side of the arch, which is exposed in these shoes.

I close my eyes, trying to think despite this assault upon a deliciously new erogenous zone. “Some things are as sacred as sex,” I say. “Shoes among them.”

He chuckles. “Touché, Ms. Fairchild.” I feel his lips press where his finger once was and have to bite my lip in order to remain still as ordered. “I’ll be gentle.”

My eyes widen as he takes the seat belt and wraps it around my ankle. He clicks the buckle into place, then tightens the strap. After that, he flashes me a smug grin. “One down.”

I am speechless. I’m also unable to move my left leg. “Justin,” I begin, but there’s no point in protesting. He’s not going to stop. And the truth is that I don’t want him to.

“Now let’s see what we can do about this one.” I remember that this limo is part of the Stark International fleet when he moves without hesitation to a camouflaged floor panel. He pulls it open and removes a white box emblazoned with a red cross.

I prop myself up on my elbows. “First aid? What exactly are you doing?” I’m teasing, of course. Well, mostly teasing.

His eyes meet mine and he slides his hand slowly up my thigh, then cups my sex. “Surprising you.”

Oh. I swallow. Had I really believed that I’d had even an iota of control? Whatever control I’d had when we’d started this adventure is gone. I am Justin’s to do with what he pleases—and that simple fact only makes me even more excited.

“Lay back, baby. Lay back, and trust me.”

I comply, because I do trust him. I watch as he unrolls an ace bandage, then carefully winds it around my ankle, just below the platinum and emerald bracelet. He threads one end of the bandage through some part of the seat frame that I can’t see, then makes a knot. I try to move my legs, but I can’t. I’m completely trussed up. I’m completely open. And I’m completely turned on.

“Justin.” My voice is low and gravelly with desire. “Justin, please.”

“Please what? Please touch you?”

Just the thought of his hands upon me is enough to make me squirm with anticipated pleasure. “Yes,” I say. “God, yes. Touch me. Fuck me. Please, Justin, I want you.” Tonight has been one long tease, and I have crossed the line to desperate.

“Mmm.” He shifts position, rising from the floor to perch on the edge of the seat across which I am spread. I reach for him, craving his touch against my now exposed sex, but just before I can place my hand upon his leg, he shakes his head. “No. Arms above your head. There you go,” he adds, when I stretch out as ordered.

He reaches out, his hand hovering over my breasts. Beneath the beaded tank, my nipples are already tight and erect and deliciously sensitive from the clamps with which he had adorned me earlier. I bite my lower lip, craving his touch. The slightest brush against my breast. A soft caress upon my nipple. Anything to relieve the growing, heavy pressure.

Of course he denies me. Instead, he moves his still-hovering hand slowly down the length of my body—my breasts, my belly, my very aching cunt, then all the way down my legs until even my toes are wiggling in a futile attempt to draw him closer. It doesn’t work. He never touches, just skims along over a pocket of air that is burning hotter and hotter, as if I am trapped beneath an electric blanket with no way to throw it off and cool down.

Not even the air-conditioning is blowing between my legs. The only sensation is the tiny brush of material over my sex brought on by the motion of the limo and by my own pulse, which is pounding so hard that it is making my clothing quiver with each beat of my heart.

His voice is little more than a murmur. “So tell me, Selena, can you imagine the touch of my fingertip upon the inside of your thigh? The way your body would tighten in response to a touch that is neither a caress nor a tickle?”

“I—yes.”

My words are so low that I doubt he has heard me. It doesn’t matter, though. He continues on. “A sensual dance, like the brush of a feather over your panties. A hooked fingertip to tug them aside. And then what, Selena? What kind of touch do you want then?”

I don’t answer, because he has moved—not between my legs to where my sex now throbs in response to both his sensual tone and the erotic nature of the words themselves, but higher, so that his hip is near my chest and his hands are cleverly twining my wrists with the nylon webbing of the farthest seat belt.

“Justin, what—”

But I don’t bother to finish the question, because he has finished and I know what he was doing. He was binding my hands as he has done my legs so that I am fully strapped down, bound to this long, leather bench in the back of a limo.

“Do you want it, Selena? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“You know that I do.” I keep my voice calm even though I want to scream—Yes, yes, goddammit, yes.

He cocks his head. “What was that?” he asks, and I almost cry with frustration.

“Yes,” I say. “Please, sir.”

His smile is slow and a little too self-satisfied. He moves toward me and I see that he has a small pair of bandage scissors in his hand. He slides a blade under the lace of my thong, snips twice, then rips the material free.

I arch and shudder, my body begging as much as my words. “Please, Justin. Please, please fuck me.”

“Believe me, Ms. Fairchild, there’s nothing I’m looking forward to more. But no. I don’t think so. Not yet.”

I actually whimper.

He bends forward to whisper in my ear. “What if I told you to touch yourself? Ah, but you can’t do that, either.”

I tug at the belt that is binding my hands, but I’m not going anywhere. I can shift right and left a little, but for the most part, where he bound me is where I’ll stay.

He reaches down and plucks up the hem of my shirt, managing the maneuver without actually touching my skin, despite the way my back arches up, as if my body is determined to try even though my mind knows it’s futile. After a moment, he has my shirt pulled up, exposing the lacy bra and the serpentine chain that stretches between my very erect nipples. He runs his finger over the chain, then gives it a gentle tug, causing me to arch up as hot threads of electricity sizzle through my body, racing from my breast to my throbbing cunt.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “I love how hot you get, how your body responds. Do you know what it does to me, knowing that you’ve given yourself over so fully to me? No barriers, no inhibitions. Just mine. To touch, to tempt, to tease.”

“Anything you want, Mr. Stark.” My voice is raw with passion. “Anything you need.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” he says, as he moves away from me to sit on the bench that runs the length of the limo, perpendicular to this long backseat across which I am strapped. “Right now, I just want to look at you. The flush on your skin. Your cunt, swollen and wet and begging for me. Your hard nipples and the rise and fall of your chest as you try to control your breathing. It makes me hard, Selena, so goddamn hard to see you like this, laid out and wanting, and knowing that I am the one who brought you there.”

;marg$D=�