Her Bad Boy Page 8

  Then he proceeded to down the shot of fine, aged whiskey, pushing the money towards the barkeep, saying, although not too loudly, "Drinks are on me, gentlemen. I have something much more intoxicating to dedicate myself to this evening."

  A low rumble of laughter erupted behind them as he escorted her out the door, his hand on her still smarting behind the whole time.

  Chapter 7

  That first, official date that wasn't a date, according to her, had been a milestone in more ways than just that one, Lucas mused.

  He had been as good as his word, too, about making sure that she regretted her bratty attitude, and he had begun in the car. He couldn't really punish her there, while they were riding, but he did reach his hand between her and the seat until he found what he sought.

  She was pantiless—and he'd bet braless, too—which were added to what he considered to be the unacceptably small cluster of ways she'd obeyed him this time. She'd worn what he wanted and not worn what he didn't want. But those two small things were nowhere near enough to offset her attitude, which she was quickly going to learn he would not tolerate.

  On a whim, he took a small side road off the main one. Having grown up in this area—he'd inherited the house and the land from his parents—he knew where all the best, most secluded spots were, and since it was a little drizzly and a tad cold, too, he decided to drive them to a place where they wouldn't be disturbed and where he could begin her attitude adjustment. Lucas disliked the idea of her sitting there—untouched—while they were driving to his place. He didn't want her to have even this short time of comfort—he wanted her to be constantly forced to think about the necessity of changing her demeanor towards him, to feel an unrelenting impetus to do so, whether she wanted to or not.

  So, they ended up at the head of a small set of wooded trails that were maintained by the state, but the parking lot was empty, as he'd hoped, because of the inclement weather.

  "Get out," he growled, coming around to her side to hurry her along, not offering his hand but rather taking her wrist in his as soon as he could get to it and practically dragging her along behind him into the woods. As he did so, he searched through them for a tree that had what he wanted, and finally, a good way from their car or anything else, in a small clearing, he found just the right one. Then he positioned her under it none too gently.

  "Take off your shoes."

  Surprised by his command, Allie obeyed him, the familiar trickle of fear she felt with him becoming more of a river of it as her bare feet met the cool, wet leaves and pine needles of the forest floor.

  "Look up."

  Again, she did as she was told, all traces of naughtiness gone.

  "Do you see that low branch there, the first one up the trunk?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  He liked the sound of that. She wasn't so haughty with him now, was she? There was nothing like the sure knowledge she was going to be punished to remind a submissive of her place.

  "Reach up and grab ahold of it tightly. And if you're as smart as I know you are, you won't let go of it until you are told you may."

  She had to go on tiptoes to do so, feeling herself stretched out quite helplessly before him as her fingers wrapped tightly around the slender limb.

  That was when he stepped behind her, and she tensed in preparation to receive a smack, but it didn't come. Not then, at least.

  Instead, he squatted down, running his hands slowly, possessively over her feet and ankles, up the fronts and backs of her delicate calves to her slender thighs, the dress rising as he and did, taking it up and over her hips as she felt the calluses on his fingertips rasp across the tender flesh of her lower belly, although he did not touch her where she thought he might but continued upwards, until his hands circumvented breasts that were already bare beneath the dress, to reach behind her and stroke the sensitive flesh of her back, encouraging the material to ride as far up under her arms as it could, where it would be held there, she knew, by its tightness, and the firm angles of her breasts.

  Allie was almost—but not quite—completely exposed, and that was somehow worse than if he'd taken the dress off her completely, for some reason. All of her most tender parts were cruelly subjected to the cold, damp air, a slight shiver running through her that caused her nipples to tighten painfully.

  "I know you're cold," he said, managing to modulate his voice to be both menacing and neutral. "But shortly, parts of you are going to become very hot." Then he pressed himself up against her from behind, warning against her cheek, "You can feel free to twist and struggle and weep and beg and even scream, little miss. There's no one but me out here to hear you. But I would advise you that, whatever you do… Do. Not. Let. Go."

  Then she heard it. The distinct jangle of his belt buckle. And he was wearing jeans today, so it would be the wider, thicker one than what he wore with dress pants. It was of a stiffer, rougher leather that she knew from previous—very unhappy—experience had a particularly nasty bite.

  And, within a very short time, she had again become downright uncomfortably familiar with it.

  As sure as he was that they were probably completely alone, Lucas didn't want to take any chances, so he didn't linger over her punishment. What she got, instead of his usual more drawn out efforts, was about twenty-five harsh, fiery strokes in about five terrifying minutes of utter agony before he slid the implement back through the loops and rebuckled it, leaving her there—sobbing abjectly, still on display, hanging from fingers that longed to uncurl themselves but didn't dare—while he did that and gathered her shoes, putting them back on her and running his hands over her swollen, decimated backside, patting it condescendingly before he pulled her dress down, although only to the beginning swell of her behind, saying, almost casually, "You can let go now."

  She was, as he had suspected she might be, unable to support herself at first, her legs tired from having been stretched so long, but he was right there next to her to hold her up and make sure that she didn't fall.

  Allie was still weeping copiously, but he was not offering any comfort. "Head back to the car."

  As much as she didn't want to contradict him in any way, Allie nonetheless gasped, "But—" her hands moving to point out how exposed she still was.

  "If—and only if—we hear or see someone coming, you may pull your dress down. Otherwise, it remains where it is."

  She didn't even suspect that he had an ulterior motive beyond humiliating and embarrassing her, although another came to light when he apparently considered that she was walking too slowly, and she received a loud smack to encourage her to go faster, which made her keen loudly at the further insult to her already well seared flesh.

  Her hands almost reached behind her to rub some of the pain away, but she stopped herself just in time. He wouldn't do that himself, so she wasn't allowed to, either.

  "Get a move on, Allie. I don't want you to catch a chill."

  She couldn't decide if it was a good thing that they didn't encounter anyone on the way back and he wouldn't allow her to pull her dress the rest of the way down, even when he was holding the door open for her to get into the car.

  "No, leave it up," he said. "I like the idea of your angry, red, leather kissed ass resting on even more leather, although this is much smoother than I would prefer."

  But on the way around the back of the car, he had an evil stroke of genius and popped it open, producing a blanket that he folded into a size that would just cover her seat before he got behind the wheel.

  "Lift up," he ordered, and she obeyed, watching him tuck it beneath her. Once he had it spread out to his liking, he said, "Okay, you can sit back down."

  Allie complied, but began to regret it almost immediately as her bottom and some of her most tender areas were forced to sit on material that felt like sandpaper and made those awfully sensitive spots itch horribly.

  And, of course, she knew without being told that she wasn't allowed to alleviate her own misery in any way.

  "That's m
y grandfather's old Army blanket from World War II your beautiful little behind is resting on. It's made of pure wool. It'll warm the crap out of you, if you can stand having it next to your skin."

  When they got back on the main route, she was already fidgeting terribly, still weeping and whimpering. He gave her a tissue, glancing over at her and noticing that she was keeping her legs tightly closed.

  "Spread your legs, Allie."

  That set off another, louder round of waterworks. "But, Sir—"

  His foot left off the accelerator and he glanced over at her, his expression stern. "Do I need to pull over again, Allie?"

  As she wept and sniffled, he watched her part her legs—but just a little.

  "Until I say to stop," he countermanded her intention to undermine his method of disciplining her.

  "Y-yes, Sir."

  There was a knee against the cup holder and a knee against her door before he allowed her to stop.

  A few minutes later, not too far from home—although he didn't think she knew that—he commanded, "Lean forward as far as the seatbelt will let you."

  And she did it—with a very loud whine. She was bent at the waist, which pressed even more of her soft, vulnerable self against that awful blanket, and with the bumps and turns in the windy back roads, she could feel it abrading her delicacies horribly—to say nothing of what it was doing to the majority of the flesh that was in contact with it that had already been strapped raw before she sat down.

  She made the mistake of breathing an audible sigh of relief when they pulled into his driveway, thinking her torment was largely over when it had just begun.

  She knew better than to get out of the car without his assistance, so she waited for him to come around. When he did, he didn't guide her into the house as she expected, but rather he reached down to yank her dress back up to where it had been when she was holding onto the tree for dear life, turning her almost immediately to bend her over the hood of the car.

  In seconds, he had kicked her legs so far open, her head was no longer near the center of the hood, and she could hear the sounds of that belt again, which made her stiffen in dread, but then she felt his length pressing insistently up against her.

  "But the men! The cameras!" she whimpered, even as she acknowledged to herself that there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  "The men know better than to look and—strictly for security reasons, of course—there have been cameras everywhere I've ever had you. Don't be naïve." With that, he reached out and laid his big hand on the back of her neck, forcing her to keep her head down while he took her roughly.

  She wanted to scream and cry at what he'd just blithely informed her of, but he was giving her too much else to scream and cry about, slamming up into her and against her swollen, irritated bottom, his thick cock rubbing against agitated and itchy lips in a way that only seemed to add to the already horrendous irritation.

  Lucas didn't bother to keep a slightly malevolent grin from sliding across his lips. He loved fucking her like this more than he liked doing almost anything he'd ever found to do in this world. She was obviously still chafing and chafed from that intense car trip, and of course, her delightful backside was still sore and burning, which he knew had only gotten worse as they drove here, too. She was feeling humiliated and embarrassed to be taken like this, where she knew others could see, and yet she could do nothing to prevent it, even though her little hands were completely free.

  But she knew better than to try to reach down and stop him or protect herself from him in any way—lest she compound her punishment exponentially—and there was nothing around her to hold onto, so they were kind of flailing helplessly in midair, much like her legs, which were dangling over his bent ones. They were of no earthly use to her, either, in this situation.

  He came inside her with a guttural groan and absolutely no thought to her pleasure whatsoever.

  In fact, she was still in need of punishment, and he brought her to where it was going to be meted out by lifting her over his shoulder and carrying her into his bedroom, smacking her still exposed bottom loudly every step of the way as she wet his t-shirt clear through with her tears.

  He would never have thought that such an evening would have prompted her to confess her feelings for him, but it had, which was something for which Lucas would always be incredibly grateful. He had been beginning to think that he was some kind of experiment that she was conducting, but that she didn't really care about him at all, whereas he had to endeavor to keep his emotions ruthlessly in check around her at all times.

  He was a passionate man and he made no apologies about it. He felt things deeply, and one of them he was pretty sure was a very great love for her, one in the style, he hoped, of his parents and grandparents, who'd had a great and true love for each other until the day they died.

  And he hadn't gone easy on her, hoping to prompt such a confession, either. Just the opposite, in fact.

  He had used her in a way that challenged her more than he ever had before, demanding things from her that he knew she wanted but that were new to her but not babying her because of it. He bound her breasts, first very tightly around the base of one of them, then around her neck to do the same at the other, making sure the makeshift harness—which he preferred to anything bought—was very tight and held her breasts awkwardly high up.

  He adored the sight of them bouncing even more violently as he fucked her again while she was secured to the bed, unable to help himself at the sight of her bound and gagged, nipples clamped by small bulldog clips that were tied down to the ropes beneath each of her breasts, making them fight agonizingly against every upward movement her breasts made.

  And through it all, through the paddling and the caning and the begging and the screaming and the stretching and the filling, he had never once deliberately sought her pleasure in any of it—in fact, quite the opposite.

  Yet, whenever he pressed his throbbing cock or his three abreast fingers into her cunt, she gushed the deep extent of her submission all over him.

  When he had taken pity on her and left her untouched and relatively comfortable—or as comfortable as she was likely to get for the moment, considering what he had done to her—drawing her into his arms to hold her tight against him and whisper, "Good girl," she had looked up at him, her eyes still wet from the tears he had drawn from her relentlessly this evening.

  "Lucas, is this just sex to you? I'm not judging one way or the other; I'd just like to know."

  Stunned and very unprepared, he nonetheless hunkered down in the bed so that they were eye to eye and cupped her cheek. "No, Allie Barstow, it is not just sex. It's much more than that, but I've been reluctant to talk to you about it, because that seemed to be all you wanted from me." He kissed her tenderly, drawing back only enough to say, "I love you. I love everything about you, even your less charming quirks, and I have never had better sex nor a partner I found more compatible, whom I genuinely like spending time with, in and out of bed, in my life. And it's okay if you don't feel the same way, because I really don't expect you to. I don't even think you like me much. You just want me to dom you and fuck you."

  "Well, there is that," she teased, regretting it instantly because she hadn't meant to treat his vow of love for her as superficial or disposable in any way.

  But she wasn't quite there with him yet, although she did reveal that she felt more for him than just lust. "A lot more," she'd offered hesitantly, and he was incredibly happy just with that.

  So, it had to be love.

  He probably could have left it there, but there was more that he wanted to say to her, so he levered himself up on his elbow to look down at her. "Allie, I want you to know that, wherever this goes or however it works out, you are safe with me. I don't think that you can absorb it, really, but I will keep you safe—even if you manage to land me in jail. I will see to it that you're always safe—from me, and everyone else that might seek to harm you in any way, for any reason."

  Al
lie was quite touched by his vow and didn't doubt that he meant every word, her eyes filling with tears as she whispered, "I wish I could say the very same thing to you, but I can't. In fact, I'm bound by law to do my utmost to make sure you rot in prison."

  Lucas smiled softly. "If life was simple, it would be incredibly boring."

  Allie leaned up to kiss him as he folded her into his arms. "I think I could do with a little boring about now."

  A phone call interrupted his musings. It came in on his private phone—the one almost no one had, although he didn't recognize the number that was calling. With any other phone he owned, he would simply have declined the call, considering it spam, like when what was apparently the entire state of Illinois called him on occasion. But it was so unusual that he accepted it.

  "Bove."

  "That's quite a chick you've got there. Who would have thought that such a button down A.D.A. would be such a freak in the sheets, huh?"

  "Who is this?" he asked, although he had an inkling already.

  "We need to talk. Tomorrow night."

  The man gave directions to a place that Lucas was unfamiliar with.

  "Come alone. I think you realize that I'll know if you don't."

  He agreed, of course, not seeing that he had much choice. He could hardly run to the police.

  It was an abandoned warehouse. He had men there but outside of the perimeter in which he thought they might be easily detected.

  He'd done his homework about the spot, even polishing up his information about the person he thought had called, just in case. Like Allie, he preferred to be prepared rather than surprised.

  And it was exactly who he thought it was. Daughtry, as well as one of the men Lucas recognized as being part of the chief's own private mafia, which was part of how he'd managed to get away not only with molesting and sexually harassing countless innocent women over the years, including Allie, but how he'd also managed to line his own pockets and those of the men who were loyal to him.