Undone Rebel (Undone Lovers, Book One) (10 page)

Whoa. Dinner?

That was mixing dating and BDSM and those two were things he tried to keep far apart.

Clearly failure to ejaculate was starting to cause permanent brain damage.

Lane climbed back on the bed, loosened the rope, and pulled the plug halfway out. As it exited her body, Addie moaned and arched her back, thrusting her ass up higher.

Lane slid the plug in again. Working it in a slow rhythm with one hand, he reached beneath her to her gently swaying tits and attached the tweezer clamps, tightening them a bit more than he had before lunch. Addie bared her teeth for a moment, her breath hissing out as that first wave of pain hit her. Lane waited, carefully watching her reaction, but when she shuddered and thrust her ass back to meet the plug, he left them in place.

He pulled the slender plug from her, dropping it on the bed. “This is going to be thicker, it will stretch you going in. It might hurt.” Lane lubed up the short, fat plug.

“Yes, yes, fuck me, hurt me.”

Ah, the battle cry of the submissive.

Holding her ass cheeks open with the fingers of his left hand, Lane positioned the plug and applied pressure.

“Oh, that’s big. Lane, that’s big.”

“I know, but I want it up your ass, I want to fuck your pretty ass with it.”

“Yes, please.”

Her body gave, the plug sliding in, her sphincter clenching tight around the narrow neck. Lane tugged on it, felt how securely she was holding it. Through the glass base he could see the spread ring of her ass. Below that her pussy was glistening with wetness.

“Fuck it.” He snarled, unfastening his pants.

“Lane, what are you doing?” SJ’s question was cool, as if she were asking him to pass the salt.

“I’m not going to fuck her.” He left his boxer briefs on. Positing his cock so it was straight up against his belly but covered by his underwear, Lane put his hand on Addie’s back. “Head down, ass up.”

Addie dropped her head and shoulders to the mattress.

Lane pressed the ridge of his cock into the crevice of her ass, the base of the plug. He felt the wetness from her pussy soaking through his underwear against his balls. Reaching around her leg, he flicked on the finger vibrator and pressed it to her clit.

“Lane, Lane, oh yes.”

Addie rocked back against him, her ass caressing the underside of his cock. It was good, but not enough. Lane grabbed her hips, held her still, and thrust.

With each thrust he bumped the plug, shifting it in her ass as he simultaneously used the vibrator on her clit.

They moved in tandem, Lane reading her body’s responses to each thrust, each swirl of his finger, and using that information to build both their pleasures. When Addie clawed at the sheet, screaming against the satin, Lane pressed the vibrator hard against the root of her clit and jackhammered his hips against her ass.

With a guttural cry of his own, Lane came, spilling inside his underwear.

It felt good, but not good enough. Not as good as it would feel when he finally fucked her for real.

Addie crossed her arms over her chest as she walked to her car, Lane at her side.

Her nipples were still hard, nearly an hour after the powerful orgasm she’d had. Without her bra, the remains of which were in her purse on her shoulder, her nipples were vulnerable to the night air and the scrape of her starched shirt.

It was almost ten, hours after she’d been told she’d be done for the day—not that she was complaining. What she’d experienced at Lane’s hands was, without a doubt, the best sex she’d ever had. And it hadn’t even been sex.

“It’s late. You must be hungry.”

“A little, mostly tired,” she said, and it was true. All she wanted to do was go home and take a bath. It would be great if she had a big whirlpool Jacuzzi instead of a crappy little tub.

“That’s sick. Is this yours?” Lane’s hand dropped from her back as he ran ahead to trace his hands over her car’s quarter panels.

Just like that he’d gone from sex master to normal guy, completely distracted by a pretty lady.

“What’s her name?” He crouched to look at the tires.

“She hasn’t told me yet. The rebuild was final three weeks ago. Which one’s yours?” Addie looked over at the luxury cars in the lot.

“The Mercedes.” He didn’t look up from her much less expensive and technologically advanced vehicle. “Who did it? It’s great. West Coast Customs?”

Addie laughed, “You know I work in a vintage store, right? I couldn’t afford that. I did a lot of it myself.”

Lane popped up like a jack in the box. “You know cars too? You may be the hottest girl on the planet.”

“Now you’re just trying to get into my panties. Oh wait, I don’t have any anymore.” Addie raised a brow.

“I’ll get you new ones.”

“Cash will do. Men can’t pick out lingerie.”

“I’ve bought my share of lingerie,” he said, but his attention was still on the car. He tried the door handle, then looked at her with a pleading expression. Addie fished out her keys and gave them to him.

She couldn’t believe she was standing in a sketchy parking lot outside a sound stage in North Hollywood having this conversation with a man who two hours ago had whaled on her ass with a brush. The drive home would not be fun because of that spanking. Even the brush of her skirt against her bare ass wasn’t pleasant.

“Was it black or red lace, crotchless, covered in straps?”

Lane’s head was in the car, stroking the seats, which she’d re-upholstered herself after many broken sewing machine needles. When he didn’t respond, Addie swatted his ass.

He jerked out, whipping around to face her. Their gazes met, held, and for a moment Addie was afraid, but then he smiled, turned back around and wiggled his ass. “Nice arm, hot stuff. And yes, it was mostly black lace. Sexy.”

“No, not sexy. Sexy should be subtle.”

Addie was glad to know he hadn’t been lying when he said the BDSM stayed in the bedroom. She liked him, both the guy who was polishing the chrome on her dash with his sleeve and the man who’d turned her over his knee and shoved a plug up her ass.

“Don’t drool, please.”

“Never, that might mess up her beauty.” With a sigh, Lane got out of her car and gave her back the keys. “El Camino,” he drew the words out in an exaggerated way.

Addie rolled her eyes and sat in the driver’s seat, swinging her feet in.

“Good night, beautiful.”

“Me or the car?”

“The car.”

Addie rolled her eyes and started to close her door. Lane grabbed it, holding it open.

“What is it with you and doors?” she asked.

“Good night, gorgeous. I just thought you should know you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever had the pleasure of being with, and I’m not just talking about the way you look.”

Time stood still, the night drawing close around them as Addie looked into Lane’s blue eyes, reading the truth of his words there.

“Thank you, for everything. I only wish—” Addie bit down on the words, pushing the thought away.

Lane didn’t pry, he simply nodded. “It was my pleasure.”

“You’ll tell them I need a day? That I’m not coming back tomorrow?”

“I’ll call Emory and let him know to expect you Thursday.”

Addie chewed her lower lip and turned on her car, which purred to life. She didn’t want to think about the next time she’d be back here, so she’d concentrate on getting home and into that bath.

“Good night, Lane.”

“Good night, Addie.”

It was after midnight by the time Addie got out of the tub. Her fingers had turned to prunes and she’d made herself orgasm four times. Her single day with Lane would be the center of her fantasies for a very long time.

A single day with Lane.

With a sigh, Addie twisted her hair up in a towel and set her foot on the counter to apply lotion. She’d met a guy who was nothing like her mental picture of the ideal man—he wasn’t dark, wasn’t rockabilly, wasn’t a musician. He probably couldn’t dance, he was a white-boy computer geek after all, but he was a good guy, a nice guy.

And he’d given her the best sex of her life without getting naked.

After all that, Addie didn’t even have the option of seeing him again, because the only reason he’d had his hands on her was due to the contract they’d both signed. Now that his section was done he was out of the picture, never to be seen again. During the day she’d convinced herself he liked her, but the reality was he was just a nice guy. He’d probably been with plenty of women who were prettier, skinnier and less trouble than her.

“Get over it, Addie,” she said as she turned her back to the mirror and inspected her ass. A few pale bruises had started to show. “Maybe the next guy, Emory, will rock your world just as hard and then you can have a crush on him.”

The doorbell rang.

Addie jumped and looked at her phone on the bathroom counter. 12:24 a.m.

Pulling on her robe, she went to the door. Addie bent to look through the peephole, which was inexplicably located in the middle of the door instead of eye level. A man’s crotch in faded denim jeans was all she could see.

Her heart flip-flopped in her chest.

“Who’s there?”

“A sex fiend,” Lane said, voice considerately low.

Addie opened the door. “In that case.”

Lane held a pizza box and a pack of beer. “I hope you’re a pizza and beer kind of girl.”

Addie stepped back to let him in. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you eat something. All you had today was some strawberries. That’s not good.”

“So you brought me pizza and beer.” Addie didn’t know why, but tears welled up in her eyes.

Lane looked from her to the food in his hands. “I can go find some champagne if you want. It’s good pizza, I swear.”

Addie laughed. “No, this is perfect. Let me just put on some pjs.”

Addie closed the bedroom door behind her and blotted her eyes with the corner of the towel on her head. It must be exhaustion that made the simple gesture seem like the most chivalrous thing any man had ever done for her. Instead of a sexy nighty or straight lingerie, Addie pulled on a pair of satin pj pants and a matching button-up top. He’d already seen everything she had to offer, so now he could see her like this—plain Addie.

She quickly brushed and braided her hair, pulling it over her right shoulder.

When she emerged from the bedroom, Lane was seated on the floor, a series of paper towels spread out under the pizza box, his back against her chair. Addie grabbed a pillow to sit on and sank down across from him. The smell of melted cheese was making her stomach grumble.

“I am hungry,” she admitted.

Lane flipped the top of the box open. “Dig in. I didn’t know what you liked.”

Addie laughed as she looked at the pizza. Each slice had different toppings, as if it were from a completely different pie. She took the Hawaiian slice and bit in, the tang of pineapple and cream of good mozzarella exploding on her tongue. She closed her eyes in bliss.

“Oh. Oh yes.”

“I do like it when you make that noise.”

Addie opened one eye. “I can’t deal with sex innuendo right now, I’m in pizza heaven.”

Lane raised his hands. “Heard and understood.” He popped the top off a beer with the opener on his key ring and placed it near her knee before taking a piece for himself.

They chewed and sipped in companionable silence. Despite the fact that she was sitting on a pillow because he’d spanked her ass black and blue, Addie wasn’t nervous or tense around Lane. She believed, because she’d seen it for herself, that he kept that Dom part of himself separate from who he was now. She looked at her bedroom door and wondered what would happen if she took him in there.

“Do you make all your clothes?” Lane asked when she tossed the crust from her first piece back in the box. “And I can’t believe you don’t eat your crust.”

“Crust is a waste of calories. I make a lot of them. I also repair vintage clothes, old clothes. Then I design some pieces that either I can produce quickly or that can be made quickly and cheaply in town and Lulu—she owns the store I work at—sells them.”

“You sew, you fix cars, where did you learn all this?”

Addie picked up a second piece and told him about growing up in central California to a homemaking traditional Mexican-American mother and a father who thought her tomboy interest in cars was endearing. When the pizza was gone and the final beers in the pack opened, they were on to Lane’s family, and how his social ineptitude in high school and college had led to a mini research project on men who understood and were successful with women, which eventually led him to BDSM.

They talked through the six-pack and a bottle of wine Addie had in her cupboard. They talked until the first pale streaks of dawn cut across the floor.

When Lane stood outside her door, his hair haloed with dawn light, she did the thing she’d been thinking about since he showed up—she wrapped her hands around his neck, stood on tiptoe and kissed him.