Loves Me, Loves Me Knot

Knit 5

Gage knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted Jenna to untie his hands and let him touch her. Let him cup those delectable tits himself and lean up to take a ripe, pebbled tip into his mouth. Let him grip her hips while she rode him, helping to set the pace, moving her just the way he needed to bring them both to a crashing, violent climax.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on here, but one thing was for sure-a band of South American guerrillas armed to the teeth and threatening unspeakable torture couldn’t get him to call a halt to the delectable pleasures Jenna’s body was offering right this second.

She shifted slightly and his balls tightened. He locked his jaw and dug his heels into the mattress to keep from coming off the bed.

Later, he’d spank her ass-and not in the way he’d like to at the moment, which would heighten the sexual anticipation already bouncing off the walls.

But for now, he had every intention of taking her up on her erotic invitation.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped.

Her eyes sparkled and her mouth turned up in a self-satisfied grin, making her look for all the world like a devilish little pixie up to no good.

“But I am touching myself,” she replied, tugging at her nipples as she continued to bounce lightly on his lap, just enough to make him sweat through his teeth.

Air puffed from his lungs in short, heavy bursts and every muscle in his body strained toward her. The ties at his wrists and ankles chafed his skin where he’d struggled against them, because he couldn’t not move. He couldn’t not pull at the restraints that kept him from being able to touch his ex-wife the way he wanted to. Needed to, dammit.

His throat went desert dry as he studied her, took her in from the top of her head to her knees braced on the bed and straddling him.

Shit, she was beautiful. She always had been.

From the first moment he saw her, he’d been half in love and all in lust with her. He’d been a beat cop then, out on a routine patrol. Her car had been pulled to the side of the road with a flat.

She’d been in the process of calling Triple A, but that wouldn’t have given him an excuse to spend a little time with her, so he’d offered to change the tire himself. He’d ruined his uniform and hadn’t been as smooth in the process as he might have liked, but it did the trick.

Jenna chatted with him the entire time, and he’d quickly learned that she was a grade-school teacher on the way to pick up supplies for an end-of-the-year pizza party she’d promised her students as a reward for a district-wide recycling campaign she’d instituted and they’d helped to spearhead. It had also given him the perfect opportunity to show his interest in the youth of America… an interest she’d jumped on, soon asking if he might be willing to talk to her class the following school year.

Oh, yeah, he’d been willing. He wasn’t a big fan of public speaking, especially to a room full of kids who were either picking their noses in boredom or making faces in an attempt to distract him. But for the chance to impress her and to see her again, he’d have eaten live African cockroaches.

By the time he’d finished replacing her tire, he had her phone number and a date for lunch the next week so they could “discuss topics for his talk with her classroom.”

They’d ended up seeing each other a lot more than just that once throughout the summer. He’d discovered that she liked to knit and had mentioned the knitting group he knew Grace and Ronnie attended, which was how the three women had become such close friends.

And when the school year started, he almost spent more time talking to her class than he did on duty. By the time Jenna took the lid off the cookie jar and let him into her pants, he’d lectured her group of third-graders on everything from playground safety to saying no to drugs.

They’d also heard her call him by his given name so often that he became “Officer Gage” and started to get recognized by the eight-year-olds on the street and introduced to their parents. Many times as “the police officer who kisses Miss Langan when he doesn’t think we’re watching.”

It had all been worth it, though. More than worth it. Before the end of the following school year, Gage had known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jenna and had popped the question.

And from that, they’d come to this.

No matter how he cut it, this was the good stuff, but it wasn’t happily married good stuff. It wasn’t She’s mine and no other man will ever put his hands on her unless he wants to lose them good stuff.

Even as long as he’d had to get over that, it still pissed him off, but he was willing to suspend his annoyance. Just for tonight. Just for a while.

After that, all bets were off.

“Put your hand between your legs,” he ordered, feeling his temperature continue to rise at the sight of her fondling her breasts.

She continued to wear the cat-that-ate-the-canary smile that turned his insides all hot and molten.

“Like this?”

With deliberate slowness, she let the fingers of one hand fall away from her nipple and trail down her front, over her midriff, around her navel, and into the springy black curls at the apex of her thighs. When she got there, she stopped, simply letting her hand rest there, not moving.

“Now what, Gage? What do you want me to do now?”

“You know what,” he ground from between tightly clenched teeth.

She shook her head, sending the short wisps of her dark hair dancing. “I don’t. You have to tell me.”

His heart beat against his ribcage like a battering ram, and the muscles in his shoulders and forearms bunched with the effort not to bust the bedframe to get loose.

“Touch yourself, dammit. Slide your fingers between your folds and touch your clit.”

She did as he said, and when she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing back her head, he just about came. He was hard as a spike, hard enough to pound through concrete, he was sure.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she told him as though she were commenting on the taste of a particularly ripe strawberry. And then she raised her head again to look at him. “Now what?”

“Goddammit, Jenna, you know what,” he ground out.

One corner of her mouth twitched with cocky, confident amusement. “I do,” she admitted, “but I’d rather hear you say it. Tell me what to do now that I’m touching my clit. Tell me what to do to make you come.”

Jesus. She didn’t have to do much more than just sit there on his cock, wearing that angel-fallen-from-Heaven grin, and talking about things that would make a saint kick in a stained-glass window.

Panting, writhing beneath her, he said, “Move your fingers. Stroke your clit and make yourself hot.”

“You make me hot,” she murmured, but she did as he asked. While one hand continued to toy with her breasts, she used two fingers from the other to slide around between her folds.

She was wet, the evidence of her arousal glistening on her fingertips and melting around him from where she clasped him tight inside her body. And she used that moisture to ease her motions, to slick the tiny bud that caused her breath to catch and a pale pink flush to climb over her chest and throat.

“Faster,” he commanded. “And move your hips. Ride me like you promised.”

He bent his knees as far as he could, given the restraints threatening to pull his joints from their sockets. It didn’t do much, but it gave him a small amount of leverage to cushion her soft buttocks and aid the upward thrust of his hips.

Blood thrummed through his veins, white-hot and on the verge of overflowing while he took in the sway of her breasts, the bounce of her slim frame, and the increased speed of her hand pressed between their two bodies as she fingered herself.

“God, yes,” he rasped, not caring that he was completely at her mercy and fading fast. “Can you feel it?” he asked, knowing she could, reading the signs clearly on her face and in the way she ground down on him, harder and faster with each passing second. “Can you feel me inside you, ready to burst?”

And, God, was he. His balls were tight, his cock swelling with approaching orgasm.

“Gage,” Jenna panted. Her eyes were open now, wide, bright, and focused directly on him. “Yes. Please. Come with me, Gage. Come with me now.”

And she went, toppling over the edge with a sudden cry of pleasure that reached into his gut and wrapped around his soul. Her slick inner walls gripped and released, gripped and released, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. Didn’t even want to try.

With his own shout of completion, he stiffened and poured himself into her. Wave after wave of pure ecstasy washed through him, through both of them, until he was finished.

Sated. Done for. Wiped out. A five-alarm fire burning the old farm house down around his ears couldn’t have made him budge.

And from the looks of it, Jenna felt much the same. Collapsed across his chest, her cheek fell into the crook of his shoulder while her ragged breaths echoed in his ear.

If his arms were free, he’d wrap them around her, hold her close, but all he could do was turn his head and press a soft kiss against her crown.

Deep down, he was still pissed about what she’d done to get him here, but damned if he had the energy right now to get to the bottom of it. Later, he’d make her untie these restraints and give him some answers.

But for now, it felt too good to have her lying on top of him, covering him… trusting him again, at least for a short while.

When the phone rang at eight a.m., Grace Fisher groaned, rolled over, and stuffed her pillow over her head in an attempt to drown out the hideous jangle that ripped through her brain like a chainsaw. After a full sixty seconds, blessed silence reigned once more, but before she could sigh with relief, the ringing began again.

“Dammit,” she muttered, tossing the pillow aside and rolling in the other direction until she could grab the handset from the nightstand.

Contrary to popular belief, she was not always in a good mood and she most certainly did not wake up chipper. Especially not after a long Girls’ Night of eating, drinking, and making mischief.

Punching the talk button, she snapped, “What?”

“Please tell me we didn’t do what I think we did,” Ronnie said by way of response.

Grace rubbed her eyes and pushed into a sitting position, propping herself against the headboard while she struggled to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

“That depends. Did we scarf enough Mexican food to resurrect the Hindenburg and drink until we passed out?”

“We always do that,” Ronnie replied, sounding somewhat short-tempered herself. “I’m talking about abducting Gage and holding him against his will.”

For a minute, Grace nearly scoffed. What a ridiculous idea. Like anyone could abduct six-foot-three, two-hundred-plus-pound Gage Marshall, who loosely resembled a less green, less pissed-off Incredible Hulk.

But the more she thought about it, the more flashbacks started to spiral through her head.

Downing margaritas and enchiladas and laughing with her two closest friends.

Hugging Jenna when she got depressed about her broken marriage and lack of a man or children in her life.

Crushing tiny white pills and spilling them into a bottle of beer.

Hiding outside in the shadows with Ronnie and then hiking down a dark gravel road until her cell phone got enough reception to call a cab.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. Reality struck with the intensity of a lightning bolt, shocking her to the soles of her feet. She sat up, poker-straight, clutching the phone even tighter. “Oh, my God.”

“No kidding,” Ronnie muttered. “And it was your idea. If we go to prison, I’ll expect you to protect me and claim me as your girlfriend before any Big Bad Berthas start eyeing me like a nice, juicy steak.”

“Oh, my God,” Grace said again, because it was the only thing she could think of beyond an unending shriek of unadulterated panic.

“Welcome to my world. And if we’re freaking out, think what Jenna must be going through.”

At the reminder of their other friend, the one they’d left alone with the Incredible Hulk, Grace shot off the bed and began to pace.

“Oh. My. God. We have to get back there. We have to rescue her before Gage gets loose and kills her, then comes after us.”

Because though Jenna’s ex wasn’t normally a monster of giant green proportions, Grace was pretty sure he’d be frothing at the mouth and tearing the house apart board by board when he woke up and discovered himself tied spread-eagled to the bed.

“Let’s try calling her first,” Ronnie said in a voice of reason. The only one currently occupying the phone line.

Grace’s viewers all thought she had it so together. To them, she was a little Jackie O, a little Oprah, a little Martha Stewart, and maybe even a little Mother Theresa all rolled together.

Ha! She wondered how they would react when she was hauled away in shackles and a traffic-cone orange jumpsuit. And no belt, because the cops would worry she might commit suicide.

Rightfully so. She was thinking about going to the bathroom and drinking a bottle of drain cleaner right now just to save the state the expense of her trial and execution.

“What if the phone wakes him?” Grace asked. To her, that seemed a bit too much like poking a bear with a stick.

“We’ll call Jenna’s cell. She keeps it in her purse, and her purse was on the dining room table when we left. If he’s still tied to the bed, he won’t hear it-or at the very least, it won’t ring loudly enough to bother him.”

“What if she doesn’t hear it?”

“That might mean Jenna and Gage are still snuggled up in post-coital bliss and we shouldn’t be bothering them one way or the other.”

“Or maybe it will mean he broke free, went into a rage, and chopped her up into tiny pieces that he’s even now dropping to the bottom of a deep, dark well.”

“Nice visual, Little Miss Sunshine.” Ronnie made a disgusted noise low in her throat. “Just call her on her cell.”

“Why do I have to call?” Grace yelped.

“Because this whole mess started with one of your brilliant ideas.” She drew “brilliant” into three or four syllables and made it sound like a dirty word.

Grace rolled her eyes. For the most part, her ideas were brilliant and did tend to work out.

So she’d had a bad night-sue her.

“Fine. I’ll call you back when I know something.”

After hanging up with Ronnie, she lowered herself to the edge of the bed and dialed Jenna’s cell phone. As her friend’s classical ringback played in the background, Grace prayed that everything had turned out fine.

She prayed Gage was still unconscious.

She prayed Jenna had gotten herself knocked up sometime around midnight and was now safely back at her own apartment in the city, leaving Gage in the country to chew through his bonds alone.

Lifting her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the wide mirror above the bureau.

And she prayed the authorities wouldn’t come for her until she’d had a chance to fix her hair and makeup. She looked like something the cat had dragged in, then batted around for a few hours, and it wouldn’t do for her viewing public to see her hauled off to prison in such a sorry condition.

Gage was in the middle of another helluva erotic dream. This time, though, the swim toward consciousness went faster and reality dawned much sooner.

It wasn’t a dream-or not entirely.

He was in bed with Jenna. Tied to a bed in her aunt’s farmhouse.

As soon as he remembered that, he came wide awake, automatically yanking at his bonds.

Shit, what was with her tonight?

She was still on top of him, he was still lodged firmly inside of her, and she’d once again managed to work him into a bit of a lather before he was even fully awake.

Tamping down on his desire, he locked his jaw. “Untie me, Jenna,” he told her in a voice that brooked no argument. “I mean it this time.”

She shook her head, determination etched in the flat line of her lips and the downward arch of her brows. “Not until I’ve gotten my fill. Come on, Gage,” she wheedled, her expression lightening a few degrees. “Be a sport. Let me have some fun.”

Fun, my ass. She’d never been interested in this kind of fun while they’d been married, and he sure as hell didn’t believe she’d developed a fondness for Bondage for Beginners since their divorce.

“Untie me and I’ll show you fun. I’ll show you all kinds of fun.”

The last round had been nice. More than nice-it had just about blown the top of his head clean off. But if she wanted a night of adventurous sex with the ex, he could show her more creative positions than just “Ride ’em, Cowgirl.”

He wanted her on her back, on her knees, bent over the dresser…

“I like things just the way they are. It makes me feel sexy.”

She gave a little swirl of her hips and he sucked in a breath, scrambling for statistics from the Rockets’ last season to keep from shooting off the bed-in more ways than one.

“Besides, I let you tie me up once, remember?”

He hadn’t until she mentioned it, but now he did, and no amount of thinking about hockey or mentally reciting game scores was going to put a halt to the throbbing of his dick.

“Of course, you didn’t really tie me to the bed, did you?” She spoke in a low, cajoling tone, leaning down to skim her lips along his chin and cheek. “You cuffed me with those cold, heavy metal handcuffs you carry around all day at work. And you know what? I liked that, too.”

As hard as he fought it, he couldn’t hold back the groan that rolled up from his solar plexus.

“Do you think about that, Gage? Do you think about what we did that night every time you pull out your cuffs? Every time you slap them around someone else’s wrists?”

His body bucked beneath her. Fuck, yes, he thought about it. Nightly, while he tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep without her in bed beside him. It was often the leading fantasy that played through his head when he needed to jack off just to find a little satisfaction and rid himself of the frustrations of not having her near.

But this was better than fantasy, wasn’t it? At least for the most part.

Oh, if he had his hands free, he’d have flipped her over by now-onto her back or maybe her stomach. He’d have her legs hooked into the crooks of his elbows and be fucking her until her eyes rolled back in her head. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was damn close to getting ready to beg.

She rode him expertly, moving against his desperate motions rather than with them so that the friction between their two bodies grew and sparked like fresh-lit kindling.

“I’m going to remember tonight every time I wrap one of those boas around my neck. Every time I see them, every time I feel them brushing along my skin, I’m going to think of you, think about you filling me and driving me to orgasm over and over.”

She kissed her way across his face and upper chest, but what she was doing with her mouth was nothing compared to the words pouring out of it.

“If I’m alone, I’ll probably get so turned on that I’ll have to go to my room, get undressed, and use my hands to satisfy myself.”

The image of her doing just that, of what she’d done earlier in the evening to heighten her pleasure while she rode his cock, flashed through his brain and put every cell of his being on red alert.

“If I’m not alone, I’ll just have to hope no one notices how flushed I’m getting or suspects how damp my panties are.”

His nostrils flared and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up grinding his molars to dust.

Her tongue outlined the shell of his ear, sending tremors down his spine. Her hands followed the path of his long arms until her fingers dusted the feathery strands of the knitted yarn binding his wrists.

“And every time you see me wearing one of these, you’ll know exactly what I’m thinking about. You’ll think about it, too, and we’ll both be back here, teetering on the edge of bliss. Unless you want me to stop,” she added.

Her breath skated across the back of his neck, raising gooseflesh, while her nipples dragged sharply along his chest.

Yeah, he wanted her to stop. About as much as he wanted to contract a flesh-eating disease on his pork and beans.

“When I get out of this,” he growled, “I’m going to turn you over my knee and blister your behind.”

Pushing vertical, she stared down at him with one brow arched over a moss-green eye. “You know I’m not into the ‘spank me, Daddy’ punishment thing, but if you want to look at my ass…”

With that, she lifted off of him and swung around so that she faced the other direction. Glancing back over her shoulder, she shot him a grin and grabbed him by the root.

Air hissed through his teeth at the harsh treatment. Not that he was complaining. She wasn’t really being rough enough to hurt him, but he was already so hard and so sensitive that even the lightest brush of her fingers threatened to make him go off like a rocket.

“You used to like it this way, too,” she said before repositioning herself and driving herself back down onto his burgeoning erection.

“Christ on a cracker!”

His body bowed, driving his heels and skull into the mattress. She stiffened on him as the motion sent him thrusting deeper inside her, but ended on a sigh.

He was panting now, hanging on by a thread, not sure whether to pray she’d slow down or beg her to finish him off.

“Since when did you add torture to your repertoire?”

Her short black hair danced at her nape when she shook her head. “This isn’t torture,” she replied.

Easy for her to say. She didn’t have a hot, wet woman lodged on her cock, clasping him like a vise.

“This,” she murmured softly, “is torture.”

Her slim, smooth back blocked his vision, but a foot-thick wall of concrete couldn’t have kept him from feeling her very special brand of torment as she reached down to cup his nuts.

She palmed them, but no matter how gentle the touch, the sensation went straight to his hypothalamus, sending his nerves screaming. Screaming, thudding, bucking for release.

The side of her thumb stretched to the tight flap of skin connecting his testicles to the base of his dick and began to caress, and he knew he was a goner.

“Move, Jenna,” he bit out, the words laced with as much animal lust as he’d ever heard in his own voice. “Move now and bring yourself off, or I’m going over without you.”

He’d always been one to take care of a woman’s fulfillment-especially this woman’s-before his own, but this time he didn’t have a choice. Try as he might to fight it, he was about to come, and she was on her own.

Instead of letting go, she continued what she was doing, the nails of her other hand digging into his thigh as her hips sped up. She lifted and fell, slid forward and back, the soft globes of her ass bouncing against his abdomen. The heavy beats of her breathing filled the room, and all the while she continued to fondle him.

His balls tightened and shrank in her hand, and pressure built. He thrust as hard and fast as he could from his prone position, wanting to fill her, go deep, give her a portion of the satisfaction she was giving him.

And then it was too late. The boas cut into his flesh as his entire body jerked, strained, convulsed… and emptied itself in a shower of pleasure so intense, he thought he might black out.

Through his haze of completion, he heard Jenna’s mewling cries and felt her spasming around him, and knew she’d reached her pinnacle, too.