Punishing Me (Shaft on Tour #6) (11 page)

He
doesn’t answer me. Instead, he tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
Slamming on his brakes, he ducks behind an old Chevy pick up to change lanes.
Without signaling, he exits the highway, speeding down the ramp so fast, that
when he takes the right turn at the bottom, the tires squeal.

“Dominick!”
I shout, my voice sounding shaky. Turning in the seat as best I can to face
him, I grip his arm, digging my fingers in his biceps. “Either slow the hell
down, or let me out of the goddamn car!”

Ducking
into a mutli-level parking garage, I can barely make out the concrete barriers and
parked cars flying by in a whirl, as we climb to an empty level. Slamming on
his brakes, Dominick shoves the shifter into park and flings open the door.

Before
I can catch my breath, he’s around the front of the car, yanking open the
passenger door, and is on me. Undoing the seatbelt, he pulls me from the car so
fast my heels don’t even touch the ground. Kicking the door closed, he grips my
forearms with both hands. Turning us, he pushes my back to the concrete beam.

“How
long are you planning to keep punishing me, Ireland?” he growls, pinning me
with his icy stare. “I’m all for jokes and shit, but that’s not the game you’re
playin’. Is it?”

“Let
go,” I ground out, trying to shift my body to get a knee shot to his balls.
This time I’ll make sure the fuckers come flying out his nose.

“Oh
no,” he says, stepping closer so that I am pinned tightly between him and the
beam. Kicking my legs apart, he steps between them, taking away any chance I
have to hit him where it hurts. “You won’t be pullin’ that shit again.”

“Get
away from me!” I scream, fighting against his grip.

“Too
late for that, now, isn’t it?” he replies, his face so close to mine that I
feel the warmth of his breath. My breath hitches, lodging in my chest. Sliding
his hand up my arm, and into my hair, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his
face. Those goddamn dimples totally exposed, only making it harder to breathe,
and impossible to think. The touch of his rough fingers over my skin sends a
tingle down my spine. An electric current begins pulsing throughout my entire
body, so intense it has my toes curling inside my shoes. “Don’t push me, little
girl,” he growls, wrapping my hair around his fist and yanking the strands. “The
fire you’re playing with here is only going to get you burned.”

“You
don’t scare me,” I snap, narrowing my eyes. “I’ve blown out birthday candles
with more heat.”

The
grip on my hair becomes tighter, forcing my head up so that our mouths are just
a breath apart. His nostrils flare, a growl tearing up through his chest that
levels every inch of me. Then he moves.

Dominick
attacks my mouth, stealing what little breath I had left. His lips move, tongue
thrusting into my mouth the second I gasp for air. His hard body presses into
mine while his kiss consumes me, causing every ounce of my resolve to crumble. One
of my hands wraps around him, clutching the back of his t-shirt, the other
gripping the back of his neck in an attempt to bring him closer. An explosion
erupts between us. The inferno spreads through my veins, every inch of me on
fire, burning so hot I don’t think I’ll survive it.

Yanking
my hair again, he breaks the kiss and exposes my neck. His teeth skim my jaw as
his free hand grips my hip, lifting and rolling me into him. Shit. Every inch
of his body presses hard against mine. The world fades away, along with every
thought in my head. His lips brush my ear, his hot breath over my skin causes a
desperate moan to escape my lips. His hand moves over my thigh. Sliding up the
hem of my dress, he cups me through my panties. “This hot enough for you?” he
asks, his voice low and so smooth it has goosebumps raising over my skin. “You
gonna tell me to stop, Ireland? Say the word, Baby. Tell me this doesn’t feel
good. I’ll stop right now.”

“Dominick,”
I moan, breathlessly, unable to say anything else. The invisible line has been
crossed. I didn’t plan it, but I know there is no turning back now. I have no
fight left in me, and as much as I enjoy watching him suffer, I might
self-combust if he stops touching me.

My
hips involuntarily rock into his palm, seeking more friction against my
throbbing clit. “That’s what I thought,” he growls, meeting my eyes.

“I
hate you,” I pant, but it lacks all conviction.

“You
may hate me, Baby,” he growls, biting down on my bottom lip. “but you still
want this.”

Wrong.

It’s
gone far beyond want, whether I admit it to him, or not. This is need.
Complete, unadulterated desperation that can only be quenched by him. Now.

Taking
my mouth again, Dominick brushes my panties aside before thrusting two fingers
inside me. I cry out into his mouth, my hips rocking faster as I chase down my
release. Bringing up my right leg, I wrap it around his hip, opening myself
more to him.

I
am lost to sensation overload. His fingers, his mouth, his hard body pressed to
mine, it’s all too much. My cries are all swallowed, greedily, as he kisses me.
His other hand comes down and supports my ass, his fingers digging into my
heated flesh. My thighs tremble, my knees threaten to give out from under me as
tremors of pleasure rattle throughout my body.

“Let
go,” he says against my lips. The two words meaning something very different
than how I used them moments ago. The look in his eyes as he watches me is dark
and forceful. It’s scary, but in a way that makes my stomach jump in
anticipation.

His
thumb finds my clit, rhythmically strumming in time with his fingers thrusting
into my pussy. The erotic beat he plays with my body sends me over the edge.
The orgasm that hits me, tears me apart. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing
comes out. My eyes roll into the back of my head as I fuck his fingers, enjoying
every second of the ride.

Boot Face Tattoo

Mack

Fuck.

Damn
her. Ireland was taunting me with every outfit change. Every sway of her hips
as she walked to the mirrors was perfectly executed to drive me out of my
goddamn mind. As much as I tried to keep my cool, the dress she has on now, was
my breaking point. I know what is beneath that bullshit excuse of a dress, I’ve
had the soft skin beneath me. The thought of her going out in public wearing a
scrap of fabric, not even big enough to be a hand towel, made me murderous.

Every
time she challenges me it is like an electric jolt to my cock. Nothing like the
goddamn Taser though, because this revs me up like a porn star raging on
speedballs. I never knew fighting with a woman could make me so horny. My cock
is so hard right now, it could stamp holes in the concrete beam I have her body
pinned against, but as much as I want to bury myself inside her, I can’t bring
myself to unleash the beast.

It’s
not lost on me, that this woman hates me with a passion. Being that she has
tried to drop kick my dick and balls up into my sinus cavity; I’m not exactly
ready to give her another opportunity to do any lasting damage.

I
think my hesitation is a smart move on my part…

Burying
my nose in her hair, I inhale the sweet scent of honeysuckle and vanilla.
Visions of spreading her across the hood of my car and fucking her until she
screams my name play on a loop in my head, doing nothing to ease the massive
case of blue balls I feel coming on.

My
phone vibrates from my pocket, scaring the shit out of me. “Can I move now,
Ireland?” I ask, slipping my fingers from her pussy and resisting the urge to
lick them clean.

Her
leg falls from around my hip immediately, eyes flying open wide. “What did you
say?” she asks, staring up at me.

“Phone,”
I say, reaching out to make sure she is steady on her feet before releasing my
hold on her. Grabbing my phone, I don’t bother checking the notification on the
screen. “Yo,” I say into the phone, putting it to my ear.

“Need
you back at the house,” Camaron says into the phone, her tone clipped. “Now.”

“We’re
on our way,” I say, opening the passenger door and helping Ireland inside. She
says nothing, but, honestly, I am thankful for her silence. I’m not sure I can
handle two women bitching at me at once. “You’re a woman, you know how long
this clothes shoppin’ shit takes,” I laugh into the phone.

“It’s
an emergency.”

Oh
shit.

The
three words make my blood run cold. Disconnecting the call, I nearly sprint
around the damn car. Within seconds, the car roars to life and I’m heading for
the exit of the garage. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,”
I reply quickly.

“Yeah,”
she replies, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at me. “I bet.”

I
don’t say anything else. Honestly, I have no idea what to say. The entire drive
back to the house, I rack my brain, trying to figure out what in the hell could
have happened for Camaron to call me and not Henry.

Most
of the questions I have are answered the moment we pull up the drive and I spot
the ambulance parked in front of the house. My heart stops dead in my chest.
Immediately, my brain begins running possible scenarios as I shut off the
engine and leap from the car.

“Oh
my God,” Ireland says, running across the drive trying to keep up with me.

I
stop mid-step the second I see two uniformed EMTs wheeling Rae down the walk on
a stretcher. Tears stream down her cheeks as he clutches her belly. “What the
hell happened?” I shout, finding my voice.

“She
got dizzy and fainted. Her blood pressure is through the roof,” Henry says from
behind me, his voice icy and harsh. “Turns out that the doctor put her on meds
and bed rest weeks ago for pre-eclampsia. That doesn’t even include how whacked
out her blood sugar levels are right now.”

Oh
shit.

Turning
to face him, I meet his harsh stare. His eyes are cold and hard. “You gotta
know, I tried to--” I start, but his fist connects with my jaw, silencing me.

“You
knew!” he shouts, shoving me hard with both hands. Stumbling back, I slam into
the side of the Suburban. “You knew and still chose to keep me in the dark
about all this shit. That’s my woman. My fucking baby!” Grabbing my shirt, he
punches me again. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you with my bare hands if anything happens
to her or the baby.”

“When
you’re done wailing on me,” I bite out, wiping the blood from my now split lip.
“How about you go ask Rae why she didn’t tell you? Why she begged me not to?”

Big
Man lunges and it’s total chaos. The women are screaming, while Hunter and
Aiden leap from the porch and attempt to pull him off me. “Big Man,” Hunter
yells, gripping his arm with both hands. “Rae needs you in the back of that
ambulance with her right now.”

He
releases his hold on me, letting my body slump to the ground. His eyes go to
the back of the opened ambulance and Rae, her body racked with sobs. “This
isn’t finished,” he bites out, heading for the ambulance and climbing inside
before the doors close behind him.

“Damn,”
Hunter says, holding out his hand to me. “I totally just saved you from getting
a boot face tattoo.”

“My
hero,” I mutter, waving him off and pushing to my feet.

Not
bothering to look around at the shocked faces of everyone around me who watched
this play out, I head into the house. Part of me knew that Rae’s secret shit
would end badly. You don’t keep shit like that from someone. Especially not
Henry.

It
doesn’t matter that I have been cooking and taking care of the kids while everyone
was out on tour because Rae needed to rest. Yes, I did as much as I could to
make things easier for her, but it wasn’t enough. Rae’s physician, Dr. Masters,
along with her OBGYN, had told both of us months ago that being diabetic could increase
her risk of developing pre-eclampsia. After taking every preventative measure
we could, she was still officially diagnosed. We were sent home with medicine
for her elevated blood pressure and told to keep her off her swollen ass feet
as much as possible.

The
more I pressed for her to take it easy, the more she turned into what Jazzie
and I lovingly refer to as the Preggersaurus. Hormonal and stubborn as hell. No
matter what I said, I was wrong and that was okay with me. As long as she
plopped her ass in the recliner, or the bed, and got her feet up, she could nag
at me as much as she wanted.

When
everyone got home, I was sure Rae would sit Big Man down and let him know what
was going on. Especially when, with the medicine and resting, her blood
pressure slowly continues to creep higher and higher at every check. Only cure,
according to the doctors, was to deliver, but the little brut wasn’t exactly
done baking in there yet.

So
it became a waiting game.

Walking
into my bedroom, I head straight for the adjoining bathroom to clean up. I
groan when my eyes meet the mirror and my jacked up face. My bottom lip is
split and my jaw is already starting to swell unevenly on one side. Grabbing
the black hand towel from the rack beside the sink, I turn on the cold water
and run it under the faucet. Pressing it to my lip, I wince and hiss out a
breath.

“Hey,
Killer.”

Out
of the corner of my eye, I see Ireland step into the room. “Cam asked me to
bring this to you.”

Coming
up beside me, she places a white first aid kit on the sink, then places her
hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“Never
better,” my reply is clipped.

Opening
the lid, she begins taking out things and arranging them on the black marble.
“You need that cleaned up.”

“I
got it.” Turning away from her, I toss the towel on top of my pile of dirty
laundry in the corner.

Stepping
around me, she glares up at me. “Why are you determined to make it so hard for
me to be nice to you, shit stick?” Reaching out, she pinches my nipple through
my t-shirt. Hard. “If I have to dismember you just to patch you up, stubborn
ass, I will.”

“Jesus,
fucking hell!” I shout, trying to push her away. “That hurts!”

Pinching
harder, she twists so hard tears spring to my eyes. “I will rip it off and make
you eat it,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Now, sit your ass down and shut the
hell up.”

“Okay,
okay,” I reply, holding up my hands in surrender.

Steering
me by my nearly dislocated nipple, Ireland doesn’t stop until I sit down on the
closed toilet seat lid. “Now,” she says, releasing her grip, “was that so damn
hard?”

Something
is…

Turning
her back to me, she toes off her heels and begins washes her hands. Grabbing a
small box of hydrogen peroxide wipes, she faces me again. When she steps
between my legs, and her thigh brushes mine, all hell starts to break loose in
my jeans. Looks like my dick didn’t get the memo that Ireland playing doctor
isn’t going to end with any part of her wrapped around him. Carefully, she cups
my jaw as she cleans away the blood from my mouth and chin. I hiss out a breath
the minute her skin meets mine.

“Sorry,”
she says, pulling back. Her face softens, the tips of her fingers sweep softly
over my jaw, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. It takes everything in me not
to bite it before fucking her against the tile wall of my bathroom. Jesus fuck,
what is she doing to me? “Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asks, dropping the
wipe in the wastebasket.

Yeah…
My cock.

Think
she’d believe me if I told her orgasms are like duct tape and can fix anything?

Closing
my eyes tightly, I shake my head. Visions of her hair wrapped around my fist
while fucking her mouth have my dick pounding against my zipper like the DEA
breaking down doors during a meth lab bust. That hot mouth sucking me past
those plump lips, her tongue sweeping the underside as she cups my balls.

“Hey,
are you okay?” she asks, tilting my chin upward. Forcing my eyes open, I nod. “You’re
all flushed.”

“I’m
good.” Grabbing her arms, I ease her backward so that I can push to my feet.

Her
eyes sweep downward, a slow smile spreading across her face when she takes in
the very embarrassing, denim erecto-tent that I am currently pitching. Reaching
over, she grabs a disposable ice pack and cracks it on her knee to activate it.
Pressing it to my face, she grabs my hand, forcing me to hold it in place. She
bites her lip, no doubt suppressing a giggle. Her eyes go to my straining hard
on and back to my face. “Might wanna ice that down too, Killer,” she says,
patting me through my jeans before disappearing from the room.

***

By
the time I get myself together and head toward the main part of the house,
things have seemed to settle down some. Camaron is on the phone with Henry
getting updates on Rae’s condition, while the guys sit around the table making
bets on how many punches it will take Henry to knock my ass out next time he
sees me. Sadistic bastards. Daisy and Chase have headed into the kitchen to make
dinner, while Ireland has taken the kids in to the den to watch a movie.

“Dude,
someone call the NFL,” Hunter says, pointing at me when I step into the doorway
of the office. “We found the missing air from Tom Brady’s footballs! It’s been
pumped into the right side of Mack’s face!” he shouts, slamming his fist onto
the table as he roars with laughter.

“How
is she?” I ask Camaron when she hangs up the phone, ignoring Hunter.

Leaning
back in the chair, she sighs. “We are looking at an immediate delivery via
emergency c-section.”

I
nod, because that’s exactly what I figured. “We were told it could come to
that,” I reply, running a hand over the back of my neck and squeezing. “Just
hoped it wasn’t this soon.”

“I’ll
want to head over to the hospital as soon as possible,” Cam says, facing me. “Henry,
Rae, and the baby are going to need all of our support right now.”

“I’ll
call Mike,” I say, remembering that he checked in with Big Man yesterday,
saying he was heading back to town. “Get him to help hold down the fort here.”

Camaron
nods, but says nothing. Though, she doesn’t have to. The downcast look of disappointment
in her eyes is all too familiar. I tend to do that to the women in my life. Nothing
I’m not used to, of course. Hell, my own mother blames me for everything that
has ever gone wrong in her life, all because my sperm donor’s spunk was immune
to her birth control methods.

My
unplanned conception was her untimely social suicide. Who in their right mind
would be lining up to play sugar daddy to a woman who comes with a red headed
little bastard tagging along?

 Though
we only have used him on tour dates, Mike doesn’t hesitate when I call. He
jumps into his truck and is at the house within minutes. Surprisingly, Ireland
offers to stay behind with Mike and the kids so that everyone else can go to
the hospital and show their support together, instead of in shifts.

The
labor and delivery floor of the hospital is possibly the most stressful place I
have ever been in my life. The faces of some of the men pacing the halls make
it very clear why the windows are all sealed shut. Every time an alarm goes
off, it causes a full on panic.