DEBT (32 page)

"Get you," he finished for me.

"Exactly."

"So you've made your mind up."

"Mmhm," I agreed, nodding a little.

"You're moving your ass out of that apartment and into my house."

"Oh, am I now?" I asked, inside my heart expanding so quickly that my ribs felt like they were going to fracture.

"Yeah. I need you close by to fuck you any time I want to. Besides, my kitchen has got to be bigger."

"Ah... yeah. But why would that matter?"

"The orders are going to start pouring in soon. You'll need somewhere to bake."

"And a sweets expert to sample the recipes?" I asked, smiling.

"Fuck yeah," he agreed, giving me a smile that didn't just crinkle his eyes, but gave me his white teeth and cheek creases from the size of it. "So we done with this shit?"

"This shit, meaning the parameters of our relationship?" I asked, holding back a laugh.

"Exactly."

At that, I did laugh a little. "For now, I guess."

"Good, I have something else I'd rather be doing," he said, leaning in close and his hand slid down the wood of the door and I heard the click of the lock sliding into place.

"Oh, really?" I asked as he nuzzled into my neck, running his tongue up the sensitive skin until his teeth snagged my earlobe and pulled slightly, making my sex clench hard as my hands went out to slip under his jacket. I worked his jacket buttons then moved to the ones on his shirt, until I slid my hands against his hot skin, raking my fingers down his abs and drawing a growl from him. His head shifted, taking my lips in his- hungry, hard, demanding everything I had to offer him. His hands left the door, landing at my hips and pressing their way upward until they cupped my breasts. He squeezed hard enough to draw a cry from my lips as they ripped from his. His eyes opened slowly, as heavy-lidded as mine felt.

His hands moved up above the bodice of my dress, snagging the material and that of my bra, and dragged it roughly down, exposing me completely. He shifted downward, taking my nipple into his mouth. There was no teasing, only claiming. He sucked hard, running his tongue over the hardened nub as his fingers rolled my other nipple. He pulled back, sucking in air to make my wet nipple suddenly go cold. Then his teeth dug into the sensitive skin, making my entire body jolt at the white-hot pain/pleasure mixture the sensation sent through my body. His head shifted to my other breast as his hand slid down my side, then up my thigh, inching the material of my skirt up until his hand pressed into my sex through the thin material of my panties.

He released my breast as my hand went down his stomach, undoing his pants and slipping inside, stroking his hard cock slowly. His hand shifted and two fingers thrust unexpectedly inside me. His lips sealed over mine to muffle my moan as his fingers started working me fast, just shy of rough, until my legs felt weak and my free hand was clinging to him hard. His fingers shifted and raked over my G-spot, drawing a loud moan from me. Before I even realized what was happening, his fingers were out of me and his mouth was off of mine. Then his fingers, slick with my desire, shoved inside my mouth.

"Quiet, or I am going to have to come up with inventive ways to shut you up," he said with a devilish smirk. His fingers thrust inside my mouth until they were cleaned off. They pulled out and he moved my hand from his cock, stroking it a few times himself. "Go bend over my desk," he instructed, taking a step back so I could move. I moved a few of the items out of the way and bent over his desk, ass facing him. "Dress up around your waist. Panties down by your knees," he said and I could hear his clothes hitting the floor. I hiked my skirt up and pushed my panties down, too used to being naked in all kinds of positions around Byron to feel shy anymore. "Flat on the desk. Hands down by your sides." I put the side of my face down on the cool surface of his desk and put my arms at my sides, my fingers down by my hips.

He moved in behind me, his cock pressing into me as he leaned slightly over me. Then I felt the cool, smooth material of his tie slide between my cheek and the desk. I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, when the tie slid in, tightening as he pulled it and tied it behind my head. "Let's see how that works out," he said, taking a step back and a second later, his palm landed hard on my ass cheek, making my body jolt at the sting as a yelp escaped me. It was muffled by the gag, but didn't silence me completely. "Well, it's just going to have to do. I don't want to play the silent game," he said and I was quietly thankful. That game, while fun, was harder than I ever thought possible.

His hand landed on my other ass cheek hard and before I could even register the pain, his cock slammed into me, filling me to the hilt as a moan left my lips. He didn't ease me into it. He didn't tease. He didn't explore.

He fucked me.

Hard.

Rough.

Wild.

Each thrust threatened to send me fully up onto the desk until I turned my hands on the surface to grab the very edge of it, holding myself in place as I bit into the gag, worried my sounds would carry and not sure who was within earshot. His hand moved up to the back of my head, twisting into the strands and curling them around his hand as he yanked back. His cock slammed deep and I came on a choked cry, the shocks of desire coursing through every inch of my body.

"Fuck yeah," Byron growled, slamming hard through it, dragging it out. His free hand moved up, dragging the gag roughly out of my mouth when the waves started to subside. "Say it," he demanded as his thrusts got more uneven, as he got closer.

I didn't even have to think about it.

I knew what he needed to hear.

"I love you," I whimpered as he planted deep and filled me with his release.

"Fuck yeah you do," he said as his body moved over mine, biting into my shoulder from behind. "I love you too, babe."

Epilogue

Prue - 2 months

"I swear to fuck, babe, if you don't hurry up, I'm leaving your sweet ass here," Byron called from down the stairs in the foyer.

I was never late. As a rule, I was always on time or early. It was his own damn fault I was running late, the stubborn ass. He'd insisted I move in, proceeded to buy me a bunch of fancy dresses to wear to his casino and whatever other social obligations he had planned, then didn't relegate nearly enough of the generous walk-in closet to me.

We'd also went a round about the amount of space I needed in the drawers of the bathroom for female essentials and makeup.

I eventually won the bathroom argument.

But the closet one was ongoing.

Hence my being late because I had to drag every dress out of the far, dark corner of the closet where I couldn't even tell them apart, lay them out on the bed, then go back in to fish out the shoe boxes I had stocked haphazardly beside his perfectly displayed dress shoes in their specially designed shoe racks.

I had even suggested I use the closet in the guest room I used to live in. Which was, apparently, out of the question. I gleaned that from the adamant, "Fuck no," he had said in response.

As I shoved my feet into the black stilettos that were the most comfortable while still simultaneously being the highest of the lot, I decided we would be hashing the issue back up again after we got home.

"Dress looks great, but why the fuck did it take half an hour to slip into it?" he asked and I took the compliment and rolled my eyes at the complaint as he walked over to me, reaching up behind me and letting my hair out of the clip I had gathered it in for the sole purpose of letting him let it back down again.

"It might have something to do with the dungeon you make me keep my clothes in," I suggested as his hands brushed my hair onto my shoulders.

To that, his lips tipped up. "I'll have one of the guys install a light. Now can we stop talking about the fucking closet already?"

"We can stop talking about it when you give me more of it," I said as I brushed past him, yelping a bit as he swatted my ass before opening the door for me.

"You've gotten awfully mouthy since you officially moved in," he remarked as we walked to his car. My beat-up clunker was parked in a discreet back corner and it was what I insisted on driving whenever I went out alone, despite the growl and "You've got to be fucking kidding me" Byron always gave me when I grabbed the keys. I was a lot of things, not the least being independent. I was okay living in his house. I was even okay with him buying me clothes. But I drew the line at freaking vehicles. I didn't care how much he insisted I let him get me something "from this century" that won't "give me asbestos poisoning" when I got in it. I would get myself a new car as soon as it was practical. Which, as things were going, wouldn't be that long.

"Are you complaining?" I asked, lowering into the passenger seat.

"Not at all. I'll just punish you later for it," he smiled as he lowered into his seat and pushed the ignition.

"You make that sound like it is some sort-of deterrent for bad behavior," I said with a sly smile, both of us well aware that I liked the belts, paddles, floggers, and bare-handed spanking just as much as he did.

"Brat," he smiled as we pulled away.

Byron - 7 months

She got more than half the closet. As I stood there picking out a tie, I hadn't the slightest fucking clue how that had happened. Or when for that matter. I swear she made it happen gradually so I wouldn't notice until my jackets had somehow found themselves in the so-called dark dungeon in the back corner.

In an odd way, though, I liked it.

Because it wasn't the timid, accommodating Prue that had walked into my house eight months before.

The longer she was with me, the more she seemed to step out of that comfort zone. She picked fights and stood her ground. She occasionally, like with the closet issue, just did whatever the fuck she wanted. She called me on my bullshit and demanded I stop being a dick if I wasn't giving her enough.

I would like to take credit, but it really had nothing to do with me. With her father still toeing the straight and narrow, even getting and keeping a sales job since about a week after he got out of rehab, a huge weight was off her shoulders. She didn't feel the need to live her life around the possibility of another disaster. She could breathe deeply again, stop worrying, do what she really wanted to do.

That included the baking business.

It wasn't huge and she insisted she never wanted it to be. But it was enough. It kept her busy. It gave her the money she needed to feel free with and the money she needed to sock away for a down payment on a new car. It meant that not a week would go by without me hearing Prince blaring from the kitchen and seeing a contended Prue dancing around the kitchen in jeans and tees, her hair tied up in a top-knot, her smile huge.

"Dad's here," Prue announced from the bedroom where she was slipping into a light pink dress. "He's schmoozing up Ella in the kitchen," she declared with a scrunched-up face as I walked back in, looping my tie. It was no secret that Mack had a thing for our cook. He had ever since the first night he came over for dinner and insisted on 'paying his respects to the chef'. Ever since then, it had been an obnoxious display of effort on his part and tentative, uncertain reception from the very practical Ella. Prue, loving them both, somehow found herself hating the whole thing.

When I had asked her why, she had shrugged and said, "How would you feel if you knew your Dad was making out with your, for all intents and purposes, adoptive mother?"

"I imagine it was the same level of discomfort as your father had when he found out I was fucking you, babe," I reminded her and she sighed.

"I guess."

"He brought her a big cardboard box filled with various herb and spice plants," she told me, leaning forward to fasten the clasp on her shoes.

"If that doesn't win her over, I think it's a fucking bust for him."

"Well you know Dad with his long shots," she said with a smile as she stood. "I'll meet you down there," she told me, leaning up and kissing my cheek as she moved out of the room.

I listened for the sound of her heels hitting the bottom stair before I turned back into the closet and went into one of my jacket pockets to grab the small black jewelry box. I clicked it open, taking in the delicate vintage setting and the flawless pear-shaped diamond.

I'd had it for years, since about three days before Mandy died, when she and my uncle had called me in and I had watched as he slipped it off her finger and handed it to me as she begged me to save it for the love of my life.

While the gesture was momentous and I accepted it as such, the ring had been relegated to a safety-deposit box from the very next day until about five months after Prue had moved in.

Because before then, I hadn't truly believed in the concept of a love of ones life.

But five months in, I walked into the bank, opened the safety deposit box, and slipped the ring into my pocket.