The Buchanan's Redemption(8)

“I can think of a few things,” Laird said, his voice lowering with suggestion and she grimaced. He shrugged. “Can’t fault a guy for trying. Unlike Vince, I prefer my women a little less prickly. Besides, you seem the type who has their legs screwed tight at the knee.”

Her cheeks flared. “That was rude,” she said, lifting her chin. “And you seem the kind of man who will die of a raging STD before you’re thirty-five.”

“I did catch gonorrhea once,” he admitted as if it were no big deal to admit such a thing when Emma would’ve been horrified and taken that information to her grave if it were her. “But that’s the beauty of doctors and their meds. Cleared it right up. I did learn a valuable lesson — no glove, no love. And I stick to it.”

“Hallelujah,” she retorted dryly. “Sexual education at its finest.”

“Hey, better late than never.”

“I suppose you never worry about getting someone pregnant?”

At that he shrugged but the motion had lost some its signature jocularity as he said, “Shooting blanks. Bad motocross accident when I was kid. Killed my nuts.” The corner of his lips twisted in a brief smile as he said, “So, no little Lairds out there.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure why but the need to apologize was strong. Why did she care if he couldn’t go out there and irresponsibly procreate? It wasn’t as if Laird Tiechert was made of great father material. The man was possibly as bad as his best friend, Vince. He had to be, if they were that close. Still, it seemed harsh, even for her, to not offer something. “That sucks.” There. Eloquent and to the point.

Laird grunted something that sounded like “No big deal” and then started picking at her left over chicken. “Do you mind?” he asked as he took the entire chicken breast from her plate and started eating it. She shook her head, though seeing as he’d already eaten half of it, she doubted her answer would’ve mattered. “Damn, that’s good,” he murmured. “I bet he got this at that fancy Italian restaurant down the street. You don’t like chicken?”

“I love chicken. I wasn’t about to let Vince Buchanan feed me like he would a pet. I am not his possession nor his responsibility. I tried to tell him that but he insists on keeping me here against my will.”

“Yeah, he’s stubborn that way.”

“Mr. Tiechert—“

“Call me Laird…my father is Mr. Tiechert and he’s an asshole.”

“Fine. Laird. Can you please help me get out of here?” she pleaded, hoping to appeal to a sliver of chivalry that might still be present. “My sister needs me. I can’t leave her alone for too long. Already it’s been too long.”

“What’s wrong with your sister?” he asked.

“She’s…well, she was injured about six months ago and she’s still recovering.”

“What happened to her?” he asked, scooping up a spoonful of wild rice and shoveling it down.

“I’d rather not say. It’s private,” she evaded. If Laird found out that Lana was the same girl who’d been injured in the club six months ago, he’d likely be just as adamant as Vince about keeping Emma around. “Please,” she said softly, daring to put her hand on his, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m all my sister has in the world. I can’t abandon her. She’s going to be so scared.”

Laird seemed to struggle, clearly affected by her pleas and she sensed victory. “You know, I can appreciate Vince feeling responsible for my care but I really need to get home. It’s urgent.”

“How about this…I will take you to your sister and then you can check on her and see that she’s okay as well as grab some clothes and then we can get back here before Vince returns none the wiser.”

“No,” she disagreed sharply. “I don’t want to come back here. I want to go home.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” He appeared apologetic but her temper was returning and she didn’t give a damn if he felt bad for forcing her to stay. “Listen, I know we seem like the bad guys but you have to understand, we have to protect the club. A lot of people have a lot to lose—“

“I really don’t care about your stupid club. As far as I’m concerned your disgusting little club can go up in a powder keg of glitter and lube and the world would be a better place.”

“Ouch. Well, on that note, I’ll leave you to catch some shut eye,” he said, rising to gather her plate. “Take it easy, tiger girl.”

Laird closed the door behind him and Emma swallowed a scream of frustration as she fell back among the fluffy pillows, causing several to bounce from the bed. She truly was a prisoner in a very gilded cage. With no choice but to wait until Vince returned, the fight in her dissipated and she was left with pure exhaustion from her ordeal. Her body demanded rest and she grudgingly gave in. Within moments, she was fast asleep.





-6-




Emma’s dreams were a fragmented mess of terror and arousal that she couldn’t seem to shake herself free from. She was back at the club, wearing that ridiculous hostess outfit that barely covered her breasts and behind, and all around her the sounds of sex and lust were unavoidable. Everywhere she turned, she saw men and women touching one another in acts of intense foreplay or worse, blatantly fucking like animals in heat. The music throbbed, nearly drowning out the moans and cries of pleasure, but there was no escaping the gaped mouths and shuddering bodies as they pinnacled to climax. Emma liked sex — the few times she’d tried it — but it was nothing to lose your mind over. Except those people seemed quite delirious in their pursuit of pleasure, almost drugged with carnal endorphins as they went from one partner to the next, handed off and shared like a party favor indiscriminately. She tried to avert her gaze but it was everywhere. And then he was there, towering over her with that damnable inscrutable expression, his eyes roaming every inch of her as if he had the right and her body responded instantly, drenching her panties even as she wished to God she wasn’t so desperately attracted to him. But here in the dreamscape, everything took on a surreal quality, melding and blurring reality until it was like an intense acid trip taken with Ecstasy. Her gaze snagged on a woman as Laird buried his face between her thighs, eagerly ravaging the woman’s most sensitive area until she gasped, twisting and crying her release. Suddenly Vince was behind her, pulling her tightly to him, whispering, “Does the little dove, like to watch?” Her cheeks burned but she nodded. Emma shuddered at the dark, husky chuckle at the shell of her ear and she couldn’t look away. “There’s nothing more beautiful than the sound of a woman cumming beneath your tongue.” He nuzzled her neck. “I wonder…what do you sound like when you shatter apart? Are you quiet and sweet or do you cry like a banshee, shrieking and shaking until your voice is hoarse?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, which was good because she didn’t know the answer. She was no virgin but she’d never had an orgasm. “I bet you’re loud, little dove. I bet when you come, you leave scratches on your lover’s back.” She squeezed her eyes shut and he reached down to cup her pubic mound, pressing against the sensitive skin and causing her eyes to pop open on a gasp. “You don’t want to miss the best part,” he told her, rubbing her with just enough pressure to make her squirm. “Watch…”

And then the woman stiffened, her thighs quaking, as she came hard. Her naked breasts heaved as she tried to catch her breath but just as she stopped shuddering, Laird shared a look with Vince and Laird flipped the woman over so that she was on all fours and without waiting, plunged himself deep inside her dripping core, ramming his cock into her almost brutally but she seemed to love it, as each thrust elicited a guttural moan. Laird’s ass muscles flexed as each powerful thrust buried his cock deeper into the woman’s body and Emma felt herself growing helplessly aroused until she was squirming against Vince’s hand, pressing against his palm for more pressure. Something was building at her core, something she couldn’t name, but she wanted it — craved it — and it frustrated her that she didn’t know how to attain it but Vince seemed to know and he was effortlessly guiding her there if only she could let go and trust him. But she didn’t trust him and that was the crux of it. She twisted and pushed away from, disoriented and aching from a need she didn’t fully understand. “No,” she cried, and stumbled away from him. “I don’t want this and I don’t want you!”

But even as she shouted the words, the din of the club whisked the sound away and she realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t want Vince’s touch. She didn’t want him to be the one who awakened her latent sexuality. He was the exact opposite of everything she appreciated in a man so why was she burning up inside with desperation and need? She turned and bailed, running as quickly as her dream legs would take her, away from Vince and his darkly handsome face and solid strength and away from the scorching shame of her own arousal. “No! No! No!” As she pushed her way through the crowds, she realized she was no longer on the second floor but strung up in the dungeon with her attacker and her confusion coalesced into a cold, greasy knot of fear. There was no one to save her and her attacker was advancing with that wicked implement of torture. She kicked and screamed but no one heard her. No would come. She was in the clutches of a madman drunk on power and if she escaped with her life, it would be a miracle. All those feelings of frantic panic, despair and agony returned in a symphony of pee-your-pants fear and all she could do was scream.