Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

My arousal spikes, my cock throbbing, and I shift my legs to try and impede an erection.

“What if I don’t answer?” she asks defiantly. Her eyes flicker to my lips.

“I’ll spank you in the middle of this fucking kitchen.”

Red heats her neck, but her yellow-green eyes pierce me more. I think, for a moment, that she wants to attempt this. She’d like me to take her across the table and play with her, but she hesitates, sliding into her head. She tries to tuck a flyaway hair that doesn’t exist and resumes her concentration on the paper.

I go to stand. The chair legs clatter as I extend my arm. Dammit. She has to spot the irritation and frustration tightening my face because she writes faster.

I pick up the wooden chair with one hand and move closer to Rose. I drop it roughly beside her. She jumps, shooting me a third glare. I stay standing, towering above her frame. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she sets the pen down when she’s finished.

“Done,” she announces.

I read the answers over her shoulder. KILL. KILL. KILL.

Rose rarely cheats. I bend down slightly and clasp her waist before kicking the chair out from under her. She gasps, but I swiftly push her body over the table, my pelvis digging into her ass. Her ragged breath breaks any silence.

I outstretch her hands with one of mine, my cuffed palm planted firmly on her ass. I crave to thrust against her, ceaseless and hard motions until we’re both coming.

“Connor,” she warns, her eyes darting around the kitchen.

I place the pen in her grip so she can rewrite her answer, my lips low to her ear. “Pas de triche.” No cheating. I spank her hard, and she shudders, her fingers whitening around the pen.

She licks her bottom lip, her mouth partially open as she collects herself. I try to reach forward to clasp her face and turn it to me, to kiss her, but my hand is still caged. I take the moment to suck the nape of her neck, very slowly, and her body trembles in want of more. I lift my lips to her ear, deeply irritated by this fucking handcuff.

I’m not used to any restraint. “Where’s the key?” I ask her.

She cranes her head over her shoulder to look at me. “I’m not unlocking you, Richard.”

I lean forward, my dick grinding into her ass, and with her head turned, I kiss her forcefully, until a moan breaches her throat and seems to echo down mine. I part just enough to say, “You’d rather I break the chair?”

Fire swirls in her gaze. “You’re not breaking my chair.”

“Our chair,” I correct. We own seventy-five percent of the furniture in this house together. I chose this table since I won a round of Scrabble. She chose the kitchen appliances by beating me at Trivial Pursuit. Games solve our differences when we’re both unwilling to concede.

Her eyes ping between the chair and the handcuff. I wonder what she cares about more: the material item or her plans tonight.

I expect her to protect the chair, but instead, she turns her head back to the paper, focusing again. She won’t unlock the handcuffs, even at the cost of our furniture.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I stay in the same position and try to answer it, but my wrist jerks to a stop at my waist. I’m breaking this fucking chair. I have to remove my hand that lies on top of Rose’s left one and pass the phone between my palms. I catch the caller ID and my muscles tense.

SCOTT

Unfortunately, I have to answer the phone. “Hey, man,” I say, the casual greeting like salt on my tongue. Rose taps her pen on the paper, still mulling over her answers.

“Happy birthday,” Scott says, cordially enough. I spent three mind-numbing hours at his house last night. I learned three things.

1.) He drinks excessively; his favorite: pale ale.

2.) He name-drops every five minutes, and he warms easy to compliments like: I can’t believe you know him. I would literally die to meet that guy.

3.) He may not trust me one-hundred percent yet, but he needs me. That’s more leverage than anything Scott has.

“Thanks, thanks,” I say, aching to grip Rose’s ponytail and tilt her head back towards me. But this goddamn fucking chair.

“So I’m about to go into a meeting with the executive from GBA, do you have any updates for me?”

Updates. “Lily is thinking about the second season more than Rose,” I lie. None of us will ever do it, but I have to dangle him for a little while longer, so I can have more time to build trust between us. “She’ll take time.”

Rose whips her head to me and mouths, Scott?

I mouth, answer the questions. This Fuck, Marry, Kill shouldn’t be this hard. She hasn’t even written one new response.

She sighs heavily before resuming her focus.

“How about you just force her to do it?” Scott says with an annoying laugh attached. “She’s your wife. You know what’ll work?”

My fingers press harder into the phone’s casing. “What’s that?” I hear my even-tempered voice, but I grind my teeth.

“Backhand her when she says no.” He takes a short pause…and then he laughs at his own repulsive joke.

I hold Rose protectively at the waist. I bring on the shortest laugh I can muster without sounding sarcastic or mocking. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say lightly. “Good luck.” If anyone knows me at all, they can tell I’m being fake by those two words.

Good luck.

“Same to you.” I let him hang up first.

“What did he say?” Rose asks.

“He’s meeting with GBA right now. It’s not important.” I pocket my phone and then rub her neck, leaning forward, harder against her ass again.

She sets down her pen. “Finished.”

I rest my hand back on her outstretched one, keeping her breasts flat against the table. “Let’s see, Miss Highest Honors.”

Above Connor Cobalt working at his office she wrote: Kill

She crossed out Connor Cobalt beating you at chess and rewrote: Connor Cobalt playing chess with you – Marry

Slightly cheating, but not quite. I’ll accept the amendment, but if our positions were reversed, she’d never let me make one like that.

And then lastly—Connor Cobalt on his birthday she wrote FUCK in all capital letters. I harden almost instantly, and I grip one of the rungs of the chair and slam it on the ground. Rose flinches but I hold her jaw with my free hand, keeping her head straight ahead so she can’t watch the decimation of her fucking chair.

It takes two more contacts with the floor before the legs break, and then one strong tug later, the rung detaches from the wooden frame. The other cuff slides off of the rung, and I’m freer than I was.

I pull her ponytail, and a gasp escapes her lips. I kiss her again, my other hand slipping up her inner thigh.

I part her lips with my tongue, tasting her, toying with her, and then I release her hair and push her face back onto the table.

“Connor,” she warns, but her eyes stay attached to me, not wandering around the room. She tries standing up, but I

force her chest back down, a firm hand between her shoulder blades.

Her palm peels off the table, and she attempts to remove mine between her legs. I slap her away and then I spank her ass.

She cries into a soft moan, and then she says, “Wait…wait, Connor.”

You’ll like this, Rose.

I stroke the soft flesh of her thigh again, and she reaches for that hand again. I slap her away and spank her ass. She chokes on a noise. “Connor, wait…you have to wait…”

I lean forward, my erection digging into her, and I can feel her leg muscles flex in arousal. “You want me to fuck you,” I whisper in the pit of her ear. “I want to fuck you. We both win, Rose.”

She breathes shallowly. “Connor…” I’m close to her pussy. “No!” This time, she squeezes my wrist, but the panic in her voice already hits me. I immediately take my weight off my wife, and I gently rotate Rose. I cup her face with tender care, rapidly skimming her entire body for any kind of sign.

She places two palms on my chest, her eyes fluttering like I’ve already fucked her hard. I barely even played with her.

“Rose?” I murmur.

She licks her lips. “I have plans. You can’t ruin them.” That’s what this is about? She oddly keeps tugging down her cotton dress, hiding whatever she has on beneath.

I lift one of her hands, about to kiss her palm, but she retracts it and raises her chin, collecting her bearings.

“Just wait until tonight,” she snaps.

I take her hand again and put it on my crotch, a rock hard erection aching to fit between her legs. “I can’t wait around, so I’m either coming inside your pussy, your mouth or in the shower. Would you like to pick?”

She cautiously checks over her shoulder and then whispers, “Go into the pantry.”

Since she’s reluctant to give blow jobs, struggling always to take me entirely in her mouth, I figure she’s succumbed to sex but wants to do it in a more private setting. I lead the way to the walk-in pantry. She shuts the door behind us and switches on the light.