Mated To The Dragon Of Manhattan (A BBW Paranormal Romance Book 1) (6 page)

"So, you no longer believe I'm a spy, then?"

Truman sighed. "I don't know that I ever really did. However, until my scientist can complete the calculations that will prove, at least beyond a reasonable doubt, that you came here through a 'tear' in the parallel, I can't officially clear you. If I did, I wouldn't be doing my due diligence as lord and chief protector of my people."

I said I understood, and I did. There was a lull in the conversation, and the sound of birdsong coming from the direction of the fruit trees mingled with sound of distant honking from traffic on the city streets far, far below.

After a few moments, Truman picked up an insulated carafe of coffee that the waiter staff had left. "Would you like more coffee?"

I said no thank you, my gaze going to a half-full bottle of champagne that was used to make our mimosas right at the table. "But I do think I'd like a glass or two of that champagne. And as is, no orange juice. I think a drink or two might help my mind accept all these...all these strange things I've just learned."

Smiling, he poured me a glass of champagne, saying he more than understood.

After we'd taken a leisurely stroll around the entire rooftop garden, he walked me back to 'the dungeon,' saying that Brianna had told him she planned to stop by early in the afternoon with some homemade cookies to share with me.

On the way, I thought of something and turned my head to the side to look at him. "Hey. I can't believe I forgot to say something about this earlier. Thanks a lot for calling the luxury apartment I'm staying in 'the dungeon' when you told the guards to take me there yesterday. I was just a bit freaked out for a second."

He winced. "I'm very, very sorry about that. Truly I am. We're all so used to calling it that, it didn't even register at the time how it would sound to you or how it might frighten you. And once it did register, you were already gone, and I figured you'd find out it wasn't an actual dungeon soon enough. But please believe me when I say I truly am sorry."

I told him I accepted his apology, and that I could even see some humor in the situation. At least, kind of, anyway. The two glasses of champagne I'd had helped.

When we got to the door, he picked my hand up and kissed it, the feel of his full, firm mouth on my bare skin making me experience a wave of butterflies yet again.

After letting his lips linger for a moment, he released my hand, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. "I really enjoyed our brunch and talk today, probably even more than you know, and I hope you'll let me dine with you again many more times over the next several days."

I said I'd like that. "Maybe we could even have dinner sometime soon."

He grinned, typing some numbers in the keypad lock above the doorknob and then opening the door for me. "Perfect."

Smiling, I began heading inside the apartment but then suddenly stopped and turned. "Oh, by the way, what are the numbers for the keypad? And also, how do I get back out once I'm in here again? Can the keypad lock be totally deactivated? I think I might just want to roam around the building and explore later on today. Maybe with Brianna. And, of course, I'll need to be able to go in and out."

He winced for the second time in as many minutes. "I'm sorry to say this, but until my scientist can complete the calculations that will prove without a doubt you came here accidentally, through a 'tear' in the parallel that Owen created, you're still technically being held as a prisoner here. And you will be, until my scientist can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, or nearly so, that you're not a spy, and I can officially clear you. So, in the meantime, which probably won't be longer than a few days, I'm sorry to say it, Brette, but, yes, you're still technically my prisoner. And the lock on your door will remain locked, per my orders."

I sputtered for a few moments, suddenly so angry I could barely form words. "Well, you know what,
Lord
Truman? Cancel our dinner date, then. Because now I'd rather eat stale, moldy bread in a real, actual dungeon than ever share a meal with you again!"

And with that, I threw the flowers he'd picked for me on the floor and then slammed the door, fuming.

CHAPTER FOUR

 
Brianna came by for a visit that afternoon, bearing a plate of fresh, homemade cookies, though I could hardly enjoy them, or my time with her.

I sat at the kitchen table with my hands wrapped around a mug of milk nearly tight enough to break it. "I mean...just who does he think he is, keeping me locked up like this? Like I'm a...a common prisoner or something."

Setting half a chocolate chip cookie down on a small white plate, Brianna gave me a sly little look. "Well...rest assured, I don't think he thinks you're a common prisoner. That's why you're here in this apartment, and not in an actual prison. And in fact, I think the fact that he thinks you're a very, very
special
prisoner is what had him so crabby when Owen and I saw him just a little bit ago. He told us that you'd refused to have dinner with him, and he was...." Brianna erupted in a brief burst of giggles. "Brette, he seemed really upset and...maybe a little frustrated about the whole thing. See, he's not used to being turned down. He's used to women practically throwing themselves at him. And being denied the pleasure of your company at dinner seems to have really put him into a state."

I scoffed. "Well, good. Because he's put me into a little bit of a state myself. Just the fact that he even admitted that he doesn't think I'm a spy, and he even said that he never really even thought I was, and yet he still insists on keeping me a prisoner. I mean, I get the part about his due
diligence to his people and all that
,
I really do. But it's not like I'm going to run around hurting people if this apartment door is unlocked. It just makes me so mad. It just makes me so mad and...." Suddenly, for reasons I couldn't even fathom, I thought of the way Truman's mouth had felt on my bare skin when he'd kissed my hand. "It just makes me so mad and...."

I trailed off again, wondering how his mouth would feel on mine. And on other parts of my body.

But, not wanting to think about this too long in front of Brianna, I gave my head a quick shake. "He's just got me really mad, and wound up, and...just angry.  And you can tell him I said that. I won't even be able to tell him myself, since I'm no longer speaking to him until he deactivates the keypad lock on the front door."

Brianna, who'd been taking a drink of milk, set the glass on the table, seeming to be fighting a smile for some reason. "I'll be sure to relay the message. You're just as crabby and out of sorts and frustrated as he is. Got it."

"And mad at him. Don't forget that. Mad enough to kick him out if he even dares try to come in here today."

He didn't. I had dinner alone with Brianna that evening. I slept terribly that night. I tossed and turned, waking several times after having very unwelcome dreams about Truman. Specifically his body, and how it might look naked. And how his naked body might feel against mine.

After each of these dreams, I stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore an ache low in my belly. And trying to focus my thoughts instead on how mad at Truman I was.

The next day, Sunday, he came by and asked through the door if I'd like to take a walk through the rooftop garden with him. I said no thank you, just the sound of his deep, rich voice through the door making my nipples stiffen.

"Prisoners probably shouldn't be let out, Truman. You wouldn't want me trying to make an escape, now would you?"

I heard him make a frustrated sighing-groaning noise, but he didn't say anything more. Then he left.

Monday went by similarly. He came by twice, asking through the door if I would take a garden walk with him or at least talk to him, but I still said no. Later, Brianna came by for a visit, saying that Truman had become so irritated and crabby that he'd nearly fired one of his advisers over some innocuous comment.

Monday night, I had more dreams about him, a little naughtier than the ones I'd had the night before. Each time, I awoke with an ache low in my belly and the feminine folds between my legs slick. It had been a long time since I'd enjoyed any physical intimacy, and I was becoming frustrated to the point that I knew my own hand would do little to lessen it, so I didn't even try. Instead, I rolled over in bed, huffing, squeezing my thighs together and trying to focus my thoughts on how mad I still was at Truman, which I was. Each time I awoke, it took me at least a half-hour to fall back asleep.

Tuesday, Brianna wasn't able to visit. It stormed all day. I spent at least an hour in the Jacuzzi, willing the hot water to ease the ache low in my belly. Which was now seeming to become ever-present. Late in the afternoon, Charlie the guard came by with a handwritten dinner invitation from Truman. I took the note, scrawled
no thank you
across the top, and handed it back to Charlie.

"Please tell him that prisoners usually don't make the best company."

I ate dinner by myself that evening while thunder crashed outside. After I'd loaded the dishwasher, the storm seemed to have passed, and as I was starting to feel just a touch of cabin fever, I put on my wedge-heeled white-and-tan sandals and stepped out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air.

Evening was beginning to fall, and that, combined with heavy gray clouds still left from the storm, made the sky nearly dark as full night. Which wasn't to say it was pitch-black, because New York City never was. Including parallel New York City, apparently. All around me, various buildings and skyscrapers twinkled with light, as did cars creeping down the busy city streets below.

I hadn't even been out on the balcony a minute when a loud knock sounded at the front door. Loud enough that I could hear it all the way outside, even though I'd only left one of the French doors open a crack.

Having a hunch who it was, I came back in the apartment, prepared to tell Truman through the door to leave me alone. But to my surprise, and that was putting it mildly, he came striding in the apartment before I was even halfway across the living room. I stopped dead in my tracks, balling my fists. He hadn't even given me a chance to let him in.

Almost unbearably attractive and sexy in jeans and a white t-shirt fitted just enough to highlight the ridges of his well-muscled chest and abs, he paused beneath the archway at the end of the foyer. "We're going to talk. And right now, Brette."

I folded my arms across my chest, heartbeat racing. "No. We're not. Not until you deactivate the damn keypad on the damn door so that I'm not a prisoner anymore."

"Not happening."

"Then, just get out of here, please. Right now."

"You're ordering me out of an apartment that I actually own?"

"Yes. Because I'm currently being held as a prisoner in this apartment, which I do not appreciate."

"Well, you’d do well to get over that fact. Because I
am
still holding you as a prisoner, and I'm not leaving here until you sit down and talk to me."

"Wrong. Get out right now, or I'll...I'll...."

  I wasn't quite sure what I'd do.

Truman's gray eyes glinted.

"You'll do what? You'll call Detective Rolando Feathers on me?"

Suddenly and thoroughly enraged, I grabbed a box of tissues from the clear glass coffee table. "Get out right this second, or I'll throw this box of tissues right at your face."

He clenched his strong jaw for a moment before taking several big, slow steps forward, his gaze locked on my face. "I wouldn't if I were you. Because if you act like a bratty little girl, I'll treat you like one, Brette. And that's a promise."

For some odd reason, I actually liked the sound of that, and I exhaled a fluttery breath. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He took yet another step forward, now only about three feet away from me, still looking directly into my eyes. "It means exactly what I said. You throw that box of tissues at me, and I'll pull down your jeans and panties and spank your bare bottom until it's pink."

I gasped, shocked, yet strangely, very urgently sexually excited at the same time. "You wouldn't dare, Truman. You wouldn't-"

"Try me. See if I'm bluffing. Though think hard about it. Because if you do decide to act like a brat and throw the tissues, rest assured that I'm going to follow through."

While I felt my feminine folds become slick, I decided that for whatever reason, I actually wanted him to follow through. And I actually hoped he would.

I didn't even hesitate before lobbing the box of tissues right at his face. I knew he'd catch the box, and he did, easily.

With his strong jaw clenched, he took another big step forward, set the box of tissues back on the coffee table, and then took me by the hand. He then led me over to the wall opposite, wordlessly. I wasn't even quite sure why, but the thought of what was to come had me more turned on than I'd maybe ever been in my life.

Truman grabbed my wrists in one large, long-fingered hand and moved my hands high up on the wall. "Don't move them."

He released my wrists, and I did as I was told, palms flat against the wall. Then, from behind, he unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, the touch of his fingers around my lower belly making me choke back a moan. Next, he pulled my jeans and underwear down to my knees, slowly, seeming to choke back a little noise himself. The ache low in my belly was almost becoming unbearable.

Without saying a word, he pulled my hips back, making my full bottom jut out, before once again taking both my wrists in one large, strong hand. He then briefly caressed my bare rear with the other. Right before lifting that hand and bringing it down on one of my rear cheeks with a sharp, stinging swat.

He repeated this action at least a half-dozen times on each of my cheeks, making me whimper, and not just because of the sting.

When he'd finished, he pressed his body against mine from behind, his breathing heavy, then moved his mouth to my ear and spoke in a low, husky voice. "Now, are you going to throw the tissue box at me again?"

I didn't even hesitate. "Yes. And maybe even again tonight."

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he began planting a  long, slow line of kisses down the side of my neck, his mouth firm and warm.

"My God, Brette. You have no idea how absolutely gorgeous you are. Gorgeous and maddeningly sexy. Enough to drive a man almost literally insane."

Whimpering with desire, I pushed my bottom back against his body, feeling a distinct and very large hardness around the area of his crotch.

Grinding my rear against it, I bit back a moan. "Please. Take your jeans down, too. I want to feel you."

Not needing to be asked twice, he did just that, and in record time, pressing the length of his body against mine and once again pinning my wrists in one of his large hands. I could tell his manhood was also large, maybe even very large. He was also rock-hard, harder than I'd ever felt a man before. Ever. By far.

I glanced back at him, panting. "Please. Let me feel you now."

I soon did feel his hardness, though not inside of me, how I expected I would. This other way was so pleasurable, I threw my head back, crying out.

He'd guided his manhood between my thighs, which were pressed together on account of my jeans being down around my ankles, preventing me from spreading my feet very far. And he was now slowly thrusting his granite-hard rod between my thighs and slick feminine lips, dragging the considerable length of it across my sensitive feminine bud, which was aching and throbbing. The sensation of being pleasured in this fashion while still having my hands pinned up on the wall, was almost more than I could take. Though I didn't want it to end.

Between moans, I somehow managed to form words. "Don't stop. Don't stop doing that. Please."

He didn't. He continued thrusting his beyond-stiffened shaft between my slick thighs slowly, grunting with each movement. And soon, I was moaning nearly non-stop, feeling every ridge and vein on his long, thick manhood.

Knowing I was quickly approaching climax, I glanced back at him, suddenly desperate to feel him actually inside of me. "I want to feel you deep inside me now. Please, Truman."