Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial Read online

  Caught Up In You

  Edgeplay: The complete serial

  Jenna McCormick

  Elements Unleashed

  Copyright © 2019 by Jenna McCormick

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Created with Vellum

  Caught Up In You: Edgeplay The Complete Serial

  ISBN 978-1-951215-01-9

  McCormick/ Jenna

  Caught Up In You Edgeplay: The Complete Serial /Jenna McCormick = 2nd edition

  1. Contemporary Romance—Fiction 2. Erotic Romance—Fiction 3. Alpha Male—Fiction 4. BBW—Fiction 5. BDSM—Fiction 6. Billionaire Romance—Fiction 7. Erotica—Fiction 8. Submission—Fiction 9. Domination—Fiction 10. Rubenesque—Fiction 11. New York—Fiction 12. Dominant Male Romance Possessive—Fiction 13. Romantic Suspense—Fiction 14. BDSM Romance Kindle Unlimited—Fiction 15. BDMS Dark Romances—Fiction 16. Billionaire Romance Kindle Books —Fiction 17. Erotic Romance Books Kindle Unlimited—Fiction 18. Dubious Consent Forced Sex—Fiction I. Title

  I know it's wrong, but I just can't help myself.

  Baily Sinclair’s only decadence is her nightly skinny-dip in the lavish pool on the estate where she works. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, right? At least until she’s caught in the act by a stranger who demands her submission. But who knew giving in could make a BBW feel so powerful?

  He’s everything I always dreamed of… and so much more.

  Connor Edge is a man divided. Two different personalities lurk under his expensive clothes. One hot and dominant, the other shamed by the sexual encounters and BDSM scenes he can’t remember. Though her better judgment tells her to steer clear, Baily is drawn to billionaire playboy who desires her so intensely. Everything involving Connor is larger than life, including his dark secrets. Is her trust and love enough to overcome the thorny snarls in his mind? Or will the shadows of the past eradicate any hope for a happily ever after?

  Praise for Jenna McCormick

  "Jenna McCormick has written a first teasing episode with room to develop her characters and makes her writing stand out above most billionaire stories."

  Jane Jones Amazon Top 1000 Reviewer

  "I loved this series and I am so mad that it's over. I want more!"

  Crystal Newman, Amazon Customer

  “…totally addictive and Screaming Hot story...I adored this book…”

  Karen, Audible listener

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

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  Also Available

  1

  I really must stop doing this.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure the grounds are completely deserted. Though I expect nothing less on a midsummer midnight on the otherwise unoccupied Rosemont Estate, the feeling of being watched sticks with me. It’s not like I’m stealing the silverware. I just want a soothing dip in the pool.

  So why don’t you ask then? My snarky inner self crosses her arms and taps her foot. Afraid he’ll say no?

  She knows me too well. Of course I’m afraid, not just that I will be forbidden from using the Olympic-sized swimming pool, but that I’ll lose my job for asking.

  Or more accurately, lose my grandfather’s job as head groundskeeper. The one he can’t do anymore and I’m secretly performing to pay for his placement in the assisted living facility.

  If the Andersons were still the owners I might have broached the subject, but six weeks ago the private compound in upstate New York was sold. I haven’t met my new boss yet, don’t even know his name. Which doesn’t stop me from helping myself to his pool.

  My cell phone rings just as I reach for the latch on the wrought iron gate. I scream, disconcert at the interruption, my heart banging around in my chest like a pinball. Sucking in a lungful of oxygen, I glance at the display, wondering who is calling so late. Please don’t be the nursing home saying something happened to Pops. Hmm, not an 845 area code, or a number I recognize.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Sinclair?” The voice is deep, masculine with a jagged edge, and totally unfamiliar.

  “Who’s speaking?”

  A garbled reply, totally incomprehensible through the static. Cell phone service sucks out here sometimes; all the rolling hills of the Hudson Valley make reception spotty if there isn’t a tower nearby. The closest one is about ten miles, on the other side of the village.

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” I say, but the line’s gone dead. After checking for the signal on my phone, satisfied that the trouble wasn’t on my end, I dismiss the call from my thoughts. Probably a telemarketer on the west coast who didn’t realize he was calling at midnight my time. He can always call back and leave a voicemail.

  The well-oiled gate swings open silently and I lay my towel, keys, and phone on a chaise lounge before shucking my robe.

  Maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous about these moonlight swims if I wore a bathing suit. But then I’d be denying myself the illicit thrill of skinny dipping. Since my life seriously lacks in illicit thrills these days, I take whatever I can get.

  After executing a clean dive into the water, I start a leisurely backstroke, staring up at the fat orb of the moon. The temperature is perfect, still warm after the sweltering heat of the day. Clouds scud across the moon, casting shadows over my naked body as the light ebbs and flows. It looks to be almost full, for the second time this month. A blue moon. I remember Pops spinning tales about nocturnal creatures that only come out to play in the light of the blue moon. Fairies, werewolves, sylvans, and water sprites wreaked havoc and then disappeared. Looking at the dark, dense lines of evergreens surrounding the property, it’s easy to imagine that all sorts of things inhabit the night when no one’s looking.

  Of course, as acting groundskeeper, I know for a fact that nothing lives in that copse of trees but a few cardinals and gray squirrels. But pretending I belong with them, an enchanted creature cursed to a mortal life, makes things easier somehow. It’s a game I’ve been playing since I was a child and am not ready to give up.

  A splash directly behind me makes me jump, and I right my body as two strong arms pluck me from the water and hold me against a wall.

  “Who are you and how did you get in here?” a deep voice growls in my ear.

  The wall is actually a chest, his still clothed chest. The buttons on his waterlogged shirt dig into my spine. The cool night
air on my wet skin and his vise-like hold make me shiver and I tremble “I-I’m Baily. I work for the owner.”

  “Bullshit,” he replies. “The only person employed here is Thomas Sinclair, head groundskeeper.”

  How does he know that? Fear tightens my throat but I force the words out. “I’m his granddaughter.”

  “Really?” My captor doesn’t sound as though he believes me. “Convenient. The granddaughter who roams the estate at night buck naked?” The arm around my midsection shifts until his hand strokes over the sensitive swell of my breast. “More likely you’re here to seduce Mr. Edge.”

  “Who?” I can’t think with his hands touching me this way, so sensuously, creating heat against my cool flesh. I should be afraid of some strange man touching me this intimately, but I’m not. Self-preservation doesn’t seem half as important as the strong arms holding me close. God, I’m pathetic. “I swear to you, I don’t even know who Mr. Edge is. Or who you are. For all I know, you’re the trespasser.”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation. I have every right to be here.”

  “Then we’re in the same boat!” Sounding indignant is almost impossible with his thumb stroking ever closer to my pebbled nipple. The rasp of his calloused fingers makes me bite back a moan. “Let go of me.”

  Ignoring my command, he dips his head down to the curve of my neck, sinking his teeth into the tendon until I gasp. “Let’s just go wake Mr. Sinclair up, get him to verify your story.”

  “He’s not here,” I tell him quickly. Now what? If I reveal my grandfather’s true location, he’ll be fired, and I need this job, the place to stay along with the money to keep Pops in assisted living. If I tell the security guy as much, my grandfather and I could both wind up homeless before dawn. “He’s visiting a sick relative.”

  “How convenient.” The rasp in the man’s voice makes every cell in my body sit up and take notice. “Any other lies you plan on telling?”

  “It’s the truth,” I blurt out, and his hold tightens.

  “Who are you?” His tenor is lower, sounding even more dangerous. “Who do you work for? Tabloids? Local news? Did you pay Sinclair to let you in to seduce Edge?”

  This man is beyond paranoid. He must be part of Mr. Edge’s security detail. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone, I swear. Look at me. I’m not exactly rocking the Mata Hari bod over here.”

  He stills completely, his demeanor changing, his touch turning more exploratory. “You underestimate yourself.”

  “I know what I look like.” Why does he argue? Isn’t being caught in the buff in a strange man’s pool humiliating enough? Does he really need to make me call attention to my cellulite to prove a point?

  Pushing me against the side of the pool, he bends me over until my breasts and belly flatten against the concrete. The abrasive stone scrapes against my breasts, and the cold tightens my nipples, making them ache.

  He pulls my arms behind me, secures them with one hand, and leans over to whisper in my ear. “Lucky for Edge, I’m willing to fall on a grenade for him. And darlin’, you’re the sexiest grenade I’ve ever seen.” A southern drawl slips out.

  His strength, my nakedness and the position I’m in make it impossible for me to misunderstand his intentions. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “Isn’t this what you want, baby? To be fucked good and hard, made to come by a powerful man?”

  His words make me wet. I don’t want them to. Don’t want to be turned on by this borderline violent display. But I can’t deny I am. How many times have I wished for something—anything—to happen to ease my loneliness? This man wasn’t offering me the tender touches or gentle caresses I long for. Whatever is between us is darker, dirtier, and I want to grab it with both hands and cover myself with it.

  I think he’ll let me go if I say no.

  Why don’t I say no?

  Too stupid to live. Snarkarella shakes her head in disgust.

  Through his wet pants, I feel the hard length of his penis. Cock, as my romance novels call it. My face heats thinking the rude word. My sex clenches, not caring what it’s called, just wanting to engulf it and milk it dry.

  The hand not securing my wrists traces the bumps of my spine. “Yeah, you want a good, hard, wet ride. The way you’re rubbing up against me like that tells me everything I need to know.”

  I hadn’t realized I was pushing my backside against him until he said so. My body is on fire, hotter than ever, needing something I couldn’t put a name to. Something my instincts tell me only he can give.

  His hand reaches the waterline and continues its journey south. The slow drag down the crease of my butt makes me shiver. He’s slow, methodical in his touch, exploring carefully, as though mapping my body.

  I hold my breath when he comes to the puckered ring of my anus. I’ve never been touched there, never even imagined it.

  He traces the tiny spot with his fingertips slowly and chuckles low. “That’s more than you bargained for, isn’t it, beauty? Have you ever taken a man here?”

  “I’ve never taken an anything there,” I blurt, then wince at my candor. This conversation is the definition of the word surreal.

  His low groan surprises me. “I like that. The idea of getting you ready to take me in your sweet ass, working you open slowly until you fit around my cock like a snug little sleeve. You would let me.”

  He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but I nod anyway, completely lost to the sensual spell he’s cast over me.

  When he moves his finger away, I shiver with a mixture of regret and relief, at least until it traces the outer lips of my vag with that same maddening slow and steady pressure.

  “Are you all wet here, thinking about fucking a billionaire? What do you think he’ll buy you for the privilege of slamming into your greedy cunt? A car? A new fall wardrobe? Just how much is this pussy worth?”

  No one has ever spoken to me that way before, using such crude words. Instead of shaming me, they add kindling to the fire inside me, making it burn higher, hotter, until it rages out of control. I’m more afraid of this sensation than I am of him. A token protest rises up past my lips. “Let me go. I’m not some whore.”

  “No, you’re not, because you’re going to give it to me for free,” he growls.

  Releasing my hands, he lifts me out of the pool. I scramble to get away, but not fast enough, because he clamps onto my hips and buries his face between my legs. I groan when I feel his tongue tormenting my throbbing clitoris and shiver when he laps through the folds. More wetness spills from my channel, my body preparing for him in ways I’ve only ever read about.

  “Finger your clit while I eat you out,” he orders me between strong licks.

  Trembling all over at the thought, I shake my head back and forth, though whether I’m denying him or myself, I have no idea.

  A firm hand slaps my ass. “Do it,” he growls again in insistent demand.

  Can I really help him with my own seduction? Letting him do the things he’s been doing is one thing, but truly participating is a giant leap off a cliff.

  It’s been so long though since I’ve been compelled to touch myself. The way he pushes me makes me realize what I’ve all but forgotten - that I’m a woman with sexual urges and needs.

  Pressing one cheek against the concrete, I spread my knees wider. He makes a sound of approval when my index finger slides between the slippery lips of my sex. His tongue thrashes over the pad before he goes back to licking up every drop my body yields for him like it’s liquid gold. I work my nub faster, pressing harder, craving release.

  “Yes, just like that.” His hands are clamped down on my upthrust hips, his view of me massaging my open pussy unimaginably graphic. His mouth is thorough in its exploration of my secrets. Bold swipes cross my folds, dipping into my well and then dragging up over my perineum. He stops short of my anus, though I get the feeling it’s for my comfort more than his own. The way he brushes the pad of his thumb over the spot tells me nothing on my body is truly
out of bounds.

  “Do you want to come?” he asks, between dips into my blood-engorged pussy.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  “Beg me,” he demands, landing another stinging slap on my backside.

  “Please, let me come,” the words spill out. I’m poised higher than ever before, my thighs trembling, blood pumping. The fall from this height may kill me, but I want it.

  No sooner have my words left my mouth than he’s working two blunt fingers into my channel. My excitement eases his way, and his lips seal over my busy finger and clit, sucking both into his mouth.

  I fly over the edge, coming in a wet rush and crying out at the sensations bombarding me. His fingers, his lips and tongue, the fact that I haven’t seen his face, don’t know his name, and let him do this to me anyway, all coalesce into an explosion of self from the inside out.

  Slowly, his fingers slide from me and his lips let me go. He’s breathing hard behind me, and I’m too dazed to wonder what he’ll do next. What I’ll let him do next.

  “Now, get out before I have you arrested for trespassing.” The anger is back in his voice. Where a minute before he was hot and lover-like, now there is only a frosty coolness.

  Shame burns through me. What I’d perceived as a naughty thrill morphs into a cheap sexual act. He did this to prove a point, to put me in my place. And I let him. Hell, I helped him.