He moved fast, and she let out a screech when she flew through the air, landed on her back and took his weight.
Then she took his fingers moving on her sides, flailing under him, pushing at his forearms, her head thrashing, shouting through uncontrolled giggles, “Stop it, Branch!”
“I guess you’re right,” he murmured, not letting up. “Most everyone is ticklish.”
She stilled, so he stopped, and she shot him a glare.
She surged back into squirming and giggling as he went back at her.
“Stop it, Branch!” she yelled.
He gave her more, smiling doing it, until he decided she’d had enough. She let out another shriek when he angled off her abruptly and pulled them both to their feet.
“Right, Angie, time to quit fuckin’ around. You got houses to sell.”
She smacked his upper arm, half irritated, half playful, then immediately turned and flounced in her short little nightie to the bathroom.
He enjoyed the show before he followed her and found her at the sink, pulling her hair into a ponytail.
She sent him another glare through the mirror and, finished with her ponytail, she snatched up the electric toothbrush, nabbing her toothbrush head that was resting in the holder beside his and snapping it on, muttering irately, “Don’t think that didn’t earn retribution.”
He fit his front to her back and dropped his mouth to her neck. “You said it the first night you worked me, Angie. But now you know from experience I like being bad.”
She shivered against him.
Branch smiled against her skin.
“Well, that is not going to get you a spanking. That is going to get you a paddle, handsome. And I’m a frigging virtuoso with a paddle.”
He put his chin to her shoulder and looked into her eyes in the mirror.
“Bring it on, Mistress.”
“Stop turning me on,” she clipped. “I have houses to sell.”
He grinned into the mirror then kissed her shoulder before he shoved her out of the way so he could splash water on his face.
Branch confiscated her toothbrush when she was done with it and stepped aside so she could wash her face.
He thought she needed another basin.
Then he thought he didn’t mind sharing the one she had.
After he had that thought, he shoved it into the back of his head.
Then, together, they got in her shower.
* * *
“No fucking way.”
“But, Branch.”
“No … fucking … way.”
She set her face.
Branch just stared down at her.
It was that afternoon and Amélie had called them in, declaring they’d made their decision, there was no reason to wait any longer, it was time to add to the family.
He should have demanded to see photos of what was available.
He had not.
Big mistake.
“We think he’s a bichpoo, that’s bichon frise and poodle. Obviously you can see he’s light brown,” Amélie stated, not at all helpfully.
Because to that, Evangeline cried, “A bichpoo! I’ve always wanted a bichpoo.”
“You have not,” Branch declared.
She frowned at him. “If I knew they existed, I would have.” She swung an arm toward the cage in Amélie’s vet’s building and the little mop of a dog who was staring out at them with black eyes that, fuck him, looked curious, intelligent … and sad. “I mean, look at him.”
Branch was already looking at him, but when she demanded he keep doing it, he looked to her and slowly shook his head.
Her frown became a glower.
“A neighbor heard him whining and not stopping,” Amélie put in. “She knew the people in the house were on vacation so she called the police. They went in, found him in a pen with a lot of food that he’d kicked outside the cage and water bowls he’d turned over, caked in his own excrement. When Dr. Hill got him, he was only mildly malnourished, but severely dehydrated. However, he’s quite all right now.”
Shit, fuck.
Angie’s face melted.
Shit, fuck.
“That client has three dogs or she would have kept him,” Leigh went on. “So she brought him to us.”
“Branch,” Angie whispered.
Shit. Fuck.
“Baby, that dog is gonna get adopted in no time. He’ll get a good home. You need something bigger that can keep you company but also that can keep you safe,” he said gently.
“He hasn’t been adopted yet and he’s been here for days,” she replied.
Branch looked to Amélie.
She studiously avoided catching his gaze.
Right.
He drew in breath.
“Fine,” Evangeline muttered before he could say anything and looked to Leigh. “Can I just snuggle him for a while?”
Shit.
Fuck.
“Of course,” Amélie stated quickly, moving to the cage.
“Angie, that isn’t a good idea,” Branch warned.
She tipped her eyes to his. “Just a little snuggle. He’s barely more than a puppy and all puppies need snuggles.”
“Dr. Hill thinks he’s around six months,” Amélie shared, pulling the dog from his confines. “So definitely still a puppy.”
Christ.
Before Branch could intervene, Leigh gave him to Angie and she held him close, cooing to him while he wriggled enthusiastically in her arms.
And through it, Branch watched his babe fall in love.
Jesus.
“Give the thing to me,” he ordered.
Her gaze shot to him and he would almost swear he saw her fighting the urge to curl protectively over the animal and hold him away.
“Branch.”
“Give it to me, Angie.”
Looking like she was Sophie making her choice, she handed the dog to Branch.
He took it, held it up to his face and the thing wiggled in his hold, not trying to get down, trying to lick Branch’s face.
Shit, fuck.
He tucked the dog in his arm, curled his fingers around the dog’s scruff and started massaging.
The dog began panting and settled in.
“You get him, you also get another one, a bigger one, one I pick, and no cat,” he announced.
Her face lit with joy and that look crawled right into his soul.
Even so, she declared, “But I want a cat.”
“Then get a cat. But you’re getting another dog too, Angie.”
She fell on that instantly. “Deal!”
“Wonderful!” Amélie exclaimed.
Branch looked to the ceiling, and as usual with Evangeline, even though this time it was irritating as hell and had the addition of Amélie joining in, he enjoyed the pain of being played.
The dog twisted its neck and started gnawing on Branch’s fingers.
Branch looked down at it, and when the animal felt his attention, his head snapped back and he stared up at Branch, panting and looking like he was smiling.
“Shit. Fuck,” he muttered.
Angie giggled.
Amélie emitted a laugh that sounded like a purr.
Branch looked to Olly’s woman and ordered, “Get the papers.”
She inclined her head, shot Evangeline a happy look and hustled out on her high heels.
Angie got close, her hands out. “Can I have him?”
“I got him,” Branch replied and looked to her. “You need to fill out the paperwork.”
She was staring up at him, not blasting him with a smile but her eyes were burning right into him.
“Right,” she whispered.
“Papers, babe.”
She nodded, got closer, scratched her new pup’s head then stretched up.
Branch gave her his mouth.
She took it in a soft kiss and then strutted out, hips swaying.
When she disappeared, or the view of her ass did, Branch cut his attention back to the dog.
“You’re a lucky fuck,” he told him.
The dog yapped exuberantly.
Yeah, that dog was not dumb.
Branch pulled the pup up his chest, buried his hand in its fur again and followed the women.
* * *
Branch’s eyes opened to see Angie leaning over him.
“Time to go to bed, honey.”
Damn, he’d conked out.
He felt warmth at his chest, saw Murphy curled there asleep, so he wrapped the pup in an arm and did an ab crunch to pull himself out of the couch.
When he headed to the big crate they’d brought him home in, Angie spoke.
“I’ve puppy-proofed the laundry room,” she told him. “You can put him in there. I don’t want him in another cage.”
“Good idea,” he muttered.
He took him to the laundry room, saw he had plenty of food, water, his new dog bed, some toys to gnaw on, so he put him down and gently held him back with a foot before he shut him in.
He turned to see Evangeline close so he tossed an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a light switch to turn it off.
“He’s so cute, I can’t wait until he’s used to his new home and he can sleep with us.”
When she was curled into his arms, that’d work.
When she had him tied down, it would not.
He didn’t share that. He held her to him as he moved around the house, switching off all the lights and glancing at all the doors to make sure the locks were turned.
Only then did he guide them to the stairs.
“You’re cute with him,” she noted as he led them up.
“Whatever,” he muttered.
“You like him, Branch,” she said, laughter and happiness in her voice.
He grunted, hit the landing with her and turned them to the next set of stairs.
“Don’t fight it,” she advised.
He felt those words hit his gut and chest and immediately shoved them to the back of his head.
He got naked. She put on a nightie. They got in bed. Branch turned out the lights.
Then he turned into her and gathered her close.
She snuggled closer.
“Thanks for letting me have him,” she murmured, giving him a squeeze.
He’d let her have him but the dog had claimed Branch and she knew it.
This was likely because Branch had claimed the dog and both of them knew that.
He shoved that into the back of his head too and gave her a return squeeze.
“Not a problem. Now go to sleep.”
“’Kay. ’Night, baby.”
“’Night, Angie.”
She gave his throat a nuzzle with her face and within seconds was asleep.
Seconds later, Branch had followed her.
* * *
“Mistress,” Branch growled.
It was the next evening.
He was on his knees bent over his spanking bench. She’d pulled his tee over his head but left it stuck around his biceps, his arms stretched out in front of him, fingers curled around the edge of the bench.
She’d also pulled his jeans and shorts over his ass and down to his thighs, where she forced his legs apart so his clothes caught on them, biting in.
And she’d slid up his cock ring, inserted the bullet at the end of the tail up his ass, turned it on low and then she went at him with her paddle.
She had not lied.
She rocked it with a spanking. She didn’t mess around with a flog or a strap. And she killed it with a switch.
But she was genius with a paddle.
She had not tied him down. After being bad, he now had to take his paddling, proving he could be a good boy.
That was only part of how she aced the paddle.
She stopped whacking him and rubbed the flat of the paddle over his ass.
He drew in deep breaths to force some modicum of a recovery.
“Has my big boy had enough?” she taunted.
Taunted.
He twisted his neck to look up at her, and at one look, his aching cock pulsed.
He was a bad boy on his knees with his pants bunched at his thighs.
She was the Mistress teaching a lesson still wearing the tight skirt she’d worn to work, the see-through blouse with the little polka dots on it and a cami underneath, and she’d slipped her high-heeled pumps back on after they’d had dinner and she’d ordered him to the playroom.
Her hair was up in a mess at the top of her head, curls trailing down her neck.
His babe.
His Mistress.
His Evangeline.
Perfection from head to toe.
“Give it,” he challenged.
She lifted the hand not holding the paddle but holding the remote to his tail.
“Take it,” she whispered and the thing thumped harder up his ass, vibrated deeper through his balls and around the base of his cock.
His neck arched back, his chest pressed into the bench, and his ass automatically tipped for her.
She walloped it with his paddle.
Branch stayed arched. He couldn’t help it as the pain burned through his ass, his hole to his swaying balls and down his swinging dick, the cockhead slamming against the underside of the bench with each blow.
It was outstanding.
“Who’s my bad boy?” she asked.
Whack!
“Me,” he grunted.
“Are you going to be good?”
Whack!
“No,” he hissed between his teeth.
“No?”
Whack!
Braced to the point he was straining, Branch focused on not coming instead of focusing on speaking.
“My bad boy needs more,” she murmured.
Whack!
“Yes,” he forced out.
“More?”
Whack!
“More, Mistress, please,” he bit off.
Whack!
“Fuck yeah, baby, yeah. Give your bad boy his paddle,” he growled.
Christ, he was going to blow.
Whack!
Branch grunted and his cock slammed into the bench so he grunted again because that hurt so fucking, fucking good.
She rested the paddle along the small of his back but didn’t let up on him. She dug her fingernails into the flesh at the backs of his thighs and up over his ass.
Fuck, he loved it when she did that, anytime, but especially after she’d given his flesh the heat.
He clenched his teeth before the pressure left and then he huffed out a breath.
“You going to be good, handsome?” she asked quietly.
“I like being bad, Mistress.”
“Good,” she whispered, drove her thumb up his ass and his body jolted.
Oh yeah.
“Fuck me with that,” he groaned.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, even as she slid it out but slid two fingers in and did just that.
Sensational.
“I think I want to see if I can make my big boy come taking his paddle,” she finished.
She glided her fingers out, took up the paddle again and he curled his hold tighter around the edge of the bench and locked his legs.
Then the vibrations up his ass and at his balls and cock hit the max and Branch automatically started humping the air for her, the paddle landing on his ass each time he swung out.
Yeah.
She was a magician with a paddle.
He only had it in him to give her a warning, groaned, “Mistress,” before he bucked on the bench, shooting his cum under it, hips thrusting convulsively, head back, jaw hard, growls rumbling through the room.
He vaguely heard the paddle thud to the floor but the feeling wasn’t vague when she latched onto his balls and his dick, squeezing the former and milking him dry with the latter.
When he was slumped on the bench, forehead to it, hips flexing faintly, his cock jumping with the aftershocks in her hand, she stroked the final spurts out of him. She turned th
e toy off and soothed the heat of his skin with her mouth, massaging his balls and gently fondling his dick while she did it.
She bit lightly into the flesh of his cheek and his body gave a weak jolt before she brushed her lips softly along the skin of his lower back and he felt the bullet glide out, the ring slide off, the toy thudding quietly when it hit the ground.
Evangeline moved over him and he felt her tits pressed to his back as she rested against him, bent over him.
“Stay there, honey.”
Not hard to do. At that moment, he wasn’t sure he could move.
“You got it,” he muttered.
She kissed his back and left him.
When she returned, he was too spent to do much but let out a low, pleased grunt when she slid his jewel up his ass.
She resumed her position bent over him, lying on his back, and said into his skin, “Feel like tying you down tonight so you can eat me while I stare at my jewel winking up your ass and then I can play with you again in the morning.”
Even empty, he knew when he felt her words in his dick that he felt like that too.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She trailed a hand over his hip, between his legs, skimming his junk, making him jerk, before she wrapped her arm around him at his lower abdominals.
“You’re everything.”
Branch froze at her words.
She wasn’t done.
“It’s like I wrote out a wish list and whatever powers at work who got hold of it made you just for me, ticking off all the boxes.”
He closed his eyes and whispered, “Angie.”
She gave his abs a squeeze. “It’s the truth.”
He knew that.
He knew exactly that.
Except the other way around.
“Baby—” he began.
“And you should know the truth.”
He started to press up but she pushed him down with her torso, and her arm left him so she could cup his cock and balls.
He stilled.
“It’s still my game, my rules, Branch,” she reminded him.
Played.
Again.
She rubbed her nose against his back and then whispered there, “Get up. Pull down your shirt. Pull up your pants. Go upstairs and position how you know I want you. I’ll be up in a bit and you can take care of me.”
“Help you clean up, baby,” he murmured.
“You have your orders, handsome.”
He let that sit a beat before he sighed.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good.” She was back to whispering, rubbing her nose on his back, and she did that awhile and Branch loved every second of it before she moved away.