Dirty Defiance (Filthy Series Book 3)

  Dirty Defiance

  Brenda Rothert

  Chelle Bliss

  Contents

  FILTHY TRILOGY

  1. Reagan

  2. Jude

  3. Reagan

  4. Jude

  5. Reagan

  6. Jude

  7. Reagan

  8. Jude

  9. Reagan

  10. Jude

  11. Reagan

  12. Jude

  13. Reagan

  14. Jude

  15. Reagan

  16. Jude

  17. Reagan

  18. Jude

  19. Reagan

  20. Jude

  21. Reagan

  22. Jude

  23. Reagan

  24. Jude

  25. Reagan

  26. Jude

  27. Reagan

  28. Jude

  ABOUT BRENDA ROTHERT

  ABOUT CHELLE BLISS

  FILTHY TRILOGY

  FILTHY TRILOGY

  ALL BOOKS ARE NOW AVAILABLE!

  DIRTY WORK

  DIRTY SECRET

  DIRTY DEFIANCE

  1

  Reagan

  I strain my wrists against the tension of the nylon rope binding them together. They don’t move at all, which is no surprise.

  My husband learned how to tie knots in the military, and he learned well. I think the only thing he’s more expert in is my body. His large hand is reminding me of that now as he trails it up my inner thigh, leaving a scorching ache in its wake.

  “Miss me, Reagan?” His deep voice is raspy with desire.

  He knows damn well I missed him, but this is our new game. And damned if it doesn’t make me hotter than anything ever has before.

  “Yes.” It’s more of a whimper than a word.

  I don’t whimper. At least, I didn’t until I married Jude Titan. He brings things out of me, though, and he glories in doing it.

  “Hmm.” He shakes his head and runs his palm back down my thigh, making me whine with disappointment. “I hardly even heard you. You must not have missed me much.”

  “I did.” My eyes widen as I blurt it out. “I missed you so fucking much, Jude. Touch me.”

  A smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “You want me to touch you?”

  “Jude…” Annoyance tinges my voice.

  Before he walked in the door a few minutes ago, he’d been gone for nearly three weeks on a work trip. Now that he’s running for governor, we don’t get as much time for anything anymore. Even sex.

  “Taking a tone with me?” He arches a brow with amusement. “I told you to expect this. Remember when you sent me that photo of your fingers in your pussy last week?”

  I try not to smile, but it’s so hard. He’d told me he was about to walk into a big fundraising dinner meeting over the phone, and I’d sent him the photo as soon as we hung up. He’d sent a growly response about having a hard-on and getting back at me.

  And my body had heated in response to those words. Our games are torture for me, but it’s a delicious torture I crave.

  “I remember,” I manage, sucking in a breath as his fingertips graze over my bare rib cage.

  He’d told me to be naked when he walked in the door, and I had been—and spread-eagled on our bed to boot. But after letting his dark gaze sweep me up and down as he stepped out of his shoes and took off his tie, he’d told me to get up.

  Moving painfully slowly, he’d taken the neatly wound red nylon ropes from a dresser drawer and drawn his gaze up and down me yet again, his charcoal dress pants tented with his erection.

  I’d expected a fast, hard fuck. My body had been ready for that. But he’d left me, nipples hard and pussy wet, making me stand facing him in front of a chest of drawers, where he’d made me spread my feet apart so he could bind each of my ankles to a leg of the dark bureau.

  And now I stand here, legs open, nipples still hard and pussy still very wet, as he taunts me.

  “I’m at a disadvantage, babe,” he says in a low tone, unbuttoning the top button of his white dress shirt. His eyes are locked on mine as he slowly moves to the second one. “The other men I travel with can look at the female lobbyists with legs for days. They can spend the night with the women we meet at events who throw themselves at us. But me…” He shakes his head slightly as he reaches the fifth button of his shirt.

  I swallow hard, my body practically throbbing with awareness of him. He’s several feet away, but I caught a note of his body wash when he was tying me up, and I can still smell it. My body knows that scent—it means desire so powerful I have no choice but to give in.

  The corners of his lips quirk up a little. He knows what he’s doing to me right now.

  “I can’t do any of that,” he continues in that low, confident tone I fell in love with when he was my opponent for the Senate seat he now holds. “Because I know I already have the sexiest, smartest, most breathtaking woman waiting for me at home. Other women don’t compare. Only you can satisfy me, Reagan. Only my wife.”

  I lick my lips and strain against the rope on my wrists again, to no avail. My hands are staying bound at the small of my back until Jude decides otherwise.

  “That’s right,” I say, pushing my chest out slightly. “So get over here and let me do it. Untie me so we can fuck.”

  “Yeah?” His smile slides away, and his eyes darken with hunger. “That does sound good right now. I could just pick you up and slide you up and down on my dick until I come inside that hot little pussy.”

  My lips part. “Yes. Let’s do that.” I unconsciously tug at the rope around my wrists.

  He tosses his shirt onto our king-sized four-poster bed, reaching for the bottom of his white undershirt and tugging it up and over his head.

  Even after five years of marriage, he still makes my heart race. My gaze wanders across the lines of muscle and dark swirls of ink. That broad, powerful chest is mine. Only I get to feel the dips and curves he works so hard for in the weight room. And God, do I want to feel them now.

  “Nah.” His teasing smile returns. “I’m enjoying this too much.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter.

  “What was that?” His hands freeze over his belt buckle.

  “I said you’re an asshole.” I glare at him. “It’s been three weeks, Jude. I’m dying here. You told me not to masturbate, and I haven’t. But you’ve probably been jerking it every night.”

  Jude’s expression turns serious. “Not even once, babe. I promised you, and I always keep my promises.”

  I believe him. He’s about to poke a hole through his pants with his hard-on. He just has more patience than I do.

  “If I’m an asshole, maybe I should just go catch some news on TV and leave you here to think about things for a bit.” He steps close enough to me that I can feel the heat of his big, powerful body.

  “No.” My whimper is back. “I’m…sorry I called you an asshole.”

  He steps back and returns his hands to the belt buckle, moving painfully slowly.

  “You’re the most headstrong woman I’ve ever known.” The belt buckle clanks as he unfastens it. “It’s one of the things I love most about you. But in here, I make the rules, don’t I?”

  “Yes.” It’s not even hard for me to admit it. I am stubborn as hell everywhere else, but in the bedroom, he owns me.

  “Good girl.” His pants come down, followed by his boxers, and finally I get a look at the rock-hard cock I’ve been fantasizing about.

  “You look hungry, Reagan.” He gives me a look of mock confusion. “You want me to go make you a sandwich or something?”

  “Fuck you,” I mumble.
<
br />   He grins and sits down on the end of our bed, so we’re face-to-face but several feet apart.

  “Maybe,” he says, wrapping a large palm around his erection. “Or maybe I’ll just get myself off while you watch.”

  His groan is long and deep as he strokes up and down his dick two times. My heart hammers and my core floods with heat as I watch him.

  “No. Jude…no.”

  “I haven’t touched it once other than when I took a piss since I left here,” he says. “I promised you I’d wait till I got back, and…I’m back, right?”

  My chest rises and falls as I breathe hard from the sight of him touching what’s mine. Doing what I’ve been dying to do since the first night he was gone.

  “What can I do?” My voice is high and desperate. “I’ll do anything, Jude, just please stop. Please.”

  His smile is almost feral as he takes his hand away and stands up. “That’s what I like to hear. Complete compliance from my little tiger.”

  He knows I hate it when he calls me that, but damned if letting it pass without muttering an objection doesn’t turn me on. I’m done playing. I need to get off.

  “I missed you so much,” he says, closing the distance between us and bending to kiss me.

  He’s slow and tender, his lips and tongue taking their time getting reacquainted with mine. As soon as he pulls away, I moan with disappointment.

  “I missed you too.”

  “I can tell you were a good girl while I was gone.” He sets a palm on my inner thigh, and I suck in a breath. “Going to bed with a wet pussy every night because I told you to.”

  “Yes,” I breathe. “I did.”

  He traces his fingers up my thigh, and when he slides two of them inside me, I let out a cry of relief and pleasure.

  “Fuck, baby,” he mutters. “Look how wet you are. You need this, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He kisses my neck, his lips finding the spot beneath my ear that drives me wild. Jude is the only man who has ever known my body like this. He catalogues every inch of me, his goal to make every time better than the last. I’m pretty damn lucky he’s mine.

  I move my hips in time with his fingers, and when his fingertips glide over my clit, I moan with abandon.

  I’m so close already. I was on the edge before he even touched me. He pulls his face from my neck and watches my expression as I come so hard I practically scream. Tears are welling in my eyes from the intensity of it as I come down from the high, panting.

  “So fucking hot,” my husband says, kissing me softly. “I was fantasizing about that the whole flight home. Watching you come like that.”

  I feel like I could melt into a puddle of sated satisfaction. I return his kiss, and he cups my face in one hand. Then he bends down to untie my ankles from the chest of drawers.

  “Want me to make dinner now, love?” I ask.

  He turns his intense expression up toward me. “Good one. As soon as these are off, you’re bending your ass over that bed. And don’t expect me to untie your hands until I’m done with you.”

  And just like that, my relaxation unravels and I’m completely turned on again. My husband is finally home. And damn, did I miss him.

  2

  Jude

  “You still haven’t told me about your trip,” Reagan says before slurping her first sip of coffee.

  I continue reading, ignoring Reagan as she stands on the other side of the kitchen island. Even after five years of marriage, talking politics with my wife causes more headaches than anything. The make-up sex afterward is always off the charts, but the days of agony and anger aren’t worth the continual strain on our relationship.

  When I don’t answer right away, she curls her fingers over the top of the newspaper and pushes down. “Hey.”

  I peer up, taking in her messy hair and mascara smudged under her eyes. She’s still as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on her. “Hey,” I say, still trying to avoid anything that’s going to spoil the good mood.

  She tilts her head, narrows her eyes, and slides her coffee mug onto the counter. “I’m not asking as your opponent or campaign manager, I’m asking as your wife.”

  A small smile plays across my lips as I set the newspaper down on the cold granite counter. “You can’t separate the two, love.”

  She leans over the counter, letting my button-down dress shirt fall open and exposing her breasts as she starts to play dirty. “Baby,” she says sweetly, trying to manipulate me. “You know that’s not true. I just want to know about my husband’s trip.” She strokes her fingers down her chest, letting the tips disappear between her cleavage as my eyes follow. “You weren’t very talkative while you were gone. Is there something I should be concerned about?”

  I shake my head, eyes locked on her fabulous tits and wonder if I can distract her with my cock instead of my long itinerary. “What would you have to be concerned about?”

  She traces the swell of her breasts, taunting me more. “Maybe you were with another woman.”

  My gaze snaps to hers as anger zips through my veins. “Don’t be foolish,” I hiss and slide off the stool, stalking around the counter toward her. She turns as soon as I’m behind her and places her hand on my chest as I cage her in. “There’s no one else I want more than you, Reagan. Don’t play head games with me when I don’t want to discuss work.”

  She curls her fingers until her fingernails bite into my skin. “I’m not playing games, Jude.”

  I grab Reagan’s wrists, peeling her hands away from my chest, but I don’t let go. “You know exactly what it’s like when you’re campaigning. There’s no time to even sleep, let alone have an affair. None of this would be an issue if you would’ve just come along with me as I asked.”

  She grunts, trying to pull her wrists away from my grip. “You know I can’t leave my job. I might not be running for governor, but my work is no less important.”

  I move her hands around her back, bringing my face closer to hers. “I never said it was, sweetheart.”

  She twists her lips in anger. She hates when I call her sweetheart. “Jude,” she hisses, pushing her chest against mine as she wiggles in my hold. “Let go of me.”

  “No,” I tell her as I slide my lips along her jaw, moving toward her mouth. “You’re mine. You’re angry for no reason, and I’m not letting you go until we sort this shit out.”

  “I…” She doesn’t get another word out before I cover her mouth with mine, sealing whatever she was going to say inside. Her body sways forward, melting into me as my tongue sweeps inside and tangles with hers.

  Reagan presses her breasts against my chest and rubs her thigh against my dick as she moans. My dick hardens, even though I know she’s playing a game, I can’t stop my reaction. Three weeks away from Reagan was almost unbearable, and just when I was about to hit my breaking point, I came home.

  She whimpers as my mouth leaves her and drifts to her throat, licking the softness where her rapid pulse beats underneath. I release her hands, setting my palms on her hips and tightening my hold. Hunger builds inside me, gnawing at my insides as everything around us seems to disappear. I’m consumed with my wife…with the feel of her body, the smell of her skin, her ragged breathing as I grind my cock against her.

  I think the issue’s dropped because she’s just as lost in the moment as I am. Her hands roam my body, groping my ass roughly through my pants. “What are you hiding?” she says with her head tipped back right as I’m about to lick the top of her breasts.

  I pull back, moving my mouth away from her skin, and peer down at Reagan. “You have five minutes to ask me questions, and then we’re done talking about my trip.” I growl the words as the anger that had started to dissipate returns full force.

  She licks her lips, and the corner of her mouth turns upward. “Okay, well…”

  I close my eyes, holding back a growl because she always does this shit to me. “Time’s tickin’.”

  “Who did you meet with yes
terday? It wasn’t on your itinerary, and I couldn’t reach you when I called.”

  “That’s what this is all about?” I raise an eyebrow, still stalling because she’s asking about the one person I don’t want to discuss with her.

  “Yes.” She raises her chin.

  I rub the tension out of the back of my neck, and my raging hard-on disappears because the battle hasn’t even begun. I know as soon as I say his name, she’s going to go from agitated to pissed off in a heartbeat. There’s no reason to keep stalling. Reagan will find out one way or another once my campaign donors become public. Dragging things out will only make the end result that much worse. “I met with Dominic Marino,” I say, ripping off the Band-Aid quickly and readying myself for the blowback.

  She’s quiet for a moment. Her eyes widen as she stares at me, nostrils flaring as her breathing speeds up when the name I just spat soaks in. “You didn’t,” she whispers before stepping away from me and shaking her head. “Of all the dumb shit you’ve done…”

  My head jerks back at her words. “Dumb shit?” I rarely do dumb shit. Maybe when I was younger and didn’t have so much at stake, I’d dip my toe across the line, looking for trouble. I’m not that guy anymore. As a United States Senator, I can’t risk my entire career or my name on dumb shit, as my lovely wife likes to call my actions.

  “He’s the one person I told you to steer clear of, Jude. What the fuck were you thinking?”

  I lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest as she starts to pace like a caged animal. Keeping my mouth shut, I watch as her arms flail about and she mutters to herself something about me being a fucking idiot, but I let her words slide.