Yield, Page 3

Macy makes an almost-strangled sound in her throat, and finally, a maniacal type of laugh pops free. "I was fifteen years old, Cal," she says drily. "What could I have possibly done to get the FBI's attention?"

  "I don't know," I tell her carefully. "And I don't need to know details. I just have to know if I need to be prepared to assert a 5th Amendment defense on your behalf. I guarantee the prosecutor will call me Monday to set up a meeting to interview you. I'll stall her as long as I can, but you need to at least give me some parameters of what you could be facing with her."

  "No," she says softly. "I didn't do anything criminal."

  She puts enough emphasis on the word "I" that I clearly get the implication. Something criminal happened in Brussels, but for the life of me, I can't imagine what a fifteen-year old's knowledge could do to help a prosecutor with white-collar indictments. It just doesn't make any sense.

  "Oh, my God," Macy says reverently as we drive down the dirt lane to Hazentree Farms. She takes in the acres upon acres of neatly lined rows of apple trees, all with tiny balls of fruit on them starting to burgeon with color.

  Macintosh, Rome Beauty, Red Delicious, Honeycrisp, Gala, Fuji, and Golden Delicious. Seven different kinds of apples to choose from.

  When the farmhouse comes into view, Macy lets out a tiny sigh of appreciation. Two story yet modest with white clapboard siding, black shutters, and a sprawling porch filled with black rockers.

  Right on cue, my mom pushes open the front door. She trots down the steps with my dad not too far behind, her long, blonde hair pulled up into a messy bunch on top of her head. My dad's darker blond hair is still in a short, military-style cut that he can't seem to let go of. Both of them have huge smiles on their faces as they watch me bring the car to a stop at the base of the porch, and my heart rolls over with love for them. Everything that is the foundation upon which my life was built was given to me by these two people.

  Mom walks around the front of the car to my side while Dad opens up the passenger door. I step out, right into my mother's warm hug, and peek over the top of the car to see my dad holding his hand out to Macy.

  "I'm so happy you came to visit," my mom gushes as she squeezes me hard.

  I watch as Macy is enveloped in a not-too-threatening hug from my dad, who releases her and grins big at me. "There's my boy."

  "I'm a man, Dad," I quip. "Quit tearing me down in front of Macy."

  "Little piss ant," he says affectionately as he rounds the car to hug me.

  "Come on," my mom says as she turns from me, walks over to Macy, and loops her arm around her waist. "Let's head in. Lunch is ready."

  Macy shoots me a timid look over her shoulder, and then she's disappearing up the steps into the house.

  "She's a real beaut," my dad says as he nudges me in the shoulder.

  "You sound like you're surveying a '57 Chevy or something," I mutter as we start for the house.

  Dad gives a hearty laugh, slaps me on my back, and as we hit the front entryway, I'm assaulted with amazing smells from my mom's cooking. My mouth instantly waters and my stomach grumbles. While Macy's eggs and bacon were definitely better than mine were, they didn't exactly fill me up either.

  By the time we make it into the kitchen, I see Macy has been firmly ensconced on one of the kitchen stools that round the center island and Mom is pouring her some lemonade.

  I take the seat next to her and Mom dutifully hands me a glass from which I take a gulp before sitting it down.

  "Entertain Macy while I get everything set out," my mom instructs my dad with a pointed look. "We'll just eat here at the counter."

  My dad stands on the other side of the island from us. He takes a moment, eyes my mom's ass while she removes a pork loin from the oven, and then turns his head our way as he leans his elbows on the black granite. "So Macy, Cal says you do volunteer work with people down on their luck."

  It's a nice segue into a safe conversation for Macy because it's something she loves doing and never minds talking about, although she doesn't like to necessarily take credit for her efforts. I watch as Macy smiles big, joy and supreme job satisfaction lighting her up from within as she tells my dad all about The Faith Mission. Both my parents ask her several questions about her work while food is passed around, and within fifteen minutes, my dad is volunteering to come into the city to talk to some of the younger residents at the shelters about military career options.

  After I finish eating, I lean back in my stool and casually rest my arm across the back of Macy's. I let my thumb graze along her shoulder while she talks to my parents. Every minute that passes, the stress lines around her eyes ease, her body relaxes, and her laughter comes naturally. She eats all of her food, shoots me warm smiles, and once even reaches over to squeeze my knee.

  Today is exactly what she needed, and I knew my parents' easygoing, non-threatening nature would give it to her.

  After lunch, my dad kidnaps Macy to take her on a tour of the farm because they've already cooked up an idea where they can bring some of the shelter kids out here on a field trip to pick apples come September when the harvesting season starts. I shake my head in wonder over how well they've hit it off, and then I happily set in to help my mom clean the kitchen.

  "She's wonderful," my mom says merrily as I rinse plates and hand them to her to stack in the dishwasher.

  "Of that, you have my wholehearted agreement."

  "She's Travis Carrington's daughter." That's a statement from my mother. Not a question.

  I look over at her in surprise.

  "Her picture's been on the news. I guess some FBI agents wanted to talk to her and reporters were swarming her apartment building. The news is hypothesizing on what information she might have."

  After turning off the kitchen sink, I dry my hands and give a tired sigh. "Yeah. She's had it rough the last few days."

  "Poor child," my mom coos.

  "I'm going with her to talk to the feds probably next week, and while I can't tell you anything about what's going on, just do me a favor... keep her in your thoughts and prayers, okay?" I ask my mom.

  "Absolutely," she says with a confident smile. "And if that girl needs to get away from it all, you bring her butt right back out here to the farm. No one will mess with her here. Your dad will run them off with his shotgun."

  I laugh and lean over, grabbing my mom for a quick hug. "Might just do that."

  When we release, her warm smile slides and she becomes serious. "You're a good man, Cal. And you deserve a good woman."

  "Do you think it could be Macy?" I ask curiously, because my mother has always had a good gut instinct.

  "I don't know enough about her to say for sure," my mom says simply. "But, I can tell you this... she thinks mighty highly of you."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "The way she looks at you. A woman recognizes what that means. She adores you. Really deep down adores you."

  "You think?" I ask, a little happier in my soul hearing that.

  "Of that, I'm sure," she says with a wink. "Now go wipe the counters down, and then we can go hunt your dad and girl down to see what trouble they're getting in to."

  Chapter 5

  I expected Macy to be stiff and unsure of herself the first time she came to my apartment, but she sits with her bare feet resting on my coffee table as she's nestled back into my couch, slurping on lo mien noodles beside me.

  I've been trying not to overwhelm her so when we got back from my parents on Sunday afternoon, I dropped her off at her apartment and went back home by myself. I think I may have seen a bit of disappointment in her eyes when I told her I had to get some work done for a deposition the next morning, which was absolutely true. Although I could have easily done it at her place, I felt it was best not to overstay my welcome. It wasn't but four days ago that she first let me in.

  Macy did let me take her out to dinner Monday night, and she almost demanded that I go back to her apartment with her as I paid the bill. This demand came in the form
of her leaning across the small, intimate table for two while I signed the credit card slip and just casually saying, "I need you to fuck me extra hard tonight, Cal."

  My hand actually spasmed around the pen I was holding, causing it to rip into the receipt. My head shot up, and I narrowed my eyes at her in challenge. "Yeah?"

  She nodded, smiling coyly at me, and had the audacity to even dip her eyes in a completely fake showing of shyness before she murmured, "If you think you can handle it?"

  We basically attacked each other the moment we stepped foot into her apartment, never making it past the couch. I fucked her extra hard as requested, fueled on by her shrieks of pleasure, and after we came back down to earth, she quietly led me into her bedroom in a silent request for me to stay the night. I gladly accepted.

  But tonight I want Macy here... in my apartment. I want to find out if she's truly gone all in with the concept of us dating. We've got the monogamy down pat. The sex is a fifteen on a ten-point scale. She's opened up to me somewhat, and she's let me stay the night with her. Those are all positive signs as far as I'm concerned, but I still held my breath when I texted her a request to come eat dinner at my place tonight.

  Her response was quick, decisive, and made me smile. Sure. I'll bring Chinese. And then I want to tie you up after.

  Damn, but I love how sexually uninhibited Macy is. I love that she has desires and fantasies. I love that she makes her move when she wants and isn't afraid to voice her needs. I really fucking love how adventurous she is in the bedroom--or living room, or bathroom, or hallway, or wherever--and frankly, I've never been more sexually fulfilled in my life. I'm in an almost constant state of arousal around her, yet she assuages my needs in overabundance, keeping me well satisfied and happy.

  No, make that deliriously happy when it comes to sex with Macy.

  I lean forward on the couch and stick my empty carton of lo mien on the table. After wiping my mouth, taking a sip of my beer, and settling back in beside Macy while she continues to eat, I go ahead and lay it on her. "Deanna Switzer called me today. She's the federal prosecutor for your dad's case."

  Macy's body tightens almost imperceptibly. She swallows the food in her mouth and turns to face me. "Did you set up a meeting for me to talk to her?"

  I nod. "This Friday at four PM."

  She lets out a huff of air and scrubs a hand over her face, which is now pinched with stress. Nestling down into the couch cushions a little deeper, she tilts her head to look at me. "And do you know what she wants to ask me about?"

  "No, but I'm sure it will be wide open. Want me to see if I can stall and put it off until next week?"

  She shakes her head, but her voice is heavy. "No. I need to get this over with so I can move on."

  "It'll be fine--" I start to assure her, even reaching over to kiss her, but Macy surprises me by surging up off the couch and laying her carton down on the table beside mine.

  As she turns to face me, she holds a hand out and says, "Come on. I've got plans for you. Bondage plans."

  I just look at her, stunned immobile. I'm not surprised that she wants to tie me up, because she already told me that, and fuck yeah... I'm down with that shit.

  I'm stunned because every bit of worry is gone from her face. In the middle of a stressful conversation about her meeting with the woman who's going to prosecute and probably send her father to prison, she just turned it off.

  She turned it off because she turned something else on.

  And it was all right there in her eyes that were practically glowing with lust.

  Just like that, her troubles are gone... buried... pushed away, and she holds her hand out to me in a request that I keep those demons at bay.

  I stand from the couch, ignore her hand, and reach out to grab her face instead. She gasps as I jerk her toward me so I can kiss her.

  A fierce kiss that's possessive, hopefully conveying to her that I accept the challenge of doing what I can to chase away the dark.

  When I pull my mouth away, she has a satisfied smile on her face. She opens her eyes, which must have drifted closed for a moment, and snags my hand. Macy leads me to my bedroom, which isn't hard to find in my nine-hundred-square-foot apartment. While it's a nice place with hardwood floors, stainless steel appliances, and good views of the city, it's still no bigger than Macy's walk-in closet.

  Releasing my hand, Macy turns and steps into me. Her eyes focus in on the knot of my tie, and her hands start working at it.

  "Where are the rest of your ties?" she murmurs as she slips the silk through the knothole.

  I nod toward my dresser. "Top drawer."

  Macy gives a quick glance at my bed, and her lips curve up knowingly. I know exactly what she's thinking. My furniture isn't much to look at. My bed is nothing more than a frame with a box spring and mattress, but said frame has four legs that raise the bed up about five inches from the hardwood floor.

  The perfect structures for my bondage.

  The thought of her doing that to me, along with the sweet scent of her shampoo that's embracing me at this moment, causes my dick to start swelling.

  Macy takes my tie off and tosses it toward the bed, where it lands perfectly on the bottom left corner. I'm guessing that's for one of my ankles.

  Dick gets harder.

  Her hands work quickly but still in a gentle, sensuous fashion as she unbuttons my dress shirt... first at the wrists, then down my chest before pulling the tails out and slipping the material off me completely. She lets it fall carelessly to the floor.

  Next, my belt, which she also drops casually to the floor, apparently not having any interest in using that to tie me up. She undoes my pants, pushing them down while lowering her body at the same time. She pauses briefly when she reaches my erection, doing nothing more than leaning in to nuzzle her nose against it through the cotton material of my briefs. The deep purr of appreciation in her throat of its hardness has it swelling even further to try to impress her more.

  Finally, she's squatting near my feet, tapping the back of my leg in turn to get me to raise each one so she can slip my shoes and socks off, before finally pulling my pants all the way off.

  Macy slowly rises up until she's standing in front of me. I expect her to finish the job, but she ignores the soft white t-shirt I have on as well as my white boxer briefs, where I can see the head of my cock poking up eagerly past the elastic waistband.

  "Get on the bed," she orders me as she turns toward my dresser. "On your back, spread-eagled."

  I immediately comply because I have no desire to fight her for dominance tonight. She has something in mind. A desire, a fantasy... most definitely a need, and I'm going to let her fulfill it.

  And let's face it. This is not a hardship for me because I know whatever Macy is going to do to me, it's going to be the fucking best ever.

  I get in position on the bed and watch as Macy raids my drawer. Pulling out three more ties, she turns to survey the bed while chewing on her lower lip in concentration. She mentally calculates something in her head, and then turns back to the drawer, pulling out several more ties.

  I'm intrigued for sure.

  Horny as hell too as my cock greedily thumps within the confines of its cotton prison.

  Finally, she turns to me, ties of varying colors draping from her grip. Her eyes rove over my body, spending a few extra moments over my crotch, and then she's climbing onto the bed where she kneels by my ribs.

  With solemn eyes, she asks, "Do you trust me?"

  "I do."

  "Good," she says with a soft smile and leans down to kiss me briefly. When she pulls back, she says, "This is going to feel really good to you."

  Macy straightens briefly and throws a leg over me, straddling my chest. She's wearing a pair of dark denim jeans that fit her like a second skin, and I wonder if she's got on panties underneath. My hands come up to open the top button, but she bats them away.

  "Don't move," she says, and then she drops all but one tie in her hand, swi
ftly tying it over my eyes. She even thoughtfully knots it on the side, near my temple, so it's not pressing into the back of my head when I lay it back against the pillows.

  "I just want you to feel." I hear her soft voice. "Concentrate on my touch, okay?"

  I nod, giving a quick lick of my lower lip with my tongue. My skin is tingling with anticipation, my balls throbbing with need. My mind races with various scenarios of what is getting ready to unfold on this bed.

  Macy's weight is gone from my chest, but within moments, she making a secure knot from one of my ties around my left wrist. I hear her breathing start to pick up as she pulls the tie, spreading my arm out to the side. A rustling sound... perhaps she's tying another tie to the end? Then my arm is pulled tight again, more rustling, and then it goes quiet.

  I give a tentative tug, but I'm secured tight.

  She repeats the process on my right arm, and because I can't see what's going on, I concentrate on the sounds. I hunger for the briefest touch of her skin against mine as she ties her knots.

  With both arms secure, I hear her shuffle to the end of the bed, where a silk tie is wrapped and then knotted around my ankle. More rustling of material and now I can recognize the sound of a tie sliding against the metal footrest as she knots it there.

  I give it a test and pull my leg inward, surprised at the slack within the binding. It's loose enough that I can pull my leg in all the way to the center, where it stops abruptly.

  Interesting.

  And she does the same to my other leg, leaving the same laxity in the bondage. I slide both of my legs inward until my inner thighs touch one another, feeling the slight pull against my ankles to indicate that's as far as each leg will go. I have the apparent choice to keep my legs spread or closed, and I have to wonder why I even have a choice at all.

  Macy's breathing is soft, but I can still hear it. More rustling sounds, and I'm surprised at how adept I'm already getting at identifying them. That right there is the sound of her own clothes hitting my hardwood floors, and I conjure up the dozens and dozens of images I have in my head of naked Macy.

  Her nipples will be pebbled hard with anticipation.

  Her smooth pussy will be slick and shiny if I were to peel her apart.

  Groaning over the thought, my arms involuntarily pull in frustration of not being able to touch her. I can feel the head of my cock leaking as it lays against my stomach, also bound by the waistband of my briefs.