Rescuing Rudi Read online

  What’s Inside

  Unable to believe the awfulness of the situation she was in, Rudi averted her eyes from his, looking down at her feet, biting her lip, wondering what on earth she was going to say next. She could either confess to lying or tell another one.

  Her dilemma was quickly resolved, although not in a way she might have wished. Grabbing her hand, Denver pulled her next door into his bedroom, and before she had time to realise what was going on, he pulled down her tights, turned her around, grasped her firmly around the waist, bent her forward and started spanking her hard and fast.

  “This is for lying,” he barked as his hand came down again and again.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” she cried, unable to believe how much her bottom was stinging with each resounding smack, the thin layer of cotton covering it not affording much protection. She wriggled, trying to get away, but he was too big and strong and had no trouble holding her firmly in place. Unable to bear the burning in her bottom as he continued to spank her relentlessly, her feet pedalled on the floor and she wailed, begging him to stop.

  He stopped, and grabbed hold of the legs of her knickers, pulling them up to expose her cheeks.

  “I don’t like liars,” he told her, now spanking a hard, fast tattoo on her bare flesh.

  “I’m sorry,” she pleaded swooning in a haze of torment. “I won’t lie again. I promise.”

  His hand stopped, but he held her tight and she held her breath waiting to see if it really was over. She could feel the muscles in his body hard and taut and hear his laboured breathing. She kept as still and quiet as possible apart from a tiny sporadic sob, unwilling to do anything which might bring on another flurry of spanking.

  At last, she felt him relax and heard his breathing return to normal.

  “Pull your pants up,” he ordered her, releasing his hold, and watching her while she pulled her tights up. When she’d organised herself, he pulled her into his arms, one hand dropping to gently rub her tender bottom.

  “Are you cross with me for spanking you?” he asked against her hair.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “What am I going to do with you?” he whispered so quietly to himself that Rudi wasn’t sure if that was what he’d really said.

  But “Throw me on your bed and make love to me” was what she wanted to answer if she’d heard him right. She pictured his neat bed mussed up, the doona in a heap, the pillows on the floor from passionate lovemaking, and felt her nipples harden against his chest and the blood rush to the swollen wet heat between her thighs.

  As if he’d felt it too, he suddenly pushed her away.

  Rescuing Rudi

  Polly Carter

  Published by Blushing Books

  An Imprint of

  ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.

  A Virginia Corporation

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  ©2019

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Polly Carter

  Rescuing Rudi

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-060-9

  v1

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Polly Carter

  EBook Offer

  Blushing Books Newsletter

  Blushing Books

  Chapter 1

  Huddled on the cold pavement in a shop doorway, the young woman pulled her jacket tighter around her sore and shivering body. It was a cold night and going to get a lot colder.

  She hurt, and she was hungry. Very hungry. Pressing a scrunched fist into the growling ache in her midriff, she reached out and pulled her backpack closer.

  She should move. She couldn’t stay here. The pavement was too cold and hard to lie on, even though lying down and closing her eyes was all she wanted to do. She racked her fuddled brain, trying to think where she could go to find a little warmth and comfort, but nowhere came to mind.

  The last few nights she’d spent in a nearby 24-hour fast food restaurant. It was warm at least, and each night she’d bought one cup of coffee and made it last until morning, dozing and sipping until the sun came up.

  The worst thing, though, was the smell of the food. It wasn’t even that she liked hamburgers and chips especially. She’d hardly ever eaten them in the past, and thought they generally smelled better than they tasted, but she was so hungry that the warm, fatty, juicy aroma almost drove her mad. It was torture being around so much food and not being able to have any herself.

  A couple of times she’d managed to surreptitiously grab some leftovers and eat them unnoticed. She didn’t like to do it too often, though, as she was sure she’d get kicked out if any of the staff spotted her scavenging scraps, and then she’d be cold as well as hungry.

  Now she couldn’t even afford a coffee, and they wouldn’t let her sit there all night without buying anything at all. She could find somewhere with a few more people still out despite the late hour and try begging; that sometimes worked. But she didn’t feel safe doing it at night.

  The streets could be very dangerous for women on their own once the rest of the city had closed up and gone to bed, and she knew just how dangerous. Moments before, she’d been attacked, pushed over, assaulted and robbed. Not that she had had much money for anyone to take, just a few dollars, enough to buy a cup of coffee and a safe, warm place to spend the night.

  Forcing herself to move, she drew up onto her knees, wincing from the grazes and bruises. She was lucky, she knew. A few minor injuries were nothing; it could have been her life.

  The meagre contents of her backpack were scattered around. The mugger had tipped everything out in the hope of finding something worth taking, but there were only a few dirty clothes, a notebook, pen, empty plastic water bottle, train and tram timetables, five dollars and a bottle of bourbon, which she’d bought earlier with money she’d begged. She’d drunk a third of it. It took the edge off the cold and her hunger and, more importantly, the sorry state of her life.

  He’d taken the bourbon and the five dollars, and given her a good kicking for not having more worth stealing. He didn’t steal her phone; someone else had beaten him to that a couple of weeks before and she’d had no money to buy a new one.

  Biting her lip against the cold and pain, she stuffed her possessions back into her bag and dragged herself up on to her unsteady feet. She wished she still had the bourbon to help take the edge off the new pain.

  What was the point of keeping on struggling? She was broke, cold, hungry, hurt, and had nowhere to go. It had been like that yesterday, a week ago, two weeks ago, a month ago and it would be like that tomorrow and next week.

  It started to drizzle. Her clothes were already damp from the pavement, and as the rain started falling more heavily, it reached under the shop awning. Soon she would be soaked.

  She looked down the dimly lit street as a car turned into it. She saw its headlights coming towards her on her side of the road and felt a small surge of relief as she realised this
might be the help she needed. She moved out of the shadows, standing at the edge of the kerb as the car got closer. Why was it taking so long? It was barely crawling along.

  At last it reached her, she recognised the make and thought, “Well, if I’m going to go, I may as well go by Beemer!” Then she stepped off the kerb and into its path.

  * * *

  The noise of people talking loudly woke her. She opened her eyes a fraction, but the harsh lights were too bright. She closed them again. She couldn’t quite get a sense of where she was or what was going on.

  “Do you know who she is?” she heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice ask briskly.

  “No. Doesn’t she have any ID?” a man’s voice replied. She wanted him to speak again. His voice was rich and warm. It spilled over and around her and nestled there like a comforting blanket.

  “No.” The woman’s voice again. “We didn’t find anything with a name or anything to identify her. No cards. No phone. No documents. Nothing.”

  She smiled to herself and tried to move. A strange moaning sound stopped her. People bustled around her, but she couldn’t see them.

  Then a hand closed over hers. A big hand. Warm. Strong. And there was that voice again.

  “Hush, little girl. Lie still. Don’t try to move. You’re hurt but you’re going to be okay.”

  His voice was liquid warmth, spreading up through her veins, making her sleepy, so sleepy.

  * * *

  It was warm. And quiet. And she was in a proper bed. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that much. She had no idea where she was, or why, or how she’d got there, but for the moment she was content to leave those questions unanswered and drift back to sleep.

  * * *

  Her eyes opened. She blinked, trying to focus. She was in a hospital, but she couldn’t remember why and her head hurt when she tried to think. She wriggled the toes on her left foot, then her right foot. That all seemed to be in order. She wriggled the fingers on her left hand, but something wasn’t right. She tried the other hand. No, that didn’t feel right either.

  She moved her head slightly, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through her forehead, and looked down. A needle attached to a drip stuck out of the back of her left hand, and her right arm was in a sling.

  Her attention was caught by the door opening and a nurse coming in. She quickly shut her eyes and lay perfectly still, pretending to be asleep. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to answer their questions. Didn’t want to think about what she was going to do next. She was warm and comfortable and wanted to stay right where she was. She was still hungry, though, she realised. Maybe someone could bring her some food.

  “Nothing yet?” she heard a voice ask.

  “No, not yet.” She felt her skin tingle as that warm, honeyed voice washed over her again.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go home and get some sleep? We can call you if there’s any change.”

  “I’ll stay until she wakes. I feel responsible. I want to make sure she has someone who can look after her. That she has somewhere to go.”

  She couldn’t resist the temptation of seeing who this knight in shining armour who felt responsible for her could be.

  Peeking through her eyelashes, she saw two people standing next to a chair against the side wall, about three metres from her bed. One was a plumpish, dark-skinned, attractive lady in a white uniform: the nurse.

  The other was the man with the beautiful voice. His back was to her, but she could see he was tall, probably a bit over six foot, and lean. It was hard to tell much more, other than that his thick, lush hair was very dark grey with streaks and tips of silver scattered through.

  Probably old enough to be my father, she thought, although the way he was casually leaning against the wall, with one foot crossed over the other suggested a younger man, possibly in his forties, she decided.

  Seeing the nurse leaving, she quickly shut her eyes again and heard him sit down on the chair. She was facing that way so couldn’t open her eyes without him noticing, and it hurt too much to move so she couldn’t do a pretend sleeping roll over. She had two choices: keep pretending to be asleep until he left, and goodness knows how long that might be, or acknowledge that she was now awake. She chose the second option.

  Giving a little moan, she fluttered her eyelashes. Through the tiny gaps she could see he was looking at his phone, and he’d taken no notice of her stirrings. For no good reason she could think of considering he was under no obligation to be sitting here watching over her at all, she was annoyed. If he was going to wait for her to wake up, she’d imagined he might at least be alert to signs that she might be doing just that instead of… well, whatever it was he was doing on his phone.

  While he was absorbed, though, she took the opportunity to study him. From the front view, she decided her initial assessment of his age was probably about right, somewhere in his forties, probably closer to forty than fifty despite the silver and grey hair.

  He was looking slightly dishevelled from being up all night; what she thought was probably usually no more than a three o’clock shadow now looked more like five or six. His thick hair was slightly longer at the front than the back. Parted on the side, it was waving down onto his broad forehead, although it looked like it might still have traces of gel, and she imagined it was usually swept back. It was cut down in front of his ears, so it ran seamlessly into his thick grey and silver sideburns.

  Although his beard stubble was flecked with white, his moustache, which he’d allowed to grow, was completely black. The thick eyebrows angling up straight from the top of his nose towards his temple before falling away steeply at the end of his eyes, currently hidden by long lashes as he studied his phone, were also black with, as yet, no trace of grey.

  From his face, her eyes wandered down the rest of him. The two top buttons on his blue-and-white checked shirt were unbuttoned and she could see his chest was thinly covered in black curls. His chinos were also black, and he was leaning comfortably back in his chair with his left foot on his right knee. He looked slim, tight, lithe and athletic.

  Gosh, she thought, he really is incredibly handsome. And possibly unmarried. What wife would want a hunk like him next to a young woman’s bed all night? She wondered if it was worth trying her luck and flirting with him.

  She must have moved because his eyes flicked up from his phone and caught her staring at him. Brown, she thought. Big and brown and delicious.

  She tried to sit up a bit, but another bolt of pain stabbing through her forehead stopped her.

  “Ow.” She fell back on the pillow. She didn’t even have a hand free to rub it.

  “Hey,” he said earnestly, walking to her bed and staring down at her. “Maybe don’t try to move too much yet if it hurts. Would you like me to get the nurse?”

  “Ow.” She’d forgotten and tried to shake her head. “I mean, no. There’s no need to get the nurse. I’m fine,” she shrugged ruefully. “Ow, except when I try to move my head and apparently my shoulder. Oooh.”

  He scrunched his lips together and then looked at her from under his lashes.

  “I’m not entirely sure what the headache is from. You did get quite a bump on the head, but I think it would probably be fair to say you have a hangover as well, wouldn’t it?”

  “Oh!” Her face screwed into a frown. She’d been so intent on looking him over while he didn’t know he was being watched that she’d completely forgotten to wonder why she was in hospital. Had she been drinking? Ah, yes, bourbon. And then… she was mugged! She remembered being pushed over and kicked while a nasty, young thug tipped the contents of her backpack onto the pavement and made off with her bourbon and cash.

  What then? She remembered dragging herself to her feet. Being cold and damp. And then it rained. And then she saw the car. And then she—

  “Was it your car?” she whispered. “The Beemer.”

  “Yes, it was. You just stepped out straight in front of me. Didn’t you see
me? Or were you trying to get yourself killed and figured I could be the patsy who did it for you?”

  And now it all came flooding back. Her dirty clothes and hair. A backpack with a few more dirty clothes in it. Stinking of bourbon. And she was wondering whether she should flirt with him? Oh my God, he must think her completely disgusting.

  Tears of humiliation, pain and misery filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

  She looked away without answering his question. He dragged the chair closer to the bed, sat down, leant back and crossed his legs in the same casual style.

  “We couldn’t find any identification on you. What’s your name?”

  “Rudi.”

  “Rudi? Is that short for something?”

  She shook her head.

  “What’s wrong with my arm? Is it broken? Am I hurt?”

  He shook his head and smiled encouragingly.

  “No, you’re a very, very lucky young lady. Fortunately, I was travelling so slowly that, despite getting run over, something I couldn’t avoid as you literally stepped under my wheels, you sustained pretty minor injuries considering. A bit of concussion, which could explain the sore head, a sprained shoulder – hence the sling, and apart from that, a nasty bruise on your hip where you hit my car, and some other minor bruising and grazes. I suspect you might be sore for a few days, but otherwise, Rudi,” he paused and smiled, “you should be fine.”

  “Have I been here long?”

  “I called an ambulance after I hit you. You were unconscious. I think we got here about two last night. It’s getting on for four in the afternoon now.”