Bound to Submit (Miami Masters Book 4)

by BJ Wane

  Swinging his head around, he nailed her with an intense stare. “You don’t want to think about it?”

  She cocked her head and a small smile curled her lips and lit her eyes. “Don’t you think we’ve both thought about it long enough?”

  Well, shit, she had him there. It was where else, how else, she had him that might be the problem. Unlike his friends, he didn’t do long-term—hell, he’d never even done monogamous. It was his turn to frown when the image of her with a nameless, faceless man drew a quick surge of annoyance.

  “Yes, so while we’re seeing this through, there will be no one else, for either of us.” He paused a moment to let his next words seep in. “Unless, of course, I invite someone to help with a scene. The gym closes at eight tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up right after.”

  Miles didn’t wait for her answer. Striding out of the lot and down the alley to the street, he prayed he hadn’t just made a huge mistake. Then he recalled how easily he had slipped up behind Hope and taken her by surprise. Even if for no other reason, he’d at least ensure she knew enough quick moves to free herself from a sticky situation before they went their separate ways.

  Hope checked the time again then ran her clammy hands down her jean-clad thighs. Almost 8:30, and Miles should be arriving any moment. She’d spent the day arguing with herself over what a bad idea this was, going over what was at stake if she let herself be ruled by her libido again. Finally, it had been the call from Miles two hours ago that sealed her fate. His simple inquiry, stated in his usual, gruff, no-nonsense manner, ‘Are we still on?’, in that deep voice that never failed to send delightful shivers up and down her spine, put an end to thoughts of backing out. She wanted to keep her new friends, stay a part of their close-knit group more than she could recall wanting anything else, and Miles was part of that group. If she didn’t go through with a temporary liaison with him and rid herself of the urges he inspired, every time she saw him she would continue to be distracted by hot flashes of need aching to be assuaged.

  A sharp rap landed on her door, and Hope released her breath in a relieved whoosh, hoping she could count on Miles’ need for control to ease her into whatever he had planned. Opening the door, her first reaction to seeing him dressed in black leathers, another body-molding black tee-shirt and carrying two motorcycle helmets nearly sent her to her knees in a quivering mass of hormonal overload. Damn but the man packs a wallop!

  “Hi.”

  His lips quirked, and Hope knew he’d caught the breathless catch in her voice. “Good, you’re wearing jeans.” Miles brushed past her and closed the door, his dark eyes never leaving her face as he gestured toward the sofa. “Let’s go over there and you can remove them for a minute.”

  “Huh?” Taken aback by the order, and the swiftness with which he was starting things, that was all she could think of to say.

  Gripping her elbow, he steered her over to the sofa then asked in the same smooth tone, “Do you need help?”

  His look challenged her as much as his sardonic tone. It also set off a firestorm of heat that dampened her thin panties, something he was sure to notice right away. “No, I just wasn’t expecting…”

  “Relax. I’m not going to fuck you tonight.” With a wave of his hand, he indicated she should obey his order as he pulled a small package out of his back pocket.

  Hope shimmied out of her jeans, her mouth going dry when she recognized the small butterfly vibrator, a toy her friends had intimate knowledge of and enjoyed gushing on about its effectiveness. Standing in front of Miles wearing just panties and a hip-skimming summer top, she couldn’t stop a noticeable shudder when he ripped open the package. “I-I thought we were going out.”

  “We are, for a ride. You ever been on a motorcycle?” he asked in a bland, conversational tone as he knelt and stripped her panties down her legs before she knew what he was about.

  Was it the cool air wafting over her exposed flesh or his warm breath stirring her blonde pubic curls that caused her nipples to pucker and her buttocks to clench? Mortification battled with arousal and left her stupefied in silence until Miles growled without looking up, “Answer me, Hope.”

  “Oh, um, no, I haven’t, but I’ve always wanted to.” Her parents would have pitched a fit if she’d been caught riding around like a ‘hooligan’, as she knew they’d phrase it. Of course, that was before she’d been caught visiting a BDSM club. They would disown her completely if they saw her now.

  Miles nodded. “Step in.” He held out the looped straps attached to the small rubber pleasure device and pulled them up her legs, his knuckles brushing against her skin in a slow caress. “Have you ever used a butterfly?” He added to her embarrassment, and arousal, by spreading her labia and nestling the toy right up against her clit, his quick, efficient movements almost impersonal. Her liquid response was anything but, and she didn’t know which bothered her more.

  “No, but I’ve heard about them.” And she knew she was either in for a long evening of sexual torment or going to experience an off-the-charts climax. She honestly didn’t know which she preferred.

  “So, two firsts for you tonight.” He made sure the straps were snug around her hips before pulling her panties back up. Rising, she didn’t look away from his probing gaze as he gauged her reaction to their first intimacy. “Good girl,” he murmured, his approval warming her further. “Put your jeans back on and let’s go.”

  Hope watched him pocket the remote as she dressed, her heart skipping all over the place when she took a step and the rubber teaser brushed her sensitive knot of nerves. God, what would she do when he turned it on? For once, she was grateful Miles was a man of few words as she followed him downstairs and out to the street curb where he’d parked his bike. She was having enough trouble wading through her thoughts and emotions without having to converse at length.

  Exiting the shelter, her eyes widened with her first look at the massive black and chrome Harley. “Wow.”

  Running a hand over the leather seat, Miles’ face softened as he said, “Meet Rhonda. She’s been with me longer than any other woman.”

  “You named your motorcycle?”

  He turned toward her with a mischievous light in his dark eyes she’d never seen before. As he slid his hand under her hair and cupped her nape, Hope didn’t need the pressure of his palm to urge her mouth up to his.

  “I like the way she takes my commands and purrs under me,” he whispered above her lips before the sensuous curl of his mouth swallowed her small moan.

  Miles barely brushed her lips with his, staying pressed to her mouth only long enough to take in her puff of breath, then he retreated, leaving her bereft and aching for more. That brief touch couldn’t even be counted as a first kiss, but the impression it left made her wonder if she would survive this short journey of sexual exploration.

  “Put this on.” Lifting the smaller helmet, he placed it over Hope’s head, tightened the strap under her chin and guided her onto the padded seat. “You can lean back once you get comfortable, but until then, press against me and hold on tight. I like to go fast.”

  No kidding. If he drove the bike as fast as he was taking over her senses, she was in for a wild ride, in more ways than one. Miles donned his helmet and then she watched the way his thick quad muscles bunched under the tight leather pants as he swung a leg over the seat and settled in front of her. As soon as he revved the powerful motor and released the kickstand with the back of his booted heel, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned forward.

  The October evening balmy temperature remained in the low eighties, but with less humidity, the breeze whipped up by the speed of the bike cooled Hope’s feverish skin. Unfortunately, the constant shift of Miles’ broad back muscles against her breasts and the low vibrations of the motor rumbling between her legs kept her inner heat at a volcanic level. As he wound his way out of the downtown streets, she didn’t have to wait long before they reached Route 1, the scenic, north-south coastal highway that curved along t
he Atlantic. Without warning, he let the engine out and took off, the fast blur of the city’s glittering nightlights on their left and the crashing ocean waves off to their right timed with the start-up of soft pulsations against her clit. Tightening her arms around his body, her gasp was lost in the air whipping by them as an adrenaline rush of pure pleasure rippled up through her sheath, hardening her nipples and threatening to steal her sanity.

  Hope had spent time with a vibrator before, but her limited self-pleasuring experiences had never ratcheted her arousal up so fast, so high, within seconds. Her vagina dampened and swelled, compelling her to scoot closer to his buttocks and press against him. Perspiration coated her exposed skin despite the rush of air whipping around her. Frustration replaced excitement when he kept the butterfly’s vibrations on low, teasing just enough to keep her teetering on the brink of orgasm.

  Miles distracted her from the grievance of edgy, unfulfilled arousal when he turned his head and yelled near her ear, “Lean with me and the bike.”

  The pulses in her vagina stopped along with her breath when he took a left curve and she swore they would meet the asphalt with how far over they dipped along with the bike. He maneuvered the turn and righted the bike with admirable skill before stealing her indrawn breath of relief by switching on the vibrator again, this time raising the pulses another notch. For the next thirty torturous minutes, Miles sent need coursing through her veins with the on and off again pulses bombarding her clit. Hope lost count of how many times her climax started to roll through her only to be brought to an abrupt halt with the flick of a switch. She cursed his broad back, dug her nails into his washboard abs and tried teasing him in return by rubbing her breasts back and forth against his hard muscles and shifting her crotch against his butt, both to relieve her torment and egg his on. Nothing worked.

  By the time he pulled up in front of the shelter and cut the engine, the ache had grown into intense hunger. Miles tugged his helmet off, looped the strap over the handle bars then slid off the bike. When he lifted his hands to remove her helmet, her intention to rail at him caught in her throat when the quiet hum of the vibrator switched to powerful pulses beating against her ravaged tissues.

  Miles cupped her face and pierced her with his black as night eyes. “Now,” he ground out, his tone a deep, gut clenching demand.

  Unable to control herself, Hope exploded in a torrent of ecstasy, gyrating on the seat as he held her immobile with not only his hands, but his soul-searching gaze. She shook with the impact of pleasure unlike anything she’d experienced before, her inner muscles spasming around the tiny vibrator with repeated clutches, her nipples pulsing right along with her core. A horn honked as the hot, pleasurable tremors engulfing her took their time receding. It wasn’t until the very last convulsions that had torn up and down her pussy settled into low throbs that she remembered where they were and went rigid with alarm.

  “Relax.” Releasing her face, Miles assisted Hope off the bike and pulled her close, unable to resist feeling those soft curves pressing against him one more time. “No one knew what was going on, if anyone even saw. The shelter is dark, your residents already bedded down, or at least settled in for the night. I know what I’m doing, Hope.” At least, he thought he did. Right now, with his body raging at him for relief, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t recall a time, or a woman, who had such a profound effect on him, one who threatened his iron-clad control by just watching her orgasm.

  “I-I need to get inside.” Her breathless plea tugged at both his cock and his chest.

  “Yes, you do.” Stepping back, he clasped her elbow, escorted her up to the door and waited while she fished keys out of her pocket and unlocked it. “I’ll see you at class on Thursday. Plan on staying late.”

  Miles didn’t wait for her to answer. He pivoted, straddled the Harley again, and this time didn’t bother with the helmet as he drove the two blocks down to his gym, his cock a stiff, painful reminder of how the night had gone. His plan to start the evening with a lesson in giving up control when he’d instructed Hope to remove her jeans had damn near robbed him of his. Removing a woman’s panties had never made his heart beat so fast or engorged his cock so quickly. Kneeling between her legs with his face right in front of the blonde curls that already glistened with her slick cream and did little to shield the swollen folds of her labia, he’d come close to skipping his plans in favor of burying himself balls deep inside her.

  With a mental shake of his head, he cursed himself for being a fool, wondering yet again what it was about her that made her different from any other woman he’d taken a sexual interest in. Every time he saw her, he recalled the determined glint in her eyes when Zach asked about Sandie. Despite her bruised face and swollen wrist from a thug demanding information about Sandie’s whereabouts, Hope had presented a backbone of steel and protectiveness toward her friend he’d only seen in himself and his friends. He knew the reasons for their over-protective bearings, which made him suspicious of Hope’s past, and what had happened that compelled her to take risks with her own safety in order to shield someone in trouble.

  But none of that explained the driving urge to bend her to his will, take her so hard, so deep, she’d forget anyone who had come before him. He didn’t care for the primitive need she brought out in him and shored up his determination to rid himself of it during this brief liaison.

  Miles spotted Jake’s SUV parked in front of the gym as he rode around to the back and pulled into the small garage he’d added a few years ago. He hoped this visit meant his friend had found a place for the kid Miles picked up last week. He found Jake sitting with Ed in the gym’s kitchenette, and from the concern reflected on the cop’s face, he knew he wasn’t going to like what Jake had to say.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Good news and bad news,” Jake stated without preamble. “I found a good foster home for Joaquin, but the kid’s so terrified of the gang his older brother runs with, and his brother, he can’t sleep and is causing trouble at school. I’ve been trying to track down the brother, dad’s serving time and mom’s nowhere around. Not surprising.”

  “This is the kid from last week, I assume. Do you know which gang the brother runs with?” Miles made sure he avoided glancing at Ed. His mentor possessed an over-protective streak himself, and Ed fretted whenever Miles paid a visit to a gang to ensure the safety of a kid he had given a way out to.

  “That’s the one. Brother’s name is Mateo Sanchez, he’s nineteen and runs with the Swords. That’s all we’ve been able to get out of Joaquin. The gang task force knows to keep an ear out, but I thought you might be faster at putting the fear of God—and you and me—into him.”

  The city had made big strides in curbing gang activity and Miles had been in on getting numerous programs starting at the kindergarten level up and running. But if the older brother was already of legal age, odds were he’d been a gang member for most of his teen years and the best they could hope for would be his cooperation in freeing his brother from their clutches.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Miles—”

  Miles waved his hand, cutting off Ed’s complaint. “I know what I’m doing, Ed, and I’m careful. I have to try.”

  Ed released a resigned sigh. “Yeah, I know. But, I don’t have to like it.”

  “No, you don’t.” Turning to Jake, he said, “If you can manage not to look so much like a cop, you can ride along with me.”

  Jake rose and flipped Ed a look of feigned compassion. “You deserve a medal for putting up with him. Come on, Miles, let’s go for a ride and I’ll try to hide who I am well enough to fool some punk ass teens.”

  “That’s all I ask. Don’t wait up, Ed, I mean it.”

  “Since when do you to tell me what to do, boy?” Ed growled.

  “Since I took over this place and you retired. It’s my turn to look out for you. I’ll see you in the morning.” Miles swung around and returned to the garage, Jake right behind him as they climb
ed into his souped-up Charger.

  “Is the muscle car necessary?” Jake asked, buckling in.

  “Yes.” The engine roared to life, the missing mufflers drawing a look of censure from Jake.

  “How many tickets have you gotten in this thing?” he asked as Miles backed out of the garage and rolled down the alley.

  “Several. Did Joaquin say he was picking up the drugs for Mateo?”

  Jake shook his head. “Not in so many words, but we both know how to read between the lines. The father went up for dealing last month, but Joaquin’s still been attending school, so he’s not lost yet. If you threaten Mateo, don’t do it in front of witnesses, including me.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” Miles drawled. Keeping his eyes peeled for activity, it didn’t take long to come across a couple of teens out to cause trouble on a Friday night. Slowing down, he pulled alongside the pair and rested his arm on the open window, making sure his gang tattoo couldn’t be missed. When the pair widened their eyes as they caught sight of the skull and crossbones etched in black, a look of fear replaced their cocky attitudes.

  “You two ever heard of Mateo, with the Swords?”

  Both teens shrugged but Miles caught the flash of recognition the name evoked. Nodding, he stated in a hard tone, “You tell him to forget about Joaquin.” Not waiting for an answer, he sped away, leaving the two gaping at his taillights.

  Jake chuckled. “That’s it?”

  With a shrug, Miles turned down the next street. “I deliver the same message to a few more, word will spread, and my past rep will either force him to back off or he’ll come to me, at which time I’ll deliver one personally.”

  “We’ve known each other, what? Two years now?” Jake shook his head in bemusement. “I still don’t get why you don’t let the past go and enjoy your success without dredging it up with these little side gigs.”

  Jake was the only person, other than Miles’ small group of friends, who knew about his sealed juvenile record, and the day he’d arrived home too late to stop his father from taking out his rage on his mother one final time. To this day, Miles couldn’t remember the pain of the small knife his father used on his mother then on his face when his old man came after him, or grappling with him until he grabbed a lamp and swung. It was easy to recall the smell of blood, to picture Dave Cavenaugh’s hate-filled black eyes rolling back in his head as he lay on the floor next to his battered wife and bled out, to hear his tortured sobs as he leaned over his mother and begged her to look at him.