by Lynda Aicher
Another head shake. “Not without a disguise. Every moment is a publicity opportunity.”
He paid for their tickets and guided her to the concession stands. “What about your privacy?” The urge to hunt down and beat every person who controlled Quinn’s life was growing stronger with each new piece of information she told him.
“Public figures don’t have privacy. Not when they’re in public.”
“Bullshit.” The grandmotherly woman in front of them jerked around and shot him a glare. “Sorry, ma’am.” He lowered his voice and ignored Quinn’s smirk. “Everyone is entitled to privacy.”
Her laugh was dry. “You do realize how naive that sounds in this day and age of instant media?” She had a point, but it still irritated him that she’d been trained to believe her life was always open for public consumption.
They were hunting down the theater, their arms laden with a large tub of popcorn and sodas big enough to guarantee a caffeine buzz until dawn if they drank them all, when a chubby-cheeked woman approached them. Her hands were fluttering as fast as her lashes when she stopped and gushed before Quinn. “I’m sorry, but are you Cici Norton? My friend says I’m being silly.” She pointed to another woman standing to the side whose face was deeply flushed. “But I swear you look exactly like her.”
Before Quinn could answer, Marcus let out a scoffing laugh and bumped Quinn with his elbow. “She gets that all the time. I keep telling her she should enter a celebrity lookalike contest.”
The hopeful expression of the fan crumbled. “So you’re not her?”
Quinn shook her head, her smile tweaking. “Sorry. No.”
“Oh. Sorry to bother you.” The woman scurried off to the scolding of “I told you so” from her friend.
Quinn’s eyes danced with mischief. “You’re bad.” But there was no heat behind the words.
He ushered into the darkened theater. “Oh, kitten. That was nothing. I’ll show you just how bad I can be later.” His dick twitched at the thought of all of the things he couldn’t wait to do to her.
“Promise?” The jaunty quip, coupled with the come-hither look over her shoulder, had him rethinking his cunning idea to watch a movie in public. It was going to be a very long movie.
Chapter Eighteen
The remains of their evening were spread across the condo in a wicked retelling of the night’s activities. A stack of pillows was piled in the middle of the floor, a wooden spoon lay next to a feather duster and a red silk scarf was curled innocently beside a black butt plug.
Quinn took a sip of her coffee and let her secret smile show. A warm glow still filled her from the inside out. It was better than the slight sting that pierce her butt cheeks every time she shifted on the bar stool. They might not have been at the club, but Marcus had shown her that leather, whips and a fully stocked toy cabinet weren’t required for him to dominate her.
She’d snuck out of bed so she could simply remember and bask in the happiness before it was snatched away. There was a lightness within her that seemed to lift her up and urge her to spin in circles until she fell down laughing. But the weekend was over and her contract with Marcus had official expired. Technically, she had no reason to see him again.
The stinking chime on her phone rang out at that moment to remind her that this was only temporary. A glance at the screen showed two missed texts from her mother, one from Jewels and another from a friend. And they all wanted something from her. Contract details, a movie premier, a club opening. Do this, Missy, be here, Missy, give us that, Missy. It was so nice being Quinn. Marcus was the only one who asked anything of Quinn and then it was only what she wanted to give.
She set the mug down and pressed her palms against the sudden sting in her eyes. She didn’t want this to end. God, she’d never felt freer than she did with Marcus. Going out, watching movies, being normal. It was fun. Hiding in plain sight among the population of Minneapolis was something she hadn’t fully considered until he’d shown her how.
And that was above the surprising freedom she found submitting to him. This was supposed to be a role. That was it. But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
For that reason alone, she didn’t want to think about everything Vanessa and Cali had brought up yesterday. Marcus was a professional Dom, and she had no right or place to ask him to stop his job. Yet the thought of her being just another sub in his list of clients turned her cold. Was she grasping for something special that was nothing but normal for him?
No. Darn it. She touched her collar in silent confirmation. She wasn’t going to let anyone place doubts in her head. What they had was different. It had to be.
“Hey.” He circled her waist from behind and nuzzled his nose into her neck. “Everything okay?”
Another complicated question. She tipped her head, and he trailed a line of kisses up to her ear. “Yes.”
“It didn’t look like it.” He nipped her ear lobe before heading for the coffee pot. Thankfully, it was an auto grind and brew, or she would’ve been running to the local coffee store the entire time.
“Just thinking.” She held out her mug, and he refilled it for her.
He leaned against the counter, crossing his ankles in a relaxed pose that had her gaze lingering on his chest. He’d thrown his jeans on, but the button was undone and his happy trail of hair seemed to disappear precisely into the opening. “Does it have anything to do with yesterday?”
The conversation she’d been avoiding had finally arrived. She looked up and caught his knowing grin. Yeah, he was hot. “Yes and no.”
“You ready to talk about it?”
He wasn’t pushing or ordering, only asking. He wasn’t going all Dom on her now, another aspect of the lifestyle that she was learning to appreciate. Being a dominant didn’t mean being an overbearing ass.
She set her mug down and clamped her hands between her knees. The lightness that had filled her moments ago was now sinking with the drop and churn of her stomach. “What happens now? With us?” As much as she wanted to stare at the countertop, she forced herself to meet his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“My contract is done. Your obligation to me is over.” The words spilled out quick and choppy.
He set down his mug and came around the counter to sit in the other stool. He took her hands in his before answering. “You are not an obligation.”
“Thanks.” She squeezed his hands, savoring the warmth of his touch. “But that doesn’t answer anything.”
“What do you want?”
Her irritation flared. “Why are you always asking me that?” She tried to jerk her hands away, but he wouldn’t let them go.
“It seems like you have enough people in your life telling what to do. I won’t be one of them.”
She wanted to be mad at him. Wanted to tell him he was wrong and that she ran her life. But she couldn’t. She was aware enough to admit that she rarely made her own decisions. It was easier to have everyone tell her what to do and let them bear the weight of her failures as opposed to owning them herself.
She sucked in a breath and took a leap. “I’d like to keep seeing you.”
His smile wiped the seriousness from his face. “Done. Next?”
Could she do it? Say it? “I like what we do together. All of it. The Dom/sub stuff as well as the movies and coffee.” She motioned between them. “This.” Her stomach was in knots again, her nerves worse than when she’d waited to hear if her name was called for the Emmy award.
He cupped her face and gave her a gentle kiss. “Me too.”
The words whispered over her lips. She closed her eyes and breathed. He wanted this too. “Your friends think we’re a bad idea.”
“They don’t get a vote. This is between us and no one else.” He kissed her again, and she wanted to linger there. To keep the rest of the world away, but that wasn’t possible.
“Can I ask you a question?” She had to get her doubts out.
“Always.”
She
leaned back and searched his eyes, needing to see his reaction. “I know your job is being a Dom.” Immediately, his guard started to go up. He straightened, his smile receding. “I know you have other clients. I get that.” She did. She’d lain in bed for hours last night, thinking of nothing but this topic. She found the collar, the touch of it against her fingertips soothing. “But how many other submissives wear your collar?”
“None.” His nostrils flared and he pressed in, grabbing her chin. “You are the only one who has ever worn my collar. I might have other clients, but you are the only one who belongs solely to me.”
She was tempted to leave it there. That warm sense of belonging wrapped her in a bubble created in denial. Did she really need to know the rest? Maybe she could just enjoy the next week and leave it at that. But her heart told her that wasn’t possible. She was already too stupidly invested.
“Do you have sex with any of them?” She made her voice strong, despite the insecurity that screamed clingy, possessive, psycho chick in her head.
“We talked about this already.”
“Yeah. But that was before.” Maybe she was wrong about that. She got up and paced to the window. The cloud cover was thick and dark today, and the bare branches of the trees bent and twisted in the wind that tossed the remaining leaves across the ground. “Things feel different between us now.”
He came up behind her, his reflection shining in the glass. She didn’t pull away when his arms circled her. The warmth of him pressed into her back, reminding her of his strength. “They are different.” His kiss landed on the top of her head, a simple gesture that spread through her to ease away some of her worries. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you. Not now.”
“And that means?”
“I’ll talk to my clients and take intercourse off my lists. It was only on a few of them anyway.”
“Won’t they get mad?” She ignored the spark of disappointment. She had no right to expect him to completely drop his clients.
He gave a dismissive shrug. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my limit. If they don’t like it they can go to another Dom. That’s how contracts work.”
Was that good enough for her? It had to be. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected that concession. “You don’t have to,” she told him. “Not for me.”
He brought her back to the kitchen and lifted her up to set her on the counter before stepping between her spread legs. He stroked the collar, the resulting tingles shooting down her neck to tighten her nipples as if he’d commanded it.
At eye level with him, she had no option but to look at him. “Yes, I do,” he said. “For us. I don’t want have sex with anyone but you.”
Well...damn. That was good. She wouldn’t think about the rest.
She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him with all the emotion that threatened to tear her apart inside. She hoped so badly that this wasn’t a game. That this was as real as it seemed. Marcus opened to her, took her in and kissed her back with the same intensity that had been in his eyes. It was more than just a kiss. It was confirmation and a contract all in one.
He lifted her off the counter and carried her three steps to set her on the dining table. He ended the kiss, yanked her sleep shirt over her head then gently pushed her down until she was sprawled over the surface. The oak was cold and hard on her back, but it held her weight easily. When he lifted her hands over her head, she knew what he wanted. There was no need to tell her to keep them there.
The light calluses on his palms scratched over her skin as he ran his hands down the length of her body from her wrists to her knees, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He grabbed her ankles and propped her feet on the edge of the table. With her legs spread wide, he had a clear view of every part of her. Exposed but not vulnerable.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said, his intense gaze scanning every inch of her. He opened his jeans, the rumble of the zipper sending a shiver down her spine. Her nipples were already beaded and tingling with a need to be touched. Just like her pussy. His hand rested on her knee and it wasn’t enough. Not even close. The heat from his one touch seemed to travel down her thigh, taunting the rest of her body.
He pushed his jeans down, the rustle of material spiking her pulse and breath. His movements were deliberate. Methodical and unrushed that allowed her to savor the view. His hair was still bed-tousled, the apparent finger-comb doing little to tame the errant strands. The urge to run her fingers over his broad chest, to feel the hair under her palms was almost enough to break her position.
His seduction was slow, sweet. Each touch gentle, every kiss savoring. It was just them. No pretense or illusion of contracts to disguise the emotion or mask the desire. Right here, right now, she’d never been more bared.
At some point she did forget his unspoken command, but he never said a thing. His skin was warm under her palms, his muscles powerful. Yet he could be so attentive and caring. Like now. It overwhelmed her and held her at the same time.
She stretched up and ran her fingers through his hair before drawing his lips to hers. She lost herself in the hot pressure of his mouth, the urging of his tongue. His cocked mimicked the thrust of his tongue, his hips rocking in rhythm to run his length over her sex. She arched into each slow undulation, wanting him in her yet loving the slow tease and ache that he was building.
He eased back to trace his fingers over the narrow strap of the collar. There was such reverence in his gaze, honesty in his touch that she found herself blinking back tears. It was almost too much, but she didn’t dare let go. Couldn’t let go.
“You’re mine, Quinn.” He dipped his head and sucked hard on her neck. She knew the mark would be beautiful. “Only mine,” he mumbled against her skin before moving down to create a trail of marks down her chest, over her abdomen. She wanted to be his. Too much. It was dangerous and potentially shattering, but she couldn’t pull away.
“Please, Marcus.” Her breathy plea was filled with everything she couldn’t say.
He ran his tongue through her pussy, the long trail as lazy and unhurried as the rest of his assault had been. “Please what?”
The bastard. Of course he’d still make her say it. But her irritation was short-lived. He sucked on her clit, one long pull that shot straight to her core and had her curling up against the rising wave of her orgasm. “Please,” she gasped. “Make love to me.”
The lingering kiss to the inside of her leg was so soft. “Always.” His answer was a gruff muffle, but it still wrapped around her heart.
When he finally stood over her, his erection sheathed in a condom, his breath was jagged and rough. He grabbed her knees, pushing her legs up and back, completely opening her to him. The emotion displayed in his dark eyes stopped her breath. She stared at him, frozen by the honesty. It was another long moment before she reached down to position him at her entrance.
“Christ, Quinn.”
He slid into her then, her wet channel taking him all as he filled her. So hot and hard and big. She was amazingly full. God, she’d never felt a part of someone the way she did when Marcus was in her.
His thrusts were slow, measured glides that stroked her inner walls and slowly built the tension that had her muscled clenching around him. She was more than his submissive, and he was more than her Dom. They’d exceeded those boundaries days ago, but there was no denying it now. And she had no desire to do so.
Quinn crossed her wrists over her head and gave herself completely to him. He would catch her. Here, now.
He groaned in approval, his hips bucking for a hard plunge that drove deep within her. “You are so fucking hot,” he growled. He released her leg and ran his fingers down the hickey marks he’d made. It was a slow descent from her neck to her pussy that left a blazing trail defining the path. “And mine.”
She couldn’t wait to see the bruises. Each one would remind her of him. Them. This.
She wrapped her legs around him, his tempo increasing as she arched her back and t
ried to meet each thrust with her own. He pressed his thumb over her clit, teasing her with each drive. She bit her lip to hold back the climax that was so close. Her head thrashed, her skin was hot and clammy and she wanted nothing more than to be lost in him.
“Please. Marcus, please. I need to come.” Her lip throbbed in time with her pulse, the blood pounding in her ears.
“So beautiful.” He pulled out and held the tip of his dick at her opening. The sudden stillness was interrupted by their harsh breaths and her small whimpers. “I want to savor you and take you at the same time. Hide you and flaunt you both.”
She squirmed, trying to get closer, to get him back in her. The empty ache was pure torture. Her vagina clenched, silently begging to be filled. He rubbed the head of his dick around her entrance, taunting until she couldn’t think of anything but him.
“What do you want, Quinn?”
“You.” The single answer shot from her mouth, fast and strong. His eyes darkened impossibly more. His answer was an almost punishing shove into her begging channel that would have slid her across the table if he hadn’t grabbed her hips. He repeated the motion, each thrust hard and demanding and exactly what she needed.
She gripped his arms, pulling him closer with every plunge, wanting in him in a way that would keep her safe forever. The low animal-like sounds that came from him only drove her higher. She couldn’t think of anything except what he controlled.
“Come, Quinn.”
Yes! She exploded on command. Her world darkened then went blazing bright. He gathered her up, and she writhed against him. His skin was slick, hot and so perfect. He came with a muffled groan that vibrated on her neck and drove another spasm from her.
She clung to him, her arms and legs clenched around him as she drifted in the aftermath. There was no worry of him dropping her or letting her fall. He had her. Now. But what in the hell was she going to do when she had to leave?
Chapter Nineteen