Vonna Harper

by His Slave

  “What about you? Dancing makes good money.”

  “I’m not that kind of an exhibitionist.”

  “I know what kind you are.”

  Mace’s comment stung. Earlier tonight she’d been too involved in what she was experiencing to think about her audience. Not trusting what might come out of her mouth, she studied her legs. Mace’s shirt covered about half of her thighs, much more than she’d worn at Indulgences, but she still felt exposed.

  “What is it?” he asked. “I said the wrong thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Look, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. After all those years of not measuring up, I have a thick skin.”

  The last thing she expected was for him to stand and walk over to her. Then he knelt and placed his hands on her knees, and her heart slammed against her chest.

  “You were an innocent child. It took a long time for you to realize that the way you were being raised was wrong, and even once you did, there wasn’t anything you could do about it.”

  They’d started this conversation trying to determine who had invaded her privacy, but she’d allowed it to go in another direction. As a result, he was now in her personal space, both physically and emotionally. This felt different from when her body had been under his control.

  “Are you speaking from experience?” she asked.

  His fingers clenched, pressing on her knees.

  She shook her head. “You aren’t going to answer, are you?”

  23

  No, Mace acknowledged, he wasn’t. Cheyenne might be willing to hold her past up to the light, but he’d be damned if he’d open himself up that way. She was a subject, a duty.

  Then why the hell had he brought her back to his place, and why was Rio dozing near her chair?

  “I’m sorry,” she went on. “I had no right.” She ran her fingertips over his knuckles, started to withdraw, then squeezed his hand. “Can you do anything with the information I gave you? I don’t see how it can be useful.”

  “I have my own suspicions. I just wanted to eliminate—”

  “What suspicions?”

  Noting the alarm in her voice, he tried to come up with a way to tell her she wasn’t in danger, but they both knew better than that.

  “I prefer not to say until I’ve done my investigation. In the meantime, I want to go through your house and remove every camera. Once I have, I’ll try to determine where they came from.”

  “You’d do that?”

  Her hands still gripped him, and he felt the pressure and warmth throughout him. “Of course.”

  “Because it’s your job?”

  Tell her yes. Don’t get any closer than you are. “Because what’s happening pisses me off. You’re entitled to privacy, everyone is.”

  “I keep trying to come up with a reason. Blackmail maybe. God, the idea of revealing pictures of me all over the Internet makes me sick. Mace, what if the room was dark? Could the camera still pick up something?”

  “Like what?”

  “Me masturbating. When I did, I wasn’t always under the covers.” Her nails dug into his knuckles, compelling him to release her knees and close his fingers around hers.

  “What are you thinking?” he demanded.

  “Did you—”

  “No.”

  “No what?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. That’s what you were going to ask, isn’t it?”

  Nodding, she straightened, still not trying to get free. “I had to,” she whispered. “The things we did, or rather what you did to me in my bedroom ... if that was made public, it would ruin my career.”

  “Yours wouldn’t be the only face out there.”

  Her sigh coming from deep inside, she collapsed against the back of the chair. He reluctantly let go of her, but instead of returning to his chair, he stood and looked down at her. Hopefully the dim lighting prevented her from noting his growing erection.

  “It’s been a hell of a night,” she said.

  “For both of us.”

  The ensuing silence gave him too much time to ask why the hell he’d admitted what he had. Hadn’t rule number one always been to keep his emotions locked away?

  Tell that to his cock.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “It has been.” Dropping her gaze, she spread her legs and rested a hand on her mons. “What’s that saying, something about being rode hard and put away wet. That’s me.”

  Chuckling came easily. “Not interested in a repeat performance?”

  “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Sex right now would be interesting to say the least. I’m not sure how I’d respond.”

  “Because I flogged you?”

  “That felt fantastic, sort of as if I’ve been out in the sun, all warm and excited, content. Alive. Does that make any sense?”

  They’d have to get back to the issue of security and safety, but not now. “It’s the reaction I hoped you’d have.”

  “You’ve perfected your technique. I feel as if I should send you flowers.”

  Roses. I love the smell. “Not necessary. It’s part of the job description.”

  “Is it, Mace? That’s how you see it?”

  For someone who’d spent years distancing himself from other people’s emotions, he had no trouble reading hers. She didn’t buy what he’d just said. “It makes doming easier if I concentrate on the sub’s physical cues. My primary responsibility is ensuring she has a safe and satisfying experience.”

  “So you get nothing out of playing the dom?”

  “That isn’t what BDSM is about.”

  “Then what—never mind. I’ll write my article later.” She glanced at his crotch. “So where do we go from here?”

  Horizontal. “Not home for you tonight,” he said. “I need to check it out first.”

  “I’d feel better if you did. Mace, I hope you’ll give me an honest answer about something.”

  Honesty might backfire on him, but the way he felt right now, he couldn’t deny her anything.

  “Studying me tonight, touching me, helping me climax, did that reach you sexually?”

  “Here’s the answer to that.” He cupped his cock, then released it before the hair trigger went off.

  “Occupational hazard?”

  Grateful for the lighthearted turn in the conversation, he looked behind him to measure the distance between her and his chair. Too damn far, more than he wanted to endure despite the danger. “Maybe I can get workmen’s comp.”

  “Too much paperwork. I have a suggestion.”

  Was she still joking? Not if her body language was any indication.

  “Mace, please.” She rubbed the chair arms. “Don’t make me do all the talking. I’m offering, hell, I’m offering my pussy to your cock. That obvious enough for you?”

  He didn’t want crude from her. The thing was, he couldn’t say what he needed to hear, if anything. Animals had it easier. If the female was in heat or the male in rut, they got it on. Otherwise, life revolved around filling their bellies.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, still rubbing. “My folks would have sewn my mouth shut if they’d heard me say that. Do ... you have a spare room? I could sleep on the couch.”

  “No, you can’t.” Just like that, he’d stepped over a line. It would be easier if it been a wall or he didn’t want her so damn much. Not long ago, she’d been just another Edge employee, more physically appealing than the majority, but not someone he’d ever thought would hurtle his barriers.

  Right now those barriers lay in splinters around him, and he didn’t know how it had happened.

  She stood up, forcing him to step back to accommodate her. His shirt had never looked so good, flowing over her curves and hanging up a little on her breasts. Her nipples spoke volumes about arousal and sent messages to the part of his anatomy that didn’t need any more stimulation.

  Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, and his arms circled her waist. She was naked under the soft cotton, much of
it flogger-abraded, his doing. More to the point, although her parents had done everything within their power to screw her up, she’d survived.

  He wasn’t going to kiss her, no way did he want that kind of intimacy, and yet he inclined his head as she lifted hers.

  They came together gentle, the lightest of touches that kept going, growing deeper by the half moment. Sexual need at its most primitive rolled through him, yet he resisted thrusting his pelvis at her. He wanted something different, not the same old, same old that had always ended with his cock in one of three places.

  Maybe for the first time in his life he needed more from a woman than a vehicle for getting off.

  Her waist was slimmer than he recalled, her hips smoothly rounded, her body bearing the marks they’d collaborated on.

  When he opened his mouth the slightest bit she did the same. Just like that, his mind floated. He was at peace with this woman in his arms and, despite his engorged cock, in no hurry to go beyond the holding on. Her arms around his neck didn’t restrain him; rather, he felt her flowing into him and him ceasing to be something separate. Maybe the same was happening to her, a possibility he’d consider another time.

  Mindful of what he’d put her through tonight, he leaned over a little so she didn’t have to stand on her toes. Rio yawned, making him glad someone was taking this moment lightly. That’s what he should do—take Cheyenne’s rather crude offering of her pussy followed by rolling over to his side of the bed and falling asleep.

  Only no woman had ever spent the night in his bed with him. Knowing that was about to change made it impossible for him to join Rio in yawning.

  Determined to stay in the moment, he opened his mouth a little more. Much as he wanted to bring his tongue into play, simply kissing was safer, tamer. Then his lips started to go numb. Not sure how long they’d been engaged in lip-lock, he broke the connection. Even with his arms around her waist and her breasts brushing him, he felt lonely.

  “What?” she whispered. “Maybe you didn’t want—”

  “The kiss. I started it, I think.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m not sure,” she muttered, resting her head on his chest. “Maybe for putting up with my crazy mind tonight.”

  He knew how she felt, not that he’d tell her. What was harder to keep under wraps was his need to feel her hair on his chest.

  “Where do we go from here, Mace? You don’t want me in a spare room or on the couch, and I can’t go home unless you drive me.”

  Reluctantly pushing her back, he waited until she looked up at him, her hands light on his chest. “I don’t dance around things,” he told her. “Don’t know how.”

  She took a deep, breasts-lifting breath. “Then be direct.”

  Easier said than done. “I want to have sex with you, but not if you’re not up to it.”

  “Not up to it? You can’t be serious.”

  “But you were rode hard and put away wet.”

  “I was, and it was fantastic. I’m not made of glass.”

  “Aren’t you?” For reasons he didn’t want to examine, he needed her to beg off. He’d have to jerk off to get through the night, but that was nothing compared to the danger of burying his body in hers.

  “Try me. You aren’t the only one who wants sex.” She sighed. “Equal sex, none of that kink stuff this time.”

  Just like that they’d taken their relationship in a new direction. One that scared the hell out of him.

  Watching Mace pull off his pants, it had occurred to Cheyenne that she was going to see him naked for the first time. Instead of waiting for him to handle the task, she’d pulled his shirt over her head and dropped it on the chair in his bedroom. Truth was, she’d been too nervous to simply stand there. Now she sat on the side of the bed swinging her feet and running her hands over the high thread count bottom sheet, wishing she didn’t feel so nervous.

  “Have you ever worn your hair long?” he asked.

  He stood no more than three feet away with his arms at his sides, his breath slow and regular, and his cock reaching for her. Where she had to keep moving because otherwise she’d explode, he seemed to have dismissed his body. Clothed or naked made no difference to him. An erection? No big deal.

  Except that in a few minutes that erection would be inside her, filling and maybe completing her.

  “Long hair,” she belatedly responded. “During my college rebellion stage, but I hate trying to keep it out of my eyes and mouth.”

  “Point taken. Light on or off?”

  “Off.” Much more of this clinical approach on his part and she’d slug him.

  Watching him reach for the bedside lamp, she changed her mind. He was so damned graceful, no woman could resist, and what did what he said matter? His hips were made for stroking, his buttocks perfect for cupping her hands over, and the hollow place where too many men announced their love affair with food and drink made her mouth water.

  The image of trying to suck that taut skin into her mouth loosened something inside, and she went from nervous energy to hunger. She’d checked her body in the bathroom mirror a few minutes ago, surprised and relieved to see that except for a barely detectable flush, her flesh looked untouched. Looking at her, no one would suspect what she’d been through. Her nerves felt alive, blasted out of hibernation alive!

  And ready for tonight’s next chapter. With Mace.

  “This is exciting,” she told him. “Granted a little unnerving.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Wondering why he was keeping those three feet between them, she folded her arms under her breasts, lifting them as she did.

  “I had a professor once, a brilliant man who published books on social history and had an office full of diplomas and awards. He intimidated the hell out of me until the day I went in to talk to him about something.” She waved her arm, then cupped her breasts to still them. “He was trying to stack playing cards. I tried to pretend I didn’t see what he was doing, but he laughed this rich, hearty laugh and said he sucked at it so why did he keep making a fool of himself. From then on we were friends.”

  “You want us to be friends?”

  In some respects, Mace reminded him of the sheep dogs her friend had owned. Like them, he was capable of remaining motionless indefinitely.

  “Not friends. We aren’t at that point. I don’t know if we’ll ever be.”

  When he didn’t reply, disappointment knifed through her, but what the hell did she expect, for them to start dressing alike?

  “Close relationships take time,” she went on, blithering really. “And they’re rare. At least that’s been true for me. It’s a combination of many things, maybe trust most of all.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  24

  Because Mace wasn’t and never had been close with someone, Cheyenne wondered. Much as she wanted to insist that wasn’t true, she knew better. Mace was a lone wolf—and she needed to know why. But not tonight.

  Sliding off the bed, she touched her mouth to the base of his throat. Her hands went to his sides. Kissing him repeatedly, she worked her hands down to his hips. When he gripped her buttocks, she debated telling him not to because she wanted to focus on him, but the contact felt too good.

  Moistening her lips, she coated his Adam’s apple, then moved on to his collarbone. As she did, she caressed his flanks, sometimes getting everything to work together, other times letting her heated cunt distract her. As she threw herself into the action, it dawned on her that he was just standing there, gripping her ass.

  What was going on inside his mind? Possibly he wasn’t thinking, but she didn’t believe that, not if the cadence of his breathing was any indication. She slid her teeth over his collarbone; he arched away a little, then leaned into her, sucking in air as he did. His tremor compelled her to press her breasts against him. He shuddered.

  Gathering her thoughts, she struggled to recall what she knew about him. It was so littl
e, nothing about his childhood, not a single word about his education or how and why he’d become a dom. What he wanted from life.

  Bending her knees, she glided her tongue down the middle of his breastbone, tasting as she did. His hands moved from her buttocks to her waist, helping her bend. Still, prompted by the strain in her calves, she straightened and wrapped her arms around his neck. Skin touched skin, her breasts flat and full and hard against his ribs. One of his arms remained around her waist. The other went to her back. Gentle, magical fingers stroked her spine.

  Sighing, she looked up at him. After a moment he inclined his head, and she covered his mouth with hers. Despite the throbbing in her breasts and sex, she was content.

  They weren’t animals in heat. There was time for wordless communication and compassion in a touch. His body made hers feel as if it could fly, yet they were floating together, drifting in sensation.

  This man was far different from the one who’d restrained and whipped her, not just another side to the same human, but separate.

  The press of tears added to her mood. Maybe their staid kiss earlier had brought out the other Mace, the man who understood that sometimes a woman simply needed to be held.

  She could do that to him, for him. Kiss his eyelids and forehead, the base of his spine and back of his legs, lightly touching her lips to those places to let him know how precious each one was.

  Could she do that tonight? Was there enough patience in her?

  The questions went unanswered as he lifted her back onto the bed. Spreading her legs, she took hold of his arms and drew him in. That done, she cupped her hands around his cock, sheltering it as if it was precious.

  “I love cock,” she admitted. “It intimidates me a bit. Just thinking about one stretching me, skewering me really, gets to me.”

  “There’s nothing mysterious about them.”

  He started massaging her thighs, making it nearly impossible for her to concentrate on keeping the conversation going. “You’ve looking at things from a male perspective. Try it from my side.”

  “No, thanks. I like being a man.”

  Laughing, she ran a thumb over the top of his cock. “And I like you just the way you are.”