Fragile Things

by Lauren Jameson

  “Ellie?” Uncertainty was not something I was used to seeing painted over Matt’s features, and I was…humbled, I think. Yes, humbled that I had the ability to put it there.

  “Yes.” I barely recognized my own voice, which was thick with desire, a low growl. “God, yes. Yes, Matt.”

  That seemed to be all he needed. The uncertainty melted, replaced with the bright wash of that wicked smile. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “What will you let me do?” I bit my lip the second the words left my mouth, certain that I’d gone too far, but he simply smiled again, a solemn smile.

  “Whatever you want to do. I’m yours.”

  “Mmm.” Reaching behind my back, I unclasped the bra that was hiding my erect nipples. Struggling a bit, I lifted my hips, shoved my panties down. I was excited, was ready, but still felt the sharp sting of nerves when I leaned over and undid the blindfold. I was bared to his eyes for the first time in well over a year, but the blistering heat they emanated melted the jitters into a wobbly puddle.

  Who knew it would feel so good to have Matt look at me like that? To have the sight of my naked breasts with their erect pink tips, the damp, dark curls between my legs affect him enough that he fumbled with any words he might have been trying to speak? That he would quiver a bit, himself, when I let my gaze roam down to his hard cock, jutting forward from its nest of golden curls?

  The thought flitted through my mind that later, later, we would have to deal with the aftermath of this. But right at that moment, I didn’t care. I didn’t know how long I’d been harboring this need, this ever-growing ache, but all I wanted right then was Matt’s cock thrust deep inside of me and his heart beating against my own.

  “Stay still.” A small sigh of pleasure, just a whisper, escaped my lips when I again straddled him, settled my weight over his own. I could feel the tight steel velvet of his cock pressed up flat against the wet silk of my labia, and I squirmed impatiently.

  If I was going to do this, then I wanted to get down to it before I began to think too much again. I didn’t want foreplay. But I wasn’t quite ready to fuck, either. I didn’t have a name for what I wanted, exactly; I only knew—well, hoped—that it would give me some relief.

  Gearing myself up for it, I again ranged my body over his, my lips just barely brushing his earlobe even as his nipples, hard as broken glass, scraped over the soft skin of my chest. The need began to again coil in my stomach. A poisonous snake ready to spring.

  Though I expected words to fall from his lips to my ear, I moved my head away before they could. Lying still, skin pressed tight and hot against skin, I began to tremble, knowing what would come next, what I would do next.

  Knowing it wouldn’t be at all what he expected.

  The air in the room thickened as tension built and the moon rise high into the night sky and we lay pressed together, him waiting for me to move, the connection between us pulling ever tighter. I closed my eyes, and without my own sense of sight, every imagined brush of fingers, every anticipated graze of lips over my skin pulled me deeper and deeper into an abyss that I didn’t ever want to stop falling into.

  It hadn’t been like this ever with anyone else. No, with Matt, I felt drugged, relaxed yet on high alert, content and at the same time wanting more, more, more.

  Taking a deep breath, I did what I’d been wanting to do.

  Kneeling back on my heels, a trembling thigh on each side of Matt’s hips, I took the lit candle in hand. Before either of us could protest, I tipped the tin holding the flame over his belly.

  He hissed as the scalding wax hit his skin. I moaned as a drip scorched my finger. This, yes, was what I had been wanting. The pain. An outward expression of what I had been feeling inside.

  Knowing now he felt a little bit of pain, too. Knowing it for certain. It sent a rush of power through me, and I smiled, long and slow.

  Oh. Oh, yes. I released another stream of scalding heat that burned my own sensitized skin along the way, the liquid pouring down from my cupped fingers to caress the planes of his chest as it rolled over his flesh.

  I was spellbound by the way it looked, those streaks of cardinal red like blood on the pale flesh of his abdomen. I couldn’t stop myself from touching and reached down to rub at the still soft pools. They melted again under my fingertips, and I growled, deep in my throat, at the angry vermillion stripes of his skin that appeared where the wax had fallen.

  As if in a trance, I rubbed the heels of my palms over the hard tightness of his nipples, again and again, then down over his hips and stomach.

  “It burns.” The words were a grunt from his lips. “And it feels so good.” He let a moan drop from between lips pressed tightly together when I arched my back, enjoying the feel of my fingers on his spine, my breasts pressing against his chest and my cunt, his cock.

  I lifted the candle again, ready to spill more wax. He was eager for it; I could see it in his eyes. But I slowly set the candle back down. It wasn’t what I wanted anymore.

  I wanted more. He’d proven himself to me, proven that he knew how to handle the pain, as well. That he’d done so already.

  I didn’t want to be in control anymore. Didn’t need to be. So I reached up and undid the ribbons that held his hands in place.

  He took advantage instantly, clutching at my raised hips and using them to slide down lower, and lower still, caressing the curves of my ass in hard circles before smacking me once, twice, three times, as hard as he could, hard enough that I was certain I would have red welts.

  While I was crying out in shocked arousal, he slipped his fingers in between the clefts.

  I sucked in a breath as sure fingers found the hidden pucker, but they merely pressed curiously and continued on their journey, back over my lips and up, up to where the dark hair curled softly between my legs. The dark hair was damp, wet with wanting, eager to open wide and let him in.

  “No.” He pulled back, just a bit, reaching for the candle and clutching it to his chest, but I was done with the teasing. After dipping my fingers into the pool of the candle, I moved wet heat through my fingers then to the rigid length of his shaft. He wasn’t expecting it, and his grip on the candle slipped. It fell, the flame sputtering out as perfumed liquid splashed over our chests, our bellies, our legs. He rolled as it fell, trapping me under him, trying to shield me from the worst of the burn, but plenty of the flaming wax still managed to fall on my skin.

  We both cried out at the burn. I grimaced, breathing through the pain, and at the same time, I took advantage of his surprise to wrap a tight fist around his cock, to guide it to the entrance of my cunt and home.

  Our moans mingled in the heavy, sweet air of the night as I thrust up, and he ground down, and the friction sent us soaring. The pools of wax caused us to slip against each other, skin on skin, anchored only by cock in cunt. Regardless, we managed to find a rhythm, and the extra slickness helped me feel every ridge, every vein of his shaft as it moved in and out, out then in.

  I rarely came from penetration alone, and it surprised and pleased me that he remembered. Sliding a slippery hand down between us, his sure fingers found the swollen flesh of my clit. Once, twice, three times, he pressed, the pressure eased by the wet before I flooded into his hand. When he followed a minute later, shouting out my name, I sank my teeth into his neck, hard enough that the coppery zest of blood hit my tongue. I marked him with those teeth as our breathing slowed, just a bit, and I thought, Mine.

  Maybe not mine forever. Maybe not even mine tomorrow.

  But right now…mine.

  ****

  I was relieved he didn’t want to discuss what had just happened, to dissect it, to tear it apart. He seemed content, as I was, to just enjoy being together.

  Without any of the effort I’d expected, those puzzle pieces I’d wedged together to hide the gaping hole had been rearranged. They were back in place. There was still that one tiny piece on the edge that was gone, but as long as both of us knew it had been there,
it wouldn’t be forgotten.

  She wouldn’t be forgotten.

  As he’d done so many times before, Matt seemed to pluck my thoughts right out of midair. Pulling me to my feet, he wrapped the moss green quilt that had been a wedding gift around us both and led me down the hall.

  The door was closed, as it had been, I was sure, since I’d left the house. Even so, the air inside was warm, welcoming, as if it had been waiting for us.

  Maybe it had.

  I don’t know how long we stood inside that room, crying, crying, crying. The crib, the mobile, the tiny little clothes—none of it had ever been used, and it was so desperately sad. It hurt as much as it ever had. Or maybe not quite as much, because now we were here together, instead of just standing side by side.

  I wasn’t fool enough to think everything was now better, or that we could automatically return to who we’d been, to how we’d been, before Eve. I didn’t want to, and I don’t think Matt did, either. But as he kissed the salty tears that cascaded over my face, traced the tracks they left, I understood one thing, something our daughter had finally managed to teach us, her foolish parents.

  We were better together.

  Linger Excerpt

  Copyright 2014 by Lauren Hawkeye

  RT Book Reviews gave Lauren Jameson’s September book Linger a 4.5 star review, saying “Jameson’s third In Vino Veritas book is the kind of searing, emotionally wrenching story that fans have come to crave. She fearlessly explores every type of desire, as well as the deep scars and fears that drive her characters. Her honesty makes this story compelling on a number of levels. Not for the faint of heart, the journey of this submissive alpha and his wonderfully strong, devoted dominant- and their incredibly complex, redemptive bond- is one that readers will not soon forget.”

  “Steamy and daring with a sexy alpha hero to swoon over.”

  -New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Roni Loren

  “Lauren Jameson’s Linger teases and sizzles… [a] deeply satisfying read!”

  -New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Eden Bradley

  From the author of Breathe and Blush comes a blisteringly hot new novel about baring it all.…

  On her last night in Nevada before embarking on a yearlong veterinary internship, Scarlett Malone is celebrating—and looking for one night of incredible pleasure. But the man who draws her eye is not her usual type: He’s a cowboy whose alpha-male tendencies tempt her beyond belief. Scarlett can’t understand why she wants this man and no one else, but she’s determined to entice him to submit.…

  Dr. Logan Brody lives an isolated life in rural Montana, running a ranch and suppressing his submissive tendencies. Only on his occasional trips does he give into his hidden urges. He can’t deny his scorching attraction to Scarlett or that she makes him want more, but he never lets anyone break him down fully. He’s hers for one night and one night only.

  But when Scarlett shows up at Logan’s door as his intern for the year, he realizes that the walls around his heart are about to crumble—and that this sexy dominant woman has no intention of letting him keep control.…

  ***

  Logan felt a wicked surge of excitement as the small Mistress planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips. Very sexy hips, he noted yet again, ones that flowed into a slender waist and the curves of full breasts. He’d felt a deep sense of satisfaction to find that she appeared every bit as interested in him as he was in her.

  Something in him again warned him to find a different partner for the evening, one who would be satisfied with administering a flogging, then sharing hard, impersonal sex.

  Every other part of him wanted the woman currently standing in front of him, though he knew somehow that she was going to push him further than he was comfortable. Just having met her had thinned the barriers he always kept in place.

  He hadn’t been in the club for very long, but he was already feeling the pain from being trapped in the crush of people. A scary looking Mistress—or Master, he wasn’t quite sure—had started bearing down on him at the same time as the tasty treat in front of him, and he’d felt as if the walls had been closing in on him, stealing away his air.

  But it was different with this one…

  An experienced submissive, he could tell that she was a fairly new Mistress. The nerves were there, in her eyes, around the corners of her mouth. Still, despite the sweet features of her face, dominance seemed to seep out of her very pores, an exotic perfume that caught his attention like a dog with a steak.

  And then there was that strange pull between them, the one that had snapped into place the second his arms had wrapped around her outside. The one that made every other dominant woman in the room seem dull and unappealing.

  It was an irresistible combination for a man who ran the show everywhere besides the bedroom.

  And he couldn’t ignore the fact that, since she’d introduced herself and glared at him with that bitchy expression that made his cock hard, he’d found it a little easier to breathe.

  “What’s the problem, sweetheart?” He grinned down at her, his expression deliberately cocky. He needed to keep his defenses up from the start around this one, to keep her from sneaking too far into his psyche.

  He waited to see if she would dismiss him immediately for his rudeness.

  She arched an eyebrow at his term but didn’t comment on it, which left him mildly disappointed. Instead she nodded at his feet, looking like nothing so much a wet dream of a stern schoolteacher.

  “Bottoms go barefoot in Veritas, sub. Remove the boots.”

  Her voice was whiskey smooth with an undercurrent of sin, at odds with the girl-next-door face. Logan found himself wanting to fall to his knees and obey, to please her, and despite how much he wanted her, the notion didn’t sit well with him.

  A mistress had to work much harder than saying a few words and looking pretty to earn that kind of response from him.

  He’d felt the punch of attraction when their eyes had first met, but now he was wary. What kind of hold did she have on him already, to make him want so badly to please her?

  Shaken by the notion, he grinned insolently and shook his head. “Make me, baby.”

  Logan watched as heat flickered in her eyes which, upon closer inspection, were stormy grey rather than the expected blue.

  He watched as she shrugged one shoulder, a simple gesture that was nevertheless full of innate grace.

  “We’ll do it the hard way, then.” So caught up in the siren’s song of her voice, Logan was caught off guard when the little minx kicked her leg up with the smooth flexibility of a trained dancer and pressed her sharp stiletto heel against the thin denim of his crotch.

  He froze when the perfectly positioned boot heel dug into the tender sac of his testicles, just enough to catch his attention.

  “No need to get nasty, sweetheart.” Though he wasn’t overly concerned that she was one of those mistresses who took joy in cock and ball torture, he was still uncomfortable enough from the feelings coursing through him to be a smartass.

  “Take off your boots.” Damn her, she looked completely calm and in control. Like she knew he would do as she said, simply because she had said it.

  Their little standoff had drawn an audience, too, and the press of bodies around them made his throat constrict with the beginnings of claustrophobia.

  “A hundred bucks on the little blonde.”

  Logan flicked his eyes around the gathered crowd to find the speaker and glowered when he saw that it was Luca, the only acquaintance he had at In Vino Veritas. He would have snarled if Mistress S hadn’t chosen that moment to dig that stiletto in just a bit harder.

  “I warned you.” She shrugged and smiled at him, and the smile made Logan’s entire body clench with pure, undiluted need. She leaned forward, a calculated move, he knew, but still he found his attention caught on the creamy swells of her breasts, offered up as they were in the almost indecently low neckline of her black lace corset.
<
br />   He wanted to get his hands on those breasts more than he wanted his next breath.

  His attention was still caught on them when she lowered her leg, and he grinned as he hoped, prayed, that she would lean forward a bit more, just enough for him to see a hint of nipple that he knew would be rosy pink.

  “I’d still be happy to give you the ride of your life—” Logan’s words were cut off when the slender woman whirled behind him, her movements precise and controlled. He felt the sharp toes of her boots dig into the backs of his knees, and then he landed on his knees on the floor, his breath leaving his lungs in one uncomfortable jolt.

  “What the—” He threw his hands out in front of him to protect his face when she pushed him down further and straddled his hips backwards. Despite the surprise and the uncomfortable position, his cock pushed against the thin denim of his jeans as his body registered the heat of her naked legs, pressing tightly into his torso.

  Her ass was sweetly rounded and close enough to touch. Her skirt had ridden up when she moved, and he caught a hint of the sexy panties she wore beneath.

  With firm hands, Mistress S tugged off one of his well-worn cowboy boots, and then the other. His socks followed. Standing, she caught his eye as she very deliberately stuffed a sock inside each boot, then handed the pair off to Luca, to tuck out of reach behind the bar, he assumed.

  “What’s your name?” She asked, her voice steady, certain he would answer... and he did, though he hadn’t intended to.

  “Logan.” He could hear the wariness in his own voice, and rightly so—this woman was nothing like he’d expected.

  “Well, then. Logan.” Her words were stern. “I told you. Subs go barefoot here.”

  Logan felt twin desires pulling inside of him. He wanted to apologize, to earn her favor.

  He also wanted to wipe that smug smile off of her face. She’d won this round—and he hadn’t seen it coming, so points for her.