The Decision (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Allyson Young

  He was so bossy. She loved it. So far.

  “I’ll put coffee on, Dace. The shower is pretty small—” Her statement was cut short when he pounced and scooped her up, carrying her into the bathroom.

  “Use the facilities, Stephanie.” He disposed of the condom and moved to turn the showerhead on.

  Maybe she didn’t love the bossiness. But she hurriedly used the toilet and washed her hands, trying to pretend being naked with Dace was the most natural thing in the world. And in a way it was. He’d already seen her naked in different circumstances, and this felt intimate, special. Stephanie clambered into the claw foot tub with him and allowed him to wash her from head to toe, her breath catching when he lingered on certain parts. No one aside from her stylist had washed her hair since she was a little girl, and Stephanie nearly cried at the luxury of it. She got herself under control and helped Dace wash next. The close quarters, the tub area enveloped by a billowing white curtain festooned with yellow daisies, implied a surreal experience for Stephanie. Never in her wildest dreams…

  “You’re thinking again.”

  Startled, she raised her eyes to lock gazes with Dace. His blue orbs were as clear as a tranquil sea, no hint of frost, full of tenderness. Her heart lurched in her chest and swelled with deep emotion. She loved this man, had fallen in love with an arrogant, tough, strong-willed individual who made love to her with such passion and attention to her pleasure, and whose tender, thoughtful side undid her. She was fiercely jealous of Sophie, of the time she’d had with Dace, and for the first time in her life wondered if life would be so terrible without a connection to her sister.

  “Stephanie?”

  She wanted to tell him she loved him, but it was too new, too private, too much of everything. He cared for her, she knew it. He said he wanted more. But she had to guard her tender heart.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Dace leapt into action, helping her to towel dry, wrapping another towel around her sopping hair, before he swiped at the moisture on his own body. She stared boldly, committing every inch of him to memory.

  “If you look at me that way, we’ll be postponing breakfast, sweetheart.”

  She blinked out of her fascinated stare and laughed. “It’s hard not to look, Dace. There’s so much of you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now c’mon, get dressed while I make some coffee to-go. We’ll take Jake with us. Frank can sit him while we have a leisurely meal.”

  “But that’s not fair!” she protested. “Frank is your driver, not a dog sitter.”

  Dace smiled at her, that annoying yet oh so appealing smile he had. “Frank will do anything to support our burgeoning relationship, Stephanie. Even babysit Jake.”

  She acquiesced as he expected she would, the bossy man, and Stephanie found a blue semidressy blouse to wear with a pair of gray trousers she should have dry cleaned. They’d shrunk in her little washer, so the fit wasn’t too bad, although it seemed her appetite had returned and they wouldn’t fit for long. She smiled at the thought.

  “Ready, sweetheart?” Dace lounged in the doorway. Did he know how it framed his magnificence and made her pulse leap? He wore his suit pants from the day before, and presumably his boxers, but the shirt was different. She frowned in confusion.

  “Frank brought me some fresh clothes, Stephanie, when he delivered the food last night.” He gestured to a leather satchel beside the bed. “Coffee’s made, and the animal’s pacing.”

  She dashed into the bathroom and wielded her mascara wand. Lip gloss, a quick tug of a pick through her drying hair, and she was ready. At the last moment she sprayed her wrists with Island cotton. Dace had his shoes on, Jake was leashed, and the leather satchel sat by her purse at the door. Stephanie toed into her shoes, and Dace shepherded her out the door, the feel of his hand in the small of her back both a comfort and a sensual awareness.

  * * * *

  The next few weeks were a blur of routine and accommodation of schedules.

  Stephanie soon realized how possessive Dace could be. He let her be insofar as her work at the gallery was concerned, but he claimed nearly every free minute otherwise. True to his word, her little bedroom now boasted a queen-size bed. It cramped the space, but seeing as she did little else in her bedroom other than store her clothes and have mind-bending, all-encompassing sex with Dace, she had little to complain about.

  He made some man-to-man arrangement with her landlord regarding Jake. The nights she stayed at Dace’s home, and what a contrast in environments that was, Jake had a sleepover with Mr. McTavish, who grumbled in mock protest. It was clear how attached he was becoming to the apartment building mascot. Dace’s building didn’t permit animals, and even his influence met a brick wall in this instance.

  Dace wasn’t kidding when he said he was in charge in the bedroom, and Stephanie relished it. He wasn’t one of those Doms in the erotic novels she read, but he dictated their sexual lives. He decided when and how, and what, from positions to the length of their activity. She didn’t have anything to complain about because he intuited what she needed and what would best meet her needs, even if she had to wait for it. And Stephanie understood he found the most pleasure in granting it to her. She knew she was becoming a greedy hoyden, greedy for the incredible sex, insatiable. Her skin glowed, and she knew she walked with easy sensuality, a well-satisfied woman.

  She and Dace didn’t talk about either Sophie or the future, just lived from day to day, as close as two people could be, without borrowing trouble. Her quiet reaching out to her father on two occasions didn’t elicit any information on Sophie’s whereabouts. Douglas wasn’t that interested in her life, making noncommittal comments about her gallery job, indifferent to her cautious statements that she was in a relationship. He hadn’t changed, and she didn’t really expect him to do so. They spoke intermittently in any event, and she wasn’t inclined to go home again.

  She was considering her options for dressing for dinner, Dace having filled one of his closets with an astonishing array of lovely clothes he chose for her. She had protested vehemently when he began to supplement her wardrobe, but he was inflexible and seduced her into accepting them. In the end she wore them with pride because she was on his arm and wanted people to see that she was worthy of him. When he found out her rationalization, Dace had spanked her again, furious she would self-deprecate. The memory of that paddling turned her on a little whenever she thought about it because of the orgasm he’d coaxed from her, still draped over his lap, pinned in place by his hold and her position.

  Warm, moist breath swept across the back of her neck, swirling through the tendrils of her hair, to send an effervescent tingle of lust straight down her spine to settle between her legs. Dace trailed his tongue over her nape, down over the curve of her shoulder and back up to flicker at her sweet spot, right where her neck and shoulder joined. Her knees buckled, and his arms swept around her to hold her steady.

  “The sight of you in this lingerie makes me think we’ll be late for dinner,” he murmured against her skin.

  “We can’t. Your sister and her husband are only here for a few hours.” Stephanie tried to be the voice of reason, but her body was suggesting otherwise.

  One arm holding her tightly, banded around her waist, Dace increased his sensual assault on her throat, and she arched back to give him further access. He slid his other hand over the curve of her hip and delved beneath the lace band of her barely there panties to find her sex. She was already wet and throbbing in anticipation of his touch, her folds swelling in anticipation. Dace had shaved her pussy, convincing her by painting visual pictures, sensual pictures of how much more of his touch she would feel with no barrier between him and her most private place. A finger feathered over her clit, then slipped through her juices to push inside her sheath, a lazy in and out motion that had her hips hitching for more.

  “Tell me what you want.” Dace’s throaty demand made her gush. She loved this demanding, darker side of him. He controll
ed their sexuality, and sometimes pushed her boundaries to the limits. She closed her eyes tighter against the memory of being taken up against the heavy glass doors leading to his balcony, the lights of the city a backdrop to their passion, certain everyone within eyeshot was watching. It had driven her arousal higher, secure in Dace’s arms and his home, yet separated only by a pane of clear glass from the eyes of strangers. Afterward she realized the darkness of the apartment would preclude anyone actually seeing them. Dace would never put her at risk. But the exhibitionist in her had revelled in the very idea, and her orgasm was fantastic.

  Now she was contemplating the buffet of carnal delights he promised her, knowing she could ask for whatever she wanted, although he would decide whether or not to serve it. She clenched around his invading finger.

  “Tell me with your sweet mouth, Stephanie. I can read your body. Tell me.”

  Dace added another finger, and she could hear the digits thrusting in and out of her, slipping and sliding on her cream. She moaned.

  “Tell me.”

  “I want you to fuck me, Dace. Please.”

  “How, sweetheart?”

  God, he was going to push her until she was so primed she’d combust. “From behind.”

  A deep chuckle of satisfaction and she felt him folding her to the floor, his hot body blanketing her. He was dressed, whereas she was only in filmy lingerie, and the barrier of clothing only served to underscore his sensual power over her. Her knees sank into the plush carpet, and her fingers spread wide to clutch the thick pile and support her weight. Dace pressed her shoulders forward until her forehead also touched the floor, and his hand stroked the length of her spine, cupping first one buttock and the other.

  “Hold this position.”

  He levered himself away from her, and she shivered at the loss of his warmth. Her hair tumbled around her face to screen her vision, as effective as any blindfold. Her heart pounded in her temples as she strained to hear his movements. A drawer opened and closed, and she could feel the thud of his footsteps resonating in the floor. Water ran, and then she could hear him returning. Stephanie resisted raising her head because Dace wouldn’t want her to and because the anticipation was part of their play. She felt the fabric of his clothing on her hip as he knelt beside her, his voice close and dark.

  Her panties were pulled down to her knees, leaving her bottom raised and vulnerable. Cream moistened her thighs, and she squirmed. A slap on one buttock froze her in place, and Dace shifted to push her legs apart, leaving all of her open and exposed to him. A blunt finger traced the cleft of her ass and paused at her anus. Stephanie tensed. Dace had introduced her to anal play, rimming her and pressing just inside her back entrance. Coupled with clitoral stimulation or actual intercourse, it blended with their passion, pushing it, enhancing it and Stephanie accepted it willingly. This felt different. This felt like it was just about her back opening, and she trembled against the implication.

  “You hold your position, Stephanie.”

  Dace’s suggestive order increased her trembling, both from anticipation and fear. The finger retreated, then returned, and a slippery substance eased his entry. Lube. She thought she’d heard the little liquid squeezing sound, but her thundering heart and quick breathing nearly deafened her. Dace worked another finger inside her, and she gulped against the fullness and stretching. Her pussy ached to be filled in a similar manner, and she heard a whimper slip past her lips.

  Dace pushed harder and deeper at the sound, and she could feel him scissor his digits. Her back arched involuntarily, and she pushed back on him. Instantly his lips met one of the dimples beneath the small of her waist, and she soared.

  “I’m going to put a little plug inside you, sweetheart. A bit of discomfort is all.”

  He could do anything he wanted if he’d hurry up and fuck her. She wanted to rock on his fingers and reach back to find her clit and…

  “Leave your hands where they are!”

  Shit, she had nearly acted on her fantasy. Dace eased his fingers out of her, and she could scent the wet wipes as he pulled them from the container. Then something hard and forgiving breached her rosette, pushing inexorably into her colon.

  “Relax and breathe, sweetheart.” Dace kept a hand on the small of her back to keep her steady, and she tried to do as he asked. The plug’s entry was eased by the lube and him stretching her, but it still felt foreign, and she struggled not to panic, focusing on him instead. He would never hurt her, except in a good way, to enhance her pleasure. It was his sexual mantra.

  At last the toy was seated deep within her, and she adjusted to the sensation. Fabric rustled, and the sound of a zipper opening took her attention. At last. Dace’s weight again blanketed her, only now his chest was bare and heated against her skin. He reached beneath her to pull her bra cups down and fondled first one aching mound, and then the other, pinching the nipples gently. His knees bumped hers, bracketed as they were by the stricture of her panties, and his cock slipped between her wet folds and the head set against her gate. She waited, tense with expectation. Dace entered her in increments, her hobbled knees making entry more difficult. He fought for space against the plug that jostled in her anus, the myriad of sensations making her cry out.

  “Breathe, sweetheart. I’ll fit.” Dace’s strained voice reassured her. She heard how exciting this was for him and how he struggled to contain himself.

  When he was finally seated in her as deep as he could get Dace paused. She couldn’t do this. He needed to move. Stephanie clenched hard, and her nether regions both ached with need and nearly burst with fullness. Dace growled above her and began to fuck. He drove her across the carpet with his need. She would have sprawled onto her belly if not for his strong arm wrapping around her waist and hauling her up so that her hips rested against his pelvis. The stretching and breadth of the invaders in her pussy and ass overwhelmed her, and she screamed with the oncoming orgasm barrelling toward her like a locomotive. Dace pressed her clit with his free hand, and she succumbed to the pleasure, falling over the edge of ecstasy, slumping, boneless and complete. Dace shuddered as she clamped down on him and groaned his release into her shoulder.

  He held her until she was able to lift her head, before pulling out and lowering her to her side where she relaxed in the aftermath. She vaguely remembered their dinner date, but decided she needed a period of recuperation. Dace returned with a warm cloth to clean her up, rolling her onto her back to do so. She squinted up at him. His face was alight with tenderness, and she spoke without thinking.

  “I love you. Dace.”

  His face softened further, and his eyes melted into a darker hue. “Stephanie. Sweetheart. I love you, too.”

  “It’s not just the sex,” she insisted.

  “I know, honey. And we were right to wait. Although the sex is right up there.”

  She smiled and reached up to touch his cheek. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss on the palm. “Now you need to get up and get dressed. Probably fix your makeup, too. My sister and her husband will know just by looking at you why we’re late.”

  Stephanie came back to reality with a crash. God. Her first meeting with one of his family and they were late and she probably looked freshly fucked. She struggled to her feet with the aid of Dace’s hand. She winced when the plug made its presence known. She reached back to touch the base and looked at Dace questioningly.

  “I want you to leave it in, sweetheart. I have plans for that plush ass.”

  She froze. “I’m not sure, Dace.”

  “Is it uncomfortable? Does it hurt?”

  “Uh, no, but I’m aware of it.”

  “I want you to be aware of it, all evening. I want you to be reminded of what’s going to happen when we get home tonight.”

  For some reason Stephanie focused on the home part of his statement. They’d confessed their love for one another, and she thought it was the first time he called his place home. Was it her home, too? She hated that she couldn’t commit whol
eheartedly until Sophie surfaced.

  “Stephanie?” Dace’s handsome face was puzzled and concerned.

  “Sorry. I was thinking about my sister.”

  “What?” His mouth set, and that frosty cast returned to his eyes.

  She hurried to explain. “Not about the later, but about the home. I want to talk about the future, but she’s in the way.”

  Dace pulled her into his arms, and she listened to the steady beat of his heart, relaxing against his chest. “I’ll take the plug out. It’s okay.”

  She looked up at him. “No. I think I want this. I do want it. The later.”

  He laughed. “Can’t say it, huh? You can’t say you want to try anal sex. Well, you’ll be begging for it, sweetheart. Now go get ready.”

  The light slap on her ass as he released her immediately turned her attention to the plug. Begging? Maybe. But perhaps he’d be begging, too. In the meantime she had to get herself presentable and pretend she wasn’t aware of the damn plug. And hug his admission of love tightly.

  * * * *

  “So, how did you two meet?” Dace’s sister, Amanda tossed the question out there as the icebreaker Stephanie dreaded.

  Dace cut in smoothly. “Stephanie manages Reginald’s gallery, Force Four. I’m a patron, so of course our paths met.”

  Amanda nodded, but her blue eyes, so like her brother’s, except highlighted with a streak of eyeliner, remained fixed on Stephanie. There was speculation and a definite hint of distrust and dislike mirrored there. Stephanie sighed inwardly. Dace had apparently told his protective sister about her connection with Sophie, as if Amanda could have missed it. He would have reassured his sister that they were different, but Amanda naturally suspected the worst. Stephanie couldn’t blame her. All she could do was be herself and let things play out.

  Clay, Amanda’s husband, was less suspicious, if a little pushy, but as soon as Stephanie set her boundaries, he backed off and treated her with friendliness and civility. Sophie, no doubt, had made some moves on him, and he needed to assuage his curiosity, doing so in a manner that settled his opinion of Stephanie.