by Joey W. Hill
“You’re getting hot and wet again, aren’t you, my lady? The plug in your ass and that tight hold on your clit are reminding you of your desire for me to touch and suck your flesh, take it again.”
She shook her head, then gasped as he gripped her throat in a hard hand, tilting her chin up to stare into his relentless gaze.
“You will tell me the truth, or pay dearly.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I hate you for that.”
“That’s another lie,” he said, a quiet threat, his thumb moving over her throat in a caress. “Isn’t it?”
When she didn’t answer, he dropped his hand to the clit pin and tightened his fingers over it, an uncomfortable pressure that made her whimper. “Answer me.”
She wet her lips. “It wasn’t…a while ago.”
There was the past again, the truth integrating itself into their fantasy, making it even stronger and more real. She had hated him at one time, for making her feel ways she’d been afraid to feel. It was one of the first times they’d both realized there was room for hate inside the universe of possibilities that love brought.
“But it’s not true now.”
“No.” Another whisper, and his grip eased, his fingers teasing the flesh swollen by the clamp of the wire.
He put the nipple jewelry on her, pinching the peaks as she twitched and became breathless under his ministrations. He attached chains between them and the clitoral clamp in front.
Stepping back, he looked at her, bound in a web of silver, the rose quartz pieces dangling from her nipples, vibrating from her subtle trembling.
Then, as she watched him, he returned to the box and removed the last item from it. As he did, her eyes became opaquer, her lips softer.
The rose quartz and silver wire collar was her actual collar, the one he’d given her as a gift on the plane on the way here. The formal one between them, Master and sub.
He stepped up to her, the collar looped over his forearm as he unbuckled the strap on her throat. Her gaze was fastened on the collar as she spoke in a throaty voice.
“I thought you said your slaves don’t wear such fine things.”
“My slaves do not. My queen does. Decide, my lady. Are you my slave, or my queen?”
Her gaze lifted to him, held. He saw his answer there.
Both.
Though he’d demand she say it out loud eventually, he put the collar on her now. As he fastened it, his fingers on her nape, he remembered the way she’d looked at him on the plane when he put it on her for the first time. The depth of feeling in her eyes, the press of her soft lips, the way her hands had gripped his sides, fingers curling into his dress shirt. He had closed his hands on her upper arms to kiss her, and felt her quivering. Damn if he hadn’t felt some of the same happening, low in his gut. A lot like the way he’d felt when they’d stood on the back deck of his Texas house and she’d said I do, I will.
He saw those same qualities in her expression now and hoped he would always do the things that would earn him the gift of that look. He ran more slender chains from the collar to the nipple jewelry in front, and one chain down the center of her back to hook to the plug. Tight enough to be a teasing pressure. When she moved, she’d be reminded of the many ways he had her decorated, all to sensually torment and arouse her once again.
He was already on the road to success on that, because her gaze had become unfocused while he adorned her, and her breath was shallow when he finished and turned her around for his viewing.
But he wanted her to see herself. There was a mirror on the far side of the tent. He unhooked her cuffs from the post and took her over there, her bare soles cushioned by carpets. As he brought her before the mirror, he stood behind her, caressing her hip. Enjoying watching her desire-suffused face as he touched her, he fondled her breasts, fingers tugging on the nipple jewelry. Her head fell back on his upper chest and shoulder, her ass pressing against his groin.
Even through the laced pants, he could feel her well enough, and had to bite back a groan of his own as she rubbed against the crisscross of the laces. He spread his hand out on her abdomen, fingers hooking the chains to toy with the clit pin as he reached back and worked the plug, sliding it in and out, a gentle thrust that had her moving with him, hips and torso undulating in a way that met every fantasy he had.
Her body was his instrument to play, and the songs were endless. He never tired of it, never tired of wanting her. Her hair slid against his chest as she tossed her head restlessly.
“Now say it aloud and become my queen,” he whispered huskily. “Because when you do, you’re right; I become your slave.”
Her eyes sparked with heated emotion, and her lips parted. “Master,” she said.
It didn’t matter anymore. The settings, the role play, all of it disappeared. Savannah reached toward his face, fingertips sliding along his jaw, and Matt dipped his head to kiss her wrist, above the diamond-chip covered cuffs.
“My love,” he said, the miracle of it filling him as he gripped her body, scooped her up and moved them to the bed. He sat down with her straddling him, his arms banded around her. He saw the tightening of her lips, further sparks in her gaze as the position increased the stimulation of her jewelry. He brought her close enough to brush her adorned nipples against his upper chest, increasing that friction. He slid his hands under her buttocks, pressing on the plug. When she emitted a little moan, his cock strained against the laced pants.
“My captive queen, my wife, my sub…my heart.”
She framed his face with her hands, her eyes burning. “My lord,” she whispered, the ghost of a smile on her face resurrecting an even earlier memory.
“You call me Matthew just to irritate me.”
“Would you prefer Mr. Kensington? Or perhaps Lord Kensington?”
“If you like. But I think I prefer Master, or my lord, if you’re using it.”
She spoke again, bringing them back to the present. “My husband, my Master, my truest friend. My savior.”
He shook his head, but she nodded, her fingers tightening on him to match the fierceness of her eyes. They showed a wealth of emotions from past and present that reinforced it.
Suddenly, he decided he didn’t want anything on her body but himself and his collar. Shifting her off him so she stood between his knees, he removed all of it. Her tiny moans and the aroused movements of her body absorbed him as he slid the plug free, took the clit jewelry off her damp flesh, and finally removed the nipple wires. Leaning forward, he used his mouth to suckle and soothe the tender flesh. As he did, he banded his arms around her hips. Her hair fell against his shoulders as she dropped her head on top of his, her lips pressed to his crown. Her hips were against his torso, the pressure conveying an unspoken imperative need he would be more than willing to meet.
He tightened his grip on her hips and lifted her off her feet, turning her to lay her down on the bed, freeing one arm so that he could cup the back of her head, ease the descent. She shifted so her head was on the nest of pillows. Gazing at him with love, laughter and desire in her eyes, Savannah stretched her arms above her, her delectable body laid before him in nothing but his collar.
“I may have surrendered to you, my lord,” she said. “But there will be further negotiations on the terms.”
He grinned, a baring of teeth. “Aren’t there always?” But as he slid his knuckles up her leg, his feelings took a more serious turn. Whatever miracle it was that brought a Master and sub together, opened them up so they had a soul-deep understanding of one another, he was thankful for it.
“Spread your legs,” he said softly, an undeniable command.
She obeyed, revealing her glistening pussy, the pale expanse of her inner thighs, the crease of her pretty buttocks below. With her arms lifted above her head, her breasts were tilted up, the pink tips there for his mouth or hands. Like every inch of her fair skin, as well as her heart and soul beneath it.
He shed boots and trousers at last, now as naked as she
was. But as he put his knee on the bed between hers and loomed over her, he detected the unconscious flicker of trepidation in her eyes.
Animal instinct. She didn’t fear him, but there was a scintillating part of her in a moment like this that registered the difference in their strengths, his intent, knowing he would not be denied…unless she truly did not want him.
Maybe Matt Kensington and Savannah Tennyson, CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, were the roles, whereas the conqueror and queen were the real truth.
He had to make her his, and she craved his absolute possession, in a way the modern world would likely never understand, especially when such a strong woman needed that surrender the way she did.
He trailed his fingers over her legs. “Wider,” he said roughly.
She complied, pupils getting larger and breath shortening. He stretched out over her, bracing a hand by her shoulder, curling his fingers in the thick miles of hair swirling around her on the mattress. Her lips parted, tongue touching one.
Taking himself in hand, he guided his cock into her. He stayed above her as he slowly pushed inside, watching her shudder, her body rise and fall to take him, inch by blissful inch. Then, seated to the hilt, he began to thrust. He denied himself any contact except that one point, his eyes on her face, hands braced on either side of her shoulders, her trembling legs staying wide as he’d ordered, and open for him, though he could feel her yearning to wrap herself around him. But the obvious way he was doing this, claiming her in a pose of total control, was both the perfect culmination of her fantasy and an experience of the deep, primal connection between them. Master and sub… Conqueror and queen.
Her pussy rippled over him, her eyes glazing, lips moistening, breath starting to rasp.
“Come for me, and prove you’re mine,” he growled. “Keep your legs open and down.”
It made the climax a slow, torturous build for them, because he had to stay slow, careful not to hit his woman at the wrong angle, while still giving her the indirect friction to clit and sweet spot. It took them both up so slowly that he could feel the heat closing in around them, getting stronger, hotter, promising a full immolation when it exploded into climax.
“Matt,” she cried out. “Please…”
Now at last he laid down upon her, let her wrap her arms and legs around him, hold him to her as he also circled an arm around her back and gripped her ass to plunge even more deeply into her cunt. It pulled a full scream from her and a whimper right behind it, the moan of a dove.
“Matthew…”
She was one of only two people who called him that. His mother had been the other one. He needed to tell her that, the bridge between the two women he’d loved the most in his life.
He made her spin off that cliff first, but he was right behind, to catch her as he fell. She cried out her release in his ear as he groaned at the force of it, the spurt of his seed inside her spasming cunt, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her breath against his neck.
They came down the way they’d spiraled up—together—and he stayed in her as long as he could, holding his weight on his elbows, kissing her face, her throat, curling his back to suckle her nipple or tease the cleavage between her soft mounds with his tongue. Until finally, with a reluctant sound from them both, he slid from her. But he wouldn’t go far. He only moved to her side, cradling her in his arms. She tucked her head under his, and they held one another silently, everything that needed to be said in that contact.
Both of them spent.
“That was perfect,” she said softly at long last. “Thank you.”
Matt grunted, tangling his fingers in her hair. They could hear the rush of water near the tent opening, telling them it was high tide. The smell of the fresh sea air mixed with the scent of sex and her. Not a bad perfume. “The things I’ll do for you. Hope you’re grateful.”
“Never. That would feed your ego far too much.” Savannah tipped her head back and gave him a smile. “Though you probably shouldn’t have done such a good job. I’ll be wanting role play all the time. I have many fantasies about a stern Master.”
Matt chuckled. “I’m afraid drama will never be my forte.”
She scoffed. “What do you call that night you orchestrated in your office?”
“That was a planned takedown. Very different. I’ve employed similar tactics in deals with competitors.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes sparkled. “If you ever try those tactics during a meeting with Richard Lewis, I want to be there. He’s a handsome man. That whole silver fox thing.”
Matt shuddered. “No more male/male erotic romances for you. I strictly forbid it.”
She laughed. “They’re for Dana. I have to read them aloud to her because she says they aren’t available in Braille.”
“She’s a compulsive liar,” Matt declared. “She just likes hearing erotic literature read aloud to her. Particularly in your sultry voice.”
Savannah smirked at him, but pressed her palm to his, bringing their hands into the air before them as she caressed his fingers and he did the same, idle finger play as they enjoyed lying together.
“Dana has been doing an excellent job on your self-defense training,” he remarked. “Almost too good. I thought you were actually trying to emasculate me with that one kick.”
“Who says I wasn’t?” she teased him. Then her tone changed, a gratifyingly impressed note to it. “You’re better at drama than I ever would have expected. Some of the things you said…they were right out of a romance novel, and you made them sound real, not corny.” She shivered. “Sometimes I think this is exactly who you were in a previous life.”
It was as if she’d picked the thoughts up from his own head. But the right props and mindset could shift a man’s reality, so he did find himself talking like some kind of barbarian conqueror from a romance novel. When he’d think of tonight later, he might wince at some of the things that had come out of his mouth Swell with my child? But judging from his wife’s reaction, she hadn’t had any trouble suspending her own reality and taking that ride with him. If he had contributed to that, maybe he’d just limit his hindsight replay and focus on the present, never regretting what had brought him here.
Besides, her words were a two-way street. He didn’t read romance, but he’d seen the covers, like anyone else. The heroines always looked sexy-as-hell, courageous, intelligent. His wife reflected more than elements of that fantasy. She was that fantasy. To him, always.
He stroked her hair, her neck, and the graceful line of her shoulder. “The staff took pity on me. They drugged your wine, so I’d seem more believable.”
She chuckled again. They settled back into a quiet mode. He thought she dozed for a while, and perhaps he did as well, but he was roused by an unexpected question. She was drawing circles in his chest hair with a fingertip, her breath whispering across his nipple.
“Is this the kind of Dom you were…before me?” she asked. “I know some of the others are into the equipment and restraints, and you seem to know how to use all of that, but…it feels like it’s not entirely you.”
He had to think about it. The longer he spent with her, the more opaque the curtain of memory about other women before her had grown. He had no desire to draw that back. While he would tell Savannah anything she wanted to know about him, in whatever detail she needed, he didn’t care to talk much about his past submissives or relationships, except how they’d led him to this one, the last one he knew he’d ever have.
His mother had died in his teens. Before that happened, he’d taken one girl to a dance, another to a roller skating rink. He’d stolen a kiss or two, been interested in other things normal for a teenage boy, but his heart had stayed curiously separate. When he’d confided his worry about that, his mother had smiled, a lot of things in her gaze he hadn’t yet understood consciously, but did later. She was already starting to show signs that the cancer was winning, but she was holding her own with treatments, so both he and his father were holding onto hope with b
oth fists.
“Don’t worry,” she’d said, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. He shrugged as if irritated with the coddling, but he didn’t move away. He actually moved a step closer. He was so strong. He was on the wrestling team, was big enough to be on the football team. If she could take any of his strength to make her well, he wanted her to have it.
“You’re your father’s son,” she said softly. Then, he had seen her with a teenager’s viewpoint, but in hindsight, he remembered her gaze seemed to understand everything he was thinking, worrying about, wanting. “I won’t be a bit surprised if, when you find the one you want, she’ll be the one. The one you have to have, that you’re going to have, because you won’t accept anything less than a woman you can love with every dark and light corner of your heart.”
“Matt?” Savannah, so attuned to his thoughts, lifted on her elbow, her hand still on his chest.
“It’s good.” He told her the memory, and her eyes softened with sympathy. He’d held in his feelings about losing his mother for the first several years after her death, intuitively wanting to support his father. As devastated as Matt was, Jonas had a hole blown through his chest that never filled. But then Jonas was killed when Matt was seventeen. Holding in the pain about losing his parents became a war he fought inside himself, using immersion in learning the business of the empire he’d inherited as his most potent weapon.
It wasn’t until Lucas, Peter, Jon and Ben all four became a permanent inner circle for him, that Matt let some of those feelings come to the surface. Sometimes, in limited ways. The son of Jonas Kensington was never going to embrace the modern a-man-can-be-sensitive-and-cry, talk-show horseshit. Yeah, try pulling that mama’s boy crap on an oil rig, and be prepared to swim to shore.
Even so, Jon in particular had helped Matt realize he needed to spill some things off, so they didn’t result in closed-off behaviors that could hurt not just his business practices, but his life and relationships. But it had taken a woman to allow him to really feel it, grieve them as fully as he’d needed to do.