by Joey W. Hill
A smile had touched his lips even as his heart pounded faster, particularly when she worked her shirt up like a strip tease during the “You got it if you want it” part. She got it all the way off as Bruno took it back to the chorus line.
Every part of her was an invitation to her Master to take whatever he wanted. She’d continued her erotic dance in her lacy scrap of bra, the smooth muscles in her abdomen tempting his mouth, her hands caressing the curves he wouldn’t wait another moment to touch, squeeze, mark.
He’d taken a lot that night, and she’d been a vessel for his darkest desires. At the end of it, she’d been spent and weak. He’d carried her back to the controls, holding her in his lap as he returned the setting to the ballroom dancers. As she watched them, she reached out with trembling fingers as if she’d pass them through the light of their bodies. Her lips curved in a soft smile, her long-lashed eyelids dropping low, so her eyes were glimmers of russet fire.
VR goggles were becoming the preferred way to experience such fantasies, but he was glad The Zone still employed a room for the holographic idea. He didn’t want to see Marcie through a lens and, when he touched her, he wanted his actual hands on her actual flesh.
Coming back to the present, he noted how the tiger’s golden sparkles on the shirt brought out amber lights in her dark brown eyes. The generous amount of skin revealed by the neckline was graced by a thin gold chain and a pendant with three pressed forget-me-nots under glass. She had a steel collar and cuffs with an etching of the flowers upon them, but they were unmistakably for a submissive serving her Master. He put them on her when it was just the two of them, when he particularly wanted to reinforce the bond between them or she needed it; usually one and the same.
The pendant she wore now was something she’d made of the flowers he’d sent her in college, and he’d agreed that could be her public collar, with the sparkling chain he’d bought her, whenever she wished to wear it. Except when her job required otherwise, he’d rarely seen her without it.
As she came toward him, her heeled boots gave her hips a distracting sway and her breasts a God-blessed quiver. Her own blond hair, similar to her sister Cassandra’s, had been left down, because she knew he liked it that way. Unless he was wrapping the thick tail of it around his fist as he was driving into her from behind. A thought he put deep in his head, so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in mixed company.
Back when he and Marcie had finally had their “okay, we’re together” moment, he’d made the asinine decision that, for the next several weeks, they weren’t having actual sex. He’d told her he could command her climax how and whenever he wished, but she wouldn’t be taking care of his—not directly.
He’d thought he might get carpal tunnel from how much he’d jacked off after their nightly phone calls. But there had been a good reason for the stipulation, even if his cock had thought he was a moron. Though there wasn’t a written instruction book anywhere, the K&A men had a ritual for making a woman theirs for keeps. Each of them, when finding the submissive of his dreams, had orchestrated a sexual encounter that included all of them in some way, an erotic blessing of sorts on the relationship.
His lips twisted. Yeah, as a lawyer, he had an impressive command of the English language. But for things like this, he needed Jon’s gift for words. Marcie had known about that ritual, and had fantasized about it. He’d wanted her to experience it in the best way possible. When he’d buried himself in her at the end of that unforgettable evening, the explosive energy of three weeks of deprivation had been part of the mix, and had made it all worth it.
But there had been another reason he’d set that period of abstinence hell, and maybe it was the most important one, though Ben wasn’t likely to say it aloud unless someone put a hot stick to his testicles. He’d wanted to court her. He’d wanted to have the pleasure of taking her to dinner, dancing, or on outings like this. The sweet promise of her body, her full submission, had been there and waiting, but he liked the anticipation, the thinking about it, while delving deep into other things about her he hadn’t allowed himself to enjoy fully until that time.
Even so, he was glad he didn’t have to endure another three-week stint like that. Now that she was his, he wanted to be able to enjoy her fully whenever he wished.
When she reached him, Marcie smoothed her hands over his chest, caressing the dark blue button-down shirt he was wearing over black jeans. Her gaze flickered with amusement as she fixed his collar, Peter’s manhandling having pushed it up against his neck on one side.
“One day he’s going to crush you like a bug,” she observed.
“So little confidence in your man,” he reproved. “I just didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his wife. My ego’s tougher than his.”
“Your ego could qualify as a super power,” Peter suggested, within hearing distance.
“Isn’t it time for your hourly steroid shot?”
Marcie chuckled at their banter, but her brown eyes fixed on his face as she tangled her fingers in his chest hair, accessible from the open collar of the shirt. Ben put his hand over hers and squeezed in warning, as he recognized the playful light in her gaze. He wouldn’t put it past her to rub against him like a cat just to incite that erection he was trying to quell. His brat did like punishment.
But her mouth became more serious as she rose on her toes to brush her mouth against his. “It’s really nice that you’re doing this.”
He slid his arms around her waist, palm molding to her hip, and leaned back against the frame of the sun porch adjacent to the patio. In that position, he was supporting them both, enjoying the feel of her against him. “What? Spending the day with five beautiful women and having every male in New Orleans wish he was in my shoes? Yeah, it’s a burden.”
She shook her head. “You told Matt there wasn’t enough choice pussy in the world to compel you to go shopping with a bunch of women.”
“When did I say that?” He narrowed his eyes. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t have said that in front of any of you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Her eyes sparkled. “But I have sharp ears, and I’m not always asleep when you think I am.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He drew her closer, and felt that odd surge of comfort and warmth when she laid her head on his chest, tightening her arms around his back. One of those things that could crazily be as good as sex. He put his nose in her hair and inhaled deep. On second thought, maybe they’d just stay like this for a few hours, letting the fall New Orleans’ sunlight keep them warm.
“I changed my mind when I saw your eyes light up at the idea,” he said quietly. “You make me do a lot of foolish things.”
Her fingertips slid down his spine, and she nestled her head deeper against his chest. “Don’t say that marrying me is foolish.”
“It is. For you. But you won’t let it go.”
She lifted her head, fastening eyes with more than a hint of steel on his. “No. I won’t. If you don’t ask me and set a date soon, I’ll chase you down with a lawn tractor and turn you into fertilizer for Jon and Rachel’s garden.”
He sighed. “How about concrete shoes and dumping me in the river, old-school mob style? Being turned into organic mulch as part of their eco-revolution is more than I can bear.”
A small smile appeared on her mouth, which he preferred, since he knew behind the steel was worry, and uncertainty. Fuck, he had to get better at this. Since the others seemed to be involved in discussion over by the grill, he worked his hand into her snug back pocket, gripping her ass as he dropped his head to position his lips close over hers.
“Don’t get too bossy with your Master, brat. I’ll turn you over my knee right here.” He brushed his mouth over her parted lips and made a quelling noise when she would have moved to return the kiss more ardently. “Who do you belong to?”
“You,” she said, a hint of defiance to her tone, as if he needed the reminder more. Which he probably did. Fierce satisfaction at hearing it always seemed
to come hand-in-hand with terror.
“I love you,” he said. He hadn’t expected the words to come from him so spontaneously, but he was glad for them when she softened in his arms and her eyes filled with that light he never tired of seeing.
“You better,” she responded, and made him smile. It put things on balance again.
“Can you two untangle enough to get this show on the road?” Lucas called out. “I have burgers to cook and a game to watch, which I can’t do with all these women underfoot.”
He chuckled as Cass slugged his side, much as Ben had Peter, only Lucas’s response to his wife was much different. He pulled her up against his side, taking her off her feet to kiss her soundly. Cass put her hands on his face, but when she at last pulled back, she had a retort for him.
“I’m still winning the bet on point-spread. Max is going to let me know the final score, so don’t even try to make it up.”
“Max needs his job.”
“Speaking of Max,” Marcie noted, drawing Ben’s attention away from the byplay, “I saw the limo out front with him at the helm. I thought you were chauffeuring us in the Escalade.”
“I realized the limo would allow more trunk room and female indulgences. It’s been stocked with strawberries, wine, and you ladies’ favorite snacks—in the limo, not the trunk. All made by my own hands.”
“I know. I vividly remember the melted chocolate for the strawberries.” She lifted her hand to her shoulder, subtly pushing the shirt neckline aside enough to reveal her bra strap. Next to it was a bite mark he’d left upon her, so fierce there was bruising on her skin. Her lips parted, moist. “Much as I liked the taste of the chocolate, I liked this better.”
So had he. Clean-up of the mess they’d made in the kitchen had been a bitch, but that was okay. Fuck it, he was just going to drag her inside and take five minutes to…
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” Dana said, looping her arm through Marcie’s to tug her away. Ben came out of his detailed fantasy to see the other women making their respective good-byes. Savannah was exchanging a lingering kiss with Matt, bending down to where he now sat, sprawled on one of the patio chairs. He had a drink in one hand, but the other drew her into his lap to give the kiss depth and impact. He caressed her hip and thigh before helping her back to her feet.
Lucas was exchanging some words with Cassandra. She smiled as he stroked her hair and let his fingers drift to the side of her throat to draw her to him for a brush of lips. And Jon, after exchanging his own kiss with Rachel, had brought her to him to hold her close, an embrace that seemed to increase the energy between the two of them.
Much as Ben didn’t give voice to such sentimental ideas, it was hard to deny that those multiple expressions of love spread out to touch and connect, somehow enhancing them.
To dispel such a gushy thought, he would have made some crack about the women only being gone for a few hours, not a few months, but he had a pleasant distraction of his own. As Dana drew her away, Marcie let her body brush his with provocative intent, her eyes and mouth promising him anything he wanted, now and forever. Thanks to his long arms, he was able to reach out and tug her shirt back on her shoulder, and get in a light caress of that bite mark before she was out of range.
Christ, it was going to be a nice, long day.
Marcie had curled up next to him in the limo. She’d discarded her ankle boots for the drive from Lucas and Cass’s home to the French Quarter of the city, so she had her legs tucked up under her. Thanks to his greater height, he could see swelling curves of flesh cradled in lace beneath her black shirt. He turned his head so he could nuzzle her hair, inhale her scent again. Her shampoo had the faint aroma of coconut and cocoa butter.
"So where to first?" he asked the general population. The women were arranged in the two facing cushioned seats of the limo, forming a comfortable circle of female energy around him.
"How about the Poppy Gallery?" Cassandra suggested.
"What's that?" Rachel asked. Next to her, Dana selected a strawberry and bit down on it, capturing it between crimson glossed lips.
"It's this gallery on Royal Street with a painting of poppies in the window,” Savannah explained as she re-crossed her fabulous legs. Ben noted she was wearing a slender silver anklet with a tiny fleur-de-lis charm on it, complementing her pair of low but fashionable heels. A whimsical accessory for their conservative queen. He liked it. “I love their work there,” she continued. “Sounds like a perfect first stop. I want to buy something new for Angelica’s nursery."
Marcie’s hand was resting on his thigh, a seemingly innocent gesture. “When did you get the anklet?” he asked Savannah, knowing the only way he was going to avoid sporting a huge erection all day was through distraction. Lots of distraction. Like car explosions on Bourbon Street or a five-alarm fire, but he’d try the small talk option first. Now that he'd agreed he wanted Marcie, the wanting absurdly never seemed to stop.
“Oh. Matt gave it to me. He found it on his last trip to Mexico. One of the street vendors did silver craft. It’s the one with the fleur-de-lis,” she added, for Dana’s benefit.
Each of them had their way of marking their submissive as theirs in a public way. Savannah had a lovely rose quartz and silver wire collar that, unlike Marcie’s private one, could usually pass for public use, but she wasn’t wearing it today. Given the BDSM significance of the fleur-de-lis, he knew the anklet was a subtle, pleasurable way for Savannah to be aware of Matt’s ownership when not wearing his formal collar. He’d probably put it on her himself this morning.
Dana had nodded absently, acknowledging Savannah’s description. She put the green top of the strawberry in one of the trash pockets and turned her head toward the window as if she could see it, the dark glasses screening her eyes.
Dana was normally one of the most playful and chatty when the women were together, so the laconic response caught Ben’s attention. For the first time, he noted a tightness around her mouth. He wasn’t the only one. Rachel glanced at her searchingly, then exchanged a look with Cass.
Hmm. Ben turned his attention back to Savannah. Since he didn’t yet have enough information to know if there was a problem that needed solving, he’d keep a peripheral eye on Peter’s normally outgoing wife.
“It’s almost as beautiful as the ankle wearing it,” he said to Savannah, making her smile. "Where else do you all want to go?" he asked all of them.
"Hot Toddy," Dana said. She managed an echo of her usual impish smile as she said it. Even without sight, she had an uncanny way of picking up the vibes around her, and he wondered if she’d realized she was drawing attention.
Max glanced up in the mirror with quizzical gray eyes. Ben gave him an even look in reply. "You heard the woman. And she said it, I didn't. Mark that down. I said I would take them wherever they wanted to go. Even a lingerie shop. You’re required to tell the truth when they administer the polygraph.”
Max snorted. “We’re trained to beat those.”
“I’ll bet. Savannah, how about you?" Then he noted her checking her phone. It was the third time since she’d gotten into the car.
"Do I need to take that away from you?" Cass queried, making a grab for it.
Savannah evaded her with a rueful smile. "No, I'm sorry. Matt went upstairs at your place to get Angelica up from her nap. He’s sending me some wonderful pictures."
"Oh, let me see." Cass took the phone and passed it to Marcie, setting off a round of oohs and aahs. Despite his derogatory imitation, Ben had to admit it was an oddly comforting pleasure, sitting on the sidelines and watching how women acted when out together.
That said, when he glanced at Dana, he was even more sure something was wrong. Her lips had tightened, and she was back to “staring” out the window. Usually Dana loved to hear anything about Savannah and Matt's daughter. She and Peter regularly put their name in the hat for Angelica’s football-team-sized babysitting pool.
Ben’s long legs covered well over half the
distance to Dana, so he stretched out a foot and touched Dana’s sandaled toes, the nails painted a rich burgundy color. “Come over here, army grunt.”
Dana reluctantly complied, shifting to his other side. Rachel now had the phone. As the conversation continued among the other women about the content, Ben laid an arm over Dana's shoulders. "Okay there, baby girl?"
"Sure." She gave him a bright smile that had zero wattage. Considering, he extended his hand to Rachel, who offered him the phone, but not without shooting another speculative look at Dana.
Ben knew it had to grate on occasion, always having to wait for a description of what everyone else could see. Dana wasn’t a complainer, though, and seemed well-reconciled to her lack of sight. He expected the problem was something else, and wondered if Peter knew what it was. He’d do a little digging himself, in case.
"Let's see what we have here." Ben used the arm around Dana’s shoulder to help him scroll, so she was in a tighter circle of both his arms. It coaxed a half-hearted chuckle from her, but it was some progress.
Marcie smiled at him, knowing what he was doing. Her fingers on his biceps stroked in approval, moving up to play with the hair on his nape. She pressed her breast against his upper arm as she leaned in to see the photos again.
"Matt's taken a picture of the little troll in the curve of his arm,” Ben said. “She’s still waking up. It looks like they're out on the back patio again. There are sun and shadow patterns on her face. She's wearing a pink thing with lace and is a ridiculously adorable tyrant, as always."
Dana moved her hand to the phone, finding it by sliding her hand along Ben's arm. Not a tease, though she could be outrageously forward at times. All the women could be flirtatious or physically affectionate with any of the K&A men, though it never became blatantly sexual in the absence of each woman's actual Master.
It wasn't a spoken rule, because it didn't need to be. It simply was. From the very first pairing, Matt and Savannah, the men had made it clear the women of their inner circle were part of a closely-knit pack, where all the males claimed them at a certain, provocative level. They considered it their job to protect and care for them, in almost all the ways each woman’s Master would himself.