by Nia Farrell
More dance. More dominance. More Ian McGregor.
She was so screwed.
“Thank you,” she managed when the music and their movements had stopped.
Lowering their arms, he released her hand and placed both of his on her waist. Just the feel of him sent delicious shivers rippling through her. And his smell…tantalizingly, utterly masculine and oh, so tempting.
“You,” he rumbled, “have been a bad girl. Do you know what happens to bad girls?”
She did. God, she did. Her mind was alive with decadent possibilities.
“What, Sir?” she whispered, careful to keep her gaze on his clean-shaven chin.
In one swift move, he fisted her unpowdered hair and pulled back her ginger head, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Spanking, to start.” His hazel eyes narrowed slightly. “Paddled. Stripped. Bound. Flogged,” he said, “and fucked. You’ve got the first five coming. The last, you’ll have to earn. What say you, eilidh?”
Eilidh. Red doe. Hearing the pet name in her native Scots Gaelic made her even wetter than she was.
“Yes, Sir,” she managed. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Good girl.” Bending down, he bit her ear, then whispered into it. “When the music ends, your backside is mine.”
Oh, God.
Her body threatened to pool at his feet when he let her go. Nodding, Ian headed over to talk to Sir Piers and his wife Eleanor, nearly five months along and clearly showing. Somehow Jannet managed to make it to a chair and sink down onto it. As much as she enjoyed hearing Aubrey Wolfe play, she couldn’t wait for the performance to end.
This close. She was this close to learning what submission would entail. What a Dominant would demand.
Just how much she could take.
She’d been nervous about submitting to a virtual stranger. Sir Piers had a reputation for pairing partners, but still. This was her first time here—or anywhere. It was her first experience, and Ian appeared well-versed in the lifestyle. He could have easily chosen another play partner, versed in protocol and trained to please. She did not want to disappoint.
Forty-five minutes later, Aubrey finished and rose to a round of enthusiastic applause. Sir Josef kissed her, then took Mr. Vashon by the neck and pulled him close for an equally passionate kiss.
Ah.
“Ready?” A familiar baritone voice sounded behind her.
“Yes, Sir.” She was, and so was everyone else. The BDSM scene had begun before the last note ended.
“Your choice,” he said. “Here in public, in a private playroom, or in your suite.”
“Playroom,” she answered. She wasn’t ready for an audience, and it was a little too soon to invite Ian to her room. If things didn’t work out, she would need neutral space, free of his scent and any physical reminders of what happened between them.
“Come.”
Rounding her chair, Ian held out his hand and helped her from it. Maintaining his hold, he led her away from the scene that continued to unfold around them. As much as she was tempted to ask, Jannet knew better than to beg him to stay. There was always tomorrow, she reminded herself. An outdoor venue with pipes, drums, and kilts seemed a perfect setting for a newcomer to observe the action and satisfy at least some of her curiosity.
It seemed like they walked forever, down the labyrinth of halls and up two flights of stairs. Taking a key from his pocket, Ian unlocked the door to Room 7, twisted the handle, and swung the door open wide. Jannet stood, rooted, feeling her stomach knot and her anxiety kick in. It wasn’t too late. She didn’t have to do this.
Ian pulled her into the room, shut the door, and pinned her against it with the hard length of his six feet three inch body. Thrusting five fingers into her hair, he put his other hand over her throat and squeezed, ever so slightly.
Jannet raised her gaze, past those perfect lips, to meet his thick-lashed hooded eyes. She watched, fascinated by the shift in them. Any concern for her was vaporized by the flare of lust that threatened to consume them both.
“Fuck it,” he growled, and slammed his mouth down on hers.
Chapter Three
He claimed her with a hunger that had her craving more.
Lips crashed. Bodies clashed, locked in a desperate duel that would only end when one of them was satisfied.
Ian fisted her hair and dragged his hand down her front, curving his calloused fingers over the swell of her breast and squeezing it, almost hard enough to bruise. She moaned into his mouth, acutely aware of just how long it had been since she’d had anything inside her other than her fingers or her favorite toy. Beneath her layers of petticoats and panniers, she was soaking wet.
Her corset and gown were cut low enough, it didn’t take much for him to free one breast. Breaking off their kiss, he traced the side of her neck with his tongue, then fastened his mouth over her nipple and feasted on it like a starving man. She speared her fingers into his thick brown hair. He caught her wrists and pinned them above her head with his left hand. His other hand dove south, wrestling with her skirt and layers of underpinnings until he’d managed to shove them above her waist, exposing her period-correct bare bottom.
Threading his fingers through her delta of trimmed ginger curls, he moved his hand south and discovered just how ready she was for him.
“Keep your hands where they are,” he growled, “or you’ll add to what’s already coming.”
Jannet had no choice but to obey.
With his hands free, he unbuttoned his knee breeches and pulled on the hem of his chemise d’homme to free his erection. Catching one of her thighs, he lifted it to spread her legs for him and wet the head of his cock on her juices. She had no idea how big he was until he notched himself in her opening and started to push his way inside.
“Yessss,” she moaned, breath hitching when he grabbed her other leg and lifted her, impaling her in one determined, meaty thrust.
She winced and bit her lip when he hit bottom. She gasped when he drove himself into her, pulling back and thrusting deep again and again and again. The familiar pressure built. Changing his angle, he hit a place inside her that sent her spiraling over the edge.
He hadn’t given her permission to come, but he hadn’t told her not to, either. She rode his cock for all she was worth, her walls spasming in a series of orgasms that milked his shaft and bathed him in her juices. Two more strokes, and he was there, jaw clenched, his moan escaping from between clenched teeth as he came deep inside her, pumping hot streams of ejaculate into her and filling her to overflowing.
Still locked together, he dropped his head to her shoulder and stayed just like that, hot breath bathing her skin in dragon’s fire.
If she were writing an erotic paranormal, she knew what kind of shifter he’d be.
“Fuck.” He lifted his head and shook it. “Jewell will want my balls for this.”
Jannet managed to not smile. The wardrobe mistress was scary enough without being pissed.
“Let’s get out of these clothes. We’re going to get cleaned up, and then we’re going to talk, before anything else happens. Hands down now.”
Lowering her arms, Jannet rolled her shoulders to loosen them. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She shivered at the prospect of seeing him naked and thoughts of what would follow.
Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a linen handkerchief and pushed it between her legs as he was pulling out. While she was grateful for his consideration, she missed the feel of his massive erection inside her.
He undressed her slowly, carefully, unwrapping her as if she were a treasure, working his way down until he was kneeling in front of her nearly naked form. He slipped off her shoes. Jannet held her breath. When he came to her stockings, there’d be no hiding the fact that she’d danced professionally. She had the ugly feet to prove it.
“Ballet,” she whispered when he lifted her leg and pulled the first one off.
Ian didn’t put her leg down. “Show me,” he rumbled. “Point.”
Jannet m
ade her leg perfectly straight from hip to toe.
To her surprise, Ian smiled. Not put off at all by her calloused, misshapen toes, he admired the line of her foot, stroking the cathedral arch with two fingers. “Oh, sweetheart. Have I got the shoes for you.”
She knew what he was talking about. She’d seen them in her research. Fetish footwear that mimicked a ballerina’s toe shoes, but with the addition of heels. Most submissives would find them impossible to walk in, let alone dance in.
“But that’s for later,” he murmured, his words laced with regret and rife with promise. “Let me get undressed, then we’ll try out the jetted tub. Get those muscles warmed up before my hand gets intimately acquainted with your bottom.”
He wasted no time in stripping off his own clothes. Because he didn’t tell her not to look, she watched piece after piece come off. Frock coat. Period vest and neckpiece. The lace worn at his throat and on the cuffs of his chemise d’homme were sexy as hell on the man. He sat on the bed to pull off his shoes, undo his garters, and peel down the stockings that hugged the muscled curves of his calves. His lace-trimmed shirt was next, and then his breeches, revealing a man in his full glory.
She swallowed hard. Clothed, he was a fine specimen of a man. Naked, he made her want to kneel at his feet and worship that nine-inch cock of his.
Jannet dropped to her knees and crawled to where he stood by the bed, kneeling up when she reached him. With her face mere inches from his crotch, she dared to look up at him, one silent question in her eyes that he had no trouble interpreting.
“Yes,” he said. “You may.”
She used her hands to guide him into her mouth, tasting the both of them on his skin. She took him deep, and deeper yet, until his crown was testing the back of her throat. Changing her angle, she managed to take even more of him. She was thrilled to hear the hiss that escaped him when he saw what she could do.
“God,” he grated. “Eilidh…”
Jannet clasped her hands behind her back and offered herself for his pleasure. Winnowing his fingers into her hair, he flexed his hips experimentally, then began fucking her face in earnest, hard enough to make her eyes water and forceful enough that her gag reflex threatened to kick in.
There was a telltale hitch in his rhythm, a shift in his breathing that signaled what was coming. “Take it,” he ordered, and shot his wad down her throat, a pulsing stream of salty cum that she barely managed to swallow.
He let go of her hair. She rocked back on her heels, hands still clasped behind her. The pose displayed her C-cup breasts like a forties pin-up girl. Unable to resist, he cradled them in his hands, testing their weight, feeling their natural firmness, and admiring the hardened peaks of her nipples. Giving them a pinch and a twist, he brushed his lips across her mouth.
“Bath,” he said. “Anything else comes after.
While the spacious tub filled, they hung most of their clothes in a closet stocked with the resort’s white terry robes. Since she didn’t see anything else in there, she guessed that this wasn’t Ian’s room but one that he’d secured for the weekend. Her street clothes were in a locker in wardrobe. Evidently his were, too.
Being a dancer, she’d learned to be comfortable with nudity. There were no private dressing rooms for the corps de ballet. However, being comfortable with her body was a daily struggle. She’d been an overweight adolescent and a walking skeleton. Her doctor was happy with where she was now, physically. Getting her brain to accept it was the challenge.
But for now, she was with a man who had starred in her most recent fantasies. She let him lead her to the tub and help her into the water. Anything they might need had been laid within reach.
Ian lit a dozen candles scattered about the en-suite and dimmed the overhead light before getting into the tub with her. Urging her forward, he slipped in behind her, grasped her waist, and pulled her into the harbor of his body. She leaned back against the hair-dusted wall of his chest and sighed her contentment.
“Thank you,” he murmured. Reaching, he brought back a sponge to wet and began washing her neck, then arms. “That was amazing. I know I’m a lot to handle, and for you to take me like you did….”
“Against the door or by the bed?” she asked, curious which one had impressed—and pleased—him more.
“Both,” he rasped near her ear. “But that mouth of yours….”
She felt his burgeoning erection and smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice grown smoky with arousal.
Jannet let herself be pampered, enjoying this softer side, knowing that his discipline would follow the talk that he insisted they have. He washed her thoroughly, keeping his touch intimate but not sexual. Instead, he focused on the task at hand.
Then it was her turn.
Kneeling between his legs, facing him, she took the sponge and washed him from head to toe. When she had finished, he opened the drain to release the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel and holding it wide for her to step into. Wrapping her in it, he turned her and pulled her back against him, letting her feel just how much he wanted her again.
Jannet thought he might want to keep her naked. That seemed a common theme in the books she’d read, but Ian got robes for them both to wear while they talked. He had her sit on the bed, while he pulled a chair close beside it.
“Why?” he asked. “At your brother’s reception. When I asked you to dance, why did you tell me that you can’t?”
“I couldn’t dance with you,” she confessed. “I was too nervous. My legs were shaky. I was afraid I’d fall. Afraid I’d embarrass us both. I—I struggle with anxiety. Usually not to the point of panic attacks, but I’ve had a couple of episodes that I learned to control with breathwork. Please, understand. My brothers are in the lifestyle, but this is all new to me, and a Dominant’s energy can be pretty intimidating. While I was attracted to you, I was also afraid to explore it. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when you accepted what I said. You didn’t try to manipulate me and change my mind. Instead you assessed my needs and sought to meet them. That’s when I knew you were a Dominant, too.”
“Micheil’s never really talked about your past. It’s always been more about what you do for him and his daughter. When I was working on the blueprints for his house, I asked him what you liked. I designed your apartment based on what he told me. Tell me. Honest opinion. What do you think of it?”
He went still, holding his breath and bracing himself for her answer. Allowing her to see his vulnerability. He was human, after all.
“It’s perfect,” she assured him. “Definitely designed with a woman in mind. Those closets are incredible.”
“You’ll have to see mine.” His lips curved in a crooked smile. “God, I still can’t believe you’re here. When Micheil told me you were coming and asked me to keep an eye on you—”
Jannet felt her stomach ball up, tight as a fist.
Her brother had asked him to watch her. All alone. No one approaching her all night except for Sir Josef.
A pity fuck. She’d been a pity fuck.
Her anxiety did kick in, then. Her hands started to shake. Her chest grew tight, and her head grew light. When tears stung her eyes, she started to detach, stepping out of a reality that was suddenly beyond bearing.
“I’m going now,” she said, her voice oddly calm for the chaos whirling inside her.
“What? Why?”
Ian started to reach for her. She launched herself off the bed and out of reach. “Don’t. Just…don’t.” Her clipped words came out cold as ice.
Ian frowned at the change in her. Too bad.
“But I—”
“No!” She pushed the word past the screams inside her. “I’m going now. I’ll send someone for my clothes. Good night.”
Somehow she made it to the door without falling. Stumbling into the hall, she managed to navigate to the end of it before collapsing against the wall. Hearing footsteps, she struggled to stand and ended up crumpled on the floor.
“Hey. Are you all right?” A male voice, deep, resonant, concerned.
Jannet swiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I’ll be fine,” she choked out. “I just need a minute.” She looked down the hall, half afraid that Ian would try to follow her. “Please. I need to get back to my room. My key is with everything else, down in wardrobe. If you could find someone to help—”
“Sorry.” This, spoken not to her but to the woman in period dress who was with him. “You can wait in my room or come with us.”
She huffed. “Or go back to the scene,” she sniped. “When you get done, that’s where you’ll find me.”
Not knowing what else to say, Jannet apologized. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
“You didn’t ruin it,” he said, holding out his hand. “I have a feeling you saved me from a big mistake. I hadn’t realized that she was such a brat. Daddy Domming’s not really my thing, and she needs a good tanning for the way she acted. Come on. I’ll help you get to wardrobe at least, and see if Samael is around to help you to your room.”
Jannet slid her gaze from his hand to his face. Oh, God. Another devastatingly handsome Dom to deal with. This one was well over six feet tall, with dark hair and thick lashes framing a pair of equally dark eyes, so brown, they were nearly black. He was clean shaven, letting her see the dimples in his cheeks when he offered her a reassuring smile.
Unwilling to risk a confrontation with Ian, she raised her hands and let Tall, Dark, and Dimpled pull her to her feet, steadying her when her knees refused to cooperate.
“Thank you,” she said, embarrassed by her body’s response to her anxiety. She tried to do without meds for it, but tonight had her questioning the wisdom in that.
“Rich,” he said. “The name’s Rich. Or Richard.”
“Thank you, Sir Richard.” She used the honorific that, in her eyes, he had certainly earned. “If you could help me get to wardrobe, I would appreciate it.”