Master of Desire

by Multiple

  Then, without warning, he pulled his fingers out. “Take off that awful dress and lay across my knees.”

  I shook as I did what I was told. Oliver watched me in the dim, moody light and not once did he flinch. Not once did the half-lidded, lustful look in his eyes diminish. He leaned back into the leather, licked his lips, and held his arms open for me.

  I sighed into his arms. For a moment he held me against his body, stroked my face, my arms, my breasts. Everything about his hands was gentle and loving, but I knew what those hands could do. And I wanted them to do it to me. To color my world.

  He shifted so I could fit across his knees. It was awkward at first, but he helped settle me how he wanted me. I rested my cheek on the arm of his chair and he captured my hair in one hand and settled his other across my backside. He palmed my thighs, stroked up over the globe of my buttocks and down the other side. His breath hitched just a little as he pressed his thumb along the indentation where my ass and back met, then slid down between my cheeks to graze my anus and stroke his fingertips along my swollen, dripping pussy.

  I whimpered with the thrill of his touch and gazed up at him. I adored him and for a moment, the way he looked at me, I knew he felt the same way. He touched my lips with his fingertips.

  “Jane,” he said softly. “You can safeword at any time and I’ll stop. I’ll never take you further than you can go. But I plan to take you. All of you. Very, very hard.”

  “I know.” I licked my lips. “I want this. What’s my safeword?”

  He pressed his open palm against my sex and, very quietly, said, “Michael.”

  A tremble of pleasure passed through my body. He knew I would never, ever safeword.

  Oliver held my gaze as he brought his hand down across my ass in one, sharp strike. I cried, tried to jerk away, but he tightened his grip on my hair and held my cheek still against the leather. I shook when he struck me again, twice, three times, each harder than the last. Four times. Five. I dug my fingertips into the buttery leather and pushed my ass up to meet his hand.

  The next time he spanked me, color bloomed across body and I moaned instead of screamed and lost all coherent words. I wasn’t Avery Alston. I was Jane, the girl who belonged to Oliver and no one else.

  “Such a good girl,” he murmured, a rumble of approval vibrating in his chest. He stroked his fingertips lovingly along the sopping gusset between my legs. Then, without warning, he struck them with the flat of his palm.

  My scream died on my lips and I froze. Everything inside of me shook with the surprise and throb of pain and pleasure emanating from one place. Who knew it could feel like this, freeing and restraining at the same time?

  Then I melted bodily into his lap, boneless and weak.

  “God, Jane.” He growled pleasantly and started touching me again, rough fingers prodding at my clit, searching their way inside. I ground my hips into his hand and he responded by touching me near to orgasm.

  “I wish we had time to teach you how to take my toys. Paddles. Floggers. Belts. I wish we had more time.” He sighed as he touched me, as he let go of my hair and stroked his hand down the arch of my back. He explored me gently, nothing wanton, nothing overt, but I found myself lifting to meet his touch, swooping my back like a cat when he petted all the way down my spine. “The things I’d like to teach you.”

  “Then teach me,” I pleaded and for a moment I met his hazel eyes and I thought he might say yes. He looked like he wanted to. Like it killed him not to.

  “One night.” He shook his head and gave my ass a little slap. “I wish I could give you more. I wish…god, it’s complicated.”

  “Then one night,” I said quickly before he decided even one night was a bad idea. “I’ll do what you ask for one night.”

  He smacked my bottom again, hard enough to make an irrationally loud noise and send a burst of heat and pain from my right cheek where he’d struck me three times in a row. “Get on your knees so I can take what belongs to me.”

  I scrambled to obey, climbing down onto my knees facing the windows. I watched his reflection stand, open his pants and slide them off. I heard the condom wrapper and watched his reflection watch me, bold and brave and handsome as hell. His eyes absolutely smoldered.

  He knelt, wrapped an arm around my waist, and yanked me back against his chest.

  “Are you ready, Jane?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  He knotted his fingers into my hair and pushed me forward, controlling my descent until he had my face pressed against the vanilla ice cream carpet. He turned my head so I could see my reflection still, bent at my hips, raised on my knees, ass in the air. Oliver gave my pussy lips a light stroke before letting me go.

  “My girl,” he murmured and without any further negotiations, mounted me.

  I gasped as he pressed the head of his cock against my entrance. He bared his teeth and plowed forward, breaching and breaking through my tight opening to bury himself to the hilt in one, rough thrust. I shuddered and muffled my scream into the carpet as he forced his way inside.

  The bright initial pain faded quickly, replaced by burning heat. Oliver bent over my body, his arm snaked back around my waist, and held me as he began the slow, terrible, delicious exit from my pussy, thrust back in, achingly back out. Every pump forced a growl and pant between his gritted teeth. He tugged at my hair, a wonderful, tense pain I’d imagined a thousand times since writing that ad.

  “Oliver,” I whined. “Harder. Please.”

  He huffed and pushed my head down. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart, asking for more.”

  “Harder,” I dared. Begged. “Harder.”

  He jerked out and flipped me in one, smooth movement. Oliver pushed my knees open and climbed on top of me.

  “You want color?” he threatened. He pushed it inside, just an inch, the fat head stroking in and out only enough to tease me into a frenzy. When I tried to lift my hips to meet him, he put his hand on my throat to hold me still. “No. Tonight you take it. Tonight you feel how much power I have over you. If you try to fuck me back, I will stop.”

  Oliver urged another inch in, then another until he’d set a new, hungry rhythm, plunging in and pulling almost all the way out. He held me to the ground by my throat, soft fingers but the meaning was clear. Mine.

  “I’ll be good,” I promised. He nipped my mouth and fucked me until I was keening his name and one great explosion away from touching the stars.

  I knew he was close when his breath hitched with a guttural, animal noise and he sped up, no longer careful of how deeply he took me. He rutted against me, grunting with the effort of each breach. When I could feel his body shaking, he laid himself against me and took my mouth with his so hard he bruised my lips.

  Oliver tensed, hovered on the very edge of his pleasure, and then came bucking wildly into my body, smothering me with his mouth.

  Jane, he gasped against my lips. Jane. My Jane. My beautiful girl. Take me. Take me. Take me.

  I didn’t ask when I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his sweaty, sticky body against mine. I kissed him, wrapped my legs around his hips, and rode his orgasm. He didn’t stop me, didn’t complain. He held me as my body jolted in his arms, and I tipped over the edge into the sky, shaking and crying as wave after wave of ecstasy passed through my body. I’d never felt this, not ever, not with so much love in another’s eyes. I exploded into pieces and came back together bigger and better than I’d ever been.

  After tonight, I would never, ever be someone’s robot again.

  Oliver kissed me, gentling his touches until I trembled less and we both collapsed weakly to the floor in blissed out, drugged happiness.

  Four

  Oliver woke on his living room floor, aching and cold. He reached for the girl he’d loved for hours until dawn, kissing and touching her until they were too tired to stay awake.

  His fingers found nothing. Panic yanked him out of his dream-state and he sat up, searching the room for he
r. They’d pulled together a make-shift bed on the floor made of pillows and blankets from his couch, too content to even bother finding his bedroom in the dark, but the room was empty. His apartment had never felt so silent as it did right then.

  Dawn colored the sky orange and pink, just above the towering skyscrapers that lined South River. He sat up and searched for her clothes, but he already knew he wouldn’t find them.

  He should have been grateful. Should have…but that was as hilarious as it was sad. He didn’t need to tell her the truth for her to understand he meant what he said. They could have one night but more than that was impossible.

  Jane had told him repeatedly about her family, about her father in particular. She’d told him about the day when she was twelve years old and she’d been severely punished for being herself. The day she’d learned to obey but for all the wrong reasons. Her family had a reputation to uphold and any tarnish would never be tolerated. If she could be beaten for being a silly little girl, Oliver couldn’t imagine what would happen if his family’s ugly past came crashing into her perfect one.

  He didn’t know if he had enough love to give her to make up for the bad he would have brought into her life.

  She’d understood because she was smart. Because she didn’t want a sad goodbye. She’d told him once before that her family wasn’t meant for romance.

  He could still taste her on his mouth.

  Oliver stood up, stretched the ache from his body, though the one in his chest didn’t ease. His eyes fell on a piece of paper left on his breakfast bar.

  It would be a goodbye that would break his heart. He didn’t want to read it. He couldn’t not.

  God he was going to miss her.

  With you, forever wouldn’t have been long enough.

  From now on, I promise not to settle for anything less than extraordinary.

  Avery

  The End

  Becoming Jane is a companion novella set in the same world as The Curvy Submissive and SECRETS series. While it can be enjoyed alone, Becoming Jane takes place during The Curvy Submissive #2: Girl in Pieces and before #3, Wanting it All.

  Jordan Bell is also the author of the supernatural romance The Fortune Teller’s Daughter and the Amazon Bestseller, The Curvy Sister.

  Join Jordan’s newsletter and receive updates on new releases and a free copy of Her Secret Pleasure, #1 in the SECRETS series. You can sign up for her newsletter here.

  You can find her on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/authorJordanBell or on her website at www.jordanbellbooks.com.

  Master / Mistress

  By

  Hildred Billings

  Smoke curled around the bridge of Reina’s nose as she finished her cigarette outside the restaurant. Another damn fancy restaurant. Reina couldn’t care with her date paying.

  She detached from the other group of smokers after extinguishing her cigarette and made her way inside, where the host looked her up and down with a cursory sniff. What a weasel. Twenty-year-old Reina – who still lurked inside her, no doubt – would have laughed at this man’s tight suit and ridiculous handlebar mustache. Thankfully, forty-year-old (plus another year) Reina was able to keep a straight face as she told the host who she was there to meet.

  “There must be some mistake,” he said, staring at Reina’s inferior clothing. She wore one of her nicest suits, but it didn’t cost hundreds of thousands of yen. “Isoya-sama informed me that a woman would be joining her this evening. You, sir, are not who she is expecting.”

  This jerk thinks I’m a man? To be irate about it or not? Maybe he can see my dick in my pants. “I think it must be you who is mistaken,” she said to the host in a level voice, the one that sounded neither male nor female. “I am the one she is expecting. Ask her yourself.”

  Such a fine way to start off the evening. The host gave her one last stink eye before stealing into the restaurant gallery. He returned a minute later, bowing his head and apologizing.

  She was led into the gut of the gallery, where men and women dined around open-air tables full of candles, wine, and flowers. Reina glanced around for a sign of Jun, but did not see any women in pantsuits sitting alone. Not that she had much chance to, for the host led her farther into the back of the gallery, where booths were cordoned off by curtains and the ruckus was greatly diminished.

  “About time you showed up.”

  Reina nearly had a heart attack when she saw Jun.

  From the neck up she looked the same as always: carefully applied make-up that brought out the brightness in her eyes, the rise of her cheekbones and the tip of her jaw. Her hair was freshly cut and dyed to contour to her scalp and ears, the red highlights infused into her black roots to make everything shimmer in the low light.

  Her dress, on the other hand, was new to Reina.

  “You look…” she began, the host retreating. “Feminine.”

  Jun uncrossed her bare legs, tipped in black stiletto heels and enshrouded in a thin black pencil skirt. A gold belt looped around the high waist of the skirt, and spilling out of its top was a white silk blouse hanging off her shoulders and strangling her wrists. Gold jewelry accented her fingers and neck.

  “And you look like a dyke.”

  Even the way Jun spoke was feminine, with an inflection representing a posh Tokyo woman. “Mind if I sit down?”

  Jun lifted her bag off the seat next to her. “Apparently you’re a man tonight.”

  “So you heard.” Reina slid into the booth and tapped Jun’s glass of wine. “I don’t think I look any different from normal. Not like you.”

  “Do you like it?” Jun ignored the server come to take their orders. “I decided to dress up for you. I guess you could say I was… inspired… after last week.”

  I make her feel like a woman, huh? If Reina’s dick weren’t already hard, it would be now. She sat in her own smugness while Jun ordered fish and pasta for dinner. The server stole several glances at Reina, surprised that “he” was not ordering for his female companion. When the server left, he shut the curtain, giving Reina and Jun their due privacy.

  “I like it fine,” Reina leaned in toward Jun. Perfume wafted into her nose. “You reba,” she cooed, referring to Jun’s ability to slide between masculine and feminine depending on the day.

  “I think you’ll find I am exceptionally feminine tonight.”

  “And I think you’ll find that I’m into it.”

  “Also, people think you’re a man.”

  “Do you?”

  Jun stared at Reina’s outfit, tilting her head and exposing the lines of her throat. By the end of the night I’ll have my lips there. Why not now? Reina lowered her head and placed a kiss on Jun’s neck. When she did not protest, Reina went further, gently sucking on the skin there and feeling her lover’s muscles tighten in arousal.

  “Your dress is masculine, but nothing out of the usual for you,” she said. “But I like it. It suits you very well.” She grabbed the edge of Reina’s jacket. “Although people in this restaurant think we’re a straight couple out on a date. I haven’t dated a man in years.”

  The curtain pulled open again, the server back with an extra drink for Reina. She waited for him to disappear before replying to Jun. “I’m better than any of those assholes.”

  “It’s true. For one thing, you’re a woman.”

  “Eh? Don’t ruin what we’ve got going on here.” The straps holding Reina’s phallus in place between her legs dug into her skin, as if she needed another reminder that she was female.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Jun sampled Reina’s drink of hard alcohol before setting it back down. “I mean you have everything that makes a man attractive, on a hypothetical level. You’re handsome, confident, and know how to use a hard cock. The fact that it’s not real, and that inside your chest beats the heart of a woman, makes you better in my book. You are the best of both worlds.”

  No one’s ever put it that way before. Perhaps it helped that Jun had a sexual history with men. �
��I don’t know about that.”

  “You should. Because I’m terribly attracted to a woman who can fuck like a man.”

  That got a smirk out of Reina. “You still like men, huh?”

  “Please.” Jun drank the last of her wine as if it were water. “Men… they’re fine on a superficial level. I had some good times with them. Even had great sex once in a while. But I couldn’t love them, not like I love women. Women are…” She placed her fingers on her lips, and for the first time Reina realized a fine layer of gloss covered them. “I’ve never been able to put words to it, but I love women so much more. It doesn’t matter if they’re feminine or masculine. The connection I have with them – with you – reaches into the depths of our desires and our ability to know what feels good and how to accomplish it. Men got lucky with me. Women know me. Just like you know me so well, Reina-san.”

  I know you all right. Jun was hilariously easy to figure out, once Reina spent more time with her. She led an uptight life in a man’s world, trying to constantly kiss ass and suck the cock of the patriarchy. Yet deep inside she was a submissive wench, and just because she was a lesbian didn’t mean she didn’t want a big and tough woman to plow the stress out of her. I can do that. Reina lived an uptight life in a man’s world as well, but her approach to dealing with it was completely different. She liked to blend in and sleep with women like Jun.

  All those dirty thoughts made Reina bite the sleeve of Jun’s blouse and contemplate ripping it off her. Servers and asshole hosts be damned.

  Their dinner of fish and pasta was delectable, although Reina didn’t want to know how much it cost. I’ll let her deal with that. Having “the woman” pay didn’t threaten her masculinity. She was a poor sod and Jun was loaded. I’ll pay her back in my own way. Jun ordered another glass of wine and insisted Reina try it, but not before sampling dinner off her plate, though they ate the same dishes.