Adrianna's Undies

by Lacey Alexander

  She wanted to feel this for her. And for him. She’d wanted that vibrator on her clit, for another super-powered orgasm—but this, this was even more intense than that, more heady.

  Her fingernails curled into the flesh of his shoulders as the vibrator pushed deeper, deeper in her ass. She met his gaze and bit her lip. She couldn’t read his thoughts, but only knew, in her soul, that they were good together like this. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t sweet, and it wouldn’t last longer than the night, but in this moment, they were good together, they were pleasuring each other, and she was glad he’d walked so unceremoniously back into her life.

  “Is it good?” he asked. The double penetration, he meant, not them.

  It was so good that she could barely form words. “Unh. Mmm.” She managed to nod.

  Then bit her lip again as she resumed moving on him. She shut her eyes—she had to. A ragged moan tore from her throat as the sensations, like so much already tonight, vibrated through every inch of her body. She clawed at his chest as she fucked him. He balanced her hip with his free hand, the other gently working the vibrator.

  Moving against him, the front of her body against his, it didn’t take long. Anal stimulation added to clitoral sensations always pushed her right over the edge. “Oh—God!” she cried as the tidal wave of orgasm washed over her. It rocked her body, it made her sweat through every pore. Every cell sizzled as more strangled sobs left her. It was like being transported, lifted to some other plane even as she stayed acutely aware of exactly where she was, who she was with and what she was experiencing with him.

  As her orgasm finally faded, she felt the vibrator slip from her ass and realized Tristan was starting to come too. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, then gripped her hips almost painfully tight as he thrust upward, physically lifting her body from the floor, once, twice, three miraculous times. “Fuck,” he whispered. Then, “Oh fuck, honey,” as his strokes eased, stilled.

  They both leaned inward at the same time, their foreheads touching. Everything was quiet. The world stopped spinning.

  For just a moment. Until Adrianna remembered all that had transpired.

  The last part, all the true fucking, had taken place only because she’d demanded it of him.

  Which meant she’d lost the game. And the company.

  And no matter how good that fucking had been, she knew Tristan well enough to know he took business seriously and was a man of his word, for the good or the bad. He would proceed with the takeover attempt.

  Slowly, gingerly, Adrianna eased off his wet cock, watching it fall against his belly, and pushed to her feet in the stripper heels he’d put on her. Feeling defeated inside for more reasons than she could easily list at the moment, she spoke quietly. “Congratulations, you win.”

  Then she turned and went to find the bathroom.

  Chapter Eight

  Tristan lay, tired and spent, feeling the evening he’d just shared with Adrianna. She was amazing. And insufferable. The perfect slave girl. And the perfect dominatrix. All in one short night. Too short. He wanted to fuck her some more—hard, brutal. He wanted to punish her for so many things, present and past. He wanted to tell her he still loved her.

  But he was simply too tired to do any of those things.

  * * * * *

  Adrianna went to the bathroom, barely noticing the luxury of her surroundings, much more cognizant of the fact that Tristan hadn’t used a condom. Since lots of casual sex demanded lots of safe sex, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been with a man not wearing a rubber for the actual penetration part. As she’d walked in here, it had felt messy and raw…and real.

  Resting on the toilet, she unstrapped her shoes and let them fall off. She unhooked the corset all the way down and let it drop to the tiled floor as well. Finally, she reached up to untie the snug choker at her neck, leaving one more piece of sexual debris on the bathroom floor. Game over. Officially.

  When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, naked, that’s exactly how she felt—inside and out. Her hair was a mess—tumbling all around her shoulders. She saw a bruise starting to color a spot on her right thigh. Her eyes looked tired. She appeared exactly as she was—a woman who’d just engaged in rough, kinky sex and hadn’t come out of it happy. Of course, the sex itself had been…strange and phenomenal, torturous and grand. And a woman could hardly complain about three screaming, trembling orgasms. It was the end result that had left her feeling so beat up.

  She thought about taking a shower, but the sad truth was, she wasn’t quite ready to wash the sex—or Tristan—off her.

  When she walked back into the bedroom, she wasn’t sure what she’d find. Would Tristan shove her loss down her throat? Or would he be his more professional self, treating this like one more successful business deal? Or maybe he’d want more kinky sex—maybe he’d try to negotiate.

  But she was done negotiating. She simply hadn’t the mental—or now, physical—energy for any more right now.

  Taking a deep breath, she exited the bathroom naked—to find that Tristan had crawled beneath the covers and appeared fast asleep.

  She had no idea what time it was—the middle of the night. She desperately wanted to put on her clothes and go, leaving all of this behind her as much as she could—for now anyway—but she was exhausted. Her limbs ached from being tied. Her mind ached due to going from strong woman to slave and back again over the course of one mere night. She didn’t feel like navigating Las Vegas Boulevard or making the drive to her house.

  So she simply walked to the opposite side of the bed from where Tristan lay and slipped under the blankets, being sure to keep ample distance between their bodies and turning her back to him. Then she reached for the lamp beside the bed and extinguished the lights so only the glow from the neon Strip outside tossed shadows across the room. It was mere moments before sleep took her.

  When she awoke, the room felt still, somehow more peaceful. It was not yet morning, but the glow from outside could trick a person into believing daylight was right around the corner. Tristan’s body spooned hers.

  God, he was warm. And his touch felt…safe. She hated that because she knew it was, like so much in this town, an illusion. Don’t let yourself be fooled. Don’t go soft.

  She couldn’t go back to sleep like this, as if it were normal to have his body cocooning hers, as if everything were okay between them—because it definitely wasn’t. She rolled to her back and looked up to find his eyes on hers in the dimness.

  “I didn’t mean to say that,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to demand that you fuck me. I was just…”

  “I know,” he said, voice low and almost tender. “You were just being you.” Then he sighed, sounding sad. “Adri, why is it that you can’t ever give up control, even for a night?”

  Adri. He’d called her that in college, a pet name, mainly in sweet moments, mainly in bed. She tried not to let herself feel the places it took her.

  “I did for a while. Honestly,” she claimed, and it was true. She’d genuinely given herself over to him for certain portions of the evening. “I just fucked up in the end.”

  His voice deepened slightly. “When you were submitting, really submitting, what did it feel like? Be honest.” He lay on his side, head propped on one elbow, peering down at her.

  Adrianna took a deep breath. Be honest. “It felt…surprisingly good. I…” She shook her head. “I never knew. That it could feel that way.”

  “I needed to show you.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Because I’ve spent the last fifteen years fantasizing about having you that way.”

  She hadn’t seen that coming. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you’re really into the dominant thing now, huh?”

  He shook his head. “Not so much. Sometimes. But mainly, it was just something I wanted to do with you.”

  Another thing she hadn’t seen coming. It made her feel at once cherished and
persecuted. “Why?” she asked again.

  “Because you’re so strong and tough everywhere else. Always—then and now. I just wanted to make you give it all up to me in bed, all of it. I never had that with you back when we were young. The sex was great, but we always both wanted to be on top.” He paused, laughed, and despite herself, she giggled a bit too. Yet then his voice went serious again. “Why was that, Adrianna? Why are you so afraid to give up control—anywhere?”

  The question stung for reasons she couldn’t understand, and she found herself rolling in bed, onto her stomach, laying her cheek atop her hands and looking away from him. Why? Why was she so controlling when it came to men, sex? It was a question she’d never asked herself before—she’d never seen it as a problem, but more as a strength.

  When had it started? Young. Very young. Even in her adolescence she’d been too competitive, determined to win, determined to conquer, determined to make sure no one got the best of her. As a teenager, she’d initiated kisses, not returned them. She’d always let boys know what she wanted, what she planned to have.

  Why?

  Finally, she swallowed and spoke the words that had just entered her mind. “Maybe I just don’t want to turn into my mother. She’s so…weak when it comes to men. I’ve always detested the way she lets them rule her existence.”

  Tristan didn’t answer for a minute and she hoped maybe he’d started to fall back asleep so she could forget this conversation. That’s when he said, softly, “Maybe you didn’t want to be like your mother in another way too. Maybe you didn’t ever want to give a man the chance to leave you.”

  Her chest constricted, since perhaps he was right. But she didn’t admit it. She didn’t reply at all.

  “You’re so not your mother. You know that by now, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Rarely, she thought, had a mother and daughter been so different.

  “What do you want, Adrianna?”

  “I want to keep my company.”

  To her annoyance, he chuckled. “I don’t mean that. I mean in bed. Right now. What do you want? Anything.”

  She rolled back over to face him. “Anything?”

  He nodded.

  And in the dim lighting, her desires seemed…simpler than anything she’d experience in a long while. Simple and girlish—but she stated them anyway. “Maybe you could…kiss me. You know, for old time’s sake.” As much sex as she had, it didn’t always involve a whole lot of kissing, and maybe she missed that.

  Tristan, still hovering over her, lifted one palm to her face, then lowered his mouth onto hers. The essence of him invaded her—pleasurably—as the kiss deepened, their tongues meeting, twining, and Adrianna’s skin tingled as the kiss moved all through her. Mmm, he tasted good, and just to kiss him felt like…coming home. She hated how sappy that thought seemed, so tried to push it aside, but it was impossible not to sink more and more thoroughly into Tristan’s kisses as one turned into another, and another.

  The stubble on his chin lightly abraded her as he brought one hand up to caress her breast. So different—softer—than anything they’d done earlier. The simple touch of his masculine hand on her softest flesh, kneading, massaging—and then he bent to kiss her nipple—felt like something from another lifetime. Something ragged and desperate, but also sweet and wonderful.

  She descended deeper, deeper into this recollected passion as he licked the beaded pink tip of her breast and then suckled her. She bit her lip, moaning, as the pleasure shot straight to her cunt, the invisible threads between the two body parts stretching longer, tauter, than during ordinary sex, making her arch her back, making her offer herself up, making her remember what it was to feel loved by a man.

  Loved? Oh God, stop feeling that. Stop thinking.

  She hadn’t done a very good job of that earlier, when she’d needed not to feel like his slave, but needing not to feel loved by him was a hell of a lot more important. Since when did she want love? She didn’t. She just didn’t. She adored her life as it was. She cherished the world she’d created for herself. She didn’t need anything else.

  When Tristan ventured south, kissing his way down her stomach, it helped—as far as putting a stop to thinking went. Or at least it gave her something else—something physical, powerful—to focus on. As his velvet kisses moved across her sensitive skin, she surged with fresh moisture and parted her legs instinctively.

  Kiss me there. Kiss my pussy.

  But she wouldn’t beg. Not Tristan. Not tonight.

  And she didn’t need to, since whatever game he’d been playing with her earlier had clearly ended for him too. He didn’t hold back, he didn’t tease—he just sank his tongue into the folds of her cunt like a man who hadn’t eaten in days devouring a gourmet meal.

  She cried out as the shock of pleasure expanded through her like the blast of a bomb. Oh God, so good, so good. His tongue made her even wetter than she already was, and each eager lick ended at her re-swollen clit, which she couldn’t help lifting toward his ministrations.

  She moaned and sighed and writhed on the bed like a schoolgirl and didn’t try to fight it, just got lost in it. Exhaustion made it easier—she truly didn’t think anymore, just let herself feel him. She let herself feel when he gently, boldly sucked the nub of her clit deep, again, again, until she tumbled into ecstasy for the fourth time tonight, the pleasure pure and saturating and consuming as it pulsed through every vein of her body. She let herself feel when he eased his body back up over hers and thrust his hardened cock inside her, impossibly deep as always. She let herself feel every long, slow stroke as she lifted automatically to meet them, as she curled her legs around his back trying to pull his tremendous shaft into her even deeper. She let herself feel his kisses to her mouth, neck, breasts. She let her hands run through his hair, touch his face. She let her eyes fall shut. She let herself get more lost in sex than she had in a very long time.

  “Oh God, Adri—now,” he whispered, and the warm passion in his voice shot through her as powerfully as his ejaculation. One, two, three deep, hard plunges of his majestic cock and she couldn’t have felt more satisfied if she’d had a fifth orgasm. She didn’t even want that right now. She just wanted what she had, which was to be filled by him, and to take him to heaven.

  When he’d come back to earth, he smiled down at her, his expression bordering between tired and playful. “You don’t mind me being on top?”

  She smiled up at him. “It’s kind of nice right now. But I’ll never admit I said that.”

  And they shared a soft laugh before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  * * * * *

  When daylight beamed through the tall, wide windows to wake her some time later, she felt disoriented—until she remembered where she was and what had brought her here. She looked over her shoulder to find Tristan sleeping next to her, looking rumpled and handsome and perfect. An invisible hand squeezed her heart.

  And she knew it was time to get away from feelings like that—feelings that affected her damn heart, of all things.

  So she slipped quietly out of bed and helped herself to the coffeemaker, starting it brewing, and back into the bathroom where her “slave gear” still scattered the floor. After a quick shower, she wrapped herself in a thick white robe from the closet and poured herself a cup of coffee. She walked over to the window wall nearest to Tristan’s side of the bed—the same window he’d leaned against as he’d fucked her with his cock and a vibrator at the same time, which still lay discarded on the carpet—and drank her coffee looking at him, and out over the hedonistic city she called home.

  When she’d left the bed, she’d felt wildly ready to escape and get back to real life. But just now, looking out over the Strip in the morning light, she didn’t feel so anxious to get back to that, either. It was hardly the first time she’d viewed Las Vegas Boulevard from a hotel room in the early morning hours and she always thought it appeared somehow…pale, unmasked. As if taking the night away, the darkness, re
vealed all its flaws. She always thought the city looked in the morning as if it had a hangover, or maybe it was more tangible than that—maybe she somehow felt all the regrets from all the people in these hotels about all they’d done the night before.

  But she had to leave. This room. Tristan.

  He was going to take her company now. He certainly hadn’t disputed that fact when she’d told him in the night that she wanted to keep it.

  Maybe she could talk him out of it if she tried—but hadn’t she already let him weaken her enough? Wouldn’t begging, pleading, for her company just be one more form of submission, surrender? Wouldn’t it be giving him the control she never wanted to let any man have over her? She could fight him in other ways—she’d need to consult her lawyers and certainly learn more about hostile takeovers. And even if she’d begged for sex, she wasn’t going to beg for her company. She’d lost the game, fair and square.

  And as for what had happened after that, the slower, sweeter sex they’d shared in the night, it had been…nice. Too nice. She had to leave now.

  So she set down her coffee cup, found the bag she’d brought with clothes for this morning, packed up everything she’d brought with her—including her dignity—and with one last, brief look at Tristan, she left without saying goodbye.

  Chapter Nine

  Adrianna had spent Sunday researching the technical and legal aspects of takeovers, as well as talking with two members of her legal counsel at length to let them know what was coming. She arrived at the Adrianna, Inc. building bright and early Monday morning in her favorite red power suit, ready to do war. She knew she probably wouldn’t have to do war today, but she needed to be in the right mindset—she needed to be strong and ready for what lay ahead.

  She’d also spent the rest of the weekend trying to forget about Tristan, namely about the softer feelings he’d inspired in her toward the end of their time together. At one point, very early Sunday morning, she’d caught herself thinking—My God, do I still love him? Is it possible? I think maybe I’m still in love with the big, power-hungry lug. But by last night she’d convinced herself that was pure rubbish, that Adrianna Kline didn’t fall in love with men, that it had merely been an exhaustion-induced illusion. And like everything else in this town, now, in the light of day, the illusion was gone and she had her head—and heart—back on straight.