She took the opportunity to snag his ponytail, giving him a hard yank that must have hurt like a bitch because he wore it so tight. “Please!”
“Promises are made to be broken,” he purred against her inner thigh.
“No, they aren’t,” she growled out.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to lick and bite me until I beg you to stop!”
He started to move back down her thigh, trailing his tongue in a wet path toward her knee. “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
With a quick twist of her wrist, she wrapped her hand in his hair and tugged him back where she wanted him.
“Oh, here,” he whispered, letting his breath puff out against her. “Pull my hair harder, baby. I think I’m starting to understand what you want.”
“Please, Victor, please.” She twisted another length of his hair in her hand. Babbling, she knew she was babbling, “Oh, God, yes, there, please!”
With agonizing delicacy, he nibbled a path of fire around her sex. “I’ve been hungering for a taste of you, Shiloh. Dying to get my mouth on you. Burning to get inside you. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Is that what you want?”
She let out a shaking groan. Clean, smoking hot, but not dirty. “I want to be under your tongue.”
He flattened his tongue against her and she moaned and whimpered and likely ripped a bald spot in his hair, and just when she thought she’d die, he sucked her clit into his mouth, gripping her with his teeth in such exquisite, delicate pain. No mercy, no quarter, he worked her with his tongue and teeth until she trembled from head to toe and begged him to stop.
Just as she’d asked.
When he finally settled his weight against her and slid inside, she could only cling to him and stare up into his eyes and cry at how tender and sweet the Master proved to be. He calmed her with his body, his thrusts slow and deep and druggingly tender. He slid his big palms up and down her arms, flanks and down her legs, pulling her higher against him. His fingers were strong and sure, massaging her as thoroughly as she’d done his knee the previous night.
Kissing his throat, she worked on that holder, determined to free his hair. She’d already pulled it horribly, so she didn’t try to be gentle this time. She yanked the rubber band out and tossed it as far as she could. Cupping his head between her hands, she rubbed his head and combed his hair through her fingers.
He groaned, deep in his throat. For any other man, she might have eased the pressure, but for Victor, she pressed her fingers harder against his scalp. She felt the subtle answering shift in his body. Instead of stroking her so carefully, he shifted to his elbows and thrust deeper, harder, grinding his pelvis against hers. He cupped her face in his big hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs while he took her mouth, his tongue as deep inside her as his cock.
Even tender, even sweet, he demanded her pleasure, the ultimate surrender of her will and body to his. Shuddering, she sucked on his tongue, clamped down tight on him with every muscle in her body, taking him as deep as she could until he came too.
Cradling her beneath him, he kissed her softly, still cupping her face. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered, combing his hair with her fingers.
The last bit of tension bled from his body. Shifting his weight off to the side, he drew her close so she cuddled against him. Stroking her back, he sighed heavily. “I will.”
She couldn’t help but shiver with anticipation.
Chapter Eleven
V’s Gift Blog
So it happened. The Master took me to His bed.
Why am I not jumping up and down, squealing with excitement? Because it was nothing like I expected. No crop. No punishment. No games. It was incredibly sweet. Just a man and one desperately horny woman pushing him to give me everything He needs to give.
And He refused. It was like making love to a man who wears a mask. Every time I tried to peek beneath it and see the real V, he slammed another brick wall into place.
I hate it when He holds back on me. When He hides what I most need to see.
Don’t get me wrong—Master V is an incredible lover and man. He blew my mind. Even sitting here bright and early before work, remembering last night, makes me sweat and moan, squirming in my chair. I can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like to see Him as my boss and not my lover, my Master. Will everyone know, just by looking at me, that I’m His?
God, I hope so.
Most of all, I hope He looks at me and sees his V plastered all over me. I know it sounds crazy, but I’d let Him brand me like a steer. I want Him burned into my flesh, claiming me as His for anyone to see.
But I don’t know if that’s what He wants. Oh, sure, I know what the sadist needs—because I am the fuel for His fire—but I don’t know that He’ll ever allow that beast its freedom.
Even though my heart is howling His name, begging Him to come subdue me.
“So…?”
Victor avoided meeting Mal’s gleaming gaze. Even Patrick’s table of pony gear was more tolerable than his friend’s curiosity. With a busy morning of going through tape and too many witnesses around to overhear, she hadn’t been able to interrogate him yet. Maybe he could diffuse her interest by stroking her ego. “You were right.”
“Mistress M is always right.” She preened a moment, twirling a lock of hair about her finger. “I saw her this morning. She didn’t bear any horrible wounds or bruises.”
“No.” Somehow, he managed to sound insulted, even though that had been his fear.
“You’re more relaxed today, so I’m assuming…”
“Give me a break, Mal. Do you want a play by play?”
“You know that’s not my kink.” She brought a paper bag over to his table and dumped out its contents. She’d known without asking that he would need help; his table was glaringly bare of bondage equipment. “Are you happy with how it went?”
“Sure. It was great.”
“But…?”
Sighing, he threw himself down in the folding chair. After a few more finishing touches to his worthless table of trinkets, Mal sat down beside him. She waited, calm and steady, persistent without harassing him, giving him time to find the words. “She’s fantastic, sexy, daring, everything I ever wanted or hoped she would be. We had a good time, don’t get me wrong. But the whole time, I felt like I was fighting her.”
“Or fighting yourself?” Mal asked softly.
“You told me to take her as the man and not the Master.” Even to his own ears, he sounded accusatory. He tried to take down his intensity a notch. “It was all I could do to touch her without hurting her, and she kept pushing me. Mal, you have no idea how fearless she is. She pushed every button I have, including a few I didn’t even know existed.”
“Sounds hot.” Chuckling at his groan, Mal sat down beside him. “The best submissives are the ones who push us to our limits too. You wouldn’t be as interested if she didn’t challenge you.”
In his mind, he heard Shiloh’s sultry voice again, begging him to fuck her hard, real hard, just the way she liked it, and he had to shift into a more comfortable spot. “A smart submissive knows her Master’s limits, though. She doesn’t push him beyond safety or sanity. It’s like she knows the absolute worst thing to say or ask for.”
“Or the best.” She raised her hand to halt his retort. “Name one submissive you’ve played with in the past five—even ten—years who truly pushed you. Who made you work at being a Master and controlling your instincts? You were bored to tears at Silken. I think that’s why you hooked up with Kimberly. At least you had a new challenge then. You had to pretend like you were normal.”
“Well, it sure as hell won’t be boring with Shiloh around.”
“And you’re just getting started.”
He couldn’t help but grimace, even though his heart rate accelerated at the thought of seeing her today, working through this staged game, and then, the best part of all—taking her home with him again. �
��She’s going to end up hurt and I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Sweet Baby Jesus in a manger!” Mal surged to her feet and leaned down into his face. Her index finger suddenly became a dangerous weapon and her New Orleans accent—that she’d worked so hard all these years to smooth—slurred her words. “I’m tired of hearing how bad you got it, you mean, miserable Master with a brand new submissive panting at your feet who wants exactly the kind of punishment you deal out. Get over yourself. You would never plow your fist into her face for disrespecting you, uncaring whether you broke her nose or jaw. You would never beat the shit out of her just because you felt like it. You wouldn’t sell her on the street just to see the humiliation on her face, or carve her up because she’s too pretty and some other man might look at her, or get her hooked on drugs so she’s trapped and completely under your control. You are not a bad man!”
“No,” he said, keeping his voice cool. “I would simply take my crop to her back, buttocks and thighs until she bore the scars for the rest of her life.”
Calmer, Mal refused to back down. “If she got off while you did it, more power to the both of you.”
Shaken, he stared up at his friend, his throat as raw as though he’d swallowed a belly-full of gravel. “Bruises won’t stop me.”
“In our world, bruises are badges of honor when given lovingly during a scene,” she replied gently, dropping her hand on his shoulder.
His stomach churned with bile. “Blood won’t stop me.”
“Blood’s a bitch to get off leather.” She squeezed his shoulder, refusing to leave him wallowing in self-hatred. “I think you’ve got more control than you give yourself credit for. I know you, V. If you care about this woman and she’s not enjoying what you’re doing, you will stop.”
“How do you know?” But what rang in his head was How can I know?
“You stopped for Kimberly, didn’t you? And don’t tell me that she moved you like Shiloh moves you.”
“No one has ever moved me like Shiloh. That’s why…” He swallowed to clear the rasp out of his throat. “I don’t want to lose her. If I hurt her, really injured her badly, Mal, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“She trusts you.”
He couldn’t help but wince then, as though his friend had stabbed him through the heart.
“She’s going to love you, if not already. If you don’t trust yourself, you will either lose her or kill that spirit that compels you to lay claim to her body and soul. You’ll force her to pretend, as you pretended for Kimberly. Is that what you want? Fake, safe sex that hides what you both really need, no matter how violent and dirty you think it may be?”
“No,” he ground out. “I felt like I was dying inside a little more each day. I don’t want that for Shiloh. She’s too bright, too free and happy to die that way.”
“Go slow, trust your instincts, and give it time. You’ve found the rare combination we all dream about. You’ve found someone who needs your kink as much as you need to give it, and will love and honor you at the same time. She’s a treasure, V. Don’t push her away.”
Now it was Victor’s turn to narrow his gaze on his friend’s face, searching for telltale signs of unhappiness. “You don’t think you’ve found the same treasure in Andy?”
“He loves my kink.” Mal forced a laugh, and yes, it was forced. Straightening, she averted her face. “I never fooled myself into thinking he loves me too. Enjoy it while it lasts, V, because there are no guarantees. Besides, you know my Mama will never forgive me if I marry a white boy five years younger than me.”
Victor stood and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Tell me again—why are we both so screwed up?”
“Because normal is boring.” She slipped her arm around his waist too. Together, they walked down the hall to current taping session. “We have to be screwed up to get along with each other. God only knows why I’ve put up with you so long.”
“You’re fired.”
Mal laughed. “You can’t fire me. I own a quarter of your company and sit on your Board of Directors. You’re stuck with me like a shrew of a wife you can’t divorce.”
On set, the host of the show was interviewing Shiloh. Victor felt his hunger blaze to life just looking at her. She wore the corset and stockings again from their very first taping, but this time she wore layers of white petticoats and a more proper shift that covered her shoulders. The vintage underclothing made her look vulnerable and delicate. Beneath the garish mask of large bug-eyed brass goggles and jumbled gears that formed a helmet, her lips were full and soft and pink.
It seemed impossible that such a sweet mouth had whispered raw, dirty words to him last night.
He listened in.
“So have you always dated within the scene?” Georgia asked.
Shiloh shook her head. “No, far from it. Public display isn’t really my thing.”
Silently, Victor had to agree with her. He could do the performance to a point. Onlookers certainly helped him remain fully in control, fully the Master. But for her, he didn’t want public. He wanted private, dark, secure. Where the only person to witness what came out of him might not run screaming.
“So this show’s going to be a blast for you.” Georgia laughed. “How many Dominants have you dated, then?”
“Only one before this show.”
How many years ago had she dated that mentor she’d mentioned? Victor had the impression of years. Maybe it’d been a long time since she’d done a scene too. No wonder they were both shaking and needy like an addict desperate for a hit.
“Only one!” Georgia gasped and swirled a ridiculous peacock and ivory fan before her face like she might swoon. “Have you dated men who weren’t into the scene, or are you practically a virgin?”
Shiloh’s mouth tightened but her voice remained calm. “I’ve dated for years.”
Georgia leaned closer and lowered her voice, letting the fan flutter up by their faces as though they were alone in an intimate conversation. “Vanilla sex can be so boring. Did you ever try to get a boyfriend to cross over to the Kinky Side with you?”
“I tried.”
Sensing the juicy details just below the surface, Georgia made a low, encouraging coo and raised the fan higher, giving Shiloh a modicum of fake privacy. Victor willed his muscles to relax and shook out his cramped fingers. She’d known the interview would get personal. It was those raw, painful elements that would make the show believable and keep people watching. But by the way his proud, confident submissive stared down at her fingers clenched desperately in the white linen, he didn’t think he was going to like what he heard.
“With who?” Georgia purred.
“My college boyfriend. We’d dated through our last two years of college and were close to graduating.” Shiloh shrugged, forcing a half smile. “We’d talked marriage after we both had jobs, but we weren’t actually engaged.”
“How did you tell him?”
“I just came right out and asked him.”
“For what?” Georgia’s sultry voice was perfect for this deep, intimate conversation, purring on the camera. Victor had known she’d sound luscious. Dallas viewers would be enthralled with this tiny glimpse into someone’s personal pain, but damn it, he didn’t like Shiloh bearing her pain. Not for anyone but him. “What did you ask him for?”
“I wanted him to hurt me,” Shiloh whispered. “At first, he was horrified. He thought I hadn’t been enjoying our sex life at all. I told him no, it was fine. I just needed…more.”
“You needed pain.”
Victor could hear his own loud, deep pants, as though he’d just run a mile at top speed back in the day. In so many ways, they were polar opposites and yet cut from exactly the same warped cloth. She’d pretended to be vanilla for her boyfriend; he’d pretended for Kimberly. Am I going to force her to pretend for me, too, just to keep her safe?
“Yes,” Shiloh breathed out. “I asked him to use his belt on me.”
“Did he do it?”
Silently, she nodded and a tremor shook her shoulders.
Georgia reached over to clasp the other woman’s hand. “What happened?”
“It wasn’t enough.” A tear trickled down beneath Shiloh’s mask and Victor had to rip his hair tighter to keep from charging in there and hauling her off stage. “He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t bear to hurt me. My dad had spanked me harder than that as a kid. It certainly wasn’t enough to…”
She paused and took a deep breath, calming herself. “It hurt him, in a bad way that I absolutely hated. I couldn’t ask him to do that. I like pain, yes, but I want to enjoy it, and know that the man giving me that pain enjoys it too. If he’s not getting off on it, then I won’t either. My boyfriend hated it. He hated hurting me. I knew he was going to end up hating me too.”
“So what happened?”
“We tried to go back to just loving each other. Normal, vanilla sex, you know? But it was too late. He couldn’t forget I had this need inside of me he could never meet. He knew he wasn’t enough for me, and no amount of caring and respect and love could overcome that lack.”
Shiloh raised her gaze from her hands and saw Victor in the shadows. She stared at him a moment, her eyes wild, her body trembling as though she’d flee.
“Did she make that shit up as a message to you?” Mal whispered at his side. “A threat?”
He considered the thought and dismissed it as impossible with a slight shake of his head. The emotion shimmering in Shiloh’s eyes was real heartache. Real terror, that resonated inside him too. It took a horrendous amount of courage to bare one’s soul like that, even to a lover. Especially to a lover. Because it left one open, vulnerable, naked of any sort of protection.
With a word, he could shred her wide open. With a cold glance—or a cold shoulder—he could strip her of any affection she may have stored up for him. He could hurt her more by rejecting her now than he’d ever dreamed to do with his crop.
“It’s obvious from your tryout that you’ve set your cap for Master V.” Georgia, too, had noticed who watched on the sidelines. “What happens if you don’t win the title of America’s Next Top sub?”
Hurt Me So Good Page 10