by Nikki Sloane
The command from Dominic was quiet, but firm. “Stop. I’ll do that.”
Yeah, he’d undo my restraints . . . when he was good and ready. I took in a deep breath. “Tell Joseph he should hire you.”
She gave a half-laugh. “He just did.” She must have meant through the comm in her ear. “Have fun, you two.”
Heels tapped out on the hard floor, growing quieter with each step, and the door fell shut. I flinched when fingers skimmed across my belly and up between the valley of my breasts. He gripped my chin and set his soft lips against mine.
“I would, you know,” Dominic said. “Pay every last cent I have for you, Payton.”
“I told you, I don’t want your money.”
His hot mouth sucked and licked at the base of my throat as it journeyed downward. “Yeah? What do you want?”
“For starters, I want my ring back. And then I want your cock.”
He chuckled and the mouth vanished. The cold ring was slipped back onto its home on my finger, and I clenched my hand tight around it. It’d been off for twenty minutes, but it felt like eons.
“Okay, now that cock.”
His lips were back at my collarbone, inching over my skin. “You,” the stubble of his unshaven face rubbed against my breasts, “are not . . . fucking in charge.”
“Shit!” I cried as he nipped at the underside of my breast, hard enough it might have left a crescent shaped mark. His physical mark on me to match the emotional one he’d left. Dominic stained my soul, and I loved it. Electricity spider-webbed from the sting, and my veins flooded with heat.
My hands curled around ribbons holding me down as his fingernails scored painlessly across my stomach in a straight line toward my pussy. His light touch was worse than his firm one. The ache choked my lungs and left my head swirling with need.
Inch by inch.
His mouth followed his fingers down and he inhaled deeply, like he was trying to memorize my scent. The pads of his fingers worked over the inside of my thighs, my hips, and dragged slowly from one spot to another just above my slit. Teasing. Tormenting.
“Touch me,” I whispered.
He didn’t. His palms smoothed down my legs and back up again. I urged my knees apart and the leather protested quietly. The throb in my clit was intense, fueled by his warm breath that I could feel pouring over me.
“Dominic,” I whined.
Those fucking hands continued to explore and linger, never straying to where I was desperate for them. His lips skimmed the inside of my knee. Sparks danced across my nerves as two fingers brushed upward in a line along my thigh, starting a tremble in my legs.
“Please.” I begged it on a shuddering breath.
“This is how I like you. Watching you trying to keep it together.” There was another nip on my thigh, but this one was soft and seductive. “Let’s play a little game, Payton. I’m going to undo one of your straps.”
It was hard to think through the fog of lust. He was going to set me free? The use of one hand meant I could easily undo the other strap or pull off the blindfold. I’d only have the illusion of restraint.
“I’m going to make you come,” he said. He kissed the spot where my leg joined my body. The muscles low in my stomach clenched in response, so hard it was almost painful. “If you touch me, or yourself, you don’t get to come the rest of the day.”
I swallowed a gulp of air and bit down on my bottom lip. I almost preferred that he keep me bound. I didn’t trust myself. But the Velcro tugged open with a loud scratchy noise, and his hand closed on my wrist, pinning it to the mattress-top.
“It’s simple. Your hand stays here. Can you obey?”
My chest was heaving and my heart raced. “Yes, Sir.”
He issued a noise of approval. I didn’t call him Sir often as if he were my Dom and mean it. I liked rationing the word so it carried more power and weight when used.
“Yes,” I cried. My back arched up off the table and my head tipped back. His soft, sinful tongue licked and swirled. It fluttered on my clit. I probably looked like a woman possessed when he fucked me with his mouth, but it was true. I was completely possessed by him. Two thick fingers crept inside. The first inch. And another. Behind closed eyelids, colors spun with my pleasure.
But the warmth of his mouth retreated, causing me to collapse back against the cushion-top.
“Oh . . . my . . . fuck.”
He wasn’t playing fair. A third finger nudged down, touching my asshole while his fingers were fucking my pussy. I swallowed hard, and commanded my hand to stay in place. I wanted to rub my clit as his finger began to intrude there, filling me full. My orgasms with anal were much more intense, but I wouldn’t get there on penetration alone.
I began to writhe when he had two fingers in each entrance. His languid pace was diabolical, and I pictured him bent over the table between my legs, propped up on one arm as he fucked me with the other. His gorgeous eyes would be watching my every move. Every gasp of breath I took.
My head turned and I moaned it into the side of my arm. “Oh, God, please.”
It was killing me not to set my fingers on my swollen clit. It would probably take me two circles of my frantic fingers and I’d come apart. He knew this. He was pushing me as he liked to do.
“You’re so fucking hot, I can’t stand it,” he said in his rough, deep voice.
I cried out in relief as his other hand cupped my pussy, his thumb rolling circles on the nub that was the center of my pleasure.
“Scream for me,” he commanded.
Holy shit, I did. It ripped from my throat and echoed in the soundproof room, so only he could hear how much ecstasy he’d drawn out of my body. I convulsed on his fingers as bliss tore me apart, and the sensation went on.
And on.
Oh my God.
I screamed again as the second wave of pleasure crashed into me, leaving my mind blank. All I could do was shudder and endure as my body took control. Flashes of white decorated my eyelids.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Your pussy’s gonna break my fingers.”
There was no response I could give. No biting remark. I had to focus on pulling air in through clenched teeth. He’d gotten me breathing so hard I’d come close to passing out. The hand slid away. His zipper rang out. The table shook as he climbed on it.
His voice was pure sex. “Here’s the cock you asked for.”
He didn’t give me any rest. His fat dick impaled me in a single thrust. My mouth fell open, but no sound came out and my heart refused to work properly. It slammed in my chest just as fast as he slammed into me, and it burned so good.
His clothed body pressed to my naked one, and my nipples rubbed against the cotton of his t-shirt. I loved feeling his weight on me. Then he shifted, taking it away for a moment, and when his body pressed back down, it was warm skin on mine. He’d pushed his shirt up so we could have delicious contact.
The fingers of my unbound wrist flexed and curled back into a fist. I yearned to touch him, or to push my blindfold up so I could watch as he fucked me. Whimpers flowed from my mouth. Desperate, pathetic noises that only seemed to make his cock harder and his thrusts deeper.
“You feel so fucking good,” I mumbled into the side of his neck. The flutters in my belly began once more, and I was quaking beneath him.
“You ready to come again?” His voice was corrupt.
My head bobbed up and down, nodding violently.
One hand slipped beneath me, grabbing a handful of my ass and squeezing just to the edge of pain. He slammed his hips against me, driving his cock at a furious pace. “Then fucking do it.”
I moaned as he shoved me over the edge into euphoria. Another of my screams filled the room, but this one was followed by his loud groan, and it set off a series of jerks from him. His cock pulsed inside me, one wave after another of heated bliss.
The tense muscles pressed against mine began to relax as he recovered from his orgasm. “Shit, our American sex is epic.”
&n
bsp; A short laugh fell out of me. “Our Japanese sex isn’t a joke either.”
“We should teach classes.” He faked seriousness. “People could learn a lot from us.”
“Right. Like how not to lie about your fiancé’s car being yours.” A finger tugged the blindfold off and I blinked at my vision suddenly being restored.
“It’ll be mine eventually.” His voice was heavy with meaning and his eyes glinted.
He was right in every sense. He pushed me, always getting his way in the end, and I loved every minute of it.
I loved it almost as much as I loved him.
chapter
NINE
EVIE
Processional music broadcasted softly from the small speaker in the cramped bridal room. It sounded tinny through the electronics, but I hoped it was beautiful for the guests sitting in the pews in the nave of the church. I was sure it was. Logan had picked the quartet himself.
Holy crap, it was really happening.
Logan’s mom probably had the same thought. She’d been waiting for this day a long time. For years, everyone had assumed it’d be a lithe blonde marching down the aisle, not a brunette with thick thighs.
Why the hell was I thinking about his ex? I was a jittery mess, all nervous and excited and happy. I couldn’t wait to see him, and I couldn’t fucking wait to become his wife.
My gaze was glued to Payton, who held her bouquet of blue hydrangeas and white roses in one hand, and fiddled with the top of her bridesmaid dress. I’d let the girls pick their own, the only stipulation being that the dress was solid black. She’d chosen a strapless one that had a deep V notched in the center of the neckline, revealing her ample cleavage. By her standards, the dress was tame, but the priest was going to have a heart attack.
“Don’t forget,” I said to her. “Flowers up here.” I held my bouquet up high over my chest. I need to crack a joke to distract from my nerves.
She smirked. “Are you insane? I’m not covering my best feature.”
My father cleared his throat and Payton sobered, falling into line with the rest of my bridesmaids while we moved to the narthex. Only a set of double doors stood between Logan and me now. At the front of the line, Jamie disappeared through them with her arm linked to Logan’s half-brother Garrett.
Payton had corrected Jamie at the rehearsal dinner last night when my coworker friend called me Evie. God, my best friend’s little jealous streak was so funny. It’s not like I’d demoted Payton’s best friend status, but Jamie and I had become friends over the past year. Plus she had been awesome at helping plan the wedding on a budget. Thank God the Stones offered to pay for half of it. I was so blessed, and my family was grateful.
“Oh, no,” I whispered to my father. “Don’t you dare. If you start, I start, and I won’t be able to stop.” Tears stung and threatened to spill.
He wiped at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine. I’ve got it together. It’s just thirty feet.” Since his tone was unsure, I stared up at the ceiling, desperate to drain the tears back.
Nick, Logan’s brother, was the best man, but it made more sense for him to walk down the aisle with his wife Hilary, who was also a bridesmaid. Plus, this left Payton and Dominic to walk together. My heartbeat ratcheted up another level as Hilary and Nick disappeared into the church.
My knees were soft and uncooperative as Dominic stepped into view, offering his arm to my maid of honor. “You look beautiful,” he said as she threaded her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Oh, and you, Payton, you look nice, too.”
She turned, flashed a grin back at me, and stepped off with Dominic.
“Thirty feet,” my dad mumbled to himself, like he was trying to get pumped up.
My heart launched into my throat, blocking air as the song ended and the first strings of the wedding march began. I wasn’t sure who was leaning on whom for support; both of us were shaking.
The doors swung open with the swell in the music, revealing the standing rows of friends and family who’d come to celebrate Logan’s and my union. Every pair of eyes was on me, except for my father’s. He was probably counting the steps as we moved forward.
No amount of visualization could have prepared me emotionally for this moment.
I’d seen Logan in a tuxedo before, and it had made me weak in the ovaries, but now he incinerated them. They didn’t stand a chance against his perfect three-piece black suit, a formal black bow tied at his neck.
His focus was one hundred percent on me. There could be fireworks going off all around, we wouldn’t have noticed. They couldn’t compete with the fireworks between us anyway.
Logan’s lips parted and shoulders lifted in a deep breath. Had I ever seen him this stunned before? My perfectly controlled man seemed to be struggling. The thoughts he held were loud on his face. He wanted to storm up the aisle and whirl me into his arms. He’d like to kiss me hard, and probably fuck me harder.
Oh, God. I’d just thought about fucking while at church. I was going to hell.
The enormous skirt of my A-line dress swished as we ambled across the white aisle runner at a measured pace. My dad was rushing and I tensed my arm, trying to get him to slow down. There was so much to take in, I didn’t want to miss any of it. Every step brought me closer to the man I loved, and I wanted to celebrate them each as a victory.
As the distance between us shortened, the depth in Logan’s dark eyes grew. His expression filled with so much love, it was overwhelming. My bottom lip and chin trembled as I teetered right on the edge.
No, no, no . . . I did not want to cry. Why did people cry when they were happy? I fought to pull the corners of my mouth back into a smile.
“Ten, nine . . .”
Oh, good God, my father was literally counting under his breath. His stage fright was a welcomed distraction, and it was like a countdown to the moment I’d be with my groom.
“Five . . . four . . .” Logan straightened and his broad shoulders pulled back as he inched forward, as if he couldn’t wait and wanted to meet me halfway.
“Three . . . two . . . one.”
Logan’s hand was extended to my father and the men shook. I leaned in, tilting my head as my dad kissed my cheek.
“I love you, Evelyn. Your mother and I are so happy for you.” I closed my eyes, squeezing back fresh tears. “And I’m outta here.”
My eyes popped open, and I choked on my laugh as my dad scurried behind me, trying not to trip over my cathedral veil. My gaze turned back and found Logan’s. His hand clasped mine and our fingers laced together. We turned toward the altar and went forward, together.
It was a blur after that. Readings, vows, and the rings. I slipped the silver band on Logan’s left hand, and . . . yup, definitely going to hell. More impure thoughts at church. The band symbolizing his commitment to me was undeniably sexy. Our gazes and hands locked together.
The priest’s baritone voice echoed in the vaulted ceilings. “You may now share your first kiss as husband and wife.”
Even though I knew it was coming, the moment still caught me off guard. I wanted to lick my lips, which felt sticky from the long-lasting lipstick the makeup artist had applied this morning, yet Logan didn’t give me time. As soon as he had the go-ahead, his fingertips glided over my cheek, gently drawing me in. His mouth lowered to mine and stole my breath. Soft, warm lips moved unhurried, taking as much time as he wanted, teasing me with a hint of tongue. I melted against his kiss as I always did. It was as shockingly good as it had been our first time that wild, out of control night outside the blindfold club.
No, wait, this was better. A million times better because he was my husband.
His kiss left me woozy, and I swayed when his hands retreated, my body mourning their absence. It was momentary, because he wrapped his hand around mine, holding me steady. His dark, intense eyes sparkled, helping further to pin me back in place.
The ceremony drew to a close, and it was impossible to catch our breath. Pictures. Th
e receiving line. The stretch limo that carried us with our bridal party to the Opulent Hotel where our reception would be.
We’d squeezed together to all fit in the limo, and with my enormous dress, I was practically sitting on Logan’s lap.
“You look amazing, wife.” He murmured it against the side of my neck, and I giggled.
“You look pretty amazing yourself, husband.”
Being in the limo with him was a dangerous reminder of our evening last Saturday, and I shuddered with anticipation. Dinner, dancing, and then we’d be upstairs in the honeymoon suite, completely alone. No more closet or bathroom doors shielding his gorgeous body from my eyes, and no more self-imposed rules of keeping it in our pants.
By the time we arrived at the hotel, cocktail hour was nearly over. Payton hurried to bustle my dress in the handicapped stall of the bathroom while I slammed a bottle of water.
“There you are,” Logan said when we emerged, as if we’d been in there for a century. “We need to line up for introductions.” He threw a pointed look at Payton. “You’re letting her fall behind schedule, McCreary.”
She snatched a glass of white wine off a server’s tray. “Yeah? I dare you to figure out the ribbons of her bustle faster than I did.”
“The only thing I’m going to concern myself with Evie’s dress,” Logan said, “is how fast I can get her out of it.”
I laughed, but it froze in my throat as my grandmother’s head turned our direction. Shit! A light smile breezed on her lips, and she . . . oh my God. She winked.
Logan and I scarfed down our dinners so we could spend as much time as possible mingling among the tables of our guests. I’d been to weddings where the bride and groom never once spoke to me and was determined not to have that happen at mine.
“I don’t want to whine,” I whispered to Logan as we began our first dance together. We were all alone on the dancefloor while our friends and family watched. “But my feet kind of hurt.”
“Yeah? Mine too.”
I had one hand on his chest and the other resting on the back of his neck as we swayed to the love song that filled the ballroom. Logan took my hand, held it away and led me through a turn under his arm. As I came back into his embrace, I stared up at him, wide-eyed. “What’s this? It’s not eight-grade dancing.”