by Jasmine Hill
A gorgeous woman, lithe and long-legged, dressed in a black latex corset tied so tightly that her breasts spilled out of the top. Her mask was black leather to match her gag, her hands were tied above her head and attached to a chain. She had some sort of bar between her legs, spreading them impossibly wide.
A muscular man stood behind her, chest bare, powerful legs clothed in black leather, a vicious-looking whip in his hand.
Makayla’s insides tightened and fluttered as she gazed at the image, desire coiling through her to pool between her thighs. She was aroused, she realized with a start. She clicked through more images of women and men being dominated. In one, a woman knelt in front of a man, her head bowed in supplication, her hands cuffed behind her. She wasn’t gagged, just blindfolded. The man held a cat-o’-nine-tails and was brushing the leather fronds across her flesh. The next image showed him bringing the whip down on her back, making her arch, her mouth open wide and her nipples pebbled hard and hugely erect. In fact, she had the most prominent nipples Makayla had ever seen, like pencil erasers. She shifted in her seat and squeezed her legs together, trying to give some relief to her aching core. She wanted to do this. She wanted to pass control to someone else, to put complete power in their hands to use her as they wished. It was an odd desire, she realized, and she wasn’t quite sure where it stemmed from. She would guess from the fact that she had been in control for so long. That she’d held the reins, trying to keep her and her mother together and safe. She’d had to be strong and make the decisions. This lifestyle turned that around. Here, she wouldn’t have to make choices. She’d just have to submit and succumb. She also had to concede that the little pain that Donovan had inflicted on her, she’d enjoyed. He hadn’t done anything serious, just pinching her nipples and a bite to her neck—but she’d liked it.
She stayed at his laptop, reading as much as she could, intrigued and aroused. Looking at dozens of photos of whips, nipple clamps, vibrators, handcuffs and a number of items that she was totally unfamiliar with. Was Donovan into this lifestyle? Had he ever done these things? She couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the website had just popped up onto the screen accidently when he’d been searching for something else. Although there was no doubt that he had a dominant personality, he ordered her around in the bedroom and out of it, she complied willingly and without question, enjoying his domineering possessiveness.
All the reading and images had made her desperately stimulated. She closed all the tabs and left the laptop as she’d found it. She switched the iPod dock on, choosing Massive Attack’s Mezzanine album, and climbed into bed.
Makayla lay in the cool, soft sheets, thinking about what she’d learned. She cupped her breast and squeezed hard, pinching her nipple roughly. Moaning and smoothing her other hand down her torso and delving two fingers into her slick folds. She thrust her hips up, pushing her fingers in deeper and adding a third, licking her lips and increasing the pressure on her nipple, a groan erupting from deep in her throat. Pressing her thumb against her clit, she shuddered, her breathing growing choppy and erratic.
* * * *
Donovan made his way to their suite. He looked at his watch to find that it was just after midnight and, no doubt, Makayla would be curled up in bed fast asleep. He swore softly under his breath. He really needed a release. The evening had done nothing but amp up his arousal and he wanted to fuck—hard.
He sighed and slipped his security card into the door mechanism then pushed it open quietly. Inside, he recognized Massive Attack playing. Perhaps she wasn’t asleep after all.
He strode into the bedroom, removing his shirt, and stopped dead on the threshold.
Makayla lay in bed all right, but she wasn’t asleep. A deep flush hued her cheeks, little whimpers erupting from her. The sheet had dropped down to her waist and she was cupping one plump breast and squeezing, her other hand hidden under the sheet, but he could tell it was buried in her pussy. Her legs were spread wide, tenting the covers as she thrust her hips up.
She hadn’t heard him enter, the music and her moans drowning out any noise he may have made.
He stared, mesmerized for a moment by the sensual vision she made. He frowned as he remembered his order not to touch herself. Granted, he’d given that instruction back in Australia and hadn’t had cause to issue it since, but still, he had to admit that watching her masturbate was both erotic and infuriating. Infuriating because he wanted to be the one to give her pleasure—taking it from someone else, even from herself, seemed to be a betrayal. He knew it was stupid, but those were his feelings. Everything that revolved around this angel had him in conflict and acting like a complete moron.
He moved closer to the bed. Her moans were growing louder, her breathing choppier, indicating that she was near to completion. She wouldn’t be given the opportunity to bring herself off, however. He’d finish what she’d started.
“What are you doing, angel?” he purred.
She gasped, snapping her violet eyes open in wild confusion, her blush deepening and spreading over her features.
“D-Donovan, you scared the life out of me. I didn’t hear you come in.” She scrambled to pull the sheet up to her chin.
He whipped the covers off her and flung them aside. She squeezed her legs together.
“No, no, no,” he murmured, climbing onto the bed and pulling her thighs apart so he could crawl between them. “My turn. By the way, did I say that you could touch yourself?”
She shook her head and wouldn’t meet his eyes, her lush bottom lip caught between her teeth. He studied her pussy, moist, pink and swollen from her arousal. Her neat golden curls glistened with her moisture.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” he whispered, dipping his head lower to inhale her. She smelled so fucking good, tangy and sexual. “Were you close, baby? Were you just about to come?”
She didn’t answer him. He looked up her body. He fucking loved that he could still embarrass her. She was still so sweet and shy.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
“Yes,” she said so softly that he barely heard her.
“Well, I got home just in time, didn’t I?”
He flattened his tongue and licked up her swollen center. She groaned and jerked. He grasped her hips to keep her still.
“Got home just in time to make you come, because I want to take you there. I want to give that pleasure to you.” He spoke into her wet folds, enjoying the way she writhed beneath him in frustration.
“Please,” she begged. “Why are you torturing me?”
He blew softly on her pussy then closed his mouth over her and sucked hard.
“Argh.” She thrust her hips up and ground her pelvis against his mouth.
He sucked harder, driving his tongue into her cunt and swirling it around. She was so wet and so swollen that he knew she’d come hard and fast.
He slipped two fingers inside her and massaged the front wall of her passage. She shuddered and spread her thighs wide, gyrating against his hand. He thrust deeper and rubbed harder.
“How many fingers did you use on yourself, baby? How many did you slip inside this tight, wet pussy?” His voice was rough with his own desire and need for release, but he maintained control. He wanted to get her off like this first.
“Three,” she gasped brokenly.
Fuck! He slipped another finger inside her and felt the stretch of her channel, her arousal making his glide slick and swift. He clamped his mouth on her clit and sucked, then he felt the convulsions of her internal muscles signaling her release. She whimpered and stiffened, clamping down on his fingers as the orgasm tore through her. He lapped at her gently, bringing her down through her climax.
He couldn’t wait any longer. His cock was throbbing so hard he was literally aching.
He urged her up the bed. She was limp and languid, her eyelids heavy. He flipped her onto her stomach and pushed her knees up.
“Grab onto the headboard,” he ordered. “And don’t let go.”
He waited unti
l she’d unsteadily gripped the wood board then he lined his cock up with her entrance. He clutched her hips and drove into her—hard—propelling himself balls deep on a roar. “Fuck!”
He bottomed out in her, stretching her wide, her swollen pussy gripping him tightly.
She whimpered and thrust her ass back against his pelvis. Using her hips he manipulated her body, pushing her forward and yanking her back onto his aching length, driving into her forcefully, his balls slapping against her clit.
He bent over her back and clamped his teeth onto the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder, nipping and sucking. She shuddered and groaned his name, knuckles white where she gripped the headboard.
She was like his own personal fuck doll. He knew he was a bastard for thinking of her in such a way, but he couldn’t help it. She was so petite and compliant that he could literally fling her around, manipulating her body with ease to satiate his base needs. And she was so fucking responsive. He hardly had to work at all before she was coming for him.
He fucked her harder, setting a punishing rhythm and drilling into her soft body like his life depended on it.
“Come, Makayla,” he shouted, his own release bearing down on him like a freight train.
She moaned and pushed back, and he felt her climax hit her, her muscles contracting around his cock.
He barked a curse, words failing him as he pumped once more, gripping her hips and circling his pelvis, drawing out his orgasm as he released his pent-up frustration.
Chapter Eighteen
“I should be more careful with you,” Donovan murmured.
Makayla looked down to where Donovan was stroking her hip and noticed the fingermarks, pale purple imprints on her skin. She shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Still. I obviously grasped you too hard. I was a little crazed last night.”
Yes, he had been a little wild. Was it because he’d walked in on her pleasuring herself? God, she blushed just thinking about it. Or was it something else that had made him like that?
“I’m going to the gym,” he announced, diving out of bed. He headed to the walk-in wardrobe. “It’s been a few days since I’ve worked out.”
Makayla thought she might join him. Some exercise would do her good.
She followed Donovan into the wardrobe and bent over to rummage through a chest of drawers for a yoga outfit.
She felt him behind her, his hard length rubbing the crevice of her ass.
“You shouldn’t do that, baby,” he said huskily. “You bent over naked does things to me.”
She stilled, allowing him to work himself over her backside. He grasped her hips gently while he massaged her butt cheeks with his cock and groaned.
“Aren’t we going to the gym, Romeo?” she murmured.
“Yes.” He slapped her ass. “Put some clothes on so I’m not distracted.”
She giggled. Minutes later, she was dressed in little yoga shorts and a tight sports top, her thick hair in a high ponytail.
She wandered out into the sitting room where Donovan sat watching the morning news. He stood and stared at her.
“That outfit is fucking distracting, Makayla,” he stated, looking her up and down.
“It’s workout gear. What do you want me to wear to the gym?”
He sighed. “If any fucker looks at you funny, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, you possessive weirdo.”
* * * *
They worked out for an hour and a half. Makayla positively drooled over Donovan on the treadmill. He wore a tank top that displayed his tanned, muscular arms to perfection. Makayla wasn’t the only one drooling. Two women working out together were casting longing looks in his direction, bending down in front of him and trying everything in their power to get his attention. For his part, Donovan ignored them. It warmed her to realize that he was so impervious to the flirting women.
An hour later, however, a young man wandered up to Makayla and struck up a conversation. He was an American visiting Madrid for work and wanted to know if she was interested in sightseeing with him. He obviously didn’t realize that she was with someone. From the treadmill, Donovan shot daggers in their direction. Makayla declined politely, trying desperately to discourage him without offense. She wanted him to leave her alone before Donovan abandoned the running machine for some different physical activity. Finally, the guy got the message and wandered over to the weight machine, leaving Makayla to finish her yoga stretches in peace.
Donovan immediately finished on the treadmill and walked over to her, rubbing his face and body down with a towel. When he reached her, he grasped her under the arms and hauled her up from the floor. He looked pointedly in the direction of the young man who was now studying them curiously. Then he bent his head to hers and took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss, grasping her ass cheeks, pulling her into him and rubbing his erection against her shamelessly. He smelled of spicy male sweat—sexy and masculine. She knew what he was doing. He was marking his territory like a caveman, but she didn’t try to stop him, realizing that he needed to do that with her.
He drew away then kissed her forehead before projecting another glare at the poor guy across the gym.
“I think you’ve made your point,” she said quietly.
He gave her an impassive look. “Do you? I’m not sure. Perhaps those yoga moves you were doing give men the wrong impression,” he said curtly.
She yanked herself out of his arms and bent to collect her towel and water bottle from the floor. “That was unfair,” she said, her voice cold. She turned and headed for the door.
She heard him curse then felt him behind her.
“I’m sorry.” He grasped her elbow to halt her. “That was uncalled for.” He sighed. “I don’t know what comes over me where you’re concerned. I have this desperate need to protect you.”
“I don’t require protection from everyone,” she said in exasperation.
He grinned sheepishly. “Point taken. Now, let’s shower and hit the streets for some more sightseeing.”
Chapter Nineteen
They’d had a fabulous day walking around the city, sightseeing and eating ice cream in the park. Donovan had no meetings, so they had the entire day to themselves. Now they sat relaxing in the lobby of the Totally Five Star, listening to live piano music and drinking cava.
Makayla wore a black halter neck dress in a soft silk fabric and she loved it. It made her feel sophisticated and sexy. It wasn’t short, falling to just above her knees, but it was fitted and showed off her new curves to their best advantage. Donovan had grumbled about it, of course, mumbling something about firing the personal shopper, but he hadn’t tried to stop her from wearing it. She had to confess that she quite liked the admiring glances that were being thrown her way. She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of appreciative male attention, but she’d changed since she’d met Donovan—she recognized that. She was more confident and more self-assured. She didn’t fidget so much and she held herself with poise. Also, she only wore her glasses for reading now. Before, she’d worn them to hide behind, preferring to blend into the background and direct attention away from herself.
Donovan, predictably, had placed a possessive hand at her back as he’d guided her through the hotel lobby.
A waiter placed a plate of tapas on their table, small squares of tortilla bread with tomato and cheese and bite-sized croquetas. She took a croqueta and bit into the deep-fried morsel. It was filled with a thick cheese sauce and Spanish jamón. Flavor burst on her tongue.
Donovan took a square of tortilla. “You know, the word tapas originates from the verb tapar, which means to cover. There are several explanations about how the tapa came about. Some say it was originally a piece of bread used to cover the sherry glass and protect it from flies. Others say that King Felipe III passed a law that all alcoholic beverages must be consumed with food to prevent drunken, bawdy behavior. The bartender had to place a cover
of food or bread on top of the glass as part of the purchase. There are other theories, of course, but my mother told me that the Felipe III law was the correct explanation.” He shrugged. “I think it also depends on what part of Spain you come from as to the preferred account.”
“I think it’s a fabulous idea. To have little portions of food to accompany a drink. It makes sense,” Makayla responded, taking a piece of bread and tomato. “Also, they eat so late here that everyone would be starving by dinner time without tapas to tide them over.”
“Yes, there is that. The Spanish do keep very late hours,” he agreed. Donovan studied her, his gaze lowering to her chest, his lips compressed into a thin line. “Are you cold, angel?”
“The air conditioning is a little chilly,” she admitted. “Why?”
He leaned toward her. “Your hard little nipples are visible under your dress.”
“Oh,” she breathed. That was one of the problems with going braless. She was just about to reach for her pashmina when Fernando appeared at their table.
“Mr. King, Miss Carrington.” He nodded and took Makayla’s hand in his. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay with us.”
She smiled. “Very much so. Thank you.”
He kept hold of her hand, running circles over the back of it with his thumb. His gaze dropped to her chest and he licked his lips, his pupils dilating. Donovan stiffened beside her then yanked her hand out of Fernando’s hold and dragged her chair alongside his own.
“We’ve discussed this, Fernando,” he said, his voice ominously low.
The man smiled. “Of course. I shall leave you to enjoy your night.” He looked at Donovan with a raised eyebrow. “Will I be seeing you later?”
Donovan cursed quietly and threw him a threatening glare. Fernando merely chuckled.
“Good evening.” He nodded briefly and disappeared between the tables.