She sat there, head spinning for a long minute as he caught his breath. Muscles tensed to the point of snapping, she waited.
Only for him to pat her head.
“That was lovely.”
She blinked her eyes open, all turned around. His breath was still coming too fast, but his voice had practically returned to normal. Staring at him in confusion, she fought to find a way to put her confusion into words.
Except he smirked. Twirling a strand of her hair around his finger, he gestured with his head toward the bathroom. “Go take a shower.”
“I—” Her throat was all locked up, her protests unformed on her tongue, but her body was an inferno, and he was going to—was he—?
“Wash up,” he said again, and there was no room for discussion in his tone. “Before you drip all over the floor.”
Oh God. She was slick all down her thighs, but how did he know that?
How did he know and act like he wasn’t going to do anything to help her?
“Sir . . .”
“Go.”
She rose automatically, even though she wanted to cry. Her legs shook, and her nipples were about to poke right through her shirt. She kept throwing these lingering looks over her shoulder, but if anything, his smile was smugger than before. Finally, she reached the bathroom, and despair threatened to tear her apart, too intense to make any kind of sense.
“Oh, and Lexie?”
“Yes?” She whipped around, scarcely daring to hope.
“If you so much as touch that pretty clit of yours, I’ll know.” The thought hadn’t occurred to her, but now that he said it, another wave of crushing desperation washed over her. Her knees wobbled harder. “Yes, Sir.”
“Come back out naked.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She turned, resigned to her fate.
And she didn’t know what made her do it. Some little untapped vein of sass she should have been able to tamp down. He hadn’t told her to, but . . .
With her back to him, she fingered the hem of her nightshirt. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it up, revealing her body slowly. God, she hoped it did to him what the sight of his body did to her. Pulling the fabric over her head, she shook her hair out. The sharp intake of his breath made the dejected, frustrated pieces inside her warm.
Feeling just a tiny bit more in control, she dropped her shirt to the floor.
And walked into the shower. Untouched. Alone. Glowing.
Dane waited until the shower door closed before he let his composure fall.
Jesus Christ. What the hell had he done to deserve that woman? Shaking his head, he dragged his hand across his eyes.
It had been a gamble, springing this all on her before she’d so much as woken up. He’d half expected her to safe word or at least express some kind of confusion, but she’d given herself over to her submission more beautifully than he could have imagined. His cock, spent and soft, gave a twitch at just the thought.
Lexie might rule a boardroom, but she’d been born to be put on her knees.
Tucking himself away, he let out a long exhalation. As tempting as it was to sit there and bask in the afterglow, he had plans. He righted himself the best he could and stood, sliding what was left of their breakfast aside and then tucking his hand into his pocket, checking one more time that he still had what he needed.
He’d been lucky as hell the night before. He’d slipped out after dinner, claiming he needed to get something from his room. Instead, he’d taken a chance on the Spanish nightlife living up to its reputation, and oh but it had. The exact sort of shop he’d needed had still been open, and his purchases had been burning holes in his pockets ever since.
By the time the water for the shower cut off, he was outright pacing, impatience making him restless. That wouldn’t do. Feigning nonchalance, he sat down at the head of the bed and tucked a pillow behind his back. He reached for his phone and pretended to scroll through it, but all his attention was trained on the other room, picturing the bright white of a towel stroking over naked flesh.
And yet he still was not prepared.
Holy hell. He’d seen her naked how many times by now? It didn’t matter. He was blown away by the full swells of her tits and the creamy, soft skin of her thighs. The way her long, dark hair fell in wet tangles to the center of her chest.
Her face was bare.
Throat tightening, he stared. Now that was something he’d never seen before. Makeup smudged? Maybe. They’d pulled some long nights together—had woken up together, even. But he’d never seen her fresh-faced like this, her flaws—as few as they were—exposed.
She looked younger. A lot younger, and it almost gave him pause. She was old enough, though. A woman through and through. And she was making herself naked in a way he was pretty sure she rarely did with the men in her life.
A rough surge of hot, male pride ran through him, burning and possessive. She’d told him she was his. He’d asked her to give him everything today. And here she was. Doing exactly that.
No way was he going to waste it.
Without another moment’s pretense, he set his phone down and patted the bed beside him. She stalked her way over, hips swaying, breasts bouncing, and it was way too soon, but his body couldn’t help but respond.
“You are lethal,” he said.
A hint of a smug smile teased at her lips before she climbed onto the bed. She crawled toward him, the very vision of temptation. “How do you want me, Sir?”
“On your back.”
She did as he had asked, and there was so much fire there, mixed in with her submission, and he loved it. This felt like her, finding her place, her headspace. Her way to be herself while still allowing herself to have this.
Stretching long, she lay before him. He reached out, trailing his fingertips all the way down her arm before tweaking at one perky nipple. Her skin was so soft, still just a tiny bit damp from her shower, and he wanted to eat her alive.
“You were so good for me earlier.” He shifted onto his knees, trailing his hand lower, and she arched into his touch. “Did exactly as I asked.”
She shivered, raw desire written on every inch of her. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I loved it. But I’m not sure I loved it as much as you did. Tell me.” He paused, fingers grazing just beneath her belly button, so close to where she wanted him to be. “Did it make you wet? Sucking me off?”
“Yes.” Squirming, she parted her legs.
He drifted his hand a little lower, sweeping down the top of each delicious, bare thigh. “Is that so? Being a cocksucker turns you on?”
“You turn me on.”
He chuckled. “Good answer. Are you still wet?”
“Do you want to find out?”
Giving her a mostly playful swat, he asked again, “Are you wet?”
She hissed out a breath, legs rubbing restlessly together. “Yeah.”
“And did you touch my pussy while you were gone?”
“No.” But she hesitated. Tugged her lips between her teeth and closed her eyes. “Just a little. Just enough to get clean.”
He let a growl rumble through his throat. “Did I tell you to do that?”
“You told me not to drip on the floor.”
So he had, and she’d probably been in danger of it. Finally, he slipped his fingers between her lips. Shit, she hadn’t been lying. She was soaked, that silky flesh all swollen and slick. Trailing past her opening, he made a lazy, maddening course toward her clit. “Then how about this? Did you rub your achy little clit?”
“No.” Her whole body flexed with the protest. She was so primed, so needy. Perfect.
“Not even a bit?”
“No. I wanted to, but—”
“But?”
“But you told me not to.”
Forget that it was too soon. He was suddenly pounding against the fly of his jeans, all his blood racing south, and he could take her right now. Bury himself in that soft, hot flesh and fuck her hard, but
no. Not yet.
By the time he got his cock in her, she was going to be screaming for it. They both were.
Fire lit his spine as he twisted to lie over her. On hands and knees, he shoved her legs apart. Put that sweet, pink pussy on display for him.
“Princess. You have no idea how much it turns me on to hear you say that.”
And good girls got rewarded.
He didn’t give her any buildup or warning. He dove in, fitting his mouth to the ripe fullness of her. Slicking his tongue all up and down the length of her opening, he breathed her in. With a wet noise, he parted from her flesh just long enough to groan out, “Fuck, you taste good,” before dipping right in all over again.
Above his head, she swore. Her muscles tensed beneath his hands, and he moved to her clit, sucking at it and slipping a finger inside. The little whining noises of pleasure she made only fueled him. He reached down to adjust himself and moaned against her pussy at even that slightest contact. She was testing his control right now, but control was the whole point of the game, and he could win it.
Letting go of himself, he doubled down. Over and over, he flicked his tongue against her clit, searching with his fingers for that spot—
“Sir—”
Yes. He pressed in hard, crooking his fingers and licking faster, sealing his lips over her, waiting, waiting . . .
Finally, she sucked in a choking breath. Her legs were stiff as boards to either side of his head, her abdomen one taut line, and he counted down from five.
Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .
He wasn’t sure who it killed more, but he managed to tear himself away.
The howl she let out tore at his heart. “No, no, no—”
“Shh.” He placed soft kisses to her inner thighs and then gently, sweetly, to the top of her mound. Shit, but she was going to hate this. She was so used to getting exactly what she wanted when she wanted it, and usually it was his job to make sure it landed in her hands.
But it was like he’d said last night. Sometimes, what she wanted and what she needed were two very different things.
“Shh.” He kissed his way up her torso to her mouth. She let him in without hesitation, but her body was still a tight knot of need.
“Sir . . .”
“It’s fine, you’re fine.”
“But—”
He claimed her mouth again to silence her. He needed the time to get himself under control almost as badly as she must.
When he pulled away, it was with his voice hard, his resolve strong. “Aren’t you going to thank me for licking your pussy?”
Struggle was written all over her face.
He put another layer of command in his tone. “Thank your master for licking your pussy.”
“Th-thank you.” Her eyes widened, gaze frantic.
“Good. Was that so hard?”
He could practically see her swallowing down exactly how difficult it was. “No. Sir.”
“I didn’t think so.” He patted her thigh. “Now sit up, pretty girl.”
She did, her movements stuttering and unsure. The sadist inside him crowed. She had to be burning alive inside, both with desire and with the injustice of it all. But she had her safe words.
Speaking of . . . “Color?”
She mulled it over, and he adored her all the more for it. After a long moment, she settled on “green.”
“Good.” He kissed her in return. This wasn’t about cruelty, after all. “Now.” Moving to sit beside her, he dug his hand into his pocket. “I have two presents for you.”
That seemed to perk her up. “Presents?”
“Yes. Does my gorgeous girl deserve presents?”
She was still a little put out, but she was softening, slipping back into a place where her desires were subsumed. Where all she wanted was to please.
Releasing a shuddering breath, she gave a hint of a nod. “I try.”
“I know you do.”
He pulled out the package.
He’d taken the items out this morning while she’d still been asleep. Inspected them and prepared them. He did so again, now, letting her watch. Static hummed between them as she tried to get a better look without making it obvious.
It was pretty fucking obvious.
He extricated the first. It wasn’t ostentatious by any means—just a simple cord of black leather, wrapped round and round a half dozen times. Thin strands of silver wire and a clasp. “Do you know what this is?”
“A . . . necklace?” She couldn’t quite seem to stop herself from wrinkling her nose.
Of course it wasn’t her style. It would stick out like a sore thumb, not chic enough. Too cheap.
Good.
“After a fashion.”
Out of nowhere, his hands began to tremble.
This was a ritual that had a lot of meaning in the community of which he sometimes was a part. He’d done it himself, once or twice, though never with much intent. Temporary arrangements and brief flirtations with commitment.
Somehow, this meant more.
He tightened his grip, flexing his knuckles until the shaking went away.
“It’s a collar.” The word echoed behind his ribs. “It shows the world that you’re mine.”
Just like that, the wrinkle of disapproval disappeared, and a roar of pride lit off in his chest.
She liked that idea. She liked it almost as much as he did, and he liked it a lot.
Throat dry, he licked his lips. “Wear it today. For me.”
For a moment, she held his gaze. And then, instead of an answer, she bowed her head.
The trembling threatened to start again, but he kept himself steady enough. Leaning close, he fastened the leather around her neck. When she looked up, the ache in his jeans became an acute, near-painful need.
“Fuck, you look good in my collar.”
Black leather against creamy, naked skin, and the darkness matched the heat in her eyes—matched all the hundreds of things he wanted to do to her, and someday, God willing, he would.
Unable to resist, he yanked her close, crushing their mouths together. With his tongue, he took control of the kiss and of her mouth, and for a second—one insane, delirious second—it was like he was taking control of his entire life.
Somehow, after a minute or maybe a day, he managed to tear himself away. She gazed back at him with glazed eyes, and the prideful thing inside him roared.
“Now,” he said, reaching out, “there’s just one more thing.”
chapter SEVENTEEN
The business pages would have a field day with this.
Lexie girded herself as she accepted Dane’s hand, letting him help her out of the car. God knew she needed it. Even though he’d picked out flats for her to wear—and really, that should have been her first clue that she was in for it—her knees wobbled like a newborn foal’s. Instinctively, she glanced around.
Ridiculous. The paparazzi hadn’t bothered with her since the end of her father’s trial. There had been one or two reporters camped outside her building right after she and Rylan had executed their coup. But in general, they had little interest in her these days. She was safe.
And anyway, it wasn’t as if a camera could tell she had a fucking butterfly vibrator snugged up against her clit beneath her clothes.
As if on cue, the damn thing gave a couple of low pulses, and her legs threatened to go to water beneath her. She all but fell into Dane’s side, and he held her close, rattling off some sort of instructions to her driver before closing the door.
The car drove off, and her vision blurred. She was standing here on the corner of some street, dressed in the shortest skirt she owned and the lowest-cut top, a leather cord wrapped around her neck to warn anybody off. To signify to anyone who looked that she was taken—no, that she was possessed.
She was a possession.
And she was so fucking wet she could hardly breathe.
Just as suddenly as it had begun, the vibrations between her legs c
ut off. She sagged in relief, only for him to chuckle against her ear.
“Feeling all right, darling? You look a little flushed.”
Normally, she’d glare at him, but she had agreed to this.
He’d fucked her mouth and eaten her out and left her wanting. He’d given her this symbol to wear around her throat, and then he’d given her this—an entire day of torture in the form of a secret pleasure over which she had no control, and one order: She wasn’t allowed to come.
Fuck. How was that even a thing, anyway?
Muttering “I’m fine,” she pushed away from him, working to stand on her own two feet.
He reeled her in again. “I don’t know. You’d better stay close. Wouldn’t want you to faint or anything.”
Just for emphasis, he gave her another jolt. Sure enough, his hand at the small of her back was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Good idea,” she managed.
He let off quickly this time. She glanced at his pocket where he’d placed the remote. Sadist.
Then again, if he was a sadist, what did that make her?
Trying her best to seem unaffected, she stood a little straighter and glanced around again. “Where are we?”
“Montjuïc.”
“Okay . . .”
“And where we’re going is . . .” He gestured across the street.
She furrowed her brows, gazing at the glass and metal structure at the top of a set of stairs. “What is it?”
“Cable car. I thought we could use some fresh air.”
Apparently they were going to get it, too. She could see the place where the cable cars were taking off, and they seemed to head up and up and up and up.
Well. Nothing for it.
Mercifully, he left her poor, abused pussy alone as they made their way to the top of the stairs. It was usually her instinct to pay for everything, but she’d scarcely noticed him slipping a couple of crisp bills through the slot in the glass at the ticket booth before it was already done. He guided her in and through the turnstile.
“Hold on to me,” he murmured as they stepped to the edge of the platform.
Nine Kinds of Naughty Page 18