Nine Kinds of Naughty

by Jeanette Grey

  But then, voice rough, eyes begging, she said, “Please.”

  And he was helpless against it. “Tell me again. Tell me everything you want me to do to you tonight.”

  Lord help him, she didn’t hesitate one bit. “I want you to tie me up. If you want to spank me or just have me lie there like that, or—or fuck me. Whatever you want. But I want to know what it’s like. I want to . . .” She hesitated, licking the sinful red of her lips. “I want to let go like that. Completely.”

  It was everything he’d ever wanted her to say.

  Swallowing hard, he tweaked her chin and stepped away. He nodded toward the bathroom behind him. “Go start the shower. You have ten minutes, and then I’m joining you.”

  Her whole stance softened. “Yes, Sir.”

  He stood there, waiting in silence until she disappeared behind the closing door. The instant it latched, he let his back hit the wall, thumping his head just once against the plaster. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and dug his nails into his palms.

  Okay. Focus. He really liked a little more time to plan for a scene, especially one as important as this one. Pushing boundaries wasn’t to be taken lightly. But she had asked him with her eyes wide open, fully under her own will, and if it was something they both wanted so badly, who was he to resist?

  The sound of the water starting up pulled him from his trance. After another moment of centering, he pushed off the wall and strode into the room.

  His suitcase waited in the corner, complete with the same assortment of goodies he’d used on her before. He fingered the leather on the grip of the crop, ran the silk of the scarves through his palm.

  Rope, handcuffs, scarves. Whatever he wanted, she had told him. The possibilities spun out before him, each more tantalizing than the last. But where to start?

  What to do to make her love this? To make her beg for it again and again and again?

  It didn’t matter how hot Lexie made the water. She shivered beneath the spray. Dane was probably out there right now, getting things ready. She should wash her hair while she had the time to herself, but all she could seem to do was stand there.

  She knew what he was doing. Giving her time to sink into her role, and it was time for him to do the same, but the quiet and the solitude were doing anything but. It was like that first time, when she’d crashed so hard on the plane, everything going jagged and sharp in her mind.

  What had she been thinking?

  Snap out of it. She dug her nails into the meat of her upper arm. She could do this. Allow herself to be tied down and made vulnerable and helpless. She could trust a man who’d never given her any reason not to.

  She could submit.

  With that thought, a curtain fell over her eyes, leaving the world a little dimmer, all its edges softer. Her breathing slowed. The licks of steam curling around her heated her bones.

  Get clean. That was what Sir had told her to do.

  She reached for her shampoo.

  By the time the door to the bathroom creaked open, she was rinsing the conditioner from her hair. She kept on as if nothing had changed, even when the glass shower door slid aside and a couple-hundred-pound wall of sheer, sexy muscle stepped into the open space. Sluicing her hair from her face, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Deep inside, she clenched, her breasts tightening.

  Everything they did together in the bedroom was magic, but she could live and die by the way he looked at her alone. The dark heat of his stare bored into her, and it probably should have made her self-conscious, but she felt desired. Possessed.

  Swallowing, she dropped her hands to her sides.

  “Are you all cleaned up?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, Sir. My hair takes a long time.”

  Her hair and her nerves, but those had subsided.

  “It’s fine.” He stepped in closer, running his fingers through the dripping strands before sliding them down the length of her body. The touch was so rough and yet so gentle against her skin, lighting sparks along every inch. Her breath hitched when he reached her hip. But then he drew his hand away. “Finish. I’ll wait.”

  She fumbled, getting the cleanser on her sponge. With her back to him, she rubbed it over her chest, working up a lather, but one word stopped her.

  “Turn.”

  Oh. Right. He wanted a show?

  As if from a long way away, she watched herself spin a half circle to face him. The surface of her skin electrified, wet heat blooming between her thighs. Holding his gaze, she started over, sliding the soap across her collarbones and lower, letting the foam run down her torso toward her legs. He licked his lips, and her knees almost gave out.

  She moved slowly, washing herself off in a daze, her awareness narrowing until it was just the sensual glide of bubbles across her body and the weight of his gaze. She did this every day, but never like this. Raising her brow in a silent request for permission, she grazed the sponge over her shoulder. He nodded, scarcely blinking.

  This time, when she showed him her spine, it was with the same deliberateness, sliding her hands up and down her curves, over her ass and along her thighs. Finally, when she was done, she stayed like that, closing her eyes before ducking her head under the spray.

  His hands encircled her wrists, and then he was right there, his chest pressed to her spine, his cock hard and huge at the small of her back, and she cried out, tipping her head to the side for the sweep of his lips along her neck.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen now. You’re going to do that exact same tease of a fucking dance, but you’re going to do it for me.”

  Her eyes snapped open, her lips parting. It had been for him. Every moment of it.

  His teeth rasped against her throat. “Clean me up. And then, we’re both going to get very, very dirty.”

  She sagged against him, her bones going liquid beneath his touch. He let her stay there for a second before he stepped back, his arms at his sides.

  Her hands were surer this time as she rinsed out the sponge and lathered it again with his soap. The rich scent of it surrounded her, and a tremor tore through her at the knowledge that at least a bit of it would linger. Tomorrow she’d smell a little like him.

  Today, he’d smell a little bit like her.

  Her pussy throbbed, and she had to clench her eyes shut tight for a breath while she got herself under control. When she more or less had her bearings, she turned around. Fuck, he looked good, the bronze of his skin glowing, all slick and smooth with water. She reached out, tracing a fingertip along his pectoral, entranced by the path of a single droplet across that wide expanse of flesh.

  He cleared his throat, and she darted her gaze up guiltily. An expectant, warning look was all it took to remind her what to do.

  At first, it was awkward. He was too tall, and she didn’t know how hard to press. The wet glide of the lather across his body was even more distracting than just the sight of his skin alone had been, and she kept getting lost, spending too long on one patch and then not enough time on another.

  Until she settled into a rhythm. Into the calm of doing as she’d been told and serving him.

  Of getting to explore.

  She stared on in wonder as she painted the dips and ridges of his abdomen white. All the times they’d slept together—with the one exception of when she’d tried disastrously to take control—he’d directed things, and she’d been pinned or under strict orders not to move. She’d asked him to tie her up, but as she washed the crest of his hip, it hit her.

  This was him giving her access first. This was her with free range to look and touch in a way she never had before, so when she gave that up . . .

  She’d know what she was missing. She’d have had everything first.

  She stilled the sponge against his skin.

  “Lexie?” he asked after a moment.

  She shook her head. She was fine. More than.

  Bracing herself with a hand against his side, she dropped to her knees. The hard, cold tile bit into her
shins, but she barely felt it. She soaped his legs, and with every stroke, his cock stood long and proud in her face. She craned her neck to meet his gaze, waiting for the faint hint of a nod before wrapping her slick palm around that flesh.

  His harsh intake of breath made his whole abdomen contract, and his cock twitched, liquid beading at the slit only to be instantly washed away. She soaped him up and down, far more thoroughly than necessary, getting her hands into everything. Weighing the soft heft of his sac in her palm and sliding a fingertip behind it until he gasped. With a couple of caresses, she rinsed the soap away, and she was suddenly ravenous. Thirsty.

  “May I?”

  His fingers threaded through her hair. “Just a taste.”

  She took it greedily, leaning in to nose all around the thick, hard flesh, parting her lips and darting out her tongue. She took him in and went deep, swallowing his groan and the hint of salt at the tip. For once, he kept his hips still, letting her move at her own pace.

  But only for a minute.

  “That’s enough.” His hand was a steel vise, pulling at her hair.

  She made a whining noise of loss, trying to get him back in her mouth. She just wanted it so much, his taste and his pleasure. She wanted to be good for him, and the denial made her eyes sting.

  In her paralysis, he bent to take the sponge from her hand, finishing up with a couple of quick swabs at what little of his skin she’d missed, and that only made the bereft, hollow spot inside her lungs turn to tar. That was her job, what he’d told her to do. She reached out a hand to grasp at his calf, but he ignored her, extending his arm into the air and redirecting the spray to fall over his body. He rinsed off with crisp efficiency while she stayed there, kneeling on the floor.

  Only once he’d turned the water off did she dare to look at him. His gaze seared into her, and he leaned forward to cup her face in his palm.

  “You did so good, gorgeous. Too good. Whatever patience I had is all used up, you understand?”

  She nodded weakly, a little of the despair that had threatened to swamp her at the thought of displeasing him lifting.

  He grabbed a fluffy towel from the bar at the rear of the shower and draped it over her shoulders, rubbing at her skin.

  “Do you think you can get dried off yourself?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good.” With another towel, he scrubbed at his own body, and she got lost for another moment, watching, before she remembered herself.

  Still on her knees, she dried herself the best she could. He was already done before she’d halfway finished, and he hauled her to her feet, then lifted her out of the tub. Droplets of water clung to her skin, the air humid and sultry, and it felt like liquid heat was flowing through her veins.

  Grasping her by the chin, he forced her to meet his gaze.

  “We’re going to push you tonight. Tell me you’re okay with that.” So okay. “Yes, Sir.”

  “And what do you say if you’re not?”

  “Yellow. Or red.”

  “Good girl.”

  Casting the towel to the floor, he claimed her mouth, and shit, it felt like days since they had kissed. She was suddenly starving for it—for any kind of touch he could give. The solid bulk of his body was the only thing keeping her on her feet, and maybe it was all she needed. All these years she’d stood on her own, supporting everybody else.

  But he was here now. He’d promised he wouldn’t leave, and she could lean on him, here and in every other part of her life. Give him everything.

  She was gasping for breath by the time he tore himself away, her lips bitten and bruised. She stared at him with unfocused vision. He was all she could see.

  Towering over her, he flexed his jaw.

  “Go,” he said. “Stand in front of the mirror. And wait.”

  chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  Standing before the full-length mirror mounted on the wall, Lexie stared at her reflection, trying to recognize herself in it.

  She’d always enjoyed sex. She thought of herself as a sexual, sensual woman, but the person gazing back at her had a kind of looseness to her limbs she’d never seen in herself before. In the glass, she was glowing, at ease, filled with a kind of confidence she had always been half faking in her life before.

  She didn’t have to fake anything now.

  Movement in the edge of the mirror drew her attention. Dane stood there, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist, watching her watch herself. When she met his gaze, he shook his head.

  “Eyes forward.”

  She obeyed, but it wasn’t easy. He padded past her, and for all that she was staring straight ahead, she couldn’t miss the flash of golden flesh, the gleam of stray drops of water beading at the tips of his hair.

  He left her vision entirely for a moment, only to step right back into it, closer than before. His chest grazed her spine, his body hot and hard behind hers, and tingles fired off all through her center.

  “Give me your hands.”

  Her heart gave a lurching thud behind her ribs. Her breathing sped, but she was fine. She had asked for this. Her arms hung limp at her sides, resistant, but after a second she managed to offer them up.

  He grasped both wrists in one strong hand, and all the air rushed out of her. They’d done that before—him securing her with his body, and it didn’t feel confining. It didn’t make her insides twist in quite the same way as the idea of actual bondage. She licked her lips. If anything, it settled her. His grip was so secure, his fingers warm against her skin.

  Tugging her arms farther back, he ran his other hand along her side. Her breath hitched when his touch lingered at her breasts. With her shoulders together like this, her whole chest pressed forward. Her tits pulled taut, and her nipples ached, the peaks of them hard and straining. He cupped one in his palm, and her whole spine threatened to turn to liquid, a rough groan escaping her lips.

  He leaned in, pressing his mouth to the side of her throat. “I’m going to tie your hands behind your back.”

  Her groan cut off, going higher.

  “You’re going to love it,” he insisted. “See?” In emphasis, he gave her breast another squeeze. “These are going to be all thrust forward, and when I fuck you, they’re going to bounce like you wouldn’t believe. It’s gonna feel so good. Me pounding into you from behind, your tits throbbing. Don’t you believe me?”

  She was trying. So damn hard, she was.

  “Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.” He released her breast with a cruel tweak at her screaming nipple, then trailed his fingertips down her arm.

  A wisp of a touch, barely a whisper, grazed her wrist, and a bubble got caught in her throat.

  “Color?”

  Fuck. “I—I—” She closed her eyes for half a moment. “Green.”

  He paused. “You sure?”

  God, this was torture. “I’m trying.”

  A too-long beat passed between them in silence. “Okay.” His thumb stroked the point of her wrist. “Okay, gorgeous. I’m so proud of you. You’re being so brave. So good.”

  Her vision blurred beneath his praise.

  This time, the touch of fabric to her skin was easier to take. She sucked in air, drawing it deep, as the softest silk slipped itself around her hands. She clutched at it, because that had been safe enough the last time.

  “Nothing to worry about.” He kept talking, but it all went to a hum, only the tone reaching her ears.

  He wrapped the scarf around her wrist one full turn and then another.

  “Color?”

  She was breathing. She was fine. “Green.”

  A third twist and then he was doing something else. The fabric tightened, and her ribs did, too. He slipped a finger beneath the silk before pulling away.

  And then his hands were on her hips, and her hands were tied.

  And she was . . . fine.

  Her shoulders slumped, the panic sliding from her bones in a waterfall until she was scarcely sure how she could stand. He never s
topped touching her, fingertips dancing along her sides, until one hand rose to nudge at her cheek. He turned her face toward him, and when he captured her mouth, it was like sinking and floating, soaring and falling. But he had her.

  She was safe.

  Eyes stinging, she pressed into his body and into his kiss, drinking him in. She babbled against his mouth. “Dane, Sir, please.” What the hell was she even asking for? It didn’t matter, but she needed it, needed whatever he would give her, needed everything.

  “Shh, shh, you’re doing perfectly, so good for me, Lex. My perfect girl.”

  Her mind turned to syrup, warm and golden and flowing through her. It felt like it was only happening inside, but he smiled against her lips.

  “That’s it.” He carded his fingers through her hair, and every brush against her scalp was magic, throwing sparks. “That’s just right.”

  They could have stood there for hours, for all she knew. She was pliant against him, letting him have her mouth. He kissed her wet and soft and deep, hands everywhere on her body. Instead of a restraint, the fabric knotted at her wrists was security, was grounding. There was nothing she had to do or be or say. He could do with her as he pleased. She was still for him, and he loved it.

  He loved her.

  Her lungs expanded, the warm syrupy feeling running deeper. Like she was liquid overflowing. She’d never, ever been happier.

  Even when he finally pulled away, she let him, staring at him, glazed and adoring. With a hand between them, he undid the knot of the towel at his waist. Hot, hard flesh met her ass, and she thrilled at the pressure, tiny bubbles floating through her chest.

  “Can you stand?” he asked, lips brushing wet against her ear.

  She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she could. He let go, and she swayed, but she got her balance right eventually. Foil tore, and he made a rough noise behind her.

  And suddenly, she was starving for him, her body empty and pulsing.

  “Please,” she breathed. Her pussy clenched, her clit a sharp ache, and she could wait, she could, but the fire of need and desire twisted through her. Threatened to shake her apart.