Her head dropped onto her arm as she gasped for breath, the tremors easing. She'd never…never come like that, been so lost to everything. Tears burned her eyes as he kissed her neck, murmuring how beautiful she was, how much she pleased him. Her breathing slowed as he soothed her like a nervous filly.
When she slumped, his arms flexed, keeping her up. “Not quite yet, pet.”
His hands moved to clasp her hips. He pumped into her in short, powerful strokes and then thrust deep. She had only a second to feel his cock jerking inside her with his release, and then he squeezed her swollen clit. She screamed as another explosion shook her very foundation.
Her pussy milked the last spasm out of his cock like a hot fist, even as the little sub's shoulders flattened onto the bed. Her hair spilled over her arms, and her skin was a creamy white against the royal blue of the bed quilt. She was utterly beautiful in her surrender. He remained in place for a moment, savoring the tiny shudders that rippled through her body at intervals, before pulling out. He quietly used the bathroom to remove the condom.
She hadn't moved when he returned. After unclipping the chain—she looked so pretty in cuffs that he left them on—he lay down beside her and gathered her against his side, settling her head in the hollow of his shoulder. With a soft sigh, she snuggled into him like a well-fed kitten, draping an arm across his chest and a leg over his thigh.
Cuddly and responsive, smart and submissive. He'd known her such a short time, and yet she filled the emptiness inside him. He wanted to keep her. Right here. In his bed.
In his home.
He rubbed a hand up and down her back. A few seconds later she patted his chest and stroked him in return. As thoroughly as he'd used her and as she'd come, her body must be as exhausted as her mind—yet she still tried to give something back. The woman warmed his heart, and his arm pulled her closer. Damned if he'd let her go.
Unlike a relationship that moved gradually from friendship into love, his feelings for Rona had bloomed suddenly, like the mountain wildflowers of his birthplace. Even at first, Rona hadn't seemed like a stranger. He'd known her. Much like when he'd arrived in San Francisco and something inside him had said, This place. I belong here.
He felt the same with Rona. She belongs here. With me.
As she snuggled against him, he touched one breast, smiling at the still-puffy, reddened nipple. When he plucked the velvety peak, he felt the sensation jolt through her. Yes, the way she responded to him, to his voice and his body, said that part of her acknowledged the tie. But her practical brain wouldn't accept something so illogical.
She was a stubborn woman. He admired that. Dammit. She'd set her course and wasn't the type to lightly turn aside. Made a dom want to bring out the flogger.
Chapter Seven
Rona's head rested on Simon's shoulder, and under her hand on his chest, his heart beat with slow thuds. The room smelled of sex and his subtle cologne. When he pulled her closer, she let him, needing that comfort as a barrier against the lost feeling creeping through her. The knowledge of how alone she'd be in a few minutes. When he let her go.
That just didn't make any sense. She'd just had good—no, fantastic—sex, but now… She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes.
His arm around her tightened, and his free hand caressed her cheek. “Lass—”
“We need to get up,” she interrupted quickly, her voice husky. He knew. And she didn't want to talk about it. About anything.
His hand paused, and his chest rose and fell in a silent sigh. “All right. I am the host, I suppose.” He stroked her hair back behind her ear. “But we will talk of what is troubling you later.”
The gentleness and yet the determination in his voice made her eyes burn again. Why did he have to be so…so perfect? Damn him. He'd already sucked her into wanting him, despite her vow to find other men first. She'd never felt like this before. I belong here. The thought sparked her to moving—she'd been comfortable with her husband too, and look how that had turned out.
So maybe she hadn't found Mark as totally hot or been taken so thoroughly or come so hard—twice—or… Crom, can I get more illogical? She pushed herself up and off the bed. “Well, um, thank you for a great time.”
Still sprawled on the bed, Simon put his arms behind his head and watched her with a quiet, steady gaze. “You are quite welcome.”
“I'm going back downstairs now.” She needed to find someone to help her get her mind off this…overwhelming man. She pulled on the Santa coat, wishing for the damned belt to hold it shut. Hopefully her bra and thong were still in the living room.
“For speaking and trying to leave without permission, you are fined your underwear,” Simon said, his voice level, without a hint of humor. “You may continue to wear the coat.”
“But—”
“Do you desire to forfeit the coat also?”
She shook her head. But no underwear? She looked down. Oh heavens. Her nipples remained a vivid red, and almost fluorescent in color, her clit still poked out from between her labia. She yanked the coat shut.
Simon rose to his feet. Without speaking, he peeled her coat open and cupped her breasts in his hands. She grabbed his wrists, then dropped her arms when his jaw turned stern. Mercilessly, he teased her nipples into rigid points, continuing until her toes curled into the rug.
“Now you may return downstairs. And, Rona?” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “I enjoy seeing your breasts and pussy, and for tonight, I will permit my guests to also share in the sight. So if I see you holding the coat closed, I'll take it from you.”
Her throat shut at the look in his eyes. Dark, possessive…heady.
“What do you say to me, sub?”
“Yes, Mas—”No no no. He isn't. “Yes, Sir.”
His mouth compressed, and she saw the muscle in his jaw flex. “That isn't correct, but I'll let it pass for now. I think you will change your mind, Rona,” he said softly, running his finger over her lips.
“No. I won't.” She backed away from him and out of the bedroom. I mustn't. She remembered the long, boring years of inane conversation, of lying beside her husband, wondering where even the tiny passion they'd shared had gone; the times when they did make love in the missionary position, and if Mark felt greatly daring—or had had a few drinks—from behind.
Yet she couldn't erase the memory of the last hour, Simon's ruthless grip, his fingers teasing her swollen clit. Would sex with him ever be boring?
Maybe, maybe not. She couldn't—wouldn't—take the chance. She owed it to herself to sample everything a single life had to offer.
* * *
The noise of the party burst over her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Hauling in a breath, she let her coat flap open—damn the man—and went to have some more fun.
An hour later she couldn't figure out what had happened with her. The men were wonderful and nice, and she kept saying no to them. Because of Simon. She needed to leave. Being near him affected her judgment, no doubt about it.
On the way to the changing room, she walked past a scene in a nook under the stairs. She glanced in and stopped.
Chained to a post, a ball-gagged woman sobbed violently, tears streaming down her face, as a big dom struck her over and over with a thick cane. Angry crimson welts covered the sub's body.
The woman saw Rona, and despite the gag, the word she spoke—“red”—came through clearly enough. The safe word.
The dom ignored her. Rona didn't, and she raised her voice so everyone in the area could hear. “Red! She's saying 'red.' Stop right now.”
The dom glared over his shoulder. “Get the hell out of my scene, slut.” And he turned back, prepared to strike his sub.
Rona took a step forward—damned if she'd stand by—when a steely arm around her waist swung her to one side.
“My job, lass. Thank you for the alert.” Master Simon caught the cane on the downswing and wrenched it from the dom. Rona flinched as she realized that the dom wa
s younger, taller than Simon, and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds.
He swung. Simon slapped the beefy arm to one side, stepped in, and buried his fist in the man's gut. The man made a horrible sound and folded forward, clenching his abdomen. Turning slightly, Simon slammed the guy's face into his raised knee. The crack of a nose breaking twisted Rona's stomach.
Simon let the moaning man drop to the ground and glanced at the gathered guests. “Logan, would you pack up his bag, please. Jake, drag him out?”
Jake nodded, his face rigid.
“Nice work, buddy,” Logan said.
Ignoring the others, Rona headed for the sub. She unstrapped the ball gag and started on the restraints. A second later Simon joined her, working on the other arm.
Once unbound, the sub collapsed, saved from a nasty fall only by Simon's arm around her waist. She had welts all over her body, and she shook so hard her teeth chattered.
Rona scowled at the chilled skin under her hand. She pointed at a sub in the crowd. “Get me a couple of blankets.”
She targeted another elf. “I need a hot drink. Coffee, tea, hot chocolate—anything.”
“Yes, ma'am.” That sub ran for the kitchen even as the other returned with a soft afghan. Rona wrapped the sub in the blanket and followed as Simon carried her out to the living room. Still holding her, he looked around and said, “Jake, she needs a warm body.”
One of the rugged brothers had returned. He took the sub and settled onto the couch, cuddling her against him and murmuring in a rumbling voice.
Nice. Rona accepted the hot tea from the sub she'd sent and tested the liquid with a finger. Nice and warm. After sitting beside Jake, she held the cup to the sub's mouth. “Drink, honey.”
The sub didn't even seem to hear her.
Jake's big hand closed around the cup, and his voice deepened, darkened. “Little sub.”
The sub stiffened in his arms.
“Drink this now.”
Rona almost found herself reaching for the cup to obey the forceful command. Instead she shook off the effect, rose, and watched the sub drink the tea obediently. As the young woman's shivers diminished, her head drooped against Jake's shoulder, and he simply snuggled her closer.
Simon draped an additional blanket around the girl, his face still set in hard lines. “I'll speak with her later about safety and choices in doms.”
“I'll take care of it, Simon,” Jake said. “I saw the asshole earlier, and I didn't like him then. I should have watched him more carefully.”
“And I should have checked my guest list more carefully. Let me know if either of you need anything.”
Realizing she was gawking and there was nothing else for her to do, Rona started away. Her insides still quivered at the violence, more from the brutality of the dom than Simon's swift and incredibly graceful attack. She shook her head, remembering the effortless punch. Too tall and dark and smooth to be Chuck Norris, but he surely had the same moves. And that unfailing attitude of protectiveness. Crom, that drew her like a magnet.
Dammit, she just kept getting in deeper.
“Rona.” Simon's resonant baritone, despite all her self-warnings, still sent a thrill through her, as if her body was tuned to its music.
She turned. “Yes, Sir?”
He walked up to her, stopping close enough she could smell his aftershave and tangy soap. Feel his warmth. She stiffened her spine and looked up.
Dark, dark eyes still holding a trace of anger. Then he smiled, and everything in her stilled as if she'd gotten the first whiff of spring after a long winter. “Lass, you did well. Not only recognizing that the girl needed help, but getting it. And helping her.”
She shrugged. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“No, sweetheart. You care, and you act. Effectively. That's a rare combination.”
Dammit, his approval shouldn't please her so. She ignored the warmth glowing in her stomach and changed the subject. “Why didn't you sit with her instead of giving her to Jake? You're…” Comforting. No one could be as comforting and safe as Master Simon.
“Jake is uninvolved.”
“But so are you.”
His eyes crinkled, and he ran a finger down her cheek, his gaze intent. “I am rapidly becoming involved.”
“No!” The loud response burst from her. “I am not getting involved. Not with you or anyone. I will experiment, play, and enjoy all kinds of men. I'm not going to confine myself with just one. Never, ever again.”
She turned quickly to escape his reaction and hurried away.
Simon stared after her, half inclined to put his fist through something. Maybe a wall. Maybe he'd see if that asshole dom was still outside.
“Well, she made that clear enough.” A few feet away, Logan had his arm around his pretty, curvy sub, Rebecca.
“She certainly has no problem with expressing her thoughts,” Simon growled.
Rebecca laughed, started to speak, and caught herself. She glanced up at her dom.
“Go ahead, little rebel.”
“I don't think she'd be so upset if she didn't want you,” Rebecca said. “She reminds me of…well, me. Professional, a little stunned by the BDSM stuff, but liking it.” She grinned. “I've seen how she looks for you and watches you and hates that, but she can't help herself.”
Logan nodded. “She definitely wants you.”
“I know.” Simon frowned at the doorway through which his sub had fled. “But she's liable to disappear rather than face it.” Her ex was an incompetent bastard who had screwed up his marriage with her and kept her there until she saw involvement as a trap. How to get around that?
“She might insist she's looking for other men, but she hasn't accepted any offers all night,” Logan said. “Even Jake struck out. She's yours, my friend. She just won't admit it.”
She thinks she wants a ton of men. Simon rubbed his hand on his jaw.
As Rebecca leaned against her dom, she idly stroked her collar. Simon had been at the club the night Logan collared her. Rebecca had arrived first, wanting to see if other doms had the same effect on her as Logan.
When Simon had touched her, he'd known she responded to the dominant in him, but not the man—because her heart belonged to Logan.
Could he tolerate what it would take to show Rona the same? To watch another man dominate her? And if he set this up, he'd have to watch. Maybe see her leave with another man. The muscles of his stomach contracted as if anticipating a full-contact blow.
Logan frowned. “Whatever you're thinking looks ugly.”
“Painful as hell,” Simon muttered. “Probably not ugly.”
He nodded at Logan and his sub and went to secure the St. Andrew's cross. This needed to be as public as possible.
* * *
Needing a moment to recover, Rona visited the kitchen and downed a glass of wine. On the way out, she spotted Master Simon wiping down the St. Andrew's cross. Obviously he planned to do a scene with one of the subs, and…why that mattered to her… Well, it didn't.
A place deep in her chest started to ache. Probably not a heart attack. Unfortunately. I really need to go home now.
Once in the powder room, Rona started getting out her street clothes.
The door opened behind her, and Logan's collared sub walked in. The redhead grinned and said, “There you are. I've been looking for you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Well.” The sub's brows drew together. “Not exactly, but… Come on. I'll show you.” Without waiting for Rona's answer, she shoved Rona's clothing back in the bag and led the way out. For a submissive, she seemed awfully assertive.
“Is it about that poor girl?” Rona hurried to catch up. The redhead moved amazingly fast, through the foyer and into the great room.
At the sight of Master Simon standing by the cross—with no other sub there—Rona halted and spun to retreat.
“Rona,” Master Simon snapped out.
Her feet stopped dead, her hands grew damp
, and her heart did that annoying jump-up-and-down-it's-Master-Simon dance. She turned.
He crooked a finger at her. Come here.
A wave of longing ran through her, but she shook her head. “I'm not going to do a scene with you.”
“Not with me. Come here.” His chin lifted just that infinitesimal amount that melted every bone and ounce of resistance in her body. How did he do that?
Feeling like a condemned prisoner heading for the gallows, she walked forward.
“Good.” He smiled at her, but the look in his eyes was…different. No smile lurked in the depths.
“What's wrong?” she whispered.
Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her back against the wooden frame and lifted her arm over her head.
Snap.
“Hey!” She yanked at the wrist he'd just restrained to the upper arm of the X. Damn, she'd forgotten she still wore cuffs. Ignoring her struggles, he secured her other arm. “What are you doing?”
“Rona, you insist you want an assortment of men, not just one, but you haven't followed through. I'm going to let you experience the variety you wanted.”
The floor seemed to drop out from under her. Men? Other men?
Before she could react, he pulled her left leg outward and clipped the ankle cuff to the X-frame's lower leg. The feel of his callous hands sent heat rushing through her.
“Master Simon… No.” Her voice came out weak. Totally ineffective, considering he didn't stop.
Without speaking, he anchored her other leg, then tightened the restraints until she couldn't move anything, couldn't do anything except wiggle her hips. He didn't notice as he turned and raised his voice loud enough to echo through the house. “Unattached doms. I've placed a sub on the cross for your pleasure. Her safe word is 'Houston.' Each dom will have three minutes to get an interested response from her, using hands or mouth—no toys. Whoever succeeds may remove her restraints and take her. After that, she goes back on the cross.”
“Simon,” she hissed. “You can't—”
Doms of Dark Haven Page 24