by Thea Devine
“It fits,” she whispered. “I’m hot for you, I’m ready for you.”
“Are we on the same page, MJ?”
“Anything you want, Dallan, I want it, too,” she whispered tremulously. This was the edge, the brink, and she would never know what he might have planned or proposed. Stupid of her, playing games in which she didn’t know the rules when she was horny as hell. He was gorgeous, sophisticated, and well hung, and what the hell was she doing?
“I’d like to believe that.” He stroked himself consideringly, and her whole body twinged with yearning.
“Dallan?” That sounded desperate.
“Come and get me, then,” he said, “on your hands and knees.” He rolled away from her and onto his feet at the foot of the bed.
She lay there, rimming her dry lips with her tongue, considering for one fraught moment whether she wanted his penis that much, and then she curled her legs under her and got on all fours.
At that angle, everything that made him a man, she wanted. She didn’t care what penance he demanded of her. She moved forward slowly, undulating her hips, her head held high, until she had crawled to the foot of the bed and was within licking distance of his throbbing shaft.
He waited, his hands on his hips. “So…?”
She slanted her head, ducked under his thundering erection, and sucked his scrotum into her hot mouth. She felt the give in his body as she swirled her tongue around his firm balls and sucked and scraped at them with her teeth.
She felt his hands at her shoulders, trying to ease her away, and she burrowed deeper in between his legs, balancing on her haunches now, grasping his stone-hard thighs as she reached beneath his balls to that smooth, secret stretch of skin between his legs and began kissing and suckling at it.
His body went wild under her succulent tasting. She felt the erotic surrender of his hips, and her excitement escalated as she covered that enticing secret part with her hot saliva, her hot sucking kisses.
She heard him growling low, words of resistance, of encouragement. It didn’t matter—nothing mattered but that she had him now.
She had him…she furrowed deeper…she had him—she had him—
And suddenly he had her. He pushed her ruthlessly back on the bed, turned her over onto her hands and knees to cant her derriere upward, and mounted her with a long, low animal growl of pure possession.
“Oh, God…” he spurted ferociously and barely got himself under control with iron will. “MJ?”
“Dallan…” Her voice was soft and silky with satisfaction.
He pushed deeper and settled his body tightly over hers, so she felt the heft of his sex and the weight of his body on hers. “This is how I want you, MJ. Completely mine and wholly dominated by my lust to possess you. You love being completely at the mercy of a man’s sexual appetites. I knew it the first time I saw you. And I knew mine was the penis you’ve been hungering for. Feel it, so long and strong inside you.”
He flexed it and she felt it so deep it touched the nerve endings of her vagina. “You’ve been aching for a man like me,” he whispered in her ear. “You’ve always wanted to subsume yourself into a man who’s stronger than you, and you’ll do anything for the pleasure he can give you.”
She made a soughing sound. She couldn’t move, he was mounted so masterfully on her, wedged so tightly against her, so deeply within her.
He undulated and poled still deeper, as he lifted her more tightly into the cradle of his hips and fucked her with short tight strokes.
She was helpless; she was enveloped by him, utterly consumed by him—and she loved it. Every breathtaking minute of it, every stroke, his total possession, his out-of-control lust for her, his power subjugating her strength—she sank in the thick tide of his cum in his utter greed to fill her with his essence.
Then there was that long lush silence in the aftermath of his release. He covered her wholly, his throbbing penis still in possession of her cunt, his fingers between her legs idly dipping into the thick cream that oozed from between her legs. His cream.
“I can’t get enough of your cunt.” Barely a breath in her ear, but she shuddered at his hunger for her and the feel of him rolling his hips to shove his iron penis still deeper. “I love that you waxed your pubic hair.”
She writhed pleasurably and he probed deeper with his fingers.
“I have to wonder how many other penises you would have tried on before you found a masterful lover like me, MJ.”
“I was waiting for you. I only want you.” She felt his deep satisfaction in that response, in the convulsive push of his body.
“Show me.” Challenging, sex-charged words, barely audible and in tandem with his fingers smearing her liberally with his cream.
She whispered, “Tell me how.”
His body rippled. “Ah, the magic words, MJ.”
“Anything you want, Dallan.”
“Your naked body open to me in any way I want…”
Her body heated up at the lusty implication of his words.
“I want what you want, Dallan,” she breathed with a mounting excitement exploding all over her.
“You’ve always known precisely what I want,” he growled as he drove into her. “I knew what you were like the moment I saw you…”
He was lusty and raw with her, holding her down so he could splay himself over her body and completely envelop her with his nakedness.
He rode her tightly, with a controlled greed that was utterly consuming. She loved his being in control, taking what he wanted, demanding that she keep him completely enfolded deep inside her.
“I never want to leave,” he growled. “This is just the beginning…”
She never knew she could feel so much in this obverse position. She never knew a man could ejaculate semen like that time after time. She was drenched in it, bathed in it, rubbed with it, perfumed with it, head to foot.
He wouldn’t leave her alone. When she went to relieve herself, he came and took her against the bathroom wall. And on the easy chair with her legs spread over the arms so that she was wide open to him; he buried his mouth, his face deep in her sex, and he held her wrists as the price for her pleasurable silence as he pleasured her with his tongue.
On the floor after, he went into her hot, quick, and hard. Over the edge of the bed, on her back, with her legs on his shoulders and her body canted like a slant board to take his hard, driving possession.
He licked her ear. “You’re just the kind of woman I’ve been looking for.”
“What kind of woman is that?” A touch of coyness? She shouldn’t.
“You’re sensual, compliant, willing, malleable, complicit in your submission to me. You want a lover completely in control.”
Did she? “I—” She didn’t know.
“Never mind. I’ll say it for you. You do. And I’m the man who can exploit that need for our mutual pleasure. I’ll give you all the sex you can handle if you give me authority over your body. I think you crave that. But maybe you don’t. However, that’s how it has to be for me. So, do you want that, MJ?”
She could hardly breathe; every organ in her body went weak. A dominating lover? She felt stifled and overpowered, and she reveled in it. He wanted her, to command her, to occupy her, and to empty himself into her—
“I want it,” she whispered tremulously.
“Want what?”
She couldn’t stand it. “Your beautifully hard, thick, long, luscious shaft possessing me.”
She couldn’t share him or their sex with the Mistress Club. Things had escalated so quickly that she didn’t know quite where she was anymore. She was seeing him exclusively every spare moment, most of which was spent with his penis deep inside her and her quiescent body taking his hard, driving fucking to her glorious spasmic pleasure.
That meant before she went to work, she went to his apartment for a stand-up quickie. Lunch was more leisurely, but still with that nearly out-of-control edginess with which he took her. And evenings were long
hours of food and fornication.
He preferred that she await him naked if he was late. He bought her a set of pearl choker necklaces to wear as a thrall collar to symbolize his sexual authority over her. She was his sex object, his malleable sex doll.
Sometimes he reprimanded her for not keeping his lust for her foremost in her mind, her life, topmost on her list of important things to do. Run to Dallan whenever he calls, whenever he wants to do you—first item in the BlackBerry every morning, last thing to do at night, and any five minutes she could find in between.
Her daydreams were full of him, his lust, their pleasure. His sex was addictive. Her need was all-consuming. His possessiveness was engulfing.
She floated in the haze of her enslavement, grateful to be wanted by this strong, commanding, elegant, and desirable man.
Brooke was feeling restless and a little edgy, maybe because it had been three weeks and her Mr. Steffen seemed to have disappeared into thin air.
So much for him.
But even worse, it had been three weeks since MJ had had her first date with Dallan Baines, and she had been mysterious and coy ever since.
She’d blown off yet another meeting of the Mistress Club, the previous two of which had been postponed because she couldn’t make it.
“Nothing is happening in our mistress careers. We have to step this up,” Brooke told Delia as they lunched without MJ. “I just haven’t figured out how.”
“I’m not in any hurry,” Delia said. “This is fine. This is great, actually. Besides, I don’t need another Frank in my life right now. I need a guy who’s going to value me.”
Brooke stopped eating in midmotion. “Wow,” she breathed.
“I know. This has all been head changing and life changing.”
“So forget the diamond bracelet?”
Delia made a face. “Oh, no, you don’t get to change the rules. I’ll always take diamonds, whoever’s handing them out.”
“Let’s hope it’s that wealthy lover we want to attract. Let’s hope MJ’s man can give her diamonds. But I think there’s something really off about this. MJ’s been so evasive. I mean, I understand wanting to keep him to yourself, but she’s been supersecretive about him. Which means we’ll hear too much about him when it ends.”
But, she thought, the longer MJ and Dallan Baines were a couple, the more hope there was that Hugh Steffen might eventually seek her out—a similar casual acquaintance choosing to become something more.
In your fairy tale…
The search for the ultimate man would continue. No matter how this turned out, it was way better than bar-bopping, navel-flaunting, mindless, go-nowhere one-night nooky. With a new crop of bare-bellied, Botoxed, size-zero girl graduates swarming all over the place, man-hunting season was on, and they were all baring their breasts and dropping their pants.
But Brooke was as certain as she was of her name that this was not the way to go. They had to keep above that. There had to be some other way to get where they wanted to go.
“Well, hello there.”
She was so deep in contemplation that she didn’t even hear the words.
“Brooke?” Delia’s voice penetrated her haze and she looked up.
Omigod. Her blood ran hot. “Mr. Steffen. You’re in town.” A stupid, banal comment.
“Indeed. Booked at another hotel, as it happens.”
“So nice to see you,” she murmured. What could she say with Delia sitting there with that avid look on her face.
“Definitely good to see you as well,” he answered, then nodded to Delia and went on to his table.
“Oh, my goodness,” Delia breathed. “Who is that?”
“A guest who stays at the hotel,” Brooke said. “And sometimes not.”
“Well, his eyes sure are staying with you.”
I hope so. “Nonsense.”
“Still,” Delia whispered.
Good. “He’s here for business, obviously.”
“But he’s just the type…”
“I know.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know.”
Delia stared at her for a moment, her eyes flashing. “I know. You want him.”
“Yeah, I do.” In spite of everything, in spite of all reason and how stupid it would be.
“Good, because I’m telling you, Brooke, he wants you, too.”
So maybe that had been a productive lunch, Brooke thought later, sitting at her desk and rifling papers. She had decided that she needed to reorder her thinking. That she was going to stay out of MJ’s mess—because she had no doubt it was a mess, and that even though Hugh Steffen was in town, she was going to ignore that fact.
Except right now, the eager teenager in her wanted to call every hotel in Manhattan to discover where he was staying.
Oh, my God, cool down! MJ wasn’t the only one running amok. And that could put her exactly where MJ was going to wind up eventually.
Except she was much more levelheaded than MJ, and she was much more savvy…maybe. MJ’s silence about her new situation was making her antsy. Either MJ had come to an accommodation with Mr. Baines, was not seeing him anymore and didn’t want Brooke to know, or was having mind-blowing sex and didn’t want any of them to know.
But Brooke was certain that if he’d made MJ an offer, they would know. So this silence was definitely worrisome.
As were her own hormones, doing belly flops over a distinguished-looking fifty-something Englishman who had no interest in her. Maybe.
I need a plan. I need more rules to cover unexpected men…unexpected desire.
BROOKE’S CONTINGENCIES FOR THE UNEXPECTED MAN
If you want to sleep with him, sleep with him.
That one’s for me…
And then what?
Damn. How long did you give the unexpected man to come up with some kind of proposition?
Three weeks. So, MJ—get out.
And what if his proposition didn’t include all the things they wanted?
Drop him.
What if you were stupid enough to fall in love with him?
Fall out.
Harsh. But that was for her—for her unexpected man, the one in some hotel not so far away that if she just picked up the phone, she could find out where he was.
Her face burned.
The phone rang. “Guest Relations.”
“Perfect.” Him!
“Mr. Steffen.” Her insides instantly heated up, warm and melting in the center. Was that light and disinterested enough? “How can I help you?” she asked, forcing the tremor out of her voice.
“Have a drink with me after you’re done there.”
She caught her breath, waited a beat before she answered to give it the legitimacy of a quick think over. Why play coy? His time was limited, and in some respects, so was hers, because this could go nowhere. Except—to bed. Tonight. Oh, my heaven—heaven…“I’d love to.”
“Excellent. The Waldorf, the Cocktail Terrace. Six-thirty, say?”
“Sixty-thirty.” She slowly hung up, feeling like she’d turned to mush. How efficient he was. How certain he’d been she’d say yes.
No, don’t impugn his motives yet. Don’t believe that he has a list of ladies he can summon whenever he’s in town.
Let’s just say he’s a very nice man staying at a very nice hotel and he’s taking me out for a drink. Period.
Not. This day is never going to end!
She made it end on the dot of five-thirty and raced home to engage in the what-to-wear writhe-and-wriggle. Black was always good. Lauren, always classic. Hair down, up? Makeup—Stila? Smashbox? Restrained? Sultry? Shoes—Manolos? Not so obvious? Bag? He would know a designer clasp at thirty paces, she was sure of it.
This was too short notice. Too fast, too soon. Too delicious. Oh, God…jewelry…gold was always better than anything. Restrained. Ladylike.
Follow the Mistress Code and you can’t go wrong.
Flash your legs, not your belly…must remember to wri
te that down. Cleavage, not carnality. Oh, this was good. Hurry.
She raced out of the apartment and grabbed a cab. “The Waldorf.” Oh, God, it felt so grown up, so ineffably right to be saying that.
Traffic was awful. If she hadn’t had those shoes, those major Manolos, a major weakness, she would have gotten out and walked. As it was, she had to get out on the west side of Park Avenue and cross the street rather than wait for the cab to maneuver through the sea of traffic going toward Grand Central.
Of course, she was late. Not good mistress form. Must add that to the list of “must nots.”
Into the cool, exquisite lobby. She looked up and saw him watching for her, leaning over the balcony railing. Her breath caught, and she thought, oh, my God, my heels had better not catch.
To the elevator, and then—there he was as the door opened, tall and elegant, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. He took her arm and led her as gracefully as Fred Astaire to the terrace and their table overlooking the lobby.
Only when she was seated did she feel even remotely herself. No major mishaps. Just a major assault on her heart as Hugh Steffen smiled at her.
“Hello.”
Breathless again. “Hi,” she managed. Up close, he was no less a god. Flawless, even with the amusement lines crinkling around his eyes, and that iron gray hair.
“So happy you could make it.”
“I’m happy, too,” she murmured.
The waiter hovered.
“Shall we have the Cole Porter champagne toast?” He nodded to the waiter. “So my dear, here we are, and you are more beautiful than I imagined.”
Melting again. “You imagined…?”
“You have to admit, uniforms are very conducive to fantasizing, especially when someone as lovely as you is wearing one. So bland and constraining. It makes a man wonder…”
Oh, this was going so fast, so quickly. Did she want that? Yes. She’d thought about him too much over the past weeks. And this was not the time to play games if she wanted him. “And what did you wonder, Mr. Steffen?”
He smiled again. “Hugh, please. I wondered how you would look dressed just as you are now, in silk and stilettos…”