“Would you like to sleep chained to the foot of the bed?”
She wasn’t sure whether or not he was serious. So far, however, he’d done exactly what he said he would. She decided to take no chances. “Naked is fine, Sir.”
He wrapped the towel around her and then grabbed the other towel to wrap around his waist. He left his hair and torso damp, and she stared, mesmerized by a drop of water that ran from his chest, down his belly, and disappeared into the towel.
The starkness of the white cotton emphasized his tan and his taut body.
He pulled the towel from her body, and she gasped.
“I like to look at your ass when you walk,” he said. Reaching past her, he pushed open the shower door. “I like it even better when you crawl.”
She looked over her shoulder, waiting for his order.
“Walk,” he said. “This time.”
She didn’t walk, she sashayed, exaggerating the sway of her hips, and the flounce of her hair.
He whistled.
She grinned, suddenly feeling as if an oppressive weight had been lifted. She appreciated the levity. “I’m afraid I will need to borrow a brush, Sir. Otherwise I’ll never be able to work with my hair again.”
“Pull out that chair and have a seat.”
She knew better than to argue.
He was back a minute later. He lifted her hair and wrapped it in a towel. He squeezed as much water from her hair as possible and then began to work a brush through the thick strands. Just like she would have, he started from the bottom and worked his way up.
This man perplexed her.
He was kind and gentle at times but always uncompromising.
He said nothing as he worked out the tangles.
This was a unique experience. This powerful man, more than six feet tall, capable of handling himself and a weapon in a terrorist-filled country, was brushing her hair, patiently, methodically. Those traits made him good at everything he did, she suspected. And they also, at times, infuriated her.
She surrendered to the sensations of being cared for. If she wasn’t careful, she could get used to it. That thought made her sit up a bit straighter. Life and her past relationships had taught her she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself.
“Good enough?” he asked eventually.
She fed her fingers into her hair. “Perfect, Sir.” He’d been as conscientious as she would have been. “Do you have a rubber band or something that I can use to hold the ends? I generally braid it if I go to bed with it still a bit wet.”
“Let me find something.”
He left the room, and she braided her hair.
“Will this work?”
He showed her a thin strand of brown leather. Figured. What else would a dom use? “Thank you,” she said as he tied it around the end of her braid.
“I was wondering if I’d have to use this brush on your tight ass.”
She wondered if she had any sense of self-preservation as she said, “In that case, I shouldn’t have used my manners.”
She gasped as he used her shoulders to yank her to her feet.
Before she could think or react, he was sitting in the chair, and he had her upended over his knee, one arm firmly around her so she couldn’t get away. He grabbed the brush.
“Ten,” he said, the word brutally clipped. “I’m going to hit you ten times. Count each stroke and thank me.”
He landed the first stroke almost instantly across both her ass cheeks. She yelped. The brush fucking hurt. “One, Sir. Thank you!”
He spanked her hard and fast.
This was one of the most overwhelming things she’d ever experienced. He hit the spot repeatedly.
“I’m adding one more for each time you don’t thank me immediately.”
She couldn’t thank him fast enough, through her gasps and yelps.
His ten became fifteen, then twenty.
She kicked and flailed. But he was bigger, stronger. He kept her in place, even when she tried to shove away from him.
The beating was punishment, but it wasn’t debilitating. He was making a point, and he was turning her on. The fight, the struggle, was primal and raw, and she felt his cock harden.
No one, ever, had known her this well.
“Thank you,” she said, expressing gratitude for many, many things, not just the spanking.
“Speak up!”
“Thank you, Sir! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
He backed off the number of strokes.
He allowed her to catch her breath, to be mesmerized by the eroticism. Her ass was on fire, but her pussy was dripping.
“Painslut.”
“Yes, Sir.” Yours. “Thank you.”
He spanked her again.
“Thank you.”
And again.
“Thank you.”
And again, blazing trails of fire.
“Thank you.” How long it went on, she had no idea. She only knew her blood pounded, tears stung her eyes, her hair had come loose from the leather thong, her pussy throbbed, and she was desperate for this to never end. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Her gasps of gratitude became a single, blurred word.
Unbelievably, without him touching her clit or fingering her ass, she felt an orgasm begin to build, just from the words, just from the sting.
Across his lap, his erection against her, her body began to stiffen. “Please, please, please, Sir…”
“Are you going to come, Alani? Like a perfect little painslut?”
“Sir…” She couldn’t think, was no longer capable of forming a coherent sentence. “Sir…” She wasn’t sure what she wanted, what she was pleading for, for it to end? For it to never end? For the elusive climax?
“You’re going to come for me? Without me touching you sexually?”
But she was. His words aroused her; his beating completed her.
“Come, then,” he said.
He moved his hits a bit lower, closer to her thighs. The sensations were sharper there.
She arched her back.
He increased the ferocity of his strikes.
She screamed and kicked; she clamped her legs together. The small amount of friction was enough. An orgasm gulfed her.
Hot and sexy. Wild and untamed. Like the man himself.
She was undone, overwhelmed. He’d broken her. Completely.
He tossed the brush aside, sending it skittering across the room.
Her dominant took control. He moved her, pulling her into his arms, holding her, stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder.
“You’re wonderful, Alani. Such a good sub,” he told her, soothing her.
He rocked her gently, as if she was precious to him.
“Thank you, thank you, Sir,” she said minutes later after she regained her composure.
As always, he took control.
He carried her to the bed. How he managed it, she wasn’t sure, but he pulled back the bedspread and sheets while he was still holding her. He tossed aside a few pillows and placed her facedown on the surface. Her face sank into a fluffy down pillow. For a warrior, he certainly liked some of the creature comforts.
“Don’t move,” he instructed.
As if she could. “No, Sir,” she said.
A moment later, she felt something cool and soothing against her heated flanks. “Sir?”
“A cool compress,” he said. “Your ass is red and hot.”
“I don’t mind, Sir.”
“I want you healed for beatings you’re sure to earn tomorrow.”
She stiffened her body.
“And those the day after.”
“God,” she said into the pillow.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, yes, Sir.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He patted her blazing butt cheeks with a dry towel and then said, “Arnica. To help prevent bruising.”
He massaged some cream onto her welts. She sucked in a breath when h
e worked one particularly sore spot.
Shocking her, he rebraided and retied her hair.
He turned off the lights.
Suddenly she felt nervous.
The idea of sharing his bed, sleeping with him, waking up next to him was beyond intimate.
He was moving fast, faster than she was comfortable with.
He climbed into bed, moved next to her, wordlessly turned her on her side and drew her close to him. His half-hard cock pressed between her buttocks. He pulled up the sheet and covered them before pinning her to the mattress with his arm.
He’d created a cozy little cocoon that terrified her.
She lay there, rigid, staring at nothing.
“Give up the fight,” he told her.
“I…”
“Relax, Alani. We have a lot to discuss in the morning.”
Of course they did. He wanted to talk more than any man she’d ever met. It was not one of his more appealing traits.
His breathing almost instantly evened out.
How could someone fall asleep so quickly? Maybe his experience in a war zone? Or maybe because he was in his own bed?
After several minutes, her eyes adjusted to the dark. She made out the shapes and patterns. Under the best of circumstances, sleep eluded her.
His arm became heavier, and she felt as if she were suffocating.
She had to get out of the bed. Maybe watch television, flip through a magazine, anything to escape.
He snored gently.
Determined not to disturb him, she lifted his arm.
Instantly, he said, “Stay put.”
Jesus. He went from snoring to talking? “I need to use the toilet,” she said.
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
She knew better than to challenge him. He’d follow her, stand there with his arms folded across his chest and wait.
“As I thought,” he said. “You spend too much time in your head.”
She hoped the sex and the discipline would help her sleep. Usually they did. This time, though, they left her on edge, keyed up.
“Sleep.” He wrapped both arms around her and held her secure. “Match my breathing pattern,” he said.
“You’re a New Age guru in addition to everything else?” Belatedly, she remembered her manners. Her ass still stung from her last lapse. “Sir.”
“I sleep when I get the opportunity,” he said. “Be it noon or midnight. There are tricks.”
“I…”
“Surrender to me,” he said. “On all levels. Give yourself over. Let yourself go.”
She couldn’t. Not for any man. Not for anything. Being in a scene, even as untamed as this was, was just that: a scene.
“Then just for tonight. Just for now.” He took a couple of deep breaths.
She kept her back rigid.
“I’m not flexible, Alani,” he told her in that tone, obviously done with his attempt at coaxing.
She closed her eyes and forced her body to relax.
He kissed her on top of her head.
She opened her eyes wide. This was the kind of tenderness that might be her emotional undoing.
She hated this. More than ever, she wished she’d kept her independence tonight, following him in her vehicle.
She wished she were at home…anywhere but in his house, his bed, his arms.
He drank in another deep breath and eased her yet a little closer.
The entire evening, beginning with his public spanking and ending with the kiss had taken the situation from uncomfortable to intolerable. Yet, unable to continue the fight unless she wanted all-out war with him tonight, she surrendered.
He didn’t have permanent relationships, and she’d told him earlier she didn’t want a long-term relationship. Besides, first thing in the morning, she could ask to leave. She’d be back in control. She’d have him where she wanted him. That had to be enough.
She moved around just a bit, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy with two hundred pounds of determined male trapping her.
Even though she was convinced it wouldn’t work, she matched his breathing.
“That’s better,” he told her.
She’d had no idea he was still awake, patiently waiting while she struggled with her demons.
Alani closed her eyes and knew nothing until the next morning when she felt his cock seeking entrance to her already-damp pussy.
Chapter Nine
Nathaniel often woke with a hard-on. But he didn’t generally wake up with a woman in his bed, her behind curved against his pelvis.
Her softness, her suppleness, her wet pussy were all a silent invitation.
He’d rolled to one side, donned a condom, and started stroking her between the legs.
She’d mumbled something incoherent and turned toward him.
He knew last night had been difficult for her. She’d made no secret of the fact she didn’t want a committed relationship, yet he’d pushed her emotionally as well as physically.
When he’d climbed into bed with her, her body had been stiff. He could tell it took everything she had not to flee. Her reaction seemed a little strange after everything they’d shared. Every other sub he’d been with wanted a connection after those kinds of scenes. He’d forced her to accept his aftercare. “I want to fuck you,” he said. “Tell me you want it.”
“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me hard and fast.”
Testosterone all but boiled in his bloodstream.
He had more trouble controlling his reactions around her than he ever had with any other woman. The way she fought him—the way she fought herself—aroused him. Being her dom was a challenge, one he responded viscerally to.
Desperate to possess her, he turned her onto her back, nudged her legs apart with his knee, then grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms above her head.
Her chest rose and fell. Her nipples hardened.
Her liquid brown eyes were wide and unblinking.
He’d done a terrible job at securing her hair, and the strands had come loose in the night. Her thick hair was in wild disarray around her shoulders.
His woman. His. She brought out his inner caveman. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said. “I’m going to fill your hot cunt and ride you like the little painslut you are.”
“Yes.”
“Say it again,” he told her.
“Do it! For the love of God, stop talking about it and fucking fuck me, Sir.”
He took her in a single brutal stroke.
He wanted her this way.
He’d bet she preferred to be taken from the rear where he could slap her ass, pull her hair, and where she didn’t have to look at him.
But he wanted her full participation. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted to watch her reactions. He wanted her to know he was mastering her. And he wanted her to acknowledge it. “Keep your eyes open,” he instructed.
He pulled all the way out and drove straight back in.
Damn, she was tight. And wet. And ready.
In so many ways they were alike.
Both of them wanted this fierce joining, and neither wanted anything more than a quick, noncommittal scene.
Unfortunately for him, and for her, he was realizing he wasn’t capable of giving her just the no-strings sex and beatings she wanted.
He wanted more from her. He wanted to possess her. He needed her to acknowledge he was her master. And he was going to have what he desired.
This time, he didn’t care if she came or not.
This was about him and dominating her completely. “I want your legs over my shoulders.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He released her wrists, but she obediently kept them in place. Good little sub. Even though he didn’t want to leave her for a moment, he withdrew his cock and knelt while she raised her legs.
He pressed his thumb against her clit and savored her moan.
He moved between her legs.
She gasped when he entered her, deeper than he ever
had.
He secured her wrists with one hand and balanced some of his weight on one elbow so as not to crush her.
He entered this time with a shallow stroke.
“Deeper. I want you deeper, Sir.”
Damn. “Submissive. You’re supposed to be a submissive.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He had no idea whether she was begging for his possession or agreeing with him. And it really didn’t matter. He took her, pistoning into her hot channel, fast and hard.
She responded to his rhythm with passion of her own. He’d never been with a woman who was so honest in her responses. When he was screwing her, she was more real than she was at any other time.
Her breathing became uneven, and her pussy clenched around him. “Are you going to come?”
“If I may, Sir.”
It was the right response. He hadn’t expected she would climax this quickly, but it shouldn’t have surprised him. She liked it every bit as raw as he did.
He was close himself. He was disciplined enough to last a long time, if he wanted. But this morning’s woody was demanding release. “Come,” he told her.
She did, her pussy gushing with her satisfaction.
How hot was it that she’d been waiting for his permission?
Lost in her liquid heat, he ejaculated, filling the condom.
He kept her prisoner for at least a minute, until he felt her moving, trying to find a more comfortable position.
Finally, he released her and rolled off her. He considered tucking the covers around her but changed his mind. Her naked body aroused him, and the fact he was keeping her nude would remind her of her submissiveness. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“And coffee?” she asked.
Her eyes were wide, and her voice was pleading. Even if there hadn’t been coffee in the pantry, he’d have run to the grocery store. “And coffee,” he said.
“You don’t want me to make the breakfast, Sir?”
“Not today.”
“Then…”
“Relax, shower. When you come into the kitchen, I’ll expect you to kneel.”
She nodded.
He dressed in a pair of jeans and nothing else.
In the cheval mirror, he glimpsed her reflection. He liked the way she looked, tousled and naked in his bed.
She turned onto her side and propped her head on her hand. She was watching him. Her black hair hung in glorious disarray. The cool air kept her nipples hard. Her breasts looked full, inviting.
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