by BJ Wane
All in all, this affair had been going his way nicely until she returned from the restroom and remained aloof during dinner, her eyes revealing the wariness he thought they had gotten past. She likely didn’t understand why he was putting off fucking her again, and planned on remedying that problem tomorrow night at the club. His plan to show her he was interested in exploring more than the physical side of a Dom/sub relationship would have to wait so he could appease her mind about the depth of his desire for her. His only concern was once he did, she would start pulling back, and he wasn’t ready to let her go yet.
Chapter 8
Reno, Nevada
Edwin Glascott ignored the softly uttered condolences as people he didn’t give a shit about filed by him in the cemetery. Standing over his youngest son’s grave was a place he’d never imagined he would find himself. His boys had been his legacy and everything to him, and there had been and still was nothing he wouldn’t do for them. Now, he would leave one burial to plan for another, having gotten the call that morning informing him of Jake’s death. Hadn’t he warned them off the drugs? When they’d ignored him and ended up offing that pathetic store owner, hadn’t he cautioned them to lay low and give him time to get them out of that mess?
He’d never loved anyone until he’d laid eyes on his infant sons. Their bitch of a mother walked out when Jason turned two and Edwin hadn’t cared. In fact, he remembered watching her drive away with a sense of relief and gladness it would be just the three of them from then on. Money, as he’d discovered after earning his first million, had its uses and opened doors that would otherwise have remained closed. His boys had gone to the best schools, wore designer clothing, drove top of the line cars. So what if they got into scrapes now and then? They were young, just sowing a few wild oats, nothing he hadn’t done in his youth except shooting someone. After he learned about the witness, his livid temper with the entire fucked-up situation nearly exploded, and his rage only intensified when she refused to be cowed by his threats. When threats didn’t work, his hired thug botched the attempt to silence her and then she disappeared, driving his fury to new heights.
As he watched his son’s casket lowering into the ground, white-hot fury burned inside him, a smoldering rage unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He could think of nothing except revenge, wouldn’t accept any other outcome but the death of the woman responsible for his sons’ fate.
Spinning away from the grave, Edwin stomped toward the limo. There was one more funeral to get through, and then, by God, he would enact his revenge.
I’ll be a little late tonight, but I’ll meet you at the club.
Leslie read Kurt’s text as she entered her apartment the next day after school. She wasn’t going to stay away from the club just to avoid him, even though it was tempting to hide out at home for a few weeks until he got over this idea of an affair. No, she needed to move on, go back to playing the field at The Barn and that, more than anything else would get her over this infatuation. She should have considered that during the weeks she’d stayed home, unable to forget the stranger who had come to her rescue one night in more ways than one.
I’ll be there.
The simple reply didn’t commit her to spend the evening with Master Kurt and she left it at that as she got ready. Rifling through her closet, Leslie wished she owned some fetish clothing like Nan always wore. She’d never wanted to dress to catch as much attention as possible like she did now. There were enough Doms to go around and she wasn’t picky, at least she never had been before. But as she reached for a silky, thigh-skimming sheath, she found herself considering Master Kurt’s hot gaze as he stripped it off her instead of any of the other Doms still free of a commitment.
Bemoaning her idiocy, she tossed the dress onto the bed and took a quick shower. By the time she fixed a light dinner, dressed and made the thirty-minute drive to the secluded club, it was close to nine o’clock and she breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t see Kurt’s truck in the parking lot. Walking inside, she stowed her shoes and hung up her light coat, eager to hook up with someone before Kurt arrived. Once he saw she had moved on to another Dom, he should be happy to let go of the whole idea of an affair.
So why did her palms grow clammy and her heart slam against her chest as she entered the playroom and scanned the crowd? Forcing a mental head shake and adjustment, she spotted Avery and Nan seated at the bar and padded over to join them. At least Sydney wasn’t around to say anything about her and Kurt. That was a plus. Avery waved her over with a welcoming smile and patted the empty stool next to her.
Leslie hopped on the seat, returning her smile. “Hi. What are you drinking?” She nodded toward the half-filled glasses in front of them.
“A new white wine they just got in. Here, try a taste, you’ll like it.” Avery handed Leslie her glass
“Oh, you’re right,” she agreed, taking a sip as Master Grayson strolled over from behind the bar.
“One more?” he asked, shifting the toothpick stuck in the corner of his mouth that reminded Leslie of Kurt chewing on a blade of straw during the auction. Grayson and Kurt shared the same sun-darkened, rugged complexions and wore their black hair long enough to brush their collars, their eyes often holding the same piercing gazes when they looked at a sub even though Grayson’s were a striking gray/green compared to Kurt’s velvet black.
Leslie smiled. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Too bad Grayson had fallen so hard for Avery two years ago when she’d first moved to Willow Springs and went to work at the diner. Leslie wouldn’t mind letting him put her through her paces again as he had the one time he’d invited her to play.
“Oh, yum, incoming pussy magnet,” Nan whispered after Grayson handed Leslie her wine and strode down the bar out of earshot. “Man, if only I wasn’t so fucking crazy about Master Dan.” She fingered the ornate collar around her neck as Avery and Leslie followed her stare to watch Master Mitchell stop to visit with Masters Greg and Devin and the petite blonde seated between them.
Standing an inch or two over the tallest members put the doctor’s height around six foot four, his lean build deceiving as the tight T- shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and snugly around the thick muscles of his upper arms could attest to. In his early forties, his salt and pepper hair and matching goatee added to his appeal and accounted for the good doctor’s popularity among the subs. Leslie caught sight of him last week but hadn’t met him. The two ex-FBI now dude ranch owners who weren’t here last weekend appeared enamored of the new sub they shared, if Leslie guessed correctly from their fond, protective gazes.
“Have you met Master Mitchell, Leslie?” Avery asked. “Or Kelsey, Greg and Devin’s new girl?”
“No, but I agree with Nan.” She shifted on the barstool, having decided the new Dom was the diversion she needed from thinking about Master Kurt and didn’t argue when Nan waved him over.
“Ladies, what can I do for you?” Mitchell’s eyes swung toward Leslie holding a gleam of interest. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Master Mitchell.”
Leslie took his hand, praying he didn’t notice the slight tremor of her palm against his. She wasn’t sure if the sudden attack of nerves came from the intruding image of Master Kurt’s face in her head or pleasure from this Dom’s attention. “I’m Leslie. Nice to meet you, Sir.”
Cocking his head toward Nan and Avery, he smiled and drawled, “Please tell me you’re not spoken for like these two.”
“No, I’m not.” The sense of betrayal tightening her throat didn’t sit well with Leslie and she shoved it aside as Master Mitchell squeezed her hand.
“Then I’d welcome the opportunity to get to know you better upstairs.”
Neither she nor Kurt had asked for monogamy and since Leslie didn’t intend to continue with their short-lived affair, all was fair, right? So why did a sharp prick of guilt cut her to the quick as she replied, “I’d like that, Sir.”
He didn’t give her time to second guess her decision, tugging her off the stool
and asking for her limits and safewords as they wound their way upstairs and over to the St. Andrew’s Cross. His hands were gentle as he stripped the dress off and trailed his fingers down her legs as he removed her panties. Her heart pounded against her chest as he turned her to face the apparatus, not because he was binding her arms above her head to the wide upper X, but because she wasn’t getting that warm rush she enjoyed with Master Kurt. God, had he already ruined her for other Doms?
Kurt reached the loft and spotted Leslie bound on the St. Andrew’s Cross right away. As he eyed her slim, bare back, spread legs and white, soft ass, he didn’t know who to be pissed at the most, her or his dad. He shouldn’t have let Leland goad him into an argument right before he’d left. If the stubborn coot didn’t want to go to therapy or work at getting back on his feet, Kurt ought to leave him alone to stew in the misery of his own making. The problem was, he cared too much to do that, just as his strong feelings for Leslie wouldn’t allow him to give up on her regardless of her continued obstinance. Maybe, if those glimpses of a desperate, lonely ache reflected on her face weren’t continuing to wreak havoc with his conscience, starting with the first time she’d looked up at him, he would find it easy to wash his hands of her and walk away.
Between wanting to solve the mystery of her solitary life and the driving lust to fuck her in every way possible, he wasn’t about to let this little rebellion deter him from his goals. Mitchell flicked him a questioning look as he approached, checking the tightness of the ankle cuffs before rising to greet him.
“Kurt. I hope your scowl isn’t because of something I’ve done.”
“No, in fact I’d like to thank you for preparing my sub for me.” Leslie’s muscles tightened under Kurt’s hand as he caressed her clenching buttocks.
Mitchell’s eyes darkened, his gaze cutting toward Leslie. Fisting a hand in her long hair, he pulled, lifting her head. “Is this true, you’re with Master Kurt?”
She bit her lip, both men noticing the guilt swirling in her eyes as she looked from one to the other before her trembling mouth went taut and she replied with a thread of defiance coloring her tone. “We never agreed to be exclusive.”
Kurt winged one brow upward and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t share. In case I neglected to mention that, now you know.”
Moving back, a hint of amusement crept into Mitchell’s expression. “I’ll step aside and let you two work this out. Leslie, look me up if you decide to ditch Master Kurt again.”
Kurt waited until Mitchell walked away before leaning against Leslie’s back, loosely circling her neck with his hands and whispering in her ear, “Don’t you think you should have told me before you accepted another Dom’s invitation?”
“I didn’t think it would matter.”
A slight tremor ran through her body as he tightened his hands on her throat, just enough to remind her of his control, and what she’d agreed to. “Once again, you thought wrong, and you’re not being completely honest. You’d rather back away than risk revealing more about yourself, like you did last night.”
She tried to turn her head to look at him then released her breath in a huff when his hold wouldn’t allow it. Her throat worked under his hands as she swallowed and said, “You have no right to pry.”
Now it was his turn to sigh with exasperation because, damn it, she was right. Stepping back, he ran his hands over her shoulders, down her arched back and palmed her buttocks. “You’re right about that, but not about how you let me know you weren’t happy with me.” Digging his fingers into the soft globes, his thumbs slipped between the fleshy mounds to tease the sensitive area. “I’m disappointed you would resort to such a tactic instead of talking to me. Five swats with my belt or say red and we’re done. What will it be?”
Leslie couldn’t think straight, not with Master Kurt’s hands on her, the displeasure in his deep voice filling her with guilt and regret. She’d been a fool. What made her believe she could simply walk away from him now when she couldn’t forget him after one night together? Now she found herself torn between her ever-growing need for one man and her determination to ensure no one else would come to harm because of their association with her.
She heard the slide of his belt as he removed it and quaked inside. Goosebumps popped up across her backside as he trailed the supple leather over her flesh. To this day she didn’t understand how an aching, hot butt could calm her rioting emotions while drawing tears of discomfort, or how the hurt could eventually morph into pleasure. But there was no denying her body sang in tune to the silent threat, warmed to the promise of blissful pain and the pleasure induced forgetfulness it could lead to. If he allowed it.
Kurt reached around and cupped one breast before pinching her nipple. “Give me your answer, Leslie.”
Need won out over good intentions and she succumbed to the pull of that deep, commanding tone. For the first time in almost four years, she didn’t want to think in terms of ‘what if’, instead, opting for ‘why not’. “I’ll take the swats, Sir.”
“Excellent.” The soothing caress of his hand over her clenching cheeks warmed her as much as the approval in his voice. “Count them for me.”
Leslie faced ahead as Master Kurt took a step to the side and swung the belt. With a snap, the thick leather licked across both buttocks, leaving a prickling burn in its wake. “One, Sir.” She bit her lip and braced for the second strike, which landed below the first with sharper intensity. Sucking in a breath, she whispered, “Two, Sir.”
Pausing, he coasted a hand up and down her back. His silence and the delay unnerved her until the throbbing ache dulled enough to rouse her yearning for more. Her cuffed hands and ankles kept her arms and legs bound but her hips were free to lift and push back in silent entreaty.
“That’s my girl,” Kurt crooned, dropping his hand and delivering another blistering stroke.
Searing pain encompassed her butt, drawing a gasp before she could respond, “Three, Sir.”
Clenching her hands, Leslie bore down to accept the last two which came fast and hard, as she guessed they would. Tears fell down her face even as she embraced the pulsating agony. Her head went fuzzy, that pleasant euphoria that took her away from the unpleasant sensations until they slowly changed into needy arousal.
Before her senses cleared, Master Kurt released the restraints and turned her around to bind her again with her back to the cross. Leslie moaned as he cupped her mound and leaned forward, his dark face filling her vision, the roughness of his clothes reminding her of her complete nakedness. Lowering his coal-black head, he bit one turgid nipple and pressed hard against her swollen pussy. She’d never craved anyone as much as she did him, never wanted to be fucked as much as she longed for the burning stretch of his cock pounding into her. God help her, she didn’t know what she would do if he backed away from her again.
“Tell me, Leslie,” he whispered against her lips, “why did you think I would be okay with you turning to another Dom?”
Looking into the black depths of his intent gaze, she knew she couldn’t get away with anything except the stark truth. “Because you only want to get into my mind now, unlike that first night when we met.”
“Is that so? You think you know me, do you?”
The silky undertone of displeasure in his voice caused her a second of unease, and then he pressed his middle finger inside her pussy and nothing else mattered as she thrust against his palm with an aching plea. “Please.”
Kurt shoved aside his annoyance with Leslie, acknowledging she had a case for jumping to the wrong conclusion about why he hadn’t fucked her again since their surprise reunion. Eventually they would discuss that insecurity as well as anything else she was keeping from him. But not now, not tonight.
With his eyes on hers, he moved back enough so she could watch him free his cock with one hand while continuing to swirl his finger inside her slick pussy with the other. “I love how you’re always wet, sweetheart, always ready for more, whatever it is
I want to do to you and with you.” A shudder went through her damp body as she eyed his hard, hot flesh springing into his hand. “Like that, do you?” He squeezed his shaft while stroking her puffy clit.
“Yes, I do. Sir.” Her pelvis jutted forward, a gush of cream coating his finger with her quiet moan.
“Then I think it’s time I proved how wrong your assumption of me is.” Pulling out of her clasping channel, he swiped his wet finger over her smooth labia, transferring the dampness as he sheathed his cock.
Reaching behind her, Kurt grasped Leslie’s ass, holding her hips still as he speared her flesh in one thrust. “Eyes down,” he ordered, working his way back out of her tight pussy until only his cockhead remained nestled inside. “I want you to see how much I want you.” He rammed straight up inside her again. “I want you to learn what a restraint it has been for me to hold back, to go slow for your benefit regardless of my own lust.”
Leslie shook her head, her tawny hair sliding around her tense shoulders, her blue eyes wide with both surprise and arousal. “How was I supposed…” She gasped as he leaned forward and drew a nipple into his mouth, suckling the hard tip as he pumped inside her clutching pussy. “Oh, God.”
Kurt worried her nipple with his teeth before releasing the pink bud to give her a stern look. “You were supposed to trust your Dom. Watch.”
Her gaze swept down as he pulled her pelvis forward for easier use of her pussy. He eyed their joined bodies along with her, loved the way her tight inner muscles clamped around his pummeling shaft, the soft grip of her puffy labia enfolding his steely girth and the warm gush of her juices easing his way.
Their breathing grew labored along with his forays in and out of her clutching body. Her breasts, coated with a damp sheen, jiggled with each pounding thrust, her tight, pinpointed nipples begging for his mouth again. His lust for her turned into a greedy conflagration, clawing at his balls with a voracious need that grew with each ramming stroke, hardening his cock into an aching demand.