With Hearts Aflame: Valentine's Day Box Set

by Maren Smith

She was his tonight.

  Parker left his apartment before he quite realized he was moving. He all but charged down the stairs and very nearly ran head-on into Kaylee and Hannah. The Masters always dined with their ladies during formal dinners, but now they were headed upstairs to change out of their noblewoman costumes and into something—judging by their giggling—slinkier. He dodged them, but did not stop to talk.

  “Well,” Hannah said from behind him. “That was a very intense look.”

  “Mm,” Kaylee agreed, but then he was through the next door and when the notoriously nosy women tried to follow him, his sharp about-face followed by a single hard smack of his spanking hand across his open palm changed their minds. They dashed back through the door and probably ran all the way to their respective rooms. Apart from one or two steps, Parker did not pursue them. He loved them both dearly—they were like the sisters he’d never had; the better halves of Sam and Marshall, two of his very best friends—but now was not the time. Not when Sinclair was taking her first steps into the Castle, where potentially some four hundred dominant vultures were circling, just waiting to swoop up his unsuspecting innocent and carry her away.

  Not if he could help it; not if he could get to her first.

  He headed straight for the ballroom. She beat him there, but perhaps by no more than a few minutes. The bins had been lined up along the table and she was just starting to unpack them when he strode in. He didn’t even stop to lock the doors.

  “Hi,” she said, glancing up when she heard the doors swing open. The intensity about him captured her attention almost immediately. She blushed, dropping her eyes back to the bags of candy she was pulling out onto the table, but when he just kept coming, rounding the end of the table without an answering greeting, she looked up again. Her eyes widened when she saw whatever look was owning him just then. Her smile faltered. She even took a hesitant step back, her hands coming up to brace against his chest, but he caught her anyway. One partial day apart was sixteen hours too damned many.

  He seized her by the rings of her collar, pulling her mouth right up to his. He kissed her like he meant it, as if she were the other half of his soul and he’d sorely missed her.

  He really needed to get a handle on this. Doms weren’t supposed to act this way. Doms were calm, cool, in control of every second.

  “Oh wow,” she breathed, sinking back down off her tiptoes when he grudgingly let her go. “Go ahead. Do that again. Curl my toes.”

  “I intend to,” he said huskily. His hands had a life all their own. One drifted down to give her bottom a fondling squeeze, followed by a swat. She jumped, her eyes widening all over again. Her knee-jerk reaction might have been to protest, but if that was true, then he distracted her by redirecting her attention back on all the bins. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  “Door gifts,” she said, the high curves of her cheeks a bright pink as she reached back with one hand to caress where he had so lightly struck.

  She must have liked the swat. He gave her another, the same cheek, just a little sharper than before and quickly followed by his own soothing rub. “Let’s get to it then.”

  He pulled out two chairs and they put themselves to work. The gift bags were easy to assemble. His job was to fold a pink pre-made pouch into a second clear, glittery pouch and pass them to Sinclair, who added Jordon almonds, bright red marzipan lips that both smelled and tasted (he couldn’t help sampling one) like red hot cinnamon candies, and the most darling little spanking paddle he’d ever seen, made out of chocolate with the word “Ouch!” luster-dusted across the top.

  “That is the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” Parker said, holding one up. It was small, no bigger than his thumb. He quirked a smile. “Ouch?” he asked.

  There went that blush again. She deliberately did not look at him. “According to the internet, paddles are supposed to hurt.”

  “Depends on how they’re used. When bottoms have been good, they get good girl spankings that can feel very sexy. When they’re bad…” When she still didn’t look at him, Parker leaned in closer, letting his voice drop to seductive tones as he said, “Have you been a bad bottom, sweetness? Am I going to have to put you across my knee and spank you?”

  Missing the opening of the pouch entirely, Sinclair dropped a scoop of Jordan almonds all over the table. Candy bounced and clattered everywhere.

  They both laughed. They also got back to work: her, with a muted frenzy and the occasional touch to the collar at her neck; and he, with that feeling of anticipation building in his gut until it felt like a bonfire, hot, crackling through his veins, smoking and smoldering with all the things he would do to her later on.

  Slowly but surely, they emptied the raw materials out of the plastic bins and then filled them back up again with the partially completed gift bags. She still had truffles or something at her store that would need to be added in, but that could happen tomorrow. For tonight, the task was simply to make the bags, fill them as much as possible—wash, rinse, and repeat…nine hundred times.

  It took hours, before Sinclair said, “Last bag of almonds.” She shook out her scoop-wielding hand, stretched her back and then got back to it.

  “How many more bags before we make our goal?” he asked, liking the way her breasts thrust up and out when she moved like that.

  “We reached that twenty bags ago. I just want to make a few extras so we can be sure everyone gets one.”

  Parker stopped what he was doing. “Good idea. Take a break for a minute, though. Come here.”

  He saw it on her face, that spark of, ‘Is it going to happen now?’ just before she put everything down and stood up. She was only sitting right next to him. It was truly amazing how some subs could make even the smallest journey take the longest time. He grinned, taking advantage of her shyness to roll his shoulders and rock the kinks out of his neck. Pushing his chair back from the table, he held out his hand to help her bridge those last few inches.

  When she stood beside him, her chest rising and falling slightly faster than normal, her eyes alight with expectation, he reached up to touch her collar. He checked the fit, liking the snugness, making sure there was no chafing, and reminding her without words of who she wore it for and why.

  “Go and lock the doors,” he said, giving her bottom a gentle swat to send her hopping to it.

  Sinclair did, making a meek circle to all three doors to ensure their privacy. When she started back toward him again, he stopped her by pointing to the three buffet tables that would be her station the night of the party.

  “The bag is on the floor near the legs, hidden by the tablecloth. I want you to get the nipple clamps, then select your pleasure from the two remaining items and bring them to me.”

  Hers was a very pretty blush, dominated by eyes that sparkled apprehension and excitement. She clasped and reclasped her hands. “You know,” she hedged, “I got that one package practically by mistake.”

  “Is that the one you want to bring to me?” he countered. If she expected him to let her off the hook regarding the anal plugs, she had a surprise coming. He rested his hands on his thighs, his cock giving a slight jump at the thought of taking Sinclair across his knees, baring her pretty little bottom and opening up that package of anal plugs. It came with a disposable one-use package of lubricant tucked inside. He’d checked last night.

  “Not particularly.” Biting her bottom lip, she went to the table and pulled the paper sack out from underneath. Glancing back at him, she unrolled the top. “I just… you know, maybe we can just forget about that one.”

  “Paddle or plugs, sweetness. Hurry up, because if I have to pick, I’m going to choose both.” She’d be over his knee either way tonight; his hard-on was straining against the seams of his pants, demanding hungry feminine stroking followed by hard-fucking friction. Sadly, he was determined to go to bed disappointed on that front yet again tonight. The siren’s song of her body was pulling at him, and the fight to resist would make his eventual su
rrender that much sweeter, but he had to restrain his passion just a little while longer. This was still only her second experience. He wanted her to know, when he took her to his bed, that this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing for him. And he wanted to know that she intended to stay in his bed, not for a night or a week, but for a long, long time. He didn’t have that certainty yet. So although he wanted her so badly that it might actually kill him, Parker was determined to go slowly.

  She stared into the bag for the long time, refusing to choose. “I-I haven’t ever done either of these before…”

  “What did I say you were selecting tonight?”

  Staring down into that bag, she rubbed her hands against her jean-clad thighs. “My pleasure,” she stammered, shooting him an embarrassed glance.

  “Can you trust me to do that?” he coaxed. “Can you trust me to make whatever you bring me feel so good that you writhe for me, just as you did last night? Your toes curling, your back arching, and your sweet little pussy weeping for me as you cum again, and again, and again. Some parts might sting at first, but even if it does, trust that I know how to make even those feel just incredible before I’m done.”

  Even from here, halfway across a shadow-dominated room, he could see her shiver. Temptation truly was the spice of life, he decided. She reached into the bag and withdrew the nipple clamps, palming them in her other hand before quickly grabbing for one of the remaining items. She hesitated, changed her mind, then quickly changed it back again. Biting and chewing fitfully at her lower lip, she snatched up the paddle, wadded up the nearly empty bag and quickly tucked it back under the table as if it were something extremely shameful that she had to hide.

  She came back to him, flushed as hot and as red as he couldn’t wait to make her sexy bottom, and staring straight at the floor because she couldn’t even meet his eyes.

  He stood up, reaching for her just as soon as she drew near enough. She held out the paddle, but he made no move to take it. Instead, he combed his fingers back through her hair and told her with his smile just how proud he was that she had found the courage to make such a difficult choice. Some of the stiffness melted from her shoulders when he stroked his hand down to cup the back of her neck. He pulled her closer and her chin automatically lifted, her gaze skimming down his features to fix on his mouth. She wanted him to kiss her. Her eyes dilated and that traitorous little pulse beating at the side of her slim neck quickened.

  He stroked her skin just above the thick leather of the collar. “Unbutton your shirt.”

  She started to do it with both the paddle and the nipple clamps in her hands. He took them to free her hands, dropping them onto the table behind her, well within reach. Then he cupped the back of her neck again, keeping her attention focused right where he wanted it most. On him. On what she was doing for him, and on what was going to happen just as soon as she obeyed.

  Her hands began to tremble, fumbling from one button to the next. She tugged her shirt tails out of her jeans and then let her shirt slide backwards off her shoulders and down her arms. She made only a half-hearted effort to toss it on the table too, but missed. It dropped to the floor behind her. She tried to drop after it—scoop it up, put it on the table like she’d meant to in the first place—but she got halfway down before his unyielding grip on her collar stopped her.

  “I’m not interested in tidy floors.” He used her collar to drag her back up again. Her hands fluttered up, touching her own breasts, trying to hide the pert thrust of her nipples as they reached for him. She ended up folding her arms over as if she could hide, but he didn’t allow her that luxury for very long. “Remove your shoes and socks.”

  Her breath quickened all over again, but she bent as far as his hold on her collar would allow and quietly did as she was told. He watched as she unlaced each white sneaker and then pulled them off. She set them under the corner of the table they’d been working at, with her socks stuffed deep inside each one. When she stood, she quickly folded her arms over her chest again. Tiny goosebumps peppered her skin, but not because the room was too cold.

  “Remove your bra.”

  She bowed her head, looking down at herself. “Second night in a row; still not pretty,” she quipped, pulling the sports bra up over her head.

  For the second night in a row, he still didn’t care. She was trying so hard to retain her composure in front of him, finding it awkward to be so exposed when he was fully dressed. He caught only peek-a-boo glimpses of one pale nipple as the cloth abandoned her, but then she managed to clap a hand over the soft flesh of her breast.

  “Put your arms down.” His tone was gentle, soft, but it was a command nonetheless.

  Those bright green eyes of hers were awash with uncertainty and naked need, and it nearly unmanned him. He had to take a step back. If he hadn’t, he would have picked her up by the curves of her luscious ass, kissed every last trace of fear from her body and, determination be damned, made love to her right here on the cold stone floor. He doubted if the portable tables could have stood up to the vigor of those first moments when he finally got to bury his body inside hers.

  “Put your arms down,” he said again, sounding so patient, but feeling anything but.

  Her arms hesitantly unfolded. She revealed herself in tiny fits and starts, pleasure when he boldly looked at her flooding pink from her face all the way down onto her chest.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” He lightly traced the backs of two fingers along the heavy under curve of her left breast.

  “Yes,” she whispered honestly. “I can see it on your face.”

  He didn’t think he could hide it if he tried. “Then you know how much I want you?”

  He laid his hand flat on her chest, nestling his palm between the valley of her breasts so he could feel the wild patter of her heart pounding back at him.

  “Yes,” she admitted, her soft voice turning husky with a desire all her own. “I can see that, too.”

  Chapter NINE

  He was killing her. He was absolutely killing her. Did he even know he was doing it? Sinclair couldn't tell. His face was too hard to read, but she herself, she knew, had to be an open book. She felt consumed in raw flame, so intense in places it felt like licks of real fire tickling up between her clenching thighs, all the way to the very pit of her belly. Her nipples were throbbing, but then, peacock nipple clamps would do that to a girl.

  “Take off your jeans.” Parker sat back in the same metal folding chair he’d occupied while they’d been working side by side. He’d pushed it back from the table and now sat simply watching while she undressed herself for him. Her breasts were swollen, pulsing and aching, her nipples shone wet with the saliva of his suckling kisses—he was such a breast man; it felt like he’d spent hours on them before firmly attaching each clamp. She dreaded that moment when she, inevitably, had to obey. She was so wet already, as dark as this room was, he couldn’t help but see exactly what he did to her. Not that she was being discrete about her responses.

  Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her fly, peeled the zipper down and pushed the stiff denim over her hips, bottom and thighs. She wished she’d been a little more awake this morning when she had dressed. How funny, that she should be so unbelievably preoccupied with all he’d done to her last night that she hadn’t even considered dressing accordingly for tonight’s repeat performance. But no, she’d put on her customary sports bra and blue panties and rushed off to work. Just once she wanted him to see her in something sexy, or lacy, or that matched.

  Picking her discarded jeans up off the floor, she folded them—more a nervous gesture than fastidious tidiness—and put them on top of her shoes under the table. With nothing else to do, she quietly stood before him, fiddling with her fingers and waiting to be commanded again.

  She liked this. Something was seriously wrong with her, but she did. She liked the feel of his collar—his—and she liked being naked—well, almost naked—while he remained fully clothed. She felt vulnerable just stand
ing here. And yet, she also felt safe, because this was Parker. He wouldn’t hurt her, and he wanted her too. She wasn’t lying; she really could see that on his face. So why, oh why, did he feel such a need to tell her he wouldn’t make love to her?

  “Panties,” Parker said, having looked his fill. “Take them down.”

  Sinclair tried to focus on her breathing. Slow in, slow out. Don’t panic. Don’t shake. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear, skimming them down to the floor. She folded those neatly too, looking everywhere but at him until she had nothing else to do but place them upon her jeans and stand up straight again.

  “Hands on your head,” he said when she tried to cup her mons and hide at least a little bit.

  The peacock feathers of each clip stroked her breasts as she folded her hands behind her head. She tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t help it. The longer he spent, silently watching her, arms folded across his chest, one finger lightly stroking back and forth across his lower lip as he appraised every naked inch of her, the more unbearable the silence became. He had the paddle lying across his lap. He hadn’t touched it except to put it there and every time her eyes were drawn down to it, she couldn’t help but look at the bulge of his erection, boldly filling out the front of those dark leather breeches.

  She shivered. This was torturous, but it was also okay because his eyes were heated, lust-filled, burning as they caressed her, following all the shadowed, curving paths that she wished his hands would do. Why wasn’t he touching her? How long could she stand to do this before she just cracked?

  He beckoned her to him.

  Oh, wait a minute, he wasn’t going to touch her right now, was he? She wasn’t ready!

  Sinclair managed a single forward step. Her knees dipped, wobbling unsteadily as she locked her legs again.

  “Closer.”

  Another step brought her near enough that he could have touched her if only he reached.

  His slate grey gaze rose to meet her eyes. “Closer,” he said again, his voice dipping both in warning and arousal.