Restrained and Willing

by Tiffany Bryan

  Her pussy…ass…tits belonged to him. Forever. All he needed to do was claim them.

  “Pierce!” Her orgasm broke over her. Her pussy pulsed, tightened. Flooded with thick creamy heat.

  She sighed, clamped her trembling thighs together as the last flutters of pleasure shuddered through her.

  Always overly sensitive after she came, she gingerly drew her fingers out, careful not to touch her clit. For the time being, she controlled the situation.

  She had a deep-down gut feeling an easy descent back to reality after an orgasm wouldn’t always be the case when Pierce was in control. An assertive teen, he’d grown into a demanding man. Not the no-doubt-about-it kind like her brothers. More the quiet, self-assured, don’t-have-to prove-anything kind.

  Replete for the moment, Heather curled her legs, closed her eyes and sighed.

  Pierce was a man of strong convictions. Stubborn.

  She smiled as she began drifting off. The central air-conditioning slowly dissipating the heated effects of her self-pleasure.

  It would take him a few days to come to terms with the fact she was a woman now. In full charge of her life. Her sexual wants and needs.

  Co-owner of QPJ Construction with her brothers, he’d need to give his full attention to the business during the week. But come the weekend…

  Chapter Two

  Diary in one hand, his iron-hard cock in the other, Pierce let the massive black walnut headboard at his back take his weight as he groaned.

  “Fuck!”

  Five nights.

  He’d been reading, or rather rereading, Heather’s neatly penned musings. And he’d jacked off as many times.

  He could have found someone to extinguish the wildfire she’d built with each and every word, but on some level, the idea seemed sacrilegious. Too eerily close to a betrayal. Something he’d never felt before.

  The little witch had stoked this raging inferno within him, she would damn well be the one to put it out.

  But before he confronted her, he’d have to deal with her brothers.

  The thought almost took the edge off his lust.

  Almost.

  Thoughts of anyone except Heather doused from his mind, he continued reading.

  ~~~~~

  New Fantasy—April 18

  I knew I’d been a very, very bad girl. Was it deliberate? I knew better. It was too late to analyze my actions now.

  Pierce was home.

  I heard the click of the deadbolt. Saw the knob turn and watched as the door cracked open.

  I lowered my gaze.

  Naked, head bowed, back straight, legs folded beneath me, I waited silently with thighs spread wide, hands resting on them, palms up and open. I took a steadying breath.

  I saw the glassy toes of his black dress boots first, his thighs filled my vision next as he hunkered down in front of me. The crisp dark-blue denim of his jeans stretched taut over thick solid muscle.

  “Pretty.” He cupped my chin and I raised my gaze. “The proper submissive pose.” Dropping his hand, he skimmed the back of his knuckles ever so lightly down and over my left breast. Clasping my nipple between his fingers, he pinched. “Unfortunately, too little, too late.”

  I sucked in a breath at the contrasting sensations. Pierce was a master at extreme contrasts. He knew they drove me mad with yearning, used them to his advantage to both discipline and pleasure.

  I bit my bottom lip. I knew better than to voice a protest. If I did, he would only withhold any intended pleasure he’d decided to give. And he would pleasure me—after a prolonged, tortuous discipline.

  “On your feet.”

  He stood and I followed.

  I tilted my face up to look into eyes as green as lush grass after a fertile rain and infused with displeasure.

  Between one blink and the next, he grasped my chin and his lips descended.

  The kiss was possessive, scorching, branding me with an ownership I’d come to crave. My body immediately responded, became pliant against his inflexible frame. My nipples rasped against the soft cotton of his shirt, making them tingle, yearn for attention. To be sucked, licked, deliciously tortured. Would he decide to use the nipple clamps tonight? With every fiber of my being, I hoped so.

  I mewled and pressed my breasts against the solid wall of his chest, seeking a modicum of relief.

  He broke the kiss. Placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back.

  “To the table. Present your ass for discipline.”

  Head held high, I moved to the far side of the room, bent over the table in the dining area and stretched over to grasp the other side. I sucked in a soft breath as heated flesh met cold glass. Pressed flat against the inflexible surface, my nipples turned diamond hard.

  Through the company business, Pierce had access to master craftsmen in every part of the building and design trade. Every piece of furniture in our home had been built to his exacting specifications. Customized to fit my body’s dimensions, the exact heights allowed him easy maximal access to whatever part of my body he desired. Whether standing, bending, or lying flat. The majority of pieces were outfitted with extra, hidden features. Like the thick plate glass table top my upper body was plastered to.

  Fashioned from shatterproof commercial window glass, with a press of a button, the gas sandwiched between the two octagon-shaped pieces dissipated, turning the privacy glass from smoke to clear, revealing the round mirror beneath where the table’s legs attached to the heavy bronzed frame. A press of another button and the mirror dipped to a slight angle. Enough to give us both an excellent front view of my body. Nothing would be concealed. Not the tiniest twitch, the slightest change in expression. Not even the silky wetness that would soon be dripping down my thighs.

  “Spread your legs farther apart. Until only your toes touch the floor.”

  When I was spread and open to his satisfaction, he rearranged my hair, fluffing it out on either side of my face to leave my back bare.

  “Comfortable?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Excellent.” He ran both hands firmly over every inch of my shoulders and back. Paused at the base of my spine. “Your sweet ass was made for discipline.” He splayed his large hands over the firm smooth globes. “Lush, plump and pale.” He squeezed. “The perfect size to take the full brunt of my palm.”

  I shivered at his words, what they implied. Knowing…anticipating what was to come.

  “Cold?”

  “A little.”

  “Not to worry. You won’t be for long.”

  His sensual warning caused a ripple of need to skitter along my flesh. His hands roamed over my hips, down both legs. Outside. Inside. He caressed the soft, sensitive skin of my inner thighs. A tease away from my aching pussy. Not that I expected him to touch me there. He would deny me any pleasure until he reduced me to a pleading, weeping mass of surrender. Until I begged for release. Promised to obey his every command.

  “Don’t take your eyes off the mirror.” His tone brooked no argument.

  “Understood, Sir.” I braced for the crack of his hand over my vulnerable flesh.

  He placed a soft kiss in the indentation at the base of my spine.

  Bastard! I should’ve known he’d toy with me first.

  He licked his way up the middle of my back. I caught a whiff of his earthy cologne, felt his masculine heat, the gentle press of his hard chest against my back.

  When had he removed his shirt?

  I desperately wanted him. To absorb the weight of his muscular body as it pressed onto mine. Rejoice in the feel of his thick cock, plunging deep inside my welcoming flesh.

  He was a master at reading my body. Never did what I expected, what I coveted. There was no second-guessing him.

  He smoothed his hand over the right cheek of my ass. I tensed.

  He lightly tapped my clit.

  A soft needy gasp parted my lips.

  He bit my shoulder. Drug his finger through the juices gathering at my throbbing entrance.<
br />
  I whimpered.

  He sunk his finger deep inside me and despite my best efforts to stifle the sound, a loud moan filled the air.

  “God, you’re so wet. And we’ve barely started.” The words flowed past my ear in a heated whisper.

  I focused on the mirror beneath me, his face appeared next to mine. But even with his jaw set with displeasure and determination, there was no hiding the affection or the desire in his blazing green eyes.

  “But just wet won’t do tonight. You disobeyed me. Not once this week, but twice. Tonight, I intend to work you until you’re sopping. Your sweet cum blazing a creamy trail down your long, beautiful legs.”

  With no pause or warning, he withdrew his finger and filled me with two.

  His fingers were thick, long and oh so talented. I love it when he fingers me. Twisting, burrowing deep, only for him to retreat slightly and repeat the maddening process.

  I angled my hips for deeper penetration.

  He withdrew entirely.

  “No! Don’t quit. I need—”

  Crack!

  I bit back a scream. The buck of my body against the glass, sweet torture to my sensitive nipples. I focused on my own reflection. Not the face of a woman in pain. The face of a woman in the first throes of pleasure. Cheeks flushed a deep rose, eyes sparkling, mouth partially open. I concentrated on breathing past the pain until it diffused into a sensually arousing burn, fanning out in a heated rush.

  “Don’t presume to tell me what you need, sweetheart. Your only ‘need’ at the moment is to obey me.”

  “I’m sorry. Please, Pierce. I promise—”

  Crack!

  I knew the vow would fall on deaf ears. He wouldn’t stop. I would be disappointed if he did. He was unsurpassed in the art of agonizing pleasure. No other man would ever measure up, be worthy of my total submission. Because, God help me, I loved this man with every drop of blood that surged through my tortured…longing heart. Always had. Always would.

  ~~~~~

  Fuck!

  The expletive ripped past Pierce’s lips as his climax ripped through his taut body, his semen puddling warmly over his heaving stomach.

  He let the diary slip to the floor. Remained motionless, staring up at his domed bedroom ceiling, waiting for his breathing to level out. His labored breaths not the sole result of his self-pleasure.

  Heather loved him?

  Were the words she’d written a figment of her erotic, romantic imagination?

  He sure as hell hoped so, because in his version of Webster’s the happily ever after, until-death-do-us-part kind of love was nonexistent. According to his father, his mother had tossed the L word around with the enthusiasm of a drunk throwing confetti at midnight on New Year’s Eve, yet she’d still taken on a multitude of lovers until his dad ran out of forgiveness and divorced her.

  But what if what Heather had written was true? What the hell was he going to do then? He’d have to make her understand how he felt from the get-go.

  He’d always felt a bond with her. A platonic love. Like that between a brother and sister. Hell, the four of them had grown up together. Then came the day her baggy clothes couldn’t hide the fact she was growing up. Filling out nicely in all the right places. Once she’d hit junior high, she’d traded in those tomboy-ish clothes for skirts and shorts. Clothes that barely covered her shapely ass. Small, tit-hugging tops made to ramp up every teenage boy’s lust within a five-state radius. Especially when draped over the healthy set of Cs that seemed to develop practically overnight.

  Back then, he’d stood shoulder to shoulder with Quinn and Justin, fending off any boy dumb enough to think they could get an up-close-and-personal view of her awesome new assets. By the time she hit her senior year, he and her brothers seemed to spend more time keeping guys out of her pants than trying to get into their own women’s.

  When she’d gone to college, the three of them had breathed a sigh of relief. Once again able to pursue their own pleasures, they’d done it with a determined vengeance to make up for lost time.

  Those were the easy times.

  When Heather had gotten engaged to good old upstanding Dr. Joel, Pierce had halfway convinced himself it was for the best, the distance between New York City and Cleveland lending a little muscle to the lie.

  But she wasn’t engaged any longer. She wasn’t in New York. And if what she’d written was true…

  * * * * *

  Pierce strode into the office of QPJ Construction, neat, decidedly masculine, but comfortably inviting for prospective clientele. He straightened his shoulders and hoped to hell the choice he’d made last night wasn’t going to destroy a lifelong friendship. But he’d thought long and hard about his decision and knew it was the right one.

  Quinn and Justin looked up from the blueprint on the drafting table set off in one corner.

  “Just in time, bud.” Quinn smiled. “We’re considering moving a weight-bearing wall on the Wallace project and could use your opinion.”

  “Yeah, and grab yourself a cup of coffee.” Justin gave Pierce a once-over. “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet. Hook up with Jessica at Freedom Club last night?”

  Both men chuckled.

  The heels of his work boots hitting the scarred oak floor at a steady clop, Pierce shook his head. No sense beating around the bush.

  “I’m claiming Heather.”

  The tomblike silence in the spacious, triple-desk room was tangible.

  “Is that so?” Quinn raised a brow and glanced at Justin who remained silent, but watchful.

  “I’m not asking your permission.” Since no curses or fists were flying, Pierce took that as a good sign. “I’m informing you as a courtesy. Because of our friendship. And because it could affect our business partnership.”

  “And if we object?”

  Unfazed by Quinn’s unyielding stare, Pierce shrugged. “To be blunt, it’s not your objection that concerns me.”

  “What if our sister objects to being dominated?” Justin folded his arms, revealing his large biceps to their best advantage.

  “Then I’ll immediately back off. But I’ve recently discovered something that makes me fairly sure she won’t.”

  “What about your commitment issues? You’ve been pretty adamant in that regard.” Justin leaned back in his chair.

  “I haven’t changed my mind. I intend to be upfront with Heather. Make sure she realizes I’m not looking for anything permanent.”

  The brothers shared a dubious look.

  Quinn wiped a hand over his face.

  Justin blew a deep breath.

  “Okay,” they said in unison.

  “That’s it?” Pierce couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice.

  “Look, dude. Heather’s no longer a kid. She hasn’t needed our permission to do anything in a very long time.” Justin looked resigned.

  “Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “And if she wants that kind of a lifestyle, we’d rather it be with someone we trust. Someone who’d be totally honest with her and who’d never hurt her.”

  “Not to say the whole concept of the two of you together in that way won’t take some getting used to.” Justin winced. “So if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a heads-up if you’re going to take her to Freedom Club.”

  “Ditto.” Quinn scrunched his nose and then scraped a hand over his shaved head. “We’re not hypocrites when it comes to individual sexual choices, but she is our baby sister and we’d rather not see—”

  “Point taken.” Pierce was flooded with relief and endless appreciation for the levelheadedness and understanding of the two men who were more brothers to him than friends. “One more thing.”

  Justin groaned. “What? You’re going to forbid her to come to Pop’s for Thanksgiving this year?”

  Pierce rolled his eyes. “And miss his famous brined turkey and that awesome stuffing? Not on your life. I’m just giving you two bozos notice that I’m taking the next two weeks off.”

  “
Well, hell.” Quinn frowned. “Then grab yourself some coffee and come look at these prints. If ten more hours is all we get you for, we’re going to make sure we get our money’s worth out of your lazy ass.”

  “You’re such an asshole.” Happy to be back on familiar ground, Pierce walked over to the coffee station, grabbed up his big red mug and filled it to the brim.

  They might have his ass for ten more hours, but his mind would be across town in a downtown loft, consumed by the woman who lived there and the things he planned to do to her.

  Chapter Three

  Heather spent the week stocking up on groceries and re-familiarizing herself with her hometown. In general, keeping busy enough to keep her mind off the fact she hadn’t heard a peep out of Pierce. Pop and her brothers had been in constant contact. But not as much as a measly How ya doing, brat? from the person she most wanted to hear from.

  Was she deluding herself? Maybe he wasn’t interested. Had he even read her fantasies?

  Ugh!

  She trudged up the stairs and let herself into her condo. Dropped her keys and purse on the narrow maple side table.

  What she needed was a healthy dose of patience. A virtue she’d never quite gotten the hang of.

  She braced her hand on the wall and toed off her shoes, leaving them on the small rectangular rug in front of the door before making her way to the kitchen.

  She crinkled her nose at the nagging sense of insecurity she’d been fending off. A previously foreign concept since she hadn’t lacked confidence even when on her own, miles away from home, her first year at Yale.

  At least she hadn’t spent the past week sitting at home, twiddling her thumbs. She’d been out and about, making contacts, evaluating the Cleveland area for the possibility of starting her own marketing company. Between very lucrative investments and an impressive portfolio after an accelerated master’s program, she could well afford to put off looking for a job for quite a while if her plan of becoming an entrepreneur wasn’t a viable option.

  A quick maneuver around the long kitchen counter placed her in front of the fridge where she grabbed a bottle of green tea, discarded the cap and took a deep drink.