Breathe

by Lauren Jameson

  She hissed. He chuckled, releasing her.

  Samantha spun to face him, her hands clutching the hem of the T-shirt, her eyes sparking.

  “So you’re going to spank me every time I question you?” Her voice was incredulous.

  Elijah smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of the lips.

  “Some Doms would.” Her face paled beneath his stare. “But for reasons I don’t quite understand, I like that you’re spunky. You can express your opinion, but you must do it respectfully.”

  Elijah turned and stepped through the yawning elevator door, then held out a hand, inviting her to join him. She planted her hands on her hips, a stance far more aggressive than the look on her face.

  “You can’t punish me for asking a question.” Her voice was bewildered. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Reaching out, Elijah tugged her into the elevator. He stroked a finger down her cheek, smiling when she shivered at the touch.

  “I won’t punish you for some questions, so long as they are polite. I will spank you, or give you whatever other torture I dream up, if you push at me in a way that says you don’t trust me to lead you.” Sliding his hand past her breasts and down her torso to squeeze her tender butt, he pulled back and grinned down into her disconcerted face.

  He waved the fingers that he’d plunged inside her in front of Samantha’s face. Though the moisture had dried, the scent of her arousal was still a perfume in the air.

  “Besides . . . I have proof that you like it.”

  • • •

  Samantha was silent as the elevator descended, and all while Elijah led her out of the building and across the large span of grass that was the backyard of In Vino Veritas. He waited for the small shed in the back corner to fall in her sight line. If she didn’t notice it soon, the noise was sure to draw her attention.

  For now, Samantha was entranced by the small paradise that was the landscaped beauty of the backyard of Veritas. “This is lovely,” she said.

  Elijah felt a surge of pride at her appreciation. He’d done a lot of it himself, enjoying the planning, the sweating, even the dirt as he made the view from his windows beautiful.

  It made him feel less like he was living above one of his businesses. Made it feel more like home.

  Elijah led Samantha to the door of the shed. It wasn’t particularly elegant, building a hot glass studio in his backyard, but it had been the obvious solution.

  He would give her privacy while she was working . . . but he still wanted her close.

  Elijah was nothing if not practical.

  He wasn’t sure what he would do with the shed and the equipment inside it . . . after they had parted ways. Donate it, maybe. But that was a worry for another time.

  “I left something in this shed. I would like you to go get it for me.”

  Samantha looked back over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at him. “What is it?”

  “You looking for another spanking?” He held back a grin when she blanched, schooling his features into a stern expression.

  He saw her hesitate, then start across the yard. He waited until she had opened the door that still smelled of fresh paint, waited for her startled inhalation of breath before he crossed to stand behind her.

  He was looking forward to her reaction.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Holy shit,” Samantha yelped. After a stunned pause she charged into the shed. She circled the room once, not sure what to look at first.

  “How did you know what to get?” With a stunned glance back at Elijah, Samantha’s eyes followed the flue that extended down from the ceiling and landed on a Kokomo pot furnace.

  A freaking Kokomo pot furnace. Those things were hellishly expensive. Add to that the top-of-the-line tools—the steel blowpipes, the pontils, the shaping tools. And the sacks of glass melt. And the colorants.

  And the soundproofing, she thought as she registered the intense heat in the room and the roar of the furnaces. She hadn’t heard even a hint of the deafening sound of the furnaces from outside.

  He had spent a fortune on a top-notch art studio for her. She just couldn’t believe it was because he wanted one of her sculptures that badly.

  “I did some research. Looking at you naked distracts the hell out of me, but I still want a sculpture from your hands.” Elijah’s voice was husky, and Samantha felt heat pool low in her belly when she looked over her shoulder and found him coming toward her.

  For once Samantha had no words, her mouth becoming dry as cotton as he approached. She could have told herself that it was because of the heat in the room, but she knew that was a lie.

  He blew her mind. And she knew that if she wanted to keep him, she would have to give him everything.

  “If you find that you need anything, let me know,” Elijah murmured as he dipped his head down to hover a frustrating whisper away from her lips.

  “I can think of something that I need right now,” Samantha said, casting her stare down the solid length of Elijah’s body. Even though he was clothed from neck to toe, the light from the furnace made his exposed skin seem like it was lit from within.

  In contrast, still dressed in nothing but his T-shirt, she felt more naked than ever.

  He brushed his lips over hers, just one light ghost of a kiss.

  Samantha closed her eyes, waited for the rest of the kiss that she was sure would follow. Her eyes flew open when she heard the door quietly close.

  “Argh!” She let out a muffled scream of pure frustration when she realized that, instead of moving his hands to her breasts, her behind, all the places she’d expected him to touch, Elijah had left her alone to play with her new toys.

  For a long moment she considered going after him, running her fingers over lips that were tight with need for the kiss that hadn’t come. She was still keyed up from their encounter by the elevator, desperate for some kind of release.

  But somehow she didn’t think Elijah would approve of her touching herself, not unless he had given her permission to. And the press of her own fingers between her legs would pale even in comparison to that light kiss.

  Then—there it was. That little spark, the little seed of an idea in her mind that suddenly sprouted into more.

  The need to create.

  Samantha turned to survey the room that would be her studio for the next month. It lacked the personal touches that she liked in a work space—the small fridge to hold bottles of water and cans of cola, the scarred table with her current favorite creations on it.

  But she could hardly complain about working with a Kokomo glass furnace.

  Trying to push Elijah to the back of her mind, Samantha was almost tentative in her approach, crossing until she stood in front of the beautiful instrument. She sighed with pleasure when she opened its door and saw the inferno within.

  “Hello, gorgeous.” Picking up a virgin blowpipe, Samantha inserted it into the furnace, delighted with the angel white gather of molten glass that she twirled onto the end of the pipe.

  Turning it carefully, both to keep the glass even and to learn the feel of the new pipe in her hands, Samantha carried it to the small bench, where she would breathe life into the thick liquid.

  She wanted to try to capture that whisper of a kiss in glass—the promise, the heat.

  The familiar thrill that always rocketed through her when she began to create was like fire in her blood. She took a moment to inhale, breathing in the smoky scent of the furnace, the familiar scent of hot glass.

  There was also one note in the fragrance that was pure Elijah, even in here, the place he’d intended to be her domain.

  “All right, here goes.” Though it was difficult, she tried to push thoughts of that man—who had so firmly lodged himself inside her—to the back of her mind.

  “Let’s make some magic.”

  • • •

  “What the hell is that?”

  Samantha tore her eyes away from the inside of the new kiln to find Elijah lounging in the doorfr
ame. She hadn’t heard him enter, and she was slightly disappointed to discover that he was still fully dressed, his lean, muscular frame hidden from her yearning stare.

  Knowing exactly what he was referring to, she closed the kiln door and smiled sweetly at him.

  He fixed her with a look, then crossed the room and laid his hand on top of hers on the kiln door. He gently lifted her fingers away from the handle. The touch made her acutely aware that he had showered and changed, while she was still wearing nothing but his baggy T-shirt.

  The heat of the room, though vented, had made her hair curl in wild strands around her face.

  She raked her fingers through those strands as Elijah opened the door to the kiln and looked at the sculpture she’d just set to cool.

  “You’ve been in here for hours,” he said, turning to look at her, resignation plain on his face.

  Samantha bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “A sculpture with this amount of . . . detail . . . takes time.” The corners of her lips quirked up with amusement.

  Elijah closed his eyes, looking almost as if he was praying. He squinted one eye open again, eyeing Samantha with exasperation.

  “It’s not exactly what I had in mind when I commissioned you.” Elijah studied the sculpture that sat on the shelf in the kiln, and to Samantha’s entertainment, the faintest hint of a blush stained his cheeks.

  “I worked on your sculpture for a long time, but it’s not quite coming together at the moment.” Samantha crossed the room to where the other sculpture—the one she’d wanted to make—sat. Similar in shape to the graduated green one still on display back in Mexico, it had a central column, a flowing fall of glass extending from the top. But it hadn’t captured the magic she’d been hoping for, so she’d set it aside. She would look at it with fresh eyes in a day or two.

  But she hadn’t been done playing with her new furnace or her new tools. So she’d gathered glass on her pontil, her only thought to make Elijah smile.

  “Samantha, did you make a nude sculpture of me?” Elijah turned away from the sculpture she’d made instead, raking his fingers through his hair, turning to stare at her with barely suppressible amusement—which had been her goal.

  Samantha moved back to the kiln and studied the clear glass statue with a sober expression. She hadn’t added color to it, so it could be scraped back into the melt to be reused, though she was actually quite pleased with it. Maybe she’d keep it as a memento of her time here—the glass melt in its raw form was cheap, and Elijah surely wouldn’t begrudge her the materials.

  Headless, legless, and armless, it nonetheless showed great attention to detail in the torso and pelvis areas. She snuck a sidelong glance at Elijah, saw that he hadn’t been able to hide his grin, and beamed with contentment.

  “Why would you assume it’s you?” she asked, tongue in cheek.

  Within moments, her mirth had been burned away in a great burst of passion as, with one smooth motion, Elijah had her hands pinned behind her back, her body pressed against the work table that stood in the middle of the room.

  “If it isn’t me, I’m going to be very jealous,” Elijah murmured, lowering his head and fastening his teeth directly over the pulse that beat beneath the line of her jaw.

  Samantha felt her knees liquefy.

  “Maybe I should check.” She worked her hands free, then slid her palm over the hard planes of Elijah’s chest, feathering her fingers down over his flat belly. “Make sure I got everything right.”

  “Far be it from me to stop you.”

  Samantha savored the hint of breathlessness that she heard in Elijah’s voice. When he laved a path down her neck with his tongue, she slid a finger into the waistband of his slacks, pulling him closer to her.

  “You’re so hot.” Elijah cupped his hands under her ass and lifted until she perched on the edge of the table. Fisting his hands in the neckline of her T-shirt, he pulled hard.

  “Elijah!” Samantha let out a screech as the cotton shirt ripped down the middle. She clamped down on his shoulders as he peeled the fabric down her shoulders until her arms came together behind her back.

  He twined the torn shirt around her wrists, secured it snugly, then pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled her hips to the edge of the table.

  “So hot, Samantha,” he said again, nipping his teeth into the cord of her neck.

  “Yeah.” Samantha panted against his neck, squirming as she struggled to find purchase on the slick metal table. With her hands tied behind her back, she could do nothing but trust that he wouldn’t let her fall. “Hot. It’s a sauna in here.”

  Sweat beaded on her forehead, slid down the curve of her spine. Beneath her lips, Elijah’s chest was damp, and she could smell the salt and musk of his sweat.

  Parting her thighs with a rough hand, Elijah moved between them, then tugged one-handed at the zipper of his slacks. Samantha caught a quick glimpse of plain black boxer briefs, and then he had pushed them down around his lean hips.

  As always, she sucked in a breath at the sight of his erect cock. She had never paid all that much attention to the male member before, but Elijah’s appealed to the artist in her—part of the reason she’d been led to create the silly nude of him.

  It was thick, and long, and the most delicious tawny color, springing up from its nest of dark golden curls. And when he took his erection in his hand and slid it through her slick folds, her sex spasmed and she arched her hips toward him.

  “Please.” The glass furnace roared in the background, and Samantha knew she would never again be able to hear its familiar roar without thinking of Elijah. “Please. Now!”

  “I think you need another punishment, little cat. Making a nude sculpture of your Dom is bratty behavior if I’ve ever seen it.” He slid the head of his cock back and forth between her lower lips, and Samantha’s breath shuddered out of her lungs.

  “Making it isn’t bratty—if I put it up for display at Veritas, that would be bratty.” Samantha gasped as Elijah’s fingers dug into her hip. Before she could catch her breath, he’d spun her around and pressed her down, bent over the table.

  “Don’t move.” Her head turned to the side, her cheek against the slick metal of the tabletop, she tracked Elijah’s movements, watched as he perused the tools he’d purchased for her to mold her glass, settling on a wide wooden paddle that she hadn’t yet had a chance to use.

  “I never much enjoyed dispensing punishment before I met you.” She could hear in his words that he wasn’t truly upset.

  She knew she was going to get the paddle pressed against her ass regardless. And crazy as it seemed to her, she wanted it.

  She wasn’t all that interested in exploring the sexual side of pain. But when Elijah was administering it, a bit of punishment added a delicious bite to her pleasure.

  “Yes. Please, Sir. Please punish me.”

  From the corner of her eye she saw a flicker of disbelief trickle through Elijah’s dominant stance. Then he grinned, the cold smile of a predator.

  “As the lady wishes,” he said smugly. She heard the wooden paddle whistle through the air before it slammed into the right side of her ass. A sound of choked pleasure escaped her lips.

  “Yes!” she cried out, feeling even more wetness surge between her legs. “Like that.”

  “This isn’t for your benefit, sub.” Elijah ran his hand over her burning skin before again swinging the paddle. This blow hit on the opposite ass cheek, spreading the heat and making her arousal nearly unbearable.

  She thought about sassing him back, caught up in the delightful exchange that was surging between them, but when the third blow landed on her skin she instead closed her eyes and sank into the sensation.

  Three more blows, one on each of her cheeks and one in the middle, and then Samantha heard the paddle land on the floor, tossed aside.

  “This is going to sting,” Elijah warned before spinning her, lifting her until she lay back on the table, her ass perched on t
he edge.

  “Holy shit!” Samantha couldn’t hold back the yelp as the slick metal of the tabletop pressed against the inferno of her skin that she knew would be crimson from the kiss of his paddle. The edge of the table dug into the tender flesh, its touch a sharp bite, and she squirmed as a hint of discomfort threaded its way through the pleasure. The discomfort faded away in the onslaught of sensations as Elijah spread her legs roughly with one hand and positioned his erection at her entrance. The thick head of his cock slowly pushed past her folds, sinking into her just one delicious inch.

  “Fuck!” Elijah cursed and pulled out. Samantha groaned and dug her fingernails into her slick palms.

  “No. No, don’t stop.” Samantha panted, trying to close the distance between them as Elijah fumbled in his pocket.

  “Condom. Almost forgot. Shit.” Triumphantly Elijah removed a square foil packet. Securing it in his teeth, he ripped off an edge and withdrew the tube of latex.

  “Don’t move.” Elijah set Samantha upright, then quickly smoothed the condom over his erect cock. Once it was securely in place, he grabbed her hip with one hand, splayed the other between her shoulder blades, and thrust himself inside her.

  “Oh my God!” Samantha had been wet since Elijah had pushed her against the table, but she still wasn’t quite prepared for the hardness as he seated himself inside her. She hissed at the sting of pleasure/pain as her flesh stretched to accommodate him.

  “I can’t be gentle. Not this time, Samantha.” Elijah placed a hand on her cheek, turned her with a gentle touch until she was looking at him. She saw the same hunger, the same need to possess that she felt, reflected there in the navy depths.

  “I don’t want you to be.” Her words were a breathy moan as he slid his hands down her body to grip her hips. His fingers dug into her flesh, and sparks of excitement radiated out from the bites of pain.

  Then he pressed forward, the head of his cock nudging against her womb, and Samantha felt everything on her mind begin to fade.

  Everything besides Elijah.