by Blake, Lexi
She nodded and rolled to her side. She was such a hard case. In order to get her to open even the slightest bit, he damn near had to bleed for her, and yet he shrugged out of his shirt. His chest bore the scars of his youth. She’d likely seen them before, but he hadn’t pointed them out, hadn’t told her the stories.
He pointed to a long, snake-like scar that ran from his left side collarbone to almost touch his sternum. “Not exactly pretty.”
She got to her knees, her eyes widening. God, when she looked at him with that little bit of wonder in her eyes, his cock got rock hard. No woman had ever looked at him the way Chelsea did. She wasn’t lusting after his money or the fame that came with being royal. She just wanted what he could give her. “Can I touch it?”
It was going to be a frustrating night. “Yes.”
She let her fingertips trace the scar. “Where did you get it?”
“I was fifteen and working for the summer at my uncle’s ranch. A calf got stuck in a fence and then I took his place.”
“What? What the hell were you doing with a cow?”
It was good to know he could still surprise her. “A calf, love. I wouldn’t have been able to get a full-size cow out. Unfortunately, I got stuck and panicked a bit. The barb tore its way across my chest. My uncle’s foreman sewed me up. It was also the first time I tried rotgut whiskey. I woke up with a raging hangover, this scar, and my aunt screaming at my uncle.”
“Uhm, your uncle is a billionaire. He couldn’t take you to the doctor?”
Her hands on his skin felt so fucking good. “Apparently that’s not the cowboy way.” He couldn’t help but grin. “I didn’t mind. I just wanted to fit in. I liked riding herd. I understood it. My mother was an equestrian champion in her youth, but I always preferred western tack. Working a horse like that should mean something beyond showing off for a ribbon. There’s purpose in riding herd.”
So much of his life had been for show, but those summers in Texas held meaning.
“What about this one?” Her fingers moved to a place just above the waist of his slacks. She had to be able to see just how hard his cock was, but she stared at a nasty puncture scar above his hip bone.
“RAF training. I was in a helicopter accident. Luckily I wasn’t the one flying.” It had been bad. High winds had sent the chopper into a tailspin and they had hit the ground, bouncing several times before stopping. Everyone had survived, but he’d broken his arm in two places, broken two ribs and lost a small portion of his liver. Apparently that grew back. Lucky for him.
“You can fly just about anything, can’t you?” She brushed against the scar, staring at it like it was a piece of art she was studying. She seemed to have made a study of him.
“Yes. I flew Tornados mostly.” Panavia Tornados, a sleek, styled fighter jet. Sometimes he missed flying. It was something he’d been bloody good at. “But I also can fly choppers and small aircraft. I quite like flying. I’ve been trying to talk Tag into getting a company jet.”
“He’s a cheap bastard.” She smiled a little. “That’s two whole scars, Weston. Not exactly impressive to a girl like me.”
“The rest are lower. Do you want to see them?” He took a long, steadying breath.
Chelsea stood. She was obviously awkward without a shirt, and her skin had flushed as though she’d finally remembered where she was. For a second, he was sure he’d lost her and that she’d go back and find her shirt and they would be at another impasse. Then she slowly began pushing the pants off her hips. She shimmied out of the PJ pants and stood in front of him wearing nothing but a pair of panties that a granny likely would throw aside as far too distasteful.
She grimaced a little. “Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking I’d be showing off the undies today.”
“Chelsea, love, those are about a size too big and the waistband is coming off.” It was so unsexy and yet he found it more charming than the woman who had shipped herself to him wearing nothing but a pair of Louboutins and a cream-colored La Perla thong. He wasn’t about to have Chelsea escorted out the way he had that one.
She frowned. “I hadn’t done laundry. The asshole assassins didn’t give a crap that I’d just gotten back from Europe. Though you should know I don’t have a lot of pretty things. I don’t really need them.”
“No, you don’t.”
She smiled. “Good. I like to be comfortable.”
“No, love. Again, you didn’t read the contract. No panties at all for you. That should be deeply comfortable and you don’t have to worry about laundering them.” He loved the fact that she was now standing with him mostly naked and she’d obviously forgotten to be self-conscious. All he had to do was piss her off, and he was very good at doing that.
“You can’t take my panties.” Her hand went down as though to protect that wretched piece of fabric.
“I can make you give them to me.”
She shook her head but there had been no way to miss the way she shuddered. It wasn’t in distaste. “I don’t think so, Weston.”
“Ah, a challenge. I like a challenge.” Ever so slowly, so there was no way for her to be startled by the move, he reached out and cupped her breasts again. They were small but beautifully formed, and fit perfectly in his hands. Her nipples peaked again, elongating, and he couldn’t help but fall to his knees in front of her. “I’ll get them off you. I swear it, and you’ll be the one to hand them over to me because you’re in control. You know that, right?”
Her voice came out in a breathy puff. “I’ve heard the whole Dom speech. The sub is always in control. Yeah, sure.”
He kissed her nipple. She would look so gorgeous in clamps. He really had to rethink his go bag. It contained burner phones, cash, alternate identification but no nipple clamps, and that seemed like a mistake. Of course he should always have a pair of clamps for her pretty tits. “You’re in control, Chelsea. And all you have to say tonight is no. One no and I’ll stop and we’ll sleep. I won’t ever force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Except not wear proper underwear.”
“I want access to my sub’s pussy.” He could smell her arousal. That sweet, spicy feminine scent hit his nose and it smelled a little like victory.
Her fingers sank into his hair, holding him to her breast, though he had no intention of leaving it. “I thought I wasn’t getting any of that.”
He circled her nipple with his tongue, palming the other breast. “Any cock? No. Not until I have what I want. I have standards, too, you know.”
“Yes, I can plainly see that. It must have been hard to turn down all those women who used to throw themselves at you.”
He tipped his face up to look at her. “It wasn’t hard, because they didn’t really want me. They wanted money or to be in the tabloids or access to my brother. It was easy to turn them away.”
Her expression softened and she smoothed back his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound so…I don’t judge. I didn’t realize. It sounds like a fabulous life, but if no one really sees you, I guess that would kind of suck.”
Ah, the wisdom of Chelsea Dennis. And yet she’d hit the nail on the head. “I need you to see me, Chelsea. I want to see you. We have a lot in common.”
She sighed a little. “No, we don’t, but I don’t really care anymore.”
She was wrong, but he didn’t want to waste time schooling her. It was past late and they had to move in a few hours. And he really wanted to get those nasty knickers off her.
He tongued her nipples, moving back and forth, giving her stronger suction with each pass. She could handle a good deal of pain, but she’d only ever been worked over in a clinical fashion. The Doms she’d worked with—he wouldn’t use the word play—had used floggers to take her to subspace. There was never the promise of anything sexual for Chelsea. She seemed to use BDSM as an alternative to pain medication when her legs hurt. He wanted to show her it could be so much more. He licked her nipple and then gave her a little bite.
She
gasped, but her hands tugged at his hair to draw him in, not pull him off. That was where he wanted her to go.
He continued the nipple play even as he let his hands move lower to cup her ass. That was a gorgeous backside. Full and round, he dreamed of spanking her, of getting her pink and hot and ready to fuck.
He pulled away and was rewarded with a little moan that sounded like disappointment. “Lie down on the bed. I checked it. It seems clean. The sheets smell like fabric softener. On your belly.”
Her eyes flared. “What?”
He softened his tone. “I want to touch you. I want to inspect you. Have I done anything that brought you pain?”
She shook her head.
“Then obey me. If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop.”
She turned away from him and crawled on top of the bed, giving him a delicious view of her backside.
And her legs.
“God, you’ve got a beautiful arse.”
“I don’t know how you can think that word is sexy.” At least she was giggling.
He put a hand on her back, loving the silky feel of her skin. “I should be more American? Ass is sexier? I go back and forth. I can use whichever you prefer. I’ve spent enough time in the States to use the lingo.”
It bothered his parents that he sounded so very American much of the time. He was self-aware enough to know he’d likely done it to annoy them. And to feel closer to his cousins.
“It’s not about the word. I don’t know that a bottom is sexy at all, Simon. I mean, we sit on it. Sure Charlotte always talks about how hot Ian’s is, but Ian is a giant walking ass so I guess if she didn’t like them she wouldn’t have married one.”
She had the most sarcastic view of the world. “Do you know what I’ll do to your…ass?”
“Spank it?” The question had a little tremble to it.
He let his hand run down to the small of her back. “That and so much more. I’ll play with it. I’ll rim your little hole with my fingers to make sure you can one day take my cock there.”
“We should talk about that,” she started.
He gave that glorious piece of flesh he obsessed over a nice hard smack. “I’m not doing it tonight. I am going to do something else.” He slid his hand to her thigh. He’d noticed the tightness in her eyes. She could use a session, but again, his go bag was floggerless—another oversight. He had to take care of her in a different manner. He’d studied up on her type of injury. She was a stubborn girl and neglected her body, preferring to use that big brain of hers. She needed a good rubdown, but likely found it far too intimate.
If there was one thing he was going to do, it was give her what she needed.
He slid his hand over her hamstrings, giving her firm pressure as he stroked down her leg.
She squirmed a little. “Hey.”
He gave her another smack. “Hush unless you want me to stop.”
A groan shuddered through her body as he squeezed her calf. “What are you doing, Weston?”
When she was trying to distance, she always called him Weston. He wanted her purring his Christian name before the night was through. “You’re in pain. I’m trying to make sure you can walk in the morning.”
“Oh, oh. I shouldn’t let you, but do that again.”
Yes, that was what he wanted. He wanted her purring. He ran his thumb over a tight muscle, finding the pressure point and pressing down. She groaned again, but after a moment the knot relaxed and he moved on to the next one.
She wasn’t leggy like her sister. Charlotte was tall, but Chelsea was more average height. Her legs weren’t long, but he liked being bigger than her. He could take her entire calf and engulf it in his two hands. She seemed to relax further every time he did it. Over and over he rubbed, finding the knots and working them out. He slid her socks off and rubbed her feet.
“God, Simon. That feels so good.”
“Aftercare. Or in this case simply care. It’s what I always wanted to give you.” The one time he’d been her chosen Dom, she’d called for her sister after he was done. She hadn’t known he’d carefully prepped an aftercare room. He’d borrowed an aromatherapy machine and poured lavender oil in it because it was supposed to be relaxing. He’d made sure the sheets on the massage table had been warmed and he’d stupidly laid out a single, perfect, chosen-by-hand rose. He’d made a complete idiot of himself.
And she’d called for Charlotte.
“Simon, I’m sorry about that day. I was…scared. I don’t know. You want more than I can possibly give you.” She sighed as he pressed his thumb into the arch of her foot.
He wanted everything from her, but he had to be patient. “We’ll take it slow. Are you ready to give me your knickers?”
“No.”
He would have to try harder.
“You don’t think they’re ugly?” Chelsea asked as his hand moved across the longest of her scars.
This was why she’d always held him back. He knew it, but it was ridiculous. There was nothing ugly about her body. She just had a few scars and so did he. “I think you have beautiful legs, Chelsea. There’s nothing at all wrong with you.”
He straddled her and pushed her hair out of the way so he could get to the nape of her neck. He put his mouth there, nipping and kissing and licking his way down her spine. He loved the way she shivered when he licked the back of her knees. When he’d given her back the full treatment, he flipped her over.
He went straight for her neck, burying his face there while he let his hand find its way down to her pussy. He slid his fingers under the band of her knickers and right across her clitoris.
Chelsea nearly sat straight up.
He eased her back down, his mouth playing at hers. “You like that?”
“Oh my god.” She shook slightly and her eyes flared every time he circled her clit.
“Do you know how much better it would feel if it was my mouth sucking at your clit? I want to taste you, Chelsea. I want to shove my tongue up your cunt and suck down all that glorious juice it’s making for me. Do you want me to kiss and lick and suck at your pussy?”
“I don’t…god, I can’t think…that feels so good.”
He pulled his hand away. “I told you what I wanted. Are you going to give it to me or should I turn over and go to sleep?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Damn it all. He’d overplayed his hand and he couldn’t go back now. He should have gotten her hotter, tried harder.
If he went back on his word, he would never be her Dom. He would always be the boy she could do whatever she wanted with and that wasn’t what she needed.
“All right then.” He rolled off her and got to his feet. “Go to sleep, Chelsea. I’ll wake you when it’s time to move.”
He’d gambled and lost. He turned away and walked back to the small, dilapidated desk. He would sit and watch over her since that seemed to be all she would allow him to do.
It was going to be a long night.
* * * *
When had he become such a drama queen? She’d hesitated for a half a second and he’d gotten up. And she was the martyr? He was turned away from her, his hands on his hips. His head was down and he was breathing heavily.
She had two choices. She could do exactly what he said and turn over and pretend nothing at all had happened and maybe they would be on a better footing in the morning, or she could get him to do that thing he’d said he would do to her girl parts. That thing had felt amazing when he’d done it with his thumb. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like if it was his tongue touching her there.
Of course it could be a truly awful experience. What if she tasted horrible? She’d showered and done all the hygienic things a girl should do. Hell, she’d even shaved, not because she thought some gorgeous British god of a man might want to inspect her lady bits, but because she hated all that hair. At least she was fairly certain she was clean down there, except that she was ridiculously wet, but that kind of seemed to b
e the point of the exercise.
A weird Venn diagram formed in her head. In the A bubble was her pride and in the B was her curiosity. She quickly placed peace of mind and safety in A and orgasm in B. Yep, she was seriously curious about that orgasm. Then there was that place where the bubbles overlapped. Her knickers. She could keep them and her pride or she could give them up and potentially get an orgasm. That was kind of wrong. She would be pretty damn proud if she actually had one, right? It wasn’t like this was a game and if she gave in to the Dom she lost. She got a potential orgasm and proof positive that her parts worked like other women’s. Circle B won.
She sat up. Decision made.
And she was so buying new undies. She bought all her clothes off the Internet and half the time they didn’t fit. She needed an upgrade from underwear she could buy in a pack of nine and T-shirts with snarky sayings.
She slipped out of the undies and held them in her hand. She would rather toss them to the side, but he’d been specific. She had to give them to him like a massive granny panty gift. Doms were all about the specifics.
“Simon.” She hated standing around naked, but he’d been serious about that, too. And actually it felt kind of nice to not cover up. He hadn’t vomited at the sight of her scars. He’d just rubbed her and made her feel really good. And he had some pretty nasty shit on his hot bod. She wanted to kiss and lick his scars, and what the hell was up with that?
“Go to sleep, Chelsea. I’ll turn the light off in a moment.”
It was time for her to soothe her Dom and give him sweet words and coax him back to bed. “Do you want the underwear or not?”
Yeah, she was probably never going to be that girl.
He turned on her and she was rewarded with the way his baby blues flared. He grabbed the panties out of her hand. “I thought you were done for the night.”
She felt herself flush under his stare. “I need time to think every now and then. I just had to make the decision. I decided I want you to lick me because it seems like a good thing to try.”