When she lifted her gaze to him, his brown eyes were as attentive as ever. She didn’t see anger, hurt or anything she’d feared. “Do you stop being a woman if you wear pants instead of a skirt?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Exactly. You enjoy wearing both, right?”
She nodded. His warm look loosened the band around her chest. “I am a sexual Dominant, yes,” he said. “I’m also a man who is developing strong feelings for you, and those feelings aren’t contained in one box. I wasn’t going to have sex with you tonight, because I don’t want you keeping us in that one box, avoiding the things that a fully fleshed-out relationship entails. You’ve just told me you don’t want to avoid that.”
“So?” A different kind of feeling took hold of her as a wicked grin crossed his face.
“So that means all bets are off.”
He caught her arm, dipped beneath it and slung her over his shoulder as she laughed outright, though that reaction was quickly turned into something else as he took her to the stairs, but not up to the bedroom. Instead he put her down on the stairs, turned her over onto her knees and covered her with his body, pulling up the skirt so he had one thigh inserted firmly between her legs. He put the other arm across her chest, held her there down beneath him as he put his mouth to her throat and bit. She moaned as he pushed her back against that thigh, working her against it.
Yes, he could make love to her as Logan. But Logan, with or without the Master honorific, was a take-charge, overwhelming alpha lover, and he proved it now by making her utterly helpless to anything he desired in a matter of seconds. Reaching beneath her, he unzipped the skirt, pulled it off her hips, stripping her down to her thong. She’d borrowed one of his hardware store baby-doll tees to replace the one he’d ripped off of her, and now he worked his way beneath it, unhooking her bra.
“Take it off. Leave the shirt on.”
She worked the straps off through the sleeves. When she remembered what she’d told Troy during their first session, that she thought Logan’s preferred lingerie on a woman would be a T-shirt and thong, she would have smiled, if other things weren’t taking precedence.
Taking the bra from her, he set it aside. His hand on her back told her she was right where he wanted her as he backed down a couple steps. It was the perfect position to grip her thighs, spread them wider and tease her cunt through the crotch of the thong—with his heated mouth.
She clawed the carpet on the stairs, moaning, driven wild by the way he suckled her clit, traced her labia with the firm pressure of his tongue, rubbed his face in her scent, marking himself with it. She pushed her hips up against him, arching her back, making it clear she was his for the taking in the way she expected female animals had done since the beginning of time. She was wild, suffused with the pleasure of the moment. No fear or worries.
He pulled her panties to her knees and then she heard him opening his jeans. She could barely breathe. When he dropped the belt on the stairs next to her, her fingers curled over the strap, felt the bite of the buckle. His chest pressed into her shoulder blades, his breath at her ear.
“I’ll have you in your bed tonight, too. But I can’t wait. I want you here first.”
To be wanted, desired so keenly he wouldn’t deny himself . . . it was a gift she couldn’t describe, a balm on every rejection that had ever battered her self-esteem into nothingness. “Can you do it . . . without the condom?”
His arm cinched around her waist, so her bare ass was against his groin, still frustratingly behind fabric, though the jeans were open. Rubbing herself against the ridged friction of his glans, she made needy noises he answered with a growl.
“I don’t know, Madison. Can I?”
He was saying he was safe. He was asking her the same, trusting her to be truthful with him. She doubted anyone short of God could lie to Logan Scott when he asked them a direct question.
“Yes.” She was protected from pregnancy, and the last man had been Leroy, well over two years and two annual physicals ago. “Please.”
He slid one finger along her wrist. “Madison, look down at your hands.”
It was hard to focus on anything beyond the throbbing need between her legs, but she obeyed. She saw she’d twisted his belt around her wrists, clasping the ends in her hands so it was as if she’d bound herself. When he’d stripped himself of the belt, her mind had been seized with the image of him binding her wrists with it, hooking it to the banister, holding her there as he fucked her mercilessly on the stairs. She’d acted on her own desires to see it happen, all within the turbulent heat of her subconscious.
“It’s not my switch you need to worry about turning off.” He gave a dangerous chuckle, his hand closing over her wrists, tightening the hold of the belt and making her heart beat faster. Holding her like that with the one hand, he adjusted his clothes out of the way with the other and put his cock against her slick lips. “Push yourself back against me, Madison. I want to feel you impale yourself on my cock, and I want you to do it slow.”
Easier said than done. All she wanted was to slam back into him, alleviate this aching need but, by following his orders, that need grew to a greater intensity that shuddered through her with every inch she gained. When she was finally seated on him, her fingers were trembling and those delicate slick tissues were spasming, on the cusp of climax. She whimpered again as he reached beneath her with both hands, cradled her breasts. She arched, her hard nipples stabbing into his palms. “You stay still,” he ordered. “Not a single move until I command it.”
With him tweaking her nipples, that was almost impossible, her hips jerking. She put her head down, trying to freeze her muscles, keep herself from reacting, but he made her lift it again, staying open to everything he did to her. Until her self-restraint was shattered, her hips grinding against his, body sinuously moving with the manipulation of his hands, a helpless dance.
“Logan . . .”
He pushed deeper into her, and his heavy testicle sac caressed her clit. She put her face down on the carpet again and this time he was rougher about it, tangling his fist in her hair to yank her head back up. He began to thrust in earnest, the other hand moving to her hip to hold her steady as he pumped into her. His cock stretched her, plowed deep, and she was crying out, near screaming at the pleasure of it.
Just when she thought he was about to go over himself, he brought them to an abrupt halt. Before she could wail a protest, he’d pulled out of her. Swinging her up into his arms, he carried her up the stairs, the belt still wound around her wrists. In her bedroom, he crossed the room, put her down on her back and removed the belt, dropping it to the floor with a clink of metal.
Her gaze clung to him as he straightened and shed all of his clothes. She wished he’d turned on the light so she could devour with her eyes every curve and plane, every muscled ridge, the hard, stiff cock curving up over his testicles, but she shared and savored his urgency, wanting to feel even more than she wanted to see.
Kneeling on the bed, he stripped off her T-shirt and thong. Holding her gaze still, he lay down upon her, body to body, flush against each other with nothing between but the emotions that saturated the air. She closed her eyes, absorbing the heat and strength of him, his weight pressing her into her mattress, his big body spreading her thighs as his hands guided her legs up and around his hips.
A gasp and moan together broke from her lips as he slid back into her. Her hips undulated, accommodating his size and length again, taking him all the way. She made a different noise then, a quiet, feminine note of question and need both. Bracing his elbows on the outside of her shoulders, he cradled her face in his hands.
“Put your hands on my arms, Madison. Hold on to me. Look in my face and know it’s about way the hell more than restraints or commands.”
She could barely think at this point, but she found some part of her able to latch on to the words as if they were the most im
portant ones ever spoken to her, even as she wasn’t in a frame of mind to analyze them. She jumped from rationality to faith in his arms, and knew no fear. At least not in this moment.
She lifted her chin as he stroked deep inside of her, bent to touch his lips to the line of her jaw. Sighing against his flesh, she gripped his incredible biceps. “I love the way you feel.”
“Same goes.”
The rhythm he set had her rising up to meet him, her teeth biting her lip, her legs locking over his hips, feeling the flex of his ass under her calves, the ripple of his thigh muscles under her ankles hooked over them. The friction of his chest hair against her nipples was just one searing pleasure among many. That feeling between her legs was growing even more concentrated, and she breathed his name against his skin, rearing up to bite his chest. One hand cupped her head, held her there. He braced their weights with one arm, increased the piston of his strokes. So close, so very close . . .
He plunged in deep, making her cry out, but then he stopped there, lodged to the hilt, and spoke against her hair. “Do you love me, Madison?”
He released his hold on her head, lowered it back to the pillow so that she saw him through the gray darkness of her bedroom, illumination provided by the light they’d left on over the hallway steps. She’d given up anticipating anything this man would say to her or ask of her, and this was no exception.
“I want to. I want you to love me . . . back.”
His eyes softened then. He held them both on that cusp as her nails raked his shoulders, her hips working against his in tiny, insistent movements, but he pushed down, pinning them. “Ssshh. Be still, love. Be still. Calm down for me.”
She stared at him, panting, but gradually, painstakingly, things slowed down, until it seemed they were balanced on some still point in the universe, where they had stopped as everything else passed around them. He waited until he saw her reach that still point with him.
“I will, Madison. I do. You understand me?”
She nodded. Tears trickled over her cheeks, probably baptizing his thumbs. “I want to love you, too, Logan. Really love you. My choice. I want to get there.”
“Go over for me,” he whispered. “Let me see it happen. Come for me, Madison.”
This was the easiest thing of all, given that the stroke of his cock, his skill in rousing her beyond anything she’d ever experienced, took the choice out of her hands. She climaxed, cunt spasming over him, nails biting into his flesh, her body straining up in that crazed rigor during which the human body could do anything. He put his mouth on her sternum, right between her breasts, holding it there, continuing to pump into her body, work her to the full measure of her release.
Only when she was starting to come down did he speed up, seek his own finish. She held on for the ride, loving the feel of his body shuddering against hers, the male grunts of release and the heat of him searing her inside. She clung to him for all she was worth, tilting up her hips to give him back as much pleasure as he gave her. Though she wasn’t sure that was possible, she would do her best to try.
When he at last stopped, brought them both to earth, he lowered himself so his weight held her down in a pleasurable way, then he propped some of it on an elbow, keeping his jaw against her temple. She held him to her, all her limbs still wound around him. It was perfection. If only the moment never had to stop.
But Logan was the type of man who kept a wheel turning. He wouldn’t let her stop the ride for fear it would go in the wrong direction. And the next stop was going to be one of her deepest fantasies. The auction, the soldier . . .
He’d been helping her explore her submission fantasies all along, but with every step along the way, he’d also somehow kept the focus on the reality of their relationship as well. Like tonight. He would deliver on her fantasy, like a candy man delivering the most delicious chocolate, but what happened after?
“Stop thinking,” he rumbled against her. “Just sleep with me. Find good dreams.”
Leave it to him to order a woman to have good dreams. Her smile was a painful one, though. Did he understand how afraid she was of the other shoe dropping? How did a vessel that had been broken over and over withstand something as strong as his will? She knew her heart was safer on the shelf, not subjected to any undue stress on those cracks, but she hadn’t yet been able to deny him.
As he turned them and tucked her against his body, she clasped his forearm, pressed under her breasts. Tightening her hold on him was a reflex, as natural as breathing. She sighed deeply, burrowed into him and prepared for sleep, making a quiet noise as he kissed her neck.
Closing her eyes, she hoped she’d find the best kind of dream in slumber. The one that would still be there when she woke up.
Read on for a special preview of the scorching final novella in Joey W. Hill’s tantalizing Naughty Bits series
THE HIGHEST BID
Available July 2014 from InterMix
As the door to Naughty Bits opened, Gloria Estefan’s “Wrapped” started up on the music system, the sultry intro earning a startled look from the woman who’d entered.
“It’s like having your own theme music, announcing your arrival. Pretty cool, right?” Madison gave her newest customer a smile. She did it from a kneeling position, because she was working on her newest display. The antique lingerie chest, a piece she’d picked up cheap at a consignment store and re-finished with Logan’s help, was perfect to display an array of lace panties, bras and corsets, draped over the half-opened drawers and hung on the knobs.
The woman offered her a tentative smile. She was middle-aged, with attractive auburn tinted hair and brown eyes. Her manicured nails and tailored clothing weren’t polished enough to suggest executive management, but likely the strata that kept the wheels running in the office. Perhaps executive assistant. The type of person who would ask for what she needed, when she needed it.
It gave Madison a fleeting thought of herself, working as an investment manager all those years, polished up and always looking the same outside, no matter what might be brewing beneath the surface.
“If you need help with anything, just holler,” Madison said, holding eye contact to tell the woman she meant it, not just a store employee offering a rote response to a customer.
The woman nodded. “Do you have . . . costumes?”
“We do.” Giving a demi-cup bra one more quick adjustment, Madison rose to her feet. “A variety of them. Which one are you planning to use to dazzle your lover?”
“Oh . . .” The customer chuckled. “Ah, maid?”
“A classic.” Madison took her to the rack on the wall and showed her a traditional black-and-white outfit, complete with frilly apron and very low-cut blouse, matched by the high cut of the miniskirt. As the woman fingered the fabric, her expression reminded Madison of the disastrous times she’d sought out lingerie to bandage her own failing relationships. The look in the woman’s eyes wasn’t a true mesh with the desires she was harboring. Confirming it, she spoke.
“I’m not sure. I really don’t know if he’d even like this sort of thing.”
“Do you like the idea?”
“Maybe. I just remember years ago when we saw a movie that had a sexy maid in it, and how he liked that. Maybe I’m being foolish. It seems to take more to get him interested these days since he turned fifty, and I thought maybe something . . .”
What can I do to get him to pay attention again? To look at me the way he did at first? It was as clear as if she’d said it aloud, but the silence said it was too painful to be voiced.
Not more than a couple months ago, tangled up in her own baggage, Madison would have been unable to help, beyond offering the woman the number to a good divorce attorney. Since then, she’d connected with her own desires, thanks to Logan’s direction. As such, Madison could step back and look at the situation from the woman’s perspective, sympathizing with it, but not get
ting it confused with her own. This woman was dealing with middle age libido issues with her husband. A simple thing that wasn’t so simple when dealing with the heart. “Would you mind telling me your name?”
“Nancy.”
“Nancy. I’m Madison. And if you don’t mind a couple suggestions, I think you may be focusing on the wrong person here. There’s a good kind of selfishness, the kind that helps everyone involved. We have to be able to turn ourselves on before we can turn on a lover. As obtuse as guys can be, nothing centers their radar like a woman who’s getting hot and bothered. It also sounds to me like rather than taking him on a wild rapids ride, you need to take him to a secluded lagoon.”
At Nancy’s blank look, Madison drew her to the bookshelf. “Does he like to read?”
“He’ll spend a whole day with a book on the weekends and he reads at bedtime every night. He’s even read my romances when he has nothing else.” Nancy gave a little laugh. “Wasn’t self-conscious about it at all. Said he liked a couple of the historical ones.”
“Wonderful. Who gets home from work first?”
Nancy shrugged. “He does, usually.”
“Okay. How would you feel if you came home from work and he met you at the door, naked and ready to go at it like rabbits?”
Nancy put her hand over her mouth, stifling a surprised giggle. Then, seeing Madison wanted her to consider the question, she did, and whatever went through her mind sobered her. “Well, I expect I’d feel a little pressured. I mean, I’d be glad he was interested, but—”
Madison waved a hand, accepting that. “Of course you’d feel pressured. My point is that maybe that’s his problem. When we’re in our twenties or, God help us, our teens, it’s all about our hormones. At fifty, it’s about his boss, about the job stresses, the jerk who cuts him off in traffic on the way home. Whether there will be enough money for the kids’ college, retirement, the vacation you’ve both always wanted to take to Europe. You have to help him change gears when he comes home.”
Naughty Bits Part III: Bound to Please Page 11