“You know I loved the blonde,” he murmured as his fingers played through the curls at the ends, “but your natural brown with the glimmers of gold is stunning.”
She turned in his arms, her hands coming up to sift through his own dark hair. “It’s not fair. I have to pay $120 at the salon for highlights, while your red ones are natural.”
“My hair is not red. Gingers are not badass or cool.”
“That’s not true.”
“Name one.”
Wow. She wasn’t expecting a quiz. Sean was not vain in any sense of the word, but oddly, in this he was sensitive. She scrambled for a good example. “Uh… James Cagney. He always played a tough guy or a gangster.”
“Name one who hasn’t been dead for thirty years.”
“Chuck Norris?” She pulled him out of the air. He was kind of a strawberry blond, right?
“Not a redhead. Try again.” He paused, a dark brow arched in challenge. After a moment, he grunted. “Opie and Howdy Doody most often come to mind, neither of which were badasses. Case closed.”
“Okay, Lucky. Your hair is beautiful badass brown.” Silently, she considered it more on the dark auburn side than simply brown, a deep and lustrous reddish-brown that she liked a lot. Smiling to herself, she said nothing more as her eyes swept over the fiery strands.
“Minx, I know that look. You’re humoring me and had better stop before I send you off to work with a hot bottom.”
“Promise?”
“Brave words while I have a hairbrush in my hands, nightingale.” His hands found her waist and spun her around. Before she could protest, his fingers curved into the waistband of her scrubs. Hooking her panties as he went, they were yanked smartly down to rest right above her knees. Each bare cheek received a stinging swat before the brush clattered on the dresser.
“It wasn’t a dare, I was only teasing.”
His hand at her bare hip slid around front and cupped her pussy, fingers delving inside. She knew he’d find her wet, a near constant state around her big, sexy dominant man. As his other hand moved under her shirt and cupped a breast, she leaned back against his chest, thrusting her hips forward and arching into his deft fingers. “Babe, I want to, but I’m already running behind.”
His lips opened wide on her neck as he suckled, latching onto her tender skin with his teeth. “I don’t give a fuck,” he growled. “Spread for me.”
She did without question easily forgetting her obligation as two fingers speared into her wet channel and began gliding in and out.
“I’ll send you off with a burning behind and something else to remind you who you belong to. It will serve as an excellent reminder while you’re taking care of all those horny, pussy starved soldiers who keep gawking at you in your tight scrubs, the whole time imagining this incredible ass while they jerk off under the covers.”
She gasped; he wasn’t usually so crude. “They do not. Besides, I work in an outpatient clinic. No one is jerking off.”
He withdrew his fingers and gave her pussy a smart slap with his wet fingers, stimulating her clit further. She gushed in response.
“So maybe they wait until they get to their car, or home to their apartment, or they do it when they’re lying in their lonely bed at night, but they do. I know because I was one of them once.” He stripped her pants and panties down to her ankles. Standing close, she felt him open his fly. As his hardness sprang forth, the head grazed her thigh, leaving a trail of wetness. Before she could think, or breathe in and out for one cycle, he spread her cheeks with his thumbs and was inside her. Mara’s hands pressed against the vanity top as his momentum shifted her forward. Her rapid breath steamed up the mirror a mere inch from her lips as with one hand on her shoulder to keep her from slamming into the glass, he fucked her.
As was often the case with a spontaneous quickie, they came together in an explosive frenzy of passion. Most times Sean initiated it. On occasion, Mara would unzip him and start the play. A few times, she’d started something, taking him unaware in a rather inappropriate place, earning a correction afterwards. It was half-hearted on his part because he may have been surprised by her actions, but was never disappointed in the outcome. Always it was hot, volatile and mutually satisfying.
Tonight, she was easily swept away, with only a token protest, because she needed him. Now, more than ever with the night she had ahead of her. That fleeting thought, interrupted the passion momentarily and she tried to push it aside. Ever perceptive, Sean noticed immediately and slowed his harried pumping.
“Mara? What’s wrong?”
“The counter is hurting my hip.” It wasn’t a lie. The sharp edge was digging into her skin. Ordinarily she would have let it pass, the nominal discomfort outshone by the incomparable pleasure of having him inside her. Not tonight, however.
He pulled her up immediately and started back at it. “Better?” he asked against her ear as his teeth nipped gently. His hand swept down to her pussy, spreading her lips and manipulating her clit expertly to compensate for the pain and interruption in rhythm.
“Yes, so much better,” she sighed, adding, “I love you, Sean.” Watching one another in the mirror, he continued to drive up into her. She knew he saw the mist of tears before she lowered her lashes.
“I love you too, baby.” Observing her closely, he increased the stimulus on her clit and the pounding force in her pussy. In moments, she came apart in his arms.
Nearing his own orgasm, Sean gave up the sexy grunts she loved that also signaled he was close. A husky groan rolled from deep in his chest as he came with a warm splash inside her, never taking his eyes off her face in the glass.
After a moment, he kissed her neck telling her to stay put. Stopping briefly by the linen closet, he disappeared into the bathroom and the water ran in the sink. When he returned, she was leaning limp and sated on the counter top. Quickly, but thoroughly, he cleansed her of the mixture of their juices.
Righting her pants and panties, he pulled her up in front of the mirror. His hands in her hair, he finger combed it and gathered it high in back, efficiently twisting the ponytail holder into place. Gripping the long skein of her hair, he tugged her head back until all she could see was his perceptive face.
“Something is bothering you,” he observed, not a question, a statement of fact.
“No, I—”
His hand tightened in her hair. “Don’t. I know you better than I know myself. You’re troubled about something.”
“It’s nothing.” Another lie. They were stacking up, end up end. Soon it would be an insurmountable barrier between them. She tried to add a little truth to the mix. “I’m stressed from the move, the new job, settling into the new house and with you heading off to god knows where next week. I’m worried.”
“God knows where Mexico is, baby.”
“I should have said godforsaken, instead. I’m scared, Sean.”
“It’s a recon mission, Mara. The risk is minimal. We stake out our target, gather information, take a few pictures, then I’m home safe and sound. Three days tops.”
“Promise?”
“I can’t predict the future, only promise that it’s a low risk mission and no cause for worry.” His eyes ran over her face, searching. “You’re sure there’s nothing you need to talk to me about?”
She wanted to, so badly, but if he saw those pictures, or worse, a video—she couldn’t risk it. She had to get the evidence and destroy it. If he found out she’d been lying to him all this time—it was unthinkable.
Ignoring the nagging seed of doubt in the back of her mind, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Making matters worse, she piled on another lie. “I’m sure, Sean. I better go before I get fired.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She huffed a little laugh, going to the chair to pick up her tote bag. “Go to the club and make sure everyone behaves. I’ll be home before you get back.”
“I’d rather you were with me, Mara, especially since I head ou
t in the morning.”
“This is a one-time favor for a friend and the only time I’ve missed going with you since Decadence opened. Go hang with your friends.”
“Mm… hang is an interesting choice of words. Jonas installed suspension equipment in one of the theme rooms upstairs. That’s something we haven’t tried.” He hugged her close, his hands on her behind. “I’d like to immobilize you with rope, suspend you upside down, and fuck you until you’re screaming for mercy. How does that sound?”
“Like a head rush, but I’m game.”
“My sweet little sub, you know I wasn’t asking permission.”
“No, Master, you don’t need it. You always make sure I’m safe, not to mention leaving me feeling cherished and well satisfied with all of your kinky games.”
“Damn straight.” He swatted her ass lightly. “Okay, if you must go, then you better hop to it. Call me if you’re going to be late and make sure you walk with someone to your car when you leave. There has been an increase in criminal activity around the medical district lately.”
“Really, like what?” Her thoughts automatically went to Victor.
“Drugs mostly. I don’t want some junkie jumping you for drug money, so do as I say.”
“I learned my lesson in D.C. I’ll be careful and have an escort.”
“Good, because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Standing before the full-length mirror, her upper lip curled in distaste. She felt as cheap as the image reflecting back at her. Not that she hadn’t worn leather fetish wear before, this however, was poor quality and black. Sean preferred pink or white and if he dressed her in leather, he added lace or rhinestones, feathers or faux fur somewhere, something feminine. This was harsh, severe, especially with the garish red wig cut blunt at the shoulders and into straight bangs. At least the bustier covered her breasts though the high cut back left her ass bare.
The outfit was all Victor’s doing, including the boots. The most Domme looking above the knee, lace up, chrome spike heeled, platform style boots she’d ever seen. Usually she was barefoot, a requirement for subs in the play areas at Decadence, she supposed if she fell and broke her neck on the 5 ½ inch finger bone heels, her suffering would be at an end and this blackmail nightmare would be over.
Perusing her get up disdainfully in the mirror, she homed in on her exposed pussy, defiance rose within her. She’d go along with his sick and twisted money making scheme this one time because she had no choice, but she wouldn’t do it with her pussy hanging out. To hell with what Victor, the bastard had to say about it.
Digging through her packed to the gills tote, she searched through the odds and ends until she found what she had stuffed in at the last minute. As an afterthought, really, and thank god she had. Like a goofy audience member on Let’s Make a Deal, she’d come prepared for almost every possibility. As proof, she pulled out a spare pair of black bikini panties.
Mara had no sooner tugged them into place before Victor barged in, without knocking. She spun to face him.
“Mm… muy sexy,” he said with a leering grin as he eyed her up and down. It swiftly morphed into a frown. “What’s with the panties? I didn’t give you those.”
“How many BDSM clubs have you been to?”
“A few, in D.C.”
“How many Dommes did you see walking around with their pussy on display outside a scene?” She raised a brow as he paused, obviously going through his catalog of kinky memories. “Exactly. You extorted me into this because I’m experienced. Subs go bare, Dommes do not unless they so choose. I choose not.”
Grabbing the “to do” list Victor had given her for the upcoming scene; she went over it once more. “There is nothing on this list that requires me to be bare. Your pervy client wants a ménage with a Domme and a docile female sub. I’ll give him what he asked for, nothing more and when we’re done, you give me the pictures. That’s our deal.”
“You have changed. I thought this role might be a stretch, but you’re a natural, or else you’ve become a very good actress. Are you sure you’re not the Dominatrix to your soldier boy? Maybe the panties are to hide your cajones because you seemed to have grown a pair.”
He laughed at his own joke. It was so Victor.
“You disgust me. Can we get on with this before I lose my lunch? I’m barely controlling myself in your presence as it is.” She turned toward the mirror taking up the bright red lipstick Victor’s client requested. As she leaned in to apply a dramatic layer, he put his hand to her head and yanked, shocked when he came up with a handful of fake red hair. Mara wanted to laugh, yet managed to keep it at smirk. She regretted it the next second when he grabbed hold of her bun and jerked her head back brutally.
“I’m not liking this attitude, puta. I’m the one in charge here.”
She hissed at the pain in her scalp. “You get 20 percent up front and the rest after the scene is complete. How much will you get if your Domme doesn’t show up, bastardo?”
His hand twisted, making her eyes water. “You’d risk hubby finding out?”
“You’d risk your 10G’s?”
He scowled down at her for a long moment, then released her. “Touché. Besides, it’s twenty grand. The female sub is a client too.”
Her hands flew to her head and massaged her burning scalp. “Let me see the envelope before we start.”
“Aw,” his amusement restored, he also turned goading. “You don’t trust me to hold up my end of the bargain? I’m crushed, hermosa?”
“Aren’t you the one who taught me never to trust a man with a penis?” With an arched brow, her gaze slid to his crotch. “Is there something you want to tell me, Victor?”
“Bitch,” he spat.
“Simply preparing for my role.” Knowing she was pushing him, she held out her hand, hoping it wouldn’t tremble.
He scowled at her as he reached inside his breast pocket and placed the envelope in her outstretched palm.
She rifled through the stack of prints, negatives and the numerous old Polaroids. Thank the good Lord they weren’t current, or digital.
“How do I know they’re all here?”
“They aren’t.” He held up one more print. It featured her in a plain white schoolgirl skirt and knee socks. Her ass was bare as she rode a customer. His hands gripped her cheeks beneath the rucked up plaid skirt she wore and she could see… She jerked her gaze away, too late. The graphic image already imprinted on her brain. Her hair was in braids and brown like it was now. As she worked to get the customer off quickly—always her goal back then—her mouth was open and she was gasping for air no doubt. Unfortunately, in profile, it made her appear as if she was enjoying herself. Mara knew that wasn’t the case, she had never enjoyed any of it, not once in the three years she’d whored for Victor, but it was more damning evidence against her.
“You get this one after the John is satisfied and pays up, Mistress Tamara.”
Glaring at him, she walked to the bathroom where she’d left a book of matches. Setting a corner of the envelope on fire, she dropped it in the sink. As the celluloid melted and the photos turned to ash, she questioned her sanity. She should tell Victor to go fuck himself, plain as that and come clean with Sean. In a vision, she saw him understanding and defending her, then beating Victor’s ass for good measure.
Shaking herself mentally, she let the happy delusion fade. When had anything turned out in her favor? She couldn’t afford to be distracted by her conscience or a Pollyanna attitude. Besides, she’d been over it from all angles, side-to-side, top and bottom, inside and out. She’d been able to think of nothing else 24/7 for the past week. Every time she added it up, she came up with the same crappy answer. Give Victor what he wants and pray he goes away.
The wise sage in her head practically screamed at her to reconsider. She ignored it. She couldn’t tell Sean. As sure as she knew this was a rotten idea, she knew that telling him would be worse. She couldn’t bear to se
e the disgust on his beloved face when he realized who and what she really was, that a long line of nameless men had come before him. When the pictures were nothing more than a pile of residue in the sink, she turned to face Victor, signaling that she was ready.
* * * * *
“Please, Mistress, let me pleasure you with my tongue.”
“Silence!” She sent the lash flicking against his bare ass once more as he continued to pump into the writhing moaning woman bent over in front of him, her wrists bound to her ankles which were held wide, at least two feet apart by the spreader bar locked between them. “Your begging is becoming tiresome.”
Mara’s voice cut through his words like a knife. She figured the only way to get through this scene was to channel Mistress Anne, the toughest, sternest, most sought after Domme at Club Decadence. She had observed her often and employed her techniques tonight, repeating her phrases and mimicking the cadence as she acted out this scene.
Twice more she let the leather tawse fly, grimacing at the stripes it left on his ass. Having never been other than a receiver, she was tentative at first using his moans and sighs as a barometer to gauge the intensity. Pain and welts were what he’d requested. That the marks were by her hand made her rather sick, but who was she to judge his kink.
While she whipped him, she mentally checked off the agenda for the scene. Oral, check. Orgasm delay, check. Just when John (She didn’t know his name and didn’t want to. He was paying for sex like a John, so John he would be) seemed ready to come, she called a stop to it. Doggy style with restraints, a crop and a strap; three boxes checked.
It had come to her as she dressed. She was in control and as such could be the director, guiding John and his sub like actors in a play, making them perform all the sexual acts. If that was all she did, her mind could rationalize that she hadn’t cheated. She was fooling herself, but she had to come up with something or she’d lose it there on the spot.
Second Time Lucky (Club Decadence Book 5) Page 18