by Litte, Jane
And alive was good at any time. But after the night she’d had, alive was very, very good.
Understanding softened his expression. “All right. But we’ll go slow. We’ll take it easy.”
“No.” At her denial, he looked up from the bruise on her jaw. She met his gaze, held it. “I don’t want ‘easy.’ I want you to fuck me like you thought you’d never see me again.”
His expression changed swiftly, as if an agonizing spasm moved through him, leaving his features stark and tortured. He had thought that, she realized in horror.
His hand tightened in her hair. “When I saw the cabin burning, Jenny, I thought . . . I thought that Shaw had already finished, and he’d tried to cover his tracks. I thought I was too late. Until I saw you next to the road, and I . . . God.”
His mouth crashed down on hers, demanding entry, taking possession—as if the memory had unleashed something within him, stolen his control. Jenny clung to his shoulders, her desperation just as fierce. She needed to have him now, now.
His hand fell to her hip. He steered her back into the wall, wedging his thighs between hers and angling in. His erection felt hot and thick behind his jeans, a burning pressure against her belly. He broke the kiss and lowered his mouth to her ear, his hands sliding to her ass.
His voice was harsh. “You make sure that you know what you’re asking, Jenny, because I can’t go back. This isn’t friendly comfort, and it isn’t just sex to me. And so once I have you like this, it’s all or nothing.”
She needed it all, too. “And if we fuck it up?”
“We won’t.” He bit her earlobe sharply, making her gasp. “We’ve spent the past three years proving we’re compatible.”
“So they weren’t a waste after all.”
“They were. Because I could have spent that time finding out whether the thought of my mouth on your pussy gets you wet.”
Her knees weakened. She sagged into him, and felt his smile against her neck.
“Well, then. Let’s find out.”
His hand slipped inside the elastic waistband of her sweats. His callused palm gently scraped the soft, sensitive skin of her belly, his fingers seeking the heat below. They both groaned when he encountered her wet folds. He slid his middle finger through her heated slit, found her entrance.
Jenny waited breathlessly, quivering. Her body clenched when he pushed his finger deep, and she cried out. “Ian!”
“I’d have known by now whether you come harder on a slow fuck, or when I take you fast.” His thumb sought her clit. “I’d know whether you whether you like your nipples sucked on or pinched.”
Her back arched, as if offering the stiffened peaks up to him. “Both.”
“Christ,” he breathed. “You’re soaking my fingers. You love it when I talk dirty like this?”
“Yes.” She laughed her answer, then moaned, trying to make him move his hand faster. “So, so dirty.”
“God, I love that.” He withdrew his hand, ignoring her protest. He gripped her hips. “Push down your pants, Jenny.”
She trembled, realizing he meant to fuck her here, now, without any other preliminaries. Her fingers flew to the waistband of the sweats. The soft cotton seemed to caress her skin as she pushed them over her hips and let them slide to her ankles. Pressed into the wall by his big body, she couldn’t bend and take the pants all the way down. She kicked them off her feet and toward the middle of the kitchen—and though the sore muscles in her arms screamed at the movement, she pulled the T-shirt over her head.
The lust burning in Ian’s eyes told her he appreciated that effort. After a long look that left her nipples aching to be touched and her skin flushed, his gaze returned to her face.
“Now undo mine,” he ordered.
Beneath her fingers, the buttons of his fly gave way to his straining cock. Greedily, she reached in and stroked her hand down his hot, steely length, loving his reaction: the sudden rigidity in his heavy frame, the hiss of his indrawn breath.
As if he could only bear a few seconds of that exquisite torment, he pushed her hands away and cupped her ass in his palms. Then Ian was lifting her up with a rough, “Wrap your legs around me now.”
Shuddering with anticipation, she complied. He shifted his hips, positioned her. The head of his cock burrowed through her slit, lodged against her slick entrance. Almost drowning with need, Jenny squirmed, trying to push him inside, but he held her in place. She tried to urge him on, rocking her hips, fisting her hands in his hair.
“Ian,” she begged, but still he waited.
“I’m not going to take it easy,” he warned her, as if she hadn’t been the one who’d demanded a rough, hard ride. “Not now, when I’m thinking of how I almost lost you. Not now, when the only thing that matters is making you mine.”
Making her his. And she did belong to him. Not because some psycho decided she did, but because she’d offered herself. Not taking. Giving. And Ian would give himself to her in return.
She wanted that more than anything. “Then do it.”
His eyes narrowed. Watching her face, he leaned his weight into her. Her back pressed hard into the wall, offering solid support, but her soft body gave way to the pressure at her entrance—stinging as the thick head of his cock stretched her delicate flesh, then an unrelenting ache as he moved deeper. She tensed, clenching her teeth against a whimper. He didn’t stop, thank God. His unyielding possession hurt, but it was real, and he was here, and even the pain felt so good.
His cock fully embedded within her, Ian tightened his fingers on her ass before sliding his hands down her thighs, lifting them around his waist at a higher angle. Jenny cried out as the movement shoved him deeper into her. He paused, and she writhed against him, seeking more.
He gave her that, too. Pounding into her with hard, fast strokes, he fucked her until she might scream from the pleasure of being stuffed too full, of feeling more alive than she could remember. Then he shifted her so that his driving shaft grazed over her erect clit in a maddening tease, and she did scream, because she didn’t think she could take any more. Yet still he gave it to her, each relentless thrust threatening to break her, to throw her over the edge—and finally did, her pussy clamping around his cock, a release that was relief and agony. With another powerful stroke, Ian came with clenched teeth, his flesh throbbing deep and setting off another shock of small convulsions inside her.
With a groan, he collapsed against her. He turned as they slid to the floor and pulled her onto his lap, her body a limp tangle of sweaty limbs. He tilted his head back against the wall, his chest heaving.
He smoothed his hand down her back, a gesture both possessive and soothing. “Are you all right?”
She thought so. Her chest seemed too full, and she felt like laughing and crying with the sheer joy of being here, of being with him, but she wasn’t sure which would come out if she opened her mouth. She simply nodded and buried her face against his throat.
After a moment, she managed, “Thank you for rescuing me tonight.”
“From what I saw, Jenny, you did that yourself.” He was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had roughened. “And I’ll be thanking you for that the rest of my life.”
The rest of her life. She smiled at that, then looked up when he shifted around, and laid her back on the cool tile. He grinned down at her, and bent his head to her breast.
“And I think I’ll start thanking you for it now.”
Meljean Brook lives in Oregon with her family. She is the author of the Guardian paranormal romance series, and the Iron Seas steampunk romance series. For contact information and a full booklist, please visit www.meljeanbrook.com.
THE WOODEN PONY
SHOSHANNA EVERS
Natalie Durso looked at her watch discreetly and sipped her Diet Coke. She had been hoping that her blind date would already be at the bar when she showed up, so if he was a freak she could just slide out the door without ever meeting him—no harm, no foul.
But it looked like Eric Turner had the same idea. Hell, maybe he even already showed up, saw a pale, half-Asian woman wearing long sleeves in the middle of July sitting at the bar and skedaddled.
“Natalie?”
She turned in surprise at the deep voice and jumped off the bar stool. “Eric?”
He smiled and put his hand out. Wiping off the condensation from the glass on her black slacks, she smiled back and shook his large hand, reveling in the feel of it enveloping hers. Wow, he was good looking. No way she’d have walked out on this one. She had to crane her eyes up to get a good look at him since he had at least a foot on her, even in her high heels.
He helped her back onto the bar stool and took a seat next to her, nodding to the bartender. “Just plain orange juice.”
Natalie looked down at the bar, suddenly embarrassed. What was she thinking, answering that personals ad online? This man knew more about her secrets than any of her past lovers, because he had asked, and she had answered. What she wanted that she wasn’t getting. Pain.
And he had said he was more than willing to provide that for her.
“Thanks for meeting me in public,” she said. “It makes me feel safer.”
“Of course,” he said. “Me, too. I don’t just hand out my home address to strangers—what if you were a psycho?” He laughed and accepted his drink from the bartender, slipping him a folded bill.
“I feel a little psycho,” she admitted. “I can’t believe all that stuff I said last night.” They had instant messaged each other for more than two hours. He got her to admit things she’d been scared to tell even her therapist—not that she had a therapist anymore. Therapists don’t do much good if you can’t tell them the real problem.
“Well, it was one of the hottest chats I’ve had in a long time, which is why I’m here.” Eric smiled at her. “I want you to feel safe with me. But I also want you to come back to my place.”
Natalie took an unladylike gulp from her glass, finishing the last sip of soda, and let a half-melted ice cube slip into her mouth. “What will we do at your place? I don’t think I’m ready to just jump into bed with you.”
“I told you online that I don’t have sex on the first date anyway, and I keep my word. But I’d like to whip you, just like we talked about.”
She crunched the ice and shivered. Her pussy got wet at the thought, but could she actually handle a real whipping? None of her previous lovers had played with her the way she truly desired. They didn’t want to hurt her.
But she needed to be hurt, and somehow Eric got that on a primal level. Even better, he got off on it. Giving her what she craved satisfied his desires as well. Win-win.
“What if I can’t take it?” she asked, her voice dropping so the other people in the bar wouldn’t overhear.
“We’ll have a safe word. But I think you can take it. No one ever died from a little whipping delivered by an experienced dominant. And besides,” he said with a smile, “if you start squirming so much that it affects my aim I can always tie you in place and then continue with your punishment.”
She started to push up her sleeves since it felt hot suddenly, but stopped herself just in time.
“What’s on your wrist?” he asked, grabbing her hand. Fuck. He had seen them. “Roll up your sleeves,” he ordered softly.
Something about his tone made her obey, even though they were in public and the last thing she wanted was for everyone in the bar to see her shame. Looking around quickly, she lifted her sleeves.
Dozens of angry red scars from years of self-cutting marred the otherwise flawless skin on the underside of her forearms.
“You’re a cutter.” He said it in such a way that she couldn’t get a read on his tone. Was he angry? Disgusted? God forbid, did he pity her?
“Was a cutter. I quit.”
“When?” He was still holding her arm, tracing her scars with his fingers.
“Almost six months ago. I can’t take it anymore, not being able to cut myself is driving me insane. That’s why I reached out to you. I need an outlet. I miss the pain . . . and I think someone like you could help me experience that in a more healthy manner.” She sighed. “I can’t explain it.”
“Let’s go,” he said. “You have a date with my whip.”
ERIC looked over at Natalie as he walked with her up the front steps to his house. She was even more beautiful than her picture online. He had been hesitant to try and find a woman on the Internet, but he couldn’t argue with the results. Dozens of women had responded to his ad. Married women and women who refused to chat online with him before meeting were cut from the list. But Natalie . . . she was something else.
“This is really your house?” Natalie asked, looking around at the high ceilings and marble floors in the grand foyer.
“It is,” he said. “But you haven’t seen the best part. The basement.”
Suddenly Natalie turned to him. “This is crazy. I’m crazy to just go into a complete stranger’s home and let him take me into his basement. You’ll probably end up killing me and everyone will say ‘Well, it’s no wonder, who goes into a stranger’s house?’”
“You’re welcome to leave,” he said. “I’ll call you a cab if you want me to.” But he had a feeling that she didn’t really want to leave. Please stay, he implored with his eyes. Her lips looked so soft and full, and he took her face in his hand, caressing her cheek. “If this is goodnight, can I at least get a goodnight kiss?”
She kissed him then, full on the mouth, her lips pressed against his with a ferocity that gave him an instant erection. “Do you promise you won’t kill me?” she whispered, her breath hot on his lips.
“I’ll torture you a little but I won’t kill you. No marks, that’s my motto.”
“Torture?” she breathed, her eyes wide. Giggling nervously, she traced her hand down his chest. “Okay, show me your basement. I’m going to take a wild guess that you’ve got a dungeon down there.”
He grinned. Tonight was going to be fun. “If you consider a very comfortable adult playroom a dungeon, then yes, that’s what I’ve got.”
Natalie smiled back at him, some of the worry disappearing from her eyes. “What if I get freaked out?” she asked suddenly.
“The safe word is your full name. So if you ever want me to stop everything, just say—um, what is your full name?”
“Natalie Alexandra Durso.”
“Okay then. So if you say that, then I know you’re done. I won’t be mad, I’ll just call you a cab and we’ll call it a night.”
She nodded, taking an audible breath. “Got it.”
“Follow me.” He walked her through the kitchen, smiling to himself as she glanced at the granite countertops and stainless-steel fridge. Maybe she knew how to cook—but the gourmet kitchen was wasted on him. All he knew how to work was the microwave and the phone to call for reservations. The basement door off the kitchen opened to a steep flight of stairs.
She hesitated at the top of the stairs, one hand on the door frame. “You go first.”
“Sure.” He took the stairs two at a time, familiar with their depth. The basement had been a pet project of his for years now. He had the major work done by contractors—putting up the drywall and ceiling, laying down the poured concrete floor, which he then had waxed to a high shine. There were no windows, but the lighting was perfect. He could dim the lights as needed, but right now he kept them on at full brightness to put his date at ease.
After the major work was done, however, Eric had stepped in and created the perfect playground for his fantasies. There was a spanking bench and a futon—and man, those futon slats came in handy when ropes were involved, and an array of whips and paddles hung on hooks on the wall. Of course there were also numerous restraints and a bondage chair.
He had shelves along one wall that contained every sex toy imaginable, including his favorite, the Magic Wand. That intense vibrator was perfect for forced orgasms. A woman cuffed to his bondage chair with the vibrator tied ag
ainst her clit was a beautiful sight indeed. Most of the toys had never been used, unfortunately. The ones that had been used were sterilized. His eyes rested on his latest acquisition—a piece of furniture that he was dying to try out. The Wooden Pony. He had just gotten it last week on special order from Canada.
“Wow,” Natalie said as she looked around, taking it all in. “Impressive.”
“When we are in the basement you don’t speak unless I grant you permission,” Eric said softly. “And you address me as Sir. Do you understand?”
Natalie’s mouth dropped as if in surprise, but Eric didn’t say a word. She needed to get with the program right away. If she wasn’t up for his rules then she certainly wasn’t up for a whipping.
She raised her eyebrows and looked up the stairs toward the exit for just a moment. Then she looked back at him. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
Good girl. She was going to be fun to initiate.
NATALIE stood before him, unsure what to do. She was about to ask where he wanted her, but then she remembered he hadn’t given her permission to speak. This was going to be more challenging than she thought.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Eric spoke. “It might make you feel more comfortable if you text one of your girlfriends to let her know you’re here. You can give her my address for safety.”
Yeah, like she’d want anyone she was acquainted with to know what she was up to. But just the fact that he suggested that made her feel more at ease. Pulling her cell out of her purse, she texted the info to her own phone quickly anyway. He could make his own assumptions as to whom she had sent the text.
“Now that you’ve had a chance to see the place,” he said, “I’m going to dim the lights a bit for ambience.” He slid a switch on the wall and the basement playroom was instantly plunged into a semi-darkness, with just a few lights highlighting various elements of the room.