by Joely
His muscles quivered against her. Tensed. Then relaxed. And he still didn’t make a move to rid himself of the contraption on his head. In fact, he pressed back against her, meeting the pressure of her body with his. A hint of strength, the flex of his back, tensing of his thighs. He didn’t have to be able to speak.
No, Mal, I’d give you one hell of a ride.
He’d never admit it, but when she slipped the bridle off his head, he was almost sorry.
Having her against his back like that, the smell of leather in his head, her gentle touch on the reins. It’d been… nice. Bringing back good memories of his childhood, while also making him remember their one night together. How she’d sat on him, taking control of his every move, but still satisfying him more than he’d ever imagined. Even now, she held him, pressed against his back, and he wanted to sink into that feeling. Just be. He’d never felt so… Steady. Calm. At peace.
Was that what being submissive meant? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything any more, other than he wanted to keep feeling this calm and peaceful. The soft thud of his erection startled him, and he felt Mal smile against his back.
“I think someone is ready for some attention now.”
He didn’t have to think before replying, “Yes, ma’am.”
The ma’am rolled off his tongue without him thinking about it. It just felt right. Natural. And that did alarm him. She was burrowing deeper into his skin every time she touched him, subtly changing the way he reacted, without even knowing it. But her hands soothed, stroking circles on his chest, her face still pressed against his back. Her right hand slid lower to palm his dick and he couldn’t hold back the groan of appreciation.
“Remember the rules. Remember how to stop me.”
He’d let her put a fucking bridle on him, for Christ’s sake. Would he really want to stop her? Ever? His brain insisted yes, but he couldn’t be sure. Not any longer.
She worked his fly open with agonizingly slow strokes and pauses, a deliberate caress that just happened to open his pants. When she pulled away from his back, he opened his mouth to ask her not to leave, but bit back the request at the last moment. She hadn’t invited his opinions on what should happen next. Besides, when she tugged his shirt up over his head to bare his skin for her mouth, he no longer wanted to complain that she wasn’t pressed against him. She managed to slide his pants and boxers down while keeping her mouth on his back. Tender brushes of her lips, the warmth of her breath, but no teeth. Not yet. Her mouth paused in the hollow of his back, her hands gliding down to his knees, and he wanted to protest. The Mistress shouldn’t be pleasing him so tenderly. Should she? She had to be on her knees, and that just seemed wrong. So wrong. He should be on his knees for her.
Without words, she told him when to lift each foot, tugging his boots, pants and socks off until he was nude. Standing in her living room. He checked the windows to be sure the curtains were drawn. Though would he have been able to stop her, even if her entire neighborhood had gathered around to stare at him through the windows? He couldn’t say with any certainty, not with her mouth on his buttock. She pressed her teeth into that muscle, not hard, not in a bite, just the promise, the graze of teeth to remind him of the pain she’d brought before.
His dick ached, his balls drawn up tight. She fisted him, her touch sure and confident, a hard grip that knew he could take a firm touch. Her teeth gripped his ass harder, her hand working. So strange, to have her behind him, jacking him off, on her knees, biting his ass. Weird, but hot. Too hot. His head fell back and he gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the surge of desire flooding his body. She’d reminded him of the rules on purpose. No coming. Not until she told him to. No touching. He fisted his hands, fighting the urge to reach behind him, find her head, her hair. Maybe that’s why she stayed behind him. It would have been next to impossible for him to keep his hands off her head if she’d gone to her knees in front of him.
As if she’d heard that indirect challenge, she pulled back. “Turn around, sugar. Let me give that cock the attention he deserves.”
Torn between eagerness and dread, he turned around stiffly. Don’t touch her. Don’t come. The words a litany in his head.
Fuck.
She licked the tip of his dick and the top of his head tried to blow off. His heart pounded so hard and loud he couldn’t hear anything but the thundering pulse in his head. One brush of her lips shouldn’t feel so good. A simple stroke of her tongue. She didn’t even take him into her mouth and suck him. She didn’t have to. And it was over. Climax rolled through him, uncontrolled.
Shaken, he peeled open his eyes. With mounting horror, he found his hands on her head. His fingers tangled in her hair. His come dribbling down his thigh. At least he hadn’t come on her face. Had he? Her tongue swiped across her lips suggestively, her eyes gleaming like a jaguar, stalking him through a jungle at night.
“Someone has been a very bad, bad boy.”
He flushed, his cheeks catching on fire. Not because she called him boy—but because he’d broken every single one of the rules. Worse, he suspected she’d set him up on purpose. She’d wanted him to break her rules, because Mistresses didn’t go to their knees and give blow jobs to their submissives. Unless she’d had a very good reason.
She wants me to fail. So she can punish me.
Chapter Fourteen
Caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, Colby stared down at her. His fingers tightened in her hair, rather than jerking away with shock. As if he’d decided he might as well make the most out of his infraction and touch her as long as he could. Maybe he was starting to understand how these games unfolded. Cat and mouse, luring him in, punishment—all, ultimately, to give them both what they wanted.
Extreme satisfaction. Even for the man who claimed nothing could satisfy him any longer.
She started to get up, so he released her hair and put those hands to good use and helped her stand.
“What do you think I should do with you?”
His complexion had started to fade back to normal, his acute embarrassment fading. “I suppose you’re going to punish me.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“The hell if I know.”
She pursed her lips, as if she had to think very hard about the best way to teach him a lesson. “I’ll be back in a moment. You stand here and think about what you’ve done.”
She actually meant that. She wanted him to think about putting himself into her hands. Trusting her enough to let her experiment with toys, even ones they already knew they’d discard like the pony gear. Letting her deliberately lure him into release, so that she could explore something new and different with him. Whether he was going to continue to put that trust in her, even if she came back with something potentially scary for a newbie submissive. Let alone a man who might not be a true submissive at all.
Rummaging around in the bedside drawer, she made a great show of looking for just the right equipment. She even pulled a box out from beneath the bed and sorted through several items. By the time she came back to him, sweat had started to drip down his forehead. Even better…
His erection had returned. And he knew it. Standing there stark naked in her living room, waiting for her punishment, he’d gotten turned on again.
The white rope was hopefully not a surprise after their first night. Though this time, she fully intended to put it to good use. “Put your hands behind your back, soldier boy.”
He widened his stance and put his wrists in the small of his back, almost like he was standing at attention for inspection. That could be fun. Loosening the hank of rope so she had a good amount in either hand, she started with his wrists. Then criss crossed the rope around his waist, up his chest, around his arms and shoulders. She used up the rope, ending with a loose wrap around his neck that did little to restrain or constrict his breathing—but acted as a reminder of exactly what she was doing to him. Then she stepped back and surveyed her work.
Muscles
strained against the rope. Instinctively testing her skill, how firmly he was restrained and exploring his options for escape. A combat soldier had probably been prepped at least in training about what to do if captured. The way he stared at her now, eyes dark, body braced, made her think about all sorts of role playing they could do. “Are you a spy sent to gather intel on me? Or maybe you’re just a poor soldier boy caught on the wrong side of the lines.”
Refusing to play along, at least for now, he replied back with a question of his own. “What are you going to do to me now that you have me tied up?”
She sat back down on the couch and picked up her glass of wine. His surprise, and yes, disappointment, made her lips quirk with amusement. “I haven’t decided yet. You’re just too pretty to look at. I want to enjoy the scenery first.”
He moved his shoulders and arms, testing the rope, trying to decide if he could work himself free. She doubted it. She wasn’t a Shibari expert, but she’d been around bondage most of her adult life. The rope was the perfect weight to be strong yet flexible, soft yet tough enough to hold even a two-hundred-pound veteran in place. Without his legs bound, he could still think about fleeing, though running away wasn’t in his DNA. She hadn’t wanted to make him feel completely helpless this first time. He needed something to fight, and leaving his legs free would give him the feeling that he had a chance.
“Next time, I want your hands in front of you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Next time?”
She smiled and sipped her wine. “You think I’m going to be satisfied with tying you up only once? I was nice this time. I didn’t even tie your cock up. Looks like he’s missing out on the entertainment.”
He twisted his wrists and blew out a disgusted breath. “I feel ridiculous standing here like this.”
She laughed softly. “That’s the point, sugar. Dominants like nothing better than tying up their subs and then making them feel ridiculous. I’ve seen them require a sub to fetch a newspaper and slippers with their teeth because their hands were tied up, just like you are now. Why do you think I left your legs free?”
“I’ve got better suggestions of things I could do with my mouth than play fetch like a dog.”
“Do you, now. Hmmm.” She let him stew a bit, as if she truly had to think about it. “I suppose you could try and undress me with your teeth.”
It was a trap. He had to know it. But he came toward her anyway and gingerly lowered himself to the floor in front of her. On his knees, arms bound, he hesitated. As if only just now realizing exactly where he was. What he was doing. She watched his face, loving the way his eyes darkened. His cock rose up hard and stiff, despite the moment of clarity. Though he wasn’t the kind of man to be lead around by his dick. He could actually stop now. Before he went too far. Before he had to decide how low he’d go for her. Because going on his knees with his hands tied behind his back must be pretty low in his mind.
She waited patiently, making sure not to hold her breath or try to sway him either way with body language. She didn’t open her thighs to lure him in. Just stared back, evenly, waiting to see what he’d choose. She wanted him to make the conscious decision to play the game with her. Otherwise, it was no game. He might as well go home and delete her number from his phone.
He looked at her, tracing the lines of her body, lingering on her breasts. She hadn’t dressed up for him, even knowing he’d come back after making an appearance at work. Simple jeans and T-shirt. What she always wore at home. He hadn’t asked to see her in any of the BDSM dress-up outfits she kept for going to the club. This was her. The real her. Take it or leave it.
Though he sure did make an incredible sight with all that muscle bulging beneath the ropes.
“May I put my mouth on you, Mal?”
She pulled her gaze back up to his. “I like that you asked me first, sugar. That’s real sweet. And yeah, I’d love your mouth on me.”
In a million years, he’d never have dreamed that playing with the Mistress of Dallas would be like this. She made it fun, not scary or humiliating. But more, she made it his choice.
Deep down, he’d assumed she’d trick him into shit he didn’t want to do. Or try and force him. Maybe she’d torture him with desire until he’d do anything she asked just to get some relief. But Mal wasn’t about that. At all.
No, she just sat there, looking at him, waiting until he decided whether he’d play along or not. And he wanted to play, if that meant he got to put his mouth on her. Got to touch her. Got to stay. Here. With her.
Even on his knees.
That was a small price to pay to feel like this again.
No, that was a lie. He’d never felt like this. He’d slept with plenty of women in his day, but had never been this vulnerable. Raw. Open. Trusting. No one had looked at him with solemn golden-brown eyes and weighed his worth solely by his willingness to allow her to control the pace.
He took a knee-step closer to her, and now she opened her thighs to him. Sitting back against the cushions of the couch, wine in one hand, her pose casual and relaxed… she might have been settling down for a movie night. Not inviting him to try and get her clothes off with nothing but his teeth.
Of course he wouldn’t be able to accomplish it. Not completely. Her jeans were painted on with loving detail against every gorgeous curve. Even with his hands, he might have had to gain some assistance from her to shimmy them down. But it would certainly be fun to play along for awhile.
Bending lower, he kissed her denim-clad knee. She probably couldn’t feel much through her jeans, but he trailed his mouth higher, daring to grip her thigh teasingly with his teeth. Not a bite, exactly, but squeezing and massaging with his jaws as he worked his way up to her crotch. She didn’t shift or move restlessly against the couch, even when he nudged his face firmly against the vee of her thighs. He tried to lick suggestively, but again, the thick denim didn’t allow much friction or saliva to pass through. He crawled closer and nipped at the hem of her shirt, tugging it up a bit. It took some work to get the material to cooperate. Enough that he was starting to sweat, his knees ached, and his back muscles burned. But he didn’t mind. Not when he finally got his lips on the tender skin of her stomach.
He scooted closer and allowed the weight of his head and shoulders to rest against her lap, taking some of the strain off his back, with his face under her shirt. Her fingers stroked over his forehead, across his skull, and he closed his eyes. He’d thought the Mistress of Dallas would smell like latex, or at least leather. But all he smelled was warm, sweet woman.
“Giving up already?” she asked lightly.
“No, ma’am.” He kept his mouth against her skin, letting his lips caress her since his hands could not. “Just drinking you in.”
She sat up away from the cushion a moment, her hands tugging her shirt up and over her head. “I’ll make it a little easier for you.”
His breath sighed out. Trailing soft kisses up her belly, between her breasts, he tongued the lacy edge of her bra. “I don’t suppose you’d help me out by taking this off too.”
“Not yet, soldier boy. At least give it some effort first.”
He leaned more against her, unable to brace himself on his hands so he could lift himself up. The rope cut into his arms and chest, a constant reminder of his inability to touch her. Because he kept instinctively trying to do so. His fingers burned to trace the swells of her breasts, to flip open the bra so he could lick and suck her nipples. Instead, he had to be satisfied with nuzzling, mouthing her hardened nipples through the lace. And the more prominent her nipples became, the more his inability to touch her goaded.
He began to hate that material keeping his mouth off her flesh. Twisting his wrists as much as he could, he fought a moment, desperate to get that fucking bra off, and then groaned with frustration.
“Ah, there’s the sound I was looking for.”
Mal, damn her, sounded completely amused by his struggle. She would be, naturally. He turned his face up a bit, but
without a stiff neck, he couldn’t even glare up at her. Her hands stroked over his head and down his shoulders, feeling the strain, the sweat, and she let out a soft, pleased little sound that almost made him thrash desperately like a fish on the beach trying to fling itself back into the lake.
That sound should be pouring from her lips while he licked her pussy. Not because he was tied up and unable to do what he wanted.
As soon as he thought it, he knew why she loved these games. Because it had nothing to do with what he wanted.
“Are you all tied up in knots yet, sugar?”
“You know I am.”
She shifted beneath him and his heart raced with hope. Only to be dashed to bits when she pushed on his chest. He sat back on his heels and glared up at her. Hopefully it was a glare, not a pout. That would kill him. Her eyes gleamed, heavy lidded and hot with desire, but she laughed softly, telling him exactly what kind of look he must have given her.
Shit. He bit back the words he wanted to say. Please, Mal, give me something.
“If you ask me nicely, next time I’ll wear my favorite stilettos. That way I can put you where I want you with a little prod of my shoe.”
The idea should have send alarm zinging through him. There was something so degrading about the idea. A woman stepping on him, maybe. Implying that he was at her feet. But the thought of how terrific Mal’s long legs would look in high heels almost made him drool like a dog.
“Foot or shoe fetish?”
He managed to shake his head despite the lust hammering through him. “Just thinking about your legs.”
She pulled one foot up on the couch and started to untie her shoe. “Darn. I was looking forward to having you kiss my feet.”