by Ava Claire
Whoa.
A man that looked carved from the same tree trunk as the security guard at the base of the staircase laid behind the curtain. A man who was probably used to special attention because it was impossible to be built like a gladiator and not turn heads.
His massive frame was stuffed into an ebony colored suit, with a black shirt and black tie. The contrast of his porcelain skin and fiery red beard would have been too much, too jarring on anyone else. But the minute he raised his olive eyes from his phone and flashed Dylan the warmest smile, I relaxed. Sure, the red and black should have evoked some major sinister vibes, but there was nothing sinister about the way he looked at Dylan.
He looked at her like a man looked at the woman he loved.
“Hey you!” He rose from his chair and I swear the ground shuddered as he breezed to her. Without another word, he bent her at the waist and laid his mouth on hers like they were in a black and white movie and it was very clear who was living happily ever after.
I smiled. leaning my head against Jacob’s shoulder.
And then things...escalated.
I’m talking tongues.
Hands.
Groans.
I kept my eyes in g-rated territory, but Dylan’s hands veered below the waist.
“Ahem.” Jacob cleared his throat loudly, and the two of them cut their naughty hello short. I would have been avoiding eye contact, but Dylan was looking me dead on, with a triumphant look on her face.
Sebastian pulled out a dark handkerchief and dabbed at his mouth. “Jacob fucking Whitmore!”
I expected Jacob to hold out his hand, but the two embraced, a bear hug of testosterone and friendship. Jacob was a workaholic and his personality meant that he wasn’t the overly friendly type. He was the boss—the office wasn’t a place where he connected with his bros, talking about sports. Grabbing a beer after work. I knew Jacob: the husband, father, CEO, son. Jacob: the Dom. Jacob: the friend? This was unchartered territory.
It was adorable.
With a hint of a smile on his lips, Jacob brought me back in. “Leila, I’d like you to meet Sebastian.”
Sebastian’s bearded face scrunched like he was sucking on a lemon. “So formal. You can call me Bash. Only my lawyers, my father, and this stick in the mud call me Sebastian.” He hiked his thumb in Jacob’s direction.”
Already charmed, I held out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Bash.”
He looked at my hand like it was a foreign object. “I’m a hugger, Leila.” He proved it, almost lifting me off the floor. He smelled like bourbon, wood, and pipe tobacco. He held me at arm’s length, letting out a whistle. “Are we lucky bastards or what?”
Jacob roped an arm around my waist, adorably worried that I’d be put off by his brazenness, but I was just happy Jacob had a friend that forced him out of his comfort zone. Helped him loosen up a bit.
“You’re definitely lucky,” I said with a wink.
Jacob’s mouth curved as he leaned in to press a kiss on my lips. His words were for me alone. “That’s my girl.”
Bash wrangled Dylan and they were watching us like we were a Hallmark card come to life. “So glad Jacob found someone to put up with his broodiness.”
Dylan nodded in agreement. “I basically ruined him.”
I exchanged a look with Jacob, who rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but he was still smiling. I turned my attention back to Bash and Dylan, mostly because they clearly needed to be engaged with or they’d start dry humping in front of us. I asked a question I kinda already knew the answer to. “So, you guys are together?”
“Six arduous years,” Dylan groaned with a hearty shake of her head. “Hey!” She cried out when he smacked her ass.
“She wore me down,” Bash said wearily. He gestured towards the main floor. “I created this place so I could explore my sadistic side with all the beautiful women I could find-”
“And I put an end to that real quick,” Dylan piped with a mischievous smile.
Bash stroked a hand over Dylan’s buzzed head. “I could have had any sub and I had to go and fall in love with the mouthiest one I ever met.”
I interlocked my fingers with Jacob’s and gave his hand a squeeze. Apparently, we had something in common besides Jacob.
“And it took him long enough, but he’s finally making an honest woman out of me!” Dylan exclaimed.
I clapped my hands together with glee. Their energy, their happiness, was contagious. “You guys are-”
“Engaged!” Dylan held up her left hand, her diamond glittering as brightly as her smile.
I moved in for a closer look, marveling at the brilliance of it. The setting was just edgy enough that I knew it was perfect for her. “Congratulations!”
“And unlike Mr. Whitmore here, we’re not gonna sneak off to some island and tell everyone about it when we get back.”
I smirked, glad I wasn’t the only one getting heat for the elopement.
“I’ve apologized for robbing you of the opportunity to annoy me once, and that’s more than most get from me,” Jacob rebutted.
“How about you make it up to me by being my best man?”
I pivoted back to Jacob, my emotions getting the better of me. It had to be hormones because I wasn’t the type of girl who cried during sappy movies or turned into a gooey mess when I saw pictures of puppies. But I knew Jacob. Knew how he spent most of his life isolated. Building walls around himself. Around his heart so he wouldn’t be hurt or disappointed after feeling the pain of it from his parents. I was tearing up because I knew that this meant the world to him.
He was skilled at locking down his emotions and other than the smile in his eyes, there was no tell-tale sign that on the inside, he was overflowing. He clapped Bash on the shoulder and told him he’d be honored.
“Now that we got all that mushy, gushy shit out of the way, I still can’t believe that you’re actually wearing jeans,” Bash chuckled.
Jacob gave him a once over. “And you’re in a suit. Looks like we’re both full of surprises.”
Bash looked as natural and svelte in his suit as Jacob did when he rocked one, but the way he tugged at his tie told me he was counting down the minutes until he could take it off. “And speaking of clothing-” His emerald eyes flicked to Dylan. “You seem to be wearing too much.”
Dylan perched her hand on her hip. “I’m just trying to be a good host here. Leila practically shit a brick when she saw me.”
Now Bash was eyeing me—like I should be wearing a nun’s habit instead of a gown. “Surely you’re used to seeing naked women at clubs. Parties-”
“Our play is ours alone,” Jacob interrupted. Gently, but firmly.
Bash held his hands up in surrender. “My bad. The least you could have done was warn her, though. Poor thing must be traumatized.”
Now my feathers were ruffled. I was surprised, but I was no prude. This kind of a place, that celebrated kink, was right up my alley—even if I wasn’t walking around nude with a collar around my neck.
“‘Poor thing’ is just fine.” I raised my chin, remembering something Dylan mentioned. “In fact, I was hoping Jacob and I could do some exploration upstairs in one of the private rooms.”
Dylan brought a hand to her chest. “A sub after my own heart!”
Jacob’s eyes glazed over my face, seeking out some indication that I wasn’t being serious. Putting on a brave face for their sake. When his eyes hit my lips, sparkling with mischief, he got his answer.
“Would you two excuse us?” he said smoothly. “It appears we have some things to take care of upstairs.”
FOR SOMEONE WHO BOLDLY turned the tables and managed to not gawk at the erotic scenes on the way out, the nerves kicked into overdrive when we hit the bannister. We’d left our tour guide to get her freak on with her fiance, all but announcing that we intended to do the same. This was a brave new world for us: taking something personal and private and sharing it with strangers.
Not strangers. Most
of the people here are strangers, but Dylan and Bash are friends. And if not my friends just yet, well on their way.
Friends that know the you like your bowchickawowow with a fair amount of kink.
I floundered at the base of the stairs as a girl with a ball gag shuffled past, led by her Dom, who was holding a bubblegum pink leash.
“The combined income of all the people in this building trumps the GDP of a small country, but he skimped on the elevator, huh?”
Jacob put a hand on the small of the back and leaned in, his sweet breath whispering across my flesh. “Oh, there’s an elevator, despite the fact that his place only has three floors. We’re going up to the second floor—and I’ll be damned if I don’t get to watch how sexy you look climbing the stairs.”
The nerves changed, morphing into excited, schoolgirl butterflies. He didn’t give me a direct command, but I gave him a show. Pointed my eye towards the unknown and gripped the bannister as I made my ascent. All this tulle meant my curves from the waist down were hidden, but his gaze turned all the material to ash. Melted it right off me. Put me on display without removing a stitch of clothing.
We reached the landing and the near darkness and the stillness of the second floor made me drop my volume, like I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought they had the mood lighting happening with the chandeliers downstairs. A chandelier in every room, every hallway. The kind of interior decorator that Alicia would have on speed dial. But up here, the only light was generated from pillar candles that lined the walls. There weren’t any framed pieces of art on this level. Just candles, darkness, and a series of doors.
I stopped at the first, leaning in to peer at the keypad near the knob. Instead of numbers, this one only had letters.
“Do we need the code?” I smirked. “Does it happen to be ‘risk’?”
“It does.”
I punched the R, then the I.
“You see the X sign near the top? The red indicator light?”
I stopped punching.
“That means this room is occupied. So unless you want to join their party...”
“I most certainly do not.” Cheeks on fire, I headed to the next door. This one had no X, and the only indicator light was green. Still, I stood back and let Jacob do the honors.
The door clicked and Jacob led the way. Like the hall, this room was only lit by candles. Candles were clustered on an antique dresser with a mirror that was perfectly aligned with the four poster bed in the center of the room. Sheer drapes dangled from every corner, tied back with black ribbon. I walked over to it, my toe colliding with a chest at the foot of the bed. The only reason you’d use those kind of drapes was if you had fear of malaria, insects, or you were a child shooting for a textbook princess bed.
I fingered the gentle fabric, my lips parting as I left my question unsaid.
“It’s likely used for voyeuristic play,” Jacob explained. “If it gets you off to watch, be teased, but not to touch.” He ran his fingers along the ribbon that lined the back of my bustier. “If you like to listen. That sort of thing.”
I shivered, delight ghosting across my body. “I like to be teased.”
“I’m aware,” Jacob chuckled. I tilted my head towards the mirror and saw our reflection. Saw his fingers hard at work, loosening the ribbon. Felt the stiff material relax.
“I wonder, though—does my sub like to obey?”
I could have reminded him that my very presence tonight was proof of that, but I knew he wasn’t looking for spunk. He wanted me to say yes.
With my submission.
With my body.
I leaned into him, melting into the wall of muscle behind me. “Yes she does.” I licked my lips. The place between my thighs already said yes. Screamed it.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. His fingertips were known, moving beneath my bustier with purpose. It tumbled to the floor, my breasts springing free. They didn’t free fall for long. Jacob took them in his hands.
Massaging my contours.
Grazing my nipples with his fingertips.
“The chest at your feet is filled with every tool you can think of.” His lips fell to my shoulders. My neck. “Clamps and leather and gags. All brand new, of course,” he assured me. “Personally though, I don’t think we need any of it. I have something a little closer to home in mind.”
My nipples were rock hard. Aching for him. Aching for his brutal touch. Jacob Whitmore had this way of possessing me. Erasing all else but his touch. The sound of his voice. I was a slave to it. Willing to do, say anything to please him—because I knew that underneath his own sadistic streak, it was my pleasure that he sought. My pleasure that magnified his own.
His hands dropped to my waist and I held back a quip about how skilled he was at finding the hook clasp and zipper when I had a time figuring it out when I tried on the dress. I was just happy to finally step out of it and into my husband’s arms.
He held me close, my nude frame against his clothed one, but there was one part of Jacob that wasn’t behaving: his cock.
Jacob was stroking my spine, inhaling the smell of my hair like it was one of his favorite scents. This was romance novel, lovey dovey stuff. But down south? That wasn’t about love. He was engorged.
Pulsing.
Stoking the need inside me.
The only thing it was concerned with was the other L word: lust.
“Follow me.”
I was hoping we were headed to the bed, but Jacob steered me to the dresser.
To the mirror.
My hands shot to my chest, creating an awkward arm bra that I regretted, because his disapproval was felt instantly. All the things I’d been concerned with—my self consciousness, covering myself like he hadn’t seen my breasts in all their saggy glory—faded to black when his hand sliced through the air.
Sliced towards my bottom.
The sting took my breath away. I almost reached back to touch the tender skin, but I knew that would earn me another strike, so I kept my hands at my side. Swallowed the tears in my throat.
Jacob gently stroked my cheeks, whispering sweet nothings after he set my flesh ablaze. His blue eyes locked on my brown ones.
“You still don’t get it, do you? You still don’t see what I see.”
A wild haired, splotchy faced, chubby chick? I see that just fine...
“Leila Whitmore, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he followed up, like he heard my self deprecating humor, and was ready to shut that nonsense down. “You are the mother of my child, the most stubborn submissive I’ve ever encountered, and the love of my life.”
The tears in my throat flew to my eyes, blurring my view. But in that moment, I saw all that mattered.
I saw Jacob’s love.
“More stubborn that Dylan?” I caught the tears with my knuckle. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
The romance chilled as his eyes narrowed. “That depends—would you see a spanking as a reward, a punishment, or your Dom’s will?” He held up a single finger. “Think carefully about your answer.”
I had a feeling the wrong answer was ‘punishment’. Still, I did as he asked and mulled it over. Tried to stay on task, even though he was making it really hard.
This was the tease, watching him unbutton his shirt. He tossed it aside, giving me a front row view of his abs. His broad shoulders. Even though his abdominal V cut was a neon arrow that pointed at his crotch, he took his time. Unbuckled his belt before he went to work on his fly.
He was sex personified in his boxer briefs. Lust in the flesh when he discarded them, showing me every inch of him.
I must have been practically slobbering, like some cartoon character come to life because he cleared his throat, crossing his muscular arms against his delicious chest.
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”
“Oh!” I wrenched my eyes from his groin. “It would be-” I gulped, delaying the inevitable. I had a feeling a spanking
was in my near future, whether I said the right thing or not, so I just gave up the ghost. “My Dom’s will.”
His face was all stone and angles, but his eyes gleamed with approval. “Lie on the bed. Face down. Spread eagled.”
My butt tingled, anticipating what was ahead, but my feet wasted no time sweeping across the floor. I crawled onto the bed, making a mental note to high five Bash on his choice of fabric softener. I would feel like I was frolicking through a meadow while Jacob wailed on my behind.
I obeyed, lowering my chest onto the plush bedding. Sucking in a breath as I made a V with my legs. I tilted my head to the side, but I still couldn’t see him. All I could do was use my other senses.
Hear the wooden floor creak as he advanced towards the bed.
Feel the satiny, fluffy down comforter beneath my bare flesh.
Ride the wave of desire that coursed through me as the air licked the secret place at the apex of my thighs.
Drink in the cool as something other than central air breezed across my butt. Lingered at my core.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, his breath on my skin. “Don’t say a word.”
I almost screwed up then and there, my lips parting so I could say ‘yes sir’. So I could beg. I wisely clamped them shut and tried to remember to breathe. To trust. To hold on tight, because Jacob Whitmore excelled at blowing my ever loving mind.
The breath was the tease and when he touched me, I knew he meant business. His digit stroked my warmth and he dove inside me. He told me not to say a word, but moaning was not only on the table, it was out of my control when his mouth seized me.
His tongue traced where his finger had been, then he buried his mouth in me. Drank my desire, my lust, like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. I wasn’t at Risk, South Lake Tahoe, or even planet Earth. I was in a place where the only thing that mattered was pleasure.
Drowning in the flicks of his tongue.
Groaning when two fingers became three.
He came up from inside me, his voice heavy, hot with need. “You’re so wet for me, Lay. I want you. All of you.”
I couldn’t see but my body cried out like a Hallelujah chorus as the bed adjusted to him. As my body adjusted from his mouth and fingers to that hot, pulsing part of him.