EROTICA:SHORT STORIES TABOO SEX ROMANCE BUNDLE DIRTY GROUP BOOKS (Menage MM Rough Gay BDSM Lesbian Foursome Stepdaddy Threesome Stepbrother Milf Daddy

by CELENE CAREY

  Instead, he wrapped his fist around her wrist and hauled her against his chest. His palms rose to bracket her face. She stared deep into his eyes. His hazel eyes--so similar to hers--stared back. His thumbs rubbed against her temples, then across the apples of her cheeks. Sighing, she leaned into his caress. Stroking back through her hair, he worked his fingers down to her scalp. The shivers which coursed in her veins had her panting, her lips parted, her tongue licking over them. His eyes fell to watch her tongue. His pupils darkened. His nostrils flared. She smelled his breath--teeth freshly brushed--as he exhaled.

  “Angel…”

  Her mind twitched at his use of her nickname, the same Mr. Stone had first used with her. Brushing aside the familiarity, she shook her head slightly. He must have misunderstood.

  “Please?” He begged, the word sounding foreign, wrong upon his lips. What kind of sway must she have over him that he would submit to her power at this moment? It boggled everything she’d known or assumed of him.

  Her own hands lifted to wrap around his wrists, her slender fingers gripping him hard. “I cannot submit,” she began, watching him warily as she mentally forced him to remain calm. “But, he doesn’t have to know.” She wasn’t sure if she believed she would be able to hide her lover from Mr. Stone, but she was willing to try. For Mr. Adams. For her. Some things were worth the risk.

  The change in Mr. Adams as the meaning behind her words sunk into his consciousness was a miracle. His face cleared, it’s hidden depths of emotion ripping free of his mask. His lips spread in a wide smile, his eyes glowed, and his jaw softened, the hard line of his neck muscles smoothing. His heart raced under hers, where he held her tight to him. She wanted him. Right now. Right here.

  But first, a question. “Why did you come?”

  He pulled back just a hair, startled by her question. “My mother.” He said it in a whisper. Full of depth and feeling. Moaning, Angelique lowered her eyes. This man’s hints of emotion were so unlike Mr. Stone’s. And she was discovering just how much she enjoyed the glimpses. She was growing wetter as each second stretched on. An aphrodisiac she was not expecting.

  “Your mother?”

  “I swear I heard her voice in your message. She left when I was five. Moved away. I remember her very fondly. While you--” waving his hand in the air as he decided not to continue on that train of thought, “--her voice came back to me. I’m not sure why, but something spoke to me and I knew I had to come here. Whether my mother sent me… or not.”

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  “No. However, my mother, well she was an odd bird. Even at five, I knew it. She would definitely think she could work from the grave to fix what she thought was broken in my life.” Angelique stifled a laugh at his description. It sounded so much like her own mom, she completely understood.

  “She passed away?”

  He paused to think. “I would imagine so.”

  Now, she quieted. “I’m sorry.”

  Raising his chin, he looked across the garage at nothing in particular, then took a shuddering breath. “It was a long time ago.” And with those words she knew he was done talking about the past. For an interlude, it had been just as it had been between them at the hospital. Sharing, camaraderie, friendship, but then he’d just shut her down. It was the dominant in him. There were limits to what a dom shared with his sub. Mr. Stone had taught her that.

  They stood in silence in the garage, staring at one another. The quiet stretched interminably. It took all her effort to remain calm and well-behaved. She’d asked for this meeting. He’d come. This was her opportunity to prove to Mr. Adams she’d meant what she’d said when he’d arrived. She wanted to prove to him she was eager to be his. That she could be his. If only in secret.

  And so she waited. Waited for his instruction.

  And at last he gave her one. With a nod and a slight bow, he gave her her due. She’d passed her test. The first of many, she was sure.

  “Come with me.” He stroked his palm down her arm and tapped her waist.

  “Yes, sir.” She beamed.

  Leading her to the elevator, he called the car down to them and then pushed her gently ahead of him. They rode to their floor. His hand stayed on her, touched her, as a reminder, a promise, and a warning. She sighed. At last, the elevator opened to the empty hall where both their doors were marked. Angelique began to walk down the stretch to his door at the far end. He lagged behind. Four steps from his door, she heard him stop and curse. Spinning around, she caught his eyes on her ass. Stifling a grin, she cocked her head at him, moving to place her back to the wall.

  Moving quickly, he was on her in a heartbeat. He bracketed her head between his palms braced against the mute-colored wall.

  “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  It was a rhetorical question. She knew not to answer. He leaned into her space, nothing but a breath separating them. She hoped he would kiss her. She prayed he would kiss her. He didn’t. His eyes studied her face.

  “Get in the room.” She felt his breath caress her lips as he spoke.

  Angelique didn’t move, not until he did first. His command hung between them. Then, ever so slowly, he leaned and moved away from her to his door. A quick swipe of his key card and he was through, holding the door for her.

  The interior of his place was impressive. Expensive rugs dotted the floor, similar painting hung on the walls. His kitchen was pure stainless steel. It shimmered, a light of its own, in the center of the massive open space. The inside wall held three doors. Bedrooms and bathroom she assumed. The remaining walls were nearly all window. His suite was a peninsula protruding from the hotel’s top floors. A living room suite, black and white leather, and office seemed to float over the city, bathed in the neon lights below.

  She whispered a heartfelt, “Wow!” as she took it all in. Looking over her shoulder, she caught his eye. “Mr. Adams, this room…” She extended an arm at him, then to the room. He smiled.

  “A gift from Mr. Stone. Part of the partnership, if you can believe it.” He took her coat. Then, crossing to the kitchen, he drew two wine glasses from a cabinet and a bottle from the controlled environment of a wine chest. He poured them both a glass, set them on the marble island, then rejoined her.

  “Are you sure?”

  His concern shocked her, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. There was the way he’d taken care of her at the hospital. Then again, the room he provided for her and her mother. “Yes,” she began, touched.

  “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “I want this.”

  “But, Mr. Stone?” He chuckled as though the thought of the man made him picture a cartoon. Amazed at his nonchalance regarding the partner and her boss, she didn’t know how to respond. “Will you tell me about your sessions?”

  She wasn’t sure. It was personal. Yet, she began. And as she did, she began to shake. Putting into words the way he treated her, the way she responded, her thoughts as it happened, tears sprung to her eyes. Unbidden and unwelcome. It wasn’t that she disliked Mr. Stone, he had after all, introduced her to a whole new world of sensations that she often found herself reliving in her bed at night, but still.... some of what he asked of her was embarrassing.

  Mr. Adams noticed her tears, wrapping her in an embrace, he comforted her.

  “Shhh.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, letting them linger there for a breath longer than necessary. She soaked up his essence. His body’s warmth. The feel of his muscles bunching under his clothes. Faint traces of his clean, crisp cologne drifted to her, teasing her senses, and she moaned. His hand swept up and down her arm, leaving shivers in its wake.

  “Mr. Adams?” she sighed as she wiped the tracks her tears from her cheeks.

  “Daniel,” he amended. Touching his lips to her cheek, he nipped her tender flesh, making her yelp in surprise. The scratch of his beard and scruff, sent her nerves flaring with an erotic tickle. Growing bolder, he moved his mo
uth down her neck, trailing kisses across her throat. A lick here, a nibble there. She was a puddle of quivering wetness before he’d even touched her lips. Her pulse beat an erratic rhythm. Her chin lifted to allow him easier and greater success. His mouth traveled up to the curve of her jaw.

  Finally, he reached her lips. He pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth, then another. She wondered at his control. He was driving her crazy with his slow seduction while she was praying he’d just take her--fast and hard. No more playing around, she wanted his cock pounding her pussy.

  His mouth landed on hers. His lips rubbed along hers, the friction maddening. His teeth nipped at her thin skin. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it. It was painful, but she moaned regardless. She was too turned on, too needy, to care about a bit of pain. It was just one more thing assaulting her senses and rocking her nerves. Letting go, the pop of her lip back into place had the walls of her sheath tightening on emptiness.

  Another press of his lips on hers and this time, he took her mouth with his tongue, sweeping through her warm heat and tasting her. God, the man was a master of kissing. She felt the pull and tug of his desire pull and tug at her much lower. As he withdrew, her own tongue followed, wanting to treat him to the same treatment. As she tried to sneak her tongue into his mouth, his teeth fell upon her, warning her off. She was his to take, not hers to take. Mr. Stone had never encouraged her to kiss, never expected it, but now, with Mr. Adams, she felt her submission in entirety. He owned her heart and soul, free to do whatever he wanted with her body.

  It was enlightening.

  Shoving her toward the couch; the act came off as gentle and caring instead of rude and passionate. She frowned. Angelique wanted him rude and passionate. She was craving being taken. Being forced. Fucked and sated. Stumbling over her feet and the heels, she sat hard on the couch’s armrest. He snickered, retrieved their wine glasses, and stood over her as he handed her the blood-dark liquid. It swirled with the movement of his offer. Its intoxicating scent wafted to her nose, hints of cherry and licorice. She licked her lips as she brought the Caberet up and sipped delicately. It was divine! Mr. Adams had exceptional taste.

  “You do know how to make a man hard, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she lifted her eyes to hold his as she added, “sir.” Crossing and uncrossing her legs, she rubbed her thighs together. His gaze dropped to watch. She grinned over his shoulder. Some men were so easy. A soft chuckle vibrated up her throat.

  “I’m going to fuck you tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She lifted her hand to her blouse. Her slender fingers unfastened each button, one by one. He hadn’t yet commanded her, too, but she felt his approval. And he did not stop her. When she was done, she did not remove her blouse, instead dropped her hands to her sides and let the silk fabric hang open. She wore no bra beneath. The gentle curve of her breasts were revealed, but her nipples, erect under his stare, were still hidden.

  Reaching behind her back, she eased her her hands into the waistband of her skirt. Her fingers fumbled at the zipper and she stood up from the couch in order to draw the zipper down. The scratch of it filled the space between them, leaving no ambiguity to the rest of the night’s actions. Angelique leaned forward slightly, giving Mr. Adams a eye-popping view of her cleavage, lifted and breasts spread with her hands cupping her ass cheeks, as she pushed her shirt down her legs. As the fabric reached her knees, she righted herself, letting gravity take over and strip the skirt the rest of the way to the floor, where it puddled around her ankles.

  Her blouse gaped wide enough for him to see--and he did see--her neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair. Neither, did she wear any panties. Her nether hair was darker than her auburn locks, but beautiful in its delicate shaping and softness. Even now, as he watched her, she ached to run her palm over the patch of hair, alighting her nerves and making her shiver.

  Such a striptease used to bring a blush to her cheeks. But those were times before Mr. Stone. Now, she only found the baring of her flesh arousing. Sinfully arousing. She was loving every second of it, her eyes darting in quick glimpses to the tenting of Mr. Adams slacks. His cock was long, half-hard, and curved ever so slightly. Wondering at how he would feel inside her, she whispered and moaned.

  “Where do you want me?” Angelique asked, her tone saucy. It was a calculated risk. Mr. Stone would punish her for her such shows of dominance, but she needed to figure out Mr. Adams’s lines.

  His grin widened. “Tease,” he began, noticing her tone. “In the bedroom.”

  Angelique pouted. She’d been hoping for a bit of naughtiness in sight of an onlookers--not that that was really going to be an issue this high up, so far from any similarly tall buildings--not locked away in a bedroom. “Or, I could give you a blowjob right here,” she suggested. It wasn’t allowed, but she dared to speak her mind anyways.

  “No. I want you in the bedroom.”

  He walked away, leaving her to follow. Crossing through, then pass the kitchen, he opened the bedroom door and flicked on the light. It appeared he had very specific plans for her. She entered, wary, yet excited.

  “Lie down in the middle of the bed.”

  She paused an instant too long. His hand sped out and slapped her ass hard at her reluctance to obey. Yelping, she bit a curse off, wisely keeping her lips closed. Her pussy had other ideas. She felt the first slip of her wetness coat her inner thighs, a droplet hanging heavy and thick from her folds. Propelled forward, she skittered to the bed and climbed up.

  “On your back.”

  As she maneuvered into position, she caught sight of Mr. Adams stripping his own clothes off. He was a well-built man. He’d looked good in his suit--an image of him at the first meeting popping to her mind--but, now, with his well-tanned bare skin exposed to her hazel eyes, she realized just how amazing the man was. His chest was powerful, his stomach flat and lean, the briefest hint of a six-pack showed as he twisted and moved about. His hips flared to wide thighs and long legs. Even his knees were sexy. His feet were large and well-formed, the old adage about foot size and cock size proving true. And, now naked, his cock stood fully erect, released from its fabric jail, the tip bouncing against his stomach as he finally walked toward her.

  He retrieved something from the bedside table before joining her.

  “Have you ever been submissive outside his office?”

  “In his car. Outside a movie theater and a restaurant. We never went inside.”

  “That all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then tonight will be full of surprises,” he promised. Showing her what he’d taken from the set of drawers, he let the pair of leather cuffs dangle from his open hand. In the other, he showed her a black, velvet blindfold. She moaned at the toys, for though they weren’t dildos or vibrators, she knew in her heart these were just as potent playthings. “Grab the headboard.”

  Reaching up, she wrapped her fingers around the iron spindles of his hand-wrought bed frame. As soon as she had a good grip, Mr. Adams leaned over her, his warm, naked flesh centimeters from hers--so close she could feel his body heat--and clasped the cuffs around her wrist. Giving a bit of token resistance, she yanked on the restraints. The leather softened the hard cut of metal into the tender skin of her wrist, still she worried about red marks. Mr. Stone would notice any marring.

  Angelique expected him to cover her eyes next, but he didn’t. He remained standing, observing her as she observed him.

  “Have you ever been flogged?”

  She paused, a little scared at his question. She’d thought she was into BDSM, having been with Mr. Stone for a while now, but Mr. Adams, he was asking about new kinks, terrifying kinks she had a feeling would push her into an abyss she would not be able to escape from. With a great deal of hesitation, she shook her head, “No, sir.”

  He must have read her fear in her pause or her eyes, she wasn’t sure which, but she was pleased at his intuitiveness. “Perhaps anoth
er time.” Exhaling heavily, her heart began to beat again at his gentle words. He didn’t seem angry.

  “Yes, sir.”

  With the silk fabric still in his hand, he let it dangle, unravelling down until it caressed her breasts, teasing her with the barest touch of its cool strands. Placing one knee on the bed, Mr. Adams leaned forward and sniffed at her pussy. Her juices were already flowing, sending the scent of her arousal into the air around them. Did he like the smell? She waited, breath held, for his reaction. He sniffed again, then smiled.

  “You are a clean woman,” Mr. Adams stated, praise audible in his words.

  Preening, she spread her legs wider. He stared. Her skin was flushed and was dark pink. Her folds glistened in her moisture. She wanted him to touch her. Hands, fingers, tongue, mouth, or cock. She wasn’t picky. Instead, taking a deep breath of her crisp odor, he moved the blindfold down across the twitching skin of her stomach, to drag the silk over her sex.

  Gasping, Angelique squirmed. It was such a minimal touch, yet her skin rejoiced and enflamed, her clit swelling under the barest of contacts and poking free of the hood. In reaction, Mr. Adams sighed, eyes locked to her clitoris.

  “You are a beauty,” he whispered, in awe. “Mr. Stone has prepared you well.”

  Even if she’d been able to manage a response, she had no idea how to respond to his praise. Instead, she only moaned again.

  Covering his hand with the strip of silk, he pressed it more firmly to her, wetting it in her juice. She writhed as his fingers stroked her through the fabric. At last, he moved the swath of fabric away and shook it loose. Snapping the silk, a darker black--if it was even possible--where her moisture marred it drew her eye. Beyond the blindfold, Mr. Adams grinned. He crawled up the bed, straddling, but not touching, her body, and draped the fabric over her eyes. Her scent struck her as the wet spots covered her vision. Tightening the strip around her head, he deftly knotted it.