by Ann Jacobs
Later, when Trace got up to leave, Mark followed him to his car. But he didn’t leave. Instead he leaned against the car, his coffee mug in hand. “Are you using your tickets for the Cowboys’ game on Sunday?”
“I don’t know yet. If you and Lynn want to leave the kids home, you can have two, though. I know I won’t be taking any guests other than Elle.” She liked football, but a game wasn’t exactly the place he had in mind to test out Mark and Lynn’s suggestions. “On second thought, you can have all four tickets if you want them. My two nieces might like to go, too.”
“Thanks, pal. I’ll send somebody over to the ranch to get them.”
“No problem.” Except that Trace wanted his weekend with Elle to himself. “I’ll be coming in to town Friday night to pick up Elle. I’ll stop by here and leave them for you.”
Mark’s expression turned serious. “Okay, Trace, I’m going to put it to you straight. Lynn was trying to beat around the bush. I don’t know why. Maybe because she’s your sister, or because she was respecting Elle’s privacy, but I can tell this is the real deal for you and she’s breaking your heart. And I happen to think—well, we both do—that you’re good for Elle.
“So here’s the deal. What Lynn was trying to tell you is that we think Elle may be a sexual submissive. Like Eli and Maggie, she’s into hard-core bondage and discipline, the kind that apparently goes on in BDSM clubs. Not that I’d suggest that you ask Eli for a recommendation to his club right away, but making a trip to the local triple-X toy store might do a world of good. It has for us.”
Trace hoped to hell he didn’t look as shocked as he felt. “Okay. I’m game to try almost anything,” Trace said as he slid behind the wheel.
“By the way, Elle’s not on call this coming weekend. Just in case you might want to spirit her away.”
* * * * *
On the way home from Lynn and Mark’s place, Trace mulled over what they’d said. Elle, a sexual submissive? Right. If he tried dominating her, she’d most likely chop off his balls. Well, maybe not, he thought when he remembered the one time they’d come in from a ride around the ranch and he’d fucked her in an empty stall, with her hanging onto the rough wood wall, her legs trapped in the tight jeans he’d slid down below her knees. Her tight cunt had been wet and swollen, and she’d moaned with pleasure the harder and faster he’d pounded into her.
As a matter of fact, when he looked back he realized that was the only time he could remember when he was positive Elle’s orgasm had been real. And he’d felt like apologizing to her afterward once he regained his voice. Maybe his mom had taught him a little too well that he needed to treat women with tenderness, respect.
So maybe he’d give Mark’s suggestion a try. He opened the door and stepped inside his empty house, imagining her there, greeting him with a submissive smile. All he had to lose was Elle, and it seemed he’d been doing a decent job of that by playing Mr. Nice Guy. He headed for his office and turned on the computer.
Dominance and submission. Trace hesitated for a minute before hitting “Enter” and waiting for Google to come up with some possible sites. The first one he clicked on featured an interesting array of what looked like medieval instruments of torture, and some damn arousing shots of chicks in various stages of undress who were bound and seemed to be enjoying what Trace would say amounted to some serious abuse.
Obviously that wasn’t something he wanted to pursue with anybody, much less the woman he loved. He shook his head and tried another site. And another. What the hell? He had trouble believing anybody sane would enjoy inflicting serious pain on his partner, or that any woman could get off on being hurt. Then he hit on a website where some Dom went into the psychology of why some people were Dominants, others submissive. It pointed him to a MySpace page where an anonymous woman had talked about what she needed in her lover.
Trace clicked on the link.
This was more what he was looking for. Against a typically feminine-looking background that featured white roses on a pink screen was a message. It made sense to Trace, where the hardcore BDSM sites hadn’t. He could deal with this, he thought, re-reading what the woman had written, about the responsibilities she faced, how she needed to escape them, hand over control to a dominant lover.
“All my life I’ve had to lead others, but in sex I have to have a leader. I need a man to take control of my body and my senses to overcome my inhibitions, and make me find pleasure in the acts my mother taught me were horribly wrong.
I want a Dom who understands what I need and knows what it takes to bring me along, a Dom who loves me and who wants to give me pleasure.
“A gentle Dom who’ll kiss away the bruises from his lash, who’ll support me in daylight as well as during the long nights in his bed. I want a man who loves me and fulfills my every fantasy.
“A strong man. A leader. A lover I can lean on, count on, not just for tonight but for all time.”
The woman had issued quite an order. As he re-read the passage, Trace wondered if he could ever be all those things to Elle. He’d never thought she might have deeply ingrained inhibitions that gentle loving by an equal couldn’t sweep away. But she’d mentioned her dysfunctional family, the prudish mother and the philandering, hard-drinking dad.
Trace hoped Elle would find gentle domination enough to bring her along because he’d hate having to resort to the damn pillories and adjustable crosses, and the many physical torture devices he’d seen demonstrated during his brief research. He’d do it, though, if he had to.
He loved Elle, and if he had to act the Dom to have her, he’d gladly play the role. In fact, as he thought back to that day in the stable, and the times he’d wanted to play a little rougher with her, he decided it might not be a chore at all. Thinking about ordering her to his bed, restraining her there while he indulged every carnal thought he’d ever had, sent blood south so fast he was feeling lightheaded and his cock was straining to get free of his jeans and play. Maybe Elle wasn’t the only one who’d lose some inhibitions if he took the reins.
Chapter Three
Alone in her apartment, Elle almost wished for an emergency to call her back to the hospital. Even if this was beginning her weekend off call. She had too damn much time to think about Trace and the proposal she knew she had to turn down.
It wasn’t as if Elle didn’t love him, because she did, with every beat of her heart. It certainly wasn’t as though he weren’t one hot dude, because the rugged rancher was every bit the dark-haired, brown-eyed lover she’d conjured up in the best of her late-night fantasies. If only he didn’t save the well-worn, oiled, leather whip he kept coiled neatly on his saddle horn for easing along recalcitrant heifers. She’d rather he used it to remind her he was her boss.
Except for that one time…
Not that he’d actually used that whip on her. Or even alluded to it. He hadn’t needed to. They’d come in from a ride along the creek that ran through one wooded section of his property. All it had taken was his suggestion, made with the slightest hint of demand, and a pointed look at the rough wood wall of the empty stall where he’d led her, his hot gaze boring into her body as she slid her jeans down to her knees and stood there gripping the wall, waiting…
She hadn’t had to wait long. His breath had been hot, his work-roughened hands intent as he positioned her, his voice deliciously raspy as he told her exactly what he intended to do.
I’m gonna fuck you ’til you scream like a mare when she’s taking it from Diego. And he had. For the first time outside Club Rio Brava, Elle had come. Without toys. Without a kinky scene or a pair of hot Doms. Without anything except her and Trace and his favorite mount, a big black stallion who’d watched with his ears perked toward her as she reached for and found her peak. She guessed that in itself was some sort of kink, voyeurism as real as if the voyeur had been human, taking in every thrust, every parry, ogling their glistening bodies straining as they raced to pleasure.
She still didn’t know what had come over hi
m that day. Maybe just being outdoors and unable to have their hands on each other for a long day of riding horses out to check a spot on the ranch boundary where the fence had been torn down had fed his lust…and hers. Whatever it was, he hadn’t repeated it, and she hadn’t been brave enough to let him know how much she loved it. And sadly, maybe that was why he hadn’t repeated it. Damn!
Her pussy throbbed with the memory of it. Restless, she went into her bedroom, stripped and lay across the bed, desperate for release. Picking up a thick, purple, silicone dildo—a damn poor substitute for a lover’s eager cock—she rubbed it along her swollen slit. Trying to concentrate on sensation and set aside her jumbled feelings, she pretended she was in Club Rio Brava getting it on with one of the masked Dominants who’d singled her out for a night of fun and games. That didn’t work. Trace was on her mind. It was his long, thick cock she imagined taking her, forcing her to reach out and grab those hot sensations her body wasn’t willing to let loose on its own. Fuck it, why did she have to go and fall in love? And if she had, why couldn’t she have fallen for a Dom who’d make her shed all her sexual hang-ups?
Elle had the feeling she knew that answer. The masked Doms who made her come six ways from Sunday forced her to fulfill her secret fantasies. Fantasies so dark, so outside the realm of her reality that she dared not whisper them in the light of day, not even to the man she loved and was considering marrying.
Trace was real, not some faceless partner. A man from her real world that she could love in the light of day, without shame or need for secrecy. Rubbing the dildo slowly over her clit, she imagined it was his callused fingers, his touch as delicate and reverent as the Doms’ were often harsh and demanding. Slick, scalding tears slid down her cheeks because a huge part of her wanted everything Trace was offering.
It wouldn’t be fair, lying in his arms at night pretending to be satisfied when her pussy kept on throbbing for more than his sweet vanilla loving. And Elle couldn’t imagine herself yelling out, demanding that he get down and dirty and fucking make her come. If there was anything her mom had taught her, it was that ladies didn’t push. Of course, Mom would have a hemorrhage if she ever figured out that Elle had learned her lessons about what good girls do a bit too well, and that she’d had to resort to taking temporary partners at Club Rio Brava. It wouldn’t matter that Elle had to search out men who were willing and able to push her past that ladylike reserve, over the top to sensations of ecstasy she’d only imagined. Sensations she’d never experience again if she gave in to her own deepest desires and agreed to become Trace’s wife.
Unless…
Unless she told him. Elle might lose him if she did, but if she didn’t, they’d be in for some hard times if they actually made it to the altar. Better miserable without him than miserable trying to be the vanilla lover she wasn’t.
Now all she had to do was figure out how to impart her secret she’d kept very well up until now.
* * * * *
Trace had never before given up on anything he really wanted, and he wasn’t about to do it now. Early on Friday evening, he started to dial Elle then decided to wait until he was almost there. Surprise her, he thought, shrugging into a shearling-lined leather jacket over a flannel work shirt and his usual jeans. Good, he thought, noting the temperature on the way to his car. It had warmed up some this afternoon. As he pulled out of the ranch driveway onto the highway, he picked up his cell phone and speed-dialed Elle’s number. This time he wasn’t taking no for an answer. Just hearing her soft “hello” after the second ring got him hard.
He tried to keep his voice stern, confident. “I’m coming into town and dropping off tickets for the Cowboys’ game to Mark and Lynn. I’ll pick you up in about forty-five minutes. You’re spending the weekend with me at the ranch, and there won’t be any sneaking away from me this time.”
He heard her indrawn breath, felt a long pause before she said, “Okay.” That she didn’t argue shocked him, but he wasn’t about to complain.
Neither was he going to indulge in the flowers-and-candy banter he doubted would solidify his characterization of a sexual dominant. “Wear something sexy,” he said in his best imitation of a drill sergeant barking orders, before hanging up and maneuvering onto the San Antonio beltway.
* * * * *
Three-quarters of an hour? Staying the weekend? What had come over Trace? Elle had hardly recognized his commanding voice, the air of command she’d never experienced with him. All the thoughts that had been tumbling in her head since his proposal seemed to come to a screeching halt when he’d practically ordered her to be ready. A fantasy in her head, or a tentative dream coming true? She didn’t know. It seemed to be a sign that it was time for her to be brave, risk it all.
Sexy? Elle would show him sexy, and in doing so she’d reveal what it took to satisfy her sexually. Rifling through the bag she took to the club, Elle grabbed a black lace thong and lace-up leather bustier. Damn. Getting the laces tightened up the back without any help was quite a task, but she managed. Taking a good look in the full-length mirror, she fluffed her hair and frowned. She had no idea what had come over Trace, but she’d chalk his sudden demands up to a benevolent fate.
Makeup. She needed makeup, a lot more than the ladylike application she wore for work and on their frequent dates. She stepped into the bathroom and took out the war paint—dark eye liner, mascara, sparkly eye shadow, rose-colored lipstick and pale pink blush. No time for fresh foundation or concealer. Despite her initial surge of confidence, Elle noticed her hands shaking as she recreated the look she’d adopted for her visits to the club.
A coil of anticipation swirled in her vitals, the way she sometimes felt at Rio Brava. Exhilaration and nervousness competed in her head. While one part of her loved that this was happening with Trace, another part of her worried about what was going to happen. Maybe she’d misread his air of command and he’d just been cranky when he called. She slipped her feet into black stiletto heels, grabbed a sheepskin-lined khaki trench coat, and she was ready.
Ready to gamble that Trace would accept her kink and want her anyhow…maybe even want to join her in the sexual games she needed to make her come. Her pussy twitched with anticipation and more than a little fear.
Whatever she did, she didn’t want to lose him.
By the time he knocked and she went to the door to let him in, Elle was shivering, partly with sexual excitement but also with the trepidation she couldn’t shake. What if Trace’s idea of dressing sexy was a little black sheath dress and killer heels? “Come in,” she said, smiling up at him as she held the front of her coat closed to hide what she had on underneath it.
Before she could reach up on tiptoe to give him a kiss, he took her mouth. Unlike his usual casual pecks, this kiss demanded the speeding pulse and jackhammer heartbeat that had her breathless as he forced his tongue between her lips and dragged her against his hard, fit body. He used his hands to knead her butt and moved his hips against hers as if he intended to fuck her then and there. When he finally let her go, she stepped back and looked him in the eye.
He didn’t flinch. “Come on. Did you pack a suitcase?”
“No.” Where was he going with this unfamiliar macho posturing?
He caught her elbow and practically dragged her to her bedroom. Damn, he’d never done that before. “Grab a bag and toss in some jeans and a shirt, and whatever you want to wear to your office on Monday. Hurry.” He gave her a sharp slap on the ass that made her juices start to flow and her nipples tingle.
This wasn’t the Trace she knew and loved, but she wasn’t about to question the change. The air in her bedroom felt charged, and her skin tingled at the prospect that something had happened. It seemed that something had swept away her old vanilla Trace and replaced him with somebody who showed every symptom of being a Dom.
Hurrying, she opened up a small piece of luggage and tossed in the items he mentioned—plus some extra underwear and a couple of pairs of shoes. “Okay, I’m ready,” sh
e said, her voice not quite steady as she dropped the lid of the weekender with a loud thud.
“Not quite so fast, sweetheart. I saw something in that drawer that I want to see on you.” Opening the underwear drawer she’d just closed, he selected a purple lace thong and a matching shelf bra that left her nipples bare. “Dare I imagine you wear things like this to work?”
“You may imagine me wearing them anywhere you want to.” She didn’t think he’d appreciate her telling him that she’d bought them for the club but never yet worn them.
“You won’t be wearing them anywhere except in my bedroom,” he rasped, grasping her shoulders. His kiss was hard, demanding, his tongue forcing her lips to open and let him in. Was it her imagination, or did he press her tighter than he’d ever done before against his pulsating erection? Was he insistent on making her submit to his newly raging lust? Her pussy twitched with anticipation. Her heart beat faster, and if he hadn’t been so obviously intent on controlling this scene, she’d have suggested they stay there. All she could do was gasp for breath when he let her go.
“Hold that thought, sweetheart. We’re off now for the ranch.” His voice sounded deeper, huskier than usual, his breath coming hard when he broke their embrace. “Come on.” He picked up her suitcase, took her hand, and practically dragged her out the door of her apartment and onto the brightly lit street.
* * * * *
A gentle night breeze caressed her bare thighs beneath her trench coat. The sounds of castanets and guitars drifted over them as Trace led her by a Tex-Mex restaurant across the street from her place. The heat of his hand at her waist excited her as she glanced down at the erection pressing insistently at the snug jeans he wore. God but he was gorgeous, and tonight he projected a raw sexuality she’d never noticed before. Everywhere their bodies touched, she tingled with anticipation.