by Christy Poff
Chapter 9
Brett Quincannon went into the vineyards looking at the vines. He could tell by the brilliance of the flowers that they would have a good year. For years, he'd read books on the subject and learned whatever he could, no matter where he went. If an assignment took him anywhere near a vineyard, Brett took the time to visit and learn. Now, he stood on the grounds of his own operation and it meant nothing to him—the fantasy destroyed.
Realistically, he needed to keep his hand in the operation considering his unemployed status and the need to keep his assets flush. He couldn't afford to walk away from this venture. Hell, I can't afford to walk away from her.
Brett saw her everywhere he looked, her presence in his life strong. His cock begged for her attention, his body craving her commands. The night she used the hood kept coming to mind—the most erotic and satisfying time he'd ever enjoyed—Brett needing her more.
"Call me, damn it!” he said, needing her to tell him what to do. The cell phone rang, Brett ignoring the caller ID.
"Ainsley?"
"I'm sorry, Mister Quincannon,” the voice said. “Inspector Paul Carlson, SFPD SIU. I'm working on The Lasher case with Inspector Marcus. I need to bring you up-to-date on the latest developments."
"What?” Brett asked impatiently.
"We've got a triple homicide at an exclusive club owned by a friend of your wife."
"Not Diego?"
"Yes, sir, I'm afraid so."
"Shit!"
"I'm sorry, sir. Agent Kane has been advised and we both agree this Peter Holmes is our killer. We'd like to get your local police department to provide you with protection until the Feds can get there."
"Do what you have to. I'll tell my wife."
"Yes, sir, and please, extend our condolences."
"Thank you, I will,” Brett said before ending the call. He dialed another number and waited.
"Don't hang up. It's not what you think."
* * * *
Ainsley paced. What the hell have I done? If what Judge Allan says is true, I've made a huge mistake. Ainsley Reynolds Quincannon felt the emptiness of loss, hating herself for jumping to conclusions.
Quickly she dressed in the first thing she grabbed from her closet. Groaning, she took it off the hanger, not wishing to waste any more time looking for something else. Besides, the ultra-short, body-hugging black leather minidress might help her do the one thing she had to do—beg to be forgiven. She had to get to Brett and tell him she was sorry for ever doubting him in any way.
Her cell phone rang. She saw the call originated with Brett's cell and groaned, her body reacting.
"Hello?"
"Don't hang up. It's not what you think."
Her heart sank.
"What's not?"
"I'm calling to tell you Peter Holmes is in San Francisco. He murdered Diego and two others at the club. Inspector Carlson feels you're next and is sending over some officers to join up with the locals. You should be fine."
"My God, Brett, when?"
"Last night."
Ainsley mourned the loss of her close friend and confidante feeling she should take the blame for his murder.
"Ainsley?"
"Yes, I'm here,” she whispered.
"I need to get some papers for the police."
"Sure."
"I won't bother you,” he told her before the call ended.
"What the hell do I do now? We're back to square one,” Ainsley moaned. She finished dressing then left their room to go meet him when he reentered the mansion.
She paced, waiting for him but he'd yet to come inside the house. Then she heard a strange sound coming from the library. She went down the long hallway to a large room lined with a myriad of titles and volumes—some first editions—lining numerous shelves. She froze when she saw him.
Brett stood behind the desk threading sheets of paper into a shredder. She went to his side seeing handwritten notes.
"I thought you had to give something to the police."
"I did. These files are no longer needed."
"How long have you been here?"
"Long enough to know what's happening is wrong."
"But why are you shredding things if the..."
"If you must know, these are my notes for the piece retracting the prior report."
"You made notes?"
"Yes, until I met you. I haven't written anything since."
"But, Brett, this is your job,” she started.
"I am a winemaker, unless I lose that too."
"But..."
"I'll be in the guesthouse until you decide what's going on here."
"What?"
"Ainsley, right now, you in that dress and those heels are driving me crazy. I want to fuck you so much I can't handle it. I want you to put that hood on me and...” He stopped, catching his breath. “I can't do anything or touch you until you allow it."
"Brett, I..."
"I can't even protect my wife because she ordered me to get out of her sight."
"Brett, my God, I'm sorry. I spoke before I thought. I should never have said any of that to you. I need you, Brett. I feel so empty."
"Right now, I don't think you know what you want or feel. You couldn't—and wouldn't—even give me the chance to explain anything to you. I figure you obviously overheard my conversation with my boss about the report but you didn't listen long enough to hear me quit a position I've fought my entire career to attain. I gave it all up because of the woman I love but she obviously doesn't have the same feelings for me."
"Brett, my..."
"Ainsley, I have never done that before. Now all I have left is this place. Please, don't take it away from me too."
Brett headed to the door, his back to her.
"You'll know where I'll be."
"I order you to stop."
* * * *
Brett walked in the kitchen door and heard Ainsley's heels as she paced on the polished marble floor of the huge ornately decorated entry to the mansion he'd given her. He snuck up the back stairs reserved for use by the servants to the second floor and the master suite. He took a deep breath before entering the place he'd spent so many joy-filled hours with his wife—a woman he no longer knew. He pulled out his garment bag and duffle, quickly packing the clothes he'd brought with him from New York, leaving the ones she'd bought for him a few days earlier.
Once done, he went back to the kitchen, left his things by the door then went into the library. In his hand, he held all his notes from his research in New York to his arrival in Yorba Linda. Why did I give up my life for her? Because, stupid, you love her.
He started threading the sheets of paper through the shredder at the side of the desk, needing to destroy the one thing everyone had warned him about.
Brett heard her come into the room, smelling her perfume. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, his cock reacting to her like always.
"I thought you had to give something to the police."
The sheer sound of her voice caused him to want to drop at her feet and beg but he fought the urge to do so. The sight of her in tight black leather drove him insane but she'd made herself clear—she wanted him out of her sight.
He continued feeding the shredder praying she couldn't see him shaking. He hoped his voice wouldn't betray him either. Slowly, he chose every word, careful in what he said to her.
Getting nowhere with her, the space between them growing, he headed to the door. He'd given it his best shot but his explanations failed—miserably.
"You know where I'll be."
"I order you to stop."
Five little words stopped him in his tracks, Brett unable to disobey her. He closed his eyes praying he'd gotten through to her. He waited for her to take the next step.
"I want you to turn around, come to the center of this beautiful room and drop to your knees."
Silently, Brett obeyed. His body cried out for hers but right now, Ainsley ran their lives. She walked around him, small t
remors coursing through him. She stood in front of him, her legs apart, her dress higher on her body than a few moments before.
"I want you to take a deep breath then tell me what you smell."
"I smell a beautiful woman's arousal mixed with a hint of lavender."
"And who is she?"
"My mistress."
"Very good,” she said. “Take the dress and push it completely over my hips."
"Yes, Mistress,” he said, slowly pushing the bottom of the leather dress up to expose her beautiful pussy. Her arousal called to him, his will to obey fading fast. He wanted her, unsure how long he could hold back.
"Suck my pussy, slave."
"Yes, Mistress,” he said, his stubborn resolve once again shot to hell. Eagerly, he lapped at her pussy, drinking from her. He closed his eyes praying they'd find their relationship where it had been lost several hours before.
"Give me your hands."
Silently, he obeyed, groaning when she placed them on her naked breasts. He continued feeding from the woman he loved, knowing she held back until the right moment. He felt her body begin to tremble, his own beginning to weaken.
"Make me come, slave."
"Yes, ma'am,” he gasped. “May I squeeze your tits?"
"Yes."
Brett nodded, driving his tongue deeper into her pussy. The gentle touch of her hands pressing him closer drove him. When she drowned his lips with her essence, he roughly squeezed her breasts, holding her tight while not realizing he bruised her sensitive skin.
"Tell me what you want, slave."
"The hood, please. I want to be shackled while my mistress rides me. Please, Mistress Anya—my Ainsley—use me,” he begged. “Please, forgive me for causing you distress. I should have told you..."
"Come with me,” she said, slipping her fingernail under his collar. “I have a surprise for you."
"Yes, ma'am."
He followed her down the hallway to a door at the end of it then down a spiral staircase to the basement. She opened a door and turned on a light to reveal her surprise.
"My wedding gift to you,” she announced, watching him look around the medieval-styled playroom. His gasp echoed in the room, Ainsley pleased.
"For me?” he croaked, swallowing hard.
"Yes,” she said. “Now, is my slave too overwhelmed to obey my first command?"
Brett took a deep breath to calm his nerves then stripped out of his clothes before presenting his submissive body to his mistress.
"My apologies, Mistress."
"Take off my dress but leave the shoes."
"Yes, ma'am."
Carefully he removed the dress, helping her step out of it. He watched his beautiful wife lead him to the side of the room where she stood him between two stone pillars.
"I think this room was once used to hang game after it had been killed and before the cook butchered it. It is solid and will not move, no matter how hard my slave fights."
While she spoke, she strapped his hands to the posts, the Sherpa lining the only thing between his skin and the iron strap. His gaze followed her when she knelt before him and did the same to his ankles, Brett unable to move. His cock waited impatiently for her attention.
She placed the hood over his head, Brett immediately taking the gag between his teeth. Unable to see, he felt his other senses become more intense.
"Can you breathe?” she asked, Brett nodding. “Good."
Brett sensed where she was, her scent filing his nostrils. He jolted when he felt her fingertips brush along his swollen shaft, Brett Quincannon exactly where he wanted to be.
"Slave, I'm going to bind your cock and balls,” she told him. His groan told her everything he could without words. He froze when he felt the restraint on his cock but loved the total arousal it created and what Ainsley did to him.
"You told me earlier to punish you without mercy,” she reminded him. “It's time, slave."
He felt a chill run through him. Unaware what she had planned, he jolted when he felt her favorite suede-tipped flogger flick across his ass. He held his reaction even when he felt her fingertips gently massage the inflamed area. She continued flogging then massaging, Brett barely able to stand. He felt his weight against the straps, grateful for Ainsley's foresight.
"Do you trust me?"
Brett quickly nodded, his mind reeling. What do you have in mind? He got his answer when the sting from the suede tips against his erection sent lightning flashing through his mind. He felt it, stunned at how aroused his body had become. Another sting but Brett held his reaction, refusing to betray her trust. One more sting and Brett groaned. The minute he did, she took his cock in her mouth and went down on him like never before.
"Feed me, slave,” she commanded.
Brett's release exploded into his wife's throat, filling her. He threw his head back, his weight on the straps around his wrists. He clenched his hands into tight fists, his body shaking. He didn't realize his lower body tried desperately to pound his cock into her mouth. Spent, Brett collapsed but Ainsley did not give him long to contemplate her next move.
"I'm not done yet, slave."
Brett could only whimper. He heard her heels crossing the floor then return to a spot in front of him. Next, he heard her move something toward him then jolted when her legs went around his hips. The feel of her hot wet pussy on the head of his cock drove him insane, especially when her beautiful fingertips guided him inside her. She pulled him tighter with her legs then gave him a command he would never refuse to obey.
"Fuck me, slave, and have no mercy."
* * * *
Ainsley could not believe Brett's stamina. It pleased her how he obeyed her and her body's commands. She brought a draftsman's chair over to where Brett remained restrained. Making sure the chair's castors were locked in place, she wrapped her legs around him more and pulled him into position. The moment his cock entered her, her body pulled him deeper inside her.
"Fuck me, slave, and have no mercy,” she commanded.
While he drew back, she slipped a leather gag over her mouth, making sure she secured it to her head. She wanted him to hear her like she heard him. Only with Brett had she ever considered what could come next and she did it without a second thought.
Pulling closer, Brett's intensity increased. He pounded his cock into her pussy touching places she had no clue existed. She held onto the chair for support and looked at his reaction while he fucked her, loving the man more than ever.
He exploded into her and she moaned, tears streaming from her eyes. She whimpered when the orgasm rocked her. She felt him flex his hips trying to give her everything he could. She pulled herself to him, forcing him to support her weight while she pressed her naked breasts against his chest.
Slowly, she moved up and down on his cock, her legs screaming in pain-filled pleasure.
Silently, he obeyed her orders even drained as he was. She tried to say his name, the gag preventing it. She felt her body rise to his needs, his cock swelling inside her.
This is where I need to be!
She slipped her hands into his, Brett suddenly finding some strength. Their muffled emotions drove both of them, Brett's hands holding hers in a tight grip. Somehow, Brett fucked her, fighting his inability to move. Ainsley released his hands and languished in the sheer power of his body wrapping around hers.
Ainsley leaned back into the chair, pulling them over to it while giving them something for support. She felt Brett's raw passion overtake him. She tried to smile, relishing the pure satisfaction she felt having him take her the way only Brett Quincannon could.
She threw her head back, screaming from his assault on her senses and her body, every nerve ending responding to his call. Pulling him closer, she unzipped the hood, releasing him. His groan caused her to drown his cock since it felt like a raging river between her legs.
The look in Brett's eyes told her the one thing she needed to know—she had not lost him.
* * * *
B
rett's mind raced between darkness, silence, sex and Ainsley's dominance. He fucked her several times, her screams racing through him before he heard muffled cries realizing his little minx had gagged herself. Brett had never felt this horny before but the image of her naked, gagged and in stiletto heels drove him over the edge.
Contrasting emotions drove him, especially Ainsley's hot body riding his. He fought to hold her but she refused to free him. When her hands slipped into his, he found new power raging through him and, not only did he stand straighter, but he found a way to pound her pussy harder than ever before.
The moment she removed the hood, cool air brought him back to his senses. He gazed into her eyes and thrust into her. He looked at her, gagged and virtually helpless.
"I want to fuck you while you are shackled so I can suck on your tits while you..."
She nodded her head frantically, her body answering his. He eased from her, released his feet then carried her to another table. He reached for a set of handcuffs, cuffing her hands together over her head. He turned her toward the table, pushing her to lean over it.
"I want to be your master."
She nodded again.
"Forgive me if I hurt you but you drive me mad,” Brett apologized. “I can't control my actions when I'm with you, especially like this."
Her whimper and dripping pussy gave him his answer. He thrust his bound cock into her pussy, impaling her body on his. His hands slid up the length of her body cupping her breasts as he pulled her body against his.
"Tell me now—do you want this?"
She nodded once more, a murmur escaping her.
"Lean on your hands so I can play with your tits while I fuck your sweet cunt and make you mine."
Methodically, he thrust into her then drew back until he couldn't hold onto the same thought any longer. He hammered his cock into her, her hands clenched over the edge of the table. Before she experienced the lasting tremors of her orgasm, she found herself on her back, her hands over her head and her feet strapped to the sides of the table.
Brett settled between her legs, his tongue torturing her pussy. Her body shook as waves of ecstasy bathed her.
"I love you, Ainsley, no one else. I will never betray you—ever. I serve only you and, if you'll allow it, I want you to wear my brand as I wear your collar."