She had donned a robe made of some silky material, and tried to smooth her hair with a shaking hand. “Do I smell lasagna?”
“Close. Raviolis. Come and sit down.”
As she slid into one of the chairs at the small table, he noted that her hands plucked at the belt of her robe. She licked her lips and cleared her throat twice before she met his gaze.
It was interesting. Most women, especially the submissives he’d been with in the last few years, were confident, almost cocky after great sex. Nell seemed more nervous than she’d been when he proposed the itinerary for the weekend.
“All right, Anelda,” he said, deliberately using her given name to remind her that she was still in his care, if not in a scene. “What’s wrong? Remember, you’re supposed to communicate with me if there’s a problem.”
She inhaled and blew out a long breath. “I feel embarrassed and clumsy. I’ve never done…this…before.” Her gaze was glued to the tabletop. “How am I supposed to act, Sir?”
He reached out and took one of her hands, holding it gently. “How did you act when you slept with those other men?”
She waved her free hand, a dismissive gesture that made his heart—and his ego—swell. “This was totally different.” She pursed her lips together, then sighed. “I suppose that’s a clingy thing to say, but this was different.” Her hand closed in a fist inside his grip. “I don’t sleep around, and none of the sex I’ve had involved handcuffs or rope.” She cleared her throat again. “Is there some secret handshake I need to learn for this?”
“Open your hand,” he ordered.
Her nostrils flared, and she tightened her lips, but her hand relaxed. He brought it close to his lips. When he pressed his mouth to her palm, she trembled, and he smiled. “There is no secret handshake. What you and I are doing is special and intimate. That can be unnerving.” He met her gaze and pressed her hand to his cheek. “But you belong to me. I will take care of you and protect you.”
“What about how I feel? What if—” She stopped, swallowed, and tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t let her.
“What if you start to want more from me than fucking?” he asked her bluntly. “What if you start to want something permanent?”
“Stop it,” she snapped, jerking away from him. “I’m not used to this. You are. Don’t tell me I’m the first submissive you’ve ever had.”
It surprised him that her comments got under his skin. The tone she used seemed to imply that he played around. He hadn’t been very serious about those other women. Of course, none of the women he’d played with had ever pushed him so close to the edge, either. Anelda Armstrong was going to be a problem.
“No, you aren’t. But if you think it meant nothing to me, then you’re wrong.” That was a lot more than he wanted to say. There were so many things she didn’t know about him, about his pathological need to stay out of the harsh glare of publicity, his strange relations with his family, his frenetic work habits.
She was silent for a moment, and then she snorted, leaned back, and crossed her arms. “Well, I bet you don’t have to say to yourself that it’s just sex. I do.”
The surge of satisfaction was unavoidable. He couldn’t suppress it. His feelings were conflicted. When he began this odyssey of pursuit, he hadn’t considered a more serious connection. He was attracted to Nell’s obvious need. “I didn’t even consider saying that to myself,” he said slowly. “Because it isn’t.”
She blinked twice. “What?”
He sighed. “I told you relationships were complicated enough, and kink made it even more complicated, remember? Why don’t we just enjoy the weekend and worry about the rest later?”
It seemed reasonable. Even though he wasn’t feeling very reasonable at all. When she nodded and picked up her fork, preparing to eat, he realized he was more invested in her answer at the end of their time in Vegas than he wanted to be.
He barely tasted the food. It wasn’t going well. He had expected to thrill her, turn her on to the deepest desires he knew were beneath the surface. What he hadn’t anticipated was that if she said no at the end of their weekend, he wasn’t going to be able to shrug and think her loss. It was going to fucking hurt.
“Why don’t you have your full name on ConFed’s Web site and literature?” she asked him suddenly.
It was as if she got right to the heart of the matter, the barrier that stood between him and any woman who might be a part of his life. “I’m well aware that you did some digging, Anelda. What did you find out?”
She put her fork down and looked him straight in the eye. “Are you angry that I looked into your background?”
Was he? Normally, that sort of thing would piss him off royally. He kept his identity under wraps for a reason, and she had pulled the covers back. Yet it hadn’t upset him at all. When Atticus had called him to say a woman was poking around about the past, he hadn’t been offended. He’d been flattered.
That should have been a red flag.
After all, she was just doing her job, protecting her family as she saw it. He shook his head. “No, I’m not angry. You must know why I don’t reveal my identity to the public.”
“Your father.”
“That was part of it.” What his father had gone through had been hard enough, but the media had whipped the whole community into a frenzy, an experience Mark “Junior” Connors had never forgotten. His father had shrunk into himself, becoming stooped and quiet. His mother had a nervous breakdown and ended up on a plethora of pills. Everything they did was fodder for the local vultures who thrived on the misfortunes of others. Mark had no respect for the media, so he allowed his company to be represented by men who did.
“Surely it was long enough ago that people won’t hold it against you now.” She frowned and toyed with her food. “It makes it look as if you have something to hide.”
He snorted. “I do. Imagine. I’m a CEO, a shareholder, in ConFed. I’m ruthless and thorough. I’ve broken men to acquire companies. I drove your own former boss into retirement. What if they knew that my father financially ruined all those people? What if they knew that I like to dominate women? Do you think I would escape unscathed? I’d be vilified.”
“At least it would be honest.” Her face was set in an uncompromising frown.
“So you think everyone should be an open book?” If she was going to play the judgmental game, he could play it too.
She raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”
“Okay, then. Why don’t you tell me what happened your second semester, sophomore year in college? Why don’t you tell me why you won’t wear a blindfold? Everyone has something they want to hide, Anelda. Everyone.”
NELL’S GUTS CHURNED He knew. He knew about her ex, Darrin. He knew about the pictures. She thought she’d nipped that in the bud, but here it was again. Mark must have talked to Professor Alyet and put two and two together. There was a lump in her throat, and she couldn’t speak or swallow.
Part of her knew she should tell him. After all, that betrayal of trust had kept her away from anything that seemed like kink for most of her sexual life. It kept her from being open or honest with anyone. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what a Dominant wanted from a submissive. Openness. Honesty. Things she hadn’t been willing to give him.
“I got involved with the wrong guy.” What an understatement. “He…lied to me. I got hurt.” She couldn’t meet his stare.
“We both know there’s more to that story.” His jaw was set, and his expression was resigned, tired. “But I don’t assume that your reticence made you guilty of something.”
“He— I told you that my second boyfriend spanked me.” Resentment still seethed beneath the surface. “He also blindfolded me. And when he did, he took pictures of everything we did. I trusted him. He betrayed me. Professor Alyet suggested I take legal action, and I got the pictures back.”
“You won’t be blindfolded because of it,” he said in a hard tone. “I don’t put myself in the media’
s cross fire. We make choices. I don’t judge yours.”
What right did she have to judge him for shutting out the public when the scrutiny he’d undergone when he was just a boy had to be devastating? “I’m sorry,” she whispered and twisted her fingers together.
“How sorry?”
How sorry was she? She wanted to make it right. So she stood up, fell to her knees, hands clasped behind her back, and bent her head down. She stared at the legs of his chair and hoped he understood that she was truly sorry.
“You could…punish me.” She kept her gaze on the floor and waited for his response.
He was still for so long she wondered if he hadn’t heard her. Then he tipped her chin, and she glanced up to find him with a fork of food by her mouth. Obediently, she parted her lips, and he slid a ravioli onto her tongue. She ate what he gave her and tried to interpret the expression his face.
It wasn’t just his good looks and fit body. He had a natural confidence and a suave manner that disarmed her and made her feel a little awkward. It wasn’t a sensation she was used to. His fingers brushed her face as he fed her another forkful of food. There was a comfort in the silence, a relaxing passing of time. They had skirted the edge of something serious, something emotional, and he slowed it down, giving her a moment to adjust to the speed of the passion they were mired in.
He put the fork on his plate and shifted in his chair until his feet were by her knees on the floor. She stared at the V of his polo but couldn’t help glancing down as he unbuttoned his pants. His cock was long and hard, making her mouth water and her heart race. When he wrapped his hand around his length, stroking it, memories of the way he’d marked her returned as she watched it swell. The smell of him was still all over her, and now her pussy was wet and ready for more.
“Please, Sir,” she whispered.
“Be still, Anelda,” he ordered. His hand moved faster over his cock, his harsh breathing like music to her ears. Was he going to come on her skin again? She didn’t know and didn’t care. She wanted to see him come, give him release, see his features strain during his orgasm.
Without conscious thought, she scooted closer until her face was near his straining cock. “May I suck you, Sir?”
“Do you want my cum in your mouth, Anelda?” His gaze held hers, and his hand slowed.
Yes. She wanted it. She wanted the taste of it on her tongue. It wasn’t something she usually enjoyed, her past experiences not very pleasant. But he tempted her, the scent of him intoxicating her. It would also assuage the guilt she felt. “Yes, Sir.”
He removed his hand from his dick and gripped her hair to pull her closer. “All right, Anelda. Suck me off.”
She inhaled his unique smell as she bent down to take him past her lips. He didn’t allow her much control, his hand on her head directing the speed and depth of his length in her mouth. He gagged her, pressing to the back of her throat until tears sprang in her eyes.
“Take it. Take it deep down your throat.” His tone was guttural and harsh. “You’re going to have to work to make me come. I’ve already fucked you so many times my dick might not wake up.”
He was wrong. His cock hardened until her lips strained to take all of him. It should have been claustrophobic, even frightening as he held her head and drove his dick to the back of her throat. But there was something comforting about the way he filled her mouth and held her to the task. She focused on the texture and feel of him, sliding her tongue over his length. Her reward was his low curse, and he tightened his hand in her hair.
For a split second, she felt in control, like she could drive him over the edge. He jerked her head back and pulled his cock out of her mouth as if he knew what she was thinking. “I don’t think so, Anelda.” His voice was strained. “I choose the punishment.”
She snuck a defiant glance at his face. “Don’t you want me to suck your cock?”
His eyes narrowed, and he leaned down, his hand twisted in her hair. “Sir. ‘Don’t you want me to suck your cock, Sir?’ You’re just storing up more punishment for yourself.”
Nell wanted to test him, see what he would do if she gave him a hard time. “That’s what you keep saying…Sir.”
“That’s it,” he snapped. He released her hair but grabbed her arm. “If you’re going to be bratty, I’m going to treat you like a brat.”
She thought he was going to punish her with his cock, looked forward to it, as a matter of fact. Instead, he turned her over his knee.
The robe was no barrier to his determination. The hem drifted to her shoulders, and her ass was bare to his gaze. When his hand slapped her tender flesh, she squeaked. Fuck! That hurt. But there was something about the warm, sharp sensation of his hand that was infinitely sexier than the flogger or the paddle.
It was instinctive to shift, to try and rub her clit against his thigh. His other arm banded around her waist and held her immobile. He spanked her in hard, short blows that she felt all the way to her scalp.
She sobbed when the fire on her skin started to burn. He didn’t stop. After the tenth strike, she squirmed in earnest, her pussy as heated as her butt. “Please, Sir,” she gasped.
“What, brat? Does it hurt?” he asked in a tight, strained voice.
“Please let me come, Sir. Please,” she screeched as his hand smacked her bruised bottom.
He froze for a moment and then dipped his fingers into her pussy. The relief and the arousal his touch caused made her moan longingly for release. His quick intake of breath made her arch toward his hand. She could tell he appreciated her wet like this and wanting.
Her legs were unsteady when he pulled her to feet and turned her to lie across his lap on her back. The robe fluttered to the floor, and she was exposed, naked, needy. He gripped her hair and held her head so she had to stare at his face. His other hand cupped her cunt, his fingers seeking deeper inside her.
He watched her face, an intense, determined expression tightening his skin over his cheeks. He thrust his fingers in a fast, quick rhythm that made her bow her back and reach out blindly with her hands. She clutched his upper arms and squirmed helplessly. “Sir, may I come? Please?”
He stared at her, his face unreadable. “No.”
She gritted her teeth and held back. It was crazy, but she wanted to please him, and she knew resisting her own pleasure, waiting for his permission, would do it. His cock was hard against her bottom, so she shifted, trying to drive him to the same level of distraction that he’d driven her.
His smile wasn’t a sweet, pleasant smile. She could only categorize it as devious.
“I want to hang you by your wrists, bind you across your breasts, your belly, and your hips.” He dragged his damp fingers over each area he mentioned. “I want to leave your ass exposed so I can spank it and then fuck it.” His fingers shifted and rimmed her puckered hole.
She gasped and surged up, her back bowed and her body screaming for release. “Please! Please, Sir,” she sobbed. Mindless, she fought the wave of pleasure, desperately wanting to please him.
“I want to fuck your ass, Anelda.” He guided her to the floor, on her knees, her ass in the air. “I’m going to bury myself so deep inside you that my balls will smack your cunt.”
She groaned. No man had ever been so dirty with her. Previous lovers had always treated her like some porcelain doll that needed protecting from nastiness. But not this man. Her pussy was so needy that if his fingers just grazed her clit, she was sure she’d explode.
He gripped the flesh of her ass, and she sucked in a sharp breath, still sore from his punishment. When he spread her cheeks, she arched back, giving him more access, wanting to come so bad she’d take anything to have an orgasm. Even an ass fucking.
What she hadn’t counted on was the pleasure he would introduce to her. When his tongue swiped over her sensitive hole, she jumped, and her heart pounded. He licked her like she was an all-day ice cream, and her pussy clenched around emptiness. His hands kept her cheeks spread apart, and he moaned a
gainst her ass.
She thrust back, wanting him to penetrate her somewhere, anywhere. She wanted his cock. She wanted his tongue, his fingers, something to be inside her.
He left her for a moment but was back so fast she hadn’t seen where he went. When he leaned down, his clothed chest against her naked back, she lifted her head and tried to kiss him.
Pressure at the entrance of her pussy warned her just as he eased in a dildo, filling her cunt with it. “Hold it in, Anelda.”
“But Sir—” she said and trembled. She did as he ordered, but she had to say something. “I’ll come. I’ll come before you say I can.”
“No, you won’t. I have faith in you.” He whispered the words and then straightened.
The pressure from the dildo sent her closer to the edge. Every nerve in her body screamed to come. Every muscle tensed. Still, she kept it back, waited until he told her to come.
It only got more difficult when he slathered her asshole with lube. She had never believed that part of her body could be an erogenous zone. But when his fingers dipped inside her, she squeaked and tried to deepen his penetration.
With a curse he removed his fingers, and she sensed him drop his pants. There was a brief pause. She glanced over her shoulder to watch him slide a condom on his dick. Then he drove into her, and the pain ripped through her. But she was so fucking hot, so ready, that all he had to do was put his hand over hers and twist the dildo inside her pussy, and the pain was joined by pleasure.
“Your ass is fucking perfect,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Tight. Fucking hot.” He slammed her hard, and as he’d promised, his balls slapped against her cunt.
The sensation of being filled, his hard, hot cock inside her, almost sent her completely over the edge. But she wanted—no, she needed—his permission. “Let me come, Sir. Let me squeeze your cock inside me. Let me drain you dry.” Words she’d never considered saying were spilling from her mouth. “Please, Sir. Come in my ass and let me come. I want to feel it.”
He bent over her and gripped her wrist that controlled the dildo. When he yanked her hand away, she thought he would take over the thrusting of the toy. Instead, he jerked it out, and she moaned as the friction sent sparks all over her skin.
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