Dangerously Bad

by Eden Bradley

  “Well, to be honest, you are kinda losing it, hon. But only because you obviously are falling for him. And yes, it can happen in only a week. Sometimes things just fit. And honestly? Hearing you talk like this? Things are fitting all over the place between you two. I know that’s bad English, but it makes sense in my head.” Kitty grinned at her.

  “No, I get it. It makes sense to me, too. But goddamn it, Kitty, if he’s not being real with me, I’ll kill him. I really will.”

  “And I’ll be right behind you with a shovel to bury the body.”

  Layla reached for her, pulling her in for a brief, tight hug. “You’re a true friend.”

  “Always. Ah—there’s the door. Food is here. Let’s stuff ourselves and get a little drunk and you can tell me about the fireworks in detail.”

  • • •

  SATURDAY MORNING LAYLA woke to her cell phone chiming with a text message. She glanced at the time before looking at her phone—it was after ten, much later than she normally woke. But she’d been up late the last few nights giving her toy box a workout. She needed to go buy more lube. And batteries. Lots of batteries.

  She rubbed her eyes and looked at her phone—and smiled when she saw the text was from Duff.

  Morning, lovely. Hope you’ve had your beauty sleep. I plan to work you over well and good at my place tonight. Be ready for me at six. Don’t worry. I plan to feed you first.

  She groaned, her body lighting up in all the right places, and her heart fluttering. She’d almost gotten used to it over the course of the week. Her talk with Kitty the other night had helped. And it had helped—and not helped, as far as the constant state of arousal her body had been in—that Duff had kept in touch with her all week, despite some big problems with the shop buildout that had come up, keeping him there late every evening. He’d texted several times a day, every day, and called to say good night. But those good-night calls only led to her need for lube and batteries. He had the sexiest damn voice she’d ever heard in her life.

  He hadn’t done much of the D/s stuff over the phone her exes had all been prone to—nothing more than a few suggestive, teasing remarks—and she appreciated that he wasn’t trying to conduct mind-fuck via text. She’d had enough experience as a Domme herself at this point to understand how dangerous that could be to someone’s headspace. And to know how that made her long line of exes—especially Jimmy, who had claimed to be an experienced, knowledgeable Dominant—a bunch of “romper-doms.” None of them had really known what the hell they were doing. Sure, they could throw a flogger or a whip, but beyond that? Not one of them had gotten the psychology behind kink, or knew what a healthy power exchange was. Or had even really cared.

  Her cell phone chimed once more and she saw Duff’s name with a sense of relief and aching anticipation. Enough about her exes—he was giving her better things to think about.

  Be sure to pack your toothbrush and an extra pair of panties. I don’t plan to let you go until at least Monday morning. Scratch that. Forget the panties. You won’t need them.

  He didn’t plan to let her go. That made her smile more than she wanted to. Giving herself a firm shake, she sat up and, throwing the covers back, got out of bed and stretched. She needed to try to be productive, rather than lazing around in a swoony state all day. She’d get into her studio for a few hours, then spend time on her bath, preparing herself for Duff.

  She’d always loved the ritual of preparation, even as a Domme, but making herself ready for Duff, the man who was making her feel what it truly was to submit to someone for the first time, was a sort of revelation. She was looking forward to a long soak in the tub. To rubbing scented lotion into her skin. Dressing for him. Presenting herself to him. All of which scared the hell out of her, if she let herself linger too long on the idea. So she wouldn’t linger. She’d simply do it, and enjoy it. That was the deal she’d made with herself after talking with Kitty.

  Padding on bare feet, she grabbed her phone, carried it into the kitchen and got her coffee started. She was just pulling a mug out of the cupboard when her cell phone rang. Her heart gave a hard thump before she glanced at the screen and saw it was Kitty.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself, honey. Did I wake you up?”

  Layla yawned. “Hmm? No, but I just got out of bed. I’m having a lazy morning, apparently. What’s up?”

  “Just calling to make sure you were still planning to keep your part of the deal from the other night . . . ?”

  “I’m trying really damn hard. I’m seeing him tonight. In fact, I’ll probably be there the rest of the weekend, in case you want to reach me, because . . . well, I probably won’t be available.”

  “Good.”

  “Good? Do you really think so?”

  “I’m all for you finding some happiness, Layla. It’d be about time. But just so you know, I still have my shovel ready.”

  She laughed. “Thanks.”

  “I wonder if I can start a 401(k) for bail money,” Kitty mused.

  “Let’s hope we won’t need it. So far, so good. What are you up to tonight?”

  “I have a hot date.” Kitty sighed. “Which probably won’t be nearly as hot as I’d like it to be. I sure would love to end this slump one of these days. Got a hot Dom you can fix me up with?”

  “You’re going to have to let me know if you’re serious about that.”

  There was an unusually long pause on the other end. “I . . . might be.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, let’s see if we can get you settled first. But yeah. I finally have a great staff and business is good, and I finally feel like I can focus some of my attention on my nonexistent personal life.”

  “Maybe I’ll have to ask Duff if he has any friends.”

  “Oh, Lord help me. If they all look and act like him, I could be in big trouble.”

  “You see my dilemma?”

  “I do. You going to stop thinking about the ‘dilemma’ part and enjoy yourself this weekend?”

  “Damn right I am,” she answered, meaning every word.

  “Then my job here is done.”

  “Okay. But I’ll want full date report on Monday.”

  “You’ll have it. Not sure I want the same in return—I don’t know that my poor, deprived, single-girl heart could take it.”

  “Wimp,” Layla teased.

  “That’s right. I’m not the masochist you are. Apparently. And by the way? If this doesn’t go well, I might have to get a cat. Just sayin’.”

  “It’s just one more date, Kitty.”

  “Is that what you’re telling yourself about tonight?”

  “Nope. But Duff isn’t just one more man. Not by a long shot. And God, I still hate to admit that out loud. Is this ever going to get any easier? And what the hell am I going to wear?”

  “You’ll figure it out. My next client is just walking in—gotta run. Sorry, honey.”

  “No problem. Talk to you on Monday.”

  “Talk to you then.”

  Layla took her coffee back into her bedroom to change. But the sheets she’d left in a tangle on her bed only reminded her of when Duff had been there.

  Duff.

  No man had ever taken up so much space in her brain, or had such a profound effect on her libido. Her body was burning simply looking down at her bed.

  Setting her coffee mug down on the sea chest next to the bed, she pulled off the cotton chemise she’d slept in, catching sight of herself in the mirrors set into the front of the old armoire. It was a nice, warm New Orleans morning, but her nipples were hard—hard with thoughts of Duff. Of what he might do to her tonight. How he might touch her. Hurt her. Kiss her. Fuck her.

  “Oh . . .”

  She sat on the edge of her bed and, watching herself in the mirror, she spread her thighs, stroking her already-hardening clitoris with he
r fingertips, biting her lip at the sensitivity of her flesh. Not because she’d spent so much time with her vibrators lately, but because even thinking about him made her so damn excited, she could barely contain herself. Hell, totally unable to contain herself, if she couldn’t walk through her bedroom without it starting all over again.

  Keeping her gaze glued to her reflection in the mirror, she spread her thighs wider.

  “Come on, Duff,” she murmured, hearing her own voice rough with need. “Make me come for you. For you.”

  She stroked harder, then thrust her fingers into her waiting sex.

  “Oh, yes.”

  She began a hard pumping rhythm, impatient for release, knowing she would only need more. And more and more and more. With her other hand she pinched one nipple, pulled on it, elongating the swollen nub, twisted it, bringing herself the pain she needed from him.

  “Come on, Duff,” she repeated. “Touch me. Yes, just like that. Oh . . .”

  Angling her hand, she pressed on her tight clit with her thumb even as her fingers surged into her body, over and over. Heat crept over her breasts, pressure building between her thighs, signaling her climax. Biting her lip, she held it back, knowing he’d want her to. Would order her to. And she was transfixed by the image of her own hand working herself, at her fingers sinking into her flesh, pulling out, stabbing into her once more. Imagining it was his hand. His seeking tongue.

  Oh, yes . . .

  “Please, Duff.”

  Pleasure coiled inside her, making her stomach tighten, and her sex was soaking wet, drenching her fingers as she plunged inside. Harder. Deeper. Harder.

  “Duff!”

  She spread her legs wide as she came, needing to feel completely wanton. Abandoned to pleasure. For him.

  “Ah, God!”

  She shivered as she came, her hips bucking into her hand, as she cried out his name until her throat hurt. Then, falling back on the bed, her body warm and loose, she drew in a rasping breath. The man made her come so damn hard—all she had to do was think of him. How much more would it be tonight? What would he ask of her? Demand of her? She shivered again. She couldn’t wait to find out.

  Closing her eyes, she forced herself to do some meditative breathing—it was either that, or spend the entire day in bed getting herself off. She had to leave something for him, didn’t she?

  Finally, she caught her breath and sat up, pushing her curls from her heated cheeks, then got up to dress in her “work” outfit. Her hands were itching to feel the clay, which was always either a good sign or a bad sign. Today, all was good in her world. She was seeing Duff tonight, and no matter how many stern talks she had with herself, no matter how many orgasms she’d had all week, she wasn’t able to swallow down her excitement. Now if she could only manage to sculpt something other than Duff’s big, beautiful member and keep away from her toy box, the day would be perfect. She knew her night would be.

  • • •

  THE AFTERNOON WENT by almost too quickly. Her late start to the morning meant she hadn’t had much time to work. But her postorgasmic haze had fueled her creative fire, and she was happy with her progress, even though she’d ended up working on one of her metal insects, weaving the ribbons and bits of old silk through it, using chemicals and heat on the copper to attain different color effects. She often felt as if she were using her time unwisely when she worked on her metal bugs, but today it felt like the right thing to do.

  She’d left her studio and taken her time getting ready, lingering over her bath, which she’d dropped her favorite scented oils into, then layered on the same scent with her body lotion, massaging it carefully into her skin. She’d kept her makeup light—a little blush to highlight her cheekbones, a few coats of mascara and her favorite lip gloss. She’d dressed most carefully in a tangerine silk slip dress that set off her toffee-colored skin and her green eyes, then added a simple pair of green glass teardrop earrings. With an understanding of how jewelry could get in the way of play, she wore no other accessories. And no panties, as Duff had—sort of—requested.

  Smiling at herself in the armoire mirror, she remembered her earlier session on the end of the bed, naked, thighs parted, and her body gave a sharp surge of desire. If Duff didn’t get there soon and take her away, she wouldn’t be able to sit down without soaking through her dress.

  “Like that won’t be a problem once he’s right in front of me,” she muttered to her reflection. Then, rolling her eyes, she shook her hands out and moved into the living room, checking her bag to make sure she had everything she needed—toothbrush, panties (despite what Duff had said), a pair of shorts and a tank top, her facial cleanser and lotion. It was her briefest overnight kit, and she wasn’t sure why it made her nervous to think about spending the weekend at his place. Maybe because it meant she was giving up a little more control over the situation? She’d always preferred to have a play partner or lover—which wasn’t always necessarily the same thing—at her place, on her own stomping grounds. But when Duff had suggested—hell, when he’d stated—that she was going to his place tonight, there had been no argument from her, no question in her mind. He seemed to have that effect on her.

  She checked her purse once more to make sure her keys were in there, then looked out the window. It was still light out, although the sky was beginning to turn pink and gold with the impending sunset. The street was quiet, empty. She checked her phone. Five minutes to six, and he hadn’t called or texted to say he was running late.

  “You are being ridiculous,” she told herself.

  She spent the next five minutes checking email on her cell phone, pretending she felt calmer. But when she finally heard his bike pull up out front, then his heavy footsteps on her front deck, her heart pounded in her chest, and she had to order herself to calm the hell down and breathe.

  But when she opened the door and he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her in for a long, hot kiss, her breath stuttered and all she could manage to do was melt into him.

  CHAPTER

  Eight

  LORD, THE MAN was all pure masculine power and just the right touch; his hands on her set off shimmering sparks of need all over her skin, in her hair, on her cheeks—everywhere he touched her. It was several moments after he’d pulled back before she realized they were both still fully dressed and standing in her doorway. The scorching heat between them made her feel naked—made her want to be.

  Licking her lips, she found all of her lip gloss gone.

  “You look quite fetching, princess,” Duff told her.

  She found herself batting her lashes. “Do I?”

  “Always,” he said, his voice a low, husky rumble in his massive chest. “But never more than tonight, when I’m taking you to my lair to do lewd, wicked things to you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, it’s your ‘lair,’ is it?”

  “Damn right. Otherwise known as Jamie’s house, which he’s been kind enough to lend me the use of while I get settled and get the shop opened, since he’s always at Summer’s place, anyway. But my toy bag is there, so ‘lair’ is not a bad description.”

  “Why do I think anywhere you are could fairly be called that?”

  He grinned, his cheeks dimpling, and she had to order her knees not to soften and buckle. “Because you’re getting to know me. Shall we go, my lovely?”

  “Sure. Are we on your bike tonight?”

  “We are. I could’ve borrowed the truck from the shop, but there’s something about having your naked legs wrapped around me that I enjoy.”

  Mmm. Me, too.

  “Okay. Let me grab my jacket.”

  She opened the small hall closet and pulled her black leather jacket out, and was surprised when Duff helped her into it.

  “You know,” she told him, “it still always surprises me when you’re such a gentleman.”

  “Rather than an oaf? As I believe I’ve menti
oned before, you’ve obviously been hanging out with far too many oafs.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Maybe sometime you’ll tell me more about it. But not now. Let’s keep you in this flirtatious headspace.”

  “Am I being flirtatious?” she asked, batting her lashes at him once more.

  “You are, which you know perfectly well, little minx. Not that I’m complaining. I like it when you flirt. With me.”

  Was he teasing, or had she heard a hint of possessiveness from him? That usually would have set off alarms in her head, but from Duff, she liked it.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and they stepped onto the small front deck. Taking her keys from her hand, he locked the front door, then walked her to his motorcycle. His Harley was one fine piece of machinery, as utterly masculine as he was and just as badass. He helped her into her helmet, then slung his on and lifted her onto the back of the bike before mounting it himself and gunning the big engine to life. Then, with her legs tight against his strong thighs, her arms around his waist and the rumbling engine vibrating between her thighs, they made the short drive across town.

  His big body felt incredible, his wide back pressed up against her, her breasts crushed to the solid muscle there, where she could feel every ripple and flex as he shifted the bike. By the time they pulled up in front of Jamie’s building on Kerlerec Street in the Seventh Ward, her system was trembling with need.

  Jamie’s place was in one of the areas hit hard by Katrina, but the neighborhood was bouncing back nicely. His beautiful Victorian had obviously been newly repainted in contrasting shades of green, with the trim done in ivory and a rich brick red. It had a masculine sensibility to it, despite some of the more ornate woodwork. Masculine and homey.

  Inside and up the stairs to the third floor flat and it was even more homey.

  “Wow, Jamie’s done a gorgeous job here,” she said when she was standing inside the door of the flat.