The Gilded Chain

by Lauren Smith

  “That’s it,” he growled. “Mark me, darling, fuck.” He hissed and then he was embracing her again, hands sliding beneath the top of her boxers.

  When he met the little cotton panties she wore, he traced the edges, then slid beneath them. His large hands on her bare bottom made her moan and she nipped his mouth, licked at him, feeling wild and playful. He massaged her ass, clenched it, and then his fingers traced that sensitive seam, exploring the hidden places no one had touched before. She jolted into him, surprised at the flare of awareness his touch created. He stroked, pressed, circled his fingers again and again on that one spot and she arched against him, rubbing her throbbing clit on the hard bulge in his jeans.

  Then he pulled away and she whimpered in protest. She needed something…needed a release of the tension building inside her.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” he rasped as he lifted her off the counter and spun her around.

  Before she even realized what was happening, he bent her face down over the granite island. She braced her head on her forearms, panting as he covered her from behind, kissing and nipping her neck. His hands were magic, one sliding around the front of her body, this time touching bare flesh as he cupped her sex. She gasped and jerked, but couldn’t escape his touch. No man had ever touched her there and the fact that it was Wes was a little scary and exciting at the same time. He located that ultrasensitive bud. He pressed down hard, then eased up, then circled it lightly before pressing down again. He repeated the pattern over and over and she wriggled beneath him.

  “You want more?” His harsh breath in her ear ratcheted up her arousal that much more.

  “Please,” she begged. She was near mindless. This building need for pleasure was the only thing that mattered now. It consumed her.

  “All right, darling.” The way he said darling made her burn inside.

  He slid two fingers down into her sex and parted the slick folds. One long finger entered her, sliding in and out. She groaned at the strange feeling of that single penetration.

  “So tight, Callie, so fucking tight.” His hoarse words, the subtle dirtiness to them, undid her. She couldn’t stop the orgasm when it hit her. He didn’t let up on her. He tortured her by pushing a second finger inside her, stretching her, and her body reacted, clamping down on him, trying to keep him there.

  “I can feel you,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck, panting.

  She pushed her hips back, grinding her ass against his groin, feeling the climax roll through her before she went limp. He cursed above her, his hips jerking hard against her, pinning her to the countertop and then he let out a little laugh.

  “You okay?” He brushed back the hair from her neck and planted a soft lingering kiss.

  Callie sucked in several ragged breaths. His fingers were still inside her. He turned them, curled them, and she whimpered, her inner muscles rippling around them before he withdrew his hand. He stood up and she tossed her hair back from her face and looked over her shoulders. He slid his two fingers into his mouth and sucked, a look of exquisite pleasure on his face.

  “Do you have any idea how you taste?” He chuckled and helped her stand.

  Her legs shook so he lifted her back up on the counter and then fisted his hand in her hair and slanted his mouth over hers. She tasted herself on him and the mere knowledge of that had her womb clenching with renewed hunger. Wes’s kiss this time was sweet and slow, but rich and thorough as though sated with their mutual release and now he was basking in the afterglow along with her.

  “You taste better than that cognac I bought…So much better.” He nuzzled her cheek, breathing deeply, and she shivered in response and their lips brushed in a light kiss.

  When their mouths broke apart again, he rested his forehead against hers. “You didn’t answer my question. How are you feeling?” He massaged her neck, his eyes locked with hers.

  “I’m good,” she assured him. They hadn’t actually had sex…well…they’d done something but she wasn’t sure what to call it. “It felt amazing.” The shy little smile she gave him wilted when she realized the breakfast was probably cold. “I’m sorry about all this. The food is cold.”

  “Sorry for what? It’s my fault. I took one look at you covered in flour and tousled from bed and I couldn’t resist you.” He glanced around the kitchen. “What did you make?” His hands moved to her bare thighs and he rubbed her skin soothingly as he surveyed the room again.

  “Omelets and biscuits,” she replied and then she pressed a kiss to one of his bare shoulders, loving that she could do that and knowing he didn’t mind. She could never have done that with Fenn. He hadn’t been hers, hadn’t been someone she could kiss whenever she’d wanted to. Callie’s affectionate nature ran deep. Her father had told her that she was like her mother, and not being able to express that part of herself to a man had left her feeling cold. Now here she was with a hot, hungry man at her fingertips. She stifled a sigh of delight and pressed another tender kiss to his collarbone. Wes’s hands on her back tightened a little and he released a long sigh, one of contentment.

  “What a lovely way to wake up,” he murmured in her hair. “Stay right here. I’ll microwave the food and fetch some plates.”

  Callie gawked at him. They’d almost had sex in the kitchen and he seemed unaffected. Well…maybe more relaxed. She, however, felt…Well, it was hard to describe. More than one emotion churned inside her at that moment and it left her dazed and confused. She wanted to run and hide from embarrassment about how she’d just acted, like a cat in heat howling for more. But she also wanted to stay close to Wes, to inhale the scent of his skin and feel his body heat close to hers. They had shared another type of intimacy that couldn’t be undone. It left her unsure of how to move forward. She wasn’t a worldly woman. How was she supposed to act around a man she’d almost had sex with?

  Chapter 9

  With a sexy grin that made Callie’s body hum with delight, Wes returned to her and handed her the plates. “You fill these and I’ll pour some orange juice.”

  She did as he said, and once she had two platefuls, she followed him through the doorway.

  “This way. We can eat on the couch in the sitting room.”

  Eat on the couch? He definitely didn’t strike her as that relaxed of a man. It amazed her how much he had changed in the last few days. Paris Wes was more calm, more playful and easygoing. She wondered how many women had seen this side of him. How many others had slept with his body wrapped around hers as they kissed? The idea made her nauseous, but she forced it out of her mind. She had to focus on the here and now, not on what he’d done before or what he might do after they’d gone their separate ways.

  The living room was another elegant space with an L-shaped brown leather couch and a massive sixty-five-inch flat-screen TV mounted to the wall. It was Wes’s equivalent of what Fenn would have called a “man cave.” Wes set the two glasses of orange juice on the table and turned the TV on. Callie realized she was still covered in flour and she froze midway crouched over the couch. Wes grinned as though reading her mind.

  “I should change before I ruin your sofa.” She set her plate down on the table, but Wes sat down on the couch and tugged her onto his lap.

  “It’s fine. It’s just flour.” He feathered a kiss on her lips, still smiling as though something amused him greatly. “Françoise will clean it up.”

  Callie curled her arms around his neck and gave him a light kiss, one full of affection and happiness. “Poor Françoise. I’ll have to apologize to her.”

  Wes laughed and the hearty sound made her heart skip a few beats in delight. She loved his laugh. The sound was rare but rich and wonderful. It made her laugh, too.

  “She won’t mind, I promise. She’ll be happy that I’ve used the kitchen for a change.”

  Callie’s brows rose. “You don’t cook a lot?”

  He shrugged. “No. I tend to eat out and meet clients at restaurants.”

  “And what abou
t your girlfriends?”

  A frown marred his brows. “I don’t have girlfriends. I have momentary relationships and those women never come here.” He handed her a plate and a fork. “You are the first.” This admission was quiet and full of introspection.

  Did he mean the first girlfriend or the first girl to come to his apartment? How could she ask him in a way that would reveal what he meant?

  “Why don’t you have girlfriends?” It was the closest thing she could get to finding out answers. She lifted his plate from the table, handing it to him. He propped it on the couch next to them and took a few bites before replying, his tone a little cool.

  “In my world, I pursue only limited relationships. I meet partners at BDSM clubs, temporary submissives, and we part ways at the end of the night. I’ve had more than one time where I have used the same submissive, but only inside the club.”

  Callie swallowed and set her half-eaten omelet down.

  “Then why am I here, Wes? If this isn’t your usual style, why change it for me? Do you think I need all this to be seduced? Is that it?” She was suddenly angry. Did he feel he had to play the romantic just to get her in bed? Was he really not so sweet and caring? Was the man she was starting to fall for just an act? That awful nausea was back with a vengeance and she swallowed an acidic taste in her mouth and slammed her plate down on the table, struggling to get off Wes’s lap.

  He set his own plate aside and gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “You aren’t like other women. Yes, I want you and I’ll admit I’d do anything required to get you in my bed. But I won’t rush it. I won’t rush you.”

  She didn’t understand. He’d made a bet to do just that. Thirty days to get her into his bed. Was this his way of backing out or changing his mind? Logically his words shouldn’t have hurt her, but she felt wounded all the same. Sure, she didn’t want to give into him and have meaningless sex and let him win their wager, but she did still want him to want her. Maybe her lack of experience was still bothering him.

  “It’s because I’m a virgin. You think I need candles and romance. But you’re not a romantic. Anything you try to give me would be a lie. So just do it. Sleep with me. Scratch your itch and send me home.” The words she spat out were dripped with venom born of her wounds and he blinked, apparently startled.

  “You think this is nothing but a quick fuck for me?” he growled, fury sparking in his gaze.

  “Isn’t it? Wasn’t that the whole point of the bet we made?” she shot back, just as upset. Her chest was squeezing her heart so hard she was having trouble breathing.

  “That’s it,” he snarled.

  He shoved her onto her back on the couch and then flipped her over to her stomach. Only too late she realized she was flying across his lap, her bottom in the air. His hand came down hard on her ass. This was punishment. She was being punished!

  She screeched and kicked, but he used one arm across the back of her knees to keep her legs down.

  “Are you listening to me?” he demanded.

  Smack!

  It hurt, but it was more the sting of embarrassment that she hated than the edge of pain.

  “Callie,” he snarled.

  She clenched her fists, beating the leather of the couch. “Yes, damn it!” She lashed out.

  “Do you really think I see you as a quick fuck?” he demanded. “Because you aren’t. If I have to redden your ass to drive that point home, I will. What’s between us isn’t as shallow as some bet we made. It’s always been more than that and don’t ever say otherwise again.” His warning was followed by two more slaps to her burning ass.

  Tears of anger and shame leaked down her face. She hurt, but the hurt was deep inside and not as much on her skin. The pent-up anxiety, the confusion, the agony of losing Fenn seemed to pool like a deep well within her, dark waters running deep. But his blows had ruptured the stones of that well and now the emotions were pouring out and she couldn’t stop them. He turned her over and helped her sit up on his lap, then curled himself around her. One of his hands buried itself in her hair and he guided her head to rest in the crook of his neck.

  “There’s more to this, Callie. More to you.” He stroked her hair, and she rested against his chest, her body shaking with the force of the emotions that drained out of her. All the tension leaked out of her and she finally stopped crying. She was empty. There was nothing left inside her, just a hollowness.

  “I’m sorry. You aren’t used to my world, to me. I’m not used to yours. It’s going to take time. For now, I’m going to hold you, care for you, give you everything you need.”

  Through the fog of her emptiness she remembered the romances she’d read with BDSM and those dominants who’d held their submissives after they’d been punished. Aftercare. He was giving her aftercare. As a submissive, she could ask whatever she wanted now, do whatever she wanted in this brief moment where she was in control again. All she wanted was to be cuddled and to curl into him like a newborn kitten. She’d be a strong, independent woman again in a little while. For now, she wanted to absorb his confidence and strength into herself, let it fill the emptiness inside her and make her strong enough to face the world again.

  After a few deep breaths, where she inhaled his scent like her own personal drug, she knew she had to speak.

  “What are we doing?” She buried her face against his chest, clinging to him, loving that he let her grasp him like he was the last thing on earth that she could hold on to. “We’re nothing alike. We’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

  For a moment they clung to each other, suspended in time, just like that. Close, almost connected on a deeper level. His heartbeat was steady beneath her hand where it rested against his chest.

  Thu-thump. Thu-thump. The beat was like her own, their pulses almost in sync.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Callie. Never for a moment think you aren’t unique. I want you here with me. Not just in my bed.” He tugged gently on a loose strand of her hair, the act seeming to sooth him.

  “Really? I thought this was all about the bet to sleep with me.” She was too afraid to believe she meant something to him. All she’d ever wanted from Fenn was to be loved, to mean something. But she hadn’t and it had nearly killed her. Yet…the idea of meaning something to Wes, it felt infinitely more powerful, more dangerous. She shivered at the thought. If this was Wes not in love, what would he be like when he did fall? It would be frightening as hell.

  “You need an escape,” he explained. “I need contentment. You make me content. I hope that I help you escape. When I made the bet, I wanted to give you a reason to get over Fenn, and yes, I want desperately to take you to my bed, but I knew you needed time. So I gave you a fighting chance, a purpose to strengthen your resistance. If you won, you’d get a way to live your dreams at art school. Either way, I win, darling. And no matter what, you will still end up in my bed. It’s just a matter of when, not if.”

  She winced at his belief that she would just jump into his bed, but he’d been right about her need to fight. The bet had made her feel strong, powerful, and the desire to win so she could have a shot at art school with a good recommendation had given her a determination. Now, though, the bet didn’t seem to matter, not when it came to sleeping with him because over the last several days she realized how much she wanted to be with him.

  “How do we do this?” she asked. “Do you want me to be a submissive? Is that what you want to happen?” The idea frightened her. She didn’t want anyone controlling her life.

  Wes breathed deeply and met her gaze. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes.” She stared back.

  “If I told you to kneel at my feet in nothing but a collar and await my orders each day…” He spoke softly and the image he painted made her stomach clench in the worst way.

  He nodded. “No. I can see that’s not something that would interest you.” He paused a beat, then continued. “If, after a day of doing whatever you wish, I capture you and tie y
ou to my bed and torture you with pleasure at my command and mine alone…”

  This time she couldn’t help it. Her body heated with awareness, and she wriggled in his hold. He didn’t release her or look away but continued.

  “If I took a light flogger to your skin, warming it but never burning or stinging it, if I blindfolded you and kept you helpless and stimulated you to orgasm after orgasm, how would you feel?”

  She started trembling all over again, every cell of her body aware of him and his words and desiring what he said to happen.

  A slow smile touched his lips.

  “Callie, your eyes are dilated and your cheeks are flushed. You are not a full-time submissive, but parts of you need domination and to be controlled, but only in the bedroom.”

  When she parted her lips ready to protest, he silenced her with a fingertip. “It doesn’t mean you’re weak or that you have no power. It means the opposite. You are strong in your ability to trust me as a dominant to give you the pleasure you need. Someone like me can give it to you. We’ll start slow. Relationships between dominants and submissives must be built slowly and carefully if both parties wish to reach fulfillment. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. It was a lot to take in, but she’d read BDSM romance novels and knew a little of what to expect. It was intimidating. Really intimidating.

  “The most important part of doing this is setting limits. If I do anything that worries you or makes you feel too uncomfortable you say the word ‘yellow.’ That means we slow down and we talk about it. If you’re still not ready, then we stop. And if I’m ever doing something that truly frightens you, you say the word ‘red.’ That is an immediate stop. We don’t even have to talk about why it’s a limit for you.” He brushed a kiss over her lips and she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.