by Jory Strong
“Come,” he ordered, her ready obedience and cry of pleasure deepening his satisfaction, as did the long moments of trembling that followed as her channel continued to spasm and flutter.
He pulled his fingers from her sultry depths and carried the evidence of her arousal to her lips, felt the harsh scorching of impending release when she latched onto his fingers, sucking greedily.
Enough! Enough! Enough! his cock howled, and he was in full agreement.
“Face me,” he ordered, somehow managing to retain some control over his voice so it came out as command rather than desperate acknowledgment of hunger.
She turned, using movement as an excuse to place her hands on his thighs.
He covered them lest they stray, smiled inwardly because a docile mate really wouldn’t please him as much as this female who liked to tempt and challenge.
She kept her head bowed in a demure posture, as if moments earlier her hands hadn’t been tangled in his hair, demanding release, then anchored there as she was rocked by tumultuous pleasure.
The eyes that met his beneath thick dark lashes were pure seduction. “Let me pleasure you, Master. Let me take care of your needs now.”
He carried one of her hands to the place where hard cock was imprisoned beneath expensive material. Her fingers curled around his length, sending a blaze of need through him. But he wasn’t some fledgling to be trapped in the heat of first desire.
Two could play at this game, though the outcome was already a certainty when it came to who would win. He didn’t stop her from stroking his cock, instead he let her test his control, his determination to reward only good behavior.
Her need grew, translating itself into a fine sheen of sweat on her skin as she leaned in, rubbing her cheek and lips against his erection, pressing kisses to it, her breath piercing the fabric of his trousers as if the material was nonexistent. She grasped the zipper with her teeth, tugged, but not hard enough to budge it from its position and risk his calling a halt to the interlude.
Only centuries of finely honed will kept him from panting, from giving away the true extent of her effect on him when he ordered her to free his cock. She hastened to comply, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips as the entirety of her attention went to the organ jutting from his opened trousers.
Pleasure surged through him at her small mew of need, at the way her gaze lifted, meeting his in silent pleading to be allowed to see to his care. And he used the opportunity to remind her that she was subject to his commands, to reinforce the point so when he next asked her why she’d sought the human out, she would answer.
“Show your master how thoroughly you desire him.”
She leaned in, nearly undoing him with the curl of her hand around his cock, the wet lap of her tongue to his cock head and the tight press of lips. He fought against panting, against the urgent need to hurry her.
His fingers speared through her hair, a concession to her power over him as his buttocks clenched at the sounds she made as she sucked, constantly laving the tiny slit in his cock head, trying to elicit the hot rush of semen that would come at his release.
“Deeper,” he growled, fighting the need to thrust, fisting her beautiful hair, tightening his grip in a show of power and dominance.
She obeyed, lips and tongue rubbing against the hidden rings, and the struggle to keep them from becoming obvious took its toll on him. The insides of his wrists burned in warning, but against the ecstasy of his mate’s mouth on his cock, sucking, swallowing, giving him her complete and utter attention, he had no reserves left beyond what was necessary to remain human in appearance, his penis constrained by magic.
Beneath the sleeves of his shirt, his mating spurs descended and filled with serum. The rush of experiencing it for the first time intoxicated him, nearly making him lose control. He moaned, and that single acknowledgement of pleasure had his mate striving harder to undo him, as though she would suck both his heart and soul into her being along with his seed.
He resisted, delaying the inevitable until he risked becoming dragon in a gathering of humans. And then he came, feeding her hot jets of semen and reveling in the way she greedily swallowed it down, her wicked tongue and demanding mouth extending his release.
A purr settled in his chest in the aftermath. A soul-deep satisfaction that was intensified by the way Summer tended to him, licking him clean before sending him a glance that both questioned and pleaded for him to leave his cock exposed.
Impossible. Not when he intended to cuddle her on his lap. There’d be no way for him to resist the lure of her wet cunt and parted folds.
A shake of the head conveyed his answer and she tucked him back into his trousers, but not without using it as an opportunity to torment him for his decision. Her lips touched his cock in a lingering goodbye and her fingers stroked, not that he needed either to be fully erect again by the time she finally tugged the zipper upward.
Rather than pull her onto his lap as he’d intended, he pulled her across it to deliver an open-handed spanking, darkening her buttocks with the punishment he administered as she writhed and lifted her ass for more discipline.
When the skin was hot to the touch, he turned her, loving the way she immediately curled to snuggle, her weight consolidated so she’d feel the effects of the punishment he’d administered with each heartbeat, each movement.
For a shimmering instant, her trusting gesture made him feel as if his world had been made perfect. A heartbeat of time that dissipated in a rush when he bent his head, intending to nuzzle her, to tell her how much she pleased him—but instead caught her quick glance toward the play area, her hasty search for the blond human named Miles.
Dragon fire poured into Jubal’s bloodstream like lava. It burned away contentment and left him fighting not to exhale fire. He clenched his fists against the overwhelming urge to flex his wrists so the spurs would pierce the material of his shirt sleeves in a precursor to being raked across his mate’s body.
By the Great Shared Ancestor, he’d had enough of this! Treasure be damned and tolerance too! Ensconced in his lair, she’d learn to trust him soon enough. She’d—
He forced himself to calm.
His mate was on his lap. Soft. Content.
A hand signal brought a male server over for his order. Minutes later that staff member returned with a small plate of mixed fruit.
Jubal rubbed his cheek against her hair. “What do you do with your days?”
The question brought no tightening of her body, no evasiveness in her manner when she answered, “I’m a bartender.”
Perhaps he would arrange for her to work at Drake’s Lair if she’d prefer it to gambling, so he could keep her close on those nights he played cards there. “And for pleasure?”
“I surf. What about you?”
Her desire to know him better, outside of the sexual, was like having tendrils of smoke from a hearth fire curl through his chest.
“I own a fleet of commercial boats. Outside of managing them, I have a variety of interests. Poker is one of them. I play at Drake’s Lair? You’ve heard of it?”
“Who hasn’t?” But she made no mention of her sister’s invitation.
Should he admit to having met Lyra there? Dragon pride kept him from it.
“Diving and exploring old wrecks is another of my interests.”
She shivered. “I’ve sworn off diving.”
He cupped her face, used the touch in a silent demand for her to meet his gaze. “You would have no reason to fear if you were in the water with me. I protect what belongs to me.”
He leaned down, mouth covering hers, tongue pressing between parted lips, good intentions escalating to carnal with the first taste of himself on her. Gentle persuasion sank beneath waves of demand, that she trust him completely and give herself into his care.
She intoxicated him even as she drove him mad with the subtle shifting and grind of her buttocks against his cock, each of her movements a challenge to his control. She gr
ew bolder, as he’d come to expect, hand going to the front of his shirt, stroking a pebbled nipple and sending a flash of heat to a cock about to throw off the cage of magic and tear through the front of his trousers to get to her.
“No,” he said, punishing them both with the lift of his mouth from hers. Wanting nothing more than to stand with her in his arms and take her to his car.
Her resistance—until the reason for her arrival at Chains had been dealt with—was a given. An aggravation he intended to put behind him. Now.
“I take care of what belongs to me,” he said, selecting a pear slice and holding it to Summer’s lips. “I guard what is mine.”
She took his offering, his heart swelling with the act of tending to her. The need it fulfilled in him driving back the intense urge to mount her despite the phantom touch of her tongue on his cock when she cleaned his fingers after eating the slice of fruit.
“I am not a harsh or unfair master, nor am I an unreasonable one, though my word is law and my decisions final.” Not that he’d ever be able to ignore his mate’s input.
Her scent deepened, providing the answer to his question before he asked it.
“Is that the type of master you desire, Summer?”
“Yes.”
His expression hardened at her small test of his strength.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
He fed her a second piece. A third. A fourth, demonstrating with each additional offering that he could provide for her, take care of her, building layers of trust before finally selecting a slice of peach.
She bit, traces of juice remaining after she’d eaten the fruit, and he had no willpower to resist her lure.
Leaning down, he licked the juice from her lips, captured more of the peach’s taste with the delve of his tongue, a foray into hot depths that renewed his cock’s demand to penetrate, to be sheathed in her body.
His hand covered her mound, palm pressing against her clit, rubbing in tiny circles against the naked head, his fingers slipping into her channel, forging deeper with the lift of her hips. “Do you trust me to see to your needs?” he asked.
“Yes, Master.”
The way she cuddled against him, looked at him with trusting eyes, made him confident she would give him the answers he sought.
The desire for closeness that would only be satisfied by the sheathing of his body in hers tempered his demands so he was willing to make sharing her secret easier for her.
He brushed his lips against hers, said, “The blond possesses something, a treasure you came here to collect. What is it?”
She jerked, attempted to leave his arms.
He prevented her escape with a show of strength, abandoning her pussy to lock her in tight arms.
“Tell me.” Demand instead of gentle coax.
“Please don’t ask that of me. Please.”
Her body was taut, her eyes begging him to accept this limit and not push. A weaker male would have relented. Or had she been an innocent, instead of a woman drawn to a place like this one, he might have chosen a different course of action. But every instinct screamed that this was too important to let go, given the magical nature of the artifact and his own intention to leave Chains with it, whether in his possession or Nisien’s.”
“I’ve told you I take care of what belongs to me. You are mine. Last chance, Summer, what did you come here for?”
Struggle was written on her face. Finally she surrendered a tiny piece of information. “He stole something from a friend.”
“What?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Pride kept him from promising to allow her to decide the fate of the treasure after it was retrieved as a way of gaining her trust. “Very well then.”
It took strength to refuse her the warm comfort of his arms. He released her rather than continue holding her against his chest in a cocoon of security. Forced her from his lap and onto her own feet.
He selected a flogger from the collection of items in the bag then stood, noting the relief on his mate’s face that said she would gladly accept punishment if she could keep her secret. She’d soon discover he couldn’t be so easily manipulated.
Chapter Five
Summer shook as Jubal guided her to the St. Andrew’s cross. Her thoughts were a riot of confusion, her desires a contradiction of imperatives.
Jubal knew there was treasure. He had to be a dragon and yet he hadn’t made a move on Miles, hadn’t sent Nisien to retrieve the star ball.
He’d concentrated his efforts on her instead. Been the master she’d dreamed of having and confirmed with his words, accompanied by the sense that he was talking about life away from the club scene, that he was right for her.
Becoming a man’s property and giving herself over to his keeping was a path to true intimacy, to arriving at a level of trust that transcended any she could find in a vanilla relationship. It confined her world, blocked out the worries that came with caring about so many other people, and allowed her to be fully attuned to her own needs as well as her master’s.
She wanted that with Jubal, yearned for it. Craved not only the sense of belonging that would come with the joining of his body to hers, but with wearing his collar and being subject to his demands at home.
She stopped in front of the cross. Jubal’s firm hand tangled in her hair kept her from turning to face him.
His arm went around her waist, the flogger touched to her belly with its tails streaming downward to settle against her cunt. “I’d prefer to be inside my mate’s body, showing her a lover’s care instead of a master’s discipline. Name the object, Summer.”
Mate. The word rippled through her in a shiver of pleasure, became a temptation of hope colliding against loyalty and fear.
Be careful, Summer. Please be careful. Kei’s words as he touched his forehead to hers, telling her that a kitsune’s star ball was a prize and dragons would stop at nothing when it came to acquiring treasure.
Did Jubal not know what Miles had? Or was he merely testing her?
My word is law. My decisions final.
“I can’t tell you,” she whispered, aching when that answer brought loss of contact except for what was required to lift and bind her wrists to the cross before he crouched behind her to secure her ankles, delivering a spank to her ass when she tried to distract him with the rub of it against his cheek.
She shivered in anticipation of feeling the lash of the flogger. Managed a glance in Miles’ direction.
Panic swelled at seeing him check his watch, then say something to his sub that sent the other man toward the changing rooms. He meant to leave.
The rustle of clothing behind her drew her attention. Her panic intensified at the sight of Jubal’s tie being brought toward her eyes to become a blindfold.
“No,” she gasped, fighting the restraints in a hopeless attempt to avoid the silky darkness awaiting her.
Her heart thundered in her ears with the touch of the material to her skin. Her chest constricted, making it nearly impossible to breathe as the tie tightened, locking her in blindness.
The safe word erupted from her subconscious like a beacon illuminating a terrible path. Enos.
“Use it and we are finished.” And she’d heard in his tone a complete ending instead of merely an end to the scene.
“Please don’t do this, Master,” she said, renewing her jerks against the restraints.
“You’ve left me no choice, beloved.”
Want and need coiled in her belly at hearing the endearment. She trembled with it, cried out as the flogger struck her, creating trails of fire that had a voice.
Decide.
Decide.
Decide.
A silent command followed by the press of his chest to her back, the shirt between them symbolic of the secret keeping them apart.
She knew Miles’ routine. He’d dress in his street clothes then come in for one last look. She had five minutes, tops, before he’d be gone, and any chance of recovering Ke
i’s star ball tonight gone with him.
Enos. But that wasn’t what left her lips.
“Master, I don’t want to lose you.”
A touch of his mouth to neck and shoulder were the entirety of his answer before he removed heat and comfort to deliver more punishment, a demand for her to give him what a master was entitled to, what she would have gladly surrendered to him any other night. Her trust.
Fire streaked across her back, and though the flogger didn’t circle to land on breasts or pussy, it might as well have. She burned, ached as though she’d felt the hot, sharp sting of the lash on those parts of her body.
He stopped. Once again touched his shirt-covered chest to her back, trapping the heat and inherent demand of his discipline against her naked skin, offering the promise of true intimacy if she would relinquish what she continued to hold away from him.
She shook. Torn between what her heart and body and soul cried, that this was the master for her, and what her mind ordered, the use of the safe word.
If there were other supernaturals involved, orchestrating the theft by manipulating Miles, then Jubal might be Kei’s only hope. But if she was wrong in giving Jubal her trust…
I can’t imagine a dragon hanging out at a BDSM club, Kei had said. But for treasure…
Could she trust Jubal not only with her body and heart, but with Kei’s fate?
A whimper escaped at imagining Jubal using a ball-gag and leaving instructions for one of the staff members to free her later, after he’d gotten the star ball and taken it away.
His warmth left her. The lashes struck her back.
Decide.
Decide.
Decide.
Trust rising, building, the agony of choice finally answered.
“My friend is kitsune,” she whispered.
It was enough to bring Jubal back to her. His lips touched her neck, brushed against the mark he’d placed there.
“You need say no more, beloved. I can guess what was stolen from him.”
With a slide of silk, his shirt parted.