Fluff

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “I hadn’t planned on doing anything else, Hoss.”

  Smiling, I am okay with that—tonight. Because by tomorrow, she may be mine.

  AMBER

  FOLLOWING SAL TO his suite, Chenille and I giggle like schoolgirls headed under the bleachers with the captain of the football team. I am so pissed off that Dale Archer didn’t bother to try and talk to me. Or dance with me. Or even really so much as look at me. I decide the moment I leave with my two drunk ass friends, we are going to have a damn good time.

  A real good time.

  The kind of time that would have had me punished by him, tethered to his bed, his rack, his body for hours on end. Yes, I am going to punish him good by fucking Chenille and Sal.

  The door shuts as Sal turns to look at us. She and I are quite the opposite pair despite being the same height. Strangely, though I never really thought of my former stripper self as pretty, I feel beautiful in his eyes. He is looking at me like he wants to ravish me. Fucking my body with his eyes before he even pops his belt. Chenille is a cute enough little dollop, resembling a blue frosted cupcake. I smirk with the thought of hoping she is sweet. I hate stank puss.

  Biting my lip, I gaze at Sal, weaving his magnetic charm and pacing closer to us as the shirt drops and the belt snaps. His body is a sin, and I offer salvation. We’ve fucked countless times. Most people don’t know that though. During his little trips to Houston, we meet halfway in Lake Charles or Lafayette for an all-night binge on one another. Knowing I have the upper hand of experience with the wild Italian, I pivot away, taunting his cock with my ass tucked under the zippered skirt. He loves zippers. Really any kind of closure to try and keep him out. I think he likes the challenge.

  Smoothing my body out over the bed, I let my pumps drop to the floor and nestle in amongst the plentiful pillows. I am going to enjoy watching Sal devour this innocent bystander. I understand the reference to vampiric talents, and in a way, that is what Sal is. Though instead of blood, he feasts on sex.

  And I have been his willing victim for years.

  Having never been privy to a menage with the sex machine, I am excited with my toes curling and panties dampening. He approaches her slow, assessing. I know his game. He is mentally discerning what will be necessary for her to submit. Most guys would go in for a kiss, or get right down to business. But Sal is brilliant in his moves. Taking the tip of his finger, he traces a path across the tops of her bulging, enormous breasts. I knew he would go there first. Hell, I would have, too. A good rack is a good rack, and frankly, Chenille’s is enviable and may be her best feature.

  Without tarrying about too long, she drops the fringed white bodice, offering her plump fruit to the hellion. I expect his lunge any moment, but it never comes as his eyes spark towards mine. Suggestively, he lifts a brow, pointing to her and me.

  “You want?” I purr.

  With a serious expression, he declares, “I want.”

  “Come here, Chenille…” I lure, patting the bed and blinking at Sal. She expects his authority to overcome her, and has no idea of mine. “Take your clothes off,” I request, “Bitch…”

  “Y—es, Ms. Rosen…” she scampers.

  Forcefully, I grab her cheeks, pushing her lips upwards. “You can call me Lady Mae.”

  The reaction on her face exposed a sheer shock. Maybe she had never had a woman flip the tables on her, maybe she expected Sal whistling in and twirling – pink – handcuffs on his finger. Regardless of her thought, I had her by the lack of balls.

  As she stuttered out a slurry strew of, “Ma’am… I don’t know… I have never’s…” I reached beneath the lace edge of the bra and pinched her nipple hard. She gasped, making a mewing sound. Shortly thereafter, I had her naked and on her back, tethered to the intricately detailed wooden headboard. I ran her sexual cup over—nipple clamps, bright magenta dildo, little black butt plug – and to top it off, a vibe right on her pretty wings. She never saw it coming.

  The thing is – and I owe Sal for teaching me this – new subs are nervous as fuck. They are never gonna do what you want them to do. They don’t know verbal commands and hand signals and all that grandiose impressive shit. So, give them a treat—teach the reward before the punishment and everybody goes to bed happy. There are a three-hundred-and-sixty-four more nights to worry about how to teach cupcake to kneel without looking like she is squatting to take a piss.

  And now, she’s breathing heavily, fast asleep with a very good memory on her mind. May it serve you well. I glance at Sal, parked in the chair with his hand on top of his erection tucked in his jeans. He’s been watching his student – me – give this lesson. And I think maybe I passed, by the dark, comforting gaze he’s casting this way. With those deep set moss eyes and intimidating brows, Sal is one of those guys you feel undressing you. Peeling away every layer like an onion, he finds the core quick and plays the mind fuck while you wait.

  He curls his finger at me, and I automatically crawl over on all fours with the grace and agility of a feline – complete with an ass swish as I move my backside for his inspection. I know what he wants. I don’t have to ask.

  In mere seconds, the zipper tears – his and mine – and he’s mounted me from behind like some fierce predatory animal on the pretty blue Persian rug. My eyes focus on the design as it turns almost a psychedelic haze of color, when his hand comes smacking against my ass. I’ll redden quick with my fair skin, and he smirks like a dirty bad Dom.

  His dick is heavy and hard within my folds, but I don’t resist. Wet and welcoming, I take the fullness of his shaft as he gives me no mercy and plays me for no fool. His hands grip my shirt, pulling it from my body as his fingers singe my nipple with a rapid roll, sending a wave of fire straight to my core. I know I am drenching his cock as he thrusts faster and faster.

  And just when I believe I may come, he slows down.

  Taunting and teasing my cunt like he owns that bitch.

  He’s rolling now, making those hip gyrations that drive the women crazy at Juliet. It’s melodic and mesmerizing and fanfuckingtastic. Dancing his beast into my beauty, I am his, and there is no hope of resisting the monster calling my name—emphatically swelling and pulsing inside of me. I coast on the edge of sanity as I hear the belt rip from the loops with a decided pop. Looping it over, he teases me slow and torturous, taking his own sweet goddamned time. He knows the joy in the delay, the self-inflicted control of discipline. No one ever called Sal Raniero a quick shot.

  The caress of the leather takes me home, grounding me and sending shivers through my spine. My hands are shaking, drool is frothing from my mouth, and my eyes are running as my body begs and pleads for him to do what he came here for. With one well-earned lash, I am transported to his soul. The pop bites, but I rock my ass back for more. And he gives it to me willingly, forcing me to find repentance in him.

  Tonight—he is my savior.

  Losing count at thirteen, I fall into a delirious frenzy of lust, ramming my pussy onto his hard as steel cock. He lassos the belt around my neck, and I know he won’t hurt me. The belt is now no more than a collar—a symbol of his trust and faith in our balance. I am humbled and honored as he growls, “Come for me Mae…”

  My lips graciously breathe, “Yes, Sir.”

  And as I start to go, rising up the last waves of this magnificent ecstasy, I feel the short bursts of his hips flexing against my ass cheeks, causing my descent into our own unbridled high fairytale. We are wild; we are one—he and I—as my ache collides onto his with a violent, saturating of agony. I moan and fall upon the gorgeous rug. His body is all over me, holding the moment in his hands and kissing my hair, neck, and cheeks until finally our lips meet in a delicate persuasion, sealing the final act before I fall asleep in his arms. Sal is the Master, and I am his puppet.

  Dale Archer taught me to surrender.

  And Sal Raniero kept me trained.

  DALE

  SO I WAKE up, palming my dick like a fucking teenager. After the memories with
Mae East and dreams of Amber Rosen, I cannot stop myself as I spew my load all over the hotel sheet. I wipe my hand on a towel and grab my phone. Raniero left me a string of texts.

  “The Lady is at the destination with Stanis.”

  “Clear view.”

  “No issues.”

  “If you need anything Hoss, holler.”

  Best selling author Amber Rosen sat at her table, cheerly signing autographs and making eyes at the Kid. That meant she is safe, but the longer I think about it – studying my laptop and smelling my spunk – the more I need to ask the question to the partner I trust more than anyone else in the world. “You packin?”

  Immediately, my phone flashes as little type marks appear. I get up naked and make a coffee from the pod machine. Steam swirls into the cup as I expect something snide coming from Raniero. He’s a cocky bastard, but overall a good guy. “After last night, I’d hate to be the person caught between the bullet and the barrel.”

  Laughing husky and deep, I snarl and shake my head. The thing is—I really do want to ask, but I am not sure I want to know. He’s supposedly kept her in shape since he showed up in 2009. He came in swinging Dom, and everyone at Juliet and Sibyl took note. We recruited his ass, and he’s been my right-hand man since. He honed his skills on my gal’s hide. I understand how fucked up that sounds. How could I let my brother in the mission do that – but it is simple for me still.

  If she’s fucking Raniero, I know who she is with and I know he cares. Sure, some might see it as just dipping his dick into a wet hole. But I know if she was in danger, he would serve as the space between the metals—and that little fucked up fact changes the damn game. Besides better for him to have at her than some other schmuck I’d have to kill later.

  I am trying to figure out if I want to say anything to Amber as I pace around the suite. She opened the conference with her poised little speech last night. They’ll do signings and parties today, and by tomorrow morning, every fucker in the joint will be headed for the airport. It will be chaos, and I’ll use Raniero’s hands. He’s an astute little shit. No one expects it or even sees him coming. In terms of strategy, he was the best tactical move the collective at Sibyl ever made, and I am never one to not give credit where it is due.

  Slamming back my second cup of joe, I scratch at my scruff, and decide that not doing anything now is as bad as not doing anything before. My blood pressure rises with the thought of the error, but it’s never too late as I type the text message to bring her back to me.

  “After the party, I would love the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight, Amber. If you are interested…”

  My words drop off, unable to determine how to finish the sentence. Still seems too longing. At all feels too final. I hit send and let it fly to her.

  AMBER

  “THANK YOU FOR coming by,” I smile, handing the fan her copy of American Girl and feeling my phone vibrating in my hoodie. With the grey skies outside, it is a little chilly this spring day, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is Houston. It’s typically warm and muggy with air conditioners cranked up to full blast. “Have a great day!”

  I have a brief reprieve in fans as Judith Plight decides to saunter in two hours late. She’s so unprofessional, it’s a shame. The women cluster around her table like vultures over a piece of carrion. I glance across the way to Sal, staring and smiling at me as he charms an older woman. He’s keeping track of me. While that should concern me, it doesn’t. After all, he had his dick buried in me a few hours ago.

  Pulling out my phone, I stare at the screen. A quiver passes through my hands as the phone shakes and my mouth drops open, exhaling a long breath. My eyes caress over and over the word…interested. Completely put on the spot, I am forced to make a decision for which I am unprepared.

  In my moment of desperation, I look to Sal, searching for an answer. His expression concerned as his brows twitch and he mouths at me, “Are you okay?”

  Without saying anything, I nod vacantly, wanting to find air to breathe again. I am drowning in rushing memories of who Dale and I once were—Cyclone Blonde and Mae East. I cannot tread the water; the waves clutch at my feet, sinking me too deep as I succumb, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks.

  Typing quickly, I write, “See you at 11.”

  Gathering my things, I make haste towards the exit as I prepare for Sal to grab me. I know he will follow. Waiting until we burst into the lobby, he offers his warms hands and strong shoulders to console me.

  “Babygirl, what’s wrong?”

  “He messaged,” I sniffle, grabbing a tissue from my purse.

  “He thought you wouldn’t recognize him,” Sal confides.

  My eyes gawk open wide. “Is he fucking insane? That godforsaken man was my fucking soulmate. I would know those blue eyes anywhere—he hasn’t changed. He’s still the same asshole of a Dom that left me over fifteen years ago.”

  Sal folds his arms around my body as his finger traverses along my jaw line. “Actually love, everything changed.”

  Blinking up with a mountain of questions, I know he cannot answer for Dale. The tears come like a flock of birds flying over my head, rapidly arriving and passing just as quick. There is nothing to say to Sal. He’s been nothing but good to me. “Can you tell them I am not feeling well?”

  A smirk rises up on his wine-stained lips. “I can do anything your precious heart desires.”

  “Thank you,” I mention. He lets me go as his eyes follow me to the elevator. With mascara stains running over my cheeks, I check to see if he is still there. Giving a couple of snaps and a grin, Sal points my direction. The quiescent remark I hear loud and clear as I have so many times before, “You got this girl.”

  DALE

  DOWNSTAIRS IN THE lobby, I am waiting. I can hear the ruckus going on behind the closed doors, and when people go in and out I can briefly make out the distinguishing frame of Raniero. He is up on stage dancing with the women, having a grand time. Briefly, I wonder how long she will be in there.

  My need to know pulls my heart and head in a million different directions. Until I am faced with one remaining fact—Amber is in there, having fun and living her life, without me.

  Immediately, I start questioning my motivations and why I am even bothering to harass the poor woman. We broke apart so long ago. Technically, I pushed her away—before. I am the asshole. I dumped her, told her to shoo, and her well behaved self listened to me. God, if there was ever a time I needed a bottom to push back—it was fifteen years ago with Amber Rosen.

  I can still feel her in my arms that last day, her warm tears dripping on my forearms as she said, “I don’t want to go, but I will. I will because you said to. I won’t argue and I won’t fight, but one day Cy, you are going to live to regret this.”

  Never has anyone proclaimed something so true. I regretted it the moment she left my grasp. My heart smashed into nothing as the fire in my life extinguished.

  Taking a deep breath, I clench my fists in the sport coat. I check my watch, and I know she’s not coming. It’s 11:09 PM. My jaw tightens, and I scan the lobby. The whole notion of having a date with my ex was a mistake I will regret long after leaving Houston. I am embarrassed and humiliated – two emotions I am not acquainted with – as I stride towards the elevators.

  Quite a few people loiter through the hallways, holding cocktails and laughing like their lives are good. I want to hurt them for being so happy. Fuck them happy people.

  The expression on my face is one of do not mess with me. I refuse to make idle chat, I am pissed—really pissed—at myself for making such an idiotic move. A group of women approach me, carrying on like they are drunk and wishing they were easy. I know better. They are complicated, full of emotions and needs, ones I can never meet. Or even come close to. I certainly didn’t with Amber.

  Staring idly at the numbers above the elevator, I eavesdrop on their conversation. It’s unintentional on my part as they are talking incredibly loud. Apparently, they are
big names in the industry and taking their party upstairs where some strippers will be entertaining them until dawn. I bow my head down, trying to avoid any inquisitions.

  The chime on the elevator rings, and the doors open. Glancing up, I gasp at the sight of the most beautiful, ethereal angel dressed in white, standing before me. My breathing intensifies, heavy upon my lip.

  Stepping out, she reaches for my hand as she licks her full, rosy lips. She whispers, “Mr. Archer, are you ready?”

  We are two, standing alone in the crowded space. There is nothing but her and me, becoming – us – once again. The magical energy resonates to our skin, trapping us into the bubble together.

  “Ms. Rosen…”

  From beneath the invisible veil, we hear the mutterings of the women, making catty noises. I turn my head and give them the go to hell – before I put you there personally – stare, but it’s too late as their long, fake red talons pierce through our elastic connection.

  “Want to come to our party—Amber?”

  I hate the way the woman says her name, but relax a little as Amber clutches my arm and says, “Not tonight Judith, I have a date.”

  “Well, maybe next time,” she offers with a scathing glare.

  Amber blinks to me and back to the women. Shaking her head with a deviant little smirk, she sasses, “Probably not.”

  Striding off with a heavy pace, she’s strapped to my side, pulling me along with her petite frame. Leaning her head on my shoulder, she whispers, “Fucking whores.”

  “Not friends?”

  “I’d rather party with a piranha.”

  “Wow… That’s fierce.”