by Desiree Holt
She blinked then nodded. “Ah, that’s right. You read my file from the club I belonged to.”
He just continued to stare at her, remembering the scenes he’d witnessed through the peephole.
Montana frowned. “What? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Yes. I think you’re magnificent with the fiberglass cane. I want it to be my ass you fuck with the well-lubed dildo. My cock you enclose in that harness. My hands manacled while you make my blood sing and my cock throb.
And if I’m smart I’ll call this off right now because I could get in so deep with you there’s no way out. And I don’t trust women anymore.
Ever.
But he said none of that. What he did say was, “You’re reputation precedes you. And when Drake filled out the cards for Rawhide after your first two sessions, he had very flattering things to say about you.” He grinned. “Drake is a very experienced and discriminating sub. He doesn’t give compliments easily.”
“Good to know.” She nodded at his thighs. “You may pull up your jeans now. I don’t mean to be ungracious, but we start very early here at the ranch so I need to get some sleep. And I want to check on that cow before I get into bed.”
Clint knew when he was being dismissed. He rose from the chair and carried his mug to the sink. When he turned to face her, he bowed his head in proper sub attitude. “Thank you, Mistress, for allowing me to please you.”
“And I am pleased.”
“May I ask when we will have our time together?”
“It will have to be Sunday, of course. I don’t think either of us wants to do this at Rawhide.”
You can bet your ass on that.
“I agree.”
“Very well, then. Come here next Sunday at seven. For our one evening together. We’ll…play and then enjoy dinner together.”
He wanted badly to pull her into his arms, but that would be wrong for both of them. He simply nodded. “Sunday at seven.”
“And Clint.”
“Yes?” His eyes focused on hers like twin lasers.
“Leave the underwear and socks at home.” He watched the pulse at her throat beat harder against the delicate skin.
He raised an eyebrow. “Socks?”
She nodded. “I think a man’s ankles are sexy.”
When he got to his truck, Clint leaned against the door, pausing to catch his breath. Montana Steele had the uncanny ability to pull every response she wanted from his body, sometimes just with words. But it was his whirlpool of emotions suddenly swirling inside him that made his breathing uneven.
What on earth had he gotten himself into?
Montana dipped her bandana in the icy water from the hose, squeezed out the excess and wiped her face and neck with it. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, but already the sun was a fireball in the sky, frying everything in sight.
The bull calf had been born at six without any complications and was happily nursing. She’d sent Faron home to his house about a mile from hers to get some much-needed sleep. The ranch hand who’d stayed up with him was sacked out in the bunkhouse. In the corral, Jimmy was again working with the new cutting horse. And in the nearest pasture, four of the hands were sweating beneath the sun as they worked to cut the first of the young bulls from the herd to begin their training.
First, they’d get them used to being inside. Then, one by one, they’d take them into the small arena and start them on the mechanical rider. This morning, Jackson Fields and Elgin Navarro, two of the most experienced hands, were working with mature bulls to prepare them for shipment. Although there were rodeos all through the summer, the big leagues didn’t start until late fall. And Montana desperately wanted to contract at least a couple of her bulls on a trial basis to some of the rodeos on the Texas circuit.
She wiped her face again and leaned against the split rail fence of the corral. Why on earth had she made that stupid agreement with Clint Chavez? She was asking for trouble with a capital T. She knew it deep inside her, and she couldn’t seem to help herself.
Last night, when she crawled into bed, she’d lain there between wakefulness and sleep, the image of Clint in her kitchen chair with his cock and balls exposed burned into her brain. And the taste of him, musky and salty, still lingered on her lips. She could see it all crashing down around her if she didn’t keep a tight rein on her emotions, but it was almost as if he’d cast a spell over her. She was falling for him, and she didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it.
You’d think I’d learned. Once around the barn should be enough to teach me a lesson.
Sighing, she walked into the barn. Somehow she had to figure out how to do this without being destroyed again. The only thing that gave her any hope was that Clint Chavez was hiding some secret of his own, a secret she hoped would keep his emotions chained up. Otherwise, they were both in big trouble.
On Wednesday, against her better judgment, she called Katie and invited her to lunch. The day was cool for a change so Montana set lunch up on the side patio, away from the barns and work areas, the view simply one of rolling, endless pastures.
“Not that I don’t enjoy having lunch with you,” Katie said as she sipped iced tea, “but I know this is a busy time for you. Something must be bugging you to take a break in the middle of the week.”
Montana sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I’ve never been very good with the girl friend stuff,” she confessed.
“You’re about the only real friend I’ve had since I was a teenager.”
Sympathy washed over Katie’s face. She reached across the table and squeezed Montana’s hand. “That makes me so sad. For you.” She smiled. “But I’m glad you consider me a friend because that’s what I am. So friend, what can I do for you? What’s bubbling behind that controlled mask you always wear?”
“Talking about personal stuff is very hard for me,” she said. “But I have a feeling I’m about to make a big mistake. I guess I just want you to tell me I’m boxing with shadows or, yeah, I should run as far and as fast as I can.”
“If you’re talking about Clint, I think you’re going to have to make your own decision.”
Montana’s eyes widened. “What makes you think—”
“Oh, puh-lease.” Katie gave an unladylike snort. “I saw the way you two looked at each other at dinner. And he volunteered to take you home? Clint stays as far away as he can from any female within fifty miles of San Antonio.”
“But why?” Montana leaned forward. “What is his problem?
Katie, my marriage exploded like a nuclear bomb because Dusty couldn’t keep his belt buckled. While he was on his knees to me, he was also subbing himself to every buckle bunny with Domme tendencies.”
“You’re kidding.”
“‘They think it’s so cute,’” she mimicked. “‘They get off on spanking me, sugar.’”
“Oh, hell. That’s the pits.”
“So I’m not about to test the waters with another man who’s got some kind of problem. I’m sure he has people he plays with. Places he goes. But he works all the time, so how often can he do that? What’s his story, Katie? Give me some kind of clue.”
“Oh, honey, I wish I could.” Katie shook her head. “Clint is a very private person. You should know that. And his secrets are his to share. Or not.” Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute.
What happened when he brought you home Sunday night?”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s it. He came inside, didn’t he? And…okay.” She stopped, finished her iced tea, then swirled the ice in the glass before putting it down.
Montana frowned. “What is it? What’s his deep dark secret?”
“I can’t give you the details, but I’ll tell you this. He was heavily involved with a woman years ago, and she hurt him very badly. Since then he’s kept a tight rein on his emotions.
Never gives control of anything except his physical self. So you see? He’s got wounds, too.”
Montana blew out a breat
h. “Two wounded souls. How will we ever manage this?”
“I don’t know, but I hope it works out for you. Both of you deserve to find happiness in the right relationship.”
“But how do I know this one is the right one?”
Katie chuckled. “You’ll know.”
Sunday night rolled around at last, and Montana was ready to jump out of her skin. She’d groomed every inch of her body then, before getting dressed, made sure the bedroom was set up exactly the way she wanted it.
On the top of the dresser, she laid out the implements she’d chosen—nipple clamps, a shorter fiberglass cane than she usually used, the tire tread spanker she saved for special occasions, two different size butt plugs, the special lubricant she liked. And the silk ties she would use to restrain Clint.
She’d kept dinner simple—lasagna, which could stay warm in the oven, and a green salad. She’d opened a bottle of merlot to let it breathe, and at the moment, she wanted a glass of the rich, red liquid more than she wanted her next breath. But she had a rule. No alcohol before play, either for herself or her sub.
But afterward…
She gave herself one last look in the mirror. She’d chosen the boots again and the short, leather skirt, but tonight she paired it with a jersey halter that exposed her breasts and made the outline of her nipples visible. The more to tease him with.
As she brushed an imaginary speck from the skirt, the doorbell rang. She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Here we go.
Chapter Five
He was dressed in black again, a silk shirt that draped easily on his broad shoulders and black stretch jeans that molded to his firm ass and the muscular line of his long legs.
And the very fine package between his thighs. Montana barely stopped herself from ripping his shirt off and licking everywhere on his chest.
He held a huge bouquet of wildflowers extended toward her. “I had a feeling roses would be too common for you.” He grinned, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes, hear it in his voice. “These are more colorful. More…unrestrained.
Much as my Mistress is.”
A tiny thrill chased itself around in her stomach. He’d given this some thought. Wanted the flowers to have some personal meaning.
She studied his face. “And is that what you seek in a Mistress? Lack of restraint?”
“Only if that leads to pleasure,” he told her. “For everyone.”
“Thank you.” She took the bouquet from him and held it in front of her to hide the pulse hammering at the hollow of her throat and the swelling of her nipples visible through the soft fabric of her halter. “They’re beautiful. Let me just put them in water.”
He followed her into the kitchen, and she could feel him behind her as she reached for a vase, filled it from the tap, and arranged the flowers in them. When she turned to take them into the living room he was inches from her just like the other night. Heat radiated from his body like the blast from a furnace and the woodsy scent of his aftershave teased at her nostrils.
God, there’d been so many things she wanted to do to him she’d had a hard time choosing implements for tonight’s play.
She hoped she’d chosen well.
He paused for a long moment before dropping his gaze and stepping aside. Her heels clicked on the polished wood floor as she carried the flowers into the living room and set them on a low table in front of the window. Centering herself, she turned to Clint and let her gaze ride slowly over his body, from the taut line of his jaw past his lean hips and the bulge at his fly to the black loafers he wore on his feet.
“Take off your shoes and put them over there.” She pointed to a corner of the living room.
Keeping his eyes lowered in the manner of a proper sub, he toed off his shoes, picked them up, and carried them to the spot she’d pointed to. His jeans brushed the instep, and beneath them she could see that while his feet were large, they were graceful. Nails carefully trimmed. A sign of a man who took good care of his body to present to a Mistress.
“Very good. Now the shirt.”
He unbuttoned it slowly, tugged it from the waist of his jeans and draped it over the arm of a chair. Montana had all she could do to keep from licking her lips. She walked slowly around him, trailing her hand over the bare skin of his muscular back, down the line of his ribs, and across the very hard plane of his abs. Over the springy curls on his chest, barely scraping the nipples. One fingertip drew a line across the top of his jeans.
Clint stood completely still, allowing her free access to his body. But if she’d thought he would be undisturbed by it, she was wrong. Every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation, his breathing controlled but shallow. Good. She liked a sub who arrived already aroused.
“May I compliment my mistress on her outfit?”
There it was. Just that hint of arrogance in his voice. That alpha male tone, as if he had something to prove. She had a feeling this was all wrapped up in why he kept himself emotionally aloof. Well, she certainly knew all about staying disconnected. The battle here would be maintaining her emotional distance and not giving in to the overpowering urge to break through that iron control. “Yes. Of course. A compliment is always welcome.”
“That outfit is about the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.” It came out almost as a growl.
Montana lifted an eyebrow. “Your other Mistresses have not dressed appropriately for you?”
“They can’t hold a candle to you, sugar.” Respectful but with a rough edge of simmering sexuality.
“I think a compliment like that should be rewarded.” She hooked a finger in the waistband of his jeans and tugged.
“This way.”
She led him down the hallway to her bedroom, pushing the door open and inhaling the soft lavender scent of the candles she’d placed strategically around the room. She had learned a long time ago that lavender was one of the scents that ramped up a man’s libido, so not only had she filled the room with the fragrance of the candles, she’d also used a lotion with a matching scent everywhere on her body.
When she brought him to a halt at the foot of her bed, she saw Clint take a deep breath, inhaling the scented air. She glanced at his face and the heat burning in his eyes.
“Remove your jeans,” she told him, stepping away to the side of the bed where she’d placed all her toys for the evening. “Slowly. Then turn around so I can see all of you.”
She’d deliberately worn nothing beneath her skirt tonight and already she could feel the liquid of her arousal trickling from her pussy and wetting the inside of her thighs. She grew even wetter as Clint lowered the zipper and dragged the jeans down his hips and legs. He stepped out of them, looked around, and finally tossed them onto a small chair. Then, the hint of arrogance still stamped on his face, he turned in a circle, giving her eyes access to every inch of him.
Montana swallowed a gasp. The man was absolutely gorgeous, the most masculine man she’d ever seen. Every inch of his body was toned, his dark skin dusted with black hair in all the appropriate places. The curls on his chest formed a triangle arrowing down to his groin to a thick nest from which jutted the most magnificent cock she had ever in her life seen. It was long and thick, with a dark purple head and heavy balls that lay in a sack against his thighs.
His feet and ankles were as appealing as she’d expected.
For a moment, she wanted to forget she was his Mistress for the night, kneel down and lick his ankles and the arches of his feet. But it was enough just to study them, to drink in the entire sight of him.
And his ass. It made her mouth water. Taut with just enough curve to it. She couldn’t help herself. She stepped closer and ran her fingers lightly through the crease between the globes of his buttocks. The heat of him scorched her fingers as she let one press lightly against the tight ring of his anus and was rewarded with a faint indrawn breath.
“I assume you read my entire file,” she drawled.
“Yes, Mistres
s,” he acknowledged, and his buttocks clenched around her finger.
“How does that make you feel, to have a woman penetrate you here? Fuck you in this incredible ass?”
“It feels…very hot.”
“How hot? Tell me? What does it make you want to do?”
She was pushing him by making him talk rather than just moving directly to playtime, but that perverse desire to break through his emotional armor wouldn’t go away.
Be careful what you ask for, Montana.
“It makes my balls tighten and my cock throb.” He swallowed. “It would make me want to fuck you.”
She moved around in front of him, trailing her hand down his abs to that proud, jutting cock. “I believe I asked you how it made you feel, not what it made you want to do.” When he was silent she wrapped her fingers lightly around his shaft.
“Am I correct?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Another growl. “But…”
She could almost see the desire for control warring with the desire—make that need—to submit. What was eating away at him? What did he feel he needed to prove? “But nothing. A sub who even hints at disobedience deserves to be punished. Don’t you agree?”
He nodded, holding himself still, but his erection pulsed and a tiny drop of fluid beaded at the slit. Oh, yes, Clint Chavez was definitely into punishment. “Stand at the foot of the bed facing the headboard.”
She’d given a great deal of thought as to how she would restrain him. She wanted him on his knees, head bowed, the ultimate pose of submission. But it wouldn’t allow her to cane him the way she wanted to, or see the flange of the plug in his ass as those splendid cheeks clenched around it. And she wanted to get everything out of this one night she could, because she had no assurance that if she managed to strip Clint to the emotional bone, there would ever be another one.
“Bend over the bed,” she ordered. “Arms extended toward the headboard. Legs spread.”
He obeyed silently, but she could see anticipation ripple over him like a visible wave. She lifted the small vial of oil from the nightstand, poured some into her palm and began to smooth it over the smooth curve of his ass.