Loving Her

by Jeanne St. James

  I had to fight staring at him at the church (and again at dinner), forcing myself to look at anything but him. Otherwise, I might have pulled him right down in the middle aisle of the church and fucked his brains out on the marble floor. By the way, that would be after I rode his face.

  I think Jesus (who’s nailed to a cross above the altar) might frown upon that.

  Not to mention, my brother, Rob and his fiancé, Barb. That could have put a little kink in the rehearsal.

  In more ways than one.

  As he grabs my elbow, he leans close again. “Nightcap?”

  “Sure,” I answer. Because I’m not a fool.

  And I’m tired of the “let’s pretend it never happened” game.

  “Your place or mine?” His question sends a shock of lightning down my spine.

  I’m getting the feeling that he’s not suggesting a little chat about old times and he’s decided to get right down to business.

  Direct. I like it.

  I’m all for this new game.

  However, I must think about his question. His “place” is a hotel room upstairs. The pro is that it’s close and convenient.

  The cons are that it’s in a hotel which is full of people, I don’t have any of my stuff with me, and our nightcap will be limited by whatever’s in the room’s minibar. Which most likely isn’t much and is probably all bottom shelf crap.

  On the other hand, my place is only about ten minutes away, it’s fully stocked with the basics (though quality) when it comes to alcohol, it’s private, and I’ll have my own stuff.

  And by stuff, I mean my toys.

  Which I would love to introduce Noah to. And, not to mention, have waited a long time to do it.

  My knees wobble for a second and his fingers dig into my arm to steady me.

  “You okay?” he asks softly.

  “Yes,” I answer just as softly. The love of my life is leading me out of the bar… And I’m thrilled he’s giving me a second chance.

  “So?”

  So? Oh, yes. “My place.” For sure.

  “You close?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll follow you in my rental.”

  “Yes,” I repeat, because apparently that word is the only thing I can say since I’m giddy with excitement and anticipation. Not to mention, my brain is only focused on one thing…

  Noah with the five o’clock shadow.

  My body quivers as he steers me through the lobby and out to the parking lot, his fingers tight on my arm as if he’s afraid I’m going to cut and run. He asks me where I’m parked and I can only point because my mind spins with what I want to do to him and how I want to do it.

  On the drive back to my house, I keep checking my rearview mirror to make sure I don’t lose him. Otherwise, I’ll have to turn around and hunt him down.

  He’s not going to slip from my fingers this time. Even if I have to tie him down… Or up.

  He didn’t get lost. He didn’t veer off. He followed me closely and parked behind me in my driveway.

  And now as I hand him his whiskey on the rocks, I study him. This time I don’t hide my interest. I feel a twinge between my thighs and a rush of heat as he watches me take stock of him.

  He’s taller now. He’s matured well. His shoulders are broad under the white button-down shirt he wears. The neck is open and a white undershirt peeks out. He’s in some sort of shape, that’s for sure, but how much… I can’t tell until I get him naked. His torso appears trim, though, down through his hips. His thighs fill his jeans and what I saw of his ass, that’s very nice, too. No pooch, no beer gut, and his legs are longer than I remember. The longish blond hair is “dirtier” than when he was younger. Though darker, some streaks of light remain as if he spends a fair amount of time in the sun. Maybe he still runs like he did when he was a teen and ran cross-country.

  No matter what, he’s definitely different since I last saw him before we both left for college.

  He doesn’t drop his gaze as mine comes back to his face. No, he meets my eyes directly and steadily. Almost as if a challenge.

  I like that. I don’t like weak men, and he gives me no sign of softness. But he also gives me no smile, not even a small one. No indication he likes me checking him out. But he does. I know this because it’s apparent by the tightness in the crotch of his jeans.

  I like that, too.

  Responsive. Eager.

  I tilt my head slightly as he lifts the glass to his lips, taking a healthy sip of the expensive whiskey. It’s so smooth he doesn’t even wince slightly as it slides down his throat. My gaze drops from his eyes to his long fingers wrapped around his drink.

  Fingers I have plans for. My nipples tighten in anticipation, my breath shallows in need.

  He lowers the glass slowly. “Bree…”

  My brain barely registers that he’s spoken. “Hmm?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I murmur, still distracted by the beauty that is him. I thought he was striking when we were teenagers, but he’s only become more so with age.

  His lips tighten a moment before he says, “For being a bumbling idiot all those years ago.”

  Me, too.

  “We were young,” I say as if it’s in the past and the past isn’t important.

  Though it is. The past defines who we are today. Who I am now. Who he is.

  “I know. But I made you cry.”

  What? No.

  What he says takes me out of my reverie. I blink, letting reality rush over me.

  This is Noah standing in my living room.

  Noah.

  “You thought…” I shake my head. “I didn’t cry because you were a bumbling idiot.” Just the opposite. It was me, not him.

  “You ran out—”

  “Yes, I ran out because I thought I disappointed you. I was…” I hesitate. Do I really want to admit this? Now? “Embarrassed.”

  “Fuck,” he breathes. “I thought I disappointed you.”

  “Well…” Less than a minute wasn’t anything to write home about. But I didn’t need to rub that in.

  He must have read my expression because I know I didn’t confess that out loud. “I know… It was bad.”

  Well, since he admitted it... “Yes.”

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “For both of us.”

  I lift my shoulder and a small smile pulls at my lips. I can’t help it. We had been young and inexperienced. But then, wasn’t everyone at one point?

  “I promise I’m not like that now.”

  I’m well aware of that. But now is not the right time to tell him. Because then he’ll discover I know his secret. And then I’ll have to reveal mine.

  Later.

  “Why are you here, Noah?”

  “Because you invited me back to your house.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  His eyebrows lower and he hesitates. “No?”

  “No, you made a suggestion.”

  Clarity crosses his features. “Yes, your place or mine.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Noah,” I chastise him softly.

  His fingers tighten on his glass as he lifts it again, downing the rest of the contents, then staring at the empty glass. He swirls the remaining ice, then his gaze meets mine. Confident, but with a touch of anger. “I couldn’t watch another man touch you.”

  Ah, like Mrs. Callahan touched you. I endured that. “The man at the bar?”

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t touch me.”

  “He wanted to.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybes about it.”

  I tilt my head in question. “Why do you care?”

  His gaze drops to his glass again and his shadowed jaw tightens. “Because you’re mine.” He turns away and places the glass on the sideboard.

  Just like that. I’m his.

  Damn.

  My knees weaken with his statement and I hide the surprise from
my face before he turns back to me.

  I keep my voice steady as I ask, “Since when?”

  A small noise escapes him. Impatience? “You know when.” No, the anger in his words are unmistakable. He knows I’m playing with him in an attempt to draw things out from deep inside.

  “Tell me,” I demand, but gently.

  “Since forever.”

  I suck in a breath. “Forever is a long time.”

  “Yes.” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Why are you playing this game, Bree?”

  “This isn’t a game.” Not quite.

  “What is it?”

  “I just want to make sure this is what you want.”

  “I want you.”

  “How do you want me?”

  “Any way I can have you.”

  I fight the urge to ask him why. Why me? Why then? Why now? Why our whole lives we’ve danced a dance that never brought us closer together but only farther apart? Something that started even before we could understand it. We were always drawn to each other. Obviously, we still are.

  “If I ask you to get down on your knees, would you?” He doesn’t want me to play games, so I won’t.

  Something unreadable crosses his face and his eyes darken. But he takes his time answering, weighing my question. “Yes.”

  “Would you do anything I ask of you?”

  He blows out a breath. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  Of course, he wouldn’t know that I do. He couldn’t know I honed my own skills over the years with some of the best. Not only in hopes that I would someday get this opportunity before me, but because I needed it for me also.

  “I do.” I lick my lips because I can’t wait to taste his skin against them.

  His gaze lifts from my mouth to my eyes. “How do you know what I want?”

  “I’m not asking you what you want. I’m inquiring about whether you’ll do anything I ask. Simple.”

  “Not so simple.”

  “It can be,” I shoot back.

  “If I allow it.”

  “Will you?” I ask, trying to keep the hope obvious from my question.

  He hesitates, then murmurs, “Fuck, Bree.” He shakes his head. “What happened to the girl who wore yellow sundresses?”

  Good question. “She grew up.”

  A smile finally lifts the corners of his lips. “That she did,” he agrees.

  “Do you like what she’s become?”

  His eyes rake over me, causing things to quiver low in my body.

  I know what he’s looking at. I’ve matured over the years, too. My curves have become more pronounced, my breasts heavier, my thighs softer. Full. Womanly. No longer a teenager. I would fill out a yellow sundress much differently now.

  “I love what she’s become.”

  I give him a smile, too. “Then you will do what I ask of you.” Not a question because it’s time to stop asking and start telling.

  “Bree, you can bend me however you’d like.”

  “Bend but not break,” I assure him.

  Suddenly his eyes flick to mine and hold. Clarity is now behind him. He understands what I’m expecting of him. He understands that what he needs is what I need as well.

  And I need to touch him.

  Chapter Three

  Noah:

  My mind spins as I sit on the couch. First, because I have a hard time believing I’m actually in her living room. Second, because I know my fantasies with Bree are about to come true. Third, I’ll finally get a chance to make up for that horrible time we had losing our virginity. And fourth, if I’m reading her right (and I’m pretty sure I am), she is going to rock my fucking world.

  She told me to wait out here. My cock is hard and aches for her. Fuck, my chest has an ache, also, and I slide my palm over my heart down my stomach to my groin.

  I assume she’s freshening up since she went down the hall with a purpose. The whole way my eyes were glued to her curvy ass in her black dress pants. I haven’t even kissed her yet and I’m dying to do so. I should have taken the opportunity before she disappeared.

  In the meantime, I need more bourbon. To fortify me, at least. So, I push myself to my feet and head to the sideboard, grabbing the bottle of Japanese whiskey and pouring myself two more fingers worth. She knows her liquor. She likes quality. Her house isn’t huge; it’s a good size for what I assume is someone who lives alone.

  Though, I hadn’t even asked if she does.

  But the furniture and the décor appears to be quality as well. Everything is done in primary colors. Blacks, reds, white, a touch of yellow here, blue there.

  Classy.

  I take a sip of the Yamazaki and appreciate how smoothly it goes down. It heats my gut.

  Like Bree does.

  Just when I think she might have forgotten about me, I hear clicking down the tiled hallway. No mistaking the sound of a woman in high heels. And here I thought she would have gotten more comfortable.

  With the glass halfway to my lips, I turn my head and...

  Lose my breath.

  Fuck. Me.

  The girl I love who used to wear yellow sundresses has definitely grown up.

  As she closes in on me, not only do my balls tighten, my asshole puckers. My heart skips a beat before it begins to thump wildly.

  Bree is no longer Bree. No, this woman before me is Brianna.

  And she is my new mistress.

  Now I know why she asked if I’d go to my knees for her.

  As I watch her get closer, I decide right then that she wouldn’t even need to ask.

  Her long, silky, almost black hair is still up in the tight bun that she wore all afternoon and evening. Not a hair out of place.

  Her eyes are darker now, smokier. Makeup, maybe. But the glitter in her coffee-colored eyes is unmistakable. Determined. No nonsense.

  Her lips are a deep red, her cheeks hold some color. A rush of blood from excitement, possibly, but I’m not sure.

  But. Fuck. Me.

  She’s wearing a black leather corset with a bone-insert waist that pushes her tits up and out from the cups. The pale skin of her breasts glows softly. The front is cross-laced from her cleavage down to the bottom with a hint of skin peeking through. The bottom curve of the corset doesn’t quite meet the leather skirt she wears. The skirt is not short, but it’s tight, hugging her hips and luscious thighs. It stops a couple inches above her knees. And those legs... She’s wearing sheer black stockings that make them look long enough to wrap around my hips while I’m fucking her.

  But those fucking heels. Damn. Black leather to match the rest of her outfit with a wickedly high stiletto heel. The height of her heel makes the curves of her calves look absolutely delicious.

  As my eyes roam back up, I notice she’s holding something in one hand. I’m hoping a whip, a crop, something, anything she can use to take me to task. But it’s not. It’s a circle of black leather with a buckle and a D ring.

  Then it hits me what it is.

  A fucking collar. Attached to the metal D ring is a thin leather leash curled up in her hand.

  She’s going to make me her slave.

  Fuck. Me.

  “On your knees.” She says it softly but firmly. And there’s no ignoring the authority behind the words.

  I hesitate too long. I think it’s because I wasn’t expecting this. I had no warning. A hint, yes, but that was it.

  “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

  I quickly place the glass on the sideboard and fall to my knees, hitting the hard tile with a grunt of pain. I tip my chin down, my eyes falling to the floor, aiming for her shoes.

  I will not challenge her in this. I’m dying to see where this goes.

  Actually, I live to see where this goes because I can’t get any harder than I am right now. Seeing her dressed like that, hearing her demand, I know my fantasies of her were never this rich, this perfect, this colorful.

  She’s totally blown my mind.

  “Chin up.” />
  I lift my face obediently, but keep my eyes pointed to the floor. She struts (and the woman can fucking strut with those heels on) around behind me and I hear the metallic clink of the buckle. The leather circles my neck and she tightens it until it’s snug. A reminder of who now owns me. I hear the click of a tiny padlock and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

  Then there’s a sharp tug as she steps back. “On your feet.”

  I push myself to stand but don’t turn around. I keep my eyes down and my body loose.

  I had no idea she was like this.

  She had no idea I was, either.

  How did she know I would accept her collar without fighting it? Without at least some words of concern?

  She didn’t. She couldn’t.

  When Brianna steps around me, I discover that in her heels she now comes to my chin instead of my shoulder.

  When the collar jerks against my neck, my cock jerks, too, and I follow her down the darkened hall.

  I don’t know what to expect. A bedroom. A playroom. But it’s the not knowing that makes my blood rush, my heart beat faster, my limbs tremble.

  All the things she could possibly do to me floods my mind, and when we reach her bedroom, I quickly take note of everything in there. Especially, the king-sized bed in more blacks, reds and whites. Sharp, bold colors.

  She jerks the lead and, once again, I follow her willingly. This time to the center of her large bedroom. “Stand there.”

  She unclips the leash and tosses it onto the bed, then turns to face me. “I’ll ask you again, Noah, are you willing to do whatever I ask?”

  “Yes,” my voice holds a tremor from the excitement that slides through me.

  “You have a safe word?”

  I nod but don’t answer.

  “Noah,” she says in a low warning tone.

  I smile. I like when she admonishes me. It makes my cock twitch in my jeans. She steps closer, close enough that her heat sears me. She trails her fingers over my lips, her eyes following.

  “Noah,” she says softly. “Tell me your safe word.”

  She knows I have a safe word. She knows me, she knows what’s inside of me. I don’t know how, but she does. “Mississippi.”

  With a sharp nod, she accepts that and steps back. I feel the loss of her heat, her closeness. I don’t want her to go.