by Lavinia Kent
“I imagine that I’d have other ways of keeping you from thinking. And that may be my rule. If we do this, I get to be in charge of the actual entertainment,” he answered, his eyes moving over her body, slowly, lingering—letting her know that for now, if only for now, things were back on track.
And just like that, her panties were soaked.
* * *
—
Brian kept staring at her, kept enjoying her every little movement and squirm. He was still irritated by her conditions, undecided whether he would— Fuck, he was lying to himself. He knew exactly what was going to happen. There was no way he would walk out the door, not when he could sense the passion bubbling between them. He might not like her conditions, her rules, but then, he was good at changing the rules when he wanted to.
And it was partially his fault. He hadn’t been completely honest himself. Maybe he should just explain everything. It might simplify things—but then again, it might also make them more complicated. What she was offering would be most guys’ dream. And he did like the anonymity.
She leaned forward, her nipples hard beneath the tight T-shirt, drawing his attention. He could almost taste them, feel them pressing against his tongue. It might have been a deliberate attempt to distract him from his thoughts—if so, it certainly worked.
“And are you going to tell me how you’ll keep me from thinking?” she said.
He took a sip of his drink. “What would be the fun in that?”
She swallowed, her neck drawing tight, the pulse on its side beating rapidly. “Maybe I like knowing the plan too. I’ve always enjoyed having things described.”
“Oh, have you?”
“Yes.”
He kept staring at her. She opened her hand and then clenched it tight. She was getting nervous. It made her more vulnerable and even more attractive. “And exactly what do you like described? Are we talking about phone sex? Sexting? Or something else?”
Her eyes dropped from his. “I’ve never had phone sex. I’m not quite sure why, but it’s just never happened. And sexting seems silly. It’s hard to feel emotional about a few words on a screen.”
“And is feeling emotional what you want? You normally seem to avoid it.” Now he leaned toward her.
“I guess it’s not quite the right word—and I know it sounds contradictory to all I’ve just said, but I do want to feel some emotion. And words don’t do it—well, a beautifully written letter might, and I’ve certainly read books that made me hot, but—”
“Tell me about these books. Are we talking about sex scenes or something else?”
“Sex scenes, I suppose. Although sometimes I can be overcome by something that is simply a beautiful description or— Hell, yes, I’m talking about sex scenes, romance novels.” She looked like she was expecting him to laugh at her.
He didn’t. “My sister reads those. I’ve looked at a few and I can definitely see why they might affect you.”
“You’ve read a romance novel?”
“I didn’t say that.” He did have some masculine pride.
She looked at him skeptically.
“Okay, maybe one or two. Once I started, I might have found it hard to put down.”
Veronica grinned.
And he grinned back.
It suddenly felt so easy.
“And what type of romance were they?”
He wasn’t quite sure what she meant.
“Historical? Contemporary? Erotic? Sports? BDSM? Ménage?”
“BDSM? Does that count as romance? And what’s Ménage?”
“Yes, BDSM certainly can be. I’ve even enjoyed some of them, but I have to say that’s strictly fantasy for me. I have a great dislike of actual pain and no desire for humiliation—not that it’s really about humiliation, but…”
Given her family history he had a feeling there might be a reason for that. “Whatever made you decide to even pick up a book like that?”
She gave a long sigh that was hard to interpret. “A friend I trusted recommended one to me.”
“You have friends who are recommending you read books about BDSM?” He would never understand women. At least, he assumed the friends were women.
“Don’t your friends ever give you interesting reading material?” was all she said.
He guessed he should be glad that was her question. His friends were more likely to talk about having threesomes. Puck bunnies could be up for anything. He’d had a couple of chances himself, but even in his wild days it had never been his thing. “Not really—maybe Sports Illustrated?” And that made it sound like he and his friends didn’t have brains. If he kept this up, he was going to make her believe she actually had a reason to hide their relationship. And where had the sexy gone? How in less than three seconds had they gone from BDSM and threesomes to him feeling like a fool? Before she could say anything, he added, “I’m mostly joking. My friends read, but we don’t talk about it. I think the last real recommendation I got was for Harry Potter.”
Her eyes gleamed. “It’s hard to argue with that one. It’s kind of like To Kill a Mockingbird—although in a completely different way. Perfect answers to what’s your favorite book.”
“Exactly.” He leaned farther forward, letting his eyes run over her again. “This conversation isn’t going quite the way I planned. I’d like to go back to hearing about your BDSM fantasies…”
Veronica stood, stretching her long, curvy body. “I bet you would. Is that why I’ve seen you staring at my stilettos? Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
He looked at her feet. “Maybe. There’s something about heels that gets to me. And if a woman has legs like yours…” He let his eyes run up and down them. He might prefer them bare, but those jeans weren’t bad at all. “And I do like it when you look bossy. Do you think I have a secret need to be dominated? It’s something I’ve never explored.” He leaned back in the chair as she walked toward him, sliding his feet apart so she could walk between them.
“Oh? And is it something you’d like to experiment with?”
Fuck. He’d never had any desire to be dominated, but as Veronica walked between his legs, he began to rethink a lot of things. “I do love the way you look in those tight skirts. Would that be part of the fantasy? Or would you dress all in leather? I might be able to get into that.” And boom—the sexy was back. His mind filled with the image of her in a strapless leather dress that outlined every inch of her figure, that round ass, those breasts rising above the fitted bodice, the…And then he looked at her in the soft white T-shirt and that was fantasy enough.
Leaning forward slightly, she lay a single finger on one thigh. His whole body responded—and when her eyes settled on the movement at his crotch, it responded some more. “I suppose it’s possible,” she answered. “Although I find leather hot, and hard to get in and out of. Maybe if I had a willing slave it would be different.”
“And what would you tell your slave to do?” His pulse was beginning to race. The look in her eyes as she appraised him was more than enough to give him a heart attack.
She pursed her lips. “Well, first he’d have to look the part. I’ve always enjoyed a bare-chested man.”
He waited for her to make a move, but she just stood there, watching, waiting.
Hooking one finger under the bottom of his own T-shirt, he pulled it up, slowing as he watched the flush rise on her cheeks, watched her pupils grow even larger. They followed his every small movement.
When he reached his shoulders, it became impossible to go slow, and in one smooth movement he pulled the shirt over his head and let it drop behind the chair.
* * *
—
Oh my God.
The man was a true god. Absolute perfection. Wide and firm. The lightest smattering of hair. Small tight nipples. His waist was far from small where it disappear
ed into his loose shorts, but in comparison to those shoulders…Did he live in the gym? How did a man even build that many muscles? Shit. “You have an eight-pack.” She had not meant to say that. His body was ruining her mind.
“Do I?” He smiled knowingly.
Her fingers itched with the urge to reach out and touch, but she would not give in so easily. “I think the next thing my slave would do is…” She should have thought this out before she started to talk. “…is…” Shit. “…is put his hands over his head so I can admire him fully.”
A big grin. He was enjoying this way too much. He did, however, raise his arms, displaying himself to complete perfection.
And that was not helping her brain at all. Maybe she should order him to bang her against the wall again. That had been easy, not requiring any thought at all. Although she should make him finish stripping first. She was not going to miss out on seeing his cock at last. She had to know if it could possibly be as large as it had felt when it filled her.
And that thought had her inner muscles clenching. God, she could feel him in her, feel him moving. She let out a long, slow breath, looked down at his shorts, at the ever-rising bulge. Yes, she definitely did need to see that.
“Any other commands, my lady?” There was a definite edge of laughter in his voice.
“Be quiet. I want to look.”
And look she did. She leaned over, running a finger over a lengthy scar that ran along his right side, another crossed his belly right above the edge of his shorts. When she moved to trace that one, his whole body jerked slightly. He was far from as cool as he wanted her to think.
Although perhaps she should have known that from the hard jut of his erection.
She pulled back, standing straight. Traced her lips with her tongue as her eyes stayed on the bulge. He jerked again. And even without looking she knew that his eyes were fixed on her mouth. Some things about men were so easy.
She stepped away, turning to walk a few feet, giving herself a few moments to breathe. He definitely needed to strip, but maybe not in the awkward lift-your-hips-and-shimmy-your-shorts-down manner—and perhaps not in her living room with the curtains open. Yes. It was much easier to think when she wasn’t looking at him. “I believe my wineglass is empty, slave.”
The chair creaked as she heard him stand. He walked past her and took her glass from the table. She’d been thinking about his dick, but the thought of seeing that ass wasn’t bad either. She could only hope it wasn’t too hairy.
And even that thought did not begin to cool her heated blood.
He walked toward the kitchen and she followed him. She’d never thought of it as a sexy room, but it was far from view and she wasn’t quite ready to move this to the bedroom. The moment they ended up there, this would be over. She wanted to prolong the play a little.
He poured the wine, filling her glass far higher than she would have. Turning, he stopped suddenly, seeing her standing there. His hand moved forward with the glass.
She held up her own hand in a stop gesture. “I think I’d liked to be served by a naked slave.”
His shoes hit the floor instantly. He placed the glass back on the counter, hooked a finger in the waistband of his shorts. “Slow or fast?”
And wasn’t that a delicious question. “Fast. I do want my wine.”
And his shorts were beside his shoes on the floor. For a moment she could only stare at them. There was fast and there was fast.
She let her eyes slowly move up him. His feet were slightly paler than his legs, but only slightly. His calves were strong and round and peppered with sun-lightened hair, but she’d admired them before. A few red scars marked one knee, but she could find out about those later. His thighs. His thighs. His thighs. She’d never seen anything like them, not in any movie or fireman calendar, and certainly not in real life. She preferred muscled men—not bodybuilders, but genuine muscle. And this…Damn.
Her eyes moved higher.
And damn again.
Had that actually fit inside her? Well, she knew it had. Couldn’t wait for it to be there again.
“Damn.” This time she said it out loud.
“Now, that’s something a man likes to hear.”
She didn’t look up as he spoke. She should probably tell him to be quiet, that slaves only spoke when spoken to, but she was too busy admiring. Would it be wrong to tell him he had a pretty penis? It was tempting to see. But she doubted he’d understand that pretty didn’t mean it didn’t look large and powerful, just that it was far more…more proportionate than any other penis she’d seen. And that was definitely a conversation she didn’t need to have: Let’s talk about the penises I’ve seen. No.
Okay, so she might no longer be thoughtless, but her mind was definitely not working clearly.
A movement of his hand drew her attention.
Her wine.
She reached out and took it, glad that her hand was not shaking.
“Any other commands, my lady?”
How could it be that she had a naked man with a magnificently pretty penis in her kitchen and she didn’t know what to do? Although, damn, her body was telling her what it wanted.
“Are you going to answer, my lady?”
And that could get tiring. “Do you like oral sex?”
A moment’s silence, then, “What man doesn’t?”
She had not phrased that right. Although with that penis—the thought was as daunting as it was inviting. “I meant giving, going down on a woman, on me.”
Another moment’s silence. “Actually, yes. Although—”
“You don’t need to say more. Remember, you’re the slave. And we do have a dining table that I’ve rarely used. I think I’d like you to eat me until I scream.” Had she actually said that? She was far from a shy woman, but rarely had she expressed her desires so blatantly. What was it about him that made her so comfortable?
“Only until you scream? I think I can do better than that.”
Better than that? “And you would enjoy it?”
“Fuck yeah. Although I hope that I get to do more than taste.”
Her thighs pressed together tight. Looking up, she met his gaze. Yes, he was speaking the truth. He was more than happy to do this. And she, too, hoped there would be more. Big swallow. “I think you should undress me, then.” She walked to one of the wood rail chairs beside the table and sat down, holding out one of her feet.
Her naked god walked over and knelt before her, gently taking off the sneaker. He stared for a moment at her red toenails. “I thought it was the heels, but maybe I just like your feet.” He bent and kissed the top of her big toe.
A shiver ran through her.
He took the other foot, removed the shoe and then kissed that big toe too.
She rose to her feet. His face was at her waist. He reached out and unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them slowly down her legs, his fingers skating softly over her skin, leaving a trail of tingles.
Forcing herself to breath slowly, she lifted one foot and then the other so that he could remove her jeans. She had no desire to be hobbled.
He looked up at her, his green eyes so dark as to be almost black. He blew softly against the almost nude silk of her panties. His deep inhale was audible.
He sighed, and she knew that there was no disguising the scent of her passion.
Chapter 10
Holy fuck, Brian wasn’t sure he’d ever been so turned on. His cock was stretched tight and high against his belly, longing for what he knew was to come. He gazed up at the thin triangle of silk. He blew again softly, watching Veronica’s subtle reaction. She stretched slightly, then settled back, her hips arching toward him.
He breathed in deep. Woman. Hot, sexy, musky woman.
His mouth watered. He hadn’t been lying that he enjoyed going down on a woman, and he had a feeling h
e might enjoy it even more than usual with this one. He looked past the swatch of silk to the gentle curve of skin before it disappeared beneath the white T-shirt. He needed to get that off soon, needed to see her, to admire her, to taste her—all of her.
She stepped away from him, arching her back. His gaze was drawn up to her breasts as they pressed outward. He started to rise, but she gestured for him to stay where he was.
He remained, obedient, but completely aware that the moment he got his mouth on her he’d show her exactly who was boss. He was her slave only as long as he wanted to be.
He looked up, meeting her gaze, her dark eyes telling him that she was completely aware of the coming battle of wills and bodies. No easy, cozy sex for them.
Holding his gaze, she ran her hands down her sides, drawing the already tight shirt tighter.
When she reached the bottom edge, one hand caught the fabric while the other moved lower, grazing the edge of her panties. Her eyes dropped for a second as his cock jerked its delight at her movements.
Then both hands were on her shirt, easing it up—so, so slowly. Each inch of flesh that was revealed made it harder for him to stay down, for him not to jump to his feet, lift her, and ravish her against the counter. Something that was definitely happening in their future. Unless he missed his guess, those counters were the perfect height.
And then the shirt was on the floor and her hands were cupping her breasts, cupping the bra. The fabric was slightly translucent, and he could see the dark outline of her nipples. What color were they? That was something else he’d missed in the dark on the night of their encounter.
He started to reach out, needing to touch, to feel, but she stepped back, wagging her finger.
“Don’t be a naughty boy. Remember who’s in charge.” Her fingers circled the tight nipples, and then pinched them. Her mouth opened slowly. She liked that. She liked it a lot.
And he liked it too. He was going to blow his load before this began if he wasn’t careful.
She pinched harder, pulled slightly. “I’ve always loved the scratch of fabric against my skin, that roughness, that abrasion.” One of her hands dropped and stroked his beard. “And I like the way this feels too. Do you know I’ve never been involved with a bearded man, never…” Her voice trailed off and she pulled her hand back to her body, let it play again at the top edge of her panties. “Do you know what’s going on in my mind? Can you imagine me picturing your mouth on my most tender areas? Thinking about what it will feel like when your beard rubs across my clit?”