Bound, #3

by Shandi Boyes

  He stops in front of me, his hands moving to the buttons of my jacket as his eyes lock with mine. His gesture mirrors that of our first face-to-face meeting in this very foyer. That was only weeks ago, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since then.

  Once Marcus has the three buttons of my jacket undone, I shrug it off my shoulders. When it falls to the floor, I fully expect Marcus to bob down and pick it up. He has quite the neurosis of keeping things in order, so you can imagine my surprise when he leaves it where it is, sprawled on his pristinely clean floor.

  I smile, loving that he has become so caught up in the moment, his usual equilibrium has faltered. My scarf is the next article of clothing he removes. Every spin it makes around my neck coils the springs in my womb tighter and tighter. The air is scented with the fragrant aroma of lust, and the energy bouncing between Marcus and me is enough to power the stadiums his band regularly plays in.

  “Are you hungry?” Marcus asks, his deep voice sending a cluster of excitement to my aching core.

  I shake my head. “No. Not unless you’re on the menu?”

  Marcus doesn’t reply to my bold statement; he merely curls his hand around mine and guides me to the stairs that will take us to the second story of his property.

  The further we go, the greater the bristling of excitement grows between us. It's incredible how much his silence appeases me. Usually, I can’t stand too much quiet, but when I am with Marcus, his silence speaks volumes. When we officially met in person weeks ago, I said, “Attraction is too tame of a word to describe standing across from Master Chains in the flesh.” It truly is. There isn’t a word in the dictionary that can describe how I feel standing across from him, much less beside him.

  If this turns out to be nothing but a crazy lust-fueled fling, I may never recover. Could you imagine having your body worshipped as if it's a temple by a man who knows your requirement for “more” but never once judges you on it? Instead, he taught you that just because your sexual desires are unconventional doesn’t make them any less worthy of exploration. Would you be able to give that up? If you answered yes, you're lying to yourself.

  As we climb the spiral staircase of Marcus’s grand home, the sexual tension crackling between us amplifies. It builds and builds and builds until I no longer have the strength to ignore it. The instant our feet step onto the landing of the second story of his home, I launch for him. My lips mash against his as my hands frantically fiddle with the pearl buttons of his shirt.

  Marcus’s needs are just as potent as mine. His tongue runs the ridge of my mouth as he yanks my skirt down my quaking thighs, shredding the material in the process. Once my now-ruined skirt is discarded on the floor, he cups my thighs and directs my legs around his waist. I purr, loving the feeling of his heavy flesh bracing the seam of my meager panties.

  Air hisses out his mouth when I rock my hips forward, dragging my soaked sex up the length of his rod. My confidence catapults to an all-time high. I love that I can force little responses from him. A hiss, a guttural moan—it doesn’t matter how small of a response he awards me with, I cherish every single one of them. Knowing little old me can spark a reaction out of a man as dominant as Marcus is the biggest compliment I’ve ever received. One I’ll cherish for eternity.

  Marcus’s mouth only just catches my breathy chuckle when we crash into what I assume is a priceless painting halfway down his corridor. Our movements are so volatile we are staggering like two drunken sailors returning from shore leave. It probably doesn’t help that Marcus’s trousers are pooled around his shoes, and his eyes are snapped shut as he steals my soul with perfect lashes of his tongue and playful nips of his teeth.

  I drag my mouth away from Marcus’s sinful lips. It's a torturous effort. “Do you have any staff I should be worried about disturbing?”

  Marcus smiles as he scrapes his lips down my neck, only stopping when he reaches the throb of my throat. “No. Aubrey left this morning for a week of paid vacation.”

  “Good.”

  I slither my hand down the rock-hard bumps of his abs, grasp the waistband of his briefs and yank them down. My eyes bulge when his erection springs out of his trunks. My god—I’ll never tire of seeing his glorious cock.

  “So impatient,” Marcus mutters against my neck.

  “Says the most impatient man I’ve ever met,” I reply, my words breathless.

  Not bothering to deny my accurate statement, Marcus pins me to the wall we’ve just crashed into before jerking his hips up. Because he is so hard, and I’m drenching wet, the crown of cock dips into my throbbing core, taking my panties right along with it.

  Marcus groans, unappreciative of the thin material between us. My core spasms when he clasps the lace material in his hand and snaps my panties straight off my body. They float to the ground like tissue paper gliding haphazardly in the air as he impales me in one fast sheath.

  I throw my head back, my chest thrusting up and down as my body struggles to accept the sudden intrusion without calling out. Not waiting for my body to adjust to the sheer girth of him, Marcus withdraws his cock to the tip before slamming back in, knowing my body relishes every rough pump of his thickened shaft.

  I dig my nails into the hard muscles of his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he fucks me so furiously, his balls slap the tender skin between my pussy and my puckered hole. Tingles sweep across my stomach, growing in intensity with every perfect stroke he awards me with. He jerks his pelvis up with each pump, stimulating my pulsating clit with his deliriously mouthwatering V muscle.

  “Oh. . . yes,” I moan, my words garbled by the arousal curled around my throat.

  My pants of ecstasy grow louder when Marcus yanks down the cup of my bra before trapping my erect nipple in his mouth. His tongue curls around the hardened bud, teasing and stimulating it until the tingles sweeping my stomach extend to my chest. My body is so welcoming of his frenzied pounding, my previous requirement of additional stimulation is unnecessary. With him fucking me like I’ve never been fucked while his impressive body pins me to the wall, all the incentive I need to orgasm is delivered with precise accuracy.

  My climax is building so fast, I’m mere moments from freefalling into the haze of orgasmic bliss.

  “Not yet,” Marcus mutters against my breast when my pussy clenches around his cock, warning him I’m close to climax.

  The whine attempting to break through my parched lips traps in my throat when Marcus lifts his eyes to mine. His dominance is at an all-time high, beaming out of his with such authoritativeness the chances of holding back my orgasm nearly become unwinnable.

  Slowing the pace of his pumps, he firms his grip on my hip with one hand before the other one slithers up the sweat-slicked skin of my stomach. Air leaves my body in a brutal grunt when he curls his hand around my throat. His hold is firm enough, my lungs become panicked they’re not getting enough oxygen, but not firm enough to stop an erotic moan rolling up my chest.

  My nostrils flare when he stares into my eyes and tightens his grip even more. Even though my first instinct should be panic, I’m not the slightest bit worried. I trust Marcus enough I know he would never intentionally hurt me. That’s why he didn’t prompt me for my safe word. He is confident he can intuit my body well enough to know when I’ve reached my limit. And I trust he would never take our interactions to a level I’m not comfortable with. I trust my Master with my body, so, of course, I also trust him with my life.

  Marcus watches me cautiously, absorbing and categorizing every expression crossing my face. As the smallest portions of air seep into my lungs from his firm hold, I take in the way my senses are heightened from his dominant grip. Every muscle in my body is pulled taut, honed by the danger associated with his hold. I feel vulnerable, but crazily aroused by the head rush the lack of oxygen is giving me. It's hard to explain, but being at Marcus's complete mercy is a thrilling and highly addictive experience. One I'd never participate in again if it wasn’t him doing it.

  �
�Good girl,” Marcus breathes out, his words strangled by lust. “You’re not only trusting me; you're trusting yourself and your body’s desire. Now you will be rewarded for that trust.”

  He loosens his grip on my throat before he thrusts back into me. He rocks his hips in a rhythm matching the intensity of the throb in my throat. He starts slow, teasingly building my orgasm back to the brink with every perfect stroke.

  With the combination of his erotic hold and his glorious cock pounding me to oblivion, it doesn’t take long for my climax to reach fever pitch. Feeling my pussy clamping around him, Marcus’s grip on my neck firms. His hold is tighter than the one he used earlier, thrusting a rush of panic to the forefront of my mind.

  “Give it to me, Cleo,” he mutters, his words strained through his clenched teeth.

  A rush of giddiness impinges my head as the sparks in my stomach detonate. My eyes roll into the back of my head as the most furious climax I’ve ever endured roars to life. The hairs on my body bristle as I implode, my entire body shuddering overwhelmingly. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but surrender every ounce of my soul to an orgasm so out of control my knees buckle and white spots dance before my eyes.

  I am done.

  Swept away.

  Completely and utterly shattered.

  “Breathe, Cleo,” Marcus demands, his stern words dragging me out of an erotic trance.

  My lungs snap to the urgent command of his voice, drawing in a ragged breath so urgently, my windpipe squeaks in protest. My expanding chest competes with Marcus’s as I gasp for air, my body equally delighted and disgruntled it can once again breathe.

  Once I have my breathing back to a safe pattern, I snap open my eyes. Bewilderment overwhelms me when I notice I’m sitting huddled in Marcus’s arms on the floor halfway down his hallway. From the sticky mess on my thighs, there is no doubt I didn’t reach climax alone, but I can’t recall when Marcus came.

  “Did I pass out?” I question breathlessly, my voice husky from his dominant hold.

  Marcus removes a strand of hair from my sticky neck before answering, "No. You were conscious the whole time; you just got swept away by the sensation."

  My eyes bulge. What the hell is this man doing to me? I’ve never come so hard I’ve blacked out before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. That was. . . Whoa. Phenomenal is the only word worthy of that experience.

  I lock my eyes with Marcus’s sexually satiated, yet exhausted gaze. He looks pleased by my stunned reaction. Actually—he looks smug as hell.

  The cocky arrogance beaming out of him triples when I breathlessly mutter,

  “When can we do that again?”

  14

  Marcus's eyes lift from the computer monitor in front of him when he notices my presence lingering outside of his office. As his index finger jabs the home button, his eyes permit me to enter. In silence, his heavy-hooded gaze drifts over the outfit I've chosen to wear to my meeting with Mr. Carson. It's my favorite dress, even more so since its free-flowing satin skirt made it easy for Marcus to corrupt me in it. It's the Adrianna Papell whimsical dress I wore my first night at his New York property.

  I slow my pace, my steps drawn out to ensure he has plenty of time to take in the polished Cleo he rarely sees. Although I haven’t gone out of my way to dress up for my meeting, I’ve certainly ramped it up a notch from the casual Cleo Marcus has become accustomed to the past two weeks. It isn’t that I want to impress Mr. Carson; I just believe you should always present a professional front when in a working environment. Considering the last time I stepped foot in Global Ten I was wearing a pair of puddle-stained jeans and a tattered coat, I figured I’d put in more effort today.

  The spark in Marcus’s eyes doubles with every prowling step I take, so I’d say my effort will be well-received. “Are you certain you have to hand in your notice in person?” he asks, his tone gruff with unusual arrogance.

  I slip between the small portion of space left between his desk and him while nodding. “A few more hours and I’ll finally be free.”

  I didn’t realize how much working at Global Ten was negatively impacting me until I made my decision to quit. I thought a majority of the weight on my shoulders the past four years came from Lexi’s health issues; only now do I realize it was only half of my dilemma. My low self-esteem and lack of self-worth were all based on my career—not my personal life.

  Marcus's index finger traces the invisible seam of my lace-top stockings. His touch is so gentle it feels like a feather running along my skin, enticing a smattering of goosebumps to race to the surface. When his eyes lift to mine, I can tell he didn't miss my body's reaction to his touch. His eyes expose his sexual hunger, and a ghost of a smile cracks onto his lips.

  “These are nice. Classically elegant with a touch of sexiness.” He stares straight into my eyes as he says, “Just like you.”

  I smile, adoring that I’m privileged to see both sides of him. Last night in the hallway, he was the dominant, sexy lover who ruled my body with a command that demands respect. This morning, he is the handsome, devoted boyfriend who served me hot chocolate in bed before shampooing my hair. It's utterly surreal how contrasting his personalities can be in and out of the bedroom. I truly am getting the best of both worlds.

  I love Marcus's dominance, so the idea of submitting to him in the bedroom is no longer an issue for me. My concern about being his sub lies entirely on him governing every aspect of my life: what I wear, eat, and how many hours I sleep. No, that isn't an exaggeration. Those points were stipulated in the contract Marcus drafted weeks ago. By having the contract temporarily withdrawn during our first negotiation, I secured the ultimate deal. I get the dominant, alpha male in the bedroom, and the not-so-bossy boyfriend outside of sexually strenuous activates. Don't get me wrong, Marcus’s personality is still a little demanding, but I'd be lying if I said his commanding temperament wasn't a turn on for me.

  When Marcus reaches the section where my stocking attaches to my suspender, a rough growl tears from his throat. “Please tell me your boss is gay?”

  I screw up my nose and giggle. “From the stories I’ve read on Mr. Carson, printed by his own media company, I’m fairly certain he isn’t gay.”

  My laughter halts when Marcus’s eyes snap to mine. His lust-filled gaze is slit, his jaw ticking profusely. Clearly, he didn’t hear the humor in my reply.

  My smile grows. “Shouldn’t that have been your first sign I wasn’t the submissive for you?”

  “Should what have been my first sign?” he asks as he continues his leisurely exploration of the skimpy undergarments I wore hoping for this exact reaction.

  When Marcus reaches my matching black lace panties and garter belt, the vibration of his growl rumbles through my body, activating every one of my nerve endings.

  “Your jealousy,” I force out past the lust curled around my throat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but from my research into BDSM, Doms don’t get jealous. They like sharing their subs with other Doms. They relish their subs pleasing other men. Some even want to know all the details of their exchanges once it’s over. It’s a turn on for them.”

  My last sentence comes out as a soft purr when Marcus slips my panties to the side and slides his index finger into me in one long thigh-quivering thrust. "You think I'd ever share this," he growls, dragging his finger back out at the same torturous pace he entered with.

  “No,” I reply breathlessly. “Marcus wouldn’t share. But I don’t know about Master Chains. Maybe he likes that type of thing?”

  My hands shoot out to secure a firm grip on Marcus’s desk when he thrusts his finger back in, taking it so deep, he hits the little nub at the end of my cervix that drives me wild with desire.

  “Marcus and Master Chains are one and the same, Cleo, so wouldn’t our preferences be the same?”

  My hair sticks to my neck when I shake my head, denying his claim. I’d like to articulate a more confident response, but with the pumps o
f his finger grinding in and out of me at a faster rate than my hazy head can contemplate, I’m at a loss for words.

  With his finger-fucking me at a furious pace, Marcus uses his other hand to guide my backside onto the edge of his desk. Thank god—as my knees are so close to buckling, I won’t be upright for much longer. My thrusting chest sticks out when I lean back to rest my hands on the keyboard of his computer. I can barely breathe when he scoots his chair in close and burrows his head between my legs. My loud moans of ecstasy bounce off the pristine white walls of his office before shrilling into my ears when he sucks on my throbbing clit.

  As his finger commands every inch of my aching sex, his mouth teases my clit with painful nibs and pleasurable sucks. In no time at all, I’m lost to the chase of climax. All cognitive thoughts vanish as I get swept into a sensation the world’s best drug couldn’t replicate. This is bliss—pure, heavenly bliss.

  My moans turn into grunts when the fire sparked in my belly grows so out of control I can no longer contain it. I pant through the overwhelming shudders overtaking me, knowing I must wait for Marcus to give me permission before I can succumb to the pleasure attempting to sweep me away. A plea for release sits on the tip of my tongue, but thankfully, Marcus hears the silent appeals of my body and submits to its cries before it explodes.

  “Now, Cleo!” he roars, hurtling my orgasm straight over the finish line.

  He licks, bites and finger-fucks me while his name is torn from my mouth in a long, shouted scream. I quiver and shake against his mouth as my sex clenches his finger, milking his thrusting digit as if I'm begging his cock for the hotness of his spawn. My orgasm is intense and prolonged, so shattering, I've barely returned from a lust-crazed cloud when I hear a zipper lowering.

  My hands pull out from beneath me when Marcus grips the globes of my ass and drags me forward until my soaked sex is dangling off his desk. “Do you have a replacement for these?” he asks, his eyes arrested on a scrap of lace material he is holding to the side, erotically exposing my pussy to his avid gaze.