His Wicked Love

by Anya Summers

  “Why? Why did wanting me make you angry?” she asked, and knew that she couldn’t push him away. This wasn’t just physical. She yearned to make him smile. Wanted to ease the strain between his brows. And, dammit, she just wanted him, more than any man she’d ever come across. It was chemical and elemental.

  “Because I couldn’t believe how much I wanted you and worried that my need for you would ruin this place. And then I read your proposal this morning.”

  “And?” she asked, sighing as his hands caressed over her back. Everywhere he touched, pleasurable tingles followed. Her hands pressed against his torso. Unable to stop herself, she lightly grazed his nipples with her thumbs.

  “You’ve fallen in love—with the lodge, with Wyoming, with the restaurant,” he murmured, his voice huskier, infused with desire.

  As she gazed at him, she worried that those weren’t the only things she was falling for. “And if I have?”

  “Then I want the chance to truly explore what’s between us. I want to be the one to train you in the lifestyle. I want to be your Dominant.” His big hands palmed her rear. In his caramel eyes, his emotions were on display. The desire for her, the need, and the naked, unabashed truth of his words. It was all there. Everything he’d held back from her, all the hesitation she’d sensed was conspicuously absent. Mason did want her. It altered her center of gravity. He altered it.

  “And what happens should we grow tired of each other? What happens if or when you decide you don’t want me anymore?” she asked in a ragged whisper while his hands plumped and squeezed her ass, his fingers teasing the edges of her slit and igniting a fever in blood.

  His gaze shuttered, he replied, “If that happens, we agree here and now that we will be civil and retreat to partners. What have we got to lose?”

  Only everything.

  “And if I agree to your terms? What then?” she asked. Because the truth was that she didn’t know if she was strong enough to walk away. Not when it took everything inside her not to toss caution to the wind and beg him to take her where they stood. He was too damn potent. A simple touch from him and he blotted out the rest of the world. Turned her focal point to him and the desire that raged between them.

  “Then we start tonight,” he replied, studying every flicker of movement. Emily already felt her body yielding. At his words, desire curled like delicious flicks against her skin. Sex had never been this way for her, so intense that her need for a man outweighed all else. That she craved him, wanted to spend hours, days even, doing nothing but him.

  The choice to accept what he was offering was a risk. An enormous one. Should a relationship between them blow up in their faces, she would be the one without a damn pot to piss in. Even if she was made partner in the restaurant thanks to her proposal, life here, the one she was building, could become unbearable at best. And the worst didn’t bear consideration because the fiery pits of hell would be more agreeable.

  With everything she’d learned about him, even with his surly attitude, his actions had always spoken so much louder. The way he watched her. The way he worked on this place. He wasn’t a cold executive, sitting back in a stuffy office, but in the thick of things, day in and day out. It counted—that he’d fought his attraction to her out of responsibility and a duty to the lodge.

  Denying any longer that she wanted to be with him would be a lie. Emily craved him in a way that defied all her superb reasoning skills and attempts to stymie the swell of desire that suffused her whenever he was near. Deep down she understood with clarity that she would regret not knowing him. Even if they burned so bright that they sputtered out in a flame of glory.

  His palm cupped her cheek. The pad of his calloused thumb swept over her bottom lip. He had working man’s hands. There wasn’t an ounce of softness or weakness in his form. He was pure, undiluted alpha. And he was confident enough to admit he wanted her. That he’d been a jerk. For now, that was enough.

  Wild horses couldn’t drag her away from him. She slid her hands up his chest, humming in the back of her throat. Her palms burned where she touched him. She slid her hands up to his neck, drew herself up on her toes and said, “Yes.”

  The light of victory shimmered in his gaze. He stroked his thumb over her cheek and lowered his mouth, gently brushing his lips over hers. After all the fury of their previous entanglements, the tenderness, the sweet seduction, was unexpected.

  It knocked her off her axis as he moved his mouth against hers. His kiss took her out of her mind. He pressed his thumb to the corner of her lips, opening her mouth up further for his illicit invasion. Her toes curled as his tongue traced hers. She yielded against him. With each stroke of his tongue, he seduced her further. His kiss was carnal. Desire rushed like a waterfall in her veins. She moaned into his mouth. Mason kissed her and the world around them ceased. They could have been in a hut in Timbuktu. It didn’t matter when he kissed her.

  There was a reason she couldn’t turn away from him. She kissed him back, caught up in a fever that had taken hold. It was unmistakable how much she wanted him. That his touch, feeling him pressed against her form aligned from hips to shoulders, was scorching her from the inside out.

  And then Mason hoisted her into his arms, breaking their kiss as he laid her on the bed.

  When she went to reach for him, he caught her wrists. The desire in his eyes caused tendrils of need to curl in her belly. He said, “This is lesson number one. If at any time something hurts, is uncomfortable, or you’re afraid, I want you to use the safeword ‘red.’ All right?”

  She nodded, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as he slid the soft leather around each of her wrists. Then he shifted, spread her legs apart, and fastened her ankles into leather cuffs. When he’d finished restraining her, she was spread-eagle on the mattress. Need combined with tiny flickers of apprehension at losing her freedom. Mason checked the restraints until he’d determined they were fastened correctly.

  He murmured, “One of the biggest parts of a relationship between a Dominant and submissive is trust. That’s what tonight is about. You putting yourself into my hands and trusting me, which is why we will use the blindfold. I want you to give yourself to me, yield to me, surrender to me, and trust me. Trust that my only mission tonight is to give you pleasure beyond your wildest imaginings. All that’s required of you is placing yourself in my hands, my care, and trusting that I will take care of you.”

  Her eyes on his, she shivered, but not in fear, in anticipation. She whispered, “I do trust you.”

  Mason’s gaze heated. His knuckles tenderly grazed her cheek before he slid the black blindfold over her eyes. Darkness covered her vision, blinding her. He moved her hair, gathered it for her so that it didn’t catch. And suddenly, with her eyesight removed, her ability to touch him removed, Emily felt incredibly vulnerable. She shivered, testing the bonds around her wrists.

  An unexpected panic clawed up her throat until the mattress depressed beside her. “Easy, Em.” Mason fit himself between her thighs. She gasped at the erotic sensation. His cock pressed against her folds. Already she hungered to feel him move, feel him thrust inside her. Instead, his hands cupped her face. His mouth whispered over her lips, planting butterfly kisses. He kissed her tenderly, stroking his tongue over her lips. Nibbled at the corners of her mouth. Sucked her lower lip before taking the kiss inherently deeper.

  Mason kissed her and the world spun deliciously.

  His mouth left hers and whispered over her skin with feather-light caresses. He added his fingers, lightly trailing them over her collarbone. They traced the shape of her breasts, gliding over the mounds but not touching her sensitive peaks. He nipped at her flesh, flicking his tongue against the sensitive hollow of her neck. Tasted her shoulders and the space between her breasts.

  By the time his fingers caressed the hard points of her nipples, Emily’s body was on fire. With every touch, Mason was incinerating her. The pad of his thumb stroked against a rigid peak and the rough callous sent pleasure whir
ling inside her chest. Even though she was blindfolded, a wealth of colors, like starbursts, shone beneath her eyelids.

  And then his mouth… his wonderful, wicked, hot mouth… closed around a turgid bud.

  “Mason.” She moaned a breathy sigh. Emily strained, attempting to feed him more of her cleavage.

  When Mason had said ‘BDSM’ that first night at the club, the night of their first kiss, she’d imagined something far different. She figured he’d tie her up and screw her brains out. But not this slow, tender lovemaking where pleasure stoked her internal furnace. A slow burn with every flick of his tongue or gentle glide of his fingers against her flesh. She wanted more, wanted the flash bang grenade of their previous interludes.

  Yet, she had no control. She’d given it all to Mason when she agreed to be with him.

  She couldn’t anticipate his next move, which only added to the flames. And she understood, with a clarity she hadn’t before, what he’d meant when he’d asked her to trust him. She’d handed him her free will knowing she could trust him not to hurt her. That he was going to show her with more than words what it meant to submit to him and, more, that he cared.

  When his teeth clamped down on her swollen bud, she cried out. Pleasure lashed from his bite all the way into her center and made her pussy throb in sweet expectation. He did it a second time and then a third, sucking the beaded point deep into his mouth and laving his tongue against it. Then he released her nipple with a slight pop before he surrounded the nub with something that felt like metal.

  “Ow, Mason, Sir,” she said at the pain lacerating her breast.

  “Deep breaths, Em. I’m just going to try some nipple clamps on you tonight. Nothing more,” he murmured huskily and massaged the mound around her clamped nipple. It eased the pressure some. He flicked his tongue over the constricted bud.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned. Intense pleasure arced from her tit directly to her pussy.

  “That’s it, Em,” Mason said darkly, lust clouding his voice. Then he switched his attention to her other breast, giving it the same delicious, wicked treatment. By the time he placed the second clamp on, Emily was straining with need.

  Then he trailed open-mouthed kisses down her torso. Nipped at her hip bones. Swirled his tongue in her belly button. Then went lower. She trembled at the hot puffs of air from his mouth against her inner thighs and over her mons. Tendrils of desire pulsed in her veins as she waited. She could feel him hovering.

  And then his hand slicked through her wet folds. At his guttural, needy groan, she shivered.

  “You’re so fucking wet, Em. Come as many times as you need to. Give me all of you,” he commanded, his hoarse bass thick with lust.

  Then his wicked thumbs parted her folds. The callouses scraped against her clitoris. Her back arched from the carnal sensations. Her breath clogged in her lungs as she waited. Then his tongue stroked over her clit and she nearly came up off the mattress. She would have, too, if not for the restraints. His tongue caressed her nub in circles. Stroked beneath her hood, swiped through her folds and dipped inside her pussy entrance before returning to her sensitive bud.

  Emily was on fire. Torrents of need battered her. Her body coiled in on itself with every kiss, every nip, and every lap of his tongue against her.

  Mason held her hips steady with his hands, immobilizing her feeble attempts at gaining more friction and putting her completely at his mercy. His mouth latched around her tiny nub and his wicked tongue flicked and licked at her core. He ate her pussy like a man possessed, tasting every nook and cranny. He slurped and nipped at her clit.

  Emily’s body shattered when he thrust his tongue inside her pussy. Her sheath clenched and quaked around his tongue as pleasure bombarded her. Her back arched as much as the restraints would allow.

  But Mason didn’t stop his sensual ministrations. He sucked at her clit, penetrated her sheath with a series of torrid thrusts and then tweaked and licked at her clit like it was his own private playground. He drove her body up a glistening peak of ecstasy so sharp and intense that when her climax hit, it was like glass shattering into a million pieces. His mouth against her most intimate flesh combined with the clamps squeezing her nipples. It was so powerful, it left her trembling and shaking. Her moans filled the small cabin.

  Never in a million years did she think sex would be like this. That it could be like this. Mason growled against her pussy but, instead of stopping, gripped her thighs and ravished her further. There was no other word for it.

  He turned her into a quivering, moaning mass of need. He plundered her pussy with his tongue, eating at her flesh with relish. Her thighs shook from the force of another climax.

  She ached in her core, needing more than just his mouth on her. But she wasn’t in control here. And for the first time in her life, she was fine with it. More than fine. She wanted it all from Mason. His strength, his control, and the way he took her out of body with his lovemaking.

  He was reshaping her, molding her being. Then two of his fingers penetrated her quaking sheath.

  She strained. “Oh my god, Mason. Sir,” she cried at the swath of pleasure sweeping through her system.

  His fingers plunged and thrust, pumping inside her clenching tissues. She wanted more, she needed his cock inside her. But he was torturing her with pleasure so intense, she didn’t know if she could hold on any longer.

  When he added a third digit, stretching her, and sucked on her clit, she came. Hard. And long… until she whimpered and just let go.

  She opened herself up to him, no longer fighting the pleasure but becoming one with it until she was floating on a cloud of ecstasy so profound, she didn’t think she’d ever come down.

  When Mason moved, lifting his head from her pussy, and withdrew his fingers from her sheath, she whimpered in frustration. But then she heard it. The rendering tear of foil.

  “Sir?” she moaned, desperate to have him fill her, to feel him in her swollen folds.

  “You’ve done beautifully, Em. Now let me fuck you,” he said, and the head of his cock rubbed over her swollen tissues.

  “Please let me see you, Mason. Sir. Please, I—”

  And the blindfold was lifted.

  Lust darkened his features. Moisture coated his chin. He was on his knees between her thighs, gripping his erect cock with one hand. With his other, he lifted her hips up slightly. “I want you to watch as I take you. Watch as I fuck your pussy,” he growled.

  Her gaze was fixed on his hand as he guided his engorged shaft to her entrance. Then, with a roll of his hips, he penetrated her, his cock disappearing inside her sheath. He gripped her hips and pumped his shaft inside her. Over and over, she watched, fascinated, as his thick width disappeared in her pussy.

  He stroked inside, the pressure building as her tissues gripped him. His gaze was nearly black with hunger. Mason drove her body up a staggering ledge. The eroticism, the way he mastered her body, made it conform as he elicited pleasure from her, drove Emily mad with lust and need.

  His name became a chant on her lips. She wasn’t prepared for the explosion, for the earth-shattering effect another orgasm would have on her composure. It seemed to rip apart the very fabric of her being. He released one of the clamps and pleasure bursts enflamed her climax, taking her higher still. She was mindless in her need of him. When the second clamp was removed, she wailed, “Mason!” not even remembering to call him Sir anymore.

  Then he moved, lowered her hips and leaned forward. His thrusts rocked and kept a torrid pace. But the new angle brought him deeper inside. He propped his body up on his elbows, his face hovering above hers. It felt like he was merging with her. That there was no end and no beginning. That he climbed inside her soul and became a part of her as he thrust.

  Mason increased his pace. His thrusts hammered inside her quaking, swollen tissues. She saw herself reflected in his eyes. Deep down, in the dark recesses of her consciousness, she knew that her foundation had altered, that she had been altered by sayin
g yes to him tonight.

  His control slipped and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. The slap of flesh and the musky scent of their sex filled the room, competing with her moans and his guttural groans. Mason pistoned his hips, his cock pounded her sheath. Between one breath and the next, the climax stole through her system. The ground quaked from the force. Mason jerked, tremors rocking his body as he emptied himself into her.

  Mason thrust until he was spent. He collapsed against her, holding her close, his breath heavy against her throat. She rubbed her cheek against his and pressed her lips to his firm shoulder.

  At her movements, he stirred against her. Lifting himself up on his elbows, he stared down at her and trailed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek. And the look in his eyes stole her breath. She wasn’t the only one who’d been altered by their lovemaking tonight. Then he claimed her lips sweetly, possessively. He kissed her as he released her wrists from their cuffs.

  She sighed into him when she was finally able to touch him, running her hands over the muscled lines of his back.

  Mason lifted his head and said, “You were beautiful tonight, Em.” Then he kissed her on the tip of her nose and withdrew from her body. He undid the cuffs around her ankles before padding into her small bathroom. Her eyelids were drooping. She could hardly keep them open. Multiple orgasms could do that to a person.

  But she couldn’t believe he was leaving her cabin. That they had finished and he was going to go. After that? It hurt. She was so tired, there was no way she could stop him. And she’d saw her own tongue off before she asked. He should know better, should want to stay with her.

  Yet, he waltzed back into her bedroom carrying a washcloth, which confused her. He sat on the bed beside her, spread her thighs and swiped the warm cloth over her pussy. He was cleaning her up. What?

  Her eyes at half mast, she watched him toss the washcloth in her hamper, switch out all the lights but the one at her bedside, and then pad back over to the bed. He pulled the sheets and blankets up over her, then climbed in beside her with a bit of a bemused expression.