Unrestrained

by Joey W. Hill

  "Just about the two of them . . . touching me . . . under your command."

  His fingers stilled, his gaze sharpening on her face. She wasn't sure if she should say such a thing, but he'd made it clear that he expected honesty from her. "Is that something you think about, girl? Me sharing you?"

  "No." She put the truth of it in her voice, her eyes. "I like the fantasy, but the reality is . . . just you."

  She could imagine a wide range of things, but when it came to what she wanted when she woke in the middle of the night, whose hands she wanted on her, demanding her surrender, this was all that, with nothing lacking.

  He studied her, as if verifying she wasn't stroking his ego. Whatever he saw made him put his mouth over hers. Her fingers tightened in her bonds, curling over the ropes as he kissed her endlessly, fingers plunging into her hair, slipping over her throat, her nape and shoulders. The man knew just how aroused a woman could get from being touched from the shoulders up. Done right, everything below the shoulders caught fire. She kissed him back with the fervor of an inferno. "Please tell me," she whispered. "Please."

  He pressed his mouth to her temple. "Tell you what?"

  "What did you think when I said that? The truth."

  Tugging her head back with both hands snarled in her hair, he bit her throat again, sharper this time, making her suck in a breath. His body pushed urgently between her legs, and she flexed against him, her legs wrapped around his thighs. "I told you, I don't share," he said. "Not you. That may make me a selfish prick, but . . ."

  When he began to kiss her again, he put the passion behind the thought into the kiss, a thorough branding with mouth and hands that left her trembling.

  "Let me please you, Master. Please."

  "You don't do anything but, girl." Cutting the zip ties with a box cutter on the workbench, he slid his hands under her arms and lowered her to her knees on one of the cushions. She rested her palms on his thighs and looked up. His face was in darkness, but she sensed he was thinking about her words. He was a confident man, one who didn't cut himself any slack about having half a leg. She'd spoken of her fantasy about his two friends without hesitation because she'd never thought of Dale as anything less than a whole man. But when it was silent like this, she knew it would be in his mind. She'd seen hints of it when he watched Neil play basketball, his whole, healthy body feinting and spinning with the kids.

  He'd believed her, rationally, yes, but she wanted to prove it. With actions, not words.

  Her fingers slid up his thighs, thumbs drifting along that intriguing crease of denim between testicles and hip. Then she unbuckled his belt, and slipped the button, drawing down the zipper. When she found him under the soft cotton of his boxers, he drew in a gratifying breath. He helped shove the jeans down a little further, making it easier for her to put her hungry mouth over him. The moment her lips touched the broad head and spread around it, drawing his thick cock into heated moistness, his hand dropped to her crown. He gripped her hair hard, growling as she sucked him in, hollowing her cheeks and flicking him with her tongue.

  This time he was letting her put her hands on him, and she was going to make sure he liked it enough to let her do it again. A lot. Circling the thick base of his cock with her fingers, she used the other hand to grip the side of his thigh, fingers teasing his buttock as the muscles shifted under her grip, thrusting him deeper into her mouth.

  He had a wonderful organ, so hard and pulsing, wide enough to stretch her lips, long enough to take him to the back of her throat and beyond. He put his other hand on her shoulder, thumb sliding beneath the collar of her T-shirt to catch her bra strap and tug as she serviced her Master. Her panties had soaked through to the crotch of her loosened jeans, such that she felt the dampness as both rubbed against her when she shifted. All the pent-up pleasure of watching him from a distance today was now channeled into this. She made little needy noises against his steel flesh as she worked him in her mouth, drew him toward climax.

  "Fuck, as good as that is, I want your cunt. Right now." He caught her arm and brought her to her feet, despite her noise of protest. In a movement too swift to follow, he'd yanked her jeans to her knees, and brought them both down to the lounge cushions. He didn't give her time to take the pants all the way off. Instead, he rolled to his back and, with the strength of his upper body alone, slid her on top of him. He guided himself between her closed thighs, held that way by the jeans and panties still up at her knees. It made the channel even more narrow, so his angle of penetration was high, his cock rubbing against the wall of her cunt as he pushed into her. The feeling was indescribable. He put both hands on her ass and started shoving her down on him fully, controlling all her movements, rubbing her clit against his rougher skin. She shot up toward climax in record time.

  "Master . . . I'm too close. I'm going to--"

  "Let me hear you," he growled.

  She did, crying out her release. She gripped his shirt, feeling the solid man beneath, her thighs strained cords against his hips as he rocked them both to completion. She wasn't the only one driven crazy by their chaste proximity throughout the day. He thrust up into her, letting go with a groan, fingers clamping down on her bare ass to hold her pinned, working himself in her. She gasped and continued to make helpless noises of pleasure until he slowed to a halt with one last shuddering, satisfied grunt.

  "Jesus," he murmured. He pushed her head down into the opening between his shoulder and the side of his head, pressing his face into her hair.

  She couldn't agree more with the reverent expletive. She held on to his shoulders, balanced on his body like the firm deck of a ship, the world around still rocking, making her dizzy. She turned her lips to his ear, but she wanted to do even more for him. Despite the constraints of her clothing, she pushed herself up and wriggled down his body until she was kneeling between his legs again. Cradling his semiturgid cock in her hands, she bent, put her mouth on him once more. She tasted herself and his seed, and began to clean him with caressing licks, suckling his flesh, making him twitch a little at the sensitivity, but he didn't stop her, merely reaching down to stroke her hair, fondle it.

  "You keep doing that, girl, I'll put you on your back next."

  "Why do you think I'm doing it?"

  He chuckled, the sound vibrating under her touch. "I might have to call in Neil or Lawrence after all. Make them keep up with your demands. I think you'll wear them out first."

  "I'd rather wait on you."

  He gripped her forearm, telling her he wanted her to come up and lie next to him. She did, sliding her hand over his testicles and cock, offering one last caress before she put her hand beneath his T-shirt and rested it on his sectioned stomach. A different man from Roy. Recalling their conversation, she traced those muscles, the shiny smooth skin of a scar. Pressing her nose against his side, she inhaled his unique Dale scent. Then she rested her cheek over his heart.

  "Master Chief?" she asked, remembering what Neil had called him.

  His chest rumbled with a half chuckle. "My rating in the SEALs. I've told them not to call me that, now that I'm retired, but sometimes they forget."

  She expected it was because he was still so obviously in command, and the world felt like a safer place to Neil and Lawrence--and her--when that was the case. Master Chief. Master. She liked it.

  "Should we be getting back to the kids, help Neil and Lawrence?"

  "Naw, they'll keep for a while. The kids are exhausted, too. Most of them'll probably doze off during the movie and we'll have to wake them up with a foghorn to get them back on the bus."

  "They could stay here tonight--"

  "Oh no." He gave her bare ass a firm squeeze. "You've been a very generous hostess, Mrs. Summers, but I promise you Lynn will quit if she has to confront the horror of three-dozen teenage boys using your bathrooms in the morning. Plus, we told their parents we'd have them back tonight. The ones that give a rat's ass, that is, which means about half."

  She thought about Jason,
the other boys she'd met today. How many of them would actually make it, given how few good influences they had in their corner? She'd be adding all of them to her prayer list.

  "Are your parents still alive?" she asked at last.

  "Yeah, my mom is. She lives up in Michigan, near my two sisters. She remarried after my dad died, and the new guy makes her happy, but he's always kind of rubbed me the wrong way, so we don't really see one another too much. Around the holidays, mostly. It's all right. My dad and I were much closer than my mom and me. My two sisters have also provided the all-important grandkids for her."

  "How did he . . ."

  "Lung cancer. Chain-smoker since he was a teenager, knocked him down in his forties." Dale turned his head, pressed an absent kiss to her temple. He stroked the line of her back beneath her T-shirt. "Lived long enough to see me graduate BUD/S, which meant the world to us both. He was an enlisted Army grunt, served in Vietnam. That was where he picked up the smoking habit, and he couldn't ever kick it. He was adamant about none of us getting hooked, though. First time he caught me with a cigarette, he ground up some with a couple raw eggs and made me drink the whole thing. Cured me forever of the urge. I thought I was going to die of puking."

  "I'll bet." She smiled against his warm flesh. His heartbeat was slow and steady.

  "So . . . I believed you when you said you weren't interesting in being shared. But I want to know why."

  She considered it. "Why do you not want to share me?"

  "That doesn't work as an answer." He took a proprietary grip of one buttock. "My reasons have to do with an overload of testosterone. You don't have any of that, thank God."

  She smiled at that. "That's not all of it, though. You've shared subs with other Masters at the club. Like . . . with Gerald."

  "Because they aren't mine. They belong to me for that session, and the session is about pushing boundaries, exploring the things the sub wants. Even though I'm completely involved, absorbed in it, there's a certain level of detachment. I'm facilitating what the sub wants, integrating it with my intentions and desires. I'm not trying to get into her heart and soul, just her body and mind."

  She swallowed. "But you are trying to get into my heart and soul?"

  He tipped her face up with his strong fingers, ran them along her jaw as his gaze caressed her face. "You invited me in, Athena, and I liked what I saw. That first time, the way you opened yourself to me, stripped yourself bare, inside and out; it called to something inside of me, something I haven't had before. That's why it's different."

  He gave her a not-so-gentle pinch with the other hand. Her thighs were slippery against one another when she twitched in response. "You're not getting off the hook," he said. "Why don't you want to be shared?"

  It took a few moments to marshal her thoughts, but he waited on her. "Women are supposed to be adventurous and want to do it all, these days," she said slowly. "Not think of sex as so significant. But to me . . . the marriage oath was sacred. Keeping yourself for that one person, and him for you. If you care enough about someone else to create that bond, that suggests that whatever you need, physically, you can find with one another, if you have the patience and desire to uncover it. I know we're not married . . . but I still view it the same way. If I want to be with a man, I want to belong to him, and only him. And him to see me the same way. As his and his alone. It sounds archaic, I know--"

  "No, it doesn't. Or if it does, it's as archaic as an ancient temple. And just as sacred, like you said." He lifted her chin again. "I find you to be a remarkable woman, Athena. Honest and confident about what you want. That's rare, not old-fashioned."

  The praise warmed her, and he bent his head, tasted her lips. "Will you stay tonight?" she asked when he broke the kiss.

  He gave her a look of regret. "I have to help get the kids home. Do you have to work tomorrow?"

  She quelled her disappointment that he wouldn't be sharing her bed. "Not until the afternoon. Why don't I bring you brunch?"

  "Sounds like a date." He gave her a searching look. "I would love nothing better than to wake up with you, Athena. This is moving pretty fast between us, isn't it?"

  "Too fast?" she asked. Had he read her mind, or did he share her concerns?

  "Can't tell. It moves like it moves. The trick is to make the in-between time quick, but draw out every moment like this"--he leaned down, kissed her again, proving the point by keeping the kiss going long enough she was breathless when he was done--"so it feels like the kind of forever you want. Then you have no regrets."

  THIRTEEN

  She dreamed of him. She was on her knees at the club, gazing up at him. She was wearing a collar, a strip of velvet with a pendant, but a collar nonetheless, and she loved having it on, loved feeling his fingers brush against it. He snapped a tether to it, linking them together. Then she heard laughter.

  Turning, she saw Jimmy pointing at her, a whole legion of Dommes staring at her with derision. Their glossed lips were stretched with cruel laughter as male Dominants eyed her with speculative avarice. As they closed in around her, Dale vanished, the tether loose on the ground for anyone to pick up. She scrambled for it, but a large booted foot stepped on it, and she looked up into the face of a bald-headed, beefy Dom she'd never seen before. He picked it up as one of the Dommes appeared next to him, cocking a latex-clad hip.

  You gave up control. Now you're ours. Our little poodle bitch. Sit up and beg, bitch . . .

  She woke up in darkness, her heart beating rapidly, fingers curled into her pillow. She didn't know any of the people in the dream except Jimmy. She knew Dommes in the club, but they were courteous and pleasant to her. Some of them she considered friends, at least inside the club. She had no idea how they'd react to her appearing as Dale's submissive, but of course they wouldn't react in such a criminally horrible way.

  So the problem was in her head, wasn't it? If she publicly showed herself that way, she would be letting down a wall, letting them see her true self. When the Dom stepped on the tether, the way she'd felt in the dream was all too familiar to her. She'd struggled with it the first year after Roy died--a loss of security.

  Having a significant other felt like a fence against harm, because someone had a permanent connection to her and was concerned about her whereabouts. Both her parents were dead, and other than Roy's father and his one sister, Evie, the rest of his family hadn't seen her as suitable for him. Roy hadn't cared about their opinion, of course. Once he passed, his brothers had made some noises about trying to take some of his self-made fortune. They claimed that since he'd capitalized on connections made through the family business, some of his estate belonged to them, but she'd had a lawyer viciously quash that attempt. That was the last she heard of them.

  As for Evie and Amy, she'd set them up a trust fund to ensure they would never have to worry about money, including college tuition for Amy. Roy had asked her to watch out for them and she always would, both because it was his wish and because they'd loved him, with or without money.

  After the unsettling dream, she left the bed, went down to her reading nook and wrapped herself in her blanket. She brought a cup of hot tea with her to settle her nerves. She told herself it was nothing; merely what the late hours of the night could do the mind, creating demons and nightmares where there were none. But she really wished Dale was here.

  Too fast. You're getting too deep, too fast.

  No. She was in control. It was all right. A dream held no power over her. She kept telling herself that, even as her subconscious beat an uneasy tattoo against her lower abdomen.

  Too fast.

  --

  In the morning, the dream lingered with her, but she did her best to outrun it. She rushed through getting dressed and showered, only to find there wasn't an overabundance of things to do at the house. The boys had done a remarkable job of cleaning up after themselves, chaperoned by the eagle-eyed SEALs. Her housekeeping staff had anything else needed well in hand, like putting away the extra equipment and
furniture, tidying up the courts and vacuuming the theater and arcade area. Lynn even had time to help her make up the brunch she was taking to Dale.

  They made omelets, bacon, sausages and biscuits. Lynn had suggested garlic pepper in the omelets, which Athena agreed gave them a little kick. The housekeeper sampled Athena's biscuits with an approving nod, then added a couple fresh tomatoes to the basket. "To cut up over the breakfast to give it color and flavor." She winked. "He's a nice man, Mr. Rousseau. He was so courteous yesterday, helping me carry things to the kitchen."

  "He is a nice man," Athena agreed. Sometimes not so nice, in ways that made her shiver with pleasure. The thought didn't necessarily calm her nerves, though. They stayed on edge on the drive over to Dale's, but once she pulled into the junkyard, she shoved it all down, determined to enjoy her morning with him. It was only brunch, for heaven's sake.

  He was already up, and on his second cup of coffee. Her timing was good. He'd just finished cleaning the dog runs and doing the feeding. As he came up to the apartment to join her and lowered himself into a chair at the kitchen table, the two of them making general conversation, she noticed he wasn't moving as fast as normal. She was right; he'd overdone it yesterday. Yet when her glance lingered on his leg, the way he was massaging the knee, she saw his jaw tighten in warning. Fine, she wouldn't take them down that road again. But why wouldn't the stubborn man let her help him? She could have come earlier, helped him with the dogs.

  As she kept up a bright chatter of conversation, she reminded herself he'd been doing for himself for a long time. He'd told her quite clearly he didn't need her for that. He'd also implied there were other volunteers for the shelter who could pitch in. If he'd ask for their help. Yeah, right.

  All right, fine. If he wouldn't let her pitch in on the manual labor, there were other ways she could help.

  "When I was talking to Neil and Lawrence about grants for the kids yesterday, I had an idea for your place." She put his plate down in front of him, closing her hand briefly on his broad shoulder before turning back to the stove. "If you're interested."