by Roni Loren
She gasped as her back hit the wall and he yanked her panties down with such force, they tore in his hands. “Gib—”
But he was a freight train, and she, the car stuck on the tracks. He grabbed her thigh, lifted it over his shoulder, and opened her to him. Cool air hit her bared sex, and the groan that escaped him sent a delicious shiver over her skin. He pressed his nose to the juncture where thigh met pelvis and inhaled like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. His fingers slid into her, rough and hot. “Fuck yes. Baby, God . . . you feel so good. So wet.”
The grinding need in his voice nearly undid her. Here he was, hard and hot and horny, obviously needing release, but choosing to pleasure her instead and thankful for the privilege.
Her body clenched tight around the invasion, and she bucked her hips. He nuzzled her thigh, her mound, nipped at her flesh. Teased her labia with the tip of his tongue, making lust-drunk sounds with every swipe. Hungry. He was so hungry. For her. And damn, but the man knew what to do with his mouth. It was all enough to drive her mad but not over the edge. He knew that. He was teasing her. The cocky bastard. Her fingers found his hair, tightly gripping his unruly waves. “You gonna make me come, Andrews, or just pretend you know what you’re doing?”
That blue gaze flicked upward, mischief there. He held the eye contact while he gave her one long swipe with his tongue and curved his fingers inside her.
Unh.
He ran his tongue over his lips like a cat licking off cream and smiled that pirate smile. “Like that, mistress? Or maybe like this.”
He bent forward, wrapped his lips around her clit, and sucked. His fingers twisted inside her.
Her head banged back against the wall as every muscle in her body seemed to coil. “Shit.”
She thought he’d continue teasing, but instead he slid his fingers from inside her and lifted her other leg. She protested, the move setting her off balance and taking her off her feet. But he had her. He kept her back pressed against the wall and got both her legs draped over his shoulders. He spread her open with his thumbs, leaving her on display and helpless, and then he was kissing and licking and sucking like she was his last meal.
Her hips rocked and she held on to his hair as an anchor, knowing it had to be hurting him like hell but unable to stop. He only groaned louder, letting her know he liked it like this. Rough. Violent. Edged with pain.
His tongue slid into her entrance and his nose nuzzled against her clit, his stubble scraping against her. It was all so much. So good. Until it was too much, and she was arching back and crying out. But that only made him go at her with even more enthusiasm until her cries and gasps mixed with the slippery, wet sounds of how beyond aroused she’d gotten. She came in a violent wave of jolting orgasms, peaks piling on top of one another until she was tugging at his hair and demanding he stop, that she couldn’t take anymore.
He finally released her and eased her to the floor with a gentleness that belied the violence of the orgasm he’d just given her. She leaned against the wall, eyes closed, chest heaving with ragged breaths, her sex throbbing in time with her frantic heartbeat. She lifted her eyelids, finding him sitting back on his thighs, lips slicked up with her arousal, erection looming huge, and his hungry eyes on her. She wanted to crawl over to him, put her mouth on him, make him lose it like she had.
She expected him to reach for her. But instead he rocked to his feet and grabbed his underwear. He tugged them on, carefully tucking what had to be a painful erection beneath the fabric. He peered down at her with a faint smile. “I think I ruined your panties. Do you need me to grab you another pair? Not that I’m complaining about the view.”
She blinked up at him, trying to hide her shock. He wasn’t going to ask? Wasn’t going to try to get her to return the favor? He had to see in her eyes that she’d been willing.
But no, they’d made a deal. He was sticking with it.
She’d given him a choice, and he hadn’t blinked. The man had wanted her to come more than he’d wanted to get the same. That had been his pleasure of choice. Something hopeful and dangerous bloomed in her. There were polite men, generous ones, ones who wanted to make sure a woman had an orgasm first. And sure, many of those men enjoyed it, giving the pleasure. But those men didn’t do what Gibson had just done. They didn’t look at it like the main event, weren’t satisfied simply by giving. It was a tit-for-tat agreement.
No, what Gibson had done was an act of submission. A beautiful, sexy, make-her-warm-from-the-inside-out act of submission. She climbed to her feet and walked over to him. Then her hands were in his hair again and she was kissing him, sucking her arousal from his lips, and devouring him whole.
He grunted as she backed him up against the window and then his hands were on her, sliding up her shirt and shoving her bra aside. His palms were hot on her as she plundered his mouth and got lost in the kiss. She never kissed men in the kink context. It wasn’t on the menu in her sessions. But now she wasn’t sure there was anything more erotic than kissing this one.
She rubbed herself against his erection and he made an anguished sound, his grip on her breast tightening. Hell yes. Pain and pleasure and desperation all wrapped into one. Fuck deals.
She grabbed his free hand and then broke away from the kiss to put his palm to her mouth. She gave it a long lick, her tongue darting between his fingers and slicking everything up, the taste of his skin salty on her tongue. He watched her, his eyes hooded and a little wild.
Yes. She turned his palm over. “Spit.”
He held her gaze and followed her instruction.
“Good boy.” She reached for his underwear and yanked them down again. She brought his wet hand down to himself. “Fuck your hand, Gib. I want to feel you come on me.”
The expression on his face was pure tension and need. But he didn’t hesitate to obey. He grabbed his cock and stroked, and then his mouth was on her again. She could feel his hand pumping against her belly. He rubbed the slick tip of his erection on her bare skin, the heat branding her, as his tongue stroked into her mouth.
She didn’t know how long they kissed, but her own need surged again, and soon, she was rutting against the knuckles of his hand where he gripped himself. He caught on quick and rubbed his cock against her, sweat and arousal slicking their bodies. Her wetness mixing with his, the sounds lewd and unbearably erotic.
He moaned against her lips and she gripped his hair hard.
Then his entire body went tight as a bowstring and he tore away from the kiss. A long, loud shout ripped from his throat as his cock jerked and his release spilled against her skin in thick, branding stripes. She held on to his shoulders, buzzing on her own pleasure, but relishing the sight of him undone. Of that gorgeous cock in his hand, of that body spending everything he had to give. She was throbbing and hot all over, but this view was worth it.
He dipped his head, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, and she kissed the top of his head. But before she could say anything or make a joke about the state of the floors, Gib was dropping down to his knees again. He gripped her hips and went for her clit like a man on a quest. She was covered with his come, but he seemed completely oblivious to it as he brought her right back to the edge she’d been hovering on when he’d come.
“Oh, God.”
The intensity of having his mouth on her again was almost too much, too acute, but seeing him lick his semen off her skin set off some filthy part of her, a part she’d never shown to any lover. But here with him, no shame or awkwardness surfaced. And soon, she was cresting the wave again, coming in a sharp, bright burst of sensation and sound.
His mouth on her softened as she floated down from the high, and he shifted to back away, but that dark thing in her still wanted to be fed. She laced her hand in his hair. “Clean up the rest, gorgeous. You made quite a mess.”
He glanced up, his eyes so focused and intent
that it was like a physical impact to have his gaze on her. For a second, she thought he would balk, that she’d pushed him too far. But then he held on to that gaze and leaned forward. He did as she asked, taking his time and cleaning the tender skin of her belly, nipping at her here and there and making sure to get every drop. Then he sat back and swept his tongue over his lips in one slow swipe, somehow looking like a triumphant king on his throne instead of a man at her feet.
“Damn.” The word whispered out of her, unbidden.
His lips quirked as he rocked back and then got to his feet. He gathered her against him. “Anything else, mistress?”
There was dryness in his tone, that smug flavor of Gibson sarcasm, but she let it slide. It was part of what drew her to him in the first place. She’d be bored if he didn’t fight back a little. His cockiness was her crack.
She pushed up on her toes and brushed her mouth over his, tasting their mingling flavors there. “So I guess you’re staying.”
His dimple appeared, his gaze hooded. “Glad you finally figured that out.”
She gave him a slow smile. “It’s cute that you think you won. You might not think that by the end of the day.” She gave his ass a squeeze. “Get dressed, Andrews. Jeans only. No underwear. You’ve got a floor to refinish.”
His hand traced below the hem of her T-shirt, caressing her tailbone. “Gonna make me work for it, huh?”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Chapter 6
Gibson’s shoulders were aching and his back sore after an afternoon of staining the dining room floors, but when he stepped back and saw the finished product, an unexpected sense of accomplishment moved through him. At work, he usually felt some of that satisfaction when he’d finished a particularly difficult project or PR campaign, but having physical evidence of a completed job was a nice change. Sam would now have a beautiful floor in this room, one that would last her decades, and he’d had a hand in it. It was also the first glimpse he’d gotten of what this house could turn into with some TLC. There was beauty in its old bones.
He tried to imagine what the floors had seen in all their years, tried to picture Sam as a little girl, dancing along the worn boards, thinking she was safe, thinking she was home to stay. She hadn’t told him much about her childhood, but he knew some from Tessa. Sam had bounced around foster care for a long time, hadn’t had an easy time, had never been adopted.
He couldn’t imagine how any family had ever turned her away. She was so . . . Sam. Bright and quirky and big-hearted. The kind of girl who rescued elderly dogs from the side of the highway and turned knitting into some kind of punk sport. He still had a scarf she’d given him last Christmas that had blinding red and white stripes. She’d told him his black and gray suits needed a little oomph. He got shit from his coworkers every time he wore it, people randomly calling out, “Where’s Waldo?” But he didn’t care, it’d become his favorite. It smelled like her.
That alone let him know how far gone he was with this girl. He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. Had accepted that he could live with the wanting. Sometimes you wanted things that weren’t meant for you.
But now he was playing a perilous game. He was the guy on a diet who’d just given himself leave to gorge at the most decadent restaurant for a week. When Sam had topped him earlier, every part of him had lit up like neon—the whole world brighter, sexier, more intense. She’d told him this could be their safe place, and he’d let himself believe it. When else would he have the chance to step outside his real life for a week and live that fantasy that plagued him?
So he’d said yes. And he’d enjoyed every damn second of it. But it’d given him an insidious thing—hope. Sam hadn’t demanded too much of him. She’d been playful, feisty. He’d never felt out of control. If this was the kind of play she wanted, he could handle it. He had no problem taking some pain and then giving her pleasure. Hell, he’d happily do that as often as she wanted.
And he loved how, when in domme mode, she objectified him. That feeling of being there as a tool for her enjoyment and entertainment pushed his dirty buttons. Beyond the sexual things they’d done, there was something ridiculously hot about the way she’d made him serve her lunch and then watched him for the first hour of doing the floors. She’d been refinishing an old chair in the adjoining room, but her eyes had stayed on him, and she’d given him direction every few minutes. You’re leaving too much stain on the wood. You’re going too slow. You’re not giving me the best view of that body of yours.
At one point, she’d tiptoed around the half-done floors and hijacked his belt again, which had made his jeans sag low on his hips. With no underwear beneath, he’d given her an unencumbered view of the top of his ass. Maybe it should’ve felt silly, her ogling him. But it’d made him hard. And when she’d noticed, she strolled over, slid her hand into the back of his jeans, made him spread his legs, and fondled him while he continued to work. It’d taken everything he had not to grab her, roll her onto her back, and fuck her on the freshly stained floors.
But he’d let himself ride that edge instead, embracing that ache he knew wouldn’t be satisfied for a while. It was its own kind of sweet pain, especially knowing Sam was the one administering it. Then, when he thought he’d go mad with the need for release, she’d stood, given his ass a pat, and announced she was driving into town for some supplies and to run some errands.
He’d offered to go with her, but she’d ordered him to finish up the floors and warned him that if he touched himself at all, she’d know and there’d be a consequence. He almost wanted the consequence, but he’d followed the rules and gotten the job done. Now he needed to hop in the shower and get cleaned up before she got back.
But just as he was heading upstairs, the familiar ringtone of his phone sounded from the living room. He frowned and jogged back downstairs. Since he’d been here, his cell signal had been almost nonexistent. He’d only been able to grab one bar on extended service when he’d stepped out back and texted Tessa. Maybe she’d managed to get through to check in.
But when he grabbed the phone from the coffee table, Sam’s name appeared. He put the phone to his ear. “Sam?”
The signal was choppy, and he heard only a snippet of her voice. “Gib. Car . . . way.”
“What? Baby, I’m having trouble hearing you. Hold on. Let me go outside.” He hurried out the back door, the dogs charging him when they saw they had company. He put his hand out, trying to quiet them. “Sam, try again.”
“Blown . . . ire . . . ex stop . . . highway.”
He groaned and resisted the urge to bang his phone against the wooden railing. He paced to the edge of the porch where he’d gotten a signal earlier in the day and leaned over it. “Try again. Did you say ‘blown tire’?”
“Yes,” she said, exasperation in her voice.
“Where?” His heart picked up speed. Was she on the side of the road somewhere?
The words came out garbled again, then he heard: “Will try . . . text.”
The phone call cut off and he cursed. Goddammit. The text seemed to take forever to come in. He could see the little dots saying Sam was typing, but it felt interminable.
When the phone finally buzzed with the message, his stomach dropped.
Sam: Blown tire. No spare. Am OK but in parking lot of Viv’s Adult Video & Megastore off the main highway. Called a service but gonna take a while. Don’t want to ask for help b/c . . . yeah. Only chick here.
“Fuck.” Gibson hurried back inside and found a T-shirt and his shoes. He remembered to leave some food and water for the dogs, but other than that, he wasn’t going to waste any time. Sam was stranded outside a place that was probably filled with horny truckers watching porn and it was getting dark. Fantastic.
He grabbed his keys and jogged out to the SUV, texting as he went.
Gibson: Be there ASAP. Go in store. Pretend to shop. Safer with others ar
ound. Anyone bothers you, tell an employee.
He’d learned from his friend Jace, who owned a high-end adult store in Dallas, that if stores wanted female clientele, they had to make sure it was a safe, no-cruising zone. His employees were trained to nip any of that kind of thing in the bud so that people could shop in peace. Gibson knew some highway megastore in nowhere Texas probably wouldn’t have quite the same standards, but he hoped the fact that it was called “Viv’s” meant a woman’s hand was involved in the business and female customers would be treated with respect.
But he wasn’t going to take any chances, especially with Sam who was still shaken from the attack. He hopped in his SUV and broke way too many traffic rules getting out to the highway. He had to temper it a bit when he got on the main road because small towns made their money off speeding tickets, and he didn’t have time for the sorry-Officer dance. But when he saw the enormous, glowing sign for Viv’s down the highway, he punched the gas harder. The gravel kicked up a spray when he pulled into the lot in front of the large metal building. Sam’s old Camaro was parked off the side, the tire shredded, but no one was around it.
He hopped out of his car and strode into the store. A loud bell chimed above the door and the hum of fluorescents filled his ears. A young guy sat behind the counter, his jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail and his face in a Car and Driver magazine. He looked up at Gibson, his expression bland. “Video rooms in the back. DVDs on the left side wall. Toys and everything else.” He jabbed a thumb behind him. “Divided by category at the front.”
Yeah, definitely not Jace’s Wicked. “I’m here to pick up my girlfriend. Black hair, eyebrow ring.”
“Oh?” The guy’s mouth curved at that, some secret smirk as he gave Gibson a once-over. He leaned forward and peeked under the counter, a blue glow lighting his face as he apparently checked security monitors. “Looks like she’s up front in the clamps and cock rings section. Fun times.”
Gibson felt his face heat at the guy’s obvious assumption and gritted his teeth. Why should he give a fuck what this kid thought about what he did with Sam? He hated that knee-jerk reaction, the pit it put in his stomach. Hated it. “Thanks.”