Fearless (Elite Doms of Washington Book 5)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  She let out a hiss as she turned her head. Being taken by surprise this way was unconscionable. She wasn’t the sub here, damn-it.

  His hands mirrored her own movements, running up her arms to her wrists and then to the clips that held Laurent in place. He unhooked them and lowered Laurent’s arms down slowly to his front. The three of them stood there, swaying, held up mostly by Steffan—the bastard. She had invited him to help, but not this way, this intimate sandwiching of her between them.

  “Laurent, grab the chains,” she said.

  Steffan never let go of the man’s wrists. He raised them again so Laurent could curl his fists around the links. Steffan pivoted on one foot and was in front of Laurent immediately. Laurent collapsed in his arms. It pissed her off, his ability to carry Laurent when her petite frame wouldn’t allow it. But then, that had always been the case. She’d always had help lowering a male larger than her—which was most of them. It was her own damned fault for choosing the center of the room without a frame or furniture to help ease him down. She willed back a rise of anger.

  “Here,” she pointed to the soft floor mat in front of the hanging chains. “Put him here.”

  Steffan did what she asked. She knelt, sitting on one hip and cradled Laurent’s head in her hands. She raked her fingernails slowly over his slick chest. “Breathe, my sweet man.”

  He gave her a lazy smile.

  “Carrie, bring me that pillow?” After placing it under his head, she went to work checking his cock and balls. She undid the straps and slowly released the pressure. Laurent hissed as the blood redistributed itself.

  He looked up into her eyes. “Magic,” he whispered.

  She pushed damp hair off his face and smiled down at him. “Just fly.” By the way his eyes had dilated, the man was in orbit.

  “Come with me.”

  “Oh, I am.” And, she was. Despite Steffan’s interruption, she hadn’t such energy course through her in a while. “You are …” She couldn’t finish her words. What was he? Magnificent? Beautiful? Wonderful? All the things Doms say to their submissives. Something about Laurent was so different, however. He was pure. Steffan was right. Anyone would be challenged not to fall in love with this man. She, however, would keep all feelings where they belonged—contained—for the safety of both of them. Laurent had earned it, and she wouldn’t betray his trust with anything but perfection.

  13

  Steffan eased Laurent down into the large king-sized bed. Sarah had insisted on her private bedroom for aftercare. He’d known all the Tribunal Council members had private rooms for their use at Accendos. The size of the room and the king-sized bed, however, was quite the surprise. Alexander’s home had originally been designed at the turn of the century. Clearly, the man had done extensive renovations, as her room not only boasted a bay window overlooking the gardens, but all the conveniences of modern-day life including a private bathroom with large Jacuzzi tub and separate shower, lined in marine blue, glass tiles. He noticed the spa-like opulence through the open doorway.

  Carrie set a washcloth on Laurent’s forehead, straightened and looked over at Sarah who appeared still high from the scene.

  “Thank you, Carrie,” Sarah said. “That’s all for now. It’s late, why don’t you go home?”

  The young girl simply nodded and slipped out the door.

  “Carrie’s quite good for someone so young.” Steffan pulled the covers up around Laurent’s shoulders. “Laurent often chills after a hard scene.”

  “She’s lived a longer life than you can imagine. Ex-cop from Boston.”

  He straightened. “Then someone’s been putting something in the water. Everyone appears younger than they are here at Accendos.”

  “Happiness is the fountain of youth. Let’s talk out in the hall. Let Laurent sleep. He can stay here tonight.”

  “No, I’ll take him home. He’ll crash hard if he wakes in unfamiliar surroundings.”

  “I see. As you wish.” She glanced at Laurent one last time before heading toward the door. He recognized that look in her eyes—longing. He’d once put that in her eyes for him.

  Steffan followed her out, admiring the way her hips elegantly swayed if such a thing was possible.

  “Is that your secret then?” he asked, closing the door softly behind them.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so agelessly beautiful because you are happy?”

  She chuckled softly. “Very good, Steffan. Two compliments in one.”

  “Not a compliment. The truth.”

  “Well, I was just gifted something wonderful by that man lying in my bed.” She focused on the bedroom door as if she could see Laurent on the other side. Though clearly she was still flying, her eyes dropped a little, and her shoulders pitched slightly forward. She was tired.

  He reached out and moved a lock of her hair over her ear.

  She didn’t balk at his move, a good sign.

  “Laurent enjoys your handling,” Steffan said. “And you enjoy him.”

  “I do.”

  “You didn’t have him come.”

  “Perhaps next time. You said he liked being taken to the edge.”

  “So, you’ll want to take things further now?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Don’t play with him, Sarah.”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here. To play.” Her sudden irritation caught him off guard.

  “You know what I mean.”

  She crossed her arms. “No. Why don’t you say exactly what you mean?”

  “Don’t take him heaven and then drop him off in hell. Don’t. Fuck. Him. Over.” He scrubbed his hair. “I … apologize. You wouldn’t do that. I’m …” He looked away, mastered his anger. “I’m not good at watching.” ”

  “Thank you.”

  And, didn’t that irk him, how she thanked him for apologizing, that he’d done something that required an apology. He normally wasn’t this thick. He knew better than to bring up something serious when she was still a little high on the scene. He leaned down to her. Given her large personality, it was easy to forget he was much taller than she.

  “Next time, we could take him to new heights … together,” he said. Watching her play had reduced all his defenses to ash. He questioned why he resisted his attraction to her at all. He was desperate to taste her lips again—hell, every part of her again.

  “Together?”

  “So coy, Sarah.” He drew closer to her. God, she was stunning. Her tired eyes still alight. “Watching you tonight with Laurent … We could be good together.” He couldn’t stop himself from pushing that possibility. He’d be a fool to ever stop trying.

  She took in a breath that spoke of resignation, and her eyes drooped as if she was coming down a little. “We were once. But too much has happened. Our time has passed.” Before she could turn, his hand was around her delicate bicep.

  “Sarah.”

  She blinked up at him, and he tugged her closer. She didn’t turn her face away. Later, he would justify his next move as being, perhaps not invited, but certainly not rejected. He moved forward, and she did not yield the field—not one bit, which only turned him on more. Turned on. How about lit up inside like a rocket?

  When he leaned down to get closer to her face, she pressed his hands against his chest, and he stepped back—one step.

  “Tell you what. Don’t interrupt a scene ever again,” she ground out.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Asking my favorite part of a man. Then that stunt, pressing yourself against me.”

  He retook that step he’d abdicated earlier. “I didn’t hear you complain.”

  “You didn’t hear me comply.”

  He moved so close her breath touched his face.

  “If you kiss me, be prepared for the consequences,” she said.

  “I always am.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close, obliterating every bit of space between them. He didn’t kiss he
r. Submissives weren’t the only ones who needed aftercare, and he let his instincts take over. Her feelings had ricocheted too quickly. He recognized the signs of someone overtired, and he hadn’t helped by pressing matters and losing his temper—reacting instead of understanding.

  “What are you doing?” She twisted a little in his hold.

  “Shhhh … let me.” Do this instead of what I want to do. He had enough control of his animalistic lust to know now was not the time to unleash the beast.

  Her body softened under him, tension seeping from her shoulders first, then her rib cage. She drew in a long breath, but he didn’t release his embrace until her face raised to his. For a long minute, he let himself get lost in her dark coffee-colored eyes. This time, when she tried to step back, he let her.

  “I’ll let you know when Laurent’s ready to go home. The bar’s still open downstairs.” She slipped into her bedroom and shut him out.

  Jesus. That night at Club 501 had been easy. Why? And, why is it hard now? He’d caught something in her eyes in the last few minutes. He finally recognized what it was. Fear. Sarah Marillioux was frightened? Scared of him? He could hardly entertain the thought. It tore at his heart a little, which was all that was needed for those dormant feelings for her to rush out so quickly he was forced to take in a long breath.

  He often had to temper his urge to storm into a submissive’s life, take over, make them talk, force his care on them. After all, it had to be their choice throughout to give themselves, including offering up their fears. It was the same with Dominants, but trickier. He wanted nothing more than to fling open that door and find out what had her so … shielded all of a sudden. Yet, he couldn’t take away her choice. Damn, he wasn’t sure he could test, lure, or even request she face whatever it was that scared the hell out of her.

  “We aren’t done. Not by a long shot, Sarah,” he said quietly to the closed door.

  14

  Laurent cracked open his eyes. Water ran somewhere in the distance. He shifted in the bed, muscles crying out at the movement. A wrench of metal and the whooshing of water stopped. He bolted upright and immediately regretted it. He was in Sarah Marillioux’s room. Her perfume surrounded him. He kicked at the covers, though the fabric burned the welts on his ass. Last night he’d been flying so high he barely remembered how he got here. He’d wobbled and fallen into cool sheets and sank quickly into the darkness—sated, happy, peaceful.

  His feet hit the carpet, and he stood, tentatively. It took less than a minute for his balance to restore, and he strode toward the bathroom, feeling the soreness from the scene. He loved reliving scenes through the sensations left by marks, bruises, and welts. Though he didn’t display too many today, he’d never forget last night. He enjoyed the surprise of it the most—the fact they hadn’t overly prepared for the play.

  An ache started in his chest. Shit, he was coming down, that familiar depression creeping in as if everything was over with no hope of any more. Through the crack, he caught a mass of chestnut curls waterfalling off the back of a large, claw foot tub. Sarah. Just seeing her stopped that descent into hopelessness. He pushed the door open an inch, and she turned her head.

  “Come in, Laurent.” Her voice echoed slightly off the tiles. She twisted and draped an arm over the side. “Bring me that scrubber.” She pointed to the countertop.

  He stepped into the warm, humid air, and that ache dissipated in his chest instantly. He retrieved the blue mesh ball and knelt next to her.

  “Wash my back.” She leaned forward.

  He dipped the scrubber into the milky water. He’d been right. She preferred a bath milk over bubbles. Slowly, starting in small circles, he ran the mesh ball over the smooth skin of her back. She curled forward, the bones of her spine protruding through her thin frame. If Steffan saw how thin she was, he’d be in his kitchen right now, spiraling out linguine from his pasta wheel.

  He wet the sponge again and switched the direction of the circle caresses.

  “Mmm. That’s nice,” she said.

  He was ridiculously pleased that she enjoyed this small service. He could do so much more.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Are you sore? Feeling all right?”

  “I feel great. I could have gone longer. Did Steffan stop us?”

  “No.”

  He resumed running the mesh ball up and down her spine, slowly and gently. “He prefers to be involved,” he explained.

  “So he said.” She turned back again in profile.

  “I’d be fine if he joined us,” he said tentatively. He wasn’t sure if she enjoyed suggestions. “It’s not that you’re not enough. I would be honored to serve both of you. Whatever pleases you.”

  She leaned backward. “That’s enough of my back.”

  “I can take much more than you know.” He settled on his knees by the tub.

  “It’s not just about taking.” She peered up at the ceiling. “It’s vital you’re clear about your limits.”

  “For me to be useless would be far worse than taking things too far. I don’t … do well when I don’t feel needed.”

  She drew out her arm and cupped his face. “Oh, Laurent, you do need looking after.”

  He turned his chin so he could press a chaste kiss in her palm. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  She smiled and dropped her hand. “Do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Take a shower.” She lifted her foot up from the milky water and pointed her big toe toward the corner glass shower. “Let me watch you.”

  He stood and padded over to the large blue-tiled shower. Americans and their space, he thought. He could live inside this glass box.

  He wrenched on the water, let the steam rise and stepped inside. He unhooked a small squeegee hanging under the faucet and cleared the glass. She had said she wanted to watch. He wouldn’t hinder her view of his wide-awake cock. Then perhaps she might allow him to serve her in other ways. His cock twitched in agreement with that possibility.

  He squeezed a small amount of soap from a bottle in the corner, suds up his palms and lazily began to wash. She put her chin on her hands on the edge of the tub, and her dark brown eyes assessed him. Was she getting wet between her legs? His cock did another small dance at the thought.

  “How’s the water?” she asked.

  “It’s wonderful, but it’d be better if you were in here with me.”

  She chuckled. “I like that you say what you want, Laurent, but watching you will be all for today.”

  The hot water of the shower relaxed his muscles. The glass soon streaked with mist and fog again, and this time he didn’t whisk it off. He turned and leaned against the glass, pressing his backside and shoulders firmly into the cool pane and almost reached for his cock. He resisted, but God, he’d give anything to come.

  “Are you touching yourself, Laurent?”

  His hands dropped to his sides, palms on either side of his hips and pressed them flat to the glass. “No, Mistress.”

  “Turn around.”

  He obeyed and slowly raised his eyes so he could see her—see her watching him, taking him in.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “You haven’t given me permission, Mistress.”

  “That’s right. And if you are going to be handling that big thing, I want to watch. Make yourself come for me. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Mistress. May I make you come?”

  She smiled. “Another time. For now, you’ll let me appreciate you. Show me, Laurent. Show me that glorious cock.”

  He reached for himself, giving his member one long stroke. “May I use soap?”

  “Yes, and I want you to come hard for your Mistress. Don’t hold anything back.”

  His insides lit up with her words. Your Mistress. He squeezed a healthy amount of the lilac-scented bath wash into his palm, foaming it between both hands before moving to his cock and balls. It took one long stroke for him to be impossibly hard. With Sarah
’s dark eyes glittering on the other side of the steamed glass, he wouldn’t be surprised if he shot his come all over the shower wall with just one more pull. He drew in lungfuls of thick muggy air, as the water hit his backside, igniting the welts and bruises from last night. He was going to come hard.

  “Mistress?”

  “Yes, now,” she mouthed.

  He let himself go, a long spurt hitting the glass between them.

  Her lips drew up in a slow, wide smile. She then winked. “You may get out now. Steffan texted me while you were sleeping. He’s wondering about you, and waiting downstairs.”

  “Has he been waiting long?” He turned off the water.

  “Yes, he has.”

  He cracked open the door and reached for a fluffy white towel. “You’re angry with him.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “He trusts you—more than I’ve ever seen him trust anyone else.”

  “He can. I would never harm you.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?” Her eyes grew fierce.

  “Of course. Steffan’s judgment is impeccable. Then there was our scene …” His cock might never stand down again. She noticed. He cleared his throat. “I sensed … something.”

  “Steffan and I have history, as you know.” She stood suddenly, soap bubbles running a trail down her skin. Jesus, the woman was thin, but her full breasts were firm, the long muscles in her legs pronounced, and … He ripped his gaze away. He’d been gawking. She reached for a towel hanging on a heat rack by the side of the tub.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” He dropped his own towel and ran to assist her, helped her out of the tub.

  “Not at all.” She gave him a forced smile. “There’s nothing to tell, really. You were there at Club 501, watching us, correct? We had a wonderful weekend together, as I have had with many men.”

  “I think Steffan would like … more. You were good together.” He should not have said that, but it was part of this whole plan—to get all three of them together. He had to push a little even if it meant angering the woman he could easily become addicted to.