Chapter One 5 page

She could actually feel her pussy swelling, engorging with blood until the tissues became painfully distended. Until…

Something touched her clit, right on top, a shocking warmth and wetness. She cried out, and the waves drowned the sound; she could only feel as his tongue stroked over her, lapping one side, then the other. Right over the top.

A seething tension grew inside her with every maddening, burning repetition.

He stopped, and then she felt something prodding at her opening. She drew in a breath, the muscles in her legs tightening. She knew this feeling. He was going to fuck her now, shove his cock in and—

It slid in, and she pulled in a breath at the exquisite feel of him sliding through her sensitive, swollen tissues. Her hands closed on the edge of the bench as the in-and-out movements sent her higher.

Then his cock somehow doubled in size, and his mouth came down on her clit again.

The piercing shock flamed through her. Her back arched, jostling the nipple clamps and sending electric sizzles to her pussy where his tongue flicked over her clit and his—not his cock, she realized with a startled breath—his fingers. He had his fingers in her and was pumping them slowly in and out as his tongue stroked her up and down.

The pace slowly increased, as did the wet pressure over her clit. His tongue drew an agonizing line of heat up one side as his fingers pushed deeper into her.

The sensations from his mouth and her insides merged, forming one desperate bundle of nerves. Another stroke of his tongue and slide of his fingers. Each ruthless touch sent her higher. The muscles in her vagina contracted until they ached, and her fingers scrabbled at the table as she tried to arch higher to his mouth. Needing, needing…

His tongue flicked directly on top of her clit.

The coiled-up ecstasy released as if launched from a cannon, shooting heat and pleasure through her in shattering spasms until her toes curled and her neck arched.

He licked over her again. And again. His fingers thrust deeply inside her, and her pussy clamped around him. She shuddered as more waves of pleasure broke over her helpless body.

When the fingers inside her could no longer elicit a quiver, he patted her thigh, and she felt the strap fall away. He did the other restraint and lowered her legs. For a minute, he massaged her aching muscles, and then he closed her thighs over her wet, swollen pussy, making her moan.

When he pulled the earphones off, all the noise of the club burst over her like a storm of sound.

“Look at me now, MacKensie.”

She opened her eyes and stared into a gaze of molten blue. He stroked her hair back from her face, his lips curving in a faint smile.

He would want to get off very badly by now, she realized. He needed to take her, and she'd let him. He deserved it.

“I got off,” she whispered, as if he didn't know. But she still couldn't believe it. Or what it had felt like, like the boundaries of her universe had expanded in the chaos of coming.

He nodded, his expression solemn, only a hint of laughter in his eyes. “I know.”

She started to move and realized that her arms remained strapped down. “Why don't you release me?”

The dimple in his cheek grew as if he was smothering a laugh, and his eyes glinted. “Remember how I said I wouldn't hurt you?”

She nodded. A tremor moved through her body as she thought about all the whips and canes being used in this place.

“Well, I won't. But removing the breast clamps…might.” And he undid the one on the left.

As blood surged back into the pinched nipple, nerves fired. Painfully. Her arms strained against the straps as she tried to touch the pain. And couldn't.

He smiled into her eyes before licking the throbbing nipple. Her back arched high, her arms held immobile, the sensation indescribable. As his tongue circled the swollen peak, the pain mingled with pleasure until she couldn't tell them apart.

“Brace yourself,” he murmured. The second came off, and oh frak, it felt as if her nipple had ballooned into a huge, aching nerve. When he licked over the peak, a high whine escaped her.

A minute later, he released the rest of the straps and helped her off the table. Her knees buckled.

He caught her, picking her up easily. And carried her away from the table.

She stared up at him.

He'd had her tied up and available but hadn't taken her. He hadn't gotten off.

Chapter Eight

I got off.

Mac picked up a floppy-eared elephant and threw it across the yard. With a happy bark, Butler flew in pursuit, snatching it up before it had a chance to bounce, and pranced back to her, the elephant honking whenever his teeth pressed on the rubber nose.

She still couldn't get past the fact that she'd been horny and wet on Saturday night. God knew she'd tried before—okay, maybe not much—but she'd forced herself to accept dates in college. She'd gone out with men, had kissed men, and had even let them touch her until she couldn't stand having their hands on her any longer. No interest, no arousal, nothing.

But with Alex. She blew out an exasperated breath and pressed a hand over her quivering stomach. How had he done that to her? And he had accomplished it, not her. Surely not because he'd spanked her? Her automatic denial faded when she remembered how he'd held her down, how his hard hand had slapped her bottom, and how…strange…she'd felt.

Okay, maybe the spanking had something to do with how she reacted to him.

But the way he treated her had something to do with it also. He'd shown perfect control over himself—and her.

Bouncing with his excitement, Butler dropped the prize at her feet.

“What a good dog.” She chose a duck from the toy box and let fly. Butler looked at the elephant on the ground—his favorite, she knew—and at the duck soaring across the yard. The duck won.

Mac leaned against the patio post, feeling like she'd aged about fifty years. Too much had happened over the past few days. Today—she'd spent today interviewing. Yesterday, Sunday, she'd escaped the house early and spent the day and evening sightseeing anywhere and everywhere she could think of. Anything to avoid talking with Alex.

Saturday? Well. She'd made an enemy, been attacked, been kissed. And had her first orgasm in well over twelve years. Her first one since she was a teenager and got herself there. She wrapped her arms around herself. Even the memory made her feel strange, as if she had turned into a stranger to herself.

Whores don't get off.

I'm not a whore.

But would that self-image ever go away? She'd only walked the streets of Des Moines for a year, and although feeling like an eternity, that time was just a small portion of her life. Then again, after the people in Jim's tiny town of Oak Hollow had discovered her past, they'd looked at her with revulsion. So, in a way, that one year had lasted many. Was it true that a person became what others thought of them?

Thud. Dancing a little, Butler acted like he'd brought her the stars and the moon. What a cutie. She hugged the stocky body and received a cursory lick on her neck before he stepped back, head lifted as if to say, I'm busy here. Stay on task.

She laughed and treated him to his elephant again. Later, when he'd worn out her throwing arm, she might be able to get him to snuggle against her.

Much as she'd snuggled against Alex Saturday night after he'd helped her off the table. He'd studied her face for a second, then picked her up and carried her to a quiet corner and just held her. He'd talked to her, but she didn't remember a word he'd said, just the sound of his deep voice.

Later that night, she'd sat up in her bed and stared at the flowery wall illumined by the nightlight she'd taken from the bathroom. And remembered again. Alex hadn't gotten off.

That still seemed the most unreal part of the event.

Butler barked sharply, and Mac jumped. The Lab gave her an exasperated look and pointed his nose at the elephant lying on her shoes.

“Sorry, baby.” She took the elephant from Butler and put it into the toy box. “I'm done. Can I bribe you with a dog cookie?” she asked, bending to stroke his head.

At the club, Alex had concentrated on giving her pleasure. That just wasn't normal. What kind of a man was he? She straightened, shook her head, and ran right into Alex, bouncing off a chest as solid as a concrete wall.

He chuckled as he grabbed her upper arms to steady her. “Sorry, pet. I didn't realize you hadn't heard me.”

She looked up into his blue eyes. The ocean sounds from Saturday night seemed to fill her ears, and this time she felt caught in a riptide, pulled helplessly…somewhere. “Um. Right. We…we were just playing.”

He smiled, took her face between his hands, and kissed her gently. His lips still held that tantalizing, velvety firmness.

When he stepped back, she knew her heart had sped up.

Alex stroked his thumb over her soft lips. Pretty little sub, all flushed and confused. If she were anyone else, were a normal submissive living in his household, he'd strip her down and take her right now. Maybe lash her hands to the unobtrusive rings he'd bolted into the pillars, lift her legs, and…

He smiled down into her big brown eyes and squeezed her shoulders instead, enjoying the tremor that ran through her at his touch. He'd pushed her hard at the club, taking advantage of how the attack had lowered her defenses and, even better, her unexpected bout of jealousy. She'd responded beyond his expectations, but he could see she was shaken to the core. The little sub had pain buried in her, deep hurts and scars. His job as a Dom was to expose and help her deal with them, but she—

“Why didn't you stay with Cynthia?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts. “She's beautiful.”

“A good question, but first let's find something to eat.” He took her hand and pulled her into the kitchen. “Margaret should have restocked the refrigerator today.” And she had. The refrigerator held a pan of lasagna. Alex set the oven and tucked the dish in, looking forward to the meal. Margaret made a fine lasagna.

Showing a pleasing stubborn streak, MacKensie insisted they make a fruit salad to tide them over until the lasagna could bake. She shoved an apple and knife over to his half of the island and then started cutting up strawberries. Her delicate hands handled the knife with terrifying competence, reminding him that a veterinarian was also a surgeon.

Mac was skillful, stubborn, assertive, and so insecure that she'd stayed away from the house all of yesterday, coming in late enough that she could merely nod at him without meeting his gaze. He'd given her the space and time to think things out, and obviously she felt more on an even keel today.

“Cynthia?” she reminded him, scooping her pile into the salad bowl.

“Cynthia is beautiful,” he agreed. “Clever, rich, and charming when she wants to be. She's also self-centered and”—he waggled the apple—“rotten on the inside.” Her indifference to anyone's pain and problems disgusted him.

“But you were together?”

“'Together' isn't the correct term.” He held a piece of apple to MacKensie's mouth and grinned when she gave the fruit a suspicious glance before accepting it. Did she realize how much a Dom enjoyed hand-feeding his sub?

He continued. “She knows that I don't get involved with anyone. As for dating her, I topped her once at the club and served as her Dom at a few parties. She never spent the night here; I've never entered her apartment.”

“Oh.” Mac accepted another bite. “Considering how much she wants you, she surely put her best foot forward. But you didn't date her long, so how did you know she's a bad apple?”

Alex smiled. Even a Dom could be blinded to a person's motivations, at least at first, and in trying to avoid women just after his money, he'd ended up with Cynthia. In escaping from Cynthia, he got this little cat with all sorts of problems, but who considered taking his money to be an affront to her pride. Definitely a leap up.

He watched her cut up another strawberry, the blade flashing. Tiny hands, fragile wrists, yet he could see the muscles in her bare arms. Her breasts were well concealed under a white button-down shirt, her legs hidden under a tailored skirt. Interview clothes. So very tidy. Time to muss her up a little and remind her she could be aroused.

After she tossed the last fruit slices into the bowl, he grasped her around the waist, enjoying the tiny gasp, and set her on a clean place on the island. Pushing her skirt up, he edged between her legs.

“What are you doing?” The pupils in her brown eyes had dilated, and her voice turned husky.

He ran his hands along her legs, over her firm ass, up her waist, and stopped just under her breasts. “I wanted to remember how your body feels under my hands,” he murmured.

“Alex.” She caught his hands and held them in front of her. Her mouth firmed into a straight line, showing the stubborn line of her jaw.

“More worries, little sub?” he asked, expecting to hear the “no sex” objection.

“You don't know me. Not at all.” Her small body tightened. “I'm not a nice person either. You wouldn't like me once… Um, you wouldn't like me.”

So many fears. How did someone so competent and caring acquire such self-doubt? “MacKensie.”

She stilled at his growl.

“Let me tell you what I see, sweetheart. Your core”—he pressed his open palm between her breasts, felt her rapid breathing—“the heart of you is sweet. Loving. Tender.” He smiled. Did she realize he'd watched Butler suck her into throwing the chew toys for far longer than most people would have tolerated? He'd seen the hugs and kisses and seen Butler's adoration. Butler liked anyone who got past his guard and petted him. But he reserved his adoration for a very few special people.

“I, of course, checked your recommendations and records. You're incredibly intelligent, with a fine education and a solid reputation as a vet.”

Her fingers relaxed, and her eyes widened. Surprise and…pleasure. Did no one in her life compliment her? He no longer wondered if she'd experienced abuse in the past; he just wanted to know what kind.

Childhood pain seemed likely. But that business with arousal… Had she been raped? The way her body had tensed on the bench when he'd put a finger into her vagina… Had she expected pain or humiliation?

No matter right now. He'd pushed her at the club. Time to go easy. He pulled her shirt loose from the skirt and slid his hands under the shirt and up her back.

She inhaled, her muscles tensing, her spine straightening. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles in her instinctive reaction to a man's hands on her body. “We're not… This isn't a club or party,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“You're very observant,” he said. He was observant as well; she hadn't said no, and her protest had been more for form's sake. She wanted his touch—and feared it at the same time. So he ignored the rigidity of her muscles and simply pleased himself, running his hands over her bared skin in a subtle reminder that her body was available to him. Those toned muscles under silky-soft skin were a delight to a Dom's hands. He continued, keeping his touch only on her waist, never venturing near her breasts or under her skirt.

The tiny hands on his shoulders relaxed, and her breathing slowed as the lack of threat let her enjoy his touch.

Then, with a smothered sigh of regret, he removed his hands, pulled her shirt down, and set her on her feet. “Let's eat on the patio.”

* * * * *

A week of interviews. Could there be anything more stressful in the entire world than having strangers grill you about anything and everything? Too tired to climb the stairs to her room, Mac went through the house to the back. She stepped out onto the patio and stretched, trying to relieve the knots in her shoulders.

No one had offered her a position yet. She huffed a laugh. She'd actually had this vague hope that she'd walk into a clinic and they'd jump up from behind a desk and give her a job. Maybe even a partnership. Apparently they hadn't read that script. The vets who had interviewed her had been polite, but they had others to interview and credentials to check.

Sad to say, she didn't have a huge number of references to wave in front of them. Aside from the vet who'd bought Jim's clinic, the only names on her list came from college. But they were glowing recommendations at least. Since her instructors hadn't known her past, they'd judged her only on competence. And I'm damned competent.

A scramble of feet came from inside the house, and Butler charged out, a good eighty-or-so pounds of enthusiasm. Turning in circles so he could lick and get petted both, he knocked her back a step. Bracing herself, she giggled. How could she stay unhappy with this bundle of joy around?

“He missed you,” Alex said, stepping out the door.

God, just look at him. Dark tailored slacks, silky white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to display strong arms and lean hands. The top few buttons were undone, and her gaze caught on the hollow at the base of his throat surrounded by corded muscles.

Each night this week they'd had supper together, talked, watched TV. He'd kissed her and touched her, but never intimately. She'd changed the bandages on his back and tried to ignore how…pleasant…his bare skin felt under her fingers. She couldn't help but remember how his fingers had stroked her…entered her.

And now her fingers tingled with the need to touch him. To be touched. And wasn't that a bizarre feeling? When she met his gaze, she could see the amusement in his eyes, so she bent over to pet Butler some more and get her body under control.

He found this so simple. Women undoubtedly threw themselves at his feet—literally, she thought, thinking of Cynthia. But for her… The first time she'd really looked at a man in years and he had to be some all-powerful Dom. Rich, handsome, exuding confidence. If she'd actually planned to try a man-woman relationship, she'd have chosen someone nice. Kind. Easy. Not someone who—

Firm hands closed around her wrists, anchoring them behind her back as Alex pulled her up against him. He kissed her, teasing, lazy kisses, his mouth gentle, his body hard, and his grip ruthless. The mixture made her head spin. Her insides seemed to melt into a pool, and her balance disappeared as he coaxed her into more: into deeper, into wetter, into hotter. When he pulled back, her nipples ached, and her pussy felt as swollen as her lips.

He brushed his lips over hers, then nipped her chin, and the tiny pain awakened more urgency inside her. “I missed you too, pet,” he murmured.

With a whine, Butler stepped on her feet, trying to get closer.

Alex let her go and leaned against the patio table. “Do you have any interviews this weekend?”

“No.” Unnerved by the heaviness in her limbs, she knelt to scratch Butler's sides, sending him into a frenzy of delight.

“The newscasters predict sunny skies tomorrow, although there's no guarantee with Washington weather. I thought we'd host a few people at the Vashon Island house.”

“Vashon Island?”

“In the center of Puget Sound, just a ferry ride away.” He smiled. “Don't worry, little Midwesterner, you'll like it. You haven't even visited the beach yet, have you?”

The thrill of seeing an island diminished as the rest of his plans registered. Host.Few people. “What kind of people?” she asked suspiciously.

“Those kind of people. A few whips, a chain or two. A house party tends to be more casual than the club, although we'll undoubtedly indulge in some evil play with our subs.” He chuckled at her flinch. “Yes, that will include you, pet. We won't leave until noon, so you can sleep in.”

She swallowed and nodded, wrapping her arms around Butler, although who comforted whom, she wasn't sure.

“Relax, little cat. That's tomorrow. Not here yet.” Bending down, Alex tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. “Tonight, you deserve a reward for surviving all those interviews. I ordered us a pizza with everything on it.”

“Really?” When they'd shopped for her clothes, they'd wandered past a pizza place, fragrant with tomato sauce and melted cheese. She'd mentioned that she'd always rewarded herself for good grades with a fully loaded pizza.

Just an off-the-cuff comment…but he'd remembered.

Chapter Nine

It promised to be an interesting—and miserable—evening. Alex pushed open a window overlooking the Sound and let the breeze dry his body. The waves frothed over the sand, reminding him of the afternoon and the enchanted expression on his little sub's face. He'd enjoyed the way she'd immersed herself in the feel of the sand on her bare feet, the gentle movement of the water, the smell of the sea brine. Even the sandpipers running down the beach, the hermit crabs scuttling around under stolen shells, and the seagulls circling had received her absorbed attention.

He hadn't heard her truly laugh before, but when Butler raced after the gulls, sending them squawking into the air, her laughter escaped, clear and melodic. Free of restraint. Later, when he'd coaxed her back to the house, her face had been colored pink from sunburn and wind, and every tense line had disappeared.

Damn, but he wanted to hear her laugh like that again and see her eyes free of shadows.

He sighed and toweled off his hair. Instead the evening would be stressful, especially for her, but he couldn't refuse Drake's request. As the injured party, MacKensie needed to witness this, even if she'd rather not. He tossed the towel over a chair and pulled on black jeans.

The little vet was a compassionate woman. And an honest woman. Alex still hadn't figured out why she'd broken into the dungeon, but he'd found no lack of character in her nature. She'd held to their bargain despite her qualms.

In all reality, her transgression hadn't been that great, and her trip to his club should have served as full repayment and punishment. If she'd been anyone else, he'd have released her at that point.

But his little sub would have disappeared from his life. He knew that. And when he'd taken her under his command, he'd become obligated to more than fairness. If he could accomplish nothing with her problems, then he'd step away. But she'd given him her trust and more. He snorted at the masculine satisfaction welling inside him. Her first orgasm in twelve years—or maybe even longer? She had said twelve years for sex, not for a climax.

In the master bath, the jets shut off.

As Alex buttoned his shirt, Mac walked out, flushed pink and swathed in one of the oversize terry-cloth robes he kept at the beach house. Her scent—vanilla, citrus, and woman—drifted to him, and he hooked an arm around her waist, ignoring her squeak.

“You smell edible, little sub,” he murmured. Wishing he could toss her on the bed and bury his face between her legs, he settled for shoving her robe off her shoulder and nuzzling the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Moist skin, soft. He bit down on the muscle there, and he felt a quiver run through her. When he slid his hand inside the robe, her nipples were already bunching.

With a sigh of regret, he smiled into her outraged yet already aroused gaze. “Your outfit is on the bed. Wear it all—and nothing else, pet. I'll see you downstairs.”

After savoring one last caress of the tiny peaked nipples, he released her. He'd kept his touch casual all week; her break was over. By the time he finished tonight, he intended to see those peaks swollen to twice the size, dark red, and rigid.

* * * * *

Dressed as ordered, Mac walked into the living room and stopped to survey the situation. Alex was building a fire in the fireplace across the room. Just behind him on the couch, Zachary, a gray-haired rancher, sat with his red-haired sub in his lap.

Over by the wall of windows, Peter, a lean blond lawyer, and his sub, Hope, watched the last remnants of pink disappear from Mount Rainier. Mac vaguely remembered meeting the two at the club. Short and round, with freckles and an infectious giggle, Hope seemed far too cute for her serious Dom.

Mac was the only sub dressed in a costume. Four years of college, vet school, interning—all those years and here she was, attired in a fancy and very revealing maid's outfit. Go figure.

Halfway across the room to the others, she stopped. Why am I doing this anyway? Frowning, she walked up to Alex. “Could I speak with you for a moment?” She added a reluctant “Sir” when his eyebrows rose.

“Excuse us,” he said to the others before walking with her out onto the deck.

Mac leaned over the railing and looked down. The beach below had an eerie gleam from the moon rising in the east, and the water glimmered as small waves rolled onto the sand.

“Did you have a question for me, little vet?” Alex set a warm hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

“Yes. Obviously Cynthia isn't a problem for you any longer, so why am I still pretending to be your submissive?”

Silence.

The pause worried her. Darkness shadowed Alex's face, and she couldn't read his expression. “You have two parts to your question, MacKensie,” he said finally. “First, we are not yet finished with Cynthia. I can promise you that.” His voice had a grim quality that made her shiver.

His voice deepened. “Second.” He tangled his hand in her loose hair and pulled her head back, putting her fully in the light streaming from the glass door. “Are you really pretending, little one? When I do this”—he took a step forward, pressing his body against hers, immobilizing her against the railing, and holding her hair so she was forced to stare up at him—“are you insulted and annoyed? Or does something in you shiver?”

With his body against hers, he couldn't help but feel the tremor that ran through her. Still holding her hair captive, he took her lips roughly, demanding and possessive.

The heat sweeping through her body turned to fire when his hand captured her breast. Too many sensations hit her at once: his mouth possessing hers, his powerful body trapping her, his hand on her breast, the thumb scraping over her tightening nipple. By the time he pulled back, she'd been thoroughly kissed. And thoroughly aroused.

He studied her face before stepping back and letting her free. “Our bargain stands. You may go back in.” He motioned politely to the door.

Her legs unsteady, she reentered the room. Damn. Her face heated as she realized how she must look: tousled and turned on. God knew, she felt turned on, and wasn't that a strange sensation?

A rap on the front door interrupted her thoughts. Were they expecting more people? “I'll get this one, pet,” Alex said, patting her bottom on the way past.

When he opened the door, Mac backed up a step, her breath catching in her throat. Steel, the Dom who'd attacked her, stood there with a big black bag slung over his shoulder and wearing battered leathers that left his chest completely bare.

He saw her standing frozen in the center of the room. “Relax, girl. I'm not here for you.” He glanced at Alex. “Definitely a pretty sub.”

“I think so.” Alex raised his voice to the other guests. “This is Steel, who will handle the evening's punishment.”

As he and Steel moved into the living room, Mac retreated, trying to find an unobtrusive spot to hide.

“Sit here with me.” Curled in one corner of the couch by the windows, Hope patted the cushion beside her.

Mac glanced around. Over by the fireplace, Peter and Zachary shook hands with Steel, while Tess sat nearby listening.

“Thanks.” Mac dropped down on the couch beside Hope. “I-I don't know why that man is here. Alex didn't even know him until…” How could she ever explain what had happened in the club?

“Until he attacked you. Peter told me. He said all the Doms are furious about it, and that's why that guy is here.”

“I don't understand.”

Another knock on the door. Alex strode across the room to answer it.

Mac shook her head, a little dismayed. “Alex called this a really little party, just you guys and—” Her mouth dropped open when Cynthia walked in, hands cuffed in front of her. A man in a black silk suit followed. Probably a few years older than Alex, his black hair was shorter, and gray flecked his neatly trimmed mustache.

“My God, that's Drake,” Hope whispered.

The man named Drake removed the long coat draped over Cynthia's shoulders. He tossed it over the table by the front door and pointed to an empty corner. Eyes down, the tall brunette walked over and knelt, facing the wall.

He and Alex talked for a moment, and then they both crossed the room toward Mac.

When Hope slid off the couch onto her knees, Mac gave her a puzzled look but did the same. Don't look at strange Doms. Mac remembered that rule, so she kept her gaze firmly on the floor. A pair of dress shoes and black trousers stepped into her narrow focus. Alex wore boots. This must be Drake, standing over her.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 701