by Kacey Shea
I shrug my shoulders and allow my small backpack to slide off my arms until it hits the floor with a thud. Snaking one of my hands into the nape of his hair, I thread my fingers through his locks and tug his lips back to mine. He doesn’t attack my mouth this time, probably still confused as to why I stopped to begin with. But it gives me the opportunity to set the pace, to lead, and my anxiety fades as my lips move against his. With my other hand, I press against his chest and move us until the backs of his legs hit the sofa.
“Sit,” I demand, rough and low. The desire in my voice surprises my own ears.
Austin doesn’t argue, or skip a beat. His butt hits the cushion. His hands skim up the backs of my thighs, his eyes searching mine as I stand over him. My hands settle on his shoulders for balance and I straddle his lap, my knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him before my mouth finds his again.
His hands skirt along my hips, then slide back to squeeze my ass.
No!
Panic flares and I rip his hands off, gripping his wrists tightly and pressing them into the couch, a safe distance from my body. I expect him to question, or at the very least stop kissing me back, but instead he groans, releasing the most erotic sound. His hips lift and his hardness presses against the apex of my thighs.
He’s into this.
This might actually work.
I resist the urge to sob, because fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex—good sex—and this is Austin, the man I dreamed about, the boy I once thought hung the moon, and if I’m honest, the guy who’s consumed my thoughts since our lives became intertwined once again.
I suck his bottom lip into my mouth and nip it before resting back on my heels. I release his hands and resist the urge to grind down on his erection.
His gaze is molten, hot and heavy with lust, but he waits for me to make the next move.
“I like to be in charge,” I say.
He doesn’t even blink. “You have my full cooperation.”
Fuck. That’s hot. I reach for the hem of my shirt and peel it off, slowly, but it snags going over my head. My eyes fly wide open and I fumble with my earpiece. Dear God! I hope I didn’t broadcast our make out session to the entire security team.
I’m weak with relief when I find everything still muted. I climb off Austin’s lap and step away from his gaze to check in with Brian.
“Everything okay, boss?” he asks at my call.
Okay? It’s fantastic. My gaze drifts to Austin, half-naked and notably aroused, sitting a few feet away, and decide for once in my life to throw caution to the wind. I don’t do impulsive. I don’t take uncalculated risks. But between the heat in Austin’s gaze and the wetness between my legs, I allow temptation to lead. “I need you to take over for the rest of the night. Can you do that?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Surprise tinges his tone. “You feel okay?”
It’s a loaded question, but I reach for a bit of truth to justify my actions. “I’m fine. Just following up on a lead. If you need anything, or any issues arise, call my cell.”
“Got it,” Brian says.
“And remind everyone about the briefing tomorrow morning.”
“Conference room, nine o’clock sharp. On it.”
“Thank you,” I say, and end the call. Austin’s gaze trains on my body, and I swear he leaves tingles with each sweep of his eyes. I turn off my earpiece, remove my holster and gun, then kick off my shoes—all the while meeting Austin’s stare. This man. He drives me to do crazy things. Things outside my comfort zone. The desire from one look emboldens me to ditch my pants too, before strutting over to him in nothing but my bra and panties.
“You’re so damn gorgeous,” he whispers, his gaze greedy but body unmoving. Because he respects me? Because he’s giving me permission to lead? Either way, this moment between us feels safe. Sacred. He’s mine—maybe not for long, but for this night—and for this fraction of time we’re the only two people who exist.
“Take off your jeans.”
He shucks them down his hips, kicks them out of the way, and leans back onto the sofa. His erection is obscene, hard and pressing to escape those tight boxer briefs. He’s bigger than I remember. Or maybe the last time we were together I was too embarrassed to stare. That, and I had nothing to compare him to. Not anymore.
His lips quirk as I close the space between us.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing. I like when you look at my dick.”
“Yeah?” I release a soft laugh.
“Yeah. He promises not to embarrass himself this time.”
“He?” I straddle his hips again, this time allowing my hands to run up and down his chest. “You refer to yourself in third person now?”
He shivers at my touch, his voice raspy. “No, my dick promises.”
“Sure he can keep that promise?” I tease, reaching between us to stroke his length over his underwear. Wanting to feel him, I slide my hands under his waistband and wrap my hands around his hardness. I squeeze firmly, stroking him, and relish in the power I feel when he lets loose a groan.
Austin coughs out a laugh, and his entire body flexes as if touching him causes him pain. “Not if you keep that up.”
I let go of his hard-on and find his gaze. “Sorry?” I murmur and lift an eyebrow.
“Fuck.” He grins back. “Don’t apologize for anything you’re doing right now.” His hands come up to cup my face, and he arches up away from the backrest to brush his lips over mine.
I kiss him back, but when his hands move to wander down my neck, I reach for his wrists and press them against the back of the couch. “Hands here,” I murmur against his mouth.
“Yes, ma’am.” His fingers dig into the upholstery.
We kiss again, and this time I allow myself to get lost in the touch of his lips, our soft moans, and the brush of his tongue inside my mouth. My sex clenches with each delicious movement, and the scraps of fabric separating us do little to contain my wetness or his hard length. Without meaning to my hips move, grinding myself along his cock in search of release from the pressure building deep in my core.
God, he feels good. So good, and I’m close. Closer than I’ve ever been. That is, if I don’t count the times I’ve gotten myself off alone. Adjusting my movements, I grind down harder and my clit brushes against his pelvis to bring me closer with each swivel of my hips. My fingers leave his shoulders to tangle in his hair and tug at the strands.
He groans and his hips lift on a thrust to match my movements. Yes, right there. His fingers brush over my hip once before gripping my butt.
I shake my head, grab his wrist and pin his damn arm back to the couch. “Keep touching me and I’ll use my cuffs.” My threat comes out harsher than I intend, but I can’t contain my frustration at being pulled from the moment, especially after being so close to orgasm.
His face lights with desire, and the lust in my veins amps up at his gaze alone. Even his length hardens further against my center.
“You want me to tie you up”—I cock my head and study his reaction—“don’t you?”
He holds my gaze—so damn serious, a rarity for him—and then nods. He likes it. Or at least the idea.
My colleagues used to brag all the time about using their cuffs on their sexual partners. Their wives and girlfriends liked being tied up and at their mercy. That’d be a hard no for me, but I’m not like most women. Guys joke about wanting to play with my cuffs, but that’s only because they imagine getting to act out some low-budget porn where the bad guy fucks the cop. I consider telling this to Austin, but there’s something in his gaze, a vulnerability that makes me believe he’s not joking. He actually wants this. And if he’s restrained, I don’t have to worry about him touching me. About the ghosts of my past barging their way past his fingertips and painting my skin with shame and disgust. I could let go. Totally.
“Okay.” I nod, still holding his stare. “Don’t move.”
His gaze widens, as though he didn
’t anticipate I’d take him up on the offer. But it’s full of excitement, not fear, so I climb off and grab my bag from the floor.
I walk over to the bar, needing space to calm my racing pulse. The anticipation of what we’re about to do, of my own excitement, is almost overwhelming. But I want this. Him. And that’s all the confirmation I need to unzip one of the pockets and remove the metal handcuffs. I turn to him and take in my fill of his body. Sexy. Masculine. Ink sprawls over his skin like paint on a canvas. He’s a work of art.
“Take off your underwear,” I demand.
Again, he follows my directions without argument or verbal sparring. This version of Austin is different. But his dick bobs as if it can’t wait until I return to shamelessly rubbing myself against him and chasing my release.
I can’t wait either. Reaching around my back, I release the clasp of my bra and drop it to the floor.
“Oh, fuck, yes.” Austin groans, watching intently as I return to him. His eyes shift between my naked breasts and the restraints dangling from one of my hands. In the depths of his irises I find my own desire reflecting back.
Standing before him, I bend over to reach for one of his hands and stand to circle the metal restraint around his wrist. He offers me his other hand with total trust. The sharp click of the cuffs practically echoes off the walls as I slide and lock each one into place.
We should move to the bed. It’d be more comfortable for him. But I don’t want to break this spell we’ve created or chase another freak-out on my part, so instead I raise his arms over his head and help him settle onto the couch so his head rests on the sofa’s arm and his body lies stretched out across the cushions. His long legs don’t have much room, but he makes it work by bending one and hanging the other off the side with his foot on the floor.
“Please tell me you have the key.” He chuckles, a low and throaty sound as I discard my panties and straddle his thighs.
“I lift my brow. “Already backing out?”
“Fuck, no.” He almost groans, and we both glance down at his bobbing erection. “I just don’t want to be stuck here forever. I do have a show tomorrow.”
“They’re not too tight?” I climb over his body, my fingers caressing his skin from his chest to his shoulders, and then the length of his arms to slip a finger between his flesh and the metal cuffs.
“Perfect,” he mutters, his face pressed between my breasts. Before I can sit back, his mouth captures one of my nipples and laves his tongue across the sensitive flesh.
My sex clenches and a groan escapes my lips.
He continues to suck my nipple, only releasing it with a pop when I sit back on my heels.
Taking his length in my hands, I stroke the soft skin over his hard flesh, determined to drive him insane with need. To bring him to the same crazy lust I feel inside myself. His hips attempt to buck off the couch, but without the use of his arms, my thick thighs hold him in place. The head of his cock beads with precum and I gently brush it away with the pad of my thumb. My actions are meant to drive him wild, but my own anticipation builds with each touch of his skin. The wetness of my desire grows with each sexy groan that falls from his blessed mouth. The need to have him inside me overcomes my intention to keep this controlled.
“I want to taste you,” he says, his gaze zeroing in on my pussy.
Jacking him with one hand, I use my other to dip two fingers inside my core. He watches. I love his eyes on me. Love how he stares as though he can’t get enough, or I’m doing something so captivating that it’s the only thing that matters. I pump my fingers inside myself a few times, the wetness filling the silence. His eyes practically roll back into his head on a groan.
“You want a taste?” I don’t know what comes over me, other than the surge of power that comes from this position, from the sense of control I’ve never experienced before this. “Ask me for it.”
“Please let me taste that pussy. Please, Jayla.”
My fingers slip from my wetness and into his mouth. My entire body lights with need as he groans around my fingers, sucking and licking the taste of me away.
His dick thickens in my hands.
“Austin Jones, I didn’t realize you had a kinky side.” My voice comes out husky and deep.
“You have no idea.”
A thrill goes up my spine and my body comes alive with another wave of desire. The air is heavy with the scent of my arousal, the smell of sex. I blame that for my next words. “Do you want me to touch your cock now? Suck you off?”
“Yes,” he grunts out, staring at the space between our bodies. To where I go back to fingering myself with one hand and wrapping around his erection with the other. “No.” His gaze flies to mine and swims with something I can’t define.
“What?” I swallow. I want him to trust me enough to voice whatever it is he’s holding back. “What do you want?”
“You.” His lips part and he exhales on a rush. “I want you.”
I want him, too. It’s the first thought I have before I rub the head of his cock against the wetness of my folds. “I’m clean,” I whisper, captivated at the erotic sight of our bodies so close together.
His body jerks, as if it’s suddenly hard for him to not be in control. His eyes shine bright with heat. “I am, too.”
“I know.” It’s in his report. “Unless you’ve been with someone since.”
“I haven’t been with anyone. Not since—” He swallows as if reconsidering what he was going to say. “The tour.”
Of course. When would he have? We’ve been together every stop, and he hasn’t invited anyone onto the bus. There’ve been no groupies in the green room. But his gaze holds more tenderness than a man who’s excited to get laid.
My heart races, and this time it’s from fear. Fear that I can’t handle whatever it is he wants. “This is a fuck. You get that, right?”
His smile spreads. “Who has the dirty mouth now?”
“Austin.” I drag out his name, but I can’t seem to tear my fingers from his shaft. I like how it feels in my hands. I love the way I feel in control. I want to press my hips forward and take him in, every delicious inch.
“Do you want me to beg? Because I will. I have thought of nothing but—” He stops to swallow, pausing as if he’s unsure whether he should continue.
“Tell me. No bullshit. Not now.”
“Sinking inside your pussy. Those tits in my face. I want you to touch me and fuck me and most of all . . .”
I wait. As much as it frustrates me that I even care, I want to know every single one of his desires.
“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.”
My mouth suddenly feels as dry as the desert. I draw in a breath and lick my lips, as if that’ll help.
“But Jayla? If we’re gonna fuck . . . put my dick out of its misery soon. Please.”
“Just fucking,” I say, but it comes out more like a warning because I need to set the rules. I can’t risk being out of control, even with Austin. I sink down his shaft, groaning at the blissful fullness he brings. “This is what I want,” I whisper as I ignore the emotion pressing into my chest. Inch by glorious inch he disappears inside me, our bodies connected, this moment finally happening.
My throat feels thick and my eyes rapidly blink. Oh, my God. No. I am not crying.
But the impulse to do that hits me square in the chest.
“So damn good,” Austin murmurs, and it only causes my eyes to fill further. This is good for him, too. He thinks I’m good.
Forcing a slow exhalation, I try to get hold of my emotions or at the very least, calm my racing pulse.
“Touch yourself.” Austin’s strangled plea brings me back into the moment. His gaze is hotter than his words. “Please. Touch yourself for me.”
I nod and focus on his desire. On my needs. My hands brush over my breasts to play with my hard nipples while I rock my hips. He’s big and hard, but my body adjusts to the fullness, and soon my clit is aching for stimulation too.
>
“That’s it,” Austin pants between shallow breaths. “You are so damn sexy. Fuck.” His whispered encouragement spurs me forward without shame or inhibition. “And beautiful. Keep going. Don’t stop.”
I watch him watching me until the heat of his gaze practically sets my skin on fire. I stop thinking, give in to the sensations, and allow my eyelids to close. Skin on skin. Hard and soft. Breathy moans. We connect mind, body, and soul. I forget where his pleasure begins and mine ends.
I crash over the edge before I even see it coming. My release moves through my body with so much force my toes curl, legs shake, and my thighs squeeze against Austin.
“Fuck, yes, baby. I’m coming.” A throaty groan erupts from his lips, and his muscles tighten with tension. His elbows bend, back arches, and hips lift as he comes inside of me. He exhales a few ragged breaths before lifting his gaze to mine.
Our eyes lock, and I swear the rapid beating of my heart stills. A pang of longing presses against my chest to have this—him—always.
23
Austin
Most fantasies in life a man eventually gives up.
Like riding a unicorn. Or owning an ice cream shop for the convenience of eating mint chocolate chip every day. Finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Or one of my long time favorites, jamming out in a practice studio with the legendary Jimi Hendrix.
But there is one, and as far-fetched as it may be, I’ve always held out hope. Only when it finally happens, reality blows my imagination out of the fucking water.
That’s how it is when Jayla offers to cuff me. I won’t lie, it’s been a dream of mine for many, many years. But longer still, probably as long as I’ve understood the desire to sink my dick in a woman, is the fantasy of being with Jayla. I’ve imagined fucking her in all the ways, but this, her restraining me and getting us both off? Fuck. I’ve never experienced sex this good. Ever. And for as much as I’ve had, that’s saying something.
Then again, this is Jayla. Everything with her is better.
“Good?” I ask, looking up into her big brown eyes. Her legs straddle my hips and our bodies still connect as we catch our breath. The need to touch her pulses through my veins. I want to tug her body down to mine and hold her close until I’m ready for round two, but unfortunately, I can’t do any of those things. Not with my hands still bound together.
