She sat on the couch, turning over the tops of the bobby socks, then lacing the black-and-white saddle shoes.
Holding out his hand, he helped her to stand once again. “Oh yeah, you are fucking hot, Miss Beaumonde.”
Playing her part, she giggled like a little girl. “Are you a dirty pervert playing with little girls?”
People assumed that if you played the role, you craved the reality. He didn’t have a thing for children. He had a thing for Natalie Beaumonde. “I’m most certainly a dirty pervert.” He pulled her close, lowered his voice, used it to seduce and tantalize. “I’m dying to see the innocent Natalie debauched, doing things she’s never dreamed of because I’ve ordered her to do them. Dirty, nasty, filthy things that will make you so hot, you’ll beg me to fuck you.”
She trembled, drawing in a shaky breath, her eyelids drooping. Sexy, dreamy, hot as Hades.
They were in the bowels of his home, yet the jingle of the front doorbell drifted down the stairwell.
Natalie jerked, swallowed, stared at him.
“It’s time, Miss Beaumonde.”
*
Good Lord. She was trembling. Mr. Masters had gone upstairs to answer the door. She’d managed to forget all about Van, the supposed reason she was here. How could she have agreed to this? She was stark raving mad.
But she felt oh so damn sexy in her schoolgirl uniform. And so in control. Van had actually done what she’d told him to, driven over forty-five minutes to a house deep in the woods, no questions asked. Was it possible he’d been telling the truth, that he’d do anything to get her back, that the woman truly had been some sort of sex therapist or surrogate?
Hah, and she was a gullible fool. Better to keep her anger up and her wits about her.
With their footsteps on the metal stairs, Natalie’s skin began to prickle. She grabbed her forgotten wine from the table where it was surrounded by all the sex toys she’d chosen and slugged back a swallow to wet her throat.
Mr. Masters appeared first. When Van came off the last stair right behind him, Mr. Masters’ height and toned body eclipsed him. Maybe he sensed the same thing because he stepped around the bigger man.
“Your guest has arrived, Miss Beaumonde.”
Several inches shorter, slighter in build, next to Mr. Masters in black T-shirt and jeans, Van appeared unkempt with baggy corduroys, wrinkled shirt, and long hair. He glanced at Mr. Masters, then Natalie, a question in his gaze. Whatever he’d expected, it certainly wasn’t a man like her boss.
“What’s up, Nat?” he asked, taking in her schoolgirl guise, from white blouse to saddle shoes, with a slight sneer.
He was giving her attitude. With Mr. Masters looking on, she couldn’t allow Van to take control. She was on top now. “For tonight you are my slave, and you will call me—” She glanced at Mr. Masters standing two feet beyond Van. He mouthed the word she needed. “You will call me Mistress. And you will refer to my friend as Master.” She widened her stance and put her hands to her hips. “You don’t need to know how I met him or who he is or where he’s from. You only need to know that he is here to help me administer the punishment you so richly deserve. Do you understand?”
Van’s eyes widened, his nostrils flared like a stallion ready to rear, yet he didn’t say a word as his gaze flicked between them, his eyes finally settling on Natalie. After another moment’s thought, he smiled slightly and gave her what she wanted. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Good boy.” It had taken him long enough to decide, considering he had supposedly submissive needs. Her distrust welled up again. She tamped it down with an extraordinary effort, snapping her fingers at Mr. Masters. “Put out the table,” she demanded, pointing to the folding massage table.
Mr. Masters blinked slowly, then grinned and did as she ordered. God, it felt marvelous. Her body vibrated with power. Two men jumping to do her bidding. She knew Mr. Masters would make her pay later, but for now, she didn’t care.
“Don’t push it,” he whispered as he passed her, his aftershave blowing by.
But she knew he liked her take-charge attitude, at least as far as it was directed at Van.
When the table was in place to her liking in the center of the room, she turned once more to Van. “You will ask no questions. You will not meet your Mistress’s eyes or those of your Master.” This was kinda fun. She thought up some more instructions. “If you do not immediately execute my request, you will be punished. If you make any comment or sound I do not like, you will be punished. If you give me attitude, you will be punished. However”—she tipped her head, scrutinizing him—“if there is something you truly do not wish to do, you will say…” Okay, there was always a safe word, right? “You will say, ‘Mistress, may I please disobey?’ In which case, I will stop. But you will still be punished. Am I clear?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, yet there was a hot flame in his blue eyes she’d never seen before. “Yes, Mistress.”
“You are, however,” she went on, “allowed to say that you like something I’m either doing or asking you to do.”
“Thank you, Mistress.” She sensed enthusiasm in his quick answer.
Would he utter those sounds he’d given his dominatrix? Inanely, Natalie wished he’d shaved. After gazing at Mr. Masters’ clean-shaven face up close and personal, she no longer cared for the perpetual two-day stubble.
Sensing his warmth behind her, she wanted to turn and give Mr. Masters a meaningful look. Had she detailed it all correctly? But the very act of eliciting his approval negated some of her power. This was her show.
Lifting her arm straight out, she snapped her fingers at Van. “Get naked. Now.” She didn’t need a sensual striptease.
Van hopped to, popping off a button in his haste. His bare chest didn’t have the power of Mr. Masters’ broad pecs. Kicking off his leather sandals, Van shoved his cords over his hips without even unzipping all the way. She preferred tightly fitted over the hanging-off-the-rear look. His boxers came off along with everything else.
Then he stood naked before them. Natalie sucked in a breath. He was hard. Lord, was he hard. Stiff, straight up, rising out of a trimmed bush of blond pubic curls. Somehow, he seemed larger, thicker than she remembered. Or perhaps he was more excited than ever before. At least with her. Her stomach turned over. It was both disheartening and exhilarating—the former because she’d never affected him that way, the latter because she had a huge effect on him now.
“Turn around. Face the wall. I want to see your ass.” She liked the word. It was naughtier than any other euphemism.
Mr. Masters heated her back as he stepped up flush against her while she considered Van’s rear view. “Contemplating what you’re going to do to that ass, my dear?”
“Yes.” Every time he was close, her body reacted. A tingle ran up her spine, her skin warmed.
Van tensed his shoulder blades, flexed his butt muscles, hardened his thighs, giving her a show. She remembered the toy he’d been sucking, a big cock suctioned to the headboard. Maybe the show wasn’t just for her. Perhaps Van’s needs included a little help from Mr. Masters.
She rubbed against his chest, tipped her head back slightly to look at him. “What shall we do to him, Lincoln?” she said softly yet loud enough for Van’s ears. She’d always mentioned him as Mr. Masters to Van, never Lincoln. Van wouldn’t know he was her boss.
Mr. Masters raised a brow at her use of his name, then his lips quirked. “First, he needs the cock ring.” His eyes darkened as he gazed at her. “We don’t want him coming until we give him permission.”
God, she really did love the we part. Her body seemed to liquefy, and her breath caught in her throat all over again. She ordered him to do the unthinkable. “You put it on him, Lincoln.” She used his name the way he loved to use hers, over and over for effect and impact.
Before her, Van went utterly still, every muscle tensed, and she was more than half convinced it was desire rather than fear.
His face close to hers, Mr. Master
s shook his head, a lift to only one corner of his mouth. Then he put his lips to her ear and spoke for her alone. “Oh you do so want me to punish you later, don’t you, Miss Beaumonde.” It was not a question.
She wanted to push him. This night had become about him, not Van. But before she let that fact tear her up again, she pointed to the countertop beneath the cabinet where he’d laid the toys and tools they’d chosen. “The leather snap-on, I think.”
“Christ,” he murmured, again just for her, “how I will love making you pay.”
Natalie trembled as he crossed the room. She left Van facing the wall, unable to see them, but closed the distance until she was less than a foot from his naked body.
She had to admit that while he was lean and lanky, shorter and less bulky than Mr. Masters, he still had a nice physique, firm, strong. At one time she’d loved the feel of his skin, the hardness of his muscles. Was it her anger and sense of betrayal that killed her physical desire for him?
Or was it all about Mr. Masters?
She was in danger of putting too much stock in what Mr. Masters could give her. Because he hadn’t really offered her anything beyond tonight.
Monday, he could decide to fire her.
Chapter Seven
‡
No, not Mr. Masters. Lincoln. She would call him by his first name for tonight, not just aloud but in her mind as well. She would not think of him as her boss; she would not think about Monday or her job. There was only tonight.
He returned with the simple leather strap they’d picked out. “Hold his cock, Miss Beaumonde.”
Natalie put one hand to Van’s butt cheek and wrapped her fingers around the crown of his cock, holding him aloft. Oh my God, yes, he was hard. She knew the feel of his erection intimately, and this was more than ever before.
It wasn’t just the woman he’d been with. Perhaps Van wanted other things, things he truly was afraid to admit to Natalie.
Wrapping the leather around the base of Van’s cock, Mr. Masters—Lincoln, dammit—fastened the snaps. His fingers brushed her hand, a glint in his gaze when he met hers that made her tremble. The act was completed with an economy of motion, yet Van’s cock swelled, his balls plumped, and a groan passed through his lips. Natalie felt the same reaction in her female erogenous zones. Her face flamed as Lincoln backed off to admire his handiwork.
“He can’t come until you release him, my dear.”
Lincoln gave her all the control, all the power, just as he’d promised her yesterday in his office. It was simply…exhilarating.
Natalie stepped fully into the game they played, running her finger up the crease of Van’s ass and along his spine. He shuddered, gritted his teeth, but just as she’d instructed earlier, he kept his gaze down. She couldn’t quite tell if it was centered on the front of Lincoln’s jeans.
And Lincoln was hard. But then he’d been that way since he’d had her remove her clothes.
She cupped Van’s butt and squeezed. “I’m going to put you on your hands and knees, Van, cuff you, restrain you, spread your legs.” Blowing against his ear, she lowered her voice. “Then I’m going to fuck your ass.”
She’d used it rarely, but now she loved the word. Fuck. It was naughty, nasty, and exactly what she wanted. A week ago, she’d never have guessed she could enjoy these things. Lincoln had opened a whole new and exciting world to her.
This time Van’s groan rose from deep in his belly, his legs shook, his buttocks tensed. Then he managed to say, “Yes, Mistress, please. I would love that.”
She’d said he couldn’t ask questions, but he could give her compliments. His moan, his words, and his body’s reactions were the highest of tributes. More than he’d given her in their vanilla sex life.
“Good boy,” she whispered, because he deserved the reward for the here and now, not just punishment for past transgressions. “Now get on the table.” She patted the top.
He climbed agilely and assumed the position she’d described, hands and knees, feet spread, eyes on the table. His cock hung down, engorged, the crown purple with need, his testicles bulging.
Standing close behind her, Lincoln caressed her spine from nape to butt, so very there. His light touch kept her on edge just as she’d been every half hour since last night.
“What now, my dear? Direct me to the device you’d like next.”
A breathless smile rose helplessly to her lips. “Take off your shirt and bring me the spreader bar.”
“Whatever your heart desires,” he murmured, his voice a sultry, sexy stroke along her nerve endings. Then he stepped back and to the side so she could see him fully. Pulling his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans, he yanked it over his head and tossed it in one smooth motion.
Oh my Lord. The blood rushed to her head. Lincoln Masters had the most magnificent torso, defined muscles, flat nipples, a smattering of dark hair arrowing down his abdomen to disappear beneath his jeans.
Van’s sharp intake of breath matched hers.
Lincoln didn’t preen. He held her gaze, slid a hand down his skin to the bulge of his cock. “Shall I take off my jeans?”
She managed a shaky laugh. “I think you better not. Just get the spreader bar.”
He reached out to tip her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Remember what I told you earlier.”
She knew exactly what he meant. He wanted to end the evening by fucking her. In front of Van?
She glanced at her ex-boyfriend. Eyes on the padded table, he appeared the picture of the perfect submissive. She’d never told Van he was now her ex. She’d gotten him here by saying that he could regain her good graces. She wasn’t sure that was possible anymore.
She pulled from Lincoln’s hold. “Van, look at me.”
He raised his gaze, his eyes intensely blue. She paused, two quick beats of her heart. “Your Master wants to fuck me after I’m done fucking you.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She didn’t know what that gaze meant, couldn’t read the blazing expression in his eyes. “What did I tell you to say if you didn’t want me to do something?”
“Mistress, may I please disobey?” he repeated.
At the time, she’d been referring to an act performed on him, yet the wording still applied. “Do you wish to use that phrase regarding your Master fucking me?”
He didn’t even wait the two beats that she had. “No, Mistress.”
It shouldn’t shock her. She had him up on a table, his cock harnessed, legs spread ready to receive whatever she wished to dish out, another man at her side to help her administer his punishment. She was so much further out on a limb than she’d ever stepped in her life.
Two things were crystal clear. Her boss wanted to fuck her and her ex-boyfriend wanted to watch.
*
Lincoln read her thoughts, the doubt written in the tense lines of her body and her unfocused gaze. If the boy—yes, he was definitely a boy—was okay with Lincoln fucking her, then he didn’t truly love or want her.
Maybe that was true, but it wasn’t necessarily a given. What she hadn’t learned yet was that some men and women were entirely different from others. For them, sex and love didn’t have the same link. Sex and emotion didn’t have to be only between one man and one woman. Sex came in all forms; he’d damn near tried just about all of them he could think of. That distinction allowed a man to get off watching his ladylove pleasured by another. It would, Lincoln imagined, be one of the hottest acts a man could participate in.
To his regret, that was something he’d never personally been involved in. Once out of his twenties, when he’d learned to let himself go, he’d never experienced love.
This young man was too much of a boy to realize what he had. Lincoln felt compelled to show him.
“Give me your hand, Natalie.” Lincoln held out his, palm up.
Natalie’s gaze rose from his chest to his mouth as if she was trying to lip read, before dropping to his outstretched hand.
Finally she slid her
fingers into his, and he was stunned for a moment at how right her touch felt. Then he gently directed her to her knees in front of Van.
“You have not yet kissed your mistress or gloried in her taste. Beg her for a taste.”
The two stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Lincoln stroked Natalie’s cheek. “I want to see him drink from your lips.” He snapped his fingers at the boy. “Do as I say, slave.”
There was a second’s hesitation and a flash in his eyes, as if Van saw a threat he couldn’t quite define. Then his gaze settled on Natalie’s mouth. “Please, Mistress, may I kiss you?”
“You can do better than that, slave,” Lincoln admonished. The boy may have fantasies of being a submissive, but he wasn’t good at it.
Van’s lips lifted. “Mistress, I will die if you don’t grant me a taste of your mouth.”
“That’s better, slave.”
Natalie swallowed, her gaze on Lincoln a moment too short for him to interpret. Then she nodded to Van. “All right, slave. I will grant you one kiss.”
Hah. Lincoln smiled. Natalie definitely understood the game.
Van leaned down to cup her nape, bringing her closer. She stretched to meet him.
Lincoln’s heart beat faster in his chest as her lips parted automatically and her lids fell, eyelashes dark and full against her skin. He had yet to kiss, to taste, to feast on her mouth for long, lush minutes. Watching whet his appetite. Their lips touched, a hint of her tongue, a sound sharp and sweet with longing, Lincoln couldn’t be sure who made it. Ah yes, there was something to be said for watching. It allowed him to savor her beauty. Then Van opened fully and devoured her, a deep taking of her mouth, wet and sloppy in Lincoln’s opinion, yet she sighed. Standing over them as her scent rose to his nostrils, he drank in the perfume of her arousal. Hot, sweet, sensual, intoxicating. She wasn’t the schoolgirl he’d dressed her as. She was a woman ripe for fucking. Lincoln was sure the boy had never kissed her like that. What a waste.
Shoving his fingers through Van’s hair, he pulled the kid’s head back. “Enough. Masters’ turn.”
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 106
