Mischief and the Masters

by Cherise Sinclair

She tried to think, but being the focus of two Doms’ attentions made her dizzy. In the complete darkness, she had four hands fondling her. She didn’t know where they’d touch. What they’d do. The sense of having no control shook her. Heated her.

  As her center unexpectedly warmed with arousal, she squirmed.

  The hardened hands of the first Dom—the one who’d captured her—tightened on her thighs in an unspoken restraint, and she forced herself to hold still. When he kissed above her pelvis, his jaw held the rasp of a clean-shaven man with a day’s stubble—harsh, rough, and ever so sexy. Her belly quivered, and his lips curved against her skin.

  Hands on her hips, he leaned on her, pressing her backside into the mattress. And, somehow, the feeling of being held down wasn’t frightening but totally intoxicating.

  The bell…didn’t ring, and the music continued as the two Doms played with her. Enjoying themselves.

  Enjoying her.

  Dom Beard nibbled on her ear and down her neck, and goosebumps rose on her arms. When he licked over her nipples, his tongue was hot. Wet.

  Dark desire hummed straight to her pussy.

  As if in response, Dom Captor kissed downward from her belly and over her mound, deliberately rasping his chin right over the cleft. He pushed her legs apart about a foot. Ever so slowly, his tongue traced the crease between her hip and thigh, then touched her outer folds.

  She pulled in a startled breath. The waxing had left her skin highly sensitized. There were no post-shaving bumps or little hairs, nothing to offer resistance to his tongue or lips. Every nerve ending felt more exposed. She felt the slickness between her legs increase.

  His tongue touched her inner labia.

  Too intimate. With a will of their own, her legs pressed together.

  He lightly nipped her thigh in a silent reprimand.

  She froze, barely breathing, cringing as she waited for him to punish her.

  The pain didn’t come. Instead, he moved her legs apart again. His slow, warm breaths brushed over her mound, and then coolness washed it as he moved back. His powerful grip anchored her hip as his other hand cupped her pussy. Her jerk of surprise was halted before it even began.

  And there were two Doms.

  When she’d jolted, Dom Beard’s hands had closed on her arms, restraining her upper half. He nipped her shoulder in warning.

  Fighting the instinctive need to flee, she lay still, heart pounding, as an unsettling heat flushed her skin. The controlled power in the way they handled her was making everything inside her sink into an unfamiliar, wonderful submissive space.

  Dom Captor slid a finger between her folds, and she gasped at the intimate exploration. As if unworried about being interrupted by the bell, he swept his slickened finger up and around the sides of her clit…never touching the actual nub. Holding her down, he teased the nub until it swelled, then cycled between her clit and entrance until her whole pussy tingled with a full, hot sensation, growing more and more sensitized.

  Dom Beard held her upper arms firmly, increasing her feeling of being captured, as he nuzzled her breasts. Alternating from left to right, he licked the nipples and sucked—lightly—obviously remembering her tenderness.

  Her breasts felt hot and swollen, the nipples hot and aching.

  Gripping her right hip, Dom Captor continued to tease her pussy, even as he bent forward and kissed her mound.

  When his lips moved lower, she caught her breath. Ever so slowly, his tongue teased the hood above her clit.

  Omigod, the sensation.

  She tried to move. Heard Dom Beard chuckle against her breast. His grip stayed firm.

  Restrained. Pressed into the mattress. Helpless and at the mercy of two Doms. Somehow, her arousal grew and grew until she shook with need. Her thighs trembled as her hips lifted in an effort to get more.

  She felt the huff of Dom Captor’s breath in a silent laugh, but his hand tightened on her hip until she lay still again. The fabric of his tunic slid over her hip and right thigh as he moved closer. Unhurriedly, his mouth moved down…and his tongue brushed right on top of her aching clit.

  Oooh. Fiery pleasure lanced through her system.

  Even as it did, Dom Beard squeezed her left breast and sucked hard on her abused, right nipple.

  Omigod. The flash of erotic pain shot straight to her clit, and she gasped.

  When Dom Beard lifted up, his tunic grazed her lower breast and stomach.

  Cool air wafted over her wet nipple and tightened it to an aching point.

  Dom Beard shifted his hands, one on her right breast, the other holding her upper arm to keep her in place for whatever they wanted to do.

  Shivers of excitement and anxiety shook her body.

  Dom Captor circled his tongue around her clit. Holding her still, he slowly, determinedly, pressed two slick fingers between her folds and up inside her, filling her.

  Her center clamped down on the ruthless intrusion. As Dom Captor thrust in and out and continued to lick her clit, the sensations were growing overwhelming. She heard herself whimper.

  Dom Beard laughed almost silently. He closed his mouth over her nipple and sucked even as Dom Captor did the same with her clit. Both of them sucked in long, slow pulls. Hard pulls.

  Oh, oh, oh. As the ruthless fingers inside her pumped in and out in a steady rhythm, the exquisite torment grew unbearable. She hit the precipice, teetering as the pressure built, yet she couldn’t…couldn’t…

  His mouth enclosing her clit, the suction unrelenting, Dom Captor tongued the very top of the sensitive nub.

  Oh God! The impossible, unstoppable pleasure detonated within her core, blasting outward in dazzling surges of sensation.

  Dom Beard put his hand over her mouth, smothering her cry.

  As her hips bucked with the orgasm, Dom Captor held her down, mercilessly working her clit and pussy to wring every last spasm of pleasure from her.

  Slowly, the shudders eased.

  Heart thumping crazily, lying on her back, limp with pleasure, she stared up into the darkness.

  After a minute, she realized the Doms were…petting…her. The long, slow, gentle strokes of their big hands felt like they’d enjoyed themselves as much as she had. She’d never felt so cherished, and the feeling of closeness to them was disconcerting. She didn’t even know who they were, but she wanted to crawl into their arms and hug them.

  The bell rang, one chime for cleanup.

  Uzuri struggled to sit up…and was pinned in place by Dom Captor.

  Dom Beard tore open a cleanser packet and wiped her breasts, setting her nipples to burning.

  Then, despite her squirming and occasional squeak, Dom Captor thoroughly cleaned her pussy. Finished, he helped her sit up, keeping one hand on her back to ensure she was steady.

  Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears, and her breathing started to hitch. After the cruel Dom, she’d felt lost, as if she was stupid to be in a BDSM club. But…these two were everything she’d longed for when she’d first realized she was submissive. She unsuccessfully gulped back a sob.

  “Shhh.” Even though the warning was almost silent, she could hear how deep Dom Beard’s voice was. His hand brushed over her face, reached her tear-dampened cheeks, and paused. With a low, comforting hmm, he sat behind her and drew her against him so her back was against his hard chest. His arms closed around her stomach in a firm, warm embrace that filled the empty feeling inside her.

  After a few seconds, Dom Captor found her hand and set a wet wipe in it. When she hesitated, unsure of what to do, he gave her his left hand. Got it. She was to clean his hands.

  Her heart lifted as if on wings, and she smiled. His dominance came through loud and clear, even without words, and everything in her responded. There was nothing more she wanted than to do his bidding. To feel useful and needed. To serve.

  Happiness welled inside her as she concentrated on cleaning one hand, then the other. When finished, she pressed kisses to the backs of his hands.

  A
low hum of pleasure was her reward along with a devastatingly voracious kiss, one that left her feeling more possessed than having sex with someone else could do. The scent of his aftershave was like a walk through a springtime woods—and very, very masculine.

  He drew back slowly, his hand gentle on her face. After pressing another wipe into her hands, he pulled her forward out from Dom Beard’s embrace and then turned her.

  Knowing what to do this time, she took Dom Beard’s hands and cleaned them. He had fewer calluses than the other Dom, but his hands were bigger with long fingers like an artist. Heart full, she finished by kissing his fingers and rubbing her cheek against his palm.

  As the two bells rang, he took her chin and gave her a leisurely, oh-so-sensual kiss that melted her insides. Slowly, he kissed down her neck to the top of her shoulder. There, he used his teeth in a surprisingly rough, sucking bite.

  Chills ran over her skin, and her mind went blank.

  When he stopped and kissed the curve between her neck and her shoulder, she pulled in a shaky breath.

  He sat back, and a pat on her ass from Dom Captor sent her on her way.

  Emotions unsettled, she crawled back to the carpet “road”, wondering if she’d ever know who the two had been.

  For long minutes, she traveled the perimeter with the other submissives, and then…the lights came on.

  The game was over.

  THE GAME WAS over. Alastair rose and checked that the blasted toga was covering him. He was as exposed as he would have been in a kilt. Did the Scots like having cold drafts sweeping over their legs and genitals?

  “We need to position ourselves near the exit to the ladies’ loo,” he told Max. As the people in the room stood, stretched, and chatted with others, he headed for the dressing room with his cousin beside him. Other members were moving toward the food and drink area where Galen and Vance were handing out bottled waters.

  Carefully, Alastair scanned the room, trying to locate their last little subbie. The first four women they’d played with had been pleasant enough, but this last one…was something special. Sweetly responsive. And, although obviously timid, she’d kissed his hands and then him with all her heart and soul.

  Her tears had tugged at his heart. When he’d realized she was crying, he’d touched Max with his wet fingers. His cousin had caught on. A second later, Max had tapped his leg. One slow tap, one quick, and then two slows. In the Morse code abbreviations they’d used as lads, “Y” indicated “yes.” In this case, Max had meant let’s have a look at this one.

  Alastair studied the females that they passed. The one they wanted was medium height, nicely curvy with full breasts and a high, round ass. Like the others, her hair had been braided tightly back, but the braid hadn’t quite reached her shoulders. Springy hair.

  “Damn Z anyway,” Max muttered.

  As they crossed the empty dance floor, Alastair glanced at his cousin. “Why?”

  “He was right. Again. I hadn’t realized how much I rely on my eyes.”

  “Meaning you don’t think you’ll be able to find her.”

  “Exactly. How about you? You’ve been a member here longer. Did you recognize her?”

  “No.” Alastair smiled. “That’s why I marked her.”

  “You what?”

  “There should be a fine hickey at the top of her left shoulder.”

  “Way to go, Doc.” When they reached the women’s dressing area, Max glanced at the crowd milling around the food. “You want to scout or hold position?”

  “I’ll scout and bring you back some water.”

  Max leaned a shoulder against the wall on the left side of the door where departing members would have to walk past him. “Grab me a handful of chocolate chip cookies, too.” He eyed the first two submissives.

  They noticed his concentrated attention, stopped dead, and gave him nervous glances.

  Alastair shook his head. When not smiling, his detective cousin could make even a stone-cold killer nervous. “Try not to terrify the subbies, Max.”

  When Max shot him an amused look, the two women relaxed and started moving again.

  Leaving Max on guard, Alastair crossed the room to the munchie area. He studied each woman he passed, and even then, he almost missed her—because in the dim light of the Shadowlands, his hickey mark didn’t contrast markedly against her brown skin.

  Uzuri?

  They’d played with Uzuri. Now there was a bloody surprise.

  As always, upon spotting him, she detoured to avoid him. Apparently, she had no idea he and Max had been the Doms in her last session.

  He turned, caught Max’s attention, and indicated the little mixed race submissive.

  Max followed his gaze, blinked in surprise, then his expression darkened. He shook his head. No.

  Unsurprised, Alastair continued on his way to the food and drinks. Uzuri. The discovery that someone had hurt her had troubled him. Now he knew how passionate and emotionally sensitive she was. Now he was truly concerned.

  Bloody hell. He wanted to help.

  Chapter Six

  ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, standing on Nolan King’s doorstep, Max called himself a fool. This was his day off; why the hell was he playing cop?

  Because he couldn’t stop worrying about the two orphans being tended by a woman who didn’t even like little dogs. Only last summer, their abusive, drug-addicted mother had died, and they didn’t need any more traumas in their lives.

  He wanted to ensure they were all right. That was all.

  Max rang the King’s doorbell, heard “The Yellow Rose of Texas” chime through the house, and snorted a laugh. Texans were insane bastards.

  But… He considered and started to smile. He needed to find out who’d coded King’s doorbell. Be worth money to see Alastair’s expression if their doorbell played “God Save the Queen”. The Brit’d go nuts.

  Just for fun, Max punched the button again.

  The thudding of small feet sounded, and the door was flung open.

  “Hey. It’s Max!” Grant, King’s soon-to-be-adopted, seven-year-old, tried for a cool tone, although he couldn’t conceal his grin.

  “Max!” Pint-sized Connor hit Max’s leg with all the weight of a skinny kindergartner and clung there, beaming at him. “I di’nt know you was coming.”

  “Got something I’m dropping off for Nolan.” A couple of months ago, Alastair had interviewed the boys about their interactions with an incompetent social worker. Max had brought a copy of the unedited DVD that showed the boys playing with Alastair before and after. The Kings would enjoy watching, and it gave him an excuse for the visit. “Can you get him for me?”

  Grant shook his head. “He’s not here.”

  “He and Beff are having a growed-up date,” Connor explained solemnly.

  “Grant, Connor.” The melodic voice came from the living room. “I know you’ve been told not to answer the door without an adult with you. What if someone bad is there?”

  As the pretty submissive crossed the foyer, Max tried to forget how she’d trembled under his hands. His mouth. How she’d kissed his fingers.

  “I checked first, Zuri.” Grant pointed to a window next to the door through which a visitor would be visible. King had designed his house well. “It’s Max.”

  Seeing Max, Uzuri stiffened and took a step back. “Good afternoon.”

  Sensitive to body language, Connor frowned. “Max isn’t a bad person.”

  No, he wasn’t. But what about her? If she didn’t like pets, little energetic boys with loud voices were probably even lower on her list. Connor liked to hug—and usually had peanut butter, mud, or jelly on his hands. Wouldn’t that be worse than fur? What would she do? “Afternoon. When is Nolan due back?”

  She glanced at a clock. “Any time now.”

  “I have something for him. I’ll wait.” And make sure the kids were safe.

  “But—” Her expression shouted her dismay. Unless she put on a complete poker face, she wasn’t difficult to
read. Last night, even without lights, her body had telegraphed every emotion. Damn, he’d enjoyed that.

  “It’s okay, Zuri,” Grant said. “Nolan lets him visit us. He works with Mr. Dan.”

  “You’re a cop?” Her flush was cute. “I mean…in law enforcement?”

  Max nodded. “Yep. Got a”—not a homicide, Drago—“stolen bike case you need solved?”

  Connor took her hand easily, as if he’d done it often. Then again, Connor had that kind of personality. “Can we finish our story?”

  “Uh…” Her glance at Max said she wanted him to leave.

  “I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “Please, Zuri?” Connor looked up.

  Her sigh held resignation. “Oh, okay.”

  Max almost laughed. No one was immune to Connor’s pleading brown eyes.

  Grant took her other hand. Interesting that the reserved boy felt so comfortable with her. When she took a seat on the great room couch, Connor crawled right into her lap and Grant snuggled against her as easily as he did with Beth.

  Max settled down in a chair across from them, smiling when he saw the book cover displayed a duck surrounded by ducklings.

  She read a page to them and then Connor tugged on her shirt. “I want the funny voices. Like you read it before.”

  Although her brown face darkened with a flush, she kept her gaze firmly on the book. “All right.” When she continued reading, each animal had a unique, purely hilarious voice.

  When Mr. Mallard showed up with a New York accented, pseudo-baritone, Max huffed a laugh.

  Grant threw him a grin, and Connor was already giggling.

  Every now and then, Uzuri would stop and ask Connor to read off the letters in a word, and Grant would sound it out. Then she’d resume, keeping the story moving.

  The little subbie was a damn good reader and teacher. Max frowned. Aside from his presence, she was comfortable and enjoying the boys. She’d obviously read enough books to the children that they had their own routine. Her patience wasn’t an act put on for Max’s benefit.

  She liked the boys. His boys. They might belong to the Kings, but he rather considered them his, as well.