Still holding her between his teeth, he gripped her elbows, keeping her arms over her head.
She struggled against his restraint, yet the sinking feeling in her belly increased at the power in his hands, at the unyielding control.
When he lifted his head, blood rushed back into her nipple, and she moaned as it pulsed with every heartbeat. He closed her hands over the headboard again and moved down. His long hair trailed after him, feathering over her breasts.
When he licked her soft, round belly, the skin quivered. He slid lower. His breath swept over her mound, and her breathing hitched. He was… Doms didn’t do oral sex. Nathan never did—he’d said it was her place to serve him.
“I…” She swallowed. “My liege, you don’t have to do…that.”
To her consternation he stopped and sat back on his calves. Still fully clothed. “Abigail. Do you have permission to speak?”
She whispered, “No, sir.”
“Correct.” A crease appeared in his cheek. “I’m glad to know I don’t have to do”—his lips quirked—“that.” In an arrogant, possessive move, he flattened his hand between her legs.
The pressure right where she ached the most made her hips squirm.
“Do you, by any stretch of the imagination, think I need your permission to do or not do something? Outside of stopping if you use your safe word?”
The look in his eyes was merciless. A Master’s look. He’d do what he wanted, and if he wanted to put his mouth on…her…he would.
He tapped her clit, and she clenched at the frisson of pleasure. “Right now this cunt is my toy to play with as I want.” He pinched her aching nipples, pulled, pinched harder. The pain streaming through her blossomed into pleasure. “These breasts are mine.” His finger ran around her lips. “Your mouth is mine, and I may yet want to use it.”
Each uncompromising statement made her body grow tenser. Hotter.
“Since you saw fit to interrupt me, you obviously need a lesson in how annoying interruptions can be.” His mouth curved in a lethal smile. “You have my permission to speak as long as you’re begging.”
Begging. Oh, get real. He pinched her nipples again, rolling them between his fingers until a relentless thrumming filled her world, settling low in her belly.
After tossing his hair behind his shoulders, he slid down and licked over her pussy, teasing her with the flicker of his tongue. She gasped at the dazzling pleasure. Under his hot, wet attentions, her clit hardened as the tissues engorged with blood.
He nipped her inner thigh, making her yelp. Even as the sting sizzled and faded, he laved her clit with his tongue. Bit her other thigh. Back to her clit. Again he was alternating each tiny pain with exquisite pleasure, and her whole body stiffened as she recognized the terrifying pattern—one with her clit as the center.
His tongue lingered over the nerve-filled nub, increasing the needy tension. Her muscles tightened; her hips lifted.
He moved. A nip stung her outer labia—pain—before he returned. Pleasure. The air grew so thick she could hardly breathe.
She wiggled her hips, trying to escape the sting, trying to make him lick more. He circled her clit, once and again, and as she strained upward he slid two hard fingers into her, stretching her abruptly. Nerves ignited until need tormented her whole lower half.
His tongue continued, around and around, and she was going to come, actually come and—
He stopped, and his black gaze met hers. “Interruptions are annoying, aren’t they?”
Her mouth opened in a soundless protest. She would have come. Could have. Her eyes closed. He knew exactly how close she’d been. He could have pushed her over…if he’d wanted to.
Deep inside she started to shake. He didn’t have her in bondage, but she had no control here at all. Whatever he wanted to do, he would.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “The decisions are mine. Your body is mine. Let go, Abby.” As he lowered his head, she realized his fingers were still inside her. Pressing deep.
Her clit had started to soften, but with the first touch of his breath, it swelled to bursting.
“Very pretty.” He circled his finger around the nub, the rough skin a shock after his soft tongue. “You’re pink and shiny, not hiding from me any longer. The hood”—he teased something on the top, and she gasped at the intense feeling—“is pulled back, giving me full access.” His merciless gaze met hers. “I expect full access to everything.”
The shaking in her core moved outward until her whole body trembled. She needed…needed. She felt like crying. Felt like crawling into his arms.
He pushed her outer labia apart so his teeth could close on one inner fold. His tongue lashed the flesh, bathing her in heat as he bit down to just over the edge of pain. He released her, and his tongue whipped over her clit. And then he started to thrust his fingers in and out.
Her senses couldn’t keep up.
He lightly bit the other fold while the first still ached. He licked her clit, teasing it upward, upward…
He stopped.
Oh God, she didn’t climax that easily. Don’t do this to me.
His eyes met hers again. She burned, throbbed; she needed him there. Right there.
But his head stayed up. He watched her as his fingers slowly pumped in and out, pushing her, making her ache more, but never enough.
Her lips closed on the word please, and only a moan escaped. Would he be angry if she didn’t come? Would he—
His teeth scraped on each side of her clit. Tightened.
She froze. The stimulation was so intense, so painful, so much. The nerves were pulsing in his grip. He held her there, trapped, and helplessness drowned out everything, winding her higher and higher.
He thrust harder, adding to the tormenting pleasure, and the jolt broke her words loose.
“Pleeeze. Oh please.”
When her hips tried to rise, his teeth tightened in warning. Her muscles went rigid, turning her into an unmoving concrete statue. Each relentless thrust pushed her closer, and she hung there on an excruciating edge.
He released her. Blood surged back into her clit in a flood of pleasure and pain, and then he sucked on the nub, pulling forcefully, tonguing the very top.
Her concrete body shattered. “Ahhhh!” Sensation ripped through her, filling her world with wrenching pleasure.
Hard hands held her down as he sucked again, and her body arched again, completely out of her control. The room turned white. Her pulse roared in her ears as each convulsion shook her, yet she wanted more.
His laugh vibrated her oversensitive nerves, and she spasmed again.
She was still panting and shuddering with aftershocks when he pried her fingers from the headboard and flipped her over. With a yank he pulled her up onto her shaky arms and knees. “Don’t move.”
Her head hung as she struggled for air.
She heard him unbuckle his belt, unzip his slacks, and tear open a condom wrapper. The cool strands of his hair washed over her back as he pressed against her entrance, as he started to push into her. And oh, she wanted him inside, filling her…
Hard and thick and hot, he slid partway in. She was so, so wet, but he was bigger than she was used to. Her body stiffened, protesting the intrusion, and she leaned forward. Away.
His hands tightened on her as he gave a laughing snort. “Sorry, little fluff. I’ll go slower.” He rocked his hips, edging into her slowly, stretching her to his size. Inch by inch, until his thighs were hot on the backs of her legs and his balls bumped her pussy.
As she throbbed around him, she bit her lip, unsure if she was comfortable or not. Mostly not. He was impossibly large.
And his ruthless control unsettled her. Heated her. She glanced over her shoulder. The faint dawn light showed his face was hard, almost…cold.
He met her gaze, then firmly pushed her forehead down on her arms. “Don’t move.” His powerful hands gripped her hips as he slid out and eased in, experimentally. Another slow stroke and ple
asure blossomed inside her again.
“All right, then.” He pulled out…and then slammed into her. At the burst of sensation, her back arched; her head jerked up.
He set his hand on her nape, pushing her down onto her forearms again.
He paused a second as if to be sure she’d stay. His fingers curled around her hips and tightened into an unbreakable grip as he pulled her bottom higher. And then he truly started. Hard stroke after hard stroke, movements changing—pace never relenting.
The primal rhythm wakened nerves, and a spot inside her grew more and more sensitive. With a shiver she clenched around him, needing more.
“You are a never-ending surprise,” he said lightly, and he changed the angle of his cock, driving into that responsive area with short, demanding stokes.
Her insides drew together, like a sun gathering into itself, and…and…the area went nova. Blinding light and heat shot outward, searing and sizzling all the way to her hands and feet, wave after wave with each undulating spasm of her core.
With a rumble of enjoyment, he plunged deep. Over and over he yanked her onto his cock, before he pressed fully in and came in urgent pulses. Even after he finished, he held her immobile, and she could hear his deep, even breathing, as disciplined as everything about him.
She lifted her head.
He pushed her down again. “Stay put for a minute, Abigail.” His voice was husky, lower than normal, a little rough, and he’d said her name…oddly. Slower. As if uncertain he liked the taste of it. Then he sighed and withdrew.
She waited, unsure if she should move. Unsure if she could. Her insides rippled as if still being pounded.
He rose to stand beside the bed. His fingers closed over her nape, his grip unyielding, and a hard slap on her bottom made her yelp at the unexpected pain. “This is for your inability to stay where you were told. Next time you won’t forget.”
A stinging slap landed on her right buttock, then two more. Her skin stung. Burned.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Ow, ow, ow.
“Very good.” The distance was gone from his voice, and a knot in her chest released. His hands caressed her bottom, spreading the pain, easing it. “You have a gorgeous ass, and it holds handprints beautifully.”
Oh, well, how nice for me. Only she couldn’t summon any anger, not under the gentle touch of his hands. “Thank you, sir.”
He lifted her off the bed in a head-spinning move and set her on her feet. “Go shower. The pups are waking up.”
She took a step away, feeling…lost. After being so close to him when she’d come, he’d shoved her facedown as if he didn’t want to look at her, and now he was pushing her away. She rubbed her arms. How could she stand next to someone she’d just made love with and feel lonely?
He said something in French under his breath and pulled her into his arms, surrounding her with warmth and strength and comfort. His long black hair fell forward, curtaining her from the world as he pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you, Abby. I enjoyed being with you. Perhaps more than I expected to.”
The unhappiness eased slightly.
But he didn’t stay.
Chapter Ten
With an exasperated grunt, Xavier laid the pen down on his office desk and walked over to his wall of windows. Fog had rolled in off the ocean, and the normally spectacular view of San Francisco Bay from the Financial District was gray and grim.
He couldn’t see Dark Haven in the South of Market from here. Instead he looked toward the north, where Abby fostered puppies that needed her help. And she’d given it, just as she’d given him anything he asked for.
Shame weighed him down as he thought of how he’d left her so abruptly. Spending the night had been foolish, although he hadn’t had much choice. No Dom abandoned a submissive unable to care for herself.
But to have taken her in her own bed? Idiot. He always insisted a woman come to his house, so when he was gone her home would contain no painful memories to expunge.
Catherine had left her ghost behind in their home. Every room reminded him of the places they’d made love, her laughter at the dining table, her on her knees in the foyer waiting for him to return.
Over the years the phantom images had faded. Now she haunted him only occasionally…during sex. A woman’s features would blur into Catherine’s freckled face, her vibrant red hair, and her blue-green eyes. The occurrences left him guilt-ridden, as if he’d deceived both his wife and the woman in his bed.
Saturday night with Abby had been…different. She had a comfortable personality, giving and intelligent, sweet with a wry sense of humor. Her subconscious response to him was compelling, and in the club, she’d given him one of the prettiest orgasms he’d ever seen. He enjoyed the musky spice of her scent, her husky moans, and her surprise when her body overrode her mind.
He rubbed his chin, remembering her sweetness with the puppies and how she’d put their needs before her own. He not only liked her, but his urgency to bury himself inside her quivering, soft body had been unsettling. Only his wife had tested his control like that—and in taking Abby, needing her, glorying in her, he’d felt as if he betrayed Catherine.
That was foolish, of course. Catherine was dead. Like a blazing meteor, she’d lived her life to the fullest and departed as quickly. She would yell at him for the way he’d dealt with her death.
He shook his head. But I don’t want a replacement. He had no intention of replacing his sun goddess with a moon maiden—he just needed a new slave.
Not someone like Abby. The teacher was a Dark Haven staff member. He owed her his protection and some instruction. Nothing more. And he needed to stay within those boundaries despite the temptation to take her home. If he didn’t, she’d end up hurt in the end. Avoiding her would be better; she’d understand without an explanation.
He should ask Simon to find her some experienced, reputable Doms to play with. Yet the idea of her with someone else was unpalatable. As he watched the fog start to dissolve under the weight of the sun, he knew Abby wasn’t the only one who might be hurt.
Mouth tight, he yanked the curtains shut.
At his desk he frowned at the pile in his in-box and the long list of e-mails displayed on the screen. This hadn’t been a productive Monday morning.
Two e-mails and one letter later, his middle-aged administrative assistant tapped on the door before opening it. “Marilee Thompson is here. Rona Demakis sent her.”
“Yes, Rona warned me.” The hospital administrator said Marilee had escaped from an abusive husband and ended up in Rona’s hospital with internal bleeding. Two children. No skills. No job history. Rona suspected the woman couldn’t read.
“Bring her in, please.”
Short and round, Ms. Thompson might have been pretty if her face hadn’t been puffy and purple-green from bruising. Xavier tamped down his anger and motioned toward the sitting area on the far side of the office. “Ms. Thompson, please have a seat.”
“Mr. Leduc.” Clad in an ugly brown skirt and white shirt, she stood straight, hands trembling. “I…I didn’t realize. I’m sorry to have taken your time.” She turned to leave.
He shook his head. Although comfortable, his office was designed for intimidation. Just another tool for a canny businessman to employ. But meeting her downstairs might have been wise. Too late now. “Marilee, if you leave, Rona will yell at me.” He smiled and saw her relax a fraction. “Please, sit.”
She perched on the edge of a leather chair. Abby’s smallest puppy had shown the same timidity when venturing too far from the pack.
Xavier sat on the couch, stretching his legs out. See, I won’t attack. “I admire your courage in leaving your husband and coming all the way here from the Midwest.”
She stared at her hands.
“My mother was in a similar situation. She ran to San Francisco from New Orleans.”
That brought her head up. Her eyes were dark brown, the color of his mother
’s. “And she took you along?”
“Not exactly.”
“She left you with him?” Marilee frowned.
“No, she wouldn’t have done that. I was at a European school and didn’t even know she’d left.” When she’d missed her weekly calls, Xavier had called home. His father had been incoherent with rage—and alcohol. Xavier’s lips tightened. He hadn’t known his father had turned abusive, but the neighbor had described his mother’s condition when she ran. “I stowed away on a boat, worked my way across the ocean, then hitchhiked to San Francisco.”
“My goodness. How old were you?”
“I turned seventeen two days after I arrived. I was certain I could help her.” Xavier gave her a rueful look. “Instead I was one more burden.”
“You poor baby.” Her compassionate expression showed she no longer saw him as intimidating but as a child like one of her own.
Softhearted women pulled at him every time.
“My mother deserves the sympathy. She had no marketable skills and ended up holding down three jobs.” She’d insisted he finish school, which meant he could only work part-time. Food wasn’t plentiful; clothes were secondhand, treats nonexistent. Then his father had died, leaving everything to Xavier. At least he’d had a few years to pamper his mother before she died. “But she never gave up.”
Marilee’s spine stiffened in an obvious sign that she wouldn’t quit either.
“Rona said she found you somewhere to stay while you heal. Meantime, we’ll concentrate on finding you a job.”
“Once the doctor gives the okay, I can clean. Bus tables. Do yard work.”
No heavy physical work for a while, Rona had said. But light labor usually required reading. “Marilee, I need you to be honest with me. How much can you read? Do you know your letters? Can you sound out words at all—or do you memorize them?”
Her head went back down, her hands clenched.
He waited patiently. As a Dom he’d learned that silence often extracted more answers than persuasion.
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