by Qwillia Rain
“When did you have yours done?” she asked.
“The day after I met you,” Mike responded.
The muscles in her throat contracted as she swallowed. Her fingers slid over his, then upward, along the pulsing shaft, as if she was fascinated with the intricate shading delineating each of the scales visible beneath the thin latex. “Did this hurt?”
The condom covering him muted the cool touch of her fingers, but it was still enough to get his flesh to react. With a mind of its own, his cock pressed closer to her. “Like a son of a bitch.” He chuckled and closed his hand over hers, lifting her hold away and guiding her palm up to her mouth. “Lick it, baby. Get it nice and wet.”
He watched heat flush her cheeks and her breathing speed up. The pretty rose crowns on her breasts grew hard as her tongue peeked out and lapped at her palm. Their gazes locked, and he shifted lower, nudging her thighs open wider, spreading the plump lips apart, and lowering his shaft into the wet crease.
She was hot and ready to take him in. But not yet. The sensitive knot hidden away beneath its hood responded as he rocked his body forward and back, rubbing his length against her, coating the rubber with her juices to ease the slide of her hand once she wrapped it around him again.
Mike let her see the pleasure he felt when he lowered her damp palm and rolled her fingers around his wet cock. He pressed down, squeezing her hand under his, showing her the pressure he preferred. The firm hold sent fire tingling along his spine. A vice twisted around his balls as he urged her hand to stroke him from base to tip, then back again. “It hurt like a son of a bitch,” he repeated, enjoying the sexy hurt her hand supplied.
“Why?”
“Because the cock is a very sensitive place on a guy, and I needed to be hard for the artist to ink it.” He released her hand to adjust one of her thighs higher against his hip, opening her more to his attentions.
Lyssa laughed and squeezed just a bit harder. Mike grunted and dipped his head to nip a berry-hard peak.
Lyssa jumped, and her fingers clenched over the tip of his cock. The fingers of her free hand threaded through his hair, holding his mouth close to breast. She groaned before asking her next question. “No, I meant why get a tattoo on your penis?”
He shrugged, tugging at her nipple before releasing it with a soft pop. “I’m not sure. Arrogance of youth, I guess.”
“I don’t buy it.” She shook her head and stroked his hard length.
Mike tilted his head to watch her hand on his flesh. The soft cream of her arousal dampened her pussy and thighs. “To prove you wrong.”
“Wrong?” Her touch faltered, and she released his erection.
Not allowing her time to pull away, Mike thrust inside her. She gasped, arching against him, her fingers tugging at his hair as she stared up at him.
“When I asked you to go celebrate with me and you asked me for my ID, I dealt with your rejection the only way I could. I went off to find the most macho thing possible to prove I was a real man.”
Breathless, her body squeezing him tight as he pulled out then pushed back inside, Lyssa gasped. “A-And getting a dragon tail ta-tattooed on your dick was it?” Her fingers clutched at his shoulders as he moved over her, hips rocking forward and back, measuring his full length inside in firm, aggressive thrusts.
“Up until she started working on the tat, I was actually thinking of getting a barbell piercing as well.” Mike shifted, lowering his chest onto hers, forcing her deep into the bedding. He braced his arms under her hips, pushing her thighs wide, opening her completely. He kept his pace hard and fast. “That’s it, babe; rise up,” he encouraged.
“I’m never going to be able to walk if you keep this up,” Lyssa moaned, but her body’s response revealed how much she enjoyed his loving. Her fingers released his hair to slide over his shoulders. Both hands scratched and pulled at him, urging him on.
When he stopped, she cried out. “I’m not complaining.”
Mike laughed. He knew what she needed, what her body needed, even if Lyssa was being stubborn about it and trying to ignore what was between them. He worked hard to keep the need from his voice as he asked, “So why’d you get your tat?”
Lyssa arched against him, her thighs tight around his hips. It seemed to take her a while to gather her thoughts, but he kept his hips moving, this time slow and steady.
“Your tattoo, baby. Tell me why you got it,” he whispered, his mouth against her throat, teeth nipping at her earlobe.
“I got it—oh God, deeper, please—I got it when I celebrated having been in business for ten years.” Lyssa hummed deep in her throat as he picked up his pace.
Her blue eyes glinted with humor, acknowledging how similar their reasoning for gaining their body art was. “Just had to get yourself some proof you weren’t a kid, huh?” he teased.
Lyssa grumbled, her expression a mixture of arousal and exasperation. “I guess.” She smiled and tugged his head down toward hers. “At least I stopped at exposing myself to the tattoo artist.”
Mike matched her grin. “Prude.” His mouth whispered over hers. “The lady who worked on me was very impressed at my…stamina.”
The flash of emotion in her gaze could have been disgust or jealousy. Mike chose jealousy, and satisfaction coiled around his heart at this hint of possessiveness in his woman. It was hell on his pride to think his woman refused to admit to even a fraction of what he felt for her. Beyond the heat generated by the sexual attraction between them, it was difficult to accept Lyssa’s determination not to trust that his declarations of love for her could be permanent.
He’d have to break her habit of trying to maintain control, like Mattie suggested.
“I have to a…admit”—Lyssa gasped, her gaze meeting his as he pulled her closer—“your stamina has me a bit breathless.”
Mike remained straight-faced. Holding her gaze, he asked, “Remember rule number three?”
Lyssa tensed, her eyes squeezing shut as she dropped her head back against the pillow. “I-I remember.”
Mike nipped her throat with his teeth, tugging on the bit of skin, leaving a telltale mark for anyone to notice. “Good.”
Her head ground into the pillow as a tremor vibrated through her body.
“Don’t come,” he ordered, pushing her thighs toward her chest, leaving her vulnerable to him.
Her body already recognized him as her master; her heart trusted his direction without question. It was her mind he needed to teach to let go. The agreement for thirty days of submission should be sufficient to prove to her he wouldn’t abandon her again. That she was as necessary to him as the air he breathed.
Her breasts were crushed against his chest. He freed one hand and tilted her face up to his. “Wait for it.”
Lyssa groaned. Her eyes closed, but a soft tap from his fingertips against her cheek opened them again.
Their gazes locked, and he watched her pupils dilate as climax rose within her. “Wait, pet.”
“Please.”
He could see her anger at herself as the plea escaped her. The blue of her irises was a pale ring around the dark centers. Against her lips, he whispered, “Come for me, Lys. Let me feel how wet I make you and how much you enjoy having me inside you.”
Her gasps wafted over his face. The choked-off cries hitched and blended into a soft wail of satisfaction as her sheath clenched around him, holding him inside, milking his body until there was nothing left.
He held her close, keeping their bodies joined as their breathing slowed and their eyes drifted shut. A few minutes, Mike promised himself, just a few more minutes to hold on before the next skirmish for control began.
* * *
After a shower, with Mike applying the sponge and soap, followed by a quick drying off, Lyssa pulled on a plush robe while Mike tugged on the jeans and T-shirt he’d shed earlier. Lyssa tried to tamp down the excitement she felt at having Mike in her home. She needed to keep her head. Isolate the sex from emotions. That was the only way
she could protect herself.
“So when can I expect my next lesson?”
Mike stepped close and moved her hands from the robe’s belt. “That wasn’t a lesson, pet.” The smile on his lips should have warned her that keeping her covered wasn’t on his mind. The front of the robe parted, allowing him access to her shower-warmed skin. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he tugged her close, lowered his head, and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. “Do you remember the rules?”
She grimaced and rolled her eyes. Allowing one hand to rise and tangle in the thick hair at the back of his head, Lyssa held the other hand up and lifted the forefinger. “Rule number one: no other men.” The still-tender skin on her butt throbbed.
One of Mike’s hands stroked down her back, then rubbed across her bare bottom. “Hmm, only one reminder was required for that rule. Good.”
Lyssa made a face at him but refrained from comment and raised another finger. “Rule number two: you tell me when I’ve had enough.”
“You certainly enjoyed that rule, pet.” His mouth covered hers for a long, tongue-tangling kiss. The hand on her ass pulled her close, rubbing the firm rise of his jean-covered cock against her bare belly.
Over the next thirty days, this man would twist and tug and wrap her body into knots she knew she’d never get undone. And she’d love every second of it. Hell, the way her body pulsed now, with the internal muscles contracting and relaxing in time with the rock of his hips, she figured she’d be begging for more in no time.
But he wasn’t part of her future. She needed to stay focused on her plans, not the silly flights of fancy about happily ever after that kept popping into her head. The second his lips released hers, Lyssa drew a long, fortifying breath. She was going to need all the strength she could muster to keep from succumbing to his magnetism.
Lyssa put up a third finger beside the first two as she steadied her voice and enumerated the last rule. “Rule number three: everything belongs to you.” And it did, but she’d never let him know that.
“Very good, Lys. And what is our safe word?”
Lyssa smirked. “Worm?”
The hand on her buttocks lifted, then landed with a sharp smack. The sting set her juices flowing between her thighs. She sank her bottom teeth into her top lip to stifle her moan of arousal, but Mike sensed it.
He warned her, “Don’t think that sweet pussy of yours is going to distract me again, Miss Lawrence.” His mouth settled over hers, silencing any argument. When he released her, he demanded, “Now, the safe word?”
“Dragon.”
His lips bussed hers as his hands slid away. The rub of soft fabric against her aching breasts and the tug of something around her waist induced her to open her eyes and look down. Mike deftly retied the belt at her waist and straightened the lapels of her robe. He pressed one last kiss to her lips before pulling away. Her unease stirred the moment she saw the look in his eyes.
“Tell me what you expect from me, Lyssa.”
“Nothing.” The response slipped free before she realized the word had formed in her mind.
An expression she couldn’t name flickered across his face before disappearing. The curve of his lips compressed, and his eyes squeezed shut. Mike drew a deep breath, then expelled it. “Why?”
That was more difficult to answer. Not that she didn’t have a ready reply. She did. It just wasn’t her reply. “Worthless. Useless. Should never have been born.” Venomous insults and snarled words whispered through her mind. Internally she winced at the memories but refrained from repeating them aloud. Better to pretend ignorance than make Mike aware of faults he’d soon discover on his own. It was for her own good. Shrugging, she told him, “It’s only thirty days, Mike, not the rest of our lives.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong, love.” Mike moved closer; his fingertips caressed her cheek as he tilted her face up to his. “The next thirty days are for you to learn the freedom in submitting to me. But after they’re up, I’m not leaving.”
Lyssa stumbled backward, retreating from his hold. “No, you said—”
“I said I wouldn’t touch you if you could say you didn’t love me after our thirty days are over. And I won’t. But nothing you say or do will make me leave you.”
Her heart thundered in her chest as he lifted her left hand. “You’re making a mistake,” she told him, desperate to quash the anticipation that stirred to life as he carefully wound a pale gold string around the base of her ring finger.
The warning was useless. He’d never believe her. He never had in the past.
A sigh escaped her as he leaned forward. She squished her eyes shut, and Lyssa forgot to breathe as Mike’s lips settled, butterfly soft against hers and he whispered, “I promise I’ll never leave you, baby. I love you.” His lips left hers and pressed against the decoration he’d placed on her hand. “Not quite right,” he muttered.
She blinked against the burn of tears as she opened her eyes and found him contemplating the thread on her finger as if debating something. “What isn’t right?” she asked, confused and terrified at the same time that he’d finally decided to listen to reason.
“The color.” He tapped the gold string. “You’re going to have to have more than just a plain gold band when we get married. Doesn’t offer much of a warning to other men that you’re taken.”
Lyssa’s gaze dropped to the simple length of thread wrapped around her finger. The gold was slightly darker than the light tan she’d developed over the summer. She tried to ignore the inner voice that disagreed with Mike. A plain gold band would be sufficient since there wasn’t another man she’d ever want except him.
She shook off the desire to plunge headlong into the fantasy of marriage, but she couldn’t bring herself to remove the bit of cotton. Instead she curled her hand into a fist, trapping the thread in place. Temporary as it might be, she’d take what she could before Mike left her for good.
Chapter Seven
Lyssa planted her hands on her hips and wrinkled her nose in frustration. The outfits spread across her bed ranged from a formfitting cocktail dress to casual slacks and silk tunics. Never in her life had she been in such a dither over what to wear for a man. Mike hadn’t confirmed when he would arrive, but she knew he would come with luggage in tow.
When he’d rolled out of her bed this morning—and left her limp as a damp washrag sprawled across her sheets—with a promise to call, Lyssa figured there would be a phone call. One. Singular. Instead she’d gotten one every hour or so. Some were done to ask questions about items he was thinking of bringing over, while others were simply Mike calling to tell her three simple words: “I love you.”
Her body ached, and her panties grew wet at the thought of him strolling through her door again. Thirty days as his lover, playing the submissive opposite his dominant, was sure to satisfy the strongest of her desire for him. After the thirty days, she’d have to tread carefully around the man. She stuffed her hand in her pocket as soon as she realized she’d begun rubbing the spot where Mike had twined string in a makeshift ring the night before.
Never mind that she’d tucked the thread ring into the keepsake box on her nightstand. Fantasies of spending the rest of her life with him were one thing. Reality was something completely different. No one stayed with her, she reminded herself. Not even Mike. It was inevitable that he would leave again. And when he did, she’d have to start working on the family she wanted to fill the hole his leaving would create.
Wiping her damp palms down her jean-clad thighs, Lyssa chewed on her bottom lip and scanned the clothes covering the bed. Sex with Mike was one thing she knew she did well. She’d use these next thirty days to store up memories for all the years when she’d be without him. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. Here she was craving the role of the submissive when everything in her had to assume the role of dominant in order to protect her heart from the pain she knew was likely.
“Life is such a bitch,” she grumbled. She started to reach for
the peach raw silk tunic with mandarin collar and matching wide-legged trousers when the doorbell rang.
Cursing at the lost opportunity to impress him when she greeted him, Lyssa hurried down the hall and opened the front door. The sight of Ben and Vance on the porch, a grocery bag of food in Ben’s arms and a six-pack of beer in Vance’s, made Lyssa recall what day of the week it was—Taco Saturday.
“Did you tell him?” Ben asked.
Lyssa leaned against the door and glared up at her friend. “Good afternoon to you too, Ben,” she grumbled. Leaving the door open behind her, she headed into the kitchen to begin the preparations for the Saturday taco lunch she always shared with her neighbors. Both men followed her, closing the door behind them.
“Ben’s in a bit of a pissy mood, love.” Vance squeezed her shoulders in a one-armed hug before pulling open the refrigerator and setting the beer he’d brought on the shelf inside.
“I am not in a pissy mood,” Ben denied.
As she tried to move past him, Ben stopped her. Hips resting against the counter, he held her still in front of him and watched her closely. Lyssa squirmed beneath his gaze.
“Did you tell him?” Ben asked again.
“Tell him what?” Lyssa knew it was silly to try to play dumb, but rehashing this same argument held little interest for her. Not with Mike likely to arrive any minute.
“About losing the baby.”
Ben allowed her to shift out of his hold as she moved to the refrigerator to gather the ingredients for lunch. “Why would he care about that, Ben?”
“Because it was his.” Vance answered her question, drawing Lyssa’s gaze as she moved toward the stove.
“What—How—” she stammered.
Vance settled his hands onto her shoulders. “Ben told me what happened. It makes perfect sense that the baby you lost four years ago was Mike’s, considering he’s the only man you’ve been involved with in years.”
