Their Discovery (Legally Bound Book 3)

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  He looked down. Another button came undone. “Like what?”

  Sam flattened her hand on his chest and shoved him backward. Brady could’ve easily overpowered her—he had eleven inches on her and over a hundred pounds—but he gave no resistance, grunting when his back collided with the wall. Sam put a finger over his mouth.

  “Quiet,” she said. “I like you quiet.”

  His eyes damn near rolled back in his head.

  He wanted to touch her, but the fierceness in her expression kept him exactly where he was. Sam reached for his coat collar, tugged off the sleeves until his arms were free. She dropped it on the floor, and Brady nearly made a crack about it belonging in the coat closet but cut himself off in time. The wrong word could snap this in two like a twig under his boot. Sliding one jean-clad leg between his, she clasped his hands and drew his wrists upward until she’d captured them above his head.

  “Kiss me,” she ordered.

  He leaned in, and suddenly it felt brand new between them again. Like their first kiss in a dorm hallway, like they were both young and uncertain, exhaling shaky breaths until he closed the distance between them and his mouth crashed against hers.

  He kissed her like she liked to be kissed, the way he’d somehow memorized back in the day. Open mouth. Lower lip searing over hers. Hot. Messy. Like they were trying to consume one another. He danced his tongue out to meet hers, and a charge went through him when she quickly took the lead. Her teeth drove over his bottom lip in a sharp bite, everything going fast and aggressive. She released his hands and drove hers into his hair, gripping madly. His body bucked off the wall when her hips met his.

  How long had it been since she kissed him like this? Years, probably. But this kiss was different.

  He wasn’t sure she’d ever kissed him like this.

  She broke off and looked at him, eyes blazing. “I love that you kept your hands above your head.”

  “You didn’t tell me to move them.”

  She hummed, a noise of approval that practically vibrated through him. Her hands fell to his chest again, blunt thumbnails rasping over his nipples, which were surprisingly tender beneath his shirt. “What an obedient little pet you are.”

  Brady grunted again. His hips arched toward hers.

  “You like that?” she asked.

  He nodded, and Sam smiled wildly. He was sure some kind of horrible joy rushed through her at the flash of heat on his cheeks.

  “Well then, let’s treat you like a proper little puppy.” She stepped several paces back. His body ached at the space she’d put between them until she crooked a finger and said, “Come.”

  Brady didn’t waste time moving over to her. Sam turned around, and he remained a step behind her as she walked up the stairs. He didn’t mind—the view was spectacular. Her ass in those jeans, the magnificent roll of her shoulders as her jacket came off, hooked on the banister on the landing.

  When they crossed the threshold of the bedroom, Sam flicked on a lamp and turned to face him. Brady remained immobile, waiting for her command.

  “Shirt off,” she said.

  He did as he was told, removing his button-down. He grasped the tee he had on beneath it, but Sam put a hand up to stop him.

  “Did I tell you to take off both of them?”

  He froze. “No, ma’am.”

  “Hmm,” she said, but it wasn’t that pleased little noise that made his skin buzz. “I don’t think I like that name. But for now—” She made a fist in the tee he’d layered beneath his shirt. “Arms up.”

  Brady raised his arms until they were once again above his head. She pulled his shirt up, ruffling his hair as it came off.

  “I like you quiet and messy,” she said. “Pants off next. Boxers and socks, too.”

  He scrambled to do her bidding, shoving them off and kicking everything to the side. He hadn’t been naked in front of her in a while, but any self-consciousness he might’ve had evaporated when she ran a finger along his chest.

  “So pretty,” she murmured.

  Brady blushed and beamed. It was the Sam he remembered from college, approving and accepting, like some goddess allowing him into her service. She ran a palm up one of his thighs, over his belly and down the other leg. His dick twitched at the nearness of her touch, greedy and pulsing. His balls ached. How long was she going to keep him like this?

  “Your legs are like tree trunks, pet,” she said. “I want to climb them. I want to ride your powerful, beautiful body like a Ferris wheel until I’ve wrung every last shaking drop of pleasure from the both of us.”

  Oh, Jesus. It wasn’t just the promise of what she was offering—it was hearing that nickname again.

  Pet.

  Being called that so easily by her was too intimate. Too terrifying. It implied safety and vulnerability and being taken care of, and he wasn’t sure he was safe here yet. Safety meant honesty. Openness. And they hadn’t discussed a thing. Not that talking was his top priority right now, but still. How had she known he wanted this? If she knew, why hadn’t she said anything?

  How long had she kept this part of herself secret from him, too?

  “What?” she asked, pulling her hand back.

  Brady didn’t know what she’d seen in his eyes, but it meant she’d stopped touching him.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  He was breathing too fast to think anyway. He was shaking now, this crazy need to kneel no matter what it did to his knee pulsing through him. He wanted to serve her. To close his eyes and let her command him.

  His thoughts derailed even further when she stepped toward the bed.

  “Stay,” she said. “Watch.”

  He did, eyes glued to her as the top came off. Her bra next. She undid the straps on those pointy heels, slipped them off and shimmied her jeans down her waist. She shed her panties, and then he saw it.

  “When did you do…that?”

  Sam stroked a finger over the landing strip of soft, downy red. “Today.”

  Brady stared. He’d never minded the hair, just like he’d never minded her heavy or in the mornings without makeup. Sam in her natural state, in a way no one but him ever saw her, was what he liked, but this was another sign that she’d planned for tonight. He wanted her to know how happy that made him.

  He was also curious as fuck to know how smooth she felt.

  “Like what you see?” she asked.

  He nodded. Sam sank to the bed and spread her legs. “Then come here and touch.”

  Brady staggered a few steps forward, ignoring the incessant pulse between his legs. He kept one hand clenched in a fist while reaching the other toward his wife’s body. The fist was necessary. He was sure once he touched her, once her bare thigh grazed his, nothing would stop him from grabbing his dick. But when he traced a fingertip along her silky skin, Sam hissed in a breath, and Brady forgot everything except her pleasure.

  “Feel different?” he asked.

  Her mouth opened, then she smiled. “Feels more…intense.”

  Well that was a fucking win. He drifted his touch, feather soft, on the outside of her lips until her head fell back and she winged her legs wider. Her clit peeked out, pink and wet. Brady grazed it with his pointer finger and paused when she jumped.

  “May I?” he asked.

  She hadn’t given him permission, but then again, she never had before. He didn’t know the rules here, didn’t know how to play this new game. Sam gazed up at him, not at all less dominant because she was sitting while he stood. He was her slave, always had been, and she knew it now, knew it in ways that flipped their world upside down. Right now though, he wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t her equal.

  He was her submissive. Her pet.

  “Do you remember what I like?” she asked.

  Oh, Brady remembered. He remembered she was more sensitive on her right than her left, remembered that she liked to be pounded after she came, liked harder and more to ride out the pulses until the sheets got soaking wet. “I do.”<
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  “Then you may get a condom.”

  Disappointment and excitement crashed together. He wasn’t sure if she wasn’t letting him touch her because she didn’t want him to, or if she was as close to the edge as he was and needed to wait.

  Wrenching a nightstand drawer open and digging his hand under the layers of pajamas and underwear he’d hid the box under, Brady pulled out a foil package. He didn’t mind using one. They’d used condoms and the pill for a while, and as worked up as he was, the barrier would help him not be a two-pump chump. But he had half a mind to check the expiration date on the damn thing.

  “They’re still good,” Sam said. “I looked.”

  Brady nodded quickly, ripped it open and sheathed himself. He didn’t know how far they were taking this, didn’t know if they were ever going to talk about safewords or limits or any of the things he’d read about online, but Brady chose to rely on seventeen years of history with Sam and trust her.

  He was safe here, with her.

  She stood, came over to him and caressed his tip through the extra space in the rubber. That smile of hers returned when he shuddered.

  “Excited?” she asked.

  Did she need to ask? “Out of my mind.” If she didn’t let him inside her soon, he was going to die.

  “On the bed,” she said. “Face up.”

  He collapsed backward onto it, clumsy in his eagerness and giant size. The mattress bounced and Sam sniggered and shook her head. Something about her laugh was a sharp contrast to the lust flooding through him. He liked it, though, liked her contempt in a way that made him feel small instead of the colossal beast he was.

  Sam climbed on top and bracketed his chest with her palms. It took every damn ounce of willpower he had not to thrust up when she lowered herself onto him. So hot. So tight. It was all Brady could do to palm her hips and hold on. She pulled him in deeper, then winced and held still.

  “You okay?” he gritted out.

  She bent her head and laughed, a sound that was more frustration than anything else. “I forgot how big you get.”

  He had to smile. But this wasn’t a moment for his ego. It had been too long, and her body needed to acclimate. “Here.” He shifted his body down slightly, changing the angle. “Better?”

  Sam nodded and closed her eyes. Her ponytail slipped over her shoulder, the ends tickling his chest as she moved again. Slower now, she let him ease inside, waiting until he was fully seated before opening her eyes.

  “Much better,” she said, eyelids heavy.

  It was the drowsy, full look he remembered being shocked by when she’d asked him once to hold still and let her feel. Her hands drifted up to his neck, and then she was kissing him, tongue seeking and teasing. Brady lifted his head off the pillow to catch more of her kiss, but she pulled away, rasping her open lips over his.

  “Such a good boy,” she whispered.

  “God, S—” He wanted to say Sammy, but the name didn’t feel right now. She wasn’t his Sam, not here, not like this. “So good.”

  “Mmmm,” she hummed softly, then rolled her hips, and Brady’s pleasure spiked. She repeated the motion, making a circle he felt every inch of. His torso jerked involuntarily. “That good, too?”

  “Fuck, yes.” His words were a hoarse whisper.

  “What about it?”

  She rolled on the upstroke again and his hands lifted sharply. Christ, had that been something she’d read in a book? Because if so, he was sorry he’d hated on them. “All of it.”

  She laughed and did it again, swiveling faster, and Brady gasped, his release dangerously close.

  “Poor thing,” she said. “So close to the edge you can’t stand it. I feel you shaking.”

  He flinched, needing to look away because those words struck at him in that uncomfortable, powerful way, but she wouldn’t let him. Two hands on his neck, she dragged his gaze back to hers. Bending forward, she brought her sweaty cheek to his, talking in his ear.

  “So sad. So close. You want it so badly. You’re gonna lose it any second now, aren’t you? I can tell.”

  Her words were singsong, teasing, delicious and cruel. Brady had to pinch his eyes shut. He was smiling and he wasn’t. He liked it and he didn’t. She rocked her hips harder, and he squirmed beneath her, loving this and hating this and God, she was going to make him come.

  “Please stop,” he begged. “I can’t…”

  “Please stop what?” Her words were sharp. She swiveled again. “Stop this?”

  “No…shit…I—”

  “You don’t want me to stop. You want to come. You want to feel it happen.”

  She had to stop talking. If he had a shot in hell of pleasing her, she. Had. To. Stop.

  “Say it, pet. Say you want to come.”

  “I wanna come,” he moaned. He sounded pathetic. Pushed to a place deep in his head. In his body, deep in the pleasure. And he was about to blow.

  “No,” she snapped. Brady’s eyes flew open. “Don’t you dare come. Watch me first.”

  But it was too late. His body took over, his senses obliterated by the sudden crush of his release. His orgasm tore through him, and Brady gripped the sheets as his eyes slammed closed. He turned his face to the side, cutting himself off from her even as their bodies were still joined, because it was the only way he could withstand the mortification.

  Sam’s hands were on his chest when he recovered. Brady couldn’t meet her eyes, but looked between their bodies instead, one palm at her thigh, urging her up. She swung a leg around, moving off him. Thank God. The condom was full, and the last thing they needed was two years’ worth of pent-up jizz breaking it open, birth control pills or not. He tied it off and threw it in the trash, but kept his back to her, not sure what to do next.

  It took a few moments, but she finally spoke first.

  “Did you like that?” Sam asked quietly. “Me taking control?”

  His throat went dry. “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I think so.”

  Her voice was soft. Curious and forgiving. Relief poured through him, but he hadn’t done what she’d asked. He’d come when she’d instructed him not to, when she should’ve gone first. He turned around to find her on her side, nipples tight, looking like a calendar model, his own personal porn star.

  “Let me,” he said shakily. “Let me please you.”

  Sam didn’t say a word. She simply shifted onto her back, and the look on her face was something that hovered on amazement.

  He hadn’t done anything to deserve that look yet. He needed her praise, but first he needed the euphoria of making her come. To prove he could still rock her damn world.

  He lumbered over her, shimmied between her thighs. Nuzzling her slippery, nearly bare skin, he kissed, then parted her flesh with his thumbs. One glancing touch over her clit, and her body jerked. He did it again. And again. He wasn’t teasing her. She’d taught him one steamy night years ago that she liked to wait, that she held herself off sometimes for hours to give herself a more powerful release.

  He did it two more times, then stopped, knowing she liked that agony. She lifted her head and growled. Actually fucking growled.

  “You do still know what I like,” she said.

  He did. He bent his head and licked, first lightly, then more firmly, then buried his nose against her. His first purposeful suck had one of her hands slamming against the blanket while the other found a home in his hair. Brady kept at it, pouring out his apology and adoration with the movements of his lips and tongue. Good Lord, he remembered her taste, remembered getting drunk on it in college. Who needed a keg when he could get inebriated off Sam? Brady flicked his tongue endlessly until he found what he was looking for.

  “There—right there—Jesus, yes.”

  Yeah, he still knew all her spots, even if she hadn’t let him near them in a while.

  He banished the thought when her thighs began to shake. He placed one palm on her lower belly, used the other to slide two fingers inside. She was
scorching hot, so sloppy wet he was hard again in an instant, but there was nothing else, no thought other than Sam’s collision with release.

  It was always violent when she came, a goddamn firestorm of gasps and shudders and her back arching off the bed. Her belly tensed beneath his palm, she squeezed his fingers and her clit pulsed against his tongue, then she cried out and thrashed so much he had to go up on his elbows to stay with her. He eased off with his mouth, then fucked her harder with his fingers, pounding as her clutch in his hair grew sharp enough to hurt. She wasn’t going to come a second time—this was more a way to bring her down when she was flying too high—and he grinned as she drenched his hand before she sagged against the bed, spent.

  She let go, exhaling into a smile as she scratched the top of his head. Brady glowed with pride in having served her.

  There was so much to say. So much to talk about.

  “Did—”

  “Did—”

  They both said it at the same time. Brady laughed. “You go first,” he said, wanting the Did you like that as much as I did? to come from her.

  “Did you reach any of the sitters yet?” she asked.

  He froze. They were still naked. Still breathing hard, and that’s what she was asking?

  “I’m sorry. I forgot.” He’d lost track of the task over the last few days, too absorbed in what was going on between them.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Sam replied quickly. “Wrong thing to say. It’s just…on my mind.”

  That helped ease the sting, but he hated the sudden fallout. Without warning, they were back to them again. No longer a glorious Domme and her pet. They were back to Brady and Sam, Mom and Dad. Back to the husband who was disappointing his wife.

  She stroked his head, fingers gentle. “I liked tonight.”

  Her words were as soft as her touch. He settled against her, head relaxing on her warm belly. “Me, too.”

  She kept petting him, and that was something, at least. Brady sank into the sensation and let his eyes drift closed. He wasn’t satisfying her out of the bedroom, but if he could do it here, maybe it would be enough to save them.