Their Discovery (Legally Bound Book 3)

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  The shock of her tongue along his back door was electric.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  His head fell back, and he made fists out of the sheets. A small, teasing circle followed, her lick gentle yet confident. Brady could feel his pulse in his dick.

  “You want me here?” she murmured. “You want me to play with your ass?”

  He slammed his eyes shut, his jaw ground tight. “Yes.”

  She began a rhythm, little laps that blew his goddamn mind. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t ready for that yet, but he wasn’t sure it was the truth. And whatever his brain was saying was demolished by the pleasure she was bringing him anyway. The power she had over him when they were like this was unreal.

  She reached up, stroked him, drove her tongue inside, and the combination was too much.

  “Oh fuck, stop,” he said on a gasp.

  “Mm-mmm.” The sound of her no came out against his heated flesh.

  Shit. Stop wasn’t what hit the damn pause button on this, and that teasing reminder from her was gasoline to the fire. She was poking at that raw spot inside him, showing him how helpless he was, and how much he liked it.

  She stroked faster. Tongued harder. What was his fucking safeword?

  “Kafka. Bug.” He twisted around, too close, too close, too damn close. “Metamorphosis!”

  That stopped her. She pulled back with an amused smile. Brady’s heart pounded, and his dick twitched. She’d worked him up, checked his control, and he’d passed the test. She was beautiful, smirking at his pitiless desperation and Brady tried to catch his breath as he gazed up at her. She’d edged him to that uncomfortable place, gotten him helpless and humiliated, and he’d liked it. He’d been flat on his back with his wife’s tongue up his ass and he wanted more, wanted her mimicking his crazed hunger and reflecting it back at him.

  How could feeling so messed up feel so perfect?

  “I’ve missed this,” she said. “You looking at me like that.”

  “I never stopped.”

  The mockery in her expression melted away. Now she was looking at him the way he’d missed—eyes soft, smile gentle. The way she’d looked when she’d agreed to go out with him, when he’d asked her to marry him, when she’d said, “I do.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For telling me what you wanted.”

  He wanted so much more than that. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but he was already too exposed. No matter how dirty they’d been together, she hadn’t said it, and him saying it first meant the risk of getting shot down, of her not saying it back.

  He used his boxers to clean himself off, grabbed some new ones and climbed with Sam beneath the covers. She shut off the light, and they cuddled for the first time in forever.

  “The toys will be here on Saturday,” she told him, head nestled on his chest.

  Three days until they were like this again.

  Three days to get his head on straight.

  “I can’t wait.”

  14

  Friday arrived swiftly. Sam should’ve been exhausted after her first full week of work, at least two nights snuggling with Allegra when she couldn’t sleep, never getting to the gym and the awful, frigid weather, but instead she was energized, giddy like a kid on Christmas.

  “Your package is on the way!” her email notification had read that morning.

  “You’re damn straight it is.”

  Sam laughed at her own joke. She’d been tracking the toy delivery online, scheming and preparing. She’d created a list of errands Brady would need to run on Saturday, and the girls were scheduled for separate sleepover dates. She’d needed to plan with Allegra, and the mom-guilt had hit hard. Sam compensated for the fact that she was sending her children away for a second weekend in a row by ordering whatever they wanted for dinner and having a Disney movie marathon.

  Brady kept his distance while they watched, silent on the other end of the couch. He’d hidden in the basement after the movies ended, too, saying he had to work. His distance could’ve been from the continued orgasm denial, but it was more likely because of the fight they’d had last night.

  She winced, hating the memory of Brady’s crestfallen expression. But seriously, was it that hard to remember to put the girls’ homework folders in their bags? Allegra was old enough that she should’ve remembered it herself, but sticking to routines was part of her problem, and Hope had just started having homework. She couldn’t be responsible for remembering to pack it, a thing Sam had reminded Brady of. She’d even told him again the night before how she prepped the girls’ bags. It hadn’t helped. He’d remembered Allegra’s snacks, but neither of their homework folders, and it had landed Allegra in a lunch with no recess and made Hope even more silent than usual.

  He hadn’t replaced Sam’s hairbrush, either.

  It was so frustrating to have to tell him what to do, but he’d looked like a puppy who’d been kicked when she yelled, which of course made her feel even worse. Was Domme-guilt a thing, too? Where did these lines cross? How did people who did this know when to turn it on and off, how to come back when they’d hit one end of the spectrum and wanted to return? She enjoyed bossing him around in bed, but when they were outside it, he still lagged behind. All she wanted was for him to share the load at home without her having to remind him about stuff all the time.

  Maybe there was no line. Maybe she had to spell everything out. If that’s what he needed, then wasn’t it her job to provide that for him? He didn’t want to let her down—she knew that. And she didn’t want to be unkind in response. When he brushed her hair the other night, she’d seen Brady’s worshipful side, and it had been lovely and sweet and intoxicating. She needed to be careful with him, but how could she do that twenty-four seven? How did anyone in a BDSM relationship balance this?

  It was what she’d wondered about when she’d found not one but two new brushes waiting for her in the bathroom this afternoon. She’d thought about calling Lilly or Cassie again, then decided against it once and for all. Neither of them was in the same role she was, and besides, Brady didn’t want anyone to know. She’d thought about going online for answers, but she wasn’t sure what kind of weirdness she’d find there.

  “Hey Google,” she said out loud just for fun to her empty bedroom after putting the girls to bed, “explain BDSM.”

  No, the only answers she could find were in her books.

  She shut herself up in the bath with her iPad. Tabbing through highlighted sections, she reread scenes of the Dominant staying in control, taking their pleasure but creating a scene that was wholly for the submissive, and afterward, moments with characters lying in bed and opening up to one another as they shared their deepest secrets.

  That was nerve-racking. Sam’s biggest secret was that she’d kissed a girl, that she’d almost had a threesome once, but there was no reason to tell Brady that now.

  What kinds of secrets could Brady be keeping?

  She’d thought they’d known each other, but it turned out they didn’t at all. They’d discovered this new world together, uncovered desires he’d hidden and she’d never known she had. It didn’t feel like a betrayal though. It felt like she was finally getting to know her husband. They hadn’t talked a lot, but sex broke the walls they’d both had up and let them be closer to each other.

  No matter what Brady had forgotten in terms of the girls, he had done what she’d asked. He’d watched his language, and for that, he was going to be rewarded.

  She just needed to make sure she knew what to do with the damn thing.

  Climbing out of the tub, Sam grabbed a towel and locked the door. Wrapping the terrycloth around her, she sat on the closed toilet seat lid. After lowering the volume on her iPad, she opened a browser and studied dirty videos about prostate orgasms the way she’d once studied foreign policy. The guys in those short scenes made noises of pleasure like she’d never heard, and she imagined Brady’s gaze focused relentlessly on her
, the pinch of his lips as he bit back a moan. She’d devour him with her eyes first, cruel and erotic, then gently push the toy inside him when he was at the brink. Tilting it until she rubbed that button inside him, she’d roll it in circles until he got them both sticky and slick.

  God. She wanted this as badly now as he did.

  But curiosity lingered after she’d watched several scenes, her eyes darting up to the category entitled threesomes.

  She loved the big burliness of Brady, loved the feel of his beard against her face and his cock in her hands. And he was the only person who’d ever captured her heart. But she’d always wondered what it would be like to add something feminine to that strong masculinity, what it would be like to be with a woman, and a man.

  She stared at the category tab. Her heart beat a little faster.

  Checking the sound was off, she hovered her finger and tapped.

  Countless little boxes popped up, scenes with options of positions and combinations of couples. She chose one and waited for it to start. It felt illicit—a bit dirty, a bit wild and a bit like looking into the past.

  It had been late. Last call after a pretty crazy night at a bar on U Street. Leaving, she’d been approached first by the guy, then the girl she’d kissed that night. It was so goddamn cliché—he was a hot freshman congressman and the girl was a staffer on the other side of the aisle. Sam had been with them at separate moments during the course of the evening. The guy hadn’t been her type—blond, rich, the kind of guy who’d grown up going to his Daddy’s country club and was accustomed to getting his way. She’d only kissed him for the thrill of walking away after. The girl, however, had lips that had grabbed Sam’s attention—full and bright red, and she’d been curious what they’d feel like against her own. Neither of them had a problem that she’d kissed both of them, and it was the girl who’d suggested they all go somewhere together.

  Sam had thought seriously about doing it, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been insanely turned on. But Dawes had warned her about getting messed up in a scandal. The last thing anyone needed in that business was dirty skeletons in their closet.

  Her advice had saved him from one scandal. She’d needed to heed his.

  Professionally, she was glad she’d said no. But, like everything that had happened in DC, it remained a regret—an opportunity she’d missed.

  A noise outside the bathroom startled her. Sam quickly closed the window. Guilt and nerves made her heart race even faster. But no harm had been done. Porn wasn’t real life, and now that she’d watched a few videos, she knew how to give Brady what he needed.

  And have some fun herself.

  By Saturday afternoon, the house was silent. Outside the sun glinted on the snow, the yellow-gold light already waning. The girls were gone, on their way with their sleeping bags and overnight duffels. Sam had made sure everything they needed was tucked away before Brady drove off with them, her mom-guilt dissipating in the face of the girls’ excitement.

  Brady looked excited, too, a light in his eyes when she’d tucked a to-do list into his pocket. She’d given him explicit details, hoping it would keep him on-task and busy.

  She couldn’t be answering the phone, after all. She had work to do.

  The doorbell rang, and once the UPS truck had driven off, she hurried to retrieve the two large boxes from her front stoop. Sam staggered with the giant packages, bringing them inside the house to the kitchen. She’d bought a bit more than she and Brady had discussed.

  It was a good thing she had a job now.

  The bed restraint system had been pricey, as had the upgrades she’d bought for it—a set of shiny black cuffs with chains. Sam sliced the box open and took them out first, listened to the tinny sound of metal against metal, and breathed in the leather scent. Digging deeper into the box, she found the rest of her toys, then opened the other container. Inside was the lockable, UV sanitizing storage chest she’d purchased.

  She wanted to be a Domme, but she’d be damned if these toys were gonna be more things she had to clean.

  Tossing the boxes in the trash, she carried the lot upstairs. A half hour later, she was sweatier and more disheveled than when she started, but at least everything was set.

  “Easy to install, my ass,” she muttered at the restraint packaging as she threw it out. And not a minute too soon. She stood to the sound of the front door opening, heralding Brady’s return.

  Sam hurried to greet him, stopping a few stairs from the bottom.

  “Hey,” she said. “Did you complete your tasks?”

  He took his jacket off and actually hung it up. “The girls are safely at their friends’ houses. Allegra’s refill has been picked up. And takeout—” he held up the Panera bag, “—is right here.”

  “Good,” she said softly. “Put it in the fridge.”

  Even from this distance, she could see his eyes blaze. He went into the kitchen. She heard the sound of his obedience with the fridge door opening and closing. When he returned, Sam went down a few more steps, stood on the bottom one in front of him.

  He towered over her, all brawny, broad-shouldered man. Despite his size, he looked uncertain, the fingers of his right hand twisting the ring on his left. She’d seen him do that before, last week when she’d asked him to look at the toys. She did the same thing to her necklace, twisting it back and forth along the chain. Had they always shared the same anxious habit? Funny, the things that could escape your attention over the years.

  “You’re turning that ring around like it’s gonna vanish if you stop.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess I am.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Grounds me, I guess.”

  Was that what he did? Reach for the thing that bound them together? The reality of that made a fist around her heart and squeezed. She wanted to tell him she loved him. That she always had. That nothing had changed. But it didn’t seem like the right time. She had to be someone else right now—not his wife, because that woman didn’t steady him, didn’t calm him the way his Mistress did.

  He didn’t need love. He needed control.

  “Hey.”

  He met her gaze, his brows pushed together, worry in the dip between them, in the line of his frown. Cupping his face in her palms, she whispered, “You don’t need to be nervous. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Brady exhaled and leaned forward, like he was falling into her, like she was his safety net. She kissed him, still needing to go up on her toes from her vantage point on the steps. It was an easy, brushing kiss at first—lips passing over lips, a wet, soft, quiet exchange of breath—until her tongue touched his.

  Sparks. That was the only way to explain it. The kind of electricity they’d had standing in front of a dorm room as nineteen-year-olds. Sam pulled back, her hands still on his face. Brady rested his forehead against hers.

  “I want to keep kissing you,” he said.

  “I want to do more than kiss you.”

  He shuddered. Sam inhaled, too, deeply. He was wearing a long-sleeved crewneck his shoulders looked delicious in. He’d trimmed his beard and showered that morning, too, and she could smell the woodsy peppermint scent, all clean and masculine and him.

  “Will you come upstairs with me?” she asked.

  It hadn’t occurred to her to ask before today. She’d walked, expecting him to follow. Now she wanted to be certain she had his consent.

  Brady’s eyes opened, sharp and blue. “Yes.”

  She turned and led him up the stairs. His steps halted when they reached the bedroom.

  “Whoa.” He blew out a breath. “We’re using everything?”

  Two large nylon straps were now wrapped around the head and footboards, connecting to four tethers with O-rings at the end. She’d linked them to the chains and cuffs for Brady’s wrists and ankles, the silver and black a stark contrast against the white sheets. Waiting in the middle was the smallest plug from the anal training kit, a bottle of lube and on
e vibrating cock ring.

  “Not everything.” She strode over to the bed. “Just enough so that you get your reward and I—” she lifted a cuff and dropped it, “—get mine. Any objections, pet?”

  His eyes sank closed on a strangled grunt. “None, Mistress.”

  “Good. Now, come here and undress me.”

  Everywhere else she hated having to give him orders, but here, right now, she loved it.

  Brady stepped toward her, began unbuttoning the little black button-down she had on. It was tucked into her favorite jeans, easy to take off. No muss, no fuss. One by one, he popped the buttons free.

  “You know, pet. We never discussed aftercare.”

  “We didn’t.”

  The shirt open, he fanned the edges aside, slid them free of her jeans. They were both already breathing hard, but she had to slow this down. Her mistakes had become an albatross: making the comment about the sitter that first night, not asking him about safewords and limits, forcing him not to come when there was no way he could stop. But today, she’d fix that. She’d be like the good Dominants in her books. The ones who stayed in role, who stayed in control, making sure their submissives felt safe enough to let go.

  “What do you need?” she asked. “After?”

  “I don’t know.” His fingers inched back up, the fabric slowly coming loose. Sam shivered when he rolled the sleeves down her arms.

  The shirt gone, he fingered the button on her jeans, glanced at her face.

  “Keep going,” she said.

  He popped it open.

  “You must need something,” she urged. She was already picturing what she was going to do to him, how his big body was going to heave and tremble. She needed to know how to reattach his pieces once she’d blown him apart.

  “A shower?” He slowly unzipped her fly. A little shudder escaped her, belying her composure. Brady cracked an impish grin. “A cigarette?”