* * * *
Stephanie could barely breathe. The air seemed devoid of oxygen no matter how much air she pulled in past her trembling lips. She was going to do the deed with Dace Reynolds tonight, and not in some other place at some other time. It was probably better this way, because she didn’t think she could maintain her courage. Oh, how she wanted him. She ached for him. Dinner had been some kind of slow, sensual torture, watching his strong, competent hands cut his steak and lift the morsels to his chiselled mouth. He chewed with such deliberation and his strong neck when he swallowed… She could scent him, too. Fine wool and sandalwood, so different than her few other lovers and her father. She longed to run her fingers through his hair and trace his cheekbones, press her lips against him. She wanted to peel back his jacket and shirt to reveal what could only be a muscle-packed chest, see if he had any hair there and if it led down over his belly, past his belt buckle to his cock. She wanted to kiss his chest, lick his skin, and release his shaft to fill her hands with it.
Stephanie had never liked giving blow jobs, but she was willing to give this man one, if that was what he wanted. Of course that was what he wanted. All men wanted that. Sophie talked about it all the time, citing how she trained herself to deliver a mind-blowing one and pretend to swallow the ejaculate, fool the guy. Her sister watched porn and read articles on the subject of sex, how-to books. She perfected the art, the better to seduce her marks. Thinking about Sophie cooled Stephanie’s ardor somewhat, and she briefly wondered if being in love with someone would make the sex better and more meaningful, not that Sophie had a heart. Besides, Stephanie was here for the sex, and this Dace Reynolds spoke to her sexuality, big time. There was no room for anything else in their situation. Sophie loomed over them like an evil spectre.
For a moment in the restaurant she thought she’d made a horrid miscalculation and wanted to throw herself in front of a bus. But she’d just taken him off balance a bit. Off balance was good. Maybe he wouldn’t compare her performance to Sophie too much. The middle of her chest pinched to think of her sister in bed with Dace, having sex with her, making love to her.
Dace was looking at her in a strange way, his blue eyes both hot and wary. “Do you want a drink?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks.” She screwed up her courage. “Maybe we can just get to the, you know.”
“The, you know?”
Stephanie felt her whole face flush again. Her skin was going to peel from the burn at this rate. “The sex.”
“Ah, the sex.” But he just stood there looking at her. Was Stephanie supposed to take the initiative again? She thought he said he wanted the reins in the bedroom, although they were standing in the living area of a lovely hotel suite she hoped to have a moment later to appreciate.
Stephanie shrugged out of her coat, and Dace immediately stepped forward to assist. He eased it down her arms and took it to hang in the hall closet. He pulled off his own and hung it up, too, then returned to stare at her. What was she supposed to do?
She looked around and spotted what was most likely the door to the bedroom. Tearing her gaze from Dace she headed that direction. The light switch elicited a muted glow from one of the bedside lamps. Stephanie closed her eyes briefly and garnered her courage yet again. She wanted this, and it would probably be her one and only opportunity. Dace was no longer the enraged predator who looked at her as if she was lunch, not like that first night. Her shaky self-esteem reminded her that all men preferred Sophie. Sophie had bigger breasts, purchased with the spoils of her first adult con, and could afford spa treatments like waxing and plucking and all those things to make her skin perfect and velvety. Well, Stephanie had none of those opportunities, but tonight she was going for the brass ring. If she did it right, then maybe he would be good to her.
She went into the ensuite and took off her clothes, hanging them with care behind the door. She hesitated with her underwear then pulled it off, too, and stuffed it into the arm of her suit jacket. Leaving the thigh highs and her shoes on, wishing for sexier shoes, a curvier figure, maybe a bare pussy, she stepped back into the bedroom.
“Stephanie? I poured you some wine. When you’re finished in there, come out and talk. We should figure out—”
Dace’s statement halted as if cut through with a blade. His eyes sliced through her with the precision of one, and his eyes froze solid. Stephanie’s heart clenched hard in her chest, but her nipples beaded and her pussy creamed. For some reason Dace was angry with her, but no one could miss the bulge in his pants, and she dared hope it was for her.
“You meant what you said. It wasn’t just for shock value, a payback for my rude comment.” His tone was cold, a thread of surprise running through it. “You want to fuck me.” His eyes examined her from head to toe, lingering on her breasts and the juncture of her thighs.
Stephanie forced her head to nod. It bounced up and down at least three times like a marionette. Second thoughts were creeping in. They weren’t in sync. She hurried to speak. “I’m used to this. Men prefer my sister, but I thought…”
Dace’s tone became silky, dark. “So you’ll take me, although your sister had me first.”
It sounded wrong, nasty, and not at all what she wanted. Stephanie despaired suddenly, and her arousal waned. She didn’t know what else to say. “I want you.” It was softly spoken, but he heard it, and his face softened slightly, although his remarkable eyes didn’t thaw.
Dace’s hands rose to loosen his tie. He tossed it on the bed. He stripped off his suit jacket and dropped it carelessly over a chair. His shirt followed, and he toed out of his shoes, then bent to pull his socks off, leaving them in a little pile beside his shoes. His chest was everything she imagined, not bulky, workout muscle but the result of regular and healthy exercise. And good genes. She was disappointed when he left his pants on.
“Come here.” Stephanie made herself go to him, drawn as a moth to a flame. For surely she would burn.
“I told you I don’t take orders. I told you I’d make one exception for you. Do you remember?”
“Are you a Dom?”
His bark of laughter startled her. It was the only thing that didn’t feel forced since they entered this suite. “No. Although I am dominant and expect my women to be obedient. Something you’ll find a considerable challenge if our past meetings are any indication. So you either agree to my control or we leave.”
Her pussy moistened afresh, her juices flowing to soak her sex. Stephanie shifted involuntarily to confine the moisture. He tracked her with his blue gaze, and she froze. Her nipples ached, and her breasts weighed heavy on her chest. “I agree.”
“Turn around.”
She revolved for him, feeling the weight of his gaze on her ass.
“You are more slender than your sister,” he observed.
Stephanie winced and closed her eyes. “Can we please not talk about her?”
“But you’ve woven her into tonight, Steffie. You’re settling for the scraps, remember?”
She heard the fury behind the words but was powerless to decipher it. She trembled before it. And he was calling her Steffie. It sounded closer to Sophie.
“Kneel.” She checked his face, feeling very real trepidation, but sank down before him. She absolutely wanted this and knew she’d regret it if she left now. He rested one big hand on her head before pushing both sets of fingers through her hair to position her face. “Take me out.”
She did as he ordered, fumbling with the top button on his suit pants, easing the little metal tab at the top of his zipper down, a fraction at a time. Behind a pair of black, silk briefs, his erection visibly strained. Stephanie carefully pulled the waistband away and pushed the clothing down Dace’s legs so he could step out. His cock sprang up, seeming to reach for her. It pulsed angrily before her fascinated eyes, the head such a dark, purplish red, lightening to deep pink over his shaft. Blue veins were prominent, particularly one on the underside. “Suck it.”
She cast him a look and se
t her mouth with determination.
“Stephanie. Do you know how?”
She forced a nod. “I’m just not very good at it.”
A strangled sound emerged from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. “Lubricate your mouth, get it wet, pool your saliva. Then open your mouth and wait.”
She did as he bade her, and the large, mushroom-shaped cockhead, the tiny slit beading with pre-cum, pushed into her slightly open mouth, eased by her spit. Dace pushed inexorably forward, holding her head tightly in his hands, her hair pulling lightly at her scalp. She felt a part of the act now, and it filled her with awe, that she was on her knees in front of this man, pleasing him. Her sex pulsed and ached, and she clenched her thighs tightly.
He seemed far too big for her mouth to accommodate, but as he thrust forward and pulled back, she found she could take a little more of him each time. He tasted salty and musky, a drug for her senses, and she tentatively flicked her tongue over the surface of velvety skin. He sucked in air above her, and the sound emboldened her. She sucked at him and used her tongue to explore, fisting one of her small hands around the base of his cock. Her other hand drifted over his thigh, feathering through the hair around his pubis. He hitched at her touch, and her confidence rose further. Her fingertips brushed the soft leather of his sac, and she finger walked across the taut appendage.
“Fuck me, Stephanie. You’re figuring this out.” His strokes increased, and she could taste him, stronger and wetter, deeper in the back of her throat. Stephanie cupped his balls and squeezed gently, sucking harder, although her jaw was beginning to ache with the strain.
Dace held himself rigid, fingers gripping her scalp, pulling her hair harder. “Let me out, sweetheart, or I’ll come in your mouth.”
She relaxed her lips, and he pulled away. She wiped at her mouth with the back of one hand, feeling the saliva dripping at the corners.
“Leave it. It’s a beautiful sight, sweetheart.”
Dace offered her his hand, and she placed her fingers on his palm. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms in the same movement, crushing her to his chest. His engorged length throbbed between them and made an intimate wet mark on her belly. Her pussy wept for his touch, and she tilted her head back to beg him.
He bent his head, and Stephanie strained to meet his lips with hers. This felt better, more personal, closer, and it spoke to her, making what she’d just done even sweeter. Dace moved her backward, and the edge of the bed folded her legs from beneath her. They fell onto the mattress, still kissing, and his weight stole her breath. He rolled away, and they lay, side by each, panting for air. Stephanie felt the hair on Dace’s leg trace tiny prickles against her thigh, the heat of his hip against her cooler flesh, his shoulder trapping her hair beneath it. He rose up on one elbow and positioned himself over her. One long finger drew a path from the hollow of her throat to either clavicle, lifting her chain to tug it gently before drifting down to circle one taut nipple, then the other.
Stephanie closed her eyes tightly against the sweet assault of sensation.
“Look at me, Stephanie.” Dace’s tone brooked no refusal, and she forced her lids wide.
His face was intent, yet full of tenderness, and Stephanie flinched. Where was the passion, the desire? What was it about her? It had taken all of her courage and will to do this, and now he was backing away. Did he feel sorry for her, too? Couldn’t he just fuck her, give her the pleasure she envisioned, and not tie her in knots?
“Sweetheart, we don’t have to do this. We can take some time—”
“No!” She cut him off and rolled away, drawing her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself.
“Stephanie.”
He sounded so patient, so kind, and it gutted her. She continued to give him her back and struggled to find a way out of the situation while maintaining a fragment of pride. She failed to find one. All her crushing insecurities resurfaced. The confident career woman was gone, the brave little wanton wench fleeing, knocked sideways by her utter failure to seduce this man.
“Stephanie.”
She lurched off the bed and fled into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. A flushed, unfamiliar visage appeared in the mirror over the vanity, lips swollen and wet, hair tangled and mussed. All quite sexy, except for the eyes. Her eyes looked stricken, and any residual sexual arousal vanished like spring snow before a driving rain. Dace rapped on the door, and he wasn’t calling her name now with such gentleness. This insanity had to end. A forlorn line from a country rock band her dad used to listen to played in her head as she struggled into her clothes. To be a woman and to be turned down… God. Stephanie yanked open the bathroom door.
Dace stood there, clad in his black briefs, face thunderous. “For Christ’s sake, Stephanie! What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I feel so stupid to expect…I mean…I won’t do it again. I just wanted…” She ran out of ways to express her chaotic thoughts. She just wanted to go home. She certainly couldn’t look at him. “Can we just go?”
“No, Stephanie. We are not going to leave until we talk. You’re making me crazy.”
“I apologize.”
“Quit saying you’re sorry!” She shrank back from his obvious ire, and he shook his head, running a hand through his hair, yanking it. She suspected he would rather lay that hand on her, and his next words confirmed it.
“You make me want to paddle your ass!”
“I’m—” Her effort at yet another apology died an instant death when Dace snarled and snatched her up by the waist. He spun back to the bed with her in his grasp and sat on the edge, plopping her flailing body across his lap, the impact stealing her breath. Her chin crashed into his muscled calf, snapping her teeth together, nipping the end of her tongue and effectively muting her shriek of surprise. She tried to shove against the floor with both hands, but only her fingertips touched the carpet, and her mini push-up attempt was foiled. Her legs were trapped between his, and Dace tightened his hold. Immobilized. She made another attempt at liberty when her skirt was yanked up and her lacy briefs pulled down. The first smack loosened her vocal cords, and the second and third galvanized them.
“Stop! Dace, please stop. I’m sorry.”
Clearly apologizing yet again was the wrong thing to do. Her spanking continued in earnest, and tears pricked, incongruous to the increasingly strange yearning of her bottom and pussy. Dace’s hand smoothed over her burning cheeks, stroking and occasionally squeezing them, albeit gently. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and ran down her nose. Stephanie scrubbed at them with her fists and considered how tired she felt, despite the tingling in her nether regions. Perverse.
“Now. Are you going to tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours? Or shall I continue?” Dace’s anger had clearly not dissipated.
“Will you let me up?” She tried to instil some backbone into her timid voice but failed.
“Only if you promise to talk. And if you don’t satisfy my curiosity, I’ll spank this delectable bottom red.”
Holy shit. What color was it now? “I promise.”
“Don’t make me regret it, Stephanie.” Dace pulled her hips back, and her feet hit the floor. She stood between his splayed thighs, uncertain where to look, but bent to scrabble for her underwear, tangled around her knees. He allowed her to pull them up, straighten her skirt and ease away. She hurried to the chair in the corner and perched cautiously on the edge. Crap. It wasn’t comfortable. Stephanie hoped the feeling passed by the morning or she’d be doing a lot of standing. Dace remained sitting on the bed, his blue eyes fixed on her.
Those cursed tears pricked again. She lost it. “What’s wrong with me? Why do men prefer Sophie and turn away from me?” Her tone started out as a thread of sound then scaled the outer boundaries of the solar system in volume. Dace winced.
“Stephanie…”
“Quit saying that! I know who I am! I know my name! Do you need to remind yourself? Just tell
me why you won’t, why you won’t have sex with me?” She sucked her next breath in. Did he keep repeating her name so he wouldn’t think she was her sister?
“I know who you are, Stephanie. I don’t need a reminder.” Dace’s quiet reply made her realize she’d spoken out loud. “And I want to have sex with you, but I want more than that. I want to correct that first impression I made when I decided to use you to get to your sister. I did it because my head was messed up, and I regret it.
“I don’t want this to be about a quick fuck, or making you my mistress as a means to an end. And I don’t want this to be about you perceiving me as coming from Sophie’s bed to yours, like something she discarded.”
Stephanie felt her mouth drop open, and she struggled to close it, only to have it fall open again. She had nothing to say. Her agenda was a quick fuck, or maybe two, because she couldn’t imagine anything more than that. She used the crass word both to distance herself from him and because it made her hot. Being Dace’s mistress held a certain appeal, and she instantly discarded it. She couldn’t. She wanted to have sex with him, do everything he desired of her, once, and she figured she could move on. Men did it all the time, and lots of women, too. There was no future for her and Dace, not with the history of Sophie hanging over them, someone who might present herself at any time. It would destroy Stephanie when Dace took his revenge. She managed to shake her head.
“You know a relationship isn’t possible, Dace.” Her quiet, resolute tone made him wince. So he knew it, too. She supposed she should be grateful he was enough of a gentleman not to want to use her now he’d had time to settle down. She just wished he could set it aside for now and give her what she needed.
She tried again, for the last time. “I do want you. You must know that. But it can’t be more than tonight.”
The Decision (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 8
