They’d won.
True, it was only a part of the overall race, but they’d won. Every time she’d been paired with one of her brothers they’d lost for one reason or another, and it was always her fault. Not this time. It was corny, but she was so elated it felt as if her feet weren’t even touching the ground. They might come in dead last tomorrow and she’d still be thrilled with what they’d done.
Clay groaned and dropped the backpack at the door. He hadn’t complained about his bum knee once, but with the way hers ached his injury wasn’t far from her mind. He was her responsibility after all. Hell, he had a tendency to push himself too far and never take care of himself. He braced his hands on his thighs to kneel, but she grabbed his arm before he could lower himself to the ground.
“Nope.” She steered him to the bed and directed him to stand next to it instead.
He stared at her, his brows drawn down and a befuddled expression creasing his features. “What’s going on, B?”
She kissed his lips sweetly and grasped the front of his jeans. This man would crawl across glass for her if she asked, and knowing him it would turn him on. She leveled a stern look at him. “I want to see how bad your knee is. I told you not to hurt yourself.”
“Oh.” Clay blinked at her, his gaze hard to decipher.
His jeans hit the floor and he toed out of his socks and shoes. Her fingers itched to touch him, to run over every inch of his body. She nudged his shoulder and he obeyed the unspoken command by sitting on the bed. He propped his foot on the edge and presented his knee to her. An angry red line marked where he’d hit something when they were at the Opéra and a thin layer of skin had been split, but there was no blood and just a little bruising. She took her time, brushing her fingers over his knee, feeling the wiry hairs. He didn’t flinch though it had to be more sensitive.
She’d get Michael for this. He could be such an asshole at times, as if being the oldest gave him the right to do everything. She wasn’t close to Jennifer, hell, most of the time she seriously disliked her, but Bianca gave the woman props for being able to put Michael in his place.
Still, he wasn’t all bad. None of them were, the race just seemed to bring out their worst qualities at once. She had to remind herself of the times when they’d banded together to be there for her. In junior high when she’d realized she would never be as tall as her brothers. In high school when her date to the senior prom bailed on her and she’d shown up with not one, but three dates. After college when her sweetheart walked out on her when she’d been expecting a ring. They would sling shit at each other and cheat if the opportunity presented itself, but when things were tough, she knew who they really were. They were the family she was stuck with, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Her man, however, deserved a little pampering.
She trailed her fingers up his chest and frowned. “I don’t like bruises I didn’t put there.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was husky, with not a drop of repentance.
“You are not.”
The muscles in his face quivered as he struggled to keep from smiling. “It wasn’t intentional, Mistress.”
He was trying not to laugh at her. To another Dominant, this might be a punishable offense, but she loved that he didn’t cow and flinch when she expressed displeasure anymore. She let her frown fade into a slight smile and stepped back. “Hm.”
She turned toward the bookshelves with their rows of uniformly bound and burgundy-colored books. The collar stuck out amidst the decorative flourishes. It was so utilitarian and harsh in nature. She picked it up and brought it back to where Clay sat.
He squirmed, no doubt not liking that she’d made him sit instead of kneel. They might choose to be lax in some areas, but there were a few, like collaring, that were deeply important to him. Though she preferred him with a collar, it wasn’t necessary. She knew whom he belonged to. But for Clay it was as necessary as breathing that he have that physical symbol of their relationship. Something he could touch to remind him that she owned him.
Bianca held the collar out to him. His gaze never left hers as he bent forward to kiss each end. Despite the lighthearted manner in which they began, this moment, when Clay became so sexy and serious about his submission, always stirred her heart. It took a strong man to truly submit to a woman, and an even stronger one to come back from what he’d been through.
She placed the collar against the back of his neck and he sat up a little straighter. He didn’t drop his gaze but continued to watch her, so intently her cheeks heated a little at the unadulterated lust focused on her.
“I’m very proud of you.” She buckled the collar with care.
He didn’t reply, but his expression changed slightly. He seemed a little taller, his smile a little brighter and the color in his cheeks a little higher.
She pulled the necklace up between his neck and collar, removed it and offered it to him. His lips burned her palm and a tremor shook her to the core. It took discipline to turn away and walk the six steps to the shelves, put the jewelry down and not dive on him. With nonchalance she didn’t feel, she turned and strolled back to her husband.
“Mistress?”
“Hm?” She pushed her fingers through his hair, forcing his head back. For good measure she gave his scalp a little tug.
“May I take care of your leg?”
That would mean his hands on her, coasting over her legs, caressing the bruises that throbbed and ached.
“You may, but you must first remove your clothes. I want to see you and touch you whenever I want.”
He popped up to his feet and jerked his shirt over his head. His boxers landed in the pile with his jeans. His cock was half hard already. He took her hands and traded places with her, overeager to a fault, but she’d let it slide. This trip was turning her into a softy. When they got home it would be another story.
Clay stood perfectly still, his gaze on her.
She’d allowed him to believe she didn’t like to be undressed, but the opposite was more the truth. His hands sliding fabric over her skin, pulling off her clothes, sent her into a mindless state of want.
The temperature in the room rose at least five degrees. She tabbed open her jeans and pushed them down her hips. Her thumbs caught the waistband of her panties and took those down as well.
She shimmied her hips and stepped out of her shoes and socks. It felt great to sink down on the bed and get off her feet.
Clay sank to his knees and took her ankles in his palms. His face creased and the corners of his mouth drew down.
“This is going to bruise.” His fingers skated over the point where skin had kissed stairs and she flinched. “Sorry.”
“Good thing I like black and blue.”
He stared up at her, his distaste for any mark on her plainly visible. It had taken months to get him to stop apologizing for love bites or bruises from sex. She wasn’t a pain puppy like him, but a little rough play certainly hit the spot at times. He now took time to show attention to those marks, run his thumb over them and apply kisses. It was sweet. He did the same for her bruised knee, pressing his lips across the angry mark.
“I need to finish taking my clothes off.”
“Yes Ma’am.” He crouched between her knees, his elbows on the edge of the bed, and watched her. Imp.
She grasped the hem of her t-shirt and tugged it up over her head. Clay caught it and folded it. It would end up on the floor before they were finished, but it was the attention to detail she appreciated. Her breasts grew heavy under his intense gaze. Ever so slowly, he peeled her camisole off. He showed it the same care he had her t-shirt while she shrugged her bra off.
She lay back on the bed, supported by her elbows. “I want you to pleasure me.”
“Gladly, Mistress.”
Clay gripped her thighs, easing her legs apart farther. He kissed the bruise again, feathering his lips over the hurt and up over her knee. He stroked her skin, muttering sweet nothings the closer he got to the apex of her
thighs.
Restless, she shifted her legs wider and he took the invitation, skipping over several inches of leg to kiss her nether lips. His dark hair was a stark contrast to her pale skin.
“How fast can you make me come?” She dug her hand into his hair and yanked.
Clay growled and his grip tightened. His finger parted her folds, baring her to his gaze. He kissed her again, intimately, and thrust two fingers deep into her channel. She groaned and rocked her hips. He set a rough, steady pace with his hand and tongued the tight bundle of nerves. Warmth seeped through her body, liquefying her muscles. Clay glanced up, his gaze snagging on her tight nipples before he stared into her eyes. Her inner channel rippled and she collapsed onto her back, groping for one of the decorative pillows. She shifted, not sure if she wanted to escape the relentless attentions or not, but Clay held her there. She’d given him an order, after all.
She moaned into the pillow and dug her heels into his back. At some point he’d pushed her legs over his shoulders. He added a twist to his thrust and grazed her with his teeth. Bursts of color went off against her eyelids and her orgasm broke, sending her flying over the edge into bliss.
Bianca hugged a pillow to her face to muffle her strangled shout of release and sank into the mattress. For several long moments Clay stayed where he was, stroking her just the right way to prolong her pleasure and ease her down from the rush. She tossed the pillow away and panted, trying to catch her breath.
The bed dipped as Clay finally crawled up beside her and gathered her against his chest. His cock pressed into her belly, a hot bar of need. She was exhausted from the day, and yet she wanted to play.
She pushed him over onto his back and straddled his waist. His hands automatically cupped her hips to steady her. “I wanted to peg you. I brought that new strap-on, but I’m impatient.”
His lips quirked. “You own my ass.”
“Damn right I do.” She leaned over him and pinned his wrists to the bed before taking his mouth.
She sat up and unbuckled the collar and grasped the tail end so that it was still threaded through the buckle. Tugging on it produced an improvised choke collar. Clay fisted his hands, no doubt wanting to touch her but too well trained to do so without permission. She held the collar taut until his face flushed pink and his gaze burned with lust.
She rolled her hips and his cock brushed her damp folds.
“Hold your cock for me.”
He reached between them and held his stiff flesh against her pussy. She slowly eased down, impaling herself on his length. Her oversensitized flesh quivered at the intrusion, but it felt so good. They groaned in unison. She placed her other hand at the base of his throat and straightened, lodging him deep within.
“You can touch,” she purred.
His hands gripped her thighs. She gripped the collar and levered herself up, watching his face intently. The flush deepened but his breathing was still easy, if a little heavier. She sank back down, relishing the sensation of his cock caressing and touching the hidden places. Clay gripped her hips and moved with her. His gaze dropped to her breasts. She began an easy rhythm, focused on torturing him.
“B,” he groaned, thrusting up into her.
“No.” She yanked on the collar, not too hard, but enough that he would feel it.
His eyes bulged for a moment and his fingers dug into her flesh.
She sat down hard and squeezed his cock, exercising her Kegel muscles and easing up on the collar. He gasped and arched his back.
“Mistress, may I come?” he wheezed out.
“No, not yet.” Damn, she hadn’t intended to bring him to the edge so quickly.
She picked up her pace, rising and falling with a little help from his hands. She leaned forward, her hand on his throat.
“Mistress.” He groaned, eyes rolling up into his head.
“Come.”
He roared and his hips shot up off the bed. The added friction against her clit was enough to send her spiraling into a second orgasm as Clay bucked and came with her. She collapsed against his chest and pillowed her cheek on his shoulder. Their labored breathing was the only sound in the room. It was probably a good thing all of the family save Michael and Jennifer were out.
“Why are you giggling? What’s so funny?” Clay asked.
She turned her face into his neck. “Nothing.”
He sighed, more than likely exasperated with her.
Bianca sat up and buckled the collar into place. “This morning, when my dad knocked on the door? I was thinking about that.”
He rolled his eyes and snorted.
She pulled the blankets down and curled up, joined moments later by her husband. He curled his body around her and tucked the comforter around her, always conscious of her comfort. She smiled into the pillow.
Today was the best damn day.
* * * * *
Clay slung his arm over Bianca’s shoulders and leaned back as far as the tight quarters allowed. The four couples had taken over a corner of one of the many cafés and restaurants along the Boulevard de Clichy. The doors along the street were open to allow the cool evening breeze in and made a light jacket necessary, but it was otherwise comfortable.
For the most part, Bianca and he sat quietly listening to the back and forth between her siblings and to a lesser extent their wives. It was actually comfortable, and for the first time he felt as if he belonged in this boisterous, competitive family. Though Bianca and he had gone from a play relationship to dating over the course of several years, he’d still been a stranger to her family when they got hitched.
Bianca leaned against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. “Too bad Mom and Dad were too tired to come.”
“Yeah, do you think we should take them back anything?” He was still unsure of what was expected of him as a son-in-law. Hell, he didn’t even know what being a son entailed.
She shook her head. “Mom was going to cook tonight. I guess they picked up something on their way back.”
“I never heard anyone else come in.”
She giggled and slapped his stomach. His muscles tensed and he became acutely aware of the anal plug grazing hidden nerve endings. His cock twitched uncomfortably and he shifted, trying not to draw attention to his semi-erect state.
“That’s because you were out cold. I went out to get something to drink and saw them coming in.”
After their celebratory lovemaking they’d slept the afternoon away, barely waking up in time to jump in the shower and get ready to go out for food. Part of that dinner preparation had included the added accessory of the stainless steel plug. A particularly unforgiving article Bianca had won at the twice-a-month Master’s Poker event.
Kevin, the youngest brother, pushed back from the table. Clay didn’t need to be well acquainted with the man to note the glint in his eye meant there was trouble brewing. “I propose we take in the nightlife.”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of tired.” Jason’s reply was punctuated by a timely yawn. His wife rolled her eyes and glanced at Bianca. Of her acquired sisters, Amy seemed to be the one B got along with best.
“You’re a sore loser,” Michael taunted and threw a crushed napkin at Jason, which bounced off his cheek and into his plate.
He grimaced and folded his arms. Though Jason was the friendliest and most easygoing of the three brothers, even he didn’t like losing. “Am not. How were we supposed to know that musical was written about the opera place here?”
“Seriously?” Bianca spat. “I made you watch that with me.”
“That’s a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago,” she grumbled.
“Guys, come on. We’re going someplace cool.” Kevin stood and pushed his chair in.
Michael was the first to join his brother. Between Kevin and Michael, they were in a constant state of trying to outdo the other. It was exhausting to watch, he couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to grow up around those two.
“Do
you want to go with them?” he asked Bianca.
She shrugged. “Why not? Unless you want to go back.”
He stood and pulled out her chair. “Sure. We can always leave them and go do our own thing.” Though the list of places he’d wanted to go was now lost forever on his damn phone. That still chapped his ass.
Michael, Kevin and their wives led the way out of the café. Which was fine with Clay. The fewer people paying attention to him and the erection growing increasingly more obvious the better. He had a full stomach or else he’d really be in trouble.
“You look nice, Bianca,” Amy said as she fell in line beside his wife on the sidewalk.
Clay dropped back to bring up the rear with Jason. He gave his brother-in-law a nod.
“How’s the banking business?” Jason asked him.
“In general? Or the one I work for?” These days everyone had an opinion about banks and bailouts. Talking about work was a topic full of pitfalls.
He shrugged. “Making conversation. I’m not even sure what you do really.”
“I’m the VP of a bank, so a lot of managerial stuff. I used to manage financial investments and offer a personal touch to our branch clients with large holdings.”
“Hell, that’s big money. How’d you pick that?”
Clay didn’t miss the way Jason’s gaze narrowed or his examination. His history wasn’t a secret. From foster kid to construction worker to big-time banker, his life didn’t exactly make sense.
He shrugged. “I watched the people who drove nice cars and asked them what they did. Most of them were bankers, lenders or people who funded the builds I worked on in the summers as a kid.”
Jason redirected his gaze to the women ahead of them. “That sounds like a rough way to grow up.”
He hadn’t actually had a one-on-one conversation with his new family about his history. B had imparted his past with his blessing. He shrugged. “It wasn’t easy, but it taught me hard work and determination. Makes me grateful for what I have.”
Across the street, the lights from the famous Moulin Rouge bathed the entire avenue in song and light. Tourists packed the sidewalks around it, probably coming out from the latest show.
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