Sold as a Domme on Valentine's Day

by Juliana Conners

  We’d spent Christmas Day with our family and friends celebrating our love. Everything had been perfect, and later I would share something with Wyatt that would put the cherry on top of our day.

  “Are you ready to consummate our marriage, Mrs. Palmer?” he asked, loosening his bow tie.

  “You know it, Mr. Palmer.” I kicked off my right shoe and curled my toes around the bulge in his pants. “Looks like you’re ready.”

  “Where you’re concerned, I’m always ready.”

  In the past year, my life had changed beyond recognition. I’d been nominated for an Investigative Reporting Pulitzer for my work on the flow of opioids into depressed areas of New York. I didn’t win, and that was okay because I didn’t need awards to validate my work.

  My reports had helped expose the crisis and had opened people’s eyes to the seriousness of the epidemic and the overdose rates. It was a lot more fulfilling than being known as the girl who wrote the advice column. And a better pursuit than trying to expose BDSM participants.

  Alec the asshole had been fired when Henry got back from vacation and he was now working for a supermarket rag in Orlando. Vivian moved to Florida with Alec, and I was sure they were having a grand old time.

  Wyatt published his third memoir about his life as a Dom, and if he wanted to, he could go on tour all of next year giving talks about the lifestyle. He didn’t feel the need to hide it anymore, and we hoped his confessions would decrease the stigma surrounding the lifestyle and let other people who liked it feel more at ease saying so.

  “Wedding dress on or off?” I asked, using my toes to pull his shirttails from the waistband of his trousers.

  “What do you think, Mouse?” He began unbuttoning his shirt, and I continued to massage his cock.

  “Off.”

  I removed my other shoe, stepped off the bed and took off my gown. The vintage design had three-quarter length sleeves and a delicate lace neckline. It was elegant and perfect for our winter wedding, or so Jessica had told me when we went dress shopping. As usual, she’d been right. I put the dress on a hanger and hung it over the oval mirror in the corner of our room.

  “Close your eyes,” Wyatt said, “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Another one?”

  My life was filled with surprises. He was romantic and thoughtful and made every single one of my wishes come true. He even made wishes I didn’t know I had come true, too.

  I closed my eyes, and I heard him rummaging around.

  After a few minutes, he said, “Open up.”

  I opened my eyes and turned to face him. A grin stretched my lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love him anymore, he did something that made my heart swell.

  He stood in front of me wearing nothing but his tuxedo pants and a black mask.

  I gave a delighted squeal. “Is that the same mask?”

  He nodded. “I thought what better way to begin our married life together than to remind ourselves how it all began.”

  “I have a surprise for you too,” I said, “but I’ll tell you later.”

  “Can’t wait.” He grabbed me around the waist and pressed his lips to the nape of my neck “So what’s it to be for our wedding night? Cuffs, spanking, flogging, restraint?”

  “You decide, Master.”

  He stood back and pursed his lips in thought.

  My gaze drifted over the defined muscles covering his chest. Every part of him was perfect, and the best thing about it was, he was mine.

  I couldn’t wait to wrap my hand around his cock, to feel the pulse of his blood beneath my fingers, to take his silky shaft into my warmth, to feel his cum drip from me.

  “Are you going to tell me what you have planned, Master? Or is that another surprise?”

  “Patience, Mouse.” The tone of his voice was dark with warning. “Lay down,” he ordered.

  I did as he asked, and before I could guess what he’d planned, he grabbed my wrists with one hand and put them above my head. He fumbled for something I couldn’t see, but then he bound my wrists together and secured them to the headboard.

  My pussy clenched hard. Over the past year, we’d discovered rough handling and taking me by surprise led to mind-blowing orgasms. Every day, he worked hard to fulfill all of my fantasies.

  He reached for an ankle and tethered it to one of the posts at the base of the bed, then repeated the same with the other one, spreading me wide and tight.

  There was little give, and moving more than an inch proved difficult. Groaning, I attempted to arch my back but it was impossible, and it was as frustrating as it was arousing. Wyatt ran a finger down the center of my body and over the apex of my thighs. The level of the arousal I was experiencing used to embarrass me, not anymore. The more vocal I was in my enjoyment, the more it turned Wyatt on.

  “Can I taste you, Master?”

  The thoughtful expression on his face was as sexy as it was dark, and liquid fire pooled at my center. If he lost control right now and fucked me, I would be perfectly fine with that, but he clearly had other things in mind.

  “Not yet, Mouse.”

  He brushed his fingers over my clit and down to my opening where he slowly eased two into my pussy. My walls clenched around him hard, holding him tight.

  “You want to come?” He eased his fingers in and out, in and out. “Tell me, Mouse, how badly do you need me to fuck you? How badly do you want me?”

  When he dragged the tips of his fingers over my G-spot, I screamed and cursed.

  “Master, let me come, I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”

  “You’re going to do anything I want anyway.” He slammed his fingers into me and the beginning of my first orgasm as a married woman coiled low in my belly.

  “Oh, God. Please.”

  He slammed his fingers into me again, and my pussy answered by clamping down.

  “More. Please, more.” A few more seconds was all I needed.

  Again and again he slammed his fingers into me. My body convulsed, and my breath came in fast and desperate pants as an intense orgasm built inside of me. Almost there… almost…

  Wyatt removed his fingers. “Not yet.”

  “Don’t be so cruel,” I moaned, “it’s our wedding night.”

  “I want my bride to come on my mouth,” he said.

  I whimpered and wished I could draw my legs back, to open myself up to him.

  Wyatt lowered his head and flicked his tongue over my clit. Nonsensical curses flowed from my mouth, and I attempted to thrust into his face, but I couldn’t. He used his mouth and teeth to nibble, bite and suck.

  “Christ, you taste so fucking good.”

  If I’d been able to move, I would have wrapped my legs around his shoulders and held him in place.

  Holding my swollen clit between his teeth, he used the tip of his tongue to both pleasure and destroy me. The build of my orgasm was irresistible and called to me like the sweetest of siren’s songs.

  I was going to come.

  Abruptly, Wyatt pulled away from me, leaving me a frustrated, unsatisfied mess.

  “Not yet, Little Mouse.” He glanced up at me, his eyes glazed and hungry with lust.

  My breath was fast and uneven, my heartbeat rapid and unsteady, and my body trembling and taut.

  “Untie me, Master. Make love to me. Let me touch you.”

  “What have you done to me?” he asked with a chuckle in his voice.

  His eyes fastened on mine and there was something almost feral about the desperation I saw there. Without saying a word, he released my ankles, and reaching up, he released my wrists and eased them onto the bed.

  When he knelt between my thighs, I hooked my legs around him and anchored my feet on the small of his back.

  “You’re mine,” he rasped.

  “Always,” I replied.

  Taking his time, he eased into me, surging a little deeper with each thrust. When he filled me to the hilt, I flexed my inner muscles around his length.

  “You f
eel fucking amazing,” he groaned.

  Bracing his weight on either side of me, he bent his head until his lips caught mine. Love fogged my thoughts, and I kissed him with a searing hunger. Our tongues stroked and played, deepening our connection.

  “Fuck me, Master.”

  His breathing grew harsh, and his movements urgent. He pulled back and thrust deep. Pummeling me, stretching me, filling me.

  Reaching between us, he caught my swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. That one small movement sent me tumbling. There was no way I could have stopped coming.

  I dug my nails into his back, and he pumped hard, sending me higher and higher. My body grew hot, then cold, and then hot again. Shudders racked me, and sobbing screams ripped from my throat.

  I fell into the abyss and dragged him with me. Wyatt’s thrusts became wild and frenzied. He thrust once, twice, three times before growling his climax.

  His sweat-slicked body collapsed onto mine, and our rough, erratic breaths filled the otherwise silent room. Every beat of his heart vibrated against my chest, and a wave of emotion washed over me.

  “We’re going to have a baby,” I whispered.

  He rolled off me and sat up “A baby? We’re going to have a baby?”

  “Yes,” I said, tears blurring my vision. “This time next year, we’ll have a little two-month-old to celebrate the holidays with.”

  He pressed a lingering kiss on my belly and then held me close. “The day you walked into my room, was the beginning of my life. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

  “If you love me half as much as I love you, then I do.”

  Even though sleep called my name and my body was limp and sated, I wanted more. I wanted everything he could give me.

  I wanted forever.

  And forever was what I would have.

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  Celeste is a virgin and Maxim is going to change that. But first he's going to tease her- in public- until she just can't take it any more. Will he make her want him so badly that she'll let him take what he wants- her innocence- where he wants it- outside, in broad daylight? Find out in Juliana Conners’ Tease Me.

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  Books in the South Beach Bad Boys Series

  Featuring Eva Luxe: Live Life Luxuriously.

  Don’t Say a Word: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance

  Copyright 2017 by Eva Luxe and Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.

  Chapter 1 – Hanson

  There were so many hot women up in here. From the sad-eyed, impatient-looking chicks who had to wait in line because they didn’t have a connection to let them in ahead of all the rest of the poor saps, to the cocktail waitresses dancing on the bar to the bachelorette party attenders shaking their asses on the dance floor in celebration of their BFF’s final night of freedom, I couldn’t even keep up with the number of amazingly stunning women all around me. This was my perfect idea of a Friday night.

  The White Room was the kind of night club the who’s who of Miami went to. Situated in Mid-Beach, the glamorous club was part of the Fontainebleau Hotel and a hot spot for famous folk and VIP regulars. I went there all the time. If I was going to get wasted, I was going to do it in style.

  Did it cost a lot of money? Hell yeah. But as the Safety for the Florida Sharks Football team— at least, when my ass wasn’t suspended— I had enough cash to get fucked-off-my-face drunk without blinking at my bill at the end of the night.

  The venue, the service, and the music was the shit, and that’s why hot women from all over came to the club. If there was anything that made me a happy man, it was a woman in a dress that left very little to the imagination.

  Tonight, the club was packed. It consisted of a huge dance floor with banquet booths on the bottom floor, stairs that descended from the doors so you could scope out whoever came in, and sky boxes on the second floor that looked out over the dance floor. Sky boxes were reserved for VIPs like us, so that’s where we were hanging out tonight, just like all the other nights we came here.

  I leaned on the chrome railing and looked out over the crowd with a glass of expensive whiskey in my hand. The music throbbed like a racing pulse, and bodies writhed to the beat. The air smelled of sweat and lust, an intoxicating combination.

  “Man, it’s good to kick back,” Brian said, splayed out on one of the white leather couches. “I swear that last game fucked me up. I’m aching all over.”

  “Is your face hurting?” I couldn’t help the smirk lifting my lip. I loved dicking around with Brian. He was too easy sometimes.

  “Fuck you too.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “My face is not hurting, and it’s not killing you. All these women around here are looking at me, idiot. You know this.”

  I shrugged and sipped my whiskey. He was an idiot, but I would keep him around. I turned a little as my back ached. He was bent over thanks to the last game; I was just sore from a shitty night of sleep.

  Getting hurt in the game was an occupational hazard. Brian McMurry was the Running Back for the Sharks. He was good at what he did and a fan favorite. He was also my best friend. We had played for the Hurricanes together before we’d been selected for the team, and if there was anyone I would turn to in a crisis, it was Brian.

  “How long until you’re back in action?” Brian asked. “You must be losing your shit not playing for so long.”

  I nodded. “Losing my shit” was an accurate description. Not playing drove me crazy, but I had to deal with it. Life was all about the choices you made.

  “Two more games,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “Then I’m back.”

  I turned toward Brian and sat down, too. Brian sipped a glass of soda water like a teetotaler. He had training in the morning. The Sharks started at six, and we had to “Focus-Listen-Learn,” as the signage above the door to the training facility reminded us. It was hard to do that when you had so much alcohol in your system the world spun when you stood still.

  I would know. While I was off, though, I could drink as much as I wanted to, but that wasn’t much of a benefit, considering the serious trouble I was in with the team.

  Being suspended wasn’t a joke. I would rather play and be sober most of the time than wasted and watching my team on television.

  “Thanks for saving my ass,” Brian said. “You know, for taking the fall.”

  I waved my hand dismissively. “Don’t sweat it. Really.”

  Brian nodded, but I could see the tightness in his shoulders. He didn’t want anyone doing anything for him. We were the same in that way.

  “You’re talking to Coach on Wednesday?” he asked.

  I nodded. Wednesday was the day Coach had asked me to come in to talk about my public image. My suspension for driving under the influence had been tacked on to the bottom of a whole list of infractions, mostly to do with women. I had to clean my act up a little if I wanted to show my face in public again.

  I wasn’t looking forward to it. I understood my suspension. I made my choice on that, and I would live with the consequences. But I didn’t want to give up the women. Being with whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted, didn’t affect my game. In fact, I had a theory that the more sexually satisfied I was, the better I played. It was an opinion that Coach didn’t share.

  Coach Rudi Thompson was the kind of man that put everything into his players. The game was as important to us as it was to him. He lived vicariously through us, being unable to play anymore himself.

  �
��When you talk to Coach, remember where he’s coming from,” Brian said.

  His mind had evidently been on the same train of thought as mine.

  I shook my head. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it,” I said. “It’s not Wednesday yet, and we’re here to have fun. Remember? Quit thinking about football for a minute. I’m going to go down there and find us each a girl.”

  Brian chuckled. “I’m not going to stick around long enough for that.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be a dick. I know you want to get some tonight. It’s the best remedy for aching bones.”

  Brian shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a proven medical fact.”

  I laughed and left the sky box, making my way to the dance floor. I shimmied up against a couple of girls, leaning in close so they could hear me over the music. Scantily clad bodies rubbed up against me, the music pulsed in my veins, and I wanted to get good and horizontal with one of them tonight.

  Even if we stayed vertical, like up against a wall or something, it would do.

  Two women were eager to come back with me. I only had to mention the words “sky box” and “single friend,” and they were good to go. They knew I looked familiar. Most girls didn’t really do football. But those magic words were enough for them.

  “Brian,” I said, walking into the box with my find. “This is Carina and Sacha. Ladies, meet my friend, Brian.”

  I sat down, and the brunette, Carina, joined me. Sacha was a platinum blonde and parked herself next to Brian.

  “Evening, ladies,” Brian said, glancing at me with a grin. I knew what he was thinking: I knew just how to pick them, and not in a bad way.

  The women were eager. Carina pressed herself up against me so I felt her body, slender with huge tits that couldn’t be real. I preferred natural breasts and some meat on their bones but Carina was hot and I wouldn't throw her out of bed— or off the wall, or wherever it was we'd end up having sex tonight.