All the air left my lungs and I was unable to make any noise. I tried, but it felt as though every muscle in my body was squeezing and refused to give. Finally, the pleasure crested and my body gave. I sucked in a lungful of air, cried out, and collapse back.
“Jesus.” Master Gareth cupped my inner thighs with both his hands. “Jesus.”
“Fuck. Me.” I would have begged more if I had the energy. No way that was going to happen.
Master Gareth was on his feet tearing at the opening of his leather pants. I couldn’t move but managed a deep groan as his cock sprung free from its prison. He fished a condom foil from his pocket before shoving the leather down his legs.
“I’m going to fuck you hard. Right there in the chair.”
Not needing to move was such a fantastic idea.
The moment he rolled the condom on, he grabbed my legs and positioned me so my ass barely connected with the chair seat. For a moment I thought the angle would be too awkward for him, but clearly he was determined to make this work. He slammed his cock into me with a single hard thrust, grabbed the back of the chair on either side of my head, and proceeded to fuck me.
Scared that I’d move and cause us both harm, I managed to find the strength to clutch his biceps and held myself as still as I could. With my legs spread wide, his pelvis came into full contact with my clit on each thrust. My body was still alight from my orgasm, my pussy oversensitive. I could feel the slide of his cock inside me, stretching the skin, encouraging my arousal to rise again.
I couldn’t resist even this unspoken request.
As he’d thrust forward, I began to buck my hips up to meet him, increasing the pressure. Master Gareth looked down, his eyes hooded and his mouth parted. “Liz?”
“Again.” I didn’t need to say any more.
Master Gareth slowed his thrusts, meeting my rhythm. He started to roll his hips, grinding down a bit harder each time. My body responded, my pussy grew wetter, and the pleasure began to grow again.
“I can’t hold back long.” He swallowed hard. “Come for me. Do it, Liz.”
The urge to close my eyes and focus on the sensations was strong, but that wasn’t what I wanted this time. I needed to see him, his face, burn into my memory that this was Gareth, the man who loved me. The man who looked after me. The man who would stop, who did stop when I needed him to.
The man whom I loved more than anything.
I leaned in and placed a kiss to his cloth-covered chest, just above his heart. “I love you.”
He groaned. “Love you too.”
And then he came.
He threw his head back, crying out so loud that I wouldn’t have been surprised if the dungeon monitor came in to check on us. His thrusts became erratic, nearly painful as he rode out his release. That was all it took to push me over the edge once again. Pressing my forehead to his chest, I let my second orgasm take me. Nowhere as powerful as my first one, I was able to enjoy the pleasure as it washed through me.
Finally, Master Gareth pulled free from me and slipped to his knees. “Fuck.”
I don’t know why, but I started to laugh. I hadn’t been this happy in weeks.
“Dear God, she’s losing it.” But he started to chuckle as well.
“You fucked me crazy. This is totally your fault.”
“I’m not to blame for this. You were nuts before we started.” He groaned as he got back to his feet. “Clearly I need to do more squats at the gym. Let me get some cream for your back.”
It wasn’t until he walked away toward the toy chest when it hit me. “This is different.”
“What is?”
“This . . . after.”
He didn’t say anything until he came back with ajar of something that I knew would feel amazing on my back.
“I’ve been thinking.” He helped me up and took my spot on the chair before encouraging me to sit on his lap. “How you said you needed normal along with the kink.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t have a clue where he was going with this.
“The one thing that we’d always done after a scene was stay in our roles. I was Master Gareth, looking after his sub, tucking you in bed and leaving for home.”
It was one of his more annoying habits. The few times I could convince him to stay the night, he always continued to treat me as his sub. Not that I was complaining. He always made good coffee in the morning. “I told you that you didn’t need to do that.”
“I know. I think it was my way of keeping some distance still.” He rubbed the cream into my back in firm circles. “I’d created this divide in my mind between Master me and everyday me. Honestly, I hadn’t thought much about it.”
That made sense. “We really have gone about this whole relationship thing weirdly.”
He pulled me back against his chest and swung my legs to the side. Cradled against him, I was able to relax completely. “I have a proposal. Something that I think will help us resolve the weirdness.”
“I like your proposals.” I teased his nipple through his shirt.
“Move in with me.”
I looked up so fast that I nearly caught his chin with the top of my head. “What?”
There was a sparkle in his eyes that set my heart thumping. “You wanted normal. We’ve been together for a while now. It’s the next normal step.”
Moving in. Him and me. Master and submissive. “And you wouldn’t expect me to be in submissive mode all the time?”
He ran a finger down my cheek. “I know this might be hard for you to believe, but I do like normal, too. I miss you when you’re not with me. It would be nice to come home and know you’ll be there as well.”
“And we can have kinky sex whenever we want? Because I’ve come to the realization that I really love this shit.”
“I’ll master you every night. And make you coffee every morning. We’ll be clear about boundaries. I want you to have peace of mind and kinky sex.”
“You really know how to woo a girl.” I pressed my head to his shoulder and sighed.
“So that’s a yes?”
“You thought there was a chance that I’d say no?”
“I did. You are a wonderfully unpredictable woman. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“I love you too. And yes, I’ll move in with you.” In that moment, everything slotted into place. My world righted and I knew that we would be okay. “Just one thing. You’ll have to break it to Connie.”
Gareth chuckled. “I don’t think she’ll be too broken up about it. Stephen has wanted me to get you out of there for months now.”
“I should have known you two were scheming.” Connie and Stephen would be happy. Gareth and I would be happy.
Everything was awesome.
I kissed the side of his throat. “Take me home.”
Acknowledgments
This is my favorite part of writing any book. Having the chance to say thank you to the people who help me in my daily writing life is important and awesome.
Thank you to my writing posse—Kristina, Paula, Kimber, and Amy. Having you ladies in my life makes the downs less painful and the ups more enjoyable. To my critique partner Delphine and her ability to handle my “Mind taking a quick look at this?” texts. My amazing editor, Esi, who always knows exactly where to find the issues and how to fix them. And finally, thank you to my wonderful agent, Courtney. Onward and upward!
Love Christine d’Abo?
Keep an eye out for
30 DAYS
Available now.
And 30 NIGHTS
Available Summer 2016.
Keep reading for a sneak peek!
30 DAYS
So, the thing about me being a widow at the ripe old age of thirty-five was that no one knew what to say or how to act around me. My couple friends still invited me over to their parties, barbecues, and the like, but the conversations always drifted into the land of awkward. Oh, you look great. I haven’t seen you since Rob . . . since the funeral. Did you do somethi
ng to your hair?
The few single friends I had tried to pull me into their world. I didn’t quite fit with them, though. While they were clubbing or barhopping trying to find the perfect guy, every time I met someone my brain automatically compared him to Rob. I wasn’t still looking for that special someone—I’d found and lost him.
Being a widow is not quite the same as being divorced. I’d been quite happy being married, having regular, boring sex with my amazing husband, followed by eating cold pizza in bed while we watched the hockey game. It was what I’d always wanted. He was who I’d always wanted.
Seriously, fuck cancer.
As a result, I found myself on my own more and more. It wasn’t a bad thing, really. I’d been with Rob since I was nineteen and we’d been friends long before we’d officially started dating. We’d grown up together, had the same interests, same fears. Hell, we used to speak in nothing but punch lines, only to dissolve into giggles together when no one else in the room knew what the hell we were talking about. Not having him by my side had forced me to slowly become a singular entity instead of a plural.
Being on my own was . . . strange. Rob had been gone nearly two years and I still found myself turning to say something to him at the weirdest times. Though over the past month that started happening less frequently. I couldn’t tell you exactly how I felt about that. Guilty? Oh my God, yes. But I knew it meant I’d finally started to move on. I hadn’t told anyone about my mental shift. Instead, I found myself going to this quiet place in my head, speaking less, observing more. It was different. I guess I’d become different more out of necessity than any real desire to change.
We’d known his time was coming to an end and took the last month of his life to simply enjoy each other. It was on one of our various trips to the beach that he handed me The Envelope.
“What’s this?” My fingers were damp from the ocean spray and sticky from the ice cream I’d just finished. “If this is some death letter thing, I can’t read it.”
He grinned at that. “Naw, it’s not sappy or anything. But yes, it’s for after I’m gone.”
“Rob—”
“Lyssa, listen to me. I promise you it’s not what you think.” He huffed, puffing out his shallow cheeks. “How many guys have you slept with?” The breeze moved his shirt and the sun made his brown eyes sparkle. If he had any hair left it would have blown from his forehead. My heart ached to run my hands through his hair once more. “And if you say more than one I’ll promise not to be pissed.”
“Don’t be an ass. You know you’re the only man I’ve ever been with.” We’d talked a lot about that after we’d gotten married. Rob had a small measure of guilt that I hadn’t had a chance to sow my oats. Somehow he thought because of my limited dating experience I would get bored or grow to resent him.
The idiot.
“That’s my point.” He took my hand and pressed the envelope into my palm once more. “Don’t open this until you’re ready. Hell, you might not want to open it at all. Just . . .” He gave my hand a squeeze, but for the first time in a long while, he couldn’t meet my gaze. “I know you said you didn’t think you’d want to be with anyone else.”
“I don’t.” The thought made me ill.
“Baby, you shouldn’t be alone. You have too much light and love inside you. The thought of you being on your own, of not having anyone to share in the joy you have to give? No, I know you. There will come a time when you’ll realize that you’re ready to move on—”
“I won’t.”
“—and I know you’ll feel guilty about that. You’ll ignore the feelings for as long as you can, thinking that you don’t need anyone. Then something will happen. You’ll see someone and in that beautiful brain of yours you’ll be all nice ass, dude, and that will be it. You’ll cry about it, but you’ll realize you’re ready.”
“Please. I wouldn’t cry.” Because it wouldn’t happen. Ever. “Not over a nice ass.”
He chuckled, finally looking me in the eye. “You’ll cry. But then you’ll remember this conversation and know that I was right. So, I’m going to say I told you so now. Then I want you to take this envelope and open it.”
“Rob—”
“It’s about sex.”
I stood there with my mouth open. “What?”
“Just some ideas I had for you about sex when I’m gone. Getting back on the horse. Riding the cowboy. That sort of thing.”
I wasn’t ready to think about him being gone, let alone wanting to have sex with someone else. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Seriously, shut up or I’m going to punch you.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t let me forget about the envelope. He tried to get me to talk about it, but I would always cut him off. When I shoved it into a pile of papers in the closet, it found its way back onto my dresser. That box in the basement of papers that was older than me? Materialized on top of my desk. The recycling bin? Back onto the counter. I could have continued to play that game, but then Rob took another turn for the worse and all thoughts of envelopes and what they contained were the last things on my mind.
The cancer won.
And I was suddenly alone.
It really wasn’t as bad as I’d first assumed it would be. I thought a lot about Rob and missed him terribly for the better part of the first year. I functioned, worked, went out, but that was more of an automated response than actual living. There’d been more tears than I ever thought possible. My chest ached and my stomach churned. When I didn’t feel ill, my mind wandered. I couldn’t pretend to have any focus. My friends and the people at work never called me on my distraction.
Then I started to emerge from under the darkness and began to live once more. I still missed Rob, thought about him daily, but the tightness in my chest eased. That’s when the guilt kicked in. At least he’d already told me it would.
I stopped going out to our friends’ homes for a while. They’d begun to get used to me as a singular—Alyssa—and not a plural—Rob and Alyssa. With their ease came my anger that they were all still couples. Their lives hadn’t been shattered and swept away without their permission. They’d smile, laugh, and all the while I wanted to scream at them.
So, I stayed away.
It helped. I was able to catch my breath, cry, hit things, and slowly my brain adjusted. I could be allowed into public once more, no longer a danger to happy couples.
One thing that helped was changing up my routine. I’d rearranged all the furniture in our condo, painted the walls, even put up some new pictures. Rob would have hated them. I wasn’t a fan myself, but it served its purpose. I started going to a new coffee shop half a block farther away from our building. I saw new people as I went, had to train a new barista named Len, smiled at a street performer who always played the same three songs on his guitar. It was good.
By the time the beginning of June rolled around, the tension had bled from my shoulders. It had taken me nearly two years, but I knew I was going to be okay.
That was when it happened.
A new guy moved into the complex.
Our building was a renovated school, each unit composed of three converted classrooms. Rob loved that we had a working water fountain just outside our front door. For fun, we’d mentally labeled the condos by classes. We were English because of the sheer number of books we had. Mr. and Mrs. Le Page were French, the Chin family were Home Ec, and on and on. The new guy had moved into Tourism, the condo owned by some company that let their out-of-town employees stay there for extended periods of time. It was just down the hall on the side opposite our place.
No, my place.
And he had a nice ass.
I knew this because my first sight of him was him bent over, pushing a large box through his front door. His jeans were stretched tight as his long legs worked against their load. I don’t know how long I stood there, but it was enough that I hadn’t unlocked my front door and he must have felt my gaze on him. He looked over his shoulder and smi
led.
My body shivered. Even with the distance between us, I felt the intensity of his gaze.
Then I heard Rob’s chuckle in my brain, that little one he’d give me when he knew he’d won an argument. I had to get in before I looked even more the idiot. I waved to the guy and immediately fumbled with my key. I knew he was watching me, which made the entire process of opening the door a monumental task. Click, whoosh, bang and I was safely inside. I pressed my forehead to the door and contemplated the probability of dying from embarrassment. Given my current state, upward of forty percent chance of death.
The bastard did have a nice ass.
It was in that moment that I remembered my conversation with Rob at the beach and his envelope. I was guilty, but that guilt wasn’t nearly as strong as it had once been. With my hand pressed against the wood, I pushed away and slowly made my way to the bedroom. The envelope had taken up residence in my underwear drawer—I knew Rob would approve—deep beneath my panties and socks. I hadn’t thought about it for quite some time, but rather than feel sad about the prospect of opening it, I had a strange tingle of anticipation.
I held it in my hands as I sat on the edge of the bed. The stains from my ice cream–coated fingers were still on the envelope. Chocolate with fudge. I ran my thumb across them.
Nothing else adorned the front of the envelope, no indication of what may be inside. I huffed, then licked my lips before I finally slipped my finger beneath the edge and tore the paper open.
30 NIGHTS
“You are the biggest coward in the world.”
Yup, that’s me—Glenna Marie O’Donald—stellar research assistant and consummate romantic coward.
Jasmine, my best friend since my first year of college, fell into the chair opposite me at our table in the lunchroom. I wasn’t bothered by her comments; she was right, after all. My history with guys was shaky at best. I liked them and they seemed to like me for a time. Then inevitably things devolved when my job took priority over hanging out.
Submissive Seductions Page 19
