Hers for the Evening

by Jasmine Haynes

  That was exactly what she’d asked for.

  The click of the door lock at the top of the stairs caught her ears. The shush of shoes on the steps accompanied by the thump of Simon’s workboots. She loved those boots, the pure masculinity of them, the rough-and-tumble maleness they exuded, the tan leather and steel toes. Add that to the way he’d picked her up as if she were light as a feather in his arms, she was wet all over again. Despite her fears, her nervousness, and her anxiety about her own body, 218

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  she needed to surrender to Simon.

  He entered the room and everything inside her tingled to life as if he had a live wire attached to the manacles. Zing to her nipples. Zap to her clit. She had enough maneuverability to grab the bar, clenching her fingers tightly around the metal, intensifying the sensations shooting through her body. This was Simon she wanted so badly. Her husband’s best friend. A man she’d known platonically for twelve years. Her best friend, too, for most of that time. Except that Artie had always been between them. Artie wasn’t here.

  His gaze stroked her from head to foot, lingering on her breasts, the sheer thong. She forgot all her doubts. She wasn’t thirty, tall, blonde, and perfect, but Simon didn’t give a damn. He was hot for her the way she was for him. She was aware of a man entering the room behind him, a vague shadow, but she had eyes only for Simon as he crossed the carpet silently, tall in his boots, big and beautiful in his black shirt and jeans. He stopped directly in front of her, blocking her own image in the mirror. Electricity seemed to arc between their bodies. He swept his hands over her without touching, the heat almost as potent as a real touch. “Sweet, gorgeous woman,” he purred. “If I hadn’t already promised you your fantasy”—his voice dropped, deep, guttural—“I’d fuck you now.”

  The words shivered through her. God yes, please. He trailed a finger down the center of her chest, over one nipple, then down to her belly button. “We’re going to make you come until you scream.”

  “Yes, Master,” she murmured, loving the way his gray eyes smoked, hot and blazing.

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Christopher’s going to worship your body first.”

  She could barely tear her gaze from Simon. She didn’t need to see the other man, but Simon wanted her to look at the treat he’d bought her. Medium height, scalp shaved smooth, he appeared close to fifty, but, oh my Lord, that was some physique. His gray T-shirt defined the sculpted muscles of his chest, the bulge of his thighs in tight jeans. The guy looked like a body builder. The bald head reminded her a bit of her late husband, but Artie had never taken care of himself like that. He’d never been meticulous about what he ate. He’d never worked out. While he hadn’t been fat, Artie hadn’t looked like 219

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  Simon from all the years working out in the field with his crew. He had never looked as good as this man—who did not resemble a Christopher. More like a Spike. Or Rocko.

  “You like?” Simon whispered at her ear.

  She bit her lip as she turned back to him. “He’s all right.” Her body, however, literally trembled in anticipation of her fantasy. Simon gave one of his full-belly laughs that strummed a chord deep inside.

  “Maybe we should test that out.”

  He ate up the distance to the cabinet in two strides, grabbed something metal, and stopped in front of her once more to hold up his prize. A thick, curved knife with a wrapped leather handle. Her heart skidded to a halt.

  Simon slipped the knife blade beneath the center of her bra. “I dreamed of tearing your clothes off,” he murmured. “This is better.” He flicked the blade through the thin lace. With two more twists of his wrist, he sliced through the straps, and the bra cascaded to the carpet, her breasts falling free. Holding her gaze, he tossed Christopher the knife, and said, “Cut her out of her panties.”

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  8

  CHRISTOPHER CAUGHT THE KNIFE DEFTLY. “YES, MASTER. I’D LOVE to cut the fabric right from her body.” The guy’s voice, a deep, gravel pitch, was enough to make most ordinary women cream their panties. Haley’s jaw dropped. Simon grinned. Isabel’s choice was right on the mark. The man was far from the stereotypical submissive. Simon had let himself be fooled by the name.

  His fingers on Haley’s throat, Simon circled her, coming to rest at her back, easing closer until his cock settled along the base of her spine. He wrapped his arm beneath her breasts, snugged her closer, and looked at their submissive over her shoulder.

  “On your knees,” Simon directed.

  Christopher dropped immediately.

  “Worship her body from that position.”

  “Yes, Master.” Christopher slid the tip of the knife between her flesh and the thong riding her hip.

  Snip.

  He felt her intake of breath. Laying his cheek against hers, he watched as the short fluff of her pubic hair appeared. “Gorgeous,” he whispered, his whole body aching to touch.

  Christopher sliced through the other side of the thong and the material floated to the carpet. Simon gazed at Haley in the mirror, his pulse an irregular ka-chunk through his veins. “Look at you. Naked and open for us.” Simon pointed to the reflection, indicating for Christopher to turn. “Have you ever beheld such beauty before?”

  “No, Master. Your lady is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

  “Mine,” Simon said softly at her ear. She met his gaze in the mirror, blinked, then rolled her lips between her teeth as if she were trying to hide an emotion from him.

  Simon tipped his head. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?”

  Her lips parted. She swallowed. “I’m okay.”

  “Holy shit, baby, you’re so much more than okay.” He captured her chin, 221

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  tipped her head to him, taking her mouth hard and fast, then slowed, drinking in her sweet taste. He circled her abdomen with both arms, hugged her up tight against him, letting her feel the ridge of his erection. Had Artie’s infidelity done this to her, demoralized her?

  Well, he would fucking undo it. “Christopher’s going to show you how desirable you are, how sensual.” He nipped her earlobe. “Then it’s my turn.” Her body shivered against him. Christ, he wanted to feel her skin along his. The temptation to fuck her might be too great, but she needed the full impact of his body’s reaction to her.

  “Gotta get naked before Christopher starts,” he warned her as he stepped away.

  “Master, shall I get naked, too?”

  Simon answered with a snap of his fingers. Christopher jumped to his feet and began tearing his clothes off, shirt and pants flying. Simon undressed at a more leisurely pace, standing to Haley’s side so she could see his unveiling in the mirror. He was man enough to appreciate the widening of her eyes and her gasp as his cock broke free, the shaft thick, his crown plum-colored with need, his balls full. He let her caress his body with her gaze. “Do I pass muster, baby?”

  “Simon, you’re beautiful.” Her voice soft, awed, it was enough to bring a hard man to his knees.

  Metaphorically, that’s right where Simon was. Luckily, though, he had a submissive willing to fulfill that role for now.

  “On your knees before her, slave.”

  Christopher once again assumed the position, his dick bobbing. Simon took his place right behind her. Ah, God, the feel of her warm skin against his cock. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, could only revel in the flesh-to-flesh sensation. He found his voice. “See how hard he is for you, baby?”

  A corner of her mouth lifted. “He’s hard for you, Simon.”

  Simon tweaked her nipple, eliciting a squeal, then a moan of pleasure.

  “Christopher, are you gay or bisexual?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Do you have any desire to suck my cock?”

  “No, Master.”

  “You don’t want me to fuck you?”

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  “No, Master. I love women. I’m not here to pleasure you, but to make your gorgeous lady feel better than she ever has in her life.”

  “See, baby, it’s all for you.” Simon bent at the knees, sliding his cock back up along the crease between Haley’s cheeks as he rose. “So is this.” He rotated his hips so there was no mistaking.

  Simon felt so good against her body Haley couldn’t help the shudder that coursed through her. The sight in the mirror, one man on his knees, the best man behind her, thick arms wrapped around her, a big hand splayed across her abdomen, it was enough to make her legs give way. If she hadn’t been suspended from the ceiling with a bar spreading her wide.

  “Are you ready for this, baby?”

  She loved that he kept talking to her, hot words, endearments. Baby. She’d always wanted to be someone’s baby. “I’m not sure, Simon.” The words were for effect, maintaining the fantasy that she was being forced. Even without the manacles, though, she would have done anything he wanted.

  “Don’t be scared,” he cajoled. He snapped his fingers lightly at her ear. Ever obedient, Christopher ran his hands up her legs, slowly, lingering. At her thighs, his fingers curled inward and as he drew higher, he grazed the lips of her sex.

  “I can smell your scent,” Simon murmured.

  “She’s very wet, Master.”

  “Tell me how she tastes,” Simon ordered.

  She hissed in a breath as Christopher’s tongue delved between her folds, licking, sucking, tasting. “Shit, she’s sweet, Master.”

  “I knew she would be.” Simon licked the shell of her ear. She quivered, the sensation greater than the tongue between her legs.

  “Pleasure her.” Simon directed. Christopher complied. Oh, she’d never felt anything like it. They were more than the sum of their parts, Simon fueling her with his breath in her hair, his whispers at her ear, his hard cock along her spine. He pinched both nipples hard, and she cried out, her hips bucking against Christopher’s mouth.

  It wasn’t a climax, but a strong preshock. She couldn’t close her legs, couldn’t move except to writhe and wriggle like a fish on Simon’s hook. Lord, how she loved being on that hook.

  Her lids drifting down, she fell into Simon’s voice. 223

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  “You’re so fucking hot, your breasts pert.” He flicked a nipple for emphasis. “I want to fuck them, squeeze them around my cock and fuck them.” His fingers tickled down to her abdomen, tugged on her trimmed pubic hair. “You’re so soft and pretty down there, too. Christopher, let me see more.”

  She opened her eyes as Christopher’s mouth fell away, and he turned aside to reveal her reflection. Her pinkened clit burgeoned for the mirror. Her pussy lips were flushed and plump with desire, wet from Christopher’s mouth. She looked wanton and desired. Simon tunneled into her folds, slicked his fingers with her juices—oh, his touch . . . rough, hot magic—and trailed the moisture all the way back up to her breasts, circling her nipples, turning them a deep rose red.

  “Lick her some more,” he demanded of Christopher. The bald man’s fingers entered her, searching for her G-spot as his tongue danced over her clit. She wasn’t a G-spot girl, felt only the slightest response to his questing, but Simon, without even an erogenous touch, took her close to the edge with his voice.

  Close, yet she couldn’t fall over. Her legs trembled, her mind reeled.

  “Do you need to come, baby?”

  “Yes, please, God, please.”

  “Make her come, Christopher.”

  The courtesan’s tongue and fingers made her wild, yet she needed Simon’s permission, Simon’s voice. “You have to count to ten,” she burst out.

  “One, two, three . . .” Simon counted slowly. The ceiling chain jangled, her fingers clasped so tightly around the metal bar they hurt.

  “. . . five, six, seven . . .”

  Her legs shook, buckled, her ankles swayed on the high heels, and she wanted so badly to plunge over the cliff. “Simon,” she moaned, not knowing what she needed. More tongue? More fingers? Cock? Or Simon himself?

  “Nine, ten, come.”

  She cried out, screamed, yet she seemed stuck on the precipice. Tears leaked from her eyes, but her body wouldn’t perform. She’d asked for this, he’d provided, given her what she wanted, but it didn’t seem to be what she needed anymore. He was going to be so pissed. “Please, Simon, I can’t . . . don’t be mad

  . . . please, Simon . . .”

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  Hands at her ankles and wrists. The chains fell away, freeing her. She felt lighter than air, carried on clouds to the bed. The mattress dipped, fingers trailed her abdomen, her thighs. She recognized Christopher’s touch. Then Simon’s body surrounded her. Laying in the vee of his legs, her back to his chest, head on his shoulder, she spoke with her lips against the skin of his neck. “I couldn’t come standing up like that.” His skin was so sweet, his scent so male and enticing.

  “Poor baby.” He kissed her temple. “Come like this.” His finger tantalized her clit as Christopher petted her thighs, pushed her legs apart, and his tongue darted inside her.

  Still, though she trembled, her body simply would not let go. It hadn’t been the chains binding her or being forced to stand that held her back. She threw her arm back, fisted her hand in Simon’s hair. “You,” she whispered.

  “What, baby, what do you need?”

  “I need you.”

  Christopher retreated from between her legs, and Simon gathered her close.

  “You lick me, Simon. You make me come.” The words hurt her throat, even the thoughts made her head ache, yet it was the only way she could come. The only way she wanted to come.

  Simon laid her flat across the big bed.

  When he would have crawled down her body, Haley took his face in her hands. “Don’t tie me up.”

  Simon felt something break loose around his heart. “I won’t.”

  He’d never wanted to force her. He always wanted it to be her choice. Without physical restraints or mental reservations. His body covering hers, he took what he’d been dying for, her lips. Her kiss was sweet, then she opened her mouth to him, and everything burst out of control. He sucked her tongue, delved deep. She tangled her fingers in his hair to the point of delicious pain. He could barely breathe, but more than air, he was starved for her. He rolled, bringing her atop him. His hand fell to her ass, while he cupped her head with the other, molding her mouth to his, her hair falling around them.

  The words were there on the tip of his tongue, and if he hadn’t been devouring her, they would have poured out. And terrified her. She wasn’t ready 225

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  for his emotions, but holy hell, she needed his kiss. She moaned, groaned, angled her head, backed off to take him the other way. She nipped his lips, sucked his tongue, laughed, came back for more. Fuck, this was making love with your mouth.

  He needed what the courtesan had tasted.

  His breath rasping in his throat, he held her off. “Let me make you come.”

  “Oh God, Simon.” She writhed on top of him, wanting it badly, as badly as he needed to taste her climax.

  He pulled her up to straddle him, her knees at his shoulders as he clasped her butt cheeks in his hand. “Lower the bar,” he ordered the courtesan, pointing to the remote.

  He licked Haley, one long swipe between her legs. “Holy Christ.” She was so fucking sweet.

  She glanced up at the whir of the bar’s chain. “You said you wouldn’t handcuff me.”

  “I won’t, but I want you to hang on to the bar, to steady yourself while I lick you.”

  She grabbed it with first one hand, then the other, lifting herself over his face, and this time when he cupped her ass and brought her delectable pussy to his mouth, the position was perfect.

  He impaled her with one finger, taking the nub of her clit in his mouth at the same time, sucking on her.

  Sh
e arched. “Oh God, Simon.”

  “That’s it,” Christopher said, moving next to her, stroking her body, arms, breasts, abdomen, thighs. “Let him hear how good it feels.”

  She writhed above him. “Yes, yes, please, Simon, like that.”

  Her juices coated his mouth, eased the entry of another finger. He found the bump of her G-spot and worked it. She began to pant. “Simon, Simon. Oh God, oh God.”

  “Keep on talking to God, sweetheart,” the courtesan urged, caressing her with words and gentle hands, adding to her pleasure, Simon was sure. She flooded him with taste and scent and sound. His senses reeled. He worried her clit with his tongue, then sucked hard. Her voice, Haley’s voice, saying his name the way he’d dreamed over and over in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep.

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  She ground her body against his mouth, squeezed her thighs tightly to his temples, and her pussy contracted around his fingers, milked his hand as if it were his cock. She let loose, wailing his name. It was all he could do to hang on, pushing her further, higher.

  Until finally, her fingers lost their grip on the suspension bar, and she fell on top of him. Gathering her close, he stroked her hair from her face, over her shoulders, wiped a tear of pure pleasure from beneath her eyes.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered, a meaningless endearment to hide the real things he wanted to say.

  “Simon.” She breathed warmth against his neck. “That was . . .” She seemed incapable of finishing. Holding him tightly, she bound him to her with her arms.

  “It’s been so long. Make love to me, Simon.”

  She rarely cussed, the word fuck wasn’t an everyday part of her vocabulary, and making love was just another euphemism. He was fifty years old, and countless women had said that to him. With them, it had been a sexual act, one he enjoyed immensely, but still just physical. Until Haley. He kept his voice calm, his face impassive, hiding all his emotions so he didn’t send her running. Only his words revealed everything he felt. “Yeah, baby, I need to make love to you.”