by M. S. Parker
“Do you trust me?”
Dean's question had me raising my head to look at him. “I do.”
His fingers dug into my ass as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms around his neck. As if I weighed nothing, he carried me through my bedroom and into my bathroom. He set me down and covered my mouth with his. His fingers twisted through my hair, sending small jolts of pain through my scalp as his movement tugged at my roots. I moaned as his tongue slipped across mine, exploring my mouth with a patience that didn't match the urgency I felt in his body.
When he finally lifted his head, we were both breathless. He rested his forehead against mine for a moment, and I let myself enjoy simply being with him.
“Shower,” he said, his voice rough. “I'm going to get some things set up.”
I nodded, not understanding but not caring. I meant it when I said that I trusted him.
He took a step back, letting his fingers trail across my cheek before dropping to his side. “Be thorough.”
It took a moment for the meaning to register, and when it did, heat flooded my face. “Oh.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I'll take that to mean you'll be prepared when you join me in the bedroom?”
I wasn't sure prepared was the word I would've used, but I nodded and watched him leave. I turned toward the shower and hoped my heart would calm by the time I was done. If we were going to be doing what I thought, I didn't want to have a heart attack in the middle of it.
Unfortunately, as I walked back into my bedroom a quarter of an hour later, my pulse was as rapid as before. I'd wrapped a towel around me, and the usually soft cotton felt rough against my skin. I felt like every cell in my body was vibrating with equal parts anxiety and anticipation, making me hyper aware of everything.
The scent of lavender should have soothed me, and I appreciated Dean having taken the time to light the scented candles I kept in my bedroom, but I was having difficulty focusing on any one thing long enough to react to it.
Not even Dean wearing only a pair of charcoal gray boxer-briefs could do much to capture my attention for more than a few seconds.
He frowned at me. “If you don't want to do this, love, it's all right. We don't have to.”
“I want to.” My voice was steadier than my hands.
“If you want me to stop at any point–”
“Red,” I said. “I remember.”
“Good.” He gestured toward the towel. “Drop it.”
I did, enjoying the way his eyes darkened as he looked at me.
“On the bed.”
I noticed he'd put down one of the throws I kept in my linen closet, so I moved to it, stretching out on my stomach when he told me to roll over. I folded my arms under my head and put my forehead on my hands.
This wasn't completely new, I reminded myself. I'd had his finger in my ass before, and I'd liked it. Besides, I trusted him to make me feel good, even if it hurt at first, like I knew it would.
“I can almost hear you thinking, love.”
I felt the mattress shift as he settled between my knees.
“Let's see what we can do about that.”
I tensed as he put his hands on my cheeks and pulled them apart. Then I felt something hot and wet move up my slit and over my anus. My entire body twitched, a gasp falling from my lips as he began to lick my ass. His tongue traced around the tight ring of muscle, and I made a soft sound. Once I'd gotten over how strange it was, I could concentrate on how it felt, and let myself enjoy it.
When he pressed his finger in, I was surprised at how relaxed I was. There was a slight pinch that quickly became a still-unfamiliar burn as he moved his finger in and out. A second finger made me suck in a breath, muscles clenching at the intrusion.
“Shh, love. Just relax.” Dean pressed a kiss against the back of my thigh.
“Easy for you to say,” I said in a shaky voice.
He chuckled, then used his free hand to lightly stroke my clit. The two sensations merged into something much more pleasant, and I slowly relaxed. He kept up the steady strokes over my clit as his fingers twisted inside me.
“Does a Sub ever get to do this to a Dom?” I asked.
His hands hesitated for only the briefest of moments, but I knew my question had surprised him.
“Depends on the Dom,” he answered finally.
“What about you?”
Before he replied, a third finger pressed against my ass and I cried out. My hands clenched into fists, and I reminded myself that it'd only last a minute. I thought about the rhythmic movements over my clit, the way the blanket felt against my nipples, and the pain faded to a dull ache.
“Is that something you would want to do?” he asked.
“I don't know,” I said. “I just thought turnabout is fair play, right?”
He laughed, the low sound sending a wash of warmth over me. I didn't know how he did it, but his laugh turned me on and made me feel safe, even when it held that edge of something dark.
“Is that a yes?”
Dean's fingers disappeared, leaving me feeling oddly empty. The thumb on my clit kept moving though, spiraling me higher with quick, deliberate movements.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Now, love, I want you to come so I can fuck your ass.”
I nodded, as if my agreement was really needed to let the pleasure wash over me. I rode it out with a new sort of abandon, knowing that Dean would be there to catch me at the end. I could simply let go and fly.
He waited until my body had stilled, and then I felt the head of his cock between my cheeks. I closed my eyes as he began to push, whimpering at the stretch and burn. He was wider than three fingers, and the muscles in my legs started to quiver as he eased his way inside.
His hand rested on the small of my back, thumb making small soothing circles against my skin even as he held me still.
“Let me in, Kyndall.” His voice took on a calm, gentle tone. “Accept it, love. All of it. Let yourself feel all of it. Let me make you feel good.”
I bit my bottom lip, let his words flow over me. I concentrated on each one, on the lilt of his accent, the way he pronounced things, how it thickened the more aroused he was.
My world narrowed down to him. To his voice. To the heat of his hand on my back. The hard muscles of his legs. The feel of his thick shaft filling me in a way I'd never been filled before. The pain was there, but in the background, almost an afterthought to everything else.
“Kyndall,” he groaned my name as he leaned over me, his chest against my back. “Fuck, love, that's so tight.” He pushed my hair back from my face and kissed my cheek. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I had too much going on in my head, too many sensations my brain was trying to process all at once. But I didn't want him to stop. That much was clear.
So he didn't. He moved slowly at first, letting my muscles get used to the new way my body was being used. His hand moved underneath me, fingers brushing over my clit, the touch almost too light to register. He pulled my hips up until I rested on my knees and elbows, his thrusts coming deeper and faster, his fingers pressing harder against my clit. I rocked back against him, the pain becoming something else, something almost too intense to be called pleasure, but definitely no longer unpleasant.
The orgasm caught me off-guard, ripping through me with a strength I hadn't imagined possible. My head dropped to the blanket, and I screamed, the thick fabric muffling the sound. Vaguely, I was aware of Dean shouting my name, along with a few curses. He slammed into me hard enough to make me scream again, pushing my climax higher until I blacked out.
When I came to, I was under my covers, Dean's body practically wrapped around me. I could feel the ache of muscles that weren't happy with me, and I knew sitting would be a bitch tomorrow, but I didn't regret it. Dean's slow, even breathing told me he was asleep, and I knew that should've made me nervous. I should have woken him up, maybe made some excuse to move around, let him excuse
himself.
But I liked having his arms around me, his leg over mine. It wasn't claustrophobic or too warm. It felt safe. He felt safe.
So I didn't wake him up or even move. I closed my eyes and let sleep claim me again.
The next time I woke, he was gone, and I had a moment of disappointment before I smelled bacon. He'd stayed, and he was making breakfast. My stomach twisted, and I forced myself to go to the bathroom for a shower to give him the opportunity to sneak out if that was what he wanted to do. I didn't want to make any assumptions about where things were with us.
Or where I wanted them to be.
When I pulled on my robe and walked out to find him leaning against the counter with a plateful of bacon next to him, I couldn't deny the sharp longing that went through me. It might've been too much, too fast, but I had to admit that I'd fallen for him. Not just in a let's see where this goes kind of way, but the sort of falling that meant I wanted a future with this man.
The sort of falling that meant he had the ability to break my heart.
Chapter Nineteen
Kyndall
Breakfast with Dean had been pleasant, almost too much so, and by the time I carried the dishes to the dishwasher, I'd started to get nervous. Fortunately, before I had to worry about how to handle things, Dean was ready to leave. I didn't know if it was because he'd felt my anxiety or because he had his own, and there could've been a third option as well. That it'd simply been a good time to go because we weren't at a place where we spent most of our free time together.
That hadn't stopped me from thinking about him as I worked on finding out where high stakes games were this weekend. Most people assumed that players found games through some sort of underground secret code spread by word of mouth. That might've been the case with a lot of them, but as technology had advanced, so had the way people communicated.
It wasn't like I could go online and do a search for secret poker games in LA, but there were certain things a person could look for...if they knew how. And I did. Old-fashioned games were enough of a boys club that I could use that to my advantage, but the newer ones were easier for a woman to get into.
Besides, young or old, most men were the same, especially when it came to a pretty, new face.
It was late afternoon by the time I found what I was looking for, but based on the buy-in, it was definitely going to be worth my while. So I dressed and headed out, trying not to think about what Dalton or Dean would say if they knew where I was going. Juliette would probably understand, but I wouldn't want to put her in that position.
Which meant I still didn't have anyone to talk to if I wanted some help in figuring out what to do about my current 'occupation.' Not that I'd really expected anything different. I needed to figure things out, but I was going to do it the way I'd always done things.
On my own.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I had a game to play.
There were two men at the door of the club when I arrived, but only one of them stared at me as I walked toward them. The other one seemed more interested in glowering menacingly at a pair of obnoxious frat-boy types who were coming up behind me, but that was okay. I only needed to give the password to one of them.
“ID.”
I gave him a polite smile. “I'm here for the game.”
He didn't even try to hide his surprise. “Password?”
“Magenta.”
“All right.” He stepped away from the door, leaving the other guy to check IDs. “Follow me.”
We walked around the side of the building and down the narrow alley. There was another door there, tucked into the shadows, and he stopped next to it, punching a code into a hidden keypad. A moment later, a light blinked green, and he opened the door for me.
“First door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
The hallway was surprisingly well-lit, so I was able to find the door easy enough. I knocked, went through, and saw a familiar face watching as security did a quick check.
Stanley Maverick.
Wonderful.
I forced a smile and met his cold gaze. I might've been scared if I'd ever allowed myself to stop and think about our previous confrontation, but right now, looking at him, all I could think was that I was going to kick his ass again. And I was going to enjoy it.
I let my hips roll as I walked over to the table, let all of the men take their time leering at me. The more time they spent imagining me naked and in bed, the less attention they'd pay to their game. Some people might've thought it was a bit of an unethical distraction, but I believed in working with what I'd been given, and in this instance, it wasn't just my brain I was working.
“You're back,” Stanley said as I took the empty seat across from him.
I half-shrugged as I surveyed the room. The only exit was behind me, but I'd done a little research about the club and knew that it was considered high class. Which meant if something went south, it'd probably happen outside the club rather than here tonight. Not exactly a comforting thought, but it was always good to know where the danger was.
Other than Stanley, I didn't recognize anyone else at the table, but no one offered any names. That was good. It meant these guys were here to really gamble, not to play at being gangsters.
I handed over my buy-in and accepted my chips, waiting for the usual thrill to set in. There was nothing though. No excitement for the game. No eager anticipation. Just the same sort of resignation that I'd always associated with getting ready for a real job.
A card dropped in front of me, and I mentally cursed myself for losing track of things. I focused on the cards as they came now, rearranging them automatically as I started cataloging the others' mannerisms. I couldn't count if I didn't pay attention, and while I was a decent player that way, I wasn't playing for fun.
I lost the first two hands, but by the time the third came around, I'd caught up where the cards were and was able to start playing a little more safely. Still, I was missing the hyper awareness that had always come with the cold, and I found myself distracted in a way I'd never been.
And pretty much every time, that distraction had been Dean. Wondering what he was doing this evening. What he'd done when he'd left my place earlier today. If he'd met with anyone. If he was calling me while my phone was off. When I'd see him again.
If Stanley hadn't given me a smirk after he'd won a hand I'd folded on, I might've kept barely breaking even, but the moment I'd seen that bastard grin, my competitive nature kicked in, and that'd done what nothing else had accomplished. I stopped thinking about Dean and focused on kicking Stanley's ass.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table and crossing my ankles under my chair. This son of a bitch had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. I was done holding back.
I played fast, running the table at my own pace instead of at the dealers. I forced hands, quick counting to know which ones I could risk and which I couldn't. Hand after hand went down, and I gave up small bets to get to the cards I wanted. I didn't even bother to pretend that I wasn't counting. This wasn't a casino, so it wasn't anything more illegal than the game itself, and Stanley didn't strike me as the sort of guy who'd be willing to admit that someone like me was smart enough to do what I've been doing.
“I'm out.” The dark-haired man next to me pushed his chair back from the table.
“Me too.” The man on the other side of me was at least grinning when he stood. “I'm all tapped out for this week.”
Stanley looked at the other players, and then back at me. “Anyone else going to take a hike?”
I smiled in a way that I was pretty sure looked more like baring my teeth than anything remotely pleasant. “I'm not going anywhere until I'm done.”
And I wasn't going to be done until everyone else was wiped out, including Stanley Maverick. It might not have been the smart thing to do, but that smarmy little grin was too much.
“Was it your father or a boyfriend who taught you how to play?�
�� Stanley asked.
“Who says anyone taught me?” I countered. “Much less a man.”
“How long did it take you to figure out if you flash some tits and shake your ass that men start thinking with their dicks?”
I slid two cards toward the dealer and took the ones he offered. “Not long. Men aren't exactly the most complex creatures.”
“None of that makes you a good card player.”
“You're right,” I agreed. “My assets aren't what make me good.”
One of the other men called, and I showed my hand. Stanley's expression darkened as I pulled the chips to me.
“I'm just that good.”
I hadn't had a difficult time being submissive to Dean, but that wasn't my natural personality, not in real life, no matter how nice I could be. Only Dean made me want to submit. Maverick brought out a whole different side of me, and that side wasn't very nice.
There would probably be consequences, but I'd deal with them when they came up. Right now, I had an arrogant bastard to put in his place.
Chapter Twenty
Dean
I'd known Cross before he'd met and married Hanna, but only as a business sort of friend. Someone to look up when I was in town. It wasn’t until I moved here that our friendship had solidified, and he'd gotten married a couple months before that. He'd introduced me to Juliette and Dalton then as well, and they'd just gotten engaged. None of them had ever made me feel out of place for being single, and I'd never thought much of it, but I couldn't help thinking that I liked this better, being part of a third couple.
A couple.
I smiled to myself as I strolled down the sidewalk. Kyndall and I hadn't discussed labels, but we were doing couple things. Sex was part of it, obviously, but more so staying over. Actually sleeping together. Having breakfast. Going out on dates. Spending time with family and friends.
I was still adjusting to the change, but it all felt more natural than I'd expected. After we had sex last night, Kyndall had fallen asleep – well, passed out was probably a better description – so I'd cleaned us both up and moved her under the covers. I could've left, and a part of me had thought about it. Then I remembered how much I enjoyed relaxing with her in my arms, so I climbed into bed with her. If she would've woken up and asked me to leave, I would've. But she hadn't. When I'd woken up this morning, she'd still been fast asleep.
