by Lynda Aicher
The fire of heat and need burned through her blood. It controlled everything. Logic, common sense, rational thought—it was all gone. Lost to the moment.
“Vanessa.”
She cut him off with another nip and plundered his mouth with a frantic passion. His moan was swallowed and she didn’t care if was a protest or agreement as long as he didn’t stop.
She dug a hand between them to find his cock. Buried beneath his layers of clothing, she didn’t have the patience to undo the fastening. It was a tight fit, but she slid her hand over his stomach below the line of his shorts, her way made easier when he contracted his abdomen. His cock was hot and smooth and so hard in her hand.
“Damn, V.” He cupped her breast, sucking her nipple through the layer of material. The sports tank gave away easily when he shoved the strap down her arm to reach her flesh. He sucked the puckered tip into his mouth, wet heat shooting through her chest to her sex.
Her inhale was sharp. Teeth grazed over the tender flesh, a bite of pain she often dealt out but seldom received. She gulped for air, arching into his mouth in a request for more.
God, she needed this. Him. The wild frenzy that sucked every thought from her mind. She grabbed his head and jerked his mouth back to hers. There was nothing but wetness, heat and blind scrambling for the next hold, taste, scent, touch.
“Fuck,” he breathed around a kiss. “I’m gonna come.”
“Do,” she ordered. “Come, Holden.”
He tossed his head, gasped then ground his hips into her. A hard head shake and he bucked, back rounded as he pulled his pelvis away from her. “Not without you.” Voice raw and coarse, tension stringing his muscles tight, he dug a hand beneath her spandex pants and found her core.
“Yes.” Her whispered agreement was lost in the shot of pleasure his touch set off. “There.” His fingers moist with her juices, he rubbed her clit in a hard persistence that brought her orgasm to a full rush in seconds.
She anchored her mouth to the curve of his neck, legs wrapped around him as she held on. The salty goodness of his skin coated her taste buds and she sucked, hard. Wanting more than anything to mark him.
She crested the edge and tumbled over in a rush of intense heat and gut-clenching release. Her almost-silent moan was countered by his loud grunt and exclamation as he came. He rubbed against her, the rigid line of his erection digging into her pubic bone until he slowly stilled.
Harsh pants filled the air. The scent of sex and come filtered up to blend with the heated fragrance of Holden’s skin. Exhausted, she dropped back, her head clunking against the edge of the stairs.
She drifted dazed and sated in the post-orgasm glow. She didn’t want to think again, and lying beneath Holden, wrapped in his arms, she didn’t have to.
* * *
Holden buried his nose in the fragrant silk of her hair, his mind wiped. He’d just had sex with Vanessa on her stairs. Not just sex, but amazing sex, despite the fact that they were both still clothed and he’d come in his pants like a gawky teenager.
But he didn’t give a flying fuck.
His balls ached with a dull throb that lingered from last night’s play, but Vanessa was snuggled in his arms, panting her contentment without a hint of post-orgasm regret. This wasn’t part of their playroom agreement, not even close. In some ways, that made it better. In many ways, actually.
He kissed her temple, brow, cheek, chin and finally dropped a tender thank you to her parted lips. Her eyes fluttered open. Her fingers stilled where they’d been caressing his hair. The dark brown of her eyes was almost consumed by the black pupils. Dark and gorgeous, like her.
“I came in my shorts,” he said, a smile quirking his lips when he saw the doubt start to flood into her. “You so owe me a shower now.”
“Really?” Her brow arched, the controlled Mistress crawling out. “How do you figure?”
“Well...” He shifted, his elbows and knees raw from the carpet. He adjusted his arms and in one lunging swoop, hauled her up with him as he stood. He chased away her frown with another long kiss that ended when the resistance left her muscles. Easing back, he kissed the tip of her nose and made his way down the hall in search of her bedroom.
“Well,” she prompted, reminding him that he hadn’t finished his argument.
The master suite was easy to identify at the end of the hall. Decorated in warm tans and browns, it was another extension of her. He passed the king-sized bed and turned into the large bath. “Driving home with come dried in my shorts will be more torturous than anything you’ve concocted in your playroom.”
She hummed. “It sounds like the perfect reason to deny the shower.”
“You would think that.” He dropped a kiss to her lips then set her feet on the ground. “But then I couldn’t make sure that every inch of you was clean.”
“I’ve already showered today.” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter.
He flashed a grin before starting the shower. “Then you can wash me.”
Her laugh flowed over the rush of the water. Damn, that was nice. The blatant happiness that wrapped around his heart and lightened his soul was too good to let go.
He spun around and whipped his shirt off. She shook her head, the hardness softened by her smile. She flicked a finger at the rest of his clothes, her intent obvious. It was no hardship for him to drop his shorts and underwear. Separating the drying come that clung to the material from his pubes was a blessing.
He straightened, and she flicked her finger in a circle. He wiggled his brows and complied with her silent command. Even here, it turned him the fuck on. He’d just come, his balls still stung, but his dick was already perking up to her authority.
“Stop.”
He did, instantly. Steam wafted over the top of the shower, filling the space with a cloud of heated moisture. There was a scrape of something hard against the counter, then two firm smacks landed on his bare ass, one on each cheek that caught him unaware. The sting flushed hot across his flesh and straight to his balls. Oh, hell.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Right.” It wasn’t an agreement since their give and take outside of the playroom was still being defined.
From the corner of his eye he saw her set the hairbrush down. The sucker had hurt, but damn if he didn’t love it. She smoothed a hand over the curve of his ass in a lazy caress that drove his cock harder.
“Get in,” she said with a soft pat. “I’ll be right back.”
Somehow he kept his “yes” to himself. A little fist pump would’ve been completely out of place, so he controlled that too. It was childish and stupid, but he didn’t care right then. He’d worked hard to reach this point and he was claiming every victory he could.
He’d just finished rinsing the soap from his hair when she joined him in the shower stall. Her hair was wound on top of her head in a knot of some kind that left little wisps free to rest against her cheeks.
“Don’t get my hair wet.”
His answer was to tug her in for a kiss. Her lips were soft and yielding and he couldn’t get enough of her kisses. A pinch to his nipple had him jerking back.
“Ow,” he complained, a smirk following.
“Right.” She twisted his nipple, holding on until he bit his lip to stay silent. She grabbed his hard cock with her other hand, her head shaking. “I know better.”
“Yeah.” His agreement was choked out around a stiff jaw. “You do.”
She released both holds and turned her back to him. “Wash me.”
Damn. He rubbed his throbbing nipple before he grabbed the soap. Her snippets of orders were her way of regaining her footing, but he didn’t have to make it easy for her.
Where would the fun be in that?
He stepped up behind her, pressed his erection into t
he small of her back and reached around to rub his soapy hands over her round breasts. Her chuckle was soft as her head dropped forward, shaking.
“That’s what I get for not being specific.”
“But you like it.” He bent to nuzzle his nose behind the delicate curve of her ear. “Admit it.”
“Damn you.” Her soft curse was mumbled, but she sagged into him, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck.
The shower progressed in a slow dance of soapy hands over silky skin. Little gasps and rough groans did pirouettes around each other over the beat of the water as they searched out and discovered every crease and divot of each other’s bodies.
If Holden had his wish, they’d have stayed in the shower all day. All weekend. But that wasn’t possible. He was still hard when they wrapped themselves in thick fluffy towels. It was a pleasant sensation, not desperate, and he savored it.
Chapter Twenty
“Do you have plans today?”
She turned to Holden to find him peering at his clothes. His nose wrinkled over the mess in his Jockeys before he tossed them aside and slipped his shorts on without them. He looked up, sucking his stomach in as he zipped up.
“No.” He looked down, adjusting himself before he glanced back up. “Do you?”
How did he make her smile so easily? And why did that mark she’d left on his neck look so damn right? She turned to let her hair down. “I’m working.”
“On a Saturday? Wait.” She caught his frown in the steam-clouded mirror. “It’s a holiday weekend, too. You can’t work.”
“Why not?” Her hair tumbled down to tickle her back.
He stepped behind her and grabbed the brush off the counter. “It’s not fun, that’s why.”
“It can be. Fun, that is.”
The bristles combed over her scalp as he dragged the brush through her hair. It was odd and right and wrong all at once. The muscles in his biceps flexed with each stroke, and she caught peeks of his chest in the reflection as he moved behind her. His own hair stuck up in odd places from his quick towel dry, but he didn’t seem to care about that.
“Yeah,” he agreed, distracted. “But will it be today?”
He had her there. Yet there was a list of things to get done before she left for the Flash road trip tomorrow.
“That’s what I thought,” he said when she didn’t answer. He set the brush down before wrapping his arms around her, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head. “I have a better offer.”
She stared at their reflection, clearer now that the steam had faded. The couple she saw looked intimate and comfortable. Cozy would be the word, but she’d never been that. Ever.
“There’s this great trail I know that wraps around a small lake. Lots of shade and pretty quiet most of the time. Do you have a bike?”
“Yes,” she answered, hesitant but intrigued.
“Great.” He let her go to grab his shirt from the floor. “We can swing by my place then head out. I have some snacks we can toss in a pack and make an afternoon of it.”
She turned, head cocked in debate. “I didn’t say I wanted to go.”
He disappeared behind his shirt before his head popped out the top. “But you didn’t say you wouldn’t either. That’s as good as a yes from you.” His smile held all the charm that rolled past her defenses like they were nothing but fluff. “I’ll go put your bike in my car. It’s in the garage, right?”
What was she going to do with him? She shook her head, smiling. “Yeah, it is.”
“Cool.” He plopped a quick kiss on her lips and was out the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready.”
She listened to his footsteps as he bounded down the stairs and hit the hardwood foyer. She should say no, but what would that prove? Absolutely nothing. The truth was she wanted to go on a bike ride with him. Just like she’d wanted to shower with him and laugh with him and...
Yeah, she wanted to be with him. It was a sorry, surprising state for her, and she couldn’t find the will to object. The situation was sure to bite her in the ass later, but for now, she’d go along and simply have fun for once.
* * *
A gentle breeze blew across the lake to cool the perspiration from Vanessa’s skin. Leaves swayed in the large trees overhead, the swishing rush of air through the branches soothing her. She leaned back on her hands with her legs stretched out before her on the soft grass and did as she so seldom allowed. She relaxed.
“More water?”
Holden held a bottle toward her, but she shook her head. She didn’t feel like moving even the little bit to take the offered beverage. She was good right there. Now.
He flipped the cap closed and set the water bottle aside. His hair was damp from being trapped beneath the bike helmet and stuck up once again where he’d run his fingers through it. His skin was slick with a sheen of sweat that turned the back of his gray tank dark.
She shifted, readjusted her hands under a guise to lean closer, to catch the pungent scent of his perspiration. All man. She savored it before another breeze rushed to replace Holden’s scent with the wild grass and woodsy fragrance of their surroundings.
He leaned back, copying her pose, his arm brushing hers in his closeness.
“How far did we ride?” she asked, not really caring. The unpaved trail had been well-packed and fairly easy.
“About ten miles. We can take the same trail back or there’s another loop that goes deeper into the woods and adds three more miles.”
She didn’t respond to his unasked question. Right then, she didn’t care. Didn’t want to decide. She rolled her head, stretching the muscles that had tightened during their ride.
A squirrel scampered up a tree, the scratch of its claws on the bark followed by its clicking chatter letting them know they were disturbing its afternoon. Tough.
“Here,” Holden said as he shifted around to sit behind her, his legs spread to allow her to fit between them. She sat forward, rested her head on her bent knees and sighed when his big hands kneaded right where the soreness clenched the most. Vaguely she logged the sigh. It was a good one this time, filled with contentment, not angst or exhaustion or annoyance or many of the other reasons that usually triggered the reaction.
“Mmmm.” Her sound of appreciation came out automatically. “Thanks.”
He leaned forward to kiss her nape. “You’re welcome.”
Simple and strong, so like him. Not that he was dumb, but he wasn’t an overly complex man. He’d been pretty straightforward once he’d gotten past the manipulation tactics.
“Was it all a game?” she asked, her voice and mind languid from his magical hands.
“What?”
“The Dom claim.”
He pressed on a knot that seemed permanently lodged under her shoulder blade. It was impossible not to groan into the pressure and subsequent pain. God, that was good. It’d been months since she’d found time for a good massage.
“No,” he finally answered as he released the muscle and moved down her spine. “I told you that already.”
He had. Yet a doubt pestered. “You took to submission really well and quick for someone who claims to be new at it.”
His low chuckle was edged with deprecation. “I’m new to the BDSM world. I never said I was new to submission.”
“What?” She jerked around, confused and feeling strangely betrayed. “You’ve had a Mistress before?”
His smile was slow and easy and matched his soft puff of scorn. “Only if you count my mom and sisters.”
Her frown deepened with the tangle of his statement. She turned more, settling her legs over one of his, her knee bumping against his chest. “I don’t get it.”
He brushed a wet strand of hair away from her face, his gaze distant, lost to
his thoughts. “My dad worked a lot when I was growing up and my mom was the undisputed head of our house. My dad wasn’t weak, just absent, and he respected my mom enough not to overrule or contradict her authority. Add sisters who are all years older than me, and you have the groundwork for my inclination to please women. Toss in over twenty years of taking orders from coaches, enjoying more than a few rounds of team hazing, and you have the makings of a groomed submissive.”
His revelation filled out the picture of Holden and added a whole new dynamic. “Was your mother harsh?” Like hers, she almost added, but cut that off just in time.
He shook his head, meeting her eyes. “No. Not really. She had her rules and expectations, and we all learned it was better to follow than to buck them. I watched my two oldest sisters go against her many times and they never won. It seemed pointless to me, so I never tried. That and I hated disappointing my parents. Still do.”
She imagined that sentiment flowed into every aspect of his life. It was a fairly common trait among submissives. “How much younger are you?”
He followed her question easily. “Carrie is closest to me. She’s seven years older. Jennifer is nine years older, and Ellen’s eleven.” He shrugged and shot her a crooked smile. “I was the oops baby. But it got my dad the boy and hockey player he’d always wanted.”
“Did you have a say in that? Playing hockey?”
“Yeah.” He trailed his fingers over the outside of her shin, the up-and-down stroke lazy. Tingles shimmied over her skin in a not-quite tickling sensation that soothed. “I was never forced into the sport. But I was on the ice with my double-bladed skates pushing a metal folding chair before I was two. My parents have a picture of it framed on their wall.”
“Didn’t want to disappoint,” she concluded softly.
Another shrug. “Maybe. But I love it and I was fairly decent at it, so it worked.”
“Fairly decent. Right. That’s how you made the NHL.”
“Well.” He ducked his head. “I got better the longer I played.”
Humble. Add that to the growing spectrum that made up the man before her. She rested her back against his bent knee behind her. It was almost too easy the way he adjusted his position and supported her weight.
