“Savoring. It’s been a long while since I’ve had a beautiful woman in my home. Getting naked.”
Lizette shook off the urge to command and tried to relax. “This is a little different for me, too. Keep up.”
Her bra joined the top. “Where’s the bedroom?”
His hand caught hers and tugged. Her bare chest met his, the dusting of dark hair over pale skin as it abraded hers sent a zing of pleasure skipping across her nerves.
Jake’s arms went around her and his mouth came down hard to hers. Firm, warm, and supple, his lips moved against hers and she opened for him. He tasted of steak and wine and lust, the ridge of his erection pressing through his slacks and against her skirt.
She reached for the catch of his pants and eased the zipper down until the fabric fell from her fingers to the floor. With only soft cotton boxers in the way, she cupped her hand over the long thick bulge and let her palm ride up and down the hard length.
A deep groan echoed in the almost empty room when Jake came up for air. He didn’t go far, nibbling her bottom lip while his hands searched for the snap on the denim skirt.
“How do I get you out of this?”
“Hmm, you’ll have to figure it out, won’t you?”
Fingers moved across one hip, then along her waist. A tug at her waistband became a laugh for both of them.
“Where’s the bed?” she asked.
Jake moved out of range of her grasp and stepped out of the pool of his outerwear, the slacks landing atop the abandoned loafers. Standing a foot apart, a short twelve inches of air between them, heat and lust combined with need. He kissed her hard and fast and swept her off her feet.
A whoosh of air flew out of her mouth along with a sharp curse when her feet left the floor. Damn him, she’d been the in-charge party for most of her life and wasn’t used to being carried.
Jake didn’t notice her consternation. His arms cuddled her close against his chest while he took her to the bed. Uninvited anxiety spilled over when he set her down. She was in trouble. Big trouble.
The huge king bed was framed by a dark wooden headboard and covered with a plush burgundy comforter. And it was made. As in, it looked for all the world like a highly paid team of maids put the man’s bedding back together when he left every morning.
It looked exactly like her bed did when she got home every night, but she did her own housekeeping.
Big trouble.
He moved over her, his body pressing her back into the bed while he nuzzled the tender skin beneath her earlobe. She reached for his boxers, eager to get to the sex, and found him naked in her hand.
Long. Thick. Ready.
One mouthwatering stroke down the length and back, then another had her more than ready until Jake moved out of range of her grasp and reached for her boots.
Lizette sighed. This she understood, letting the man remove her boots and soothe her feet before she allowed him to find release. But this man, this professor, didn’t know her protocol and didn’t want to know. A little disconcerting, but...nice for a change.
The look he shot her was half wicked, half rueful when he realized she had on the thigh high boots. Helpful as can be, she leaned back on her elbow. A scoot or two backward had only her calves and feet dangling off the bed. “Better?”
One raised brow said a world of satisfaction was on its way. Rough hands burrowed into the hem of her jean skirt and tugged until the fabric slid down her legs and over her shoes. Now clad only in boots and a red thong, she stroked the slight rise of her belly as a tease, expecting him to dive in with the sex, but once again, he surprised her.
Damn the man, whoever he was. Sexy as hell, he slipped his fingers between the zipper and her thigh without a word or a look. Slow and steady, he separated the tines with such care that she’d swear she heard the strains of Bolero. The pinch in her chest, though, was courtesy of the expression he had going on, like Santa just arrived and all the toys were his.
It was a first for her. One she feared she’d never forget.
The boots went to the carpet with two soft thumps and air flowed across her bare thighs, cooling her skin until those fingers once again invaded and abraded her flesh.
Accustomed to calling the shots, her brain manufactured a strange stream of consciousness to fill the void in her head. Strong, callused hands didn’t fit the professor or his connection with Mark, the Dom she’d known for years. The why was elusive, a fleeting thought before her mind refocused on the action.
Holy hell, this particular professor knew his way around a woman’s body. He’d already found her favorite hot zone, and it wasn’t a spot most men flocked to, either. Might have to keep him around for a few days, let him drive the car a couple times.
Maybe.
If his endgame was as interesting as the preliminaries.
Lizette reached for his cock, the urge to participate ingrained enough to override the immediate pleasure he created for her. He was thick and long and hard, more than ready to plunge into more than foreplay. Why was he waiting? Did he need permission?
His mouth worked its way around her throat and dipped lower, his lips nibbling along her collarbone, and she shivered. Her breath kicked up, the intensity of the touch of his mouth on her skin combined with the movement of his hands—and oh, those hands were mastering her concern about giving away control.
A ragged moan echoed in the air around them. Hers? His?
Time to move forward, or sideways. She started to shift her body and found his hands helping, sliding her further up the mattress, lowering her to the bed, and reaching for the slim packet on the nightstand.
“Let me.”
“I’ve got it, no worries, beautiful Lizette. I’ll protect you.”
She smiled into the darkened room, thinking he was worried he might shoot before they ever got started if she helped. She remembered his comment about how long he’d been without and throttled back on the idea that she inspired his lovely stiff cock. At the least, she’d get to enjoy it.
He came over her from the bottom of the bed, his mouth skimming over her thighs and rubbing his short beard over the juncture of her leg and torso before nuzzling her core. He didn’t tarry, moving up her body to nibble and swipe with his tongue until he took her mouth in a wild ramble of lips and teeth and tongue.
His glorious, hard-as-stone cock slid straight to her core, their bodies pressed together with no space for even a hair. She turned her head, searching for air and space. The sensation of being completely covered and pressed into the mattress was new and a little disconcerting, since she usually took the top position. Then he began to move, sliding out until she could barely feel the broad head perched at her entrance before the next firm thrust took her breath. She was lost to the feeling of him, not only the pressure of his body within her but the touch of his chest rubbing against hers with every surge and retreat. The feel of his skin under her palms as she rubbed against his back. The sensation of his muscles as they clenched and released with his every move.
She’d been a Domme for a few years, maybe too many, and she only hoped she gave this experience to the partners she’d had. As his pace increased, all thoughts dissolved into a blissful wave of sensation, her body taking over and blocking everything not related to the intense pleasure.
He groaned. “Tell me you’re close.”
“Very. Don’t stop. More.”
Chapter 8
Jake rolled over and reached for the alarm on the second beep, an act of courtesy dashed into dust at the sight of sheets neatly smoothed over and empty. Ah, well, a hookup wasn’t a bad thing, just not what he’d hope for after the long drought. Lizette was more Domme than vanilla sex partner, but a man could hope for a little extra morning cheer.
He settled for a hot shower and hot coffee since the hot girl wasn’t available.
First class was at nine and he had a few stops before he stepped into the classroom. The coffee shop on campus, the one with the strange name he never could remember
, needed a visit. A leisurely stroll across campus with a park bench stop along the way, ostensibly to smell the flowers and read the paper, would give him an opportunity to listen to student conversations.
Surveillance wasn’t always cloak-and-dagger work. It was mundane and boring and waiting more than anything else, and he excelled at blending into the background, a lackluster political science professor out for a walk.
A quick shower washed the scent of sex, and of the beautiful Lizette, off his body. He shouldn’t’ve invited her to his home away from home, but he couldn’t convince his body to regret her presence last night. With little thought, he still felt her skin against his, the heat of her sex wrapped around his cock, the burn of release for both of them. No. He didn’t regret it one bit.
However, a repeat performance wasn’t in the cards. She was a police officer, a sergeant. He couldn’t risk the exposure of his mission or worse, take a chance on her safety. A sweet episode for both of them, a onetime event and that was the end of it.
The coffee house on campus was crowded and busy, students young and old filling the space while three baristas flew back and forth behind the counter. Jake stood in line, his eyes focused on the menu on the wall like everyone else in the place. He zeroed in on a conversation between two men, both wearing backpacks. Spanish, two dialects, similar but distinct to his ear. Conversation hit on a few buzzwords, something about a gun and kill rates, and finally a word he recognized as a dead end. They were gamers throwing out stats from last night’s party.
The line shifted and as he stepped forward he heard the unmistakable intonations of Arabic. A quick flick of his eyes to the wide reflective menu above the barista station gave him a faint image. Two women, suitably covered and waiting somewhere behind him. He hadn’t heard the language in several months, not since his last conversation with his grandfather, and he took a little pleasure in the sound of it. Their conversation was bland, focused on coffee choices, and he let it go.
Let it wash over him like most people did in a crowd. It became background noise as he took his turn at the counter, and thoughts of Lizette provided a minor distraction. The barista was frazzled, the hair on her forehead glued to her skin, some sticking straight up. He rattled off his regular order, handed over some cash, and dropped the change into the tip jar. Turning, he bumped into the patron behind him, who’d moved closer. Jake muttered a quick apology as he looked up.
Shit.
Son of a fucking bitch. He needed to get his shit together, and fast.
The two women he’d overheard were wide-eyed and staring.
He’d spoken in Arabic.
Stupid, rookie mistake and he’d fallen right into it. So much for all his years with the company. His brain was mush and while he’d like to blame it on the hot sex he’d enjoyed the night before, he knew it wasn’t Lizette’s fault.
He flashed a smile and gave them a garbled Arabic version of hello and walked around the end of the counter, hoping like hell they’d take him as a student of the language out for a little practice.
Coffee in hand, he left the building and the area, looking for a quiet spot to sit. The sun was blazing, not a cloud to be seen, and the urge to soak it up was hard to resist. News coverage of the snowdrifts in Maryland made him happy to be in Texas. Bright sun, cool breezes, and a beautiful woman. What more could he wish for.
Damn it. He was back to the image of Lizette spread out under him last night. He’d let her get under his skin. Hell, he hadn’t let her do anything, but she still played a front and center role in his subconscious. A huge infraction for him and he couldn’t fathom why it happened. She was one night of lust, no more. A random fuck to relieve tension.
One hell of a woman, dominant or not, and the sensation of her hair falling across his chest while they both tried to catch their breath lingered. He was in trouble, but staying away should make a difference.
He refocused, put her out of his mind and sipped his brew while watching the students pass. Nothing out of the ordinary happened while he finished the coffee but as he stood, a man stopped and stared. No one he recognized, the man wore slacks and a polo, not the average student that he’d seen so far. Jake raised a brow in response to the man’s attention and a smile broke out, the other man lifting an open hand to him.
“You must be Dr. Wortham. I was hoping to catch your first lecture.”
Jake shook the man’s hand, wondering who the hell he was and how the man recognized him. “I’m Wortham. Have we met?”
“No. I saw your picture in the student center along with a synopsis of your lectures. “I’m Don Skinner, one of the associate deans.”
Jake checked his watch, hoping the guy would take the hint and move on so he could get to class. The trek to the billboard with his face on it would have to wait. They should’ve asked before putting it up, but there was little he could do now.
Unfortunately, his new friend wasn’t interested in abandoning him.
“I’ll walk with you. I’ve always been fascinated by the different cultures of the regions surrounding the Mediterranean ocean. Diverse and complicated, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes and no.” If there was anything he didn’t tolerate, it was an uninformed suck up. Jake increased his pace, but the man rambled on while staying with him all the way to the building and up the stairs to the assigned room. A surprise for Jake, considering the other man’s gnome-like girth. As a last resort, he excused himself while standing at the podium, telling the man he needed to focus on his notes.
He pulled a slim notebook out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. Finally the man stopped talking and walked off to find a seat in the rapidly filling room. The student population was most definitely diverse and today’s attendees fit the demographic, a broad mixture of ethnicities spread before him.
After a short discussion of the parameters of the class, he started on the meat of the subject and only stopped one or two times in the hour and a half he was allotted. The questions were compelling and insightful. For the most part, college students were more in touch with the world around them than they had been when he’d been in their place. Global access to news and other cultures made for much better understanding of diversity than in any other time in history.
“Any more questions before we close?” he asked, hoping like hell his new ‘friend’ didn’t comment.
“How long do you think it will take the religious zealots in the Middle East to either kill each other or all their neighbors? Or us?”
Jake scanned the crowd. “If you’d like an answer, please stand so I can see who I’m addressing. Makes it nicer to have a conversation.”
A young man stood, shaggy blond hair, scruffy beard, and rumpled clothes. Attitude, too.
“Why do you think those things will happen?”
“It’s all over the news, the fighting, the poverty, the way they live. The war-like culture.”
Jake walked across the front of the room, making eye contact with several students. “Couple of things here. You may not have guessed from my handsome appearance, but I grew up in a time of upheaval, just after the free love movement and the Iran Contra hearings. I was a baby, but my parents wouldn’t let it go and eventually separated because of the difference in ideals.” He accepted the titters of laughter with a nod and smile.
“What does that have to do with the question?”
“I’m getting there,” he said. “Everything you hear and repeat builds on the common conceptions people believe. You mentioned a warrior culture and in many ways you’re correct.” He nodded again, catching the questioner’s expression. “However, it wasn’t too far back in history that this country was accused of the same. When you’re fighting for your way of life, you do what you must.”
A different student rose from the crowd, this time a dark haired girl. “What do you think will happen to change the world?”
Jake smiled at her sure hope for world changing events. “Talk about it.”
Murmurs aboun
ded and she asked another question, a little louder. “What do you mean?”
“What I’m promoting to change the world is to talk about it. This class is about understanding cultural diversity and change. To make the world a better, less war-like place, we as a culture need to discuss change. Not in huge, life-altering lumps, but in little ways.”
***
Lizette pulled into the parking lot of Private Delights and sat for a minute, trying hard to reset her brain after last night’s strange revelation. Not that Jake noticed. He was more catalyst than aftermath and was sleeping like a baby when she tiptoed out of his apartment. That was another issue she continued to revisit all day. She’d never done the walk of shame, wasn’t that woman and never would be.
But felt like it this morning.
Knowledge of her sexuality had come to her at an early age. She had no illusions about how she’d perceive the male/female relationship, the only picture in her head that of a woman’s strength.
Discovering her grandmother’s past, well, a small part of it and quite enough for the time being, she understood the undercurrent of influence Gran had exuded. Even without a man in the house, her grandmother had been a strong woman. It was logical to put Grandpa in the submissive role, even though her recollections of him were vague. His death hadn’t changed the way Gran moved through life, albeit alone.
She pulled the bag containing the coiled whip out of the back seat of her car and grabbed the shorter whip, too. She didn’t have an appointment but hoped to get a few minutes with Mildred in private. Midafternoon on a weekday made for a quiet club. Perfect time for her to get in a workout and ask for a little advice.
The main floor was empty despite the cluster of cars in the lot. Even Mark, the illustrious leader, was absent. Since it was a workday for Kellie, Mark was likely to be holed up in his office working on financials and plans for expansion. The man had too many ideas and plenty of money to see the projects get done, but not enough hours in the day for everything. She should only have his problems.
Whip Me Up Tie Me Down Page 5
