“To?” He was leading her. Or was she leading him? God help him, he didn’t know who was stringing whom along at this point.
“Come on, Zak. We’ve known one another for a couple of years. We’ve enjoyed a little conversation, some good wine and beer, and now I’m asking you to help carry my sex toys upstairs. It’s really not that big of a deal. Is it?”
The ball was back in his court. Damn. This woman was good.
She walked out of the den and paused in the hallway. She turned and faced him with a downright seductive stare. From her hooded eyes to her moistened lips and flushed skin, Kara knew what she was doing. Young or not, she was playing the old guy for all he was worth and Zak was falling for it, hook and towed line.
“I’m right behind you,” he said, reminding himself of the times he’d laid in bed and listened to the vibrating walls. Correction. When Kara and Kemper were on the other side of said walls, they thumped. How many times had he watched Kemper Kapertone arrive in a limousine with a bouquet of white roses—apparently Kara’s favorite—and how often had he heard them fuck soon after?
Kara was a screamer, too. He knew that much. His cock jumped into action as soon as his mind tricked him into believing she could strain those pipes just as enthusiastically for him as she once had for Kemper.
He knelt to the floor and picked up the kind of toys that made a grown man twitch in his jeans. The grown man wasn’t necessarily what Zak was concerned about. Oh no. It was the Dom he had to try and taper. At the moment, the effort was a lost cause. All he could do was fantasize about seeing his willing little sub gagged and bound on bended knees.
“Now who’s the sadist,” he grumbled, gathering a few more items.
“Are you coming?”
“Not yet,” he muttered, realizing it wouldn’t take much. As controlled as he’d been in the past, he had a feeling training Kara wouldn’t be like schooling any other submissive he’d led to his bed. Oh no, she’d be a real vixen, a real joy to please and a pleasure to punish, but he was out of practice. In recent years, when he’d taken a sub to bed, she’d been fully trained.
All he could think about then was following his sexy little neighbor into her bedroom and closing the door behind them. Then, he’d make her pay for all the nights he’d spent alone listening to her fuck a man who didn’t appreciate her, but first, he wanted to torture her with longing. He wanted to make her fully understand that because of her, he had known lust. He had an intimate understanding of insatiable need.
Then he would share his fantasies. He’d tell her how many times he’d imagined his dick impaling her, his headboard banging against the wall, and his name spieling from her lips as he fucked her all night long.
Pausing outside her bedroom door, he pressed his head against the wall and waited for an invitation. He couldn’t go in there and visit the very room where she’d awarded her innocence to Kapertone like a prize, a reward he hadn’t earned, a trophy he hadn’t deserved.
His dick pulsed at a distant memory. He was quite certain he had witnessed that occasion through very thin walls.
God he was going mad. He stood there imagining all the wild and kinky sex she’d had in that very room, the very bed where he, too, would soon take her. Where he would ravage her in a way she wouldn’t soon forget.
He wanted her body, that was irrefutable, but he longed to earn his place in her heart, too. There was no way he’d even start seducing her unless he was sure she and Kemper Kapertone were finished, but how could he be so sure when they technically hadn’t even broken things off?
Stepping inside her bedroom, he set her new trinkets on a small table located right inside her door. “I’d better get going. I have a long day tomorrow.”
“You never told me what you do for a living,” she said, glancing away from her new gifts.
“I’m a gambler, Kara,” he replied sternly. For some reason, he now felt he owed her the truth.
“My daddy was a gambler.” She smiled sheepishly. “But you’re not just an ordinary gambler. Are you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I’d know a bookie anywhere.”
“I’m a businessman,” he assured her.
“Are you in the business of fooling around with younger women?” she asked, working a strut like he’d never seen before. Leaning over to pick up the handcuffs she’d deliberately—and obviously—dropped, she wiggled her behind.
He swore under his breath, wishing he could set aside his morals for one night and take her in his arms and hold her there until he taught her a few things about Domination and submission. He’d show her why a Dominant man needed a submissive woman. He’d teach her how to willingly submit and make her understand that through her submission, she would know empowerment. She would experience a new level of intimacy.
“I’ve only been with Kemper,” she told him, acting as if her revelation was the best news he’d received in over a decade.
In fact, he would’ve preferred it then if she’d confessed to promiscuous behavior.
“You’re hurting,” he reminded her, reading entirely too much into her confession. “I’m here and you have a wounded heart, a torn soul. I can’t heal you, Kara.”
How did he tell her he didn’t want to heal her? How did he explain that while he wanted to kiss it and make it better, curing her wasn’t on his mind? He wanted to claim her, and if he claimed her, he fully intended to keep her.
How did a man tell a woman that?
She took a step toward him. He took one step back. She shot him this funny little look, crossed her arms, and for a minute, he could’ve sworn she was about to strip her shirt over her head.
He willed her to stop even though his body already had reached a decision, drawn all conclusions.
One touch and she was his. One gesture to indicate she fully intended to invite him to stay and he would give in to the long awaited temptation, the attraction he could not deny.
She moved toward him again, taking three short calculated steps as if she had deliberately analyzed the best way to separate their distance just as she’d done earlier when they’d been downstairs on her sofa.
“I can’t take his place, Kara. I can’t make the hurt go away.”
“You can try.”
Ten
Maybe he looked at her and saw somebody’s daughter, but she wanted to be his little whore. She could seduce him even if he let her go at the end of the night. After everything she’d endured, she wouldn’t care if he left after the fucking was over, but there was no doubt in her mind.
She wanted wild crazy sex, but first she wanted to play. She needed to feel that hard bulge in his slacks puncturing against her panties, making her wet, driving her crazy, and well beyond the point of no return.
The longing existed in his eyes. The thickness in his slacks wasn’t anything he could deny and if he didn’t want her, wouldn’t he have already turned and walked away?
Instead, he gaped at her as if he could undress her with his eyes, as if he had already fucked her a hundred different ways on the other side of Sunday and well beyond one passionate night.
In a matter of two or three seconds, she could have his lips on hers, his body grinding against hers. In the dead cold of winter’s best heat, he could strip her of her senses and teach her a thing or two about becoming a more experienced woman.
There was no denying the man’s ability. Regardless of age, he had experience. A woman could tell when she’d met her match there. She saw the confidence in his eyes. She heard the sex appeal in his voice. Men who enjoyed sex were just as obvious as their counterparts who matched them.
Stirring up a commotion in her mind, she thought of all the ways Zak could set her body in motion. Her gaze went to the bed where she’d dumped an armload of adult playthings. Turning back to him again, she cocked her head and shrugged. “I want you stay. I don’t know how many different ways I can express that but I know what I want and I want you to stay.”
Zak took
a deep breath and a side step. Of all the toys scattered across her bed and on the nearby table, he chose the box with the bold black inscription: Spreader Bar with locks included.
He took a sudden breath, his full chest swelling, no doubt with decisions and options more than fresh air. And right when she was certain they had bounded over the first hurdle and were already headed down the first stretch, he said, “I should go. You’ll thank me later.”
Before she could stop him, he exited the room.
His heavy footsteps filled her head as she quickly grabbed the first box she could touch on her way out of the room. Standing at the top of the steps, she stripped her sweatshirt over her head. Folding her arms over her breasts, she clung to the toy—a sex kit per the box’s description—her shirt now dangling from her fingertips.
Taking a deep breath, she stared at Zak’s broad back, willing him to turn around, willing him to stop and change his mind so she wouldn’t call out to him, so she wouldn’t risk another outright rejection.
Pausing on the last step, Zak said, “Either put your shirt back on and come lock the door behind me or drop your arms and leave them hanging at your side.” He turned his head to the side, giving her a great view of his profile.
She shivered then, noting his stern, set jaw. His cheek flexed and he clenched his fist as if he were trying to still the lust she stirred inside him. Her pussy heated at the sight of him. Her nipples began throbbing as if he’d breathed each syllable against her bare flesh.
“If I stay, Kara, we don’t just put one of those toys to the test, we try out several.”
“What if—”
“There are no what-ifs with me,” he said, taking that last step and reaching for the door.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together. Dropping the box and her sweatshirt along with her trembling limbs, she stood there with her eyes closed, half expecting to hear the door open and close.
Afraid to steal a peak to see if he was still there, she tried to wait him out, counting to ten maybe a dozen times. Feeling exposed, so very, very exposed she felt, literally sensed, his dark eyes watching her. “Are you still here?”
Not a word was spoken but she heard the creak in her foyer, a loose tile giving away his whereabouts. Standing straighter, she willed herself to wait, wishing he would say something but realizing then he was precisely the kind of man her writer friend Maggie had warned her about.
She tried to replay their earlier conversation, thinking about his reaction when she’d told him of Kemper’s expectations. His eyes had held keen awareness. There was really only one way to describe them—aglow with knowledge.
She was under his scrutiny. She felt his gaze working its way over her, sliding up and down her neck, working from one side to the other as he took in the fullness of her breasts.
He was a player. God help her. She’d gone from bad to worse. She sensed it. And of course she would recognize the worst of their kind—her father had been a gambler. He’d been a womanizer. He was a good provider and she had been daddy’s little girl, but he had been a player. She’d watched him toy with her mother’s emotions and all the women who later followed behind her.
Now, she was standing before a man who could teach her things she wanted to know and yet she feared he was exactly the kind of man her mother, and even Maggie, had told her to avoid.
He was on the steps now. He was coming for her.
She could feel the chemistry between them, the way he fondled her with his heated stare. He yearned for her. The sexual tension spiraled out of control. She could feel his eyes penetrating her skin, raking over her nipples, and settling at her crotch, willing her to strip off her shorts, demanding of her the type of things that would damn near scare her to death.
Sure, she’d flaunted those toys around like she might have known how to use them but she didn’t. Before the night began, she wouldn’t have dreamed of playing with these kinky items alone, much less with an audience or willing participant.
At the thought, she gulped.
She’d heard of voyeurs. She’d even studied exhibitionists. Was he the first? Was she the latter? Did stripping off in an effort to entice one’s neighbor make the person an exhibitionist?
She balked at the idea, swaying now as her mind became overloaded with illicit notions and images of unsettling acts. Was she really so determined to have sex with this man that she had stripped off her shirt, closed her eyes, and waited as he’d asked?
Come to think of it, he hadn’t told her to close her eyes. No, she’d reached that decision on her own. And why? Was it because she didn’t want to acknowledge the truth? Was she just plain terrified by the idea of sleeping with another man when only one person had held the keys to her heart, only one man had crawled all over her in her bed?
Jerking at once, she grabbed hold of the banister for balance. Simultaneously, his hand slapped over her wrist and her eyes opened.
“I’m rather surprised, Kara,” he said, moistening his lips and staring at her breasts. “You almost outlasted me.”
His heated look was a tell-all sign. She’d heard of looks like these, had even been on the receiving end of a few of Kemper’s, but the certainty she discovered in Zak’s gaze was as damning as it was telling. A smooth operator, Zak had taken her by the hand and led her right into the fire. The heat in his touch wouldn’t just melt butter—a term Maggie often used in her books—oh no. This dude’s level of hotness would fry the bubbling oil right off the doggone skillet.
“If I stay, we play by my rules.”
“Okay.” She might as well agree. His intense stare nearly drove her to orgasm. She could only imagine the pleasure he would bring with his lips, his tongue, or... Good Lord in heaven above...no, she wouldn’t think any lower than his neck. She couldn’t. She was already having a tough enough time with the simple task of standing.
“Okay then. What’d you say we go ahead and get started?”
Eleven
A man’s first mistake with a woman was when he underestimated her power, her insatiable drive to even the score. His second? Being foolish enough to actually think she believed everything he ever told her, even when she possessed solid evidence to the contrary.
The flipside of that coin wasn’t polished with any special cloth. It didn’t carry a more pristine shine, but very often there was a rebound guy. The man there to pick up the pieces, the rebounder was a fellow who tried to make a quick move and take over where one fellow had just left off, and he often made a detrimental error from the start. He frequently underestimated the woman’s level of need, not so much her love, but that profound, unsettling urge her former lover had established prior to vacating the premises.
Zak wasn’t trying to take the place of the man who left Kara alone before charging for the altar. Somewhere deep in his soul, he suspected Kemper would soon return for Kara, to reclaim his position in her life and in her bed.
Zak had ambition. He planned to make it mighty difficult on Kemper Kapertone if he ever came back for the woman he shouldn’t have left behind. His goal was simple. He’d instill in her a longing that no one else could imitate, let alone replace.
Staring down at the lovely beauty stretching her arms high above her head, he allowed himself to dream again. Could Kara be his last real chance at happiness? He certainly believed he could love her. He’d halfway taken that ultimate tumble when he first set eyes on her.
He secured her legs, never tearing his gaze away from her as he carefully tied her ankles to the bedposts. He watched as her full breasts heaved, almost as if each ragged breath had been torn from her chest. Wondering aloud, he asked, “You’re sure you’ve never been trained?”
Rather than provide a verbal response, she shook her head. That alone gave way to opportunity, allowing him to seize the perfect moment for initial instruction.
“You will answer with a yes or no and address me as Sir for the time being.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“So you
have been trained as a submissive?”
“I meant yes I understand how you’d like to be addressed, but no, I’ve never been trained, Sir.”
“Why not?”
She arched a brow and stretched her fingers at the same time, perhaps a nervous response since he noticed her leg twitching, too. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”
“I wonder why Mr. Kapertone didn’t train you.” He sat on the edge of the bed and chose the container housing the assorted vibrators and dildos. Tearing the safety seal off the top, he opened the box and grinned as soon as he spotted the perfect toy to use for breaking in his submissive.
The thick head resembled his own. He needed to make sure she was accustomed to a wider than normal impalement. He wanted her to easily accommodate his size so when he finally took her, when he finally allowed himself the true indulgence of experiencing her body, she would be ready. She would be receptive. More importantly, she would be properly stretched and prepared.
Realizing she hadn’t responded, he asked her once more, “Why didn’t your boyfriend train you for submission?”
“He always said he would in due time, Sir.”
“I see,” Zak said, though he really couldn’t understand Kemper’s reasoning. Perhaps Kemper wasn’t a Dom after all. Maybe he’d toyed with the idea of Domination and submission, but he wasn’t a Dom where it counted. He couldn’t have been and left this beautiful, sexy woman unschooled.
Clearing the box top, he slipped the vibrator from the container. He turned on the switch and wasn’t at all surprised when the shaft flipped right into action, jerking one way and then the other.
Kara laughed aloud and he shut off the vibrator at once. He glared at her hard, but it wasn’t easy to force a disdainful look when her large nipples popped to upright attention and her pussy lips glistened with a lustrous shine.
His cock stretched forward in his denim and it was all he could do to keep from touching her then. He was pained by her need and his own lack of control. She wiggled her arms against the binds holding her to the bed.
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