Doms of Dark Haven

by Cartwright, Sierra

  Unbelievably that just made him crave her more.

  He tasted the sweetness of her surrender and its hint of promise…

  Slowly he ended the kiss.

  He continued to hold her against him, one palm on her rear end, his other hand tangled in the thickness of her hair.

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, luminous. Last night the brown depths had been molten, imploring. This morning they were confused, half-angry, half-dazed with the need to submit.

  Her mouth was parted and reddened from the brute force of his kiss. No amount of tenderness would erase the swelling.

  Her chin was tipped back, her head tilted to the right.

  “Have I made myself clear?”

  “Your way or your way, Lord and Master?”

  His jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he said, his voice deceptively easy. “My way or my way.”

  “You've made yourself clear.”

  “On your knees,” he said.

  She blinked. Her mouth opened as if she was going to protest. As he released her, he put his hands on her small shoulders and pushed her toward the floor.

  Yeah, this woman might be fiercely independent, but she was also a natural submissive. She could have told him to go to hell or asked for a new partner. Instead she was on her knees, her appealing mouth only inches away from his crotch. Her hands were behind her neck, which caused her breasts to thrust forward. “Tell me what you want to do right now.”

  She looked up at him. “Besides actually talk about how we'll continue to work together?”

  “Besides that.”

  “I want…” Her voice was slightly husky, the way it had been last night when she'd stopped fighting him and recognized him as her master. The sensuality of it made his erection strain against the denim.

  She shook her head, and her magnificent hair fell in mussed disarray around her shoulders and trailed down her back. “I want to unfasten your jeans and take your cock in my mouth.”

  “Do it.”

  She moved deliberately, not looking away even as she pulled down on his zipper. “And I want to suck you dry.”

  He had no intention of letting another man within fifty feet of her.

  She lowered his zipper the rest of the way and then pulled his pants down.

  “Master is already hard.”

  Being hard seemed to be a constant state when she was around.

  She took his cock in hand and stroked him until a drop of precum appeared at the slit. She licked the length of his cock, then touched the tip of her tongue to the droplet.

  She made a soft purr of satisfaction, and he had to resist the need to slam his dick down her throat.

  “Would Master mind opening his legs a little wider?”

  This was what made her such a perfect slut. She wasn't afraid to ask for what she wanted. There were some women he'd had scenes with who were like puppets. They wanted to be told what to do, when to do it, how to do it.

  Mira posed a whole new set of challenges to him, to his authority. Give him a woman with spirit and fire any day.

  He stepped out of his jeans and spread his legs. She moved in a little closer. She cupped his tight balls in one palm and then pressed a finger against his perineum, that sensitive area between his testicles and his anus.

  “Love the way Master smells,” she said. “Masculine.” She took his cock deeper into her mouth, sucking, pulling, drawing.

  It was all he could do to hold on to control. He wanted to let her set the pace, but it was difficult not to just fuck her until his cum filled her mouth.

  Taking a breath, he closed his eyes. Looking at her made him even hornier. In order to let her lead, he needed to just focus on the sensation.

  He felt her forefinger against his anus. Involuntarily, his muscles tightened. But she was as relentless as he could be.

  She left his cock momentarily, long enough to moisten a fingertip. “Relax.”

  The temptress pushed her finger into his ass. No other woman had ever done that. The sensation of her finger against his prostate while she sucked his cock pushed him over the edge.

  His penis swelled in her small mouth. He held the back of her head while she licked below his cockhead.

  He was done for.

  His orgasm spilled hot semen into her mouth. As he pulsed, draining his balls, she swallowed. She gave little groans of pleasure that kept his climax going.

  And she literally sucked him dry.

  His cock went flaccid in her mouth. She licked every last drop of sticky liquid before gently removing her finger from his ass.

  In that moment he questioned who was dom and who was sub. He'd do anything to keep her happy and have her give him a blowjob like that again.

  She slowly drew back, and when she looked up at him, she licked her upper lip and smiled. Yeah, she knew exactly the power she had over him. Which only left him one option. “Time to work out.”

  “Hope you ate enough to keep your strength up. Master.”

  He helped her to her feet. “See you in the exercise room in ten minutes.”

  He pulled on his pants and watched her saunter from the room. There wasn't a better word for it. She moved her hips provocatively, played with her hair, and took her sweet time.

  She wanted to be noticed, and it worked.

  He went into his room to grab a pair of shorts and put on some running shoes.

  He was aware of her in her bedroom, the sound of the closet door closing. As much as he was trying to harness his libido, he was unable to picture anything but her naked ass up in the air, her body completely available for him to take.

  By the time he hit the state-of-the-art gym, she was already there. She'd cranked up the stereo system. Lady Gaga blasted from the speakers, the song's beat seductive.

  Mira was doing sprints on the exercise bike—one minute of full-on cardio, two minutes at a more casual pace—building endurance. She'd opted for so-skimpy-they-should-be-outlawed shorts and a white sports bra. Up until now she'd worn exercise pants that hit her calf and long-sleeved shirts. The sports bra showed her nipples. And the way she'd pinned up her hair showed the dew of perspiration on her back. He hit the treadmill at a nine-mile-an-hour pace. That ought to distract him.

  Usually it would have. He'd find a rhythm and forget about everything, tuning into his breathing, pushing his body past the point he'd been the day before.

  This time the self-discipline didn't work.

  Mira cooled down, slowing the bike to an easy pace. Then, a few minutes later, she hopped off the seat. Her shorts had ridden up higher, and she didn't straighten them. They were about as good as a thong at this point.

  She wiped off with a towel and then dragged over a mat to a place near the mirror, and only a few feet away from him.

  She lay on her back and began to lift her legs in time with the song's beat.

  He increased the treadmill's incline punishingly. Sweat dripped down his spine, but it had less to do with the heat and exercise than it had to do with Mira, who'd now grabbed a stability ball. She lay on top of the ball, her shoulders and upper back supported by the ball, her legs spread, giving him a good view of her feminine parts.

  Enough was enough.

  He hit the Stop button. His heart rate was still elevated, his breathing ragged. But he had enough energy left to deal with his misbehaving sub. “Last night I promised you shower sex,” he said. He grabbed her around the wrists and pulled her to her feet.

  “About time,” she said with a grin.

  He raised a brow. “Provoking me?”

  “Me?” She had the nerve to blink several times in innocence. “Just hot and sweaty…Sir.”

  “My bedroom,” he said. He'd created a monster. “You may crawl, Mira.”

  “Of course,” she said, instantly dropping to her hands and knees.

  Once again, she won. She took her time crawling toward the door, exaggerating her movements, stopping once to readjust her shorts. The adjustment didn't make the nylon any
less provocative.

  He had a feeling if he bent her over that exercise ball and spanked her, she'd just behave even more scandalously.

  In his room, she pulled off her clothes while he adjusted the water temperature.

  The shower wasn't big enough for the two of them, which made it more than a little entertaining when he squeezed in the stall with her.

  “May I wash Master's back?”

  He grabbed the bar of spicy soap from the dish and handed it to her. He turned away from her and enjoyed the hell out of the way she ran her slick hands over his shoulders, across his shoulder blades, made circles on his back, then traced his spine up and slowly back down.

  She soaped his buttocks, then crouched to wash his legs. Boldly she ran her hands back up again to cleanse his anus and scrotum.

  Every touch was delicate, and her nails glanced off his skin. It was enough, just enough, to make him hard again.

  He turned back to face her and took away the soap. After putting it in the dish, he adjusted the showerhead so that the water hit his back instead of her face. Capturing her chin between a thumb and forefinger, he wiped water back from her face. Her lips parted in a quiet “thanks.”

  Torin placed a leg between her thighs. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, she settled her pussy against him. “Hump my leg,” he told her.

  “Uhmm…”

  “You were naughty enough to fuck the mattress this morning,” he reminded her. “You've got three minutes to bring yourself off.”

  “And…?”

  “If you don't, it will be a long time before you're allowed the opportunity again. I've been generous in allowing you to come. Don't push me.”

  She tilted her body forward a bit and wrapped her hands around his neck.

  “This feels totally naughty.”

  “It is.”

  She approached this task like she did all the other assignments he'd given her—gamely—if a bit nervously.

  She moved against him a few times, her breasts swaying. After about thirty seconds, she gnawed on her lower lip. “I need a different angle.”

  “Make yourself comfortable. Time is ticking. And don't even think of trying to fake it. I'll know.”

  Mira rose onto her tiptoes. Using her hands, she spread her labia and leaned into him again, pressing her clit against his thigh. She moved slightly and then groaned.

  “Better?”

  “Oh God.”

  He took that as a yes.

  Her eyes closed, and she tipped her head back, getting into it more. Just watching her was enough to make him hot for her body again. “You've got about a minute and a half left,” he told her.

  “I…”

  He took mercy on her. He reached behind her and pushed a finger deep into her ass.

  She screamed, but he knew it wasn't from pain.

  She moved faster and faster.

  “Grind it out,” he told her.

  She did, rocking, making smaller and smaller circles on his thigh. He felt the tiny nub of her clit against him. Water sluiced over them both, and steam rose over the shower door.

  “You've got twenty seconds to orgasm,” he said softly against her ear. When she didn't respond, he asked, “Mira?”

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes…”

  He drew her earlobe into his mouth.

  She leaned even closer to him, and he supported her entire weight. He moved his finger in and out of her rear entrance, fucking her.

  “Torin!”

  “Take it, baby,” he urged her. “Come.”

  There was no faking that orgasm. Her cry came from deep inside, and the slick of her cum against his skin was moist and real.

  Her response thrilled him, made him feel possessive in a way he'd never experienced before.

  She was right; they needed to talk: about the future, about what effect their BDSM relationship would have on their ability to work together.

  One thing was certain: now that he'd had a taste of her, he had no intention of letting her go.

  Chapter Eight

  An hour later she found him outside. He was swinging an ax, splitting a log. He'd cut down a small forest since they had arrived. It had nothing to do with needing to be warm. The house had central heat and a pile of wood stacked inside as well as out.

  She admired the raw athleticism it took to split the wood. He wore a black T-shirt, and it emphasized the way his muscles rippled and moved with the exertion.

  He looked up, obviously sensing her presence. He drove the ax partway into a log and then took off his safety glasses and pulled off his leather gloves.

  The man was pure sex appeal.

  He was strong and firm. She'd learned that he was relentless in getting his way, to the point of nearly breaking Master Blake's wrist. But he'd been completely gentle with her when he'd cleaned her up after ravishing her anally earlier this morning.

  She didn't want to give him up sexually, nor could she conceive of giving up any part of herself or the job she loved.

  “We've got a call,” she told him. This, more than anything, was the moment of truth. This was their first mission together. Their safety, even their lives could depend on the way they worked as a team. And if he treated her as a submissive instead of a partner, the results could be devastating.

  He nodded. “Fill me in,” he said, following her back to the house.

  “Black tie required,” she said. When he raised a brow, she added, “Seriously. Word came from Ms. Inamorata herself.”

  “Don't suppose you know her first name?”

  No one knew her first name. Hawkeye's right-hand woman was damn good at her job, and that included keeping secrets. The office pool to guess her name had five figures in it. Whoever won would have enough money for a heck of a vacation or a down payment on a house.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “The Grand Hyatt. Trace and Aimee Romero have a personal security client attending a fund-raiser.” Trace and Aimee were two of the best. Aimee was the younger sister of the enigmatic Inamorata. A brainiac if there was one, she was a scientist who had recently taken up running ultramarathons in addition to supporting her new husband, Trace, on occasional Hawkeye, Inc. assignments. The whole ultramarathon thing made Aimee's brainpower suspect, in Mira's opinion. “There's been a death threat against their client.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Nathaniel Sinclair.”

  He whistled and nodded. “No wonder they're calling in backup.”

  “Inamorata is e-mailing the hotel layout to us.”

  “Be ready in half an hour?”

  She checked her watch. “Less if we can manage it.”

  He headed for his room, and she went into hers.

  “Mira?” he shouted less than a minute later. “Skip the underwear.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  When she didn't respond, he called out, “Excuse me?”

  “I heard you!”

  “And what you meant by that was, 'yes, Master.'”

  “Yes, Master!” she called dutifully. More importantly, she skipped the underwear. She told herself it wasn't because she was being obedient, but because her black dress would look better without them.

  Twenty minutes later she checked the smallest of her three guns for bullets and then tucked the pistol in her handbag alongside a tube of lipstick.

  She stopped in the bedroom that now served as a command office, and printed off the hotel layout before joining Torin.

  He was waiting for her in the living room, checking his cuffs.

  Damn. The man was completely devastating in his tuxedo.

  His hair, the color of midnight, flirted with his collar. His eyes seemed all the more electric against the dark clothing. “Show me,” he said.

  “Show you?”

  “Bend over.”

  “Torin…”

  “Bend over, Mira, and lift your dress.”

  She questioned whether she should actually comply. They were on duty, an
d they needed to head out.

  He waited her out.

  Finally, with a sigh, she placed her pocketbook on the coffee table and then turned around, raised her dress, and showed him she'd followed orders.

  “Lovely.”

  Her insides tightened. Against her will, her pussy moistened.

  “Your obedience will make tonight's punishment much less painful. Shall we?”

  She stood and smoothed her dress into place.

  She shook her head to clear it. He was already at the back door; his hand was on the knob, and he was waiting for her. Obviously he was better at separating business from pleasure than she was.

  “Grand Hyatt?” he asked.

  “We'll meet Inamorata in the hotel's kitchen.”

  He snagged the vehicle keys off a hook and offered them to her.

  “You want me to drive?”

  “I assume you know how?”

  She bit back an instinctive smart-ass reply to his smart-ass question and handed him the printout from Inamorata.

  In the SUV, he turned on the GPS and programmed it for the hotel.

  She remembered their ride home last night, with him keeping his temper caged while he drove home silently. Neither of them mentioned that, however. Now that they were on the road, they were both all business.

  She had the valet park the car and took a deep, steadying breath before heading into the lobby. She saw Trace there. None of them acknowledged each other.

  Torin cupped her elbow and led her toward the kitchen.

  Ms. Inamorata was there in her pencil skirt, hair pulled back. She had surveillance equipment on one of the stainless-steel work areas, and she efficiently handed them each an earphone.

  After a tech made sure all the wiring was secure and in place, Mira and Torin each went through a sound check.

  Inamorata asked, “How's the partnership coming? Any trouble working together?”

  Mira wondered if the woman could see something. “None,” Mira said.

  She nodded crisply. “Hawkeye is usually right on in his assignments, but if it doesn't work out, feel free to ask for a new partner.”

  “Not necessary,” Torin said.

  “You're a couple tonight. Aimee will be arriving with Mr. Sinclair. She'll be his date for the evening.”