Enticement (Master Class Book 2)

by Sierra Cartwright

“So why do you do it? Why did you join? I thought you were going to college. Then all of a sudden you were gone. Without ever saying goodbye.”

  He adjusted her position so that she faced him and he could look at her eyes, the hazel color soft in the dimness. Even so, her face was expressive. He tracked the furrow that ran between her eyebrows. “I wanted to map my own future.”

  In an ironic twist, once he’d joined the military, he’d had less of an opportunity to chart the course of his life. But it had gotten him away from home, from his father’s relentless control.

  Long before Pierce was born, Gerard had decided Pierce was going to earn his business degree from a respected undergraduate program in the state before attending a prestigious grad school in Pennsylvania.

  Gerard had expected his oldest to intern at the corporate headquarters. He’d started by franchising automotive repair shops, then moved on to ice cream parlors. By the time Pierce was in high school, Gerard had opened a few short-term, payday-type loan stores. Pierce hoped his father had moved onto something less usurious.

  Enlisting in the service had been Pierce’s best option to flip his family the bird.

  His father had been furious at the news. He could have arranged, through his cronies, for an admission to a military academy. At least that way, the Holden name wouldn’t have been tarnished. As if enlisting in the army was in any way dishonorable.

  “And you stayed in because…?”

  Over the years, he’d harnessed his restlessness. He’d honed himself into a lethal, precise machine. He’d been trained to think in terms of targets and situations, not about people and places. At times, Pierce wondered about the cost to his humanity.

  Aware that she was still waiting for an answer, he said, “Turned out I was pretty good at it.”

  “I’m sure. When you focus on something, you’re pretty intense.”

  “Do you have any complaints?”

  “No.” She tightened her ass cheeks. “Not a single one.”

  “Good.”

  “So no plans to get out?”

  “I live in the moment.” Or he had. And deployment always loomed on the horizon. “I don’t look past the next mission.” For the immediate future, that meant the beautiful woman in his arms.

  “Any regrets?”

  “About?”

  “The decisions you’ve made?”

  Not until now. “I don’t deal in regrets…”

  She frowned.

  “But if I did, I’d regret not fucking you all night long when I had the chance.”

  “I’m a firm believer that we shouldn’t live with regrets, Sir.”

  “Are you?”

  With a grin, she reached for his dick. With firm, long motions, she stroked him to full hardness. “We have plenty of condoms, Sir.”

  “Are you sure you’re not too sore?”

  “Even if I was, it would be worth it.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  While he grabbed a condom, she sat up against the headboard and wrapped an arm around her upturned knees. Her mussed hair flowed over her shoulders and she was watching him intently.

  She looked so damn hot, and he was willing to concede that there were things he’d missed out on when he’d chosen not to pursue a relationship. “I want you on top of me,” he said, “so I can play with your nipples to be sure you get off. But first, come here and put the condom on my cock like a good sub.”

  Ella crawled across the bed to him. She wasn’t just good. She was perfect.

  She took the package from him, ripped it open then placed the latex over his cockhead. “Like this, Sir?”

  As she rolled it down, she squeezed and stroked his shaft, taking her time and looking up in a way that told him she knew exactly how enticing she was.

  And if he weren’t as disciplined as he was, no doubt he’d spill his load all over her hand.

  When she was finished, he seized control again, scooping her up. She squealed, and he sat on the bed then pulled her into his lap, facing him. “There’s a punishment for that intentional teasing.”

  “Oh? Is there?” She batted her eyelashes. “Wait. I mean, I didn’t do anything on purpose, Sir.”

  “No? How many strokes did you give me with your hand?”

  “Only as many as it took to get the condom on the right way. I wanted to ensure a good fit.”

  “How many strokes was it?” he asked again.

  “Five? Ten, maybe.”

  “Last chance to be honest.”

  She gave a heavy sigh as she rested her palms on his shoulders. “Twenty or thirty, Sir.”

  “We’ll go with thirty. My new favorite number for you.”

  That attractive little furrow buried itself between her eyebrows again. “Thirty what?”

  “Strokes. I want your cunt on my dick. Stroke yourself up and down thirty times.” He paused for a beat. “With your hands clasped behind your back.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I’m not sure I can figure that out.”

  “I have confidence in you.”

  “So you’re going to sit there and let me do all the work?”

  “All of it,” he affirmed.

  “I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “Not at all,” he agreed.

  “So you want me to fuck you. Is that it?”

  “You were pretty good with your hand. Now get on with it.”

  She released one shoulder and angled her body in order to reach his cock. Then she guided it toward her entrance. She was already slick, and her hot pussy wrapped around him.

  “Hands behind you,” he reminded her.

  It took a couple of seconds for her to adjust her knees and body weight so that she could obey his order.

  Slowly she began to move, first with short strokes, then longer, more confident ones as she found her balance. She flexed her hips and abs, undulating in a mind-blowing way.

  Thirty? He wondered if he would survive punishing this woman.

  When she was halfway through, his chest tightened. “Arch your back,” he instructed, his words jagged. “I want to play with your nipples.” And wanted to distract himself.

  With soft moans, she continued to move against him even as she pulled back her shoulders to give him greater access.

  “How many strokes so far?” The number was at least fifteen or twenty.

  She responded, “Ten.”

  His Ella was far too clever. Brat.

  “I need to be sure I’ve been taught a lesson, Sir.”

  There wasn’t enough time to do that with her.

  He gripped her nipples and tugged. Her internal muscles contracted in immediate response, which was hell on his restraint. “Keep going.”

  She lifted and lowered herself a dozen times before saying, “Fifteen, Sir.”

  Pierce gripped her hips so that he would have more control over her. He lifted her higher, then guided her all the way down. “Like that.”

  “Oh… Yes, Sir.” She closed her eyes and tipped back her head, following his lead while he squeezed her breasts.

  Her breathing became choppy, matching his own.

  “Sir…”

  He knew her orgasm was imminent. His wasn’t far behind. “Keep going. Don’t come. Next time, you might want to keep the count a little more accurately. How many are we at?”

  “Twenty-nine?” Her voice held a hopeful, desperate quiver.

  “We’ll start from seventeen.”

  “Not sure that I can last to thirty, Sir.”

  “You can.”

  “I need to come.”

  “Fight it.”

  “But—”

  “Count out loud.” It would distract her and give him an endgame. Through his army career, he’d met numerous challenges, few more grueling than the hellish sandstorm where they’d taken a hit. He’d called on his training to get through. He could manage this.

  As she continued, he realized that harsh, tough things were easier to endure than the softne
ss of her body.

  “Eighteen.”

  By the time she reached twenty-three, he closed his eyes to shut out the ethereal vision of her sensual response. Instead, he concentrated on the numbers she called, counting backward from seven to confuse his brain.

  “Twenty-four.”

  Six more to go.

  “Twenty-five.”

  Her pussy clenched him.

  Five.

  He breathed, but even the air smelled of her, filling his senses, making him think of sunshine. It would be something to remember during endless nights under siege.

  She moaned, moving faster.

  “How many, sub?” He had to remain in control, even when his grip on reality was fraying.

  “Twenty-nine, Sir.”

  “Twenty-eight,” he corrected. “Another two.”

  She grabbed onto him, and he opened his eyes. Her mouth was parted, her chest heaving.

  He squeezed her nipples even harder.

  “Now, Sir? Now, now, now?”

  “Come for me, sub.”

  She did, in a heated rush, screaming his name, clenching then collapsing onto his shoulder.

  With his eyes closed, having made certain his woman was taken care of, he set his back teeth. He gripped her hard, holding her prisoner as he pressed up inside her tight cunt.

  Pierce surged and pulsed, hot cum spilling from his cock. The orgasm was every bit as powerful as the previous one.

  Replete, he wrapped his arms protectively around her. “I can’t get enough of you, Ella.” It surprised him to realize how much he meant it.

  “Me, too. I might be sore tomorrow, but it would be worth it.”

  He held her for a long time before helping her from his lap and onto the floor.

  “I’ve never shared a bathroom with anyone,” she admitted, crossing the threshold in front of him.

  “Get used to it.”

  “I’m not allowed to have secrets from you, Sir?”

  He met her gaze in the mirror. “When we’re together, you’re mine.”

  Her hazel eyes held a smoky look. “Yes, Sir,” she acknowledged.

  Possession spiked through him, something he’d never experienced with another woman.

  After they’d cleaned up and returned to the bedroom, she opened a drawer to pull out a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I wear pajamas to bed.”

  “Not when you sleep with me.”

  “Naked?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Naked.” Then, not giving her time to voice an objection, he continued “I’ll keep you warm. Now get over here.”

  Together they remade the bed.

  She spent an unholy amount of time punching her pillow into shape.

  Another person might annoy him with the routine. From her, he thought it was quirky, adorable.

  Rather than making her move, he snuggled up behind her to keep his promise.

  And he woke up a dozen times through the night to ensure she was warm.

  * * * *

  Ella rested her shoulder against the doorjamb and enjoyed the gorgeous view.

  Pierce Holden—the Pierce Holden, her best friend’s big brother and her lifelong crush—was in her kitchen, measuring coffee grounds into the filter. He was shirtless. His jeans looked baggy, so if her guess was correct, they were unsnapped.

  Without her saying anything, he turned toward her.

  Breath vaporized in her lungs.

  “Morning,” he said.

  She couldn’t respond.

  The sight of him rendered her speechless. In the bright light, his scar was more prominent, a visible reminder of the peril he faced.

  She drank him in—his muscular arms, honed abs, trim hips, lean legs. His bare feet spoke of the intimacy they’d shared and his comfort at being in her home and life.

  But his eyes… He stared at her, more directly than any man ever had. Pierce wasn’t looking at her—he was seeing her. Ever since he’d swept her onto the dance floor, he’d allowed her no secrets. He scared her, thrilled her.

  When she’d awakened, alone in the bed, she hadn’t known whether or not he was in the house. For a minute, she’d been convinced she was alone. A pang of grief had stabbed her until she’d shoved it away. She’d reminded herself that they had agreed to a scene, nothing more.

  Then the welcome sound of running water had reassured her…until memories had rushed back. She’d recalled him putting a plug up her ass and the caning that had forced her to scream and pushed her to the boundaries of her endurance.

  Then, unsure whether he’d left any marks, she’d rolled onto her side and used her fingertips to seek out bumps. That had been when she’d realized how sore her body was. She’d made a mental note to go back to her yoga classes. Barring that, a bath in Epsom salts would be nice.

  She’d sat up, realizing she was nude and that she hadn’t gotten cold. And that was when she’d remembered the powerful orgasms he’d given her.

  The sight of his shirt and belt draped over her dresser had sent relief swimming through her, and she’d collapsed against the pillows.

  If she’d experienced grief when she’d thought she was alone, how would she react when he left for good?

  “You’re dressed,” he observed.

  “Nothing more than the robe,” she said. That part, she’d thought through.

  Because she wasn’t sure of her own emotions, and dreading the morning-after, she’d decided that being naked would leave her exposed. It was possible he’d want to put their BDSM scene behind them, maybe pretend it hadn’t happened. Part of her wanted the same thing. Another more insistent part wanted it to continue. For the first time, she’d had a scene that had left her satisfied. Now that she’d experienced it, she wanted it to continue.

  “Do you have any marks?”

  “I think so. One or two.”

  “Show me.”

  So he wasn’t just a Dom in the bedroom or for a scene. Obediently, she turned. Then, with her fingers shaking, she pulled up the robe.

  “Nice.”

  She allowed the material to fall before facing him again. His eyes had darkened a shade, the blue turning the color of a mountain lake. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to permit subs to wear clothing at home.”

  “You don’t? Subs in general? Or me in particular?”

  “Everything is about you, Ella. When you’re naked, it’s much more difficult for you to forget that you’re my submissive.”

  “I couldn’t, regardless.” How could she?

  “Boundaries define relationships.” He raised an eyebrow. “Evidently, I wasn’t clear. Take off the robe, Ella.”

  With a nervous gulp, she unknotted the belt then shrugged the material from her shoulders.

  “See what I mean?”

  He extended a hand and she offered him the robe, which he placed on a counter.

  “Any doubt about the nature of things now, sub?”

  Even his words were enough to make her cunt wet. “No, Sir.”

  “Turn around,” he said, his firm, uncompromising voice cutting, bringing her back to the moment, just as it had last night. “Spread your legs then put your palms flat on the floor.”

  Part of her knew it would be smarter to refuse, just have coffee and move on with her life. Every moment she spent with him brought her closer to a broken heart.

  Yet his tone compelled her, urging her compliance.

  Then she acknowledged the truth. It was much more than his tone that made her giddy. In spite of the risk, she wanted this and his boundaries every bit as much as he did.

  She slowed her breathing and got into the position he’d said.

  “You have two marks,” he said, scraping his thumbnail across one.

  It seared anew, and Ella wobbled.

  “Wear something short to the party. I want you to remember last night.”

  As if she could do anything else.

  “I’ve been thinking
about how beautiful you look.”

  “Is that all?” she asked, unable to resist.

  “And maybe laying leather across your ass.” He grinned. “It’s a little more personal since the belt belongs to me.” He ran a couple of fingers between her legs.

  It took all her self-control to remain in position.

  “Fetch it for me.”

  He dropped his hand, and she froze.

  Her motions jerky, she pushed up to a standing position. “Yes, Sir.”

  Before she could turn, he captured her shoulders.

  She looked up at him, noting the firm set of his jaw.

  “Any man who would keep another woman on the side when he could have had you is a fool. Your honesty, your transparency, the truth of your emotions is humbling. He didn’t deserve you.”

  Though she’d told herself the same things, hearing it from someone she admired and respected was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  “Now hurry. I’ll add extra strokes if you stall.”

  She fled up the stairs, aware of him watching her.

  Nudity made her uncomfortable, but there was no doubt how right he was. It did reinforce their dynamic. There was something thrilling about her seeing her lover’s eyes narrow with desire when he looked at her.

  After grabbing the belt, she returned to him.

  He was seated on the coffee table. The sound of the coffeemaker hissing and spluttering in the kitchen added a surreal air to the atmosphere.

  “This is for your pleasure,” he told her.

  “Pleasure?” She frowned skeptically at the leather in her hands. “Mine?”

  “And something for me to remember every time I put this belt on. Over my knee.”

  His legs were rigid. She couldn’t fill her lungs and balancing was almost impossible.

  Pierce clamped one leg over hers, imprisoning her lower body. She tried to put her hands on the floor, but her fingertips only brushed it.

  “Your ass was made for spanking,” he said.

  She tensed.

  He stroked her gently.

  Tension eased, despite the low-level fear churning in her.

  “Perfect.”

  He gave her a dozen or so gentle hits and chased away the apprehension. She should have known that Pierce wouldn’t give her more than she could endure.

  Over time, he increased the pressure, and her body seemed to be glowing.

  Everything except pleasure and being one with him fled from her brain. Her body became supple.