Losing Control: 2

by Tina Donahue

  Shit, shit, shit. The thought of bringing Tim any sorrow made Catherine whimper. Never would she want him to believe that he’d fallen short somehow and that’s why she wasn’t going to see him again. She’d have to think of a lie to let him go gently or behave in a way he found annoying, allowing him to believe that he’d been wrong about her. They couldn’t have a good time together. A lasting relationship would never work out.

  On a disheartened sigh, she cupped his ass and buried her face in his sex, smelling his musk, licking him. Tasting as much as she could of his wiry pubic hair, the root of his cock, its length and head.

  “Hey, easy,” he moaned. “We have all night.”

  Then it would be over. She’d be a call girl once more, doing this with others. Before meeting Tim, Catherine hadn’t minded. She’d actually looked forward to her appointments, going to the best places, dressing up like a princess, challenging educated, rich, powerful men to pleasure her as much as she did them.

  Now, though…

  “Whoa, please,” Tim groaned.

  “Sorry.” She loosened her grip and pulled herself together, drawing upon the dogged determination that had lifted her out of poverty. Recalling her decision to give Tim a night he’d never forget, she asked, “This better?”

  He lost all of his air as she ran her fingers down the furrow between his buttocks, pausing on his anus.

  He gasped, “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it feel like?”

  “It…”

  He didn’t finish. Didn’t have to. Catherine knew by his tattered breaths that she was giving him the best kind of attention and comfort. It was all that mattered. She continued to tease his tight ring of flesh with her forefinger even as she took his succulent crown into her mouth.

  He muttered several oaths, indicating how much he liked that.

  With the tip of her tongue, she teased the back of the head.

  No more words poured from Tim. She’d reduced him to animal grunts. Good. With her free hand, she fondled his balls, tracing their contours, feeling their precious weight. At the same time, she continued to probe his anus and suck his cock deeper, deeper, opening her throat until she had his full length inside.

  He smelled wonderful—clean, yet musky, his scent seductive and comforting. Catherine moaned her approval.

  This time, Tim spoke with his hands, cupping her head, moving it back and forth, her mouth over his cock, using her as he wanted and she desired. On the dance floor, the music grew frenzied, the beat savage and wild, the rock group not immediately identifiable. She flicked her tongue over the back of Tim’s crown. One of the strobe lights raced across the windowed wall, brightening it for a moment. When it fell back to a rosy glimmer, Catherine pushed her finger just past the tight ring of Tim’s anus and gently increased the pressure on his balls.

  He came immediately and on a shout, drowning out the music’s muffled bass. His knees sagged, bumping her before he stiffened, going to his toes. Catherine straightened to keep his cock inside her mouth. She swallowed his spurting cum to let him know she needed this. She wanted him. Oh god, that was one thing she’d never be able to lie about.

  His legs wavered. He came down hard on his heels and gripped her skull to keep her from moving his rod in and out of her mouth. Pulling her hand from his balls, he held it in his.

  The music outside quieted a bit, which allowed Catherine to hear his rasping breath. She let his cock slip out of her mouth and rested her face against his taut belly. His muscles were hard, his skin hot.

  Another shudder tore through him.

  “Good?” she asked, having no doubt that it had been.

  He cleared his throat and panted, “No.”

  Not expecting that answer, Catherine lifted her face. Perspiration shone on Tim’s brow. His color was nearly as deep as hers. He swallowed and heaved in another deep breath as if he feared it might be his last.

  “You’re telling me you didn’t enjoy that?” She frowned. “I practically killed you. Oh wait—is that the problem?”

  “No.” He swallowed again. “It’s not enough. I want more.” Gripping her shoulder for support, he toed out of his shoes and freed his feet from his boxers and pants, then kicked them aside.

  “Let me,” she said, eager to remove his socks.

  “No. You’re too slow.” In spite of his obvious fatigue, he had them off in a flash, tossing them over his shoulder. They hit the mirrored wall. No one on the other side appeared to notice. “On the bed.”

  Catherine leaned against it, not bothering to push to her feet. “Why on the bed suddenly? What’s there?” She trailed her fingers down his belly, smiling at how it trembled at her touch. “Tell me. None of that ‘you’ll see’ crap.”

  “Just get on the bed.”

  “So you can sleep?” She pushed out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “What am I supposed to do while you—”

  “Good fucking god.”

  With surprising strength, he lugged Catherine to her feet. She released her weight into him, loving how his nudity felt against hers. He was all hard muscle even in his slightly debilitated state. She teased, “I see you’ve gotten your second wind.”

  He managed another breath, this one deeper than the others.

  Intent on stealing it, Catherine suckled his neck.

  Tim alternately groaned and growled. “On. The. Bed.” He used his superior size to force her toward it.

  She fell backward onto the mattress. Tim followed, the springs squeaking with his weight. He reached beneath the pillows, pulling out a pair of velvet-lined handcuffs. No way did he have to tell her what they were for.

  He snapped the first around her right wrist, the other around her left. A chain connected them to the bed’s headboard, intricately designed with wrought iron flowers, vines, leaves. Tim adjusted the chain until Catherine’s arms were over her head, her body bared to him, escape impossible.

  Her pulse raced. Her breath came as quickly.

  Tim leaned over her, their faces close, his gray eyes glittering with lust. “You with me on this?”

  Catherine definitely wasn’t complaining. She breathed, “Every step of the way. What now?”

  “We get wild.”

  Chapter Eight

  From the ship’s observation deck, the District’s skyline was stunning. Spotlights and a heavy moon illuminated the major monuments, making them appear unreal, like something out of a Hollywood movie. Stars dusted the winter sky, while soft jazz floated from the dance floor beneath Alexa and Hunt. Wrapped in her black wool cloak and his arms, she snuggled closer to his sturdy weight and warmth.

  On her contented sigh, he murmured, “I can’t believe you’ve never done this before.”

  “Lean against you?”

  He chuckled. “No. Taken this dinner cruise. Kind of lame, huh?”

  “What?” Turning, Alexa cupped his handsome face. Hunt’s cheeks were smooth from his recent shave and chilled from the frigid breeze, his hair dancing with it. “How can you say that? It’s romantic. Almost as good as the night you gave me on the equestrian estate.”

  He brushed his mouth over hers, his lips silky and inviting, the faint scent of bourbon on his breath. “There were other guys there that night, remember?”

  Alexa would never forget it. The candlelit tent, scores of black roses and jasmine. The platform on which a large canopy bed stood, delicate panels of fabric draping its posts, black silk covering the mattress.

  Hunt knew she hadn’t trusted one-on-one with any man—she didn’t want to get that close and risk being hurt. He’d asked her to put her heart in his care and had hired men from the agency, guys Alexa considered her friends. They’d observed, but never touched. Hunt wouldn’t have allowed it. That night she wasn’t technically alone with him, and yet she was, surrounded by his desire and need of her.

  She murmured, “I only noticed you.”

  He kissed her deeply, unmindful of the other couples nearby, his strength holding her close,
refusing release. Just as Alexa liked.

  Finished, Hunt kissed the tip of her nose.

  She smiled. “How’d you find this place—ship—event? You been surfing the Net when you should have been working? What’s Dottie going to say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Since when? Dottie was his secretary, in her sixties. From what Hunt had claimed, the woman was efficient as hell and worse than a mom when it came to enforcing rules. “So, you’ve managed to tame the beast?”

  He grinned at his affectionate term for the woman. “Hardly. She’s been lying low. Catching up on The Walking Dead at her desk. I think she likes Hershel. Feels sorry for him since he lost his foot. I mean, how long can the poor bastard run from the zombies in that state?”

  Alexa hadn’t a clue. The Walking Dead was Hunt’s thing, a favorite drama he recorded religiously so he could see it unfold without commercials. During the first two seasons, he claimed to have holed up in his apartment to catch up on weeks of the plot, and got very pissed if anyone breathed a hint of what was to come, spoiling the gory outcome for him.

  Alexa teased, “Is that why we’re here tonight? The show’s having a marathon viewing on the lower deck?”

  With her question, he looked wistful. “I wish. That and the cast being here. I’d really like to meet the actors before they’re dead meat, so to speak.” Hunt sighed. “But no. This cruise was Tim’s idea.”

  Alexa couldn’t hide her surprise. “He actually suggested somewhere for you and me to go?”

  “No. He said he wanted to take Catherine.”

  Alexa felt the blood draining from her face. She gripped the rail to keep steady.

  This couldn’t be happening. Catherine and Tim were on this boat too? What if they ran into her and Hunt? How would Catherine react? Surely, she wouldn’t have agreed to board this thing if she knew Alexa would also be here. What in the fuck would they all say to each other? What if Catherine’s secret got out here, in a public place? Crap, crap, crap. Shivering with worry rather than the cold, Alexa glanced over both shoulders, afraid she might see them.

  “Ready to go inside?” Hunt asked. He took her hand.

  She didn’t budge.

  He looked over. “Hey, you okay?”

  Alexa opened her mouth, but nothing came out, especially the confession she should have made. If she told Hunt everything now, he’d feel obligated to tell Tim about Catherine’s lies. Even though Tim was his friend, it wasn’t Hunt’s place to intrude. Alexa’s either. The time for truth was Catherine’s alone to decide, if she ever freaking made it.

  “Alexa?”

  She blurted, “Is Tim here tonight?”

  Hunt studied her. “You worried about him acting like a jerk?”

  She was concerned he’d behave like any man who’d been conned by a woman he liked and had trusted. What if Tim was falling in love with Catherine? No way did Alex want to witness his rage and pain upon hearing the truth. “He’s made it clear how he feels about you being with me,” she lied, dismayed that she had to. “Every time we see him, he barely cracks a smile.”

  Hunt brushed several strands of hair from her face where the wind had blown them. “Did you ever consider he might be embarrassed because of what happened the night all of us met?”

  When she’d been Magique, a call girl who preferred two or three men at once to pleasure her. Her evening with Hunt, Tim and David had been paid for by one of their clients who’d been pleased with the results of their lobbying efforts.

  “Is he and—” Alexa stopped before she said Catherine’s name, afraid she might use it with too much familiarity and Hunt would notice. “Is he here on a date tonight?”

  “No. Tim said he found another place.”

  That should have relieved Alexa, but didn’t. Had he not taken the cruise because he was that uneasy in her presence, or really did disapprove of her as much as she suspected? Even though Tim’s opinion shouldn’t have bothered Alexa on a personal level, he was still Hunt’s friend and that did matter. “Tim didn’t want to risk running into me?”

  “You know, babe, as spectacular as you are, you weren’t even in the equation.” Hunt slung his arm around Alexa’s shoulders, giving her a quick hug, then led her to the steps to go to the lower deck. “He said he was going to take Catherine to a nightclub that just opened up. He thought she might like that better.”

  We get wild.

  After that heady promise, Tim had removed Catherine’s boots and shackled her ankles as he had her wrists, pulling on those chains until he’d spread her feet and thighs. She had no hope of closing her legs to protect her cunt. During the coming hours, it belonged to him, the same as her breasts and mouth.

  Allowing enough slack in the restraints, Tim directed Catherine to bend her knees and place the soles of her feet on the mattress. Her chained, naked body faced the dance floor and the couples gyrating on it, her pussy exposed for all to see.

  If they thought to come to the glass. If Tim turned on the candles in here.

  “Later,” Catherine had told him.

  Her pulse points thumped. Never had she felt as vulnerable as she did now…as nude…not even with all that she’d done while entertaining her clients. Those carnal encounters had been no more than role-playing, a means to an end, snatches of gratification that masked their actual purpose—a way for her to see to Opal’s care, her own education and future.

  This was the real deal. A man Catherine required having full power over her, prepared to take what he willed.

  A soul-deep ache consumed Catherine. She longed for Tim to touch and taste each part of her, to use her so thoroughly she’d never forget these hours. They’d always be available for her to draw upon in the empty days ahead.

  Oh damn, don’t think about that. Come on…enjoy this.

  On her unspoken plea, Tim settled himself on the mattress and ran his fingers over her cheek, directing her face to his. Catherine stared, memorizing his features, as he regarded hers. Everything else receded into the background. The crowd, noise, intrusive lights no longer existed. Only he did.

  She noticed the tiny mole near his left eyebrow, a faint scar on his forehead. From some childhood mishap? There had been no mention of it in his agency file. She’d seen numerous pictures of him as a little boy. Blond and confident, he’d ignored the camera recording him riding a horse, piloting a sailboat, scoring at a soccer tournament. Would his future son look like he had at those ages? Or would the boy resemble his mother, a woman from Tim’s world?

  Before Catherine could dwell on the matter and sink back into sadness, Tim brushed his lips over hers, a brief prelude to his deep, wet, lingering kiss. My god, the man knew how to neck, his passion just shy of savage with a hint of tenderness. Heat built in Catherine’s pussy. Her cunt grew even wetter, needing him inside.

  He didn’t mount her. Finishing their kiss, he latched onto her breast, his teeth closing around her nipple playfully. Then he sucked hard. She felt the pressure clear to the top of her head. Her scalp tingled, the same as the rest of her skin. Rarely had she felt more alive or engaged with another human being.

  Was this what it meant to fall in love or was she simply experiencing unquenchable lust?

  Her heart knew, opening even more to this man who seemed to understand her body’s needs better than she did, coaxing uncivilized responses from her—groans, moans, whimpers and sighs. She recalled his eagerness to help Opal, to see her whole. That more than anything else stirred Catherine, pulling her deeper into his vortex. Her hunger for him became frightening, but also sweet, encouraging her not to fight what she wanted.

  She gasped as Tim settled his hand on her mound, his fingers on her clit. Lazily, he stroked her sensitive nub even as he explored her areola with his tongue.

  Catherine moaned loud and long. No one outside could possibly hear with the music again clamoring for attention. This time, Kelly Clarkson’s What Doesn’t Kill You poured from the dance floor. The tune’s muffled beat matched Catherine’s moun
ting arousal. She was so primed for Tim, just a few more strokes and she’d be screaming out her—

  The sound of wood hitting wood interrupted her thoughts, the noise unexpectedly loud and coming from the right.

  Through a fog of desire, Catherine watched two female servers—both young and lovely—enter the room. Dressed in waitstaff uniforms of white shirts and dark pants, they went to the credenza and filled the warming bins with food. What appeared to be lobster, sizzling steaks, twice-baked potatoes, other vegetables.

  Why in the fuck were they in here now?

  The shorter one, a blonde with shoulder-length hair and a very lush figure, lit the flames beneath the metal bins. The burners were artfully concealed from those on the dance floor so they wouldn’t catch the faint illumination and try to peer past the glass. The tall redhead watched Tim masturbating Catherine, his mouth on her nipple, still suckling it.

  Catherine’s surprise evolved into base desire, a hunger for pleasure that went well past wanton. She arched her back, delivering her breast to Tim, knowing the server saw and probably craved his skilled touch as much as she did.

  Could the girl smell his male musk, the scent of sex? Was she imagining the weight of his body imprisoning hers, the thrill of feeling his naked, heated skin, experiencing his strength that was both overpowering and protective?

  Poor girl, if she was. No way would she get a chance to know what Catherine was enjoying.

  She spread her legs a bit more, giving Tim what he wanted…her nude, displayed, controlled and subjugated for his indulgence and hers. He heightened the pleasure further by giving the servers a show.

  Catherine knew he’d heard their arrival too.

  Again, he ran his fingers up the length of her slick cleft. Oh damn, damn, damn. She moaned lewdly at the astonishing sensations battering her.

  The blonde parted her lips. The redhead stared.

  Catherine submitted to Tim’s bold touch, his fingertips exploring her pussy, nub and opening for the servers’ gratification and hers.

  He slipped two fingers inside her sheath, his thumb returning to her exquisitely sensitive clit.