His whisked off the hood, and waited while she blinked her eyes to adjust to the light, and then dug his fingers into her hair and tilted her head.
Her mouth opened naturally as he drew back. “What motivates me is feeding a need inside you that desires to be led, craves to serve. I’m not looking for a doormat, and would never expect you to cater to me at any time, except within the confines of this room. Are you willing to serve me, Amy?”
Amy licked her lips. Everything he’d done and said was so foreign, so far removed from her experience. The free-thinking woman she was, the woman who’d excelled at school and carved out a career and a home for herself, should have felt more resistance to his invitation.
Instead, she melted at the heat and need reflected in his dark gaze. Her heart trembled, her pussy flooded, her limbs shook, threatening to collapse beneath her.
The tension his body radiated told her this was a crossing point, and that if she balked, even for a second, she could expect more of what he’d given her before, which had been amazing. But she wanted to take the deeper journey. Learn the secrets to his soul as corny as that sounded.
“How can I serve you?” she whispered.
A swallow worked the muscles of his throat. His eyes glowed with warmth and approval. “You may have my cock. To play with as you please. My reward for your obedience.”
She almost smiled. Her reward would be his as well, only she guessed when he was in “Master-mode”, his pleasure wouldn’t always be so straightforward. But hadn’t she dreamed of taking him with her mouth? “May I speak?”
He nodded, his jaw grinding taut.
Amy rubbed her cheek along his heated shaft, drinking in the scent of his musk, and then raised her gaze. “I thought I knew what I wanted. What any woman wants. A man who loves me. A man who will be a partner. What you’re offering…what it sounds like to me…is more than that, not less. I do this because I want you. All of you. But not because I could have been this way with any other man. Do you understand?”
His gaze softened. “I didn’t think you would ever have walked into a club and offered yourself as a sub to any other man.”
She nodded. “I would never do that.”
“Is that because this is abhorrent to you?”
Her smile slowly stretched her trembling lips. “No, it’s because I never wanted a man so badly. The things you want from me are things I want to give. I crave serving you because I know the pleasure I bring you will be returned. Is that enough?”
Logan’s face suffused with lust, triggering a jolt of heat that released a steady flow of excitement.
His half-lidded gaze swept her face, landing on her lips. “It’s more than I could have hoped. But right now, I’m afraid I have to demand that you take my cock between your lovely pouting lips and suck me.”
She canted her head and gave him as close to a sultry look as she could manage, given she was fighting a grin. “Do you expect me to always be obedient?”
His rueful smile was everything she’d hoped. “Hell no,” he growled.
“Do I have to like everything?”
“No, but experimenting will be part of the fun.”
“Do you know that the idea of becoming slave to your Master feels kind of liberating?”
“I think you do understand,” he crooned.
Right now, Amy wanted his satiny cock sliding into her mouth. But the act wasn’t the one of submission he had in mind, because she intended to enslave him.
As he pushed his cock downward toward her lips, she stroked her tongue over the tip, licking up a gleaming drop of pre-come. Salty, musky flavor exploded on her tongue, and she eagerly opened her lips to suckle the spongy cap.
As she suctioned and swirled her tongue over him, she lost herself in the pleasure of his taste and the varying textures of his manhood. The soft head gave way to a steely, satiny-smooth shaft. Her sex and sphincter began to pulse as she remembered how his girth and length had stretched her. The tenderness of the tissues lining her channel, of the ring gripping the plug, were sexy reminders of the power of her attraction over him.
That Logan found her long, supple body lovely fueled her love for him, an acknowledgment she’d keep to herself, because she didn’t want to rush him.
He was a man, and even in her limited experience, she understood his need to lead her on this journey.
So, she moaned around him, to tell him how much she honored his masculinity, how much she desired him. As she knelt and wrapped her hands around him, she gripped him firmly, twisting her hands around his shaft as she rocked forward to engulf him in her wet heat.
She’d let him think about another moist place as she swallowed and her throat clasped around his head. When one hand cupped his smooth, velvety sac and rolled his balls in her palm, she hoped he remembered the pleasure of banging them against her soft, moist flesh.
She didn’t have to wait long. The hand digging into her hair, pulled her head back, and he slid his cock from her mouth, stuck his hands beneath her arms and forced her to her feet.
His powerful arms enclosed her, and his cock rutted against her belly as his lips slammed into hers.
Their tongues dueled while he walked her backwards until her back met a wall. His hips pulled back, his hand thrust between their bodies and dragged down the tip until he slid between her folds and stroked along her slit.
She was drenched, her excitement coating him. He dipped and suddenly his cock was at her entrance and driving upward.
Logan grabbed her hands, laced his fingers through hers, and pressed them to the wall, while he began to fuck in and out of her, each stroke ending with a grinding motion that rubbed his pubic bone into her clitoris.
Their gazes met, her head tilting only slightly. His mouth was curved into a feral smile that fanned the fire building in her core into a gusting, flaring flame.
Amy wanted to wrap her arms and legs around him, wanted to feel his arms squeeze the breath from her, but he rutted into her, banging her body into the wall.
Her frustration built, and she began to writhe against him, shoving her hips against his to meet his fierce strokes despite the uncomfortable pull on the device still lodged in her ass.
Gradually, the violent, desperate nature of his passion overwhelmed her, and she stood on her tip-toes, pressing hard against the wall to curve her belly upward to receive his thrusts.
He dropped her hands and gripped her hips, sliding her up the wall, off her toes, curling his torso and resting his head against her shoulder while he hammered her.
Amy left her legs dangling, but her arms encircled him, fingers pulling at his hair, digging into his skin, inciting him to a greater urgency that caused them both to grunt like animals as they mated.
When her orgasm exploded through her, she drew up her knees, flattening her heels on the wall, and trusted him to hold her.
He came a second before she did, flooding her with cum. His shout, guttural and triumphant, was followed with her own keening cry. When he slumped against her, she wrapped her body around him, and they both sank clumsily to the floor.
She was gasping for air, her body still convulsing, when his hands cupped her face and his lips trailed her cheek and jaw, and at last, closed over her mouth.
She bit his bottom lip and released it, then stroked her tongue into his mouth.
His laugh, a deep rumbling gust, jerked the chest still smashed against hers. When his lips left hers, she opened her eyes.
His face was reddened and sweating. His eyes narrowed. “Who mastered whom?” he asked, the corners of his lips curling in a smug smile.
“I think I need a few more lessons,” she said, her voice every bit as ragged as her breaths while she struggled to calm her erratic heartbeats. “I haven’t quite grasped the concept of submission.”
His dark lashes flickered over coffee eyes. “It’ll be my pleasure to teach you.”
She smiled and nuzzled his skin with her nose, breathing in the scent of sex and his heavy
, male musk.
“Amy…”
Her eyelids scraped lazily upward. His expression made her breath catch.
His large, rugged palms bracketed her face as a hint of some dark emotion swept away his usual swagger. “I want more.”
Her lips parted. She sensed what he wanted to say, but understood he couldn’t quite put his feelings to words. How she knew, she couldn’t have said, but that warm, melting heat that seemed to accompany every thought she’d ever had of him built inside her.
She could be brave and stalwart for them both. “I love you, Logan Ross.”
His lips slammed into hers, and she had his answer in the shudder that racked his large, powerful frame.
Amy gripped his shoulders and pushed him to his back. Her pussy clasped around him, her inner muscles sucking at his cock, drawing him deeper until slowly he grew again, nudging along her channel, filling her body as his desperate hands climbed her back and brought her down against his chest.
She snuggled her face into the corner of his neck and sighed as his lips pressed fevered kisses to her cheek and ear. Inside, Amy’s chest expanded. She’d never felt so feminine. Convinced now, that he cherished her body, her love for him solidified.
As she shoved off his chest and began to rock gracefully, relentlessly, on his thickening cock, she didn’t think she’d have to wait very long for him to find the words she needed to hear.
For now, she basked in the approval in his glittering gaze and the tenderness of the callused hands that molded her small breasts.
Logan was hers—her lover, her other half, her heart’s master.
* * *
Don’t miss the next hot Texas cowboy series, The Triplehorn Brand!
Laying Down the Law
In Too Deep
A Long, Hot Summer
About Delilah Devlin
Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred eighty stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Entangled, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Kindle, Kindle Worlds, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.
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Laying Down the Law
The Triplehorn Brand #1
New York Times
and
USA Today Bestselling Author
Delilah Devlin
Chapter One
Rain fell in sheets, so heavy and fast that it wasn’t long before Zuri Prescott’s hands ached from her death grip on the steering wheel. The darkness muted her headlights so that she couldn’t see farther than twenty yards in front of her, but the beams still glossed the highway’s surface to a bright glare, which left her wondering whether she was inside the lines or sailing down the middle.
She’d been driving for hours, numbed to the worsening conditions, her mind caught in an endless loop, reliving the horrors of the day.
Her panic hadn’t lessened for even a moment since she’d first felt a gun pressed against her temple early that morning as she’d begun unlocking the side door of the branch bank, and a harsh voice whispered in her ear to get it open fast.
A heated body had moved close to her back and crisp, spicy cologne drifted over her. With her hands shaking, she’d unlocked the door, and then let him shove her through.
She’d landed on her knees, her pantyhose shredding on impact—the long, fat ladder that rippled up her thigh as strangely upsetting as the masked man behind her who grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to face the security alarm.
She’d pressed the buttons on the key pad, disarming the premises alarm, and dropped her hands. But another nudge of hard steel against her back, and his hushed, “The vault alarm, too, sweetheart,” had her punching a second set of numbers before he hustled her around the corner toward the vault, out of sight of her manager who waited in the parking lot for the all-clear signal.
The vault operated on a timer. At any other time of day, she wouldn’t have been able to open it—a fact that didn’t register until later. She’d spun the two combination locks, heard the inner mechanisms clang as they released, and he’d reached around her to grab the lever and push it down. The large steel door swung open.
The thief had shoved her through the anteroom with security deposit boxes lining both side walls, heading straight for the locked door at the rear. Again, he’d waited while she’d found the key and opened the door, then shoved the mesh interior gate inward.
Forcing her to her knees, he’d wrapped her wrists and ankles in duct tape, and pulled a hood over her head.
Then she’d been left to shiver on the floor, listening to the sounds he made as she followed him in her mind through the gate while he scooped stacks of cash into a bag. One side only. Later, the assistant manager pointed out that the thief must have been timing himself, a real pro, because he’d skipped the temptation of pausing to finish the sweep.
Less than five minutes had passed since they’d entered. Another two and the manager would call the police.
The thief had walked back to her and knelt, his knee touching hers as he leaned close.
She’d stayed silent, afraid as she’d never been before, because she knew he was going to kill her.
But the sound of keys rattling against glass had him scrambling to his feet and rushing out of the vault. A muffled shout and a single piercing shot was followed by the soft swoosh of the door closing.
For several interminable moments, she’d sat frozen, afraid he’d come back. But when he hadn’t, she’d crawled on her belly across the floor, inching her way toward the first desk in the lobby to hit a panic button. Sirens screamed in the distance, and she slumped on the floor, shivering and beginning to cry.
When the police arrived, her hood was pulled off, and a grim-faced police officer helped her sit while he cut the tape binding her.
Her head swiveled toward the door where the shot had sounded, and she saw another officer bent over Sam McWherter, her boss, whose rotund body lay spread-eagle on the floor, blood seeping outward to soak into the carpet.
The officer beside her moved to cut off her view. “You’re okay. Don’t look. We’ve got this place secured.”
Everyone had been solicitous. A hot cup of tea was pressed between her cold hands. She’d been herded into McWherter’s office, away from the body and the team beginning to comb the lobby and vault for evidence. They’d been kind, gently but firmly asking her to go over the chain of events that had transpired.
She’d given them a step-by-step description—of the robber’s actions and her sketchy knowledge of his height, weight, and gruff voice. The second time through, she swayed in her chair from melting exhaustion.
“Ma’am, did anyone know your routine?”
That one question from the first FBI agent to arrive on scene sparked a dawning horror, and she froze, noting the glance he shared with the pair of detectives flanking her in leather upholstered chairs. Someone did know her routine—and wore a crisp cologne that smelled like cinnamon and sandalwood.
She swallowed hard, realizing in a split second that she’d been set up. That she might even be implicated because the robber wasn’t a fool. No, he’d been incredibly, devastatingly clever.
While the agent waited for her to respond to the questions, she’d shook her head, giving him a tight smile. How could she tell them they were looking for a cop? Who would believe her side of the story? Especially after they did a little digging into her background. She’d lied about her affiliations with known felons when she’d applied for this job.
>
When she’d pleaded illness, they’d escorted her to her desk where she’d filled out the bank’s incident reports and made arrangements to meet later with the detectives and the FBI agent assigned the case at the station house to sign a statement, but her mind was already racing ahead.
She couldn’t go back to the apartment and risk meeting him. He’d have to finish what he’d started.
Gathering the handbag they’d already searched, she’d palmed her keys, nodded her agreement to see them later and walked sedately out the front door of the bank.
Since the moment she’d slid behind the wheel, she’d been on autopilot, navigating out of her Houston suburb and heading northwest. Once, she’d stopped briefly for gas, but had received another shock when she’d opened her glove compartment to retrieve her SpeedGas key.
Now, she drove with just one thought, just one image burned into her mind. An isolated cabin, deep in cattle country. Somewhere no one would think of looking for her. Then she could take a breath and consider what to do next.
She didn’t see the city-limit sign when she passed it, but she knew where she was when she reached the highway crossroad. She turned left, away from the little town she’d once been so eager to escape, and toward the Triplehorn Ranch.
Lights flared behind her as another car took the turn. For just a moment, the rain relented, and she saw the model of the vehicle. Her panic surged again.
How had he found her? She’d driven back roads in case the police were already alerted that she’d fled.
The headlights of the car behind her switched off. Not knowing how close behind her he was, she gunned the gas pedal. Her car surged forward, tires losing traction in standing water. The rear of her vehicle wagged in a wicked fishtail, but she steered through it, not easing up on the gas. If she could outrun him, make it to the cabin, and hide her car beneath the lean-to…
Night Watch (Texas Cowboys Book 6) Page 7
