by Maggie Ryan
Quentin nodded, and even though Grace thought he had to be holding himself in check at the mocking tone in her voice, her respect for the man grew as he once again held her panties so that she could step into them. She also had to bite back a grin when she noticed that while he’d eased both her and Joanne’s panties back into place, giving their bottoms a little pat after doing so, this time, once Starla’s panties were at her knees, he released his hold and after a moment, she reached down and pulled the black lace back into place. It might have been subtle, but she knew it was also a lesson to remind Starla that, experienced or not, she had a lot to learn about proper respect.
The evening’s lesson ended after Quentin led them to an area where Trent and his students were already seated—well, he was seated, his students were kneeling in the service position at his feet. Quentin had his own group kneel and after they’d done so, he’d asked Joanne to rise and go to the bar and order a beer for him, reminding her the bartender’s name was Adam. She instantly rose and moved away, and only then did Quentin instruct Starla and Grace to rise and told them that they might choose either a bottle of water or one of juice. He also asked that they inquire of Joanne which she’d like.
“Hell, how am I supposed to show him that, unlike you, I’m a serious submissive. I told him I wanted a real caning but because you were gasping with every stroke, he held back,” Starla hissed as the two women made their way to the bar. Grace was rather surprised the woman was even speaking, much less to her, and Starla turned away with a huff before she could even think of an answer. As they stood in line, waiting to place their order as several of their classmates had also been sent for service, she asked Joanne what she’d like.
“Oh, water would be fine, thanks.”
Once she and Starla had the bottles—water chosen by Starla, and cranberry juice and a water for Joanne, accepted by Grace with a thank you to the bartender—the two moved to return. “I suppose you can’t wait to repeat what I said?”
Grace was slightly offended and yet this time made a verbal response. “Despite what you might think, if Master Quentin held back, it was because he chose to, not because of anything else. And, for your information, I don’t appreciate you insinuating that I’m one to tattle.”
The woman didn’t respond, just stepped ahead of Grace and sank gracefully into the required pose, Grace not missing the fact that she’d done so as close to Quentin’s legs as possible.
***
Her trip down memory lane ended when Grace heard footsteps and looked up, her eyes not traveling far, as they were instantly frozen at the sight of black leather molded perfectly against a rather impressive bulge. It took his voice to have her tilting her head back and meeting his eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“Um, yes, sir,” she answered, wondering what the penalty was for lying.
“We’re not in class. You don’t have to address me as sir.”
“Oh, um, okay.” Despite his words, she almost had added a sir to her response.
“Is there a reason you are sitting on the stairs?” His grin had her squirming just a bit, as if her rear had awakened to remind her of the delicious experience she’d just had.
“I forgot my keys,” she admitted. “Laurie isn’t back, and I was hoping that if you came up before her, you’d let me in again.”
“I can do that,” he said, offering her his hand.
The moment she took it, she realized she didn’t particularly want him to unlock the door. Her arousal was instantly increased ten-fold by the mere touch of his hand. Though he was much taller than she, her position on the last stair from the landing had her at face level to him when he pulled her to her feet. She didn’t know if it was the fact that right before she’d been lifted, she’d seen his cock swelling, or if it was the look in his grey eyes, one she’d not seen before, that had her speaking.
“Fuck me, Quentin.”
His eyes widened and yet turned a smokier grey as he began to shake his head. Before he could speak, she shook her own.
“I remember what you said that night. I’m not asking for anything else. But, God, I need you to fuck me. Please?”
She held her breath even though she needed the oxygen, waiting to hear his rejection. Instead, he climbed the last few stairs and when he turned to the left instead of the right, she felt a sense of expectation that would have stolen her breath if she’d dared to take one.
It only took a second for him to unlock the door, and the moment they’d stepped inside, he kicked the door shut and had her pinned against it with nothing but the cage he made with his palms planted against its surface on either side of her head. Her nipples hurt so badly she thought they’d burst, and she could feel her juices sliding down her thigh, the gusset of her thong way too ineffective in trapping her arousal.
His mouth descended on hers in a kiss that stirred every molecule in her body. He didn’t kiss her softly. His tongue gave a single pass along the seam of her lips before pushing inside. Her moan was trapped by his mouth, and her strangled gasp when he dropped one hand to cup her breast, barely made it out into the room.
She arched against him, wanting… needing to be closer, to offer him whatever he desired. He pulled away only long enough to pull her t-shirt over her head, tossing it aside. She gasped again when he flicked open the front closing of her bra, freeing her breasts.
“Oh, God,” she moaned as both hands cupped her breasts. His fingers briefly caressed the skin before he took her mouth again as his thumbs and fingers closed around her nipples, rolling, twisting, and tugging until she was pretty sure she’d just come from the combination of pain and pleasure. Her hand moved to his crotch, her fingers stroking along his cock beneath the leather. Her knees threatened to give way as she felt the growing length.
When he pulled back, dropping his head to nip along her neck, she groaned. “Please, I need you inside.” She knew it sounded as if she was whimpering but didn’t give a damn. She had never spoken a truer statement.
His growl had her sex spasm as one hand went south to push beneath her skirt. Fingers shoved aside the sodden silk of her underwear to slide into her and she threw her head back against the door at the incredible sensation as he filled her. “Oh, God, yes.”
She wasn’t aware that his other hand had left her breast until his lips returned to hover a mere centimeter from hers. “Wrap your legs around me,” he said, lifting her easily. She instantly obeyed, the feel of his cock at her entrance making her wonder how on earth he had managed to not only free himself, but magically pluck a condom from thin air and don it, all while continuing to pleasure her. When she felt her thong being ripped off, she almost came with the primal feel of it all. He was as needy as she. He began to push inside and though he’d given her several thrusts with his fingers, she gasped, her eyes flying wide open as he slowly filled her.
“I-I don’t think… oh, God!”
“Shh, you’ll be fine,” he said, a moment before he silenced any further protests by kissing her again.
Grace discovered he was more than correct. She wasn’t just fine… she was absolutely perfect as he thrust and withdrew, only to thrust again until he was fully buried inside her. He pulled his mouth away and lowered his head to suckle a nipple. Her hands clung to his shoulders as his hands cupped her ass, his fingers kneading the recently spanked skin, driving her arousal higher and higher with every squeeze of the punished flesh. When he bit down on her turgid peak, she screamed and came, her body jerking, and yet he easily held her, keeping her in place as he increased the intensity of his thrusts.
Lifting his head, he spoke, “Good girl, come again.” He didn’t seem to expect an answer as he moved to lave and suckle her other nipple. She had never been multi-orgasmic and yet, when he tilted her just a bit, pounding into her, stretching her, filling her so completely, she could feel herself climbing again. Another sharp bite, a few more deep thrusts and she obeyed, her scream louder, her climax prolonged, and yet he still hadn’t re
ached his own. By the time he sank as deeply as possible and she felt his body jerk, she came for the third time, joining him in pleasure she’d never truly imagined as possible.
He continued to hold her, his head dropping to rest against her own. She didn’t once fear he’d drop her, though she could feel a slight tremble run through his shoulders as she continued to hold on. Dropping a hand, she pressed it against his heart, wishing he’d taken the time to remove his own shirt. As they regained their senses, the artist in her wondered what sort of picture they made. Without benefit of a camera or even a mirror, she had no doubt that in her own eyes, it would be one of erotic pleasure… pleasure she already wished to re-experience—and yet, she’d told him she remembered his statement after her show. He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t make love. He fucked. God, did he ever. He fucked like no man she’d ever been with. He fucked with a power and control that already had her nipples forgetting their slight tenderness from his bites and pebbling again.
He slipped from her and she allowed her legs to slide from their clasp around his waist. She wobbled as they took her weight and she knew it had nothing to do with the fact that she was still wearing heels.
“All right?” he asked softly, not releasing her fully.
“Perfect,” she returned, looking up and seeing the softest grey yet reflected in his eyes.
“I’m going to dispose of the condom, but need to know that you aren’t going to collapse if I let you go.”
She really didn’t want to be released but nodded. “I’m fine.”
He bent forward and gave her a quick kiss. “Darlin’, you are far more than fine.” She leaned against the door as she watched him walk away. God, what she’d give to see him walk away naked. The flex of his muscles and the pull of those incredible pants against his ass had her mouth watering. Thoughts of his clothing had her thinking of her own. She clasped her bra and, seeing her shirt on the floor, bent to pick it up and pulled it on. She couldn’t help but grin at the fact that her brand new panties were now useless. Granted, they hadn’t been much help before, and yet, feeling the fabric that had been torn lying against her skin, she reached beneath her skirt and pulled them off. She’d read of such things and now knew that it was a total turn on to have a man… a wonderful, dominant man, want you so badly he didn’t take a single second to remove your underwear.
“Sorry about that.”
Looking up, she saw he’d returned. “Don’t be,” she said. “It was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing.” She was pleased to see his brief grin but wasn’t pleased when it disappeared just as quickly. Now that he’d fulfilled her request, she wondered if he were already regretting doing so. Unlike the expectations of the classroom, she was torn as to what to say next. Should she just thank him or say what she really wanted, which was to ask if they could do that again.
“Ready?” he asked, solving her dilemma. She nodded and stepped away from the door so he could open it. Neither spoke as he walked her down the short length of the hall. After unlocking her door, he pushed it open but reached out to take her arm before she entered. He seemed to hesitate but then gave her a smile. “Sleep well, Grace.”
Her smile wasn’t the least bit forced, nor her response a lie. “I will. Thanks, Quentin, and sweet dreams.”
She lifted herself onto her toes and kissed his cheek before ducking inside, and after gently closing the door, she leaned against it with a smile still on her face.
Chapter Fourteen
Quentin ran up the stairs, barely managing to stop himself before plowing into Laurie. “Sorry,” he said and then took a closer look at her face. “Hey, sugar, are you okay?”
She met his eyes and shook her head. “No… I mean, I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not,” he countered.
“You’re right, I’m not. I’m really pissed off but can’t do a fucking thing about it because if I don’t get going, I’m going to be late for my shift.”
Quentin was a bit surprised at the anger in her voice. Yesterday when he’d last seen her at the hospital, she’d been practically giddy. Had her expectations not been met? He rather doubted it, as he knew that Brody was the sort of man to make sure his submissive was completely sated, and the fact that the two were now engaged only told him that if Brody hadn’t, then something was seriously wrong.
“Is it Brody?” he asked.
“Brody? No, Brody is fine.” When her glance darted towards the door to her apartment, Quentin got a sick feeling in his stomach. Shit, he should have known better. Though he’d been expecting to mentally kick himself ever since he’d returned to his apartment after unlocking the door for Grace last night, he’d enjoyed their encounter too much to do so. He knew he was an ass, and evidently, Laurie knew it as well. He opened his mouth but she spoke before he could.
“Poor Grace, she’s trying to be brave but I know she is devastated.”
Okay, he was not only an ass, he’d been a fool to believe her when she’d insisted that she didn’t care… all she wanted was to fuck him.
“Look…” the two said at the same time.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“I was just going to ask that you go talk to her. I know you can’t be held accountable but, shit, maybe just talking will help her.”
Not accountable? Her words were making absolutely no sense.
“Please? I’ve really got to go.”
“Sure,” he said, not positive what she expected but hoping his assurance would remove at least a little of the tension he could see in her body.
“Thanks, Quent, you’re a doll.” She bent to give him a quick kiss and then ran down the stairs. “I’m sorry I cussed,” she added right before she turned the corner.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered, resuming his ascent. The fact that he hadn’t at least given her butt a smack in passing had him pausing outside the door. Hell, he had planned on returning to the hospital and continuing the investigation. Now he was about to be raked across the coals by the guest of a woman he admired, and found he couldn’t blame Laurie for her attitude. He had to repeat his knock before the door opened.
His first thought was how very different this woman appeared from the one he’d been with only hours earlier. At some point, tears had obviously caused her mascara to run and yet she wasn’t presently crying. Instead of a sexy tee and cute skirt, she was wearing a flannel shirt and another pair of sweat pants. No pretty red heels were on her feet, as they were bare. Her auburn hair wasn’t floating around her shoulders but was pulled back into a high ponytail, and from the look of the pencil stuck into the sloppy bun, she hadn’t given a single thought to anything but getting it out of her way. But it was the look on her face that tugged at his heart. He’d never felt like a bigger shit than he did at that moment.
“Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry,” he said. Her obvious despair had him opening his arms, wanting to give her more than a simply worded apology.
She stepped into them, her arms wrapping around his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest. Without her heels she was so much shorter and felt so tiny in his arms. When he realized that he could feel her trembling, he scooped her up and walked to the couch. Taking a seat, he arranged her on his lap, not speaking as she gave in to a fresh bout of tears. It was several minutes before she began to quiet.
“What a goddamned bastard.”
He winced but accepted the accusation. It didn’t help him any remembering that he’d told her not to expect anything from him. He still felt like a jerk for taking advantage of her. Hell, he’d known she left the class aroused. Before he could say anything, she saved him the trouble.
Pushing up a bit, she swiped at her eyes. “How can a man be so fucking cruel? I mean, who the hell does he think he is?”
Quentin was about to automatically chastise her for cursing when the pronoun she’d used replayed in his head. He? She hadn’t said, “you.” Deciding there were more important things to discuss, he let the cu
rse words slide… at least for the time being, he qualified, a bit surprised that he did so.
“Honey, I’m not sure who you are talking about.”
“Him!” Her answer didn’t help him but seeing her hand sweep towards the floor, and noticing for the first time that the newspaper appeared to have been shredded, a glimmer of understanding began to flicker. It flared to life when she continued.
“David shithead Brooks. How dare he. Just because I wouldn’t go out with him. Just because I told him off when he called. Just because he is a world-class asshole, I still didn’t believe he’d follow through with his threat.”
“Wait a minute,” Quentin said, every protective instinct going into overdrive. “What threat? Are we talking about the night of the show?”
She seemed to nod and shake her head at the same time. “That might have started it, but I’m pretty sure he wanted to make it clear that I understood that artists who didn’t accept his offers could kiss their fucking careers goodbye. God, Charles is going to kill me. He warned me, and… oh, God, I don’t know how I’ll be able to face him. He took a chance on me and now I’ve done nothing but draw negative attention to his gallery.”
Quentin understood she had to be talking about the review of her show. While he was sure he wouldn’t enjoy reading it, he knew he needed to. However, he didn’t take the paper, and the one on the floor was totally useless. Making a decision, he patted her knee. “What we need is not only a plan but to fortify ourselves. Go put on some shoes. We’ll get some coffee.”
