Hialeah Heat

by Carol Storm

  “That was my fault,” Kenny said. “I’m the one who uncovered your submissive needs. But there’s a lot more to Kathleen Sullivan than those private feelings. Your political instincts are still the best I’ve ever seen. Red Kelly taught you a lot, sure. But while a guy like Red or your father only knows how to divide people, you know how to bring them together. You know what it feels like to be powerless. People who are powerless for other reasons will rally around you if you can just tap into that. You’re strong enough to feel all kinds of feelings, Kick. You’re strong enough to win. Just give yourself a chance.”

  “I’m afraid,” Kick said softly. “I’m afraid that the feelings I have for you will make me say and do stupid things. What if I can’t control my needs and I make a fool of myself?”

  “I’ll take care of your needs,” Kenny reassured her. “I can discipline you in private and support you in public. I’m very comfortable with both sides of our relationship.”

  Kick swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be tied up again. Not after that night.”

  “No ropes,” Kenny said. “You’ll be safe and in control the whole time. Just do one thing for me, Kick. Just lift your arms and put them behind your head.”

  “Okay, Master,” Kick said. She felt her pulse surge a bit. It was that old heat, the Hialeah heat, surging through her veins like fire.

  Kenny grinned. “I’m going to take off my clothes, and then I’m going to start at your feet and work my way up. I’ll be asking you if it’s all right each time I make a movement. You can bring your arms down at any time. That will end our lovemaking. Your hands are up because you want me to continue. No ropes.”

  “I understand.” Kick had her arms folded comfortably behind her head. Kenny undressed slowly, letting her watch. Kick liked the feeling of being a spectator, with no pressure to obey or remember the Master’s commands. She had to admit, the spectacle was delightful to watch. Kenny took off his jacket, undid his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt. Kick nearly moaned with desire just from the sight of his muscular chest and abdomen. Kenny made her wait, folding his garments carefully, letting his muscles ripple and stretch for her. His naked skin was gleaming with health, rich and brown and vital. Then he pulled off his belt, his trousers, his briefs. This time Kick really did moan, because his shaft was already hard and standing up for her.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Kenny said softly. He had been standing sideways, so that she saw his profile, the way his cock jutted up so violently with need. But he seemed to realize that he might frighten her if he just walked right over to the bed. When he was totally naked, he sank to his knees instead. He cupped her feet in his hands, kissing the toes one by one.

  Kick giggled. She felt wonderfully warm and safe, lying in her own bed with her hands behind her head and having this magnificent man kneel to her. “Master, are you going to reverse roles and be my slave?”

  “Never,” Kenny said, from the foot of the bed, a twinkle in his eyes. “But I beg you, Kick, please take off your clothes.”

  Kick laughed again, louder this time. “You should have thought of that before you told me to lie back and lift up my arms,” she chided. “Now I have to get all uncomfortable again.” But once she sat up, it didn’t take long for her to undress. She had been lying around the house all day, and she was only wearing baggy sweats and a t-shirt. She felt power, and a new sense of self-confidence, just from the careless way she tossed them across the room.

  Once she was back in position, the first thing Kenny did was to cup her feet in his warm brown hands once again. Kick gasped with pleasure as he kissed her instep. It was amazing how such small gestures could arouse her and yet soothe her fears at the same time. Kenny asked permission before moving a bit farther up, stroking her calves and kissing the exquisitely sensitive bend behind her knees.

  “May I lower my arms, Master?” Kick asked. Kenny was being so polite that she hardly remembered that she was still pretending to be his slave. In truth, she felt more like a queen. Kenny’s head was almost in reach of her fingertips, and she wanted to touch his black hair, feel the silky texture with her fingertips.

  “Not unless you want me to stop.” Kenny told her. He was still in command, though showing his gentle and thoughtful side with every slow and carefully measured kiss. He requested permission to kiss her thighs, to part them gently, to kiss the wetness that was growing and pooling and flowing as Kick now thrashed her head from side to side. His hands were now able to reach her breasts, to cover them and gently stroke them. His long, sensitive fingers surrounded and then delicately flicked and stroked the sensitive, tightening nipples.

  “Oh please,” Kick gasped, not even able to remember what she was asking for. “Oh please, yes!”

  This was different from all of their earlier adventures. There were no costumes, no role playing. It seemed an eternity before Kenny covered her with that incredibly lean and sculpted body. Kick’s breasts were aching now, and he commanded her to lie still while he suckled. Her gasps and cries were like spasms in her trembling flesh. The controlled foreplay was deeply arousing for both of them. Gradually, with excruciating patience, Kenny slid back down her slim body. He massaged her breasts with his hands, using circular motions that entranced. He trailed kisses along her stomach, while his fingers teased her nipples. At last he buried his face against her damp curls as he sought out the wet core of her arousal.

  “Oh, Master. Oh, yes. Yes, please!” Kick moaned and writhed, powerless to resist. Her hands were still behind her head. She longed to fondle Kenny’s dark hair, to push his face deeper into her, but she didn’t dare. The chains he talked about were not iron or steel, but the bolts of shattering sensation that held Kick powerless and trembling in his grasp. His tongue flicked like forked lightning, and her hips rose and fell as she moaned under his intimate kiss.

  Kenny used both his fingers and his tongue, letting the pressure on her nub work with the deep penetration of his fingers to create a compelling and intensifying rhythm of excitement. Release came over her like a burst of shattering music, a sunrise of glorious color. She shuddered, suddenly rigid, and then fell back limp, exhausted, utterly spent.

  “You can lower your arms now,” Kenny said, amused. He turned aside long enough to wipe his gleaming face with a towel, then stretched out again on the narrow bed, covering her body with his own.

  “My dark, cruel Master,” Kick whispered, reaching up languidly to encircle his thick brown neck with her slender white arms. She kissed him lingeringly, tasting her own womanly juices on his tongue. “When did you learn to be so gentle?”

  Kenny kissed her lips, lightly. “You’ve been learning too, you know.” He slid inside her, the path made smooth and easy by her own willingness and utter relaxation. There was no dark shadow to stop them now, her fears and bad memories having exploded into sunshine. The rhythm of coupling was natural between them. Kick felt her Cuban lover moving inside her, and she opened to him, as though the surging heat of his cock were the sun warming her. Yet this time it was different. Some timeless instinct caused her to cunningly contract, tightening and releasing, her arms tightening around his body as she enfolded him in her grasp. Kick felt a thrill of delighted triumph as she heard Kenny’s primitive grunts of pleasure. But soon he was so wild with his arousal that she was swept up with him, into a whirlwind of circling and intensifying sensations that ended only when both of them were spent and sated.

  “That was the best plain vanilla sex ever,” Kick said afterwards, sighing dreamily.

  “That wasn’t vanilla. That was us.” Kenny was lying with his head pillowed on her breasts, the jet black smoothness of his hair slick under her fingers. The two of them were like a pair of shipwrecked sailors lying on the beach after a tropical storm. “I don’t need chains,” he added, his deep voice ragged with emotion. “I just need you.”

  “Why me?” Kick stopped toying with his hair. She looked into his coffee-colored eyes. “What have I got, besides a weakness for dark Cuban me
n and truly fantastic sex?”

  Kenny withdrew from her with a deep, reluctant sigh. Turning over on his broad back, he slid his arm around her and pulled her close, shifting so that she lay pillowed against him. “You’ve got guts,” he said. “All my life, I was a man hiding behind a mask. Not just with you, but at home, at school, everywhere. My mother wanted me to be all Cuban, all the time. I fought guys who asked about my father. When I was a kid, it was Cubans I fought. Then guys from other neighborhoods. But I was never fighting for me. My mother thought that if she brought me up Cuban, she could make it like my no-good father never existed.”

  “But he did exist.” Kick pressed her lips against Kenny’s chest. His heart was strong, the steady pulse throbbing beneath firm, powerful muscles.

  “Yeah.” The word seemed to be torn from Kenny’s heavily-muscled torso. “But I never let him in. I never gave him a chance. He asked me to come up to Jersey once, when I was a teenager. Maybe he wanted me to get mixed up with the rackets. Maybe he didn’t. But the thing is, I didn’t go. I didn’t trust him. I shut my own father out of my life forever.”

  “You didn’t want to get into trouble,” Kick said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I didn’t want to get hurt,” Kenny growled. “I didn’t want to feel anything. Instead of taking a chance, and maybe having a father, I chose to do nothing. Now was that better or worse than a lonely girl having a drink with Red Kelly? I know all about feeling lost and rootless. I understand what you were looking for. It makes me cherish you all the more.”

  “You mean you actually want me because I’m so incredibly stupid?” Kick looked up at him, her green eyes wide with shock. Her long lashes fluttered in genuine astonishment. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but to Kenny she looked glamorous and absolutely beautiful.

  “No, I mean I actually love you because you’re so incredibly brave.” Kenny laughed, a low laugh deep in his chest. Then he pulled her close and kissed her with a hungry passion that signaled need and so much more, making himself the Master of her desire once again.

  About the Author

  Hialeah Heat Carol Storm’s first title with Phaze Books. To find out more about her upcoming releases, please visit Carol at www.myspace.com/carolstorm.