by Sabrina York
“I’m not some weak-willed bimbo tottering around naked in stilettos, wearing a collar and a leash and doing some man’s fucking laundry.”
He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “A charming picture. Intriguing, I must admit…but I would never ask you to do my laundry.”
The way his lips quirked, she knew he was teasing and it infuriated her. Because this was no joke. “Goddamn it, Holt. I’m serious.” As serious as hell.
His mouth tightened. A muscle in his cheek bunched. “So am I. And for your information, my lifestyle isn’t about bullying women. It isn’t about bullying anyone. It’s about two people exploring their sexuality from different angles. Experimenting with different roles. Finding where they meet and match and merge.”
“You’re a Dom, Holt.”
“Yes. Predominantly. But I’ve had partners who weren’t submissives.”
“But you prefer submissive women.”
“No. I prefer women who are open to exploration.”
“You like to be the one in control.”
His laugh, the sharp bark that it was, surprised her.
She frowned at him. “What?”
“One would think you’d know a little more about the lifestyle, considering the clientele you serve.”
Bella’s frown became a glower. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been to your shop. I’ve seen your ‘BDSM section’.”
“Why do you say it like that?” With air quotes?
“It’s hardly comprehensive.”
Her lips flapped. “It’s perfectly comprehensive. I ordered practically everything from the catalog.”
He just snorted. “At any rate, it’s pretty clear you don’t understand a thing about the life, if you think it’s about a man bullying a woman. The Dom is not the one in control,” he said. “Not in a truly healthy D/s relationship. Not in my relationships. The sub calls the shots. Draws the lines. It’s a partnership, Bella, where the sub controls everything.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “That is hard to believe.”
“I’d be happy to give you a demonstration.” The way he said it, with that quirk of his dark brow, the glint in his eyes, sent a ripple of exasperation—and something else—through her.
“Fuck you, Holt.”
He grinned. “Okay.”
Goddamn it. She wasn’t sure which annoyed her more. His simmering sensuality or his goddamn teasing. Both were nearly irresistible. Against her will, her lips tweaked in a smile. He would take a smile as encouragement, she was certain of it.
Sure enough, he took that last, lethal step and yanked her into his arms, sealing them together. He was hot, hard, huge. She tipped up her chin and glared at him, opened her mouth to say something else, something pithy and snarky. Something that would drive him away and give her room to fucking breathe—
But he didn’t give her time. No time to think of something pithy. No time to prepare. No time to shore up her defenses.
His mouth took hers. There was no other way to describe it. He covered her, smothered her, soaked her with his taste and his scent, suffused her with sensation. The rub of his lips over hers, the nibbles, the nips, the bold forays of his tongue, all scrambled her brain. His hands molded her ass, rubbing her against his body, dragging her groin over his. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that he was guiding her, moving her, walking her backwards in a relentless drive to crawl inside her.
And then she hit the wall.
Literally.
He backed her up against the wood paneling of the great room and pressed against her. His cock was like a stone. A fat, throbbing stone. Burning against the tender flesh of her belly.
A flash of pure, unadulterated lust whipped through her. Because he was hard. For her.
Oh sure, he’d probably be hard if he was mouth fucking Kristi here against the wood paneling. Or Emily. Or Lucy.
Or Lassie.
But this one was for her.
She knew she should push him away. As goddamn aggressive as he was, Holt would respect a “No” from a woman. But something deep within her recoiled at the prospect of ending this.
Not just yet.
It was too fucking thrilling.
A chance like this would never come again. Not in a million years.
She could fuck him tonight. Have a crazy, dirty, sweaty fuckfest and then tomorrow, blame it on the whiskey.
His lips released hers, but only so he could move to her neck, to work her, suckle her, nibble on the sensitive screaming skin there. Bella threw back her head so he had better access. She lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist, plastering her slit against the monstrosity bulging at the juncture of his thighs.
“Shit,” he growled, undulating against her. Delight washed through her in waves. She scored his scalp in a rake of need.
“You are not tying me up,” she grunted.
He lifted his head. His scorching gaze slammed through her, making her clit throb, her pussy clench. A warm wetness dampened her inner thighs. Her panties were soaked. “You’re in charge here, Bella,” he said, his voice breaking on the words. “You make the rules.”
“And no fucking whips and chains.” He chuckled. Incensed by his mocking tone, she fisted his hair and yanked. “And no goddamn nipple clamps.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As though she’d reminded him she had nipples, he thumbed them, then brought his fingers together. Tightly. The pinch made her knees go weak. She hissed, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a feral groan.
“You like that? You like it a little rough?” His voice was silky and smooth. Practiced. As though he’d said these words before. To thousands of women.
“Fuck you, Holt.” She glared at him. When he grinned, laughed at her vehemence, she wrenched him closer. This time she took his mouth. Ravaged his mouth. Fucked his mouth. She thrust in her tongue, explored, dominated him.
Yeah. He’d fucked legions. But he would remember her. He would fucking remember her.
She’d make damn sure of it.
Chapter Four
Holy God.
He’d always suspected. He’d always known Bella would be a tigress in bed. But he hadn’t realized. Hadn’t really known just how wild she could be.
It inflamed him.
All rational thoughts—thoughts of a sweet seduction, thoughts of gentle coaxing, thoughts of tender temptation—evaporated.
Holt was possessed by one singular need.
Sinking into her.
He’d wanted her for so long. Fantasized about her. Obsessed over her. It had killed him that every time he’d so much as glanced at her, she’d scowled back at him. Her nose had wrinkled. Lips pursed.
He’d been convinced she hated him. Hated his lifestyle at least.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
He’d always been good at reading women. He could sniff out a sub in a crowded room. He’d never gotten that vibe from Bella. But when he’d pinched her nipples, he’d seen it. That look in her eyes. Just a flash, hooded and guarded, but he’d seen it.
As though she kept it buried so deeply, even she didn’t know.
The knowledge set him on fire.
He ached to discover more. To learn all her hidden secrets.
But he knew better.
With Bella, he would have to allow her to reveal them. One at a time. When she was ready. This, he knew instinctively. It took everything in him to hold back, let her take the lead.
What he really wanted to do was yank off her damn jeans, and those pink panties he had spotted when he’d toyed with her clit earlier. What he really wanted to do was fuck her, hard and fast, right here, right now, against this wall.
Hell, what he really wanted was her draped over his knee, writhing, her creamy ass high and turning red with his handprints. He knew, deep in his heart, she’d like it. She’d love it. But he also knew they weren’t there yet. By far.
He wanted this to work between them.
He wanted something real with her.
So he willed the beast within to be patient. He let her take the lead. He let her flail him with her fury.
The feel of her nails scoring his skin, her soft tongue thrusting into his mouth, her heated crotch rubbing against his, made his pulse pound.
He wanted, needed, more.
Now.
“Bella.” He broke away, though it nearly killed him. Her lids were hooded, her lips parted. Her breathing uneven. “We should move into the bedroom.”
He should have just done it. Just picked her up—she was a tiny thing—and hauled her off to the room off the hall. The bed was big. And it had four posters—
Brutally, he squashed that thought.
They weren’t there yet either.
It took some effort to remind himself. She needed to take the lead. And he needed to let her.
She blinked, as though it took a moment for his suggestion to filter through the lust. Then she slowly released him and nodded. “Okay.”
God, it was hard letting her go. Releasing his hold on her exquisite curvy form. Easing away from her warmth, her softness.
But he was following her lead. Like a well-trained pup.
Into the bedroom.
That, in itself, was something pretty damn phenomenal.
Lane’s room was the only bedroom on the first floor, but Lane wasn’t coming this weekend. Holt loved that she headed for that room and not one of the others. Because it was closer.
Clearly, she was as anxious as he to get naked and naughty.
But once they were both in the room, she staring at him and he staring right back, an awkward silence descended. He could see the second thoughts swelling in her eyes.
Oh, hell no.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. Again, pure instinct. Reading her. Hoping he got it right.
A question flickered across her brow.
“You’re in charge, Bella. Remember?”
It was amazing, watching her expression change. From a welling resistance, to that hint of confusion, to realization. And then—and this made a pulse slam in his aching cock—determination.
She licked her lips. “Strip.”
Oh yeah.
Even though he was a man of experience, that one word made him feel like a virgin with his first woman.
He wanted to whip off his clothes, but knew better. He knew Bella. She was a bundle of contradictions. It stood to reason she would appreciate another recalcitrant soul.
So he did it slowly.
First he sloughed off his leather jacket, meticulously draping it over the back of the chair. Then he leisurely unbuckled his leather chaps, letting them fall to the floor.
He glanced at her just in time to see her swallow. She tracked his every move. Slowly, deliberately, he raised the hem of his black t-shirt, studying every aspect of her face.
God, he loved her face. She was beautiful on a bad day with alabaster skin and wide baby blue eyes. Her delicate chin had a tiny cleft. He loved the wink of the diamond stud in her freckled nose. But right now, staring at his body like that, as he slowly revealed his abs and chest, with her lips parted and lust etched on every feature—lust for him—she’d never been more desirable.
He paused with his shirt halfway off and her focus flicked upward. He smiled. She frowned.
“Do it,” she whispered. Her fingers curled into fists, as though she had to restrain herself from finishing it for him.
He pulled his shirt all the way off and dropped it.
And waited.
“The pants too.” Her voice cracked.
He pulled out his wallet first. Opened it and found the foil packet. Tossed it on the bed. She watched every movement like a starving woman. Then he fiddled with his belt buckle. He took his time, because he was enjoying this too damn much to rush.
She fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other. He sat on the chair and removed his boots. Then stood and unsnapped his jeans. Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips. With excruciating slowness, he drew his zipper down.
“Do it.”
Holding her gaze, he peeled the denim from his body.
Her attention skated downward, slowly, then stalled. Her features tightened as she fixated on his cock, still encased in his cotton briefs. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic and sloughed those off as well.
His cock, rampant and roused, sprang free.
Her lips parted, trembled. She breathed a sigh.
“Now what?”
She jumped a little, as though he had interrupted a reverie. But it didn’t take her long to issue her next command.
“Undress me.”
Holy God. If he hadn’t been hard and aching before, he was now. Just hearing those words, from her, sent a scalding lust skittering along every screaming nerve. “Yes ma’am.”
It wasn’t a large room, but it seemed to take an eternity to cross it. He halted before her and looked down at her, reveling in the moment. Then he grasped the hem of her t-shirt and lifted it. The air gushed out of his lungs as he revealed her torso, and her bra-clad breasts. She lifted her arms and he slipped the shirt off.
Glorious. She was glorious.
She was a tiny thing, but perfectly shaped. His palm itched to cup her, but he didn’t.
To hell with whips and chains. This was real discipline. And it was killing him.
But he was determined.
He knelt before her and unsnapped her jeans, easing them over her hips. To save time—because, frankly, his patience was wearing thin—he drew down her panties with them.
His breath caught as her smooth slit hove into view.
Mother of God.
She stepped out of her jeans and he whipped them out of the way. And he stared at her.
“Now what?” he croaked.
Words. Not flowing.
Thoughts, frozen.
Her scent, her heat, rose to greet him.
He ached for a taste.
When she didn’t answer, other than to spread her legs—infinitesimally—he did what he wanted. What he needed. What he ached for.
Without her permission, he set his hands on her hips and drew his tongue along her slit. Just traced it. Just a tease. For both of them.
She whimpered. Threaded her fingers in his hair. Tugged him closer.
Yeah. Okay. Permission enough.
He delved deeper, licking his way between her folds, seeking and discovering that hard nubbin sheathed within. He dabbed it. Circled it. Tested it with his tongue.
“Ah,” she groaned and spread her thighs more.
He nuzzled in, glorying in her taste, her scent. It soaked into him, infused him, maddened him.
But he remained tentative. Cautious.
This was a seduction, still. Even though she was nearly bare assed naked. But it was killing him. He wanted to toss her onto the bed, cover her, sink inside.
She was wet. Ready. At least physically. He needed her ready on all levels. He needed her crazy for him. Aching for him. Wild for him.
“More,” she growled, and his pulse leapt.
Yes. Yes. More.
He drew her clit between his lips and sucked, then fluttered his tongue over the swollen flesh. She gasped, groaned, arched into him.
He held her still, sinking his fingers into the lush globes of her ass, and doubled his efforts. She was so lush. He loved the way her muscles clenched, the way her skin rippled to his touch.
She tasted like heaven. Ambrosia. A hot, wet woman, tremendously aroused.
When she broke away from him he winced. He didn’t like that at all. But she broke away and headed for the bed. That he liked that very much.
He really liked that she dragged him with her. By the hair.
They settled down on the soft mattress, side by side. Chest to chest. He tugged a bra strap down, and then the other, slowly revealing
the mounds of her breasts.
His breath stalled. He couldn’t resist. He took one crest, and then the other, into his mouth, nuzzling, sucking, lapping. He pressed her breasts together, as he’d ached to do earlier, buried his face between them and breathed deep.
So soft. So sweet. So incredibly tantalizing.
She pulled his head up and kissed him, a gentle buss. He ached to take it to another level, to open his mouth and take her in. Guide her. Instruct her. Dominate her. The effort to hold back made him tremble.
Her palm skated over his chest, exploring. It was the first time she’d touched him like this. Really touched him. The tentative caress sent ripples of excitement down his spine. They nested at the base of his cock.
Fuck.
He wanted her.
He wanted her bad.
Lifting his head, he looked at her. Lust sizzled between them. He swallowed against the aching lump in his throat.
“Now what?” The question took every ounce of his flagging restraint.
Please God. Let her say “fuck me.” Let her say “Fuck me, now.”
Chapter Five
He was driving her crazy. Frustration screamed through her. This was Holt Lamm, for god’s sake. Why was he being so tentative? She wanted him to fuck her. To lay her back, yank her thighs apart and shove that big, hard cook in deep.
