Again, he’s giving me that intense look, and all amusement has vanished from his expression. His voice deepens to an almost impossible level as he growls, “Shall we try it my way, now?”
My eyes flick to his. He didn’t ask snidely, he’s not laughing at me. Nor is there sympathy in his face. He looks like a man on the edge, anticipating taking control. But he’s waiting for my permission. The tear rolls down my cheek as I give a slow nod, agreeing to him taking over.
He moves fast. His upper body bows upwards, betraying the strength of his abdominal muscles. One hand reaches out, taking hold of my hair at the back of my head and grasping it firmly, pulling me to him. His mouth crashes onto mine, his tongue doesn’t probe politely, but pushes inside, demanding, invading, taking. And I love it.
Our teeth mash together as he controls the mating of our mouths. Our tongues duel together and a gnawing ache begins to grow between my legs. Just his kiss ramps up my longing. He’s controlling me completely.
He ends the kiss by easing back, gently taking his lips from mine then pulls me away with a slightly painful tug on my hair, sending arrows of arousal shooting through me. I don’t stop to analyse the feeling as he draws back, staring me straight in the eyes.
“What’s your safeword?” His voice is deep, commanding.
Startled, it takes a second for me to understand what he’s asking. “Red,” I gasp out.
“Yellow for slow down, Green for good to go.” He waits, but at my nod of confirmation tells me, “I need words.”
“Yes.”
His expression is serious as he continues, “I don’t know your limits, so we’ll go easy for now. But have you any weaknesses, any pain, any areas to avoid?”
Christ! What the hell is he going to do to me? I feel a gush of wetness which discomforts me. I’m naked so he must feel it too. Remembering he wants me to talk to him, I start, “No, but Sean…”
Another little tug on my hair. “I’m in charge now, and you call me Sir.” He waits.
“Yes, Sir.” I manage to breathe out.
Without giving me a chance to object, he flips me onto my back, reversing our positions. Now he leans over, taking hold of the stockings I’d thrown on the floor he pulls my hands together, wrapping one stocking around them. Before I can process what he’s doing, he’s taken the other and, linking it between my bound hands, ties it to the bedstead behind my head, testing with his fingers that the bindings aren’t too tight. I tug on my restraints, but there’s little give. He’s got me at his mercy. The feeling both scares and excites me; my clit starts throbbing, my breath is coming in sharp pants.
He sits back on his haunches, watching me cautiously, studying my reactions and at the same time, being careful to keep his weight off me. Satisfied with what he sees, he nods once, then reverently starts using his hands as well as his eyes to explore my body.
“You really are beautiful,” he says, before I have the chance to be embarrassed. He seems able to ignore the excess pounds I’m carrying, “I never guessed you were hiding such a perfect body, pet, not in those clothes you wear in the office.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and I’m not even sure I could have formed an answer if it was, as he inclines his body, hesitating before taking my nipple into his mouth, and breathing out, “Dusky pink. Delicious.” Then his head descends, his tongue swirls, he sucks, and his teeth close hard over my peak, sending me shooting upwards as a shriek comes from my lips. He chuckles, I can feel it against my skin, and he waits, obviously able to interpret that the bite of pain has already changed into a burning warmth that causes my stomach muscles to clench. He does the same thing to my other nipple, but this time I’m prepared and grit my teeth until the pain morphs into pleasure. Heck, I’m already more turned on than ever in my life before.
Sitting back, he stares at my breasts almost worshipfully, and fondles them, his hands pushing and squeezing them together, then, with a grin, “I can’t wait to get my cock in between your tits, pet. A bit of lube and it will be fucking heaven.”
No one, absolutely no one, has ever spoken so dirty to me during sex before. Thinking about it, I don’t think anyone’s ever said much of anything at all while we’ve been doing it. And Sean’s not stopping there.
“I can’t wait to taste you, pet. You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?” I’m thinking to retort that he’s already had his tongue in my mouth and tasted me and protest I’m not dribbling, when he sits up and moves down, getting onto his stomach and hanging his legs off the end of the bed.
“Oh!” I exclaim, suddenly aware just what he’s about to do. In vain I try to move my legs together, but he easily holds them apart. As I continue to wriggle, he slaps me lightly directly on that bundle of nerves which have only ever had gentle treatment before. He’s actually slapped me. “Ow!”
“Keep still. I want to look at your cunt.”
He’s said that word! But somehow, it doesn’t seem derogative from him. And he wants to look at it? Again, I try to close my legs to hide myself from view, but his strong hands prevent me.
He continues, ignoring my efforts to evade him, “It’s juicy and gushing, just for me. And I like this.”
I don’t have long to wonder what he’s talking about now as he gently pulls my ginger pubic hair, which I keep neatly trimmed, but would never consider removing altogether.
“Love that the rug matches the curtains, babe. I like things smooth, but on you, I think we’ll keep it.”
We’ll keep it? Like he’s got a say in the matter.
I’m trying hard not to fidget. He’s giving me more of a visual examination that my doctor does when I go for a smear test. I start to feel very uncomfortable, then, all at once, thoughts of humiliation fly away as he blows gently across my engorged nub; that simple breath of air almost causing me to come. Automatically I try to reach my out my hands for him, and the fact that I can’t heightens my level of arousal. I’m helpless. All I can do is to let him do whatever he wants.
He chuckles softly at my efforts to encourage him, his hands on my hips, stopping my frantic movements, “Be still.”
I want his fingers to touch me, so I obey. But it’s not his fingers; it’s his mouth sucking as his tongue caresses me at just the exact right spot. Jeez, but it feels good. Then he’s replacing his tongue with his finger as he moves the former down, sweeping inside my tight channel. Now I know I’m wet, and that’s just dirty. His tongue’s in my most private place!
“No, you can’t…” I start to protest.
For an answer, he proves he can, and he will. I have no option but to sink back on the pillows and experience this new sensation. Then his tongue is sweeping inside me, lapping at me. He can’t be doing that! But he is, and it feels so good I lose any inclination to stop him.
He lifts his head only enough to rasp out the words, “Fuck, you taste good. I could lap this cream all day.” His words, telling me things I never expected to hear, cause a tingling sensation in my spine. Then his fingers enter my channel again, strumming and finding a special spot I’d always been convinced was simply a myth. My leg muscles go taut, scrap that, every muscle in my body goes rigid, I’m so, so close. And then he closes his teeth over my nub, and I go flying, soaring, shot to the bloody moon like a rocket as the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced floods over me, wave after wave, contraction after contraction. He keeps licking, his fingers still giving an internal massage, extending my pleasure but pulling back just at that point when gratification transposes into pain, proving he knows my body as well as I do myself.
Without giving me time to catch my breath, his strong arms turn me so I’m lying on my stomach, then pull me toward him and lift so he’s placed me on my knees. Gently he pushes on my shoulders. My forehead goes to the pillow, and I turn my face to one side as his hands circle on my back, soothing me as I drag much-needed oxygen into my starved lungs. As my breathing returns to normal, his palms move lower until he’s caressing my arse.
Witho
ut warning, he pulls his hands away. The loud slap is the first thing I register. He’s spanked me! How dare he? But before I can chastise him, the pain quickly followed by warmth, spreading through my body causes me to squirm and feel a new rush of wetness between my thighs. Another smack on the opposite flank. I should protest, but the feeling takes me by surprise. I never wanted anyone to spank me! I tug on my bindings, but I can’t move. All I can do is take what he gives me, but arousal sparks anew, shocking me. Surely I shouldn’t like this? He spanks me again, harder, both sides in quick succession, then his fingers slide across my vulva, discovering for himself the effect his actions have had.
“You’re fucking dripping, pet. You like that, you dirty girl, don’t you?” I know he’s smiling by the amusement in his voice.
And I can’t even deny it. I know as well as him the effect he’s having on me. I’m so turned on despite my satisfaction only moments ago. I feel empty, so empty I’m not beyond begging, “I need you, Sean.”
“Who am I?” He’s hardly trying to hide his mirth. Another spank as he continues to torture me.
“Sir! I need you, Sir!”
“You need what? You have to tell me.”
“You, you inside me!” I’m almost crying with frustration.
A chuckle, although it sounds strained. “You need what, inside you? Be specific, pet.”
“Your cock! I need your cock, Sir!”
Without wasting any more time, he takes his hands away from me, and I feel him adjust himself. In seconds, I feel his condom clad dick start to push into me. This time there’s hardly any resistance, my copious lubrication easing the way. But I’d forgotten how big he is, and his width burns me as my insides accommodate his size but the pain is delicious, and I welcome it, pushing back into him, asking for more. He claims his way, inching in slowly until, at last, he’s resting against my womb. I send up a quick prayer that there’s no more of him to take.
He pauses, “You’re fucking beautiful, pet. I knew you’d feel good, but you feel fucking fantastic. Your muscles are holding me as if they don’t want to let me go.” I can’t respond, but doubt he’s expecting a conversation right at this moment.
Putting one arm under my stomach he lifts me to him, and wraps his other hand tight around my hair, using it to bring my head up and back. Then, at last, he starts to move. Slowly, at first, then gaining pace until soon he’s hammering in and out, exciting nerve endings I hadn’t known were there. His rigid cock is banging into me, hitting my cervix with every thrust in, dragging across that special spot that so far only he has discovered on each pass. His hand on my stomach inches downwards, circling and pinching on the nerve bundle below. One more pinch and again I fly over the peak, my muscles spasm, clamping down on his cock. With a roar, he starts thrusting erratically then pumps with shorter strokes into me, filling the condom with his cum. At last, he stills, leaning over me, one arm pressed to the bed to keep his weight off my back as we both struggle to regain our breath. Gently, he releases my hair from his hold, and my head drops down.
A moment later he pulls out of me, and he undoes my hands leaving me free once more, rubbing my arms to get my circulation going. After taking a brief detour to the bathroom, he comes back and pulls me into his side, and murmurs softly into my hair, “I think I prefer my way.”
I can’t argue with that.
Chapter 20
Sean
Now I’m in trouble. I’ve fucked a colleague. More than that, I’ve dominated her. Our working relationship will never be the same again. Shit! But even while I think that, my lips curl up as I remember how explosive we were together. Eventually, that is. I huff a quiet laugh. Nessa, a Domme? I think we’ve successfully dispensed with that idea.
She fits well in my arms, and I don’t have an immediate inclination to move as I hear her breathing gently beside me, warm exhalations against my skin. She’s asleep, her head resting against my chest. I’m just lying here, one arm over my eyes, wondering how I got into this fucked up situation, and more importantly, how do I get out?
Will she be able to understand we were just playing? Like any uninvolved Dom and sub? Bloody hell, I can just imagine her reaction to that; she’s no trained submissive, she’s barely dipped her little toe into the lifestyle. If I walk away from her now, she’ll see it as another of my famed one-night stands, and that I’ve taken advantage of the attraction she’s had to me for some time.
But the sex was good! No, strike that. It was fucking amazing. My cock twitches to tell me it wouldn’t mind round two, but I’m not waking her up. I can’t take advantage of her again. Not if I want to avoid getting into this any deeper than I already am. Easing my arm out from underneath, I gently roll her to one side. Good. She’s a deep sleeper and hasn’t stirred. Stealthily, I slide out from under the covers and ease out of bed. I need space to think.
Returning to my room, I pull on a pair of jeans. At least the mini bar in the suite is well stocked, so I pour myself a shot of whisky before sinking onto a couch, leaning my head back and breathing out a deep sigh. Some day this has been. A day that’s rocked my life in more ways than one.
Danielle has fucked me over good and proper. First with the revelations about Mollie’s conception, then making me the unwilling possessor of dynamite information, and finally planting that idea of Nessa as my sub in my mind. Of course, the idea of getting inside Nessa had been creeping up on me during the time we’ve been thrown together, but undeniably it was the suggestion on that piece of card that had shot it up the agenda, the realisation that an outsider saw us as a Dom/sub couple, just as Kadar had assumed, that had sent me over the top. And when Nessa had submitted, had given herself into my trust in bed, well, there are no words to describe how that made me feel. Proud to be her Dom. If only for one night.
What the fuck do I do now? She’s not someone I met in a club and took home with me with no expectation other than a satisfying fuck and a no strings goodbye. This is Nessa, my colleague and yes, my friend. I should have known better than to shit on my own doorstep, and now it’s a mess I’ll have to clear up. And as gently as I can. I don’t want to hurt her, but right now I’m not sure how to rescue the situation. What will she expect from me in the morning?
I top up the whisky and put my mind back to my other problem. Danielle. There’s something, quite a lot of somethings, that don’t add up. She was so desperate to have a baby that she stole one from me. There’s no other way to describe it. I know some women are so anxious to have a child with a partner, particularly as a way to keep them, that they’ll go to any lengths to trick them, but a complete stranger? Should I be flattered that she chose me? She was bloody lucky that her plan worked, the odds must surely have been against it. Just bad luck for me that my swimmers took the offered escape route and she must have been fertile at the time.
But if she wanted a baby so much, and her daughter means so much to her, why wasn’t a question about her welfare the first thing she asked when we met? And why was there no discussion about Mollie going back to her? So many things which only end up as more questions.
An unfamiliar emptiness assaults me as I imagine a life without Mollie. How the fuck could I have become attached to her in such a short time? But the whys and hows of it don’t matter, the fact is, I have. And the one thing I can’t run from is my responsibility toward my child.
How the hell could I look after a baby? Me. Dom and womaniser. My life would have to change beyond all recognition. Could I settle down, have a wife, a house with a garden for the kids to play in? That man isn’t me, surely? Nessa would probably be great with the baby.
Shit! No Cooper, you really did not just think that, did you? Hmm, well, she’s fuck all use as a field operative, to add to all her other faults, she let herself be drugged. I wipe my hand over my face as if it will remove all thoughts of domesticity, as well as inappropriate thoughts of the woman currently asleep in bed in the next room. I know pregnancy hormones do funny things to a woman, could there be pat
ernity hormones that act in a similar way? I give a rapid shake of my head. Settling down is not on my horizon, hell, my job doesn’t lend itself to that. The job I’ll be returning to just as soon as my leg is fully healed.
Mollie might go back to her mother. But apart from expressing a debatable undying love for her, does Danielle even want her back? And knowing what I do now about the woman, would I be comfortable entrusting her with my child?
The woman appears and disappears like a ghost. And what kind of person carries a sedative around in her handbag? And passes over classified information using her pickpocketing skills?
Putting down my glass, I stand and start pacing across the room and back as I think. She’s a master of disguise; she speaks Arabic and French fluently and with an almost native accent as I’ve personally witnessed, so it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility she speaks others too. I think she’s American, but she could be putting on that accent for me. Could she be from Canada? Or even Australia? What the fuck do I know about her except for the fact she’s carried my baby and she’s wanted by the most dangerous terrorist organisation in the world? As well as several police forces. I mustn’t forget about that.
And now she’s put Nessa and me in danger too. I can only hope that no one knows she’s passed the USB flash drive onto me. Fuck! I barely want to touch the thing knowing the information it holds. I have to get it to the right people, but right now, I don’t know exactly who that would be. I’ll ask Hunter’s advice when he arrives.
Glancing at my watch I see it’s already five in the morning, and to be honest, I could do with a couple of hours’ sleep. Going to my bed, I start to pull down the covers when a sound reaches me, a stifled sobbing.
Fuck! Running my hands through my hair, I suspect I know what it means and don’t have a clue how to respond. Usually, a play partner will have got up and left by now, or I’ll have left them. All the people I’ve previously played with have known the score, but that’s not true in this situation. The sobs intensify making me realise Nessa has woken up and found me gone, and is clearly upset. Do I leave her to cry alone? Or do I do the decent thing for once, and go back to her?
Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4) Page 17
