Heart of Ash

by Sabrina York

  “He’s not in his right mind.”

  Emily frowned at Avery. “Seriously. I need a plan.”

  “If he gets all chivalrous and shit, you need to tease him until he simply cannot resist,” Mel advised.

  “Wait,” Jamie said. “Didn’t he also offer you the opportunity to punish him?”

  Avery sat up straighter. “Oh, do tell.”

  Emily flushed. She didn’t want to make Ash suffer. It wasn’t in her to punish anyone.

  Tara cracked a mischievous grin. “So punish him.”

  “Now you’re talkin’,” Bella crowed. “Make him pay.”

  Tara glared her down. Tara hated being interrupted when she was hatching a vengeful plot. “Punish him in the worst way a woman can punish a man.”

  Jamie tipped her head to the side. “Talk during football?”

  “Not heinous enough.” Tara dumped a coterie of kittens off her lap and went to the table to refill her wineglass. She waggled the bottle at Emily. “Are you sure you don’t want some wine?”

  Emily and Kaitlin shared a glance. Emily shook her head. “No. I… My stomach’s been upset lately.”

  Tara shrugged and upended the bottle. “So, let’s see…how can we punish Mr. Ash Bristol?”

  “You should punish him…sexually.”

  Emily’s pulse stuttered. She gaped at Mel. “I-I couldn’t.”

  “Oh, yes you could.” Tara chuckled. She turned to Avery, seeking support. Which she found. They were both devious to the extreme.

  Avery stood too, and began pacing the room. Always a bad sign. “You really want this guy?”

  Emily swallowed. “Yes.”

  “You want him to really really want you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “You want to make him crazy? So he can think of nothing and no one but you?”

  “Um…yes?”

  “Do you want him on his knees before you begging?”

  Oh dear. That was going a tad too far. “I just want him, Avery. That’s all.”

  A glint shone in Avery’s wide, innocent, baby-blue eyes. They were misleading, those eyes. Avery was a man-eater, plain and simple.

  “Trust me, honey,” she said. “If you follow my plan, that boy won’t know what hit him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  To Ash’s surprise, on Monday Emily called him up and asked him out for their next date. It excited him, because it meant, perhaps, he was making headway in his wooing. If she was engaged in their relationship enough to plan a date, that meant she was seriously considering forgiving him.

  He smiled to himself as he drove over to her house, wondering what kind of date she might plan. Something romantic and sweet, probably. A ride on the Ducks. A tour of the Seattle Underground. A dinner cruise… He scuttled that idea. Dinner cruises were expensive and she was a teacher.

  Bowling maybe?

  She met him at the door looking beautiful in a black cocktail dress and shiny pumps. He swallowed the drool collecting in his mouth and handed her the daisies he’d brought and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

  Probably not bowling, based on the way she was dressed.

  Curiosity rose, but was quickly overwhelmed by something else entirely. When she set her hand on his chest, gently, like a kitten, his pulse set up a manic tattoo. As she moved closer and closer still, her scent, her perfume, wafted toward him, enveloped him. Made him dizzy.

  He drew in a breath, bringing with it her essence. God, she was beautiful. Tantalizing. Irresistible.

  Had he really agreed to no sex?

  What had he been thinking?

  She put her hand on his nape and went up on her toes. Her lips parted. He ached to taste her. Couldn’t wait. He dipped his head so she wouldn’t have to stretch so far and—

  Their lips met.

  Electricity sizzled through him.

  He’d never had a kiss that tasted this sweet.

  Soft and supple, fragrant, sublime. Her mouth was a haven. He wanted to sink into her and stay there forever.

  Fortunately, she did not seem inclined to end the innocent kiss.

  He let her take the lead. He owed her. At least this much.

  Torture though it was.

  He longed to pull her close, deepen the kiss. Ravage her.

  She deserved to be the one in power in this relationship. He just hadn’t realized how much it would cost him. She set her palm to his cheek and cradled him, tipping her head slightly to the side and—Jesus Mary and Joseph—dabbed her tongue into his mouth.

  Holy God.

  It took everything in him not to yank her against him, walk her over to the wall and grind himself to heaven. He fisted his hands, steeled his muscles and allowed her to continue her exploration. Which, to his utter dismay, took her over his chin and down to the crook of his neck. He shivered and shook in utter agony as her sweet lips nibbled and nipped. A suck here a lap there. A low moan.

  His cock, already unruly and rampant, screamed for attention. It was a heavy weight between his legs, throbbing and aching and hungry for her touch.

  But even now, even as adrift as he was, Ash knew, if she touched him there, he’d be lost.

  He was an honorable man—when he chose to be. And he had given her his word. No sex until he’d earned her trust.

  What the fuck had he been thinking?

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled up against him, rubbing him in just the right way. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, trying to focus on keeping his hands to himself.

  When she pulled away, something inside him wilted.

  God, he wanted her.

  “Are you ready for our mystery date?”

  “And how. Where are we going?” he asked as he held the door for her.

  Her wicked expression shocked him to the core. “We’re staying here.”

  Gooseflesh prickled on his nape. He blinked at her. Several times. “Alone?” Was that a hint of panic in his voice? Definitely. Panic.

  He didn’t think he could do that. Be alone with her and keep his hands to himself. It had been way too long since he’d had her.

  A month was far too long.

  He was weak. Vulnerable.

  Hungry.

  “Emily, I don’t think you understand—”

  She cut him off. “Did you mean what you said? About making it up to me?”

  “I did. I’ve been trying…” But hell. How was he supposed to control himself in her living room? Her kitchen? Her freaking foyer?

  Doubt flickered over her expression. He hated it, so he forced a smile. “Yes. Yes. Emily. I meant it.”

  “Anything I want?”

  He gulped. “Anything.”

  Her response was a gamine grin. How a woman with such a sweet innocent mien could appear so evil was beyond him.

  “Then we’re having dinner here.”

  His heart ker-chunked. They were utterly alone.

  And they would not be disturbed.

  Holt would not be glaring at them from across the room.

  There would be no crowds to shoulder through. No waiters or waitresses to interrupt with an offer of coffee.

  How on earth was he going to survive this?

  He swallowed heavily. And nodded. “Okay.”

  As she showed him into the dining room, where an elegant, romantic, table was set, he took in the details of her home. While it wasn’t a large house, it was perched on a hill overlooking Seattle. The décor was classy, elegant, simple. Chopin played in the background, masking the muted barking of her neighbor’s dogs.

  The view from her bay window was stunning, the city lights reflecting off the waters of the Sound.

  It was so…her.

  Perfect for a girl who liked to stare at water.

  Despite his trepidation, dinner was delightful. They talked and laughed through the meal, both of them completely at ease. Well, perhaps not completely.

  Every once in a while he would remember how alone they were. How close she was, how very eager she
was, the lilt of her eyes when she came…and a simmering unrest would ferment in his bowels.

  She seemed similarly effected…every once in a while. She would shoot him a glance and a flush would creep up her cheeks and she would lower her lashes and nibble her lower lip and, occasionally, lace her fingers together. He assumed it was nervousness.

  Hell, he was nervous.

  He didn’t seem to have any trouble devouring the meal though, a delicious standing roast with Yorkshire Pudding. And then she brought out an incredible burnt crème. If he hadn’t thought her the perfect woman before, he surely did now.

  When he’d finished the last bite, he tossed his napkin on the table, gusted a sigh and looked at her. And froze.

  Her expression made him restless.

  “Emily?”

  “Did you enjoy your dinner, Ash?” A shy smile.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ready for…dessert?”

  He glanced at the burnt crème. Or what remained of the custard he’d inhaled.

  “I…ah… Yes?”

  A flush crept up her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered. She cleared her throat. “Good. Because there is…something I’d like to try.”

  The tone of her voice set his nerves humming.

  “Wh-what is it?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  He stared at her. Did he trust her? Yes. But she was a woman scorned. God only knew what she had in mind. And he had invited her to punish him…

  Hell. It didn’t matter, did it? He’d agree to anything she offered. Anything at all to be with her.

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” The glint in her eye sent a raging wildfire through him. And then his heart skittered to a halt. Because she pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

  Oh, they were covered with fur and all pink and shit, but they scared him to death.

  Holy God.

  His pulse pounded. Sweat beaded his brow. His cock rose.

  “What-what are those for?”

  “I think you know.”

  Shit. He did.

  He wasn’t sure if he should be excited as hell—or run.

  “I’ve decided on the punishment you keep suggesting.”

  He watched in stunned silence as she dragged a chair to the middle of the room and waved toward it. “Sit.”

  Damn. That tone…

  He’d never, in a million years, ever imagined Emily as a Domme, but that tone was definitely intransigent. He reminded himself that she was a teacher. And teachers were proficient at intransigent tones. And probably punishment.

  “Emily…”

  She shot him a look. And fuck. There it was again, that flicker of self doubt, a painful fragility. He never wanted to see that on her face. Ever. Instinctively he knew if he passed on whatever she had in mind, if he denied this chance with her, there would never be another.

  And that was not acceptable.

  So he crossed the room. And sat. He watched her warily as she circled him.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  “Emily…”

  “Hush now, Ash. You promised.”

  He bit his tongue. And put his arms behind the back of the chair, trying very hard not to wince as the handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists. He couldn’t resist testing them. Yeah. They were tight.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Avery lent them to me.”

  “Avery Warner?” He gulped.

  “Mmm hmm.” She traced his shoulder. A shiver walked up his spine.

  “How-how do you know Avery?” He’d been to several of Avery’s parties. Wild didn’t begin to describe them.

  “Avery and I are old friends.”

  She came around and stood before him. He felt vulnerable and warm and very, very aroused. He hadn’t had a release in a month—he’d been holding out for her—and the need for it clawed at him. It occurred to him, just then, how idiotic his vow of complete abstinence had been.

  It didn’t help that he was handcuffed to a chair in Emily’s living room.

  She trailed her fingers over his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. And then she stepped back and reached behind her and— Oh. God. Unzipped her dress.

  He drooled as she shimmied out of the back sheath to reveal the most incredible breasts, encased in black lace. He nearly swallowed his tongue as the dress slipped further down to expose a garter belt, holding up fishnet stockings, and black panties.

  “I…gah.” It was all he could manage.

  She was, in a word, magnificent.

  She kicked the dress away and stood before him in the sexiest outfit he’d ever seen. All that, and shiny black heels… His brain short-circuited.

  His cock did not. It stood, stiff as a pike. Aching.

  “I’ve been wondering…” she said.

  “Hmm?” It took some effort to make his voice function. To come up with a word that cogent.

  “Is this the punishment you had in mind?”

  She cupped him as the words eased out. Ran her hand over his flank and across his hip and straight to his groin. And cupped him.

  He nearly came out of his skin.

  Shit.

  Yeah.

  Punishment.

  “Emily…”

  “Now now, Ash.” She drew back, but only enough to peer down at him. “You were going to let me use you, weren’t you?”

  He gaped at her. “Use-use me?” Surely she hadn’t been serious about that?

  Her expression made his pulse hiccup. Oh hell. She was. She was serious.

  She cradled her breasts and smiled at him and he nearly swooned. He tugged at his bound wrists. Damn, he wanted to touch her, hold her, thumb that pouty nipple just visible through the lace.

  “You know, Ash, there’s something I’ve wanted to try, ever since that morning at the cabin…”

  She left the room and he tracked her frantically with his gaze. Where was she going? Leaving him alone? Bound to a chair? Maybe these were trick handcuffs… He fiddled with them, turning his wrists this way and that. But no. Damn it. They were real handcuffs. No release—

  She returned carrying something. He froze when he recognized it.

  “Do you like chocolate syrup?” she asked playfully, waggling the bottle.

  “I-yes.”

  “Excellent. Me too.”

  His vision narrowed to a tight point when she knelt before him, slid a palm up his thigh and toyed with the hook on his slacks. When her hand brushed against his cock, he threw his head back and groaned.

  She ignored him and focused on her task. Her tiny pink tongue peeped out. It drove him wild. Unzipping his slacks, she opened the placket, and looked up at him with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  “Emily…”

  She tugged down his briefs and his cock sprang free. She stared at it. Gulped. And damn if she didn’t lick her lips.

  He nearly came right then.

  “Emily…”

  She picked up the bottle, merciless witch that she was, and drizzled chocolate all over his aching rod. He nearly went through the roof.

  “Damn,” he squawked. “That’s cold.”

  “Sorry,” she said. But she wasn’t. “Let me warm it up.”

  He writhed in his seat as she did just that, spreading the sticky syrup all over his cock, fisting him, stroking him, smearing him with her special brand of sweet torment.

  “Oh. I do believe I made a mess,” she cooed. He glanced down. Chocolate stained his best slacks. He couldn’t have cared less. All he saw was her fist circling his cock. The sight sent a vicious snarl of lust through to his solar plexus. He yanked at his bonds.

  One would think, at such a moment, one would have superpowers. At the very least, powers strong enough to break the fuzzy pink hold on his wrists.

  One would be wrong.

  She shot him an innocent look, all pouty and fiendish. “I guess I’ll have to clean it up.”

  “Em—”

  She didn’t give him time to protest. She went up on
her knees and tightened her hold, drawing his cock toward her tantalizing lips. She pumped him a time or two, with her breath hovering there, holding him on the knife’s edge of anticipation.

  And then she licked him.

  He might have passed out. Just for a second. So sharp was the pleasure.

  “Emily.” A plea.

  “Mmm,” she murmured. “I do love chocolate.” And she proceeded to prove it. Licking and lapping and sucking along the length of his cock. Tormenting him, teasing him making him squirm and growl and then, eventually whimper.

  And then, when he didn’t think he could bear it any longer, she levered up, changing her angle. He dared not move, hoping, dreading, desperate for…

  Ah.

  God.

  Yes.

  She came down on him, sucking him in. Suckling him. Nibbling. And then deeper and deeper still.

  “Mmm.” Her moan ricocheted through his body, an excruciating vibration.

  She couldn’t take him all in, so she took him as far as she could and stroked him at the base.

  His life, his world, his sanity, shrank down to that point of contact, that sensation, that agony of want.

  He screwed his eyes shut, so he couldn’t accidentally watch. Seeing his cock disappearing between those ruby red lips would surely send him over the edge and he didn’t want to come. Not yet. Not now. Not like this.

  He wanted to be in her. Come in her. Claim her. Take her.

  He wanted to fuck her. Madly. Passionately. Wildly, as he had ached to do for far too long.

  But she was ruthless, his mistress.

  And, in her innocence, brutal.

  She released him, but only to resume the agonizing licking and lapping. She was a diligent girl, his Emily. Determined to get every drop of that chocolate.

  “You taste good,” she said, sitting back on her haunches. Chocolate rimmed her mouth, smudged her cheeks.

  “Come here.”

  But she didn’t. She just laughed and upended the bottle again.

  He winced as the cold chocolate dribbled up the length of his cock. She put an extra large dollop on the tip. And then, God help him, she sucked him in again. This time, dabbing her tongue into the little eye while she pumped him.