by M. S. Parker
My first climax hit me out of nowhere, rolling over me like a wave. His teeth latched onto my nipple as he pushed the vibrator as deep as it could go, the part pressing against my clit hard enough to make me swear, but none of that took me out of my orgasm. If anything, it caught me tighter, pulled me deeper, until I felt like I'd been caught in some sort of undertow, drowning in pleasure so intense that it brought tears to my eyes.
I screamed his name, my grip tightening on the headboard until the muscles in my arms burned. But I couldn't let go because I was still coming. His fingers and mouth drove me from one climax into the next until I couldn't think straight, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything other than sob his name, and, finally, beg for him to fuck me. When he removed the vibrator, I fell back against the bed, every muscle in my body limp.
I hovered there for what felt like an eternity, until I felt pressure against my ass, and my eyes flew open. He was watching me carefully, and I wondered if it was because he wanted to see my expression or if he was waiting for me to protest. I didn't though. I trusted him to make me feel good. He'd already proven that he could.
“Relax, love,” he said. He brushed a kiss across my lower belly, then pushed, the tip of his finger breaching me.
“Dean...” I squirmed, unsure how I felt about the slight burn.
“Is this the first time?”
I nodded.
A dark sort of triumph crossed his face. “I'm going to make you come one more time with my fingers, love, and then I'm going to fuck you until you see stars.”
Any other man, I would've thought they were bragging, but I didn't doubt for a moment that Dean could do it.
Then his finger was pushing deeper inside, and a sharp burst of pain shot out from the stretched muscle.
“Fuck!” The word came out in a half-whine, half-shout.
“Fucking tight,” he muttered.
I searched for some snarky comment, but nothing came before he slid two fingers into my pussy. With the sort of rhythm that told me he'd had a decent amount of practice at this, he began to work his fingers in and out of me, twisting them so that they rubbed against each other. The burn didn't fade, but the pain did, blurring into the heat until I had an entirely new type of pressure building inside me.
“Are you close?” His voice sounded strained.
I nodded. “Can I touch you?”
His gaze flew up to mine, surprise showing.
“Please, Dean. I want to...need to touch...need my hands on you...” The words fell out in a rush, stumbling over each other in my desperation.
When he nodded, I released the headboard, my fingers stiff and protesting as I reached for him. My hands moved over his broad shoulders and down his arms where I could feel his muscles rippling under his golden skin. When his thumb started to move over my clit, I dug my nails into his flesh and came.
I was still coming when he slammed into me, and I did indeed see stars. Bursts of light sparked across my vision as he took me hard and fast, pelvis rubbing against my aching clit, nipples pressed against his chest. He was everywhere. Over me, inside me, around me. His scent and presence filled me, made me wonder if I'd ceased to exist as myself, if I was now and forever a part of him.
And the thought didn't disturb me as it should have.
I pushed the thoughts aside, and let myself fall into the white-hot orgasm shattering me. There was no past or future, only this moment, and that was what I clung to as he groaned my name. Only the present mattered.
Chapter Eight
Kyndall
I'd known that night with Dean would stick with me, but I hadn't realized just how much. After he'd basically fucked me into unconsciousness, we'd stayed in my bed for a bit, not talking, and not really cuddling, even though we'd been touching. Before either of us had fallen asleep, though, he'd asked to use my shower, and I'd known he was getting ready to leave. I hadn't asked him to stay even though the words had been on the tip of my tongue. I hadn't wanted him to think that I was asking for anything more than what we were already doing.
He'd been polite when he'd said goodnight, and there'd been none of the awkwardness I'd tried to avoid by leaving the first time. That'd just made me want him to stay even more.
I spent the first two days of the new week filling my apartment. I'd had enough furniture in Cambridge to fill my place there, but I hadn't sent for all of it, and there was a space difference, so I had some shopping to do. Furniture. Appliances. Electronics. A shit load of décor.
Since money wasn't an issue, I assumed it'd be simple enough to find what I needed, but as soon as I started looking, I realized that it wasn't about simply finding random pieces that I needed. I finally had a chance to make a home, to make choices based on what I wanted. I could've hired an interior decorator, and I knew a lot of people with the kind of money I had would've done just that. I decided that I'd rather have fun.
The last of my furniture had already been delivered, so I'd spent the earlier part of the day trying to decide what I wanted to do for the sadly bare walls. Finally, I'd settled on art. I didn't know many people in the city, but one of the things I'd learned from Juliette in the past couple days was that if I wanted to go somewhere, asking someone who drove for a living was probably a good idea.
So I'd called for a car and asked the driver to take me somewhere I could get good art that wasn't pretentious. A half hour later, I walked into a small gallery in Venice Beach. The owner asked a couple questions, then started to show me various pieces. To my surprise, he didn't talk down to me or act like I couldn't afford any of the things I was looking at. Which was probably why I ended up buying half a dozen pieces from him, a variety of artists who all complemented each other without being repetitive.
As I walked around the apartment, trying to find the best place to hang the first piece, I made a mental note to check my accounts. I needed to know where I stood now that I had most of the big purchases out of the way. All I needed now was a car, but I didn't go flashy with that sort of thing, so the cost wouldn’t be unreasonable. I didn't think I was anywhere near hurting, but it was always good to keep track of things so I didn't get too low to buy into a good game. I'd done that once before, forcing me to borrow from a less than scrupulous man. I paid him back after one game, but I'd had to essentially start over. It taught me that I never wanted to do that again. So now, I was extra careful.
I hung the abstract painting and then turned to get another. By the time the alarm on my phone went off, I had things right where I wanted them, for now anyway. I'd probably rearrange a dozen times before I finally fixed on what worked best. I was hoping to make LA my new home, so I wasn't going to settle for anything half-way. If I didn't like something, I'd change it until it was perfect.
But right now, I had more important things to do.
I smiled as I headed toward the door. I wasn't one of those women who were huge fans of little kids, but I'd fallen in love with Anthony the moment I'd seen him. When Juliette had called yesterday to ask if I'd babysit tonight for a few hours, I'd been thrilled to accept. I only hoped that meant Dalton was showing a little more faith in me than our parents did.
Taking care of Anthony would give me the chance to show my brother that he should believe me when I said I could do something, but that wasn't the main reason I was doing it. I hadn't gotten to know Lia's kids very well, and I wanted to be a good aunt. Anthony was my chance to do that without giving up my independence by moving closer to my parents.
I took the elevator up a floor and knocked on their door. Juliette answered, a harried expression on her face. “You're just in time.”
That sounded ominous.
When I walked inside, however, I couldn't help but laugh. Anthony was sitting in the middle of the floor, covered in something that was either baby powder or flour, maybe powdered sugar. Whatever it was, it was all over him, and all over the floor.
And he looked quite pleased with himself.
“I'm not even close to ready, Kynd
all,” Juliette said as she gestured toward her son. “Would you mind...?”
“I've got him.” I chuckled as I headed for the little guy. “You go do what you have to do.”
“Thank you.” She breathed a sigh of relief.
I stood over Anthony as he looked up at me with those big, beautiful eyes of his. “You're quite the handful, aren't you?”
He laughed, clapping his hands together. I crouched in front of him and brushed some of the powder from his hair. I raised my hand and licked the tip of my finger. Powdered sugar. An empty plastic container sat beside him, and I had to admit that I was impressed with the fact that he'd managed to take off the lid.
“I was in the shower for ten minutes, and he managed to do this.”
I looked up as Dalton came into the living room, his hair still wet as he pulled on a shirt. His tone was half exasperation, half pride.
“I'll take care of it,” I said, straightening.
“Are you sure you aren't too tired from...work?”
I gave him a mild look. “I always have time for family.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what kept you back East for the past six years?”
“No,” I shot back. “That would be earning a doctorate in mathematics from MIT.”
He shrugged it off with the same easygoing grin he always used. Dalton was a strong guy, but he'd always been laid-back. He had to be pushed hard to push back.
Case in point, rather than sticking with the issue, he changed the subject. “How are you settling in?”
“Good,” I said as I walked into the kitchen.
When I came back out with a damp paper towel, a question was lingering in the back of my mind. It'd been there ever since I discovered that Dean knew my brother, but I'd been trying to ignore it. Aside from the fact that I didn't particularly want my brother to get involved in my business, I wasn't sure I wanted Dalton to know that I'd slept with Dean.
Dalton had Anthony on his knee when I came back in, and he held his squirming child while I cleaned off his face. He was definitely a natural.
“So, where are you and Juliette off to?”
A flush spread up Dean's neck. “A club.”
“Really?” I picked Anthony up. “Maybe I'll have to come with you some time. I haven't been to a good club in a while.”
His eyes went wide for just a moment, sparking my curiosity.
“You do know I'm old enough to drink, right?” I kissed Anthony's forehead.
“Juliette mentioned something about a new guy at work about your age,” Dalton said quickly. “She thought you two might hit it off. I'll have her give him your phone number.”
“I've actually met someone.” Shit. I hadn't meant to blurt it out like that.
“Really?” Dalton's eyes narrowed. “At work? It's usually not a good idea to get involved with someone you work with.”
“Are you serious, Dalton? You're going to give me dating advice?” I laughed as I shook my head. “I love Anthony and Juliette, but your relationship isn't exactly the best example of a traditional progression.”
“I want to meet him.”
I took a slow breath and bounced Anthony on my hip. “Actually, you already know him.”
“Who?” Dalton stood.
“I met him after the wedding,” I continued, “but I didn't know the two of you knew each other until later.”
“After the wedding? Who would you have met after the wedding?”
“Um...” Fuck. I glanced back toward the bedroom, but Juliette was still back there.
“Kyndall.”
I hated the way Dalton said my name, like I was some child he was reprimanding. Why was it, when I wanted him to be all laid-back about something, that was when he chose to dig in his heels?
“Dean, okay? Dean Stokes.”
Myriad emotions flashed across Dean's face, but they quickly disappeared behind the bull-headedness I'd seen only a couple times growing up. “No way in hell are you dating him.”
Even though I'd expected a similar reaction, I bristled. “That's really not your call, is it?” I didn't bother to tell him that Dean and I weren't actually dating.
“He's too old for you, Kyndall.”
I hadn't even thought about age. “If he's not our parents' ages, I don't think that's an issue.”
“He's too old, and I'll be damned if I let him date my little sister.”
“Like I said, it's not your call.” I clenched my teeth. “I can date or sleep with anyone I want.”
“I really don't want to hear that.” Dalton ran his hand through his hair.
“Tough,” I said bullishly. “If I want to see Dean, if I want to fu-” I glanced at Anthony. “If I want to sleep with Dean, I'm going to.”
“Look, Kyndall, Dean's a nice guy, but you don't need to be around him in...that way.” Dalton's expression was hard. “He's way too experienced. Stay away.”
Before I could argue any further, Juliette emerged, and they hurried off, leaving me with a mess to clean up, and a night to try to figure out exactly what my brother had meant by too experienced. Something about the way he said the words had me thinking that there was more to it than just regular sex. Dalton knew something about Dean that he wasn't telling me.
Chapter Nine
Dean
I was fairly certain I'd gone about this whole thing in the wrong way. I'd assumed that my inability to forget my night with Kyndall needed to be processed like some sort of hunger. Once I'd had my fill, I'd be satisfied and able to move on. When she told me that Dalton was her brother, I tried to walk away, telling myself that I didn't need to be with her. I could find another woman to satiate my appetite.
Then I'd seen the hunger in her eyes when she said that she wanted me. How was I supposed to resist that? It would've taken a stronger man than me to have turned down a woman like Kyndall, no matter how complicated my friendship with her brother may have made things.
Besides, once I had her again, I'd be able to walk away. One more night, and I wouldn't want her anymore. We'd part as two consenting adults who'd enjoyed each other's company. We were clear about where we stood. As long as Dalton didn't find out, things would continue on as if nothing had happened.
I'd managed to keep that train of thought the entire way up to her apartment. Then, my mouth had been on her, and I hadn't thought of anything else until we were lying in her bed together and I hadn't wanted to leave.
By the time I said goodbye, I'd known that I'd been wrong about comparing my desire for her to a hunger. That implied a point at which satisfaction was achieved and a period of time before the need reappeared. The moment I'd left Kyndall's apartment, I'd wanted her again. She was an addiction, something my body craved. Having her again had only made me want her more.
I couldn't give in though. It was bad enough that I'd had sex with Kyndall twice now – well, technically more than that, but it'd taken place on only two days, so I was going to only count it as twice – but I knew that if Dalton found out, he'd be pissed. The first time, I could claim that I hadn't known who she was, but the other night, I hadn't had the same excuse.
I muttered a curse under my breath as I accepted a glass of Highland Park from the scantily-clad waitress. Club employees were off-limits when they were working, but that didn't stop her from trying to catch my eye. The tall brunette had been overly attentive the last few times I'd been here, and I knew she was hoping I'd want to see her during her off hours, but I wasn't interested. She was trying too hard, which told me the sort of Sub she would be. I preferred women who knew who they were and what they wanted, and that was why they chose to submit.
I sipped at the alcohol as I considered my problem. I wanted to see Kyndall again, but I didn't want to risk my friendship with Dalton to do it. I'd known Cross longer, but I considered both men to be friends, and I didn't have that many here. I tended to keep people at arm's length, not wanting to risk their rejection if they discovered the sort of lifestyle I preferred, but those two, an
d their wives, were already a part of that world.
Kyndall wasn't. I was almost positive of that. She owned her sexuality, but she wasn't like the women here. If I could've written her off for that, though, things wouldn't have been so complicated. The way she'd obeyed me when I told her to grab onto the headboard told me that she could have submissive tendencies, the kind that could allow her to be molded into the type of Sub I'd always dreamed of. One who wasn't one hundred percent submissive by nature, but chose to submit to please me.
The thought was enough to send blood straight to my cock. I knew I should stop right there, but it was too late. It would haunt me until I allowed it to play out. I closed my eyes and let the fantasy take over.
I walked into the room and took a moment to admire her. She knelt in the center of the room, hands behind her back, knees shoulder-width apart, head up, but eyes down. Her sun-kissed skin was flawless, and the lack of tan lines would've pissed me off if I hadn't already known that she went to a private spa where no man would get to see her gorgeous body.
That was for me alone, and she knew it. She was mine.
Mine.
I'd always thought of myself as an enlightened sort of guy. Some people thought the whole Dom / Sub relationship was a caveman kind of thing. Bossing the woman around and all that. But there were plenty of women who were the Dominants in their relationships. And I'd never had that sort of primal, visceral reaction...until her.
She was mine, and I didn't care how caveman that made me sound.
“Are you ready for me, love?” I brushed my hand over her hair, loving how she automatically leaned into my touch. Some Doms would've scolded a Sub for even that slight movement, but I never did. I loved that she craved my touch so much.
“Always.”
I moved around to stand in front of her, unzipping my pants as I went. “I want your mouth first, love. And then I'm going to fuck your ass, so make sure you get me nice and wet.”
