Under His Touch

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Instead she moved her hips against his, wild for more. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  “You know the penalties for giving me orders.” He pinched her nipple and she gasped but held his gaze, defiant.

  “Do your worst.”

  The words seemed to shred what control he’d clung to. With a growl he began tugging up her skirt, working the tight sheath until it bunched around her waist. He cupped her bottom, vising on her, then pushed his hand inside her panties, delving into her cleft from behind, shoving her hips against him. She moaned, he sank his teeth into the side of her neck, grinding her pinned wrists against the brick.

  All the anxiety, the hurt and anger, swirled together into a desperate passion. She thrashed against his grip, thrilled that he didn’t let her go. Instead he impatiently yanked at her panties, grunting in satisfaction when the delicate lace snapped. They fell down her leg, a tumble of wet, shredded silk, to settle at her ankle. Something she barely noted before his fingers speared into her from the front, rough, working her with merciless ferocity. His mouth fastened on her throat, sucking on her skin with vicious tension, his teeth sinking in so she cried out.

  He moved his mouth to hers—finally—but it was less a kiss than a silencing. She writhed, wanting him inside her, unable to move enough to even raise her thigh. He managed to push a finger into her channel, cupping her mound with his whole hand, driving her up relentlessly, giving her no option but to climax with dizzying speed and intensity.

  With a curse that sounded almost foreign, his accent had gone so thick, he released her wrists, dug in his pocket and ripped open his pants, just enough to release his cock and get the condom on. “Put your leg around my waist,” he ordered, pinning her wrists on either side of her head. “I can’t be gentle.”

  “I don’t want gentle.” She barely finished the words before he’d pushed deep inside her. Fast, hard, nearly brutal. Clenching her teeth to keep from screaming as a new orgasm built on the last, she watched his face, the way his gaze stayed riveted on her as he fucked her with a wild intensity.

  “I want you every second of every day.” His thrusts punctuated his words, thick and guttural. “That’s not the problem.”

  With a hoarse, bitten-back shout that contained a note of surprise, he convulsed, his body racked with the climax grinding against her. As if he’d set her off, she followed right after, burying her teeth in his shoulder through his pressed shirt, the scent of starch and aftershave filling her brain as surely as his cock stretched her and his body covered her.

  Releasing all the tension, she gave up and drowned in him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hard upon the heels of glorious, blessed release came chagrin, remorse and crashing guilt. His shoulder throbbed where Amber bit him and her breath came hard and uneven, with little hitches of emotion, her bare breasts crushed against his chest and her body trembling, even as he had her still impaled against the wall.

  “Fuck me,” he groaned, rational thought creeping in, tail between its legs, lagging far behind the more potent drives that had taken him over.

  “I’m pretty sure that was me,” Amber replied, voice strained. She had her head tipped back, gulping in air, staring blindly up at the twilight sky. Realizing he still had her in a death grip, he eased out of her, the relieved sigh she made grating on his conscience. Flushed, more than half-naked, she looked as if she’d been ravished by a maniac. A bite mark stood out on her pale, arched throat—only serving to make him feel that much worse. He tried to pull her blouse together, staying close enough to shield her from prying eyes. Nice time to think of that now. The flimsy thing had torn and only one button remained, dangling by a thread. So, he worked at tugging down the far-too-tight skirt, then spotted her ravaged knickers hanging off one slim ankle.

  Stricken, he braced himself and searched her face, dreading how she might weep. She’d looked so lost, being kicked out of the lobby of his building, some of her spirit showing in the angry set of her jaw, but those big blue eyes that changed shades with her moods had been pale with hurt and humiliation. Then she’d started crying in the elevator, trying not to, but too up-front with her feelings to disguise it, and he’d been at a total loss.

  Instead of more tears and recriminations though, she gave him a cat-in-cream smile, eyes deep as the twilight and full of amusement as she observed his efforts without helping. “Damn, Alec. You are hard on a girl’s clothes.” She tilted her head, studying him, and her expression changed. She laid her palms on his cheeks. “If you’re thinking about apologizing for this, stop right there.” She kissed him, sweet lips asking a question, parting to invite him in, to have more. He swayed into her, completely overcome.

  “We should get inside,” he managed, between returning her kisses. “Change clothes.” He’d likely ruined his trousers. Fair enough.

  “And hey—I have something to change into.” She said it lightly, but raised her eyebrows. Testing his reaction.

  “I’m glad you do. I’m sorry I’m such a bleeding idiot. Let’s change and have another go at the conversation we need to have.”

  “I really want that wine now. Too bad it went the way of my panties.” She gathered her blouse together and held it as she kicked the ruined knickers into the corner. Inside, she scooped up the duffel bag, incongruously decorated with a blue cartoon pony that seemed to have rainbows for its mane and tail, and headed for the guest bathroom. No wonder Sean had been dubious about her. She could have been a boarding school refugee. And he the sugar daddy bent on compromising her. He found the broom, sweeping up the glass he’d broken in whatever fit had taken him, throwing it and her ruined knickers in the dustbin. They would start this over again.

  Not only had he more than half convinced himself she wouldn’t show, that the once had been enough for her, he’d reconciled himself to that reality. Decision out of his hands and all for the best. But no.

  “I scraped the hell out of my hands.” She walked back into the room, holding them out for him to see. She’d changed into that white sundress she’d worn when they worked that Saturday together, and she’d brushed out her hair so it gleamed like honey. A portrait of innocent loveliness—with a bite on her slim throat, red marks from his bruising grip on her wrists and angry scratches up and down the backs of her hands and arms.

  Unable to think of a proper apology for such a transgression, he said nothing as he turned on his heel and went for the first aid kit, pulling other useless things out of the medicine cabinet to find it before he tossed it on the master bath counter. Amber leaned in the open doorway, watching quietly. He’d scraped up her mouth, too, her lips puffy and cheek chafed from his beard scruff, and he recalled how he’d silenced her, drinking in her frantic cries.

  “Are you all right?” she asked in a gentle voice, as if he were the one who needed soothing.

  “I’m not, no. But you’re the one who needs taking care of, not me. Since I am the one who scraped the hell out of your hands, among other things. Sit.”

  She’d regained her native insouciance, making a little O of her lips and mouthing a silent oh-kay. She hitched herself onto the dark marble counter, bare feet swinging, and gave over her hands with total trust, as if he’d never hurt her. Some of the scratches were deeper than others. One bleeding, but most already scabbing over, angry against her pale skin. It made him feel somewhat better, to disinfect them, to clean the grit, the grime out of them.

  Or, at least it spared him thinking for a few more minutes about what he’d done.

  “Owie!” She sucked in a breath when the peroxide sizzled in the deepest cut and he had to shake his head.

  “You fuss at this but not when I’m brutalizing you?”

  “That was sex. You understand that. Totally different. Although...” She ducked her head to catch his eye, hair sliding over her smooth shoulder. “It’s sexy in a different way, havin
g you doctor me. Tend to me.”

  “Amber darling...” He didn’t know what to say.

  “If you don’t stop acting all guilty, I’ll just get pissed again and we’ll be back to where we started before the make-up sex.”

  An aghast laugh tore through him. “You call that make-up sex? That was hardly disciplined domination. Not at all what you asked for from me.”

  “Oh, stop that!” She did look angry now, righteously so. “I know what I want from you. I have safewords, don’t I? That’s why I have them. Did you hear me say either one?”

  “No,” he realized. So practiced at this—or he had been once—and he’d never thought of it. Of course, nothing that had gone before had ever been like this. “But that wasn’t a scene. I was...” He didn’t know what he’d been.

  “You were as into it as I was.” She turned her hands to lace her fingers with his. “I like that best, when you’re so gone that you’re no longer so...studied about it. It feels more real. Less like something you’re indulging me in.”

  “You’re impossible,” he murmured, kissing the backs of her hands. They tasted of peroxide and cream, underlaid with her leafy scent. He moved to the bruises forming on her wrists. “I’m not meant to leave marks such as this through carelessness.”

  “Except then you kiss them better.” Her voice had gone mellower, her body pliant and inviting. “Totally worth it.”

  “The least I can do for you. Tilt your head.”

  She complied and he moved her hair out of the way, dabbing the bite with disinfectant—bruising, but at least he hadn’t broken the skin. He kissed the angry mark and she trembled, making that sexy croon of encouragement. Impossible not to touch her.

  “Your breasts—are they bruised, scratched?”

  “You’d better check,” she purred and untied her halter, lowering it to reveal the pink-tipped globes. Reddened, yes, and showing signs of rough use, alas, but not so bad. Nevertheless, he kissed them thoroughly, covering every millimeter of skin, as she shifted and sighed, running her fingers through his hair.

  “I was quite rough with you—everywhere.”

  “Oh yes. I might have terrible bruises down below, the way you went at me.”

  “Let me see.” He knelt down, pressing kisses to the tops of her feet, her pink-polished toes like candy, and skimmed the full skirts up her pretty thighs.

  “Was that the fantasy?”

  He glanced up at her, confused. “Fantasy?”

  “The one you promised me, if I wore that outfit.”

  “No. Nothing so planned.” He pushed her skirts up and she obligingly lifted her bum, settling it—also showing some scratches—naked on the counter. “No knickers this time?”

  “It seemed smart to leave them off for the time being, knowing how you are.”

  “Probably wise.” Spreading her thighs, he examined her. Red and swollen. Also slick and aroused. Irresistible.

  “It was one of my fantasies,” she whispered, then moaned when he licked her.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You know. The stranger in the dark alley. Oh, Alec.” Her breath hitched as he sucked lightly on her clit, kissed her there.

  “Keep going.” He settled into a soothing rhythm, one meant to take her up slowly, an apology for the harshness of before. “What does he do to you?”

  “Just like you did. He has to have me. Takes me by surprise and pushes me against the wall, tears my clothes away. He’s rough, squeezing my breasts, telling me I have to take it. I don’t want to like it but I do. He won’t let me go, pins my wrists and rams into me, hard like you did. Over and over. He doesn’t care about my pleasure, just takes. He’s wild for me and I can’t help myself and, oh God, Alec...”

  She came apart, clutching at his head, thighs tightening and sea salt fluids filling his mouth. Letting her ride it out, come down easily, he gentled her through it. Then looked up to find a dreamy smile on her lips.

  “It’s not an easy fantasy to want,” she said. “Not very feminist. But I got to have it anyway, with you. So, thank you.”

  “I didn’t do it for that reason.”

  “Which makes it even better.” She bent, breasts swaying heavily, hair falling around him, and kissed him, an angel giving a benediction, then deepened it, savoring. “I like tasting myself on your mouth.”

  “I like having you in my mouth.”

  She smiled, radiant. Her naturally happy self. “This is why we’re a perfect couple.”

  He shook his head at her. “Let’s try for that conversation again, shall we?”

  “You haven’t changed clothes yet.”

  “I will.”

  “Can I pick them out?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She gave him a cheeky grin, reminding him that she inexplicably enjoyed when he said that, and jumped down from the counter, smoothing her skirts, then tying up her halter. The realization that he could easily have her again, simply by spinning her around and bending her over the counter, that she would be naked and ready, had his already hard cock aching. She raised her eyebrows, reading him easily. “Or are we not done yet?”

  “Talk first.” He bore down on the determination, clinging to that rational thought that had deserted him earlier.

  “Okay. But I get to poke through your closet.” She bounced out of the bathroom, leaving him to discard his clothes, clean up and give himself a stern talking to. When he walked out into the bedroom naked, she sat on the side of the bed, next to the clothes she’d laid out—a pair of worn jeans and a dark green T-shirt.

  “This is your special selection for me?”

  “Yes. I’ve never seen you in jeans. And the green will bring out the hazel of your eyes.” She tracked him as he pulled a pair of clean boxers out of a drawer and worked them on over his raging hard-on. “Sure you don’t want to do something about that?”

  “I feel certain it will keep.”

  “You have a bite mark, too. I should tend it.”

  “Leave it—it’s no more than I deserve, treating you as I did.”

  “Are you sure you’re not Catholic? All of the guilt,” she added when he cast her a questioning look.

  “Positive. Although, as for that, the C of E does a fine job. That’s not the problem.” He put on the jeans and shirt, still bemused by her choice.

  “That’s what you said earlier. Right before you fucked my brains out. Are you going to tell me what the problem actually is?”

  For all her sexual confidence, she had an uncertainty in her expression, something a bit waifish as she posed the question, sitting on the heavy bed equipped with rings meant to restrain her for any number of debaucheries. A girl with rainbow-maned ponies on her overnight bag and bruises he’d placed on her. He simultaneously wanted to rescue and ravish her.

  He held out a hand and she slipped off the bed with a smile. Instead of taking his hand, she ran her hands up his chest, much shorter than he, with them both barefoot. “It’s a great color on you. A good look. Not that you don’t rock the suit porn, but it’s nice to see you kick back a little, too.”

  That gave him pause. “Suit porn?”

  “Oh yeah. All those very crisp, very formal, very masterful suits you wear?” She slid her hand down and cupped his still-hard cock through his jeans, giving him a smoldering look. “Suit porn. Ask any girl.”

  “I believe I need that wine.” Removing her hand—masterful restraint right there—he tucked it in his and led her down the hallway. They settled on the terrace, evening growing deeper, and sipped fresh glasses of wine by candlelight. “All right,” he said, taking the lead, “before we got sidetracked, you were telling me that Kiki feels I’m not good for you and you were unhappy with how I’ve treated you also.”

  “I’m fascinated that’s what you took awa
y from our earlier conversation.” She narrowed her eyes. “You were going to explain what this problem is that you’ve referenced twice.”

  “You were upset when you arrived,” he persisted. “Before, I suspect, the incident with the doorman. Worked up and feeling insecure, you said. Why?”

  She took a deep breath, a long sip of wine, and set her glass down. “So. Okay. I know I agreed to the no-contact all week rule, and I get that it’s part of the sex thing, the dominance and all of that. But I’d like to call Morpheus on that.”

  He had to keep himself from smiling, she charmed and fascinated him so much with the way she thought. “All right.”

  “The thing is, it wasn’t sexy for me. It was just crazy-making, having no control of that aspect. Don’t get me wrong—because I totally get off on you pulling power plays in other ways, which I’m sure you know full well, as good as you are at fucking with my mind that way—but that didn’t work for me. I need more.”

  “Such as?”

  “Don’t ask me to tell you how I feel and then go imperious.”

  “Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re right, of course. This verges into what my problem is, as I rather thought it would. I set the rule of no contact during the workweek to protect you. No, don’t tell me you don’t need protecting. I am experiencing a distressing lack of control where you’re concerned—which is entirely my problem—so I thought it might be easier to, over the course of the workweek, to create the illusion for myself that...”

  She looked half-amused, half-irritated. “That I don’t exist.”

  He sighed. “In a word, yes.”

  “Well, it worked, because that’s how I felt and I didn’t like it.”

  “I see that now. I can only ask for your forgiveness. If it’s any comfort, I didn’t like it either.”

  “And it didn’t solve your problem. You said you still wanted me every second of every day.”