Owning Sarah [Sequel to Loving Sarah] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Julie Shelton

  Going straight to her, he grabbed her gently by the shoulders and pulled her up, turning her to face him, studying her tear-stained face. She stared back at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused, the turquoise irises swallowed up by the blackness of her pupils. She was flying. Soaring blindly through the shadowy realm of subspace, lost in the pleasure she’d just been given. Lifting both hands to wipe away the remnants of her tears with his thumbs he bent his head to place a lingering kiss on each damp cheek.

  With a tremulous sigh, she shut her eyes, loving the feel of his lips against her skin. Loving the tiny kisses he strung like jewels across her temple, beneath her ear, along her jawline. “Jesse…” It was a moan, and all of a sudden his arms were around her and his lips were crushing hers, his rough tongue bulldozing inside, taking her, staking his claim in a kiss that started out hard and brutal before softening into something else, something that cherished, something that gave more than it took. Something that ravished her heart and warmed her soul.

  With a deep groan, he ripped his mouth away, lifting his hands to cradle her face. He stroked her hair, threading his fingers through the silky strands, curving them around the back of her head to hold her in place for a gentler, more leisurely exploration of her mouth. His tongue stroked against hers, flooding every sensory receptor in her body with a blissful languor.

  Whimpering helplessly, she lifted her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest as the kiss went on and on, melting her bones and setting fire to her blood.

  When she whimpered again, he lifted his head, staring down at her, all his love for her written plainly on his face. Without a word, he scooped her up and carried her over to the burgundy leather sofa against the wall. Snagging the afghan off the back of the sofa, he turned and sat, shaking out the folds of the soft, hand-knitted throw. He swung his legs up and lay back with his head resting against the overstuffed arm. Positioning her sideways across his lap, with her back against the back of the couch, he pulled her upper body down to rest across his chest and draped the afghan over them. Both muscular arms went around her, holding her close.

  As much as she loved the intensity of the sex between them, she loved this part just as much, the aftercare. The part where one or both of her Doms simply held her, making her feel warm and cherished and loved. Making her feel…treasured. With a sigh, she snuggled her cheek into the hollow his chest, placing the flat of her left hand against one well-defined pectoral muscle, entranced by the sparks flashing from the diamonds in her engagement ring.

  Correction, engagement rings. There were two of them, each with a slightly different design, but whose large diamonds offset each other, thus allowing them to fit together as one. The wedding band was shaped to snuggle between them, as if being sheltered by them. They’d given them to her at a celebratory dinner two weeks ago, after she’d been given the all-clear by Dr. Will Durant, former member of Jesse and Adam’s SEAL team, and the maxillofacial surgeon at Bethesda Naval Hospital who’d repaired the eye socket Phillip Nugent had broken. “I love you, Jesse.” Her voice was so soft, it was barely audible.

  He pressed his lips against the top of her head in a lingering kiss. “I love you, too, sugar. You good?” His voice was a low, rumbling growl in her ear that shivered up her spine.

  “Um.” She thought for a moment. Am I good? “Define good.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

  Dreamily content, she nuzzled her cheek more deeply into his chest, basking in the heat radiating from him like a furnace, lulled by the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear and the soothing, almost hypnotic rhythm of his hand stroking up and down her arm. She wanted to stay like that forever, well loved and satisfied within the shelter of his arms.

  The arms of the man she’d loved since the first time she’d ever seen him, thirteen years ago. She’d been dangling upside down from a broken tree limb thirty feet above the ground, watching his frantic run across the lawn to rescue her. He’d been gone for the last eight of those years, but now he was back. And inexplicably, thankfully, miraculously he’d brought Adam with him, making her complete in ways she’d never have believed possible. Thanks to her two hot, sexy men, she was living the perfect life. The life she’d been dreaming about for thirteen long, lonely years. The life that, for the last eight of those years, she’d despaired of ever having.

  She tried to sit up, but his arms tightened around her, keeping her in place, giving them a few more seconds of bliss. But time had run out on their loving interlude, and they both knew it.

  “Sweetheart, I need to get back to work.” This time when she pushed herself up, he didn’t stop her. She sat, looking down at him, feeling his cock begin to jerk beneath her bottom as she allowed her hand to drift across the sculpted muscles of his chest and abdomen.

  “Is this going to happen often?” she asked.

  Jesse tucked one hand beneath his head, lifting the other to allow his knuckles to skim lightly across her cheek. His eyes, glittering pools of black light, held hers captive as his thumb stroked streaks of fire back and forth across her lips. “If by ‘this,’” he said quietly, “you mean comin’ into your office, bendin’ you over your desk and fuckin’ you senseless”—he curved his long, lean fingers around the back of her neck—“then I’d say the answer to that would be a resoundin’ yes.”

  “Jesse…” Her attempt at a protest died in her throat when he pulled her head down roughly and closed his mouth over hers in a deep, wet kiss that demanded her total surrender.

  She gave it to him.

  She melted against him as his tongue speared between her lips, responding to every thrust with a parry of her own. His tongue claimed her, mated with her, one blistering thrust after another, until she felt like she was drowning in a sea of fire. Clinging desperately to his shoulders for support, she answered him stroke for stroke as the fire consumed her from the inside out.

  He slid the hand from behind his head to close his long, lean fingers around a breast, tugging and manipulating her supple flesh as he flicked his thumb idly back and forth across her nipple. She gasped out a moan as her arousal spiked, sending fresh cream spilling out into her slit. Holy Moley!

  Holding her firmly in place, he slanted his head, gentling his kiss, turning the almost-brutal assault into a sipping, licking, tasting exploration of the sweetness of her mouth. When he finally allowed her to lift her head, he once again trapped her gaze in the swirling blackness of his. “If by ‘often,’” he went on, his voice so hoarse it sounded like it had been pulsed in a blender, “you mean whenever I feel like it, then the answer is hell yes.” His eyes darkened. He continued brushing the backs of his knuckles down the gentle slope of her cheeks.

  “Missed out on eight years of you, baby,” he said quietly. “Eight years of thinkin’ about you, dreamin’ about you, missin’ you so bad I had an ache in my chest that never went away.” His thumb swiped away the lone tear sliding down her cheek. “Eight fuckin’ years of not seein’ you. Not touchin’ you. Not bein’ able to love you. Eight years of lyin’ in bed at night, takin’ out my memories of you and touchin’ them one by one like King Midas fingerin’ his gold. I got a lotta catchin’ up to do, baby. So, yeah, I guess you could say this is gonna happen often.”

  “But”—she swallowed and licked her lips, still determined to make her point, even though she knew she was wasting her breath—“anyone could’ve just walked right in on us while we…we were…” she trailed off, stopped by the pressure of his first two fingers against her lips.

  “I locked the door, Sarah.”

  For a long moment she just stared at him as if she hadn’t heard him. Then her eyes widened as realization set in. “You…locked—um, I didn’t—when…”

  “I also told Heather that we were not to be disturbed. Not for any reason. Not under any circumstances. Any business that came up would just have to wait.”

  “You…“

  “Trust, Sarah. It’s all abou
t trust. Yours in me, mine in you.”

  Shame heated her cheeks, and she slid her gaze away, gnawing on her lower lip as she struggled with the ramifications of what she’d done. Trust. It was all he asked of her, all he’d ever asked of her. She had already been caned once for her lack of it, an excruciatingly painful experience she had no desire to repeat. Yet here she was, failing him once again. Her throat thickened, and she squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to prevent the tears from falling.

  They rolled unheeded down her cheeks to drip off her chin.

  She felt the fingers of both his hands spear through her hair, felt his palms curve in to cradle her face between them, felt his thumbs brush the dampness from her cheeks.

  “What’s my job, sugar? As your Dom, I mean?”

  “Um. To love me?”

  If she’d been looking at him, she would have seen his expression soften. “That’s not my job, baby, that’s my reward. Guess again.”

  A sly grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “To torture me?”

  He laughed. “Also my reward. My job, my primary responsibility as your Dom, is to keep you safe. But you have to trust me enough to know that I will always do that. That neither Adam nor I would ever put you in a position where you might be harmed or humiliated. Only glorified.” His voice held no anger, as he was merely stating fact, but she could feel the keen edge of his disappointment in her behavior.

  “I–I’m sorry, Jesse.” She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “I know I failed you, I…”

  “Stop right there, sugar. Look at me.”

  She did, to find herself drowning in the glittering abyss of his eyes. No, not drowning. Floating. Buoyed by the intensity of the love and understanding she saw swirling in the turbulence of those inky, black depths. He adjusted the angle of his head against the sofa arm, looking up at her with eyes so hot, and she felt scorched.

  “Don’t worry, sugar, you’re not gonna fail us. We won’t let you. Your full trust in us will come, but to help it along, Adam and I are gonna take you to Ravish.”

  Huh? “You’re going to ravish me?” she asked in confusion.

  “No, baby. We’re gonna take you to a club called Ravish. It’s a bondage club in Norfolk owned by some friends of ours, the Lavalliers.

  Lavallier. Why did that name sound so familiar? Oh, crap.

  “You mean Mistress Sidonie Lavallier?”

  “One and the same.”

  Sidonie Lavallier was a hard-as-nails Domme who owned the fetish boutique where Adam had bought most of Sarah’s clothes. The woman had thought Sarah was Adam’s slave and had had the gall to suggest that she needed to learn some manners. She had even offered to teach her those manners. She’d practically been drooling at the prospect of getting her hands on Sarah. Fortunately, Adam had set her straight and she’d backed off.

  Still. Sidonie Lavallier was one scary-ass woman. And now they planned on taking her to the woman’s bondage club? Holy fuck!

  All sorts of images buzz-bombed her mind. Images of herself wearing nothing but a leather corset and six-inch stilettos, sucking cock, being tied up and flogged, being—whoa! Images that left her shaken and terrified, even as they aroused the hell out of her. Holy fuck, indeed. She licked her lips. “Wh–what would we do there? Will I have to go naked? Will anyone touch me? Will they hurt me?”

  “Slow down, baby, slow down. First of all, you will be wearin’ our collar, which will tell every Dom there that you are under our protection. That means no one, I repeat no one, will touch you without our permission. And no one would dare hurt you. We will pick out somethin’ appropriate for you to wear. As for what we do there, that will be entirely up to Master Adam and me.” He looked at her, noting the way she gnawed on her lower lip, something she always did when she was nervous. “Are you scared, baby?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, still worrying her lip. “Mistress Sidonie said I needed to learn some manners.”

  He laughed. “So you do. But the only ones who’re gonna teach them to you are Master Adam and me. Don’t worry, sugar. We won’t allow anyone to harm you.”

  “So, why do we have to do it at all, then?”

  “To help rid you of the last of your residual shyness and false modesty. To glorify your body and your submission to us. To let everyone see what a beautiful and delightful little subbie we have. And to free you to explore every wicked little thing that gives you pleasure.”

  “But how can you call that freedom, when you’re ordering me to do it?”

  “Ah.” He nodded sagely. “That’s the paradox of the D/s way of life. Total freedom through total submission. If there was somethin’ that you knew would embarrass you, but that we knew would give you pleasure, would you actually do it if we didn’t order you to?” He watched as she mulled that over. “I didn’t think so. Without us, you would never live out any of your fantasies. With us, you’re free to explore all your fantasies. Now go get your blouse, baby, and bring it to me.”

  She scrambled off his lap, his hand on her hip keeping her in place until he was sure she was steady. As she went to retrieve her clothing, he swung his legs off the sofa and knifed up into a sitting position. When she returned, he scooted his butt to the edge of the seat and spread his legs. He motioned for her to stand between them, facing him. “I’m not gonna punish you for your slowness to trust, baby, but I am gonna leave you with a reminder of your place in our hearts and our expectations of you as we guide you through your continuin’ journey into submission.”

  He reached into one of the flapped pockets of his cargo pants with his right hand, while grabbing her arm with his left and pulling her toward him until her knees bumped against the front of the burgundy leather sofa. That placed his head on the same level with her breasts. “Bend forward, baby, hold onto me.”

  As she reached for his shoulders, he released her arm and curved his left hand beneath her right breast, lifting it to his face, nuzzling and kissing, licking and nipping her tender flesh. She let out a series of shuddering sighs and squeaks. Her hands tightened around his shoulders. She had to lock her knees to keep from falling, as arousal once again spiked within her.

  “Christ, sugar, you have the most gorgeous tits.” The wet heat of his mouth closed around the hard knot of her nipple, and she squealed in pleasure/pain. He bit with his teeth, soothed the sharp little pain with his tongue, tugged with his lips until her nipple was swollen and throbbing. Then he lifted his head, eyeing his handiwork. Her breast was swollen, her skin flushed, and her nipple was so red and elongated and shiny, he swore he could see it pulsing with every pounding beat of her heart. “Perfect,” he murmured.

  He blew a puff of air over her moist skin, making her moan softly. Her moan turned into a muffled shriek as his right hand lifted and the rubber-covered teeth of an alligator clip bit down on her throbbing peak. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she struggled to deal with the excruciating sensations of pain coupled with exquisite pleasure.

  Then he lowered his head to swirl his tongue around her clamped tip, soothing the sharp pain into something a little more tolerable. He repeated the entire process with her other breast. The second clamp had her squirming, tossing her head, and arching her back as Jesse once again bent to stroke his tongue around her darkening areolas, flicking it across the clips.

  Releasing her with a reluctant groan, he attached a sterling silver chain between the two clamps. She watched, bemused, as he hooked something to the chain, supporting the weight of both it and the heavy chain in the palm of his hand. It was the size of a garden variety lead fishing weight, the standard pyramidal shape. Except this weight was anything but standard. It was exquisitely crafted of platinum and the entire surface was encrusted with rare pink diamonds. It was small, as fishing weights went, but she knew that once he released it, it would be heavy enough to exert a significant pull on her already tender nipples. The gemstones sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, flashing shards of incandescent fire across
Jesse’s hand and the creamy skin of her breasts.

  “I see you found the Bedazzler,” she murmured, panting slightly in anticipation of the exquisite pain she knew was coming.

  “Do I even want to know what that is?”

  “Probably not.” She smirked. “If you did, and if, God forbid, word got out, you’d be drummed out of the Super-Hot, Domineering, Badass, Alpha-Male Kaffee Klatsch and Torture Club.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I’d miss their monthly meetings.” He gave the chain a slight tug, eliciting a moan from somewhere deep within her throat. “Eyes on me, Sarah.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, her heart beating so fast it was a wonder she didn’t have a stroke. At his steely look, all the moisture in her mouth evaporated, leaving it as dry as Peru’s Atacama Desert.

  “Whose are you?” he demanded.

  “Yours, Jesse. Yours and Adam’s.”

  “Who controls you?”

  “Um…” She bit her lip. “You and Adam.”

  “Who owns you?”

  “The two of you do.”

  He closed his eyes for a brief instant, an almost pained expression on his face. When he opened them again, the churning turbulence she’d seen there had cleared, softened. His entire face had softened. He lifted his hand to her cheek. “Who loves you, Sarah?”

  Before she could answer, he released the weight.

  “Ah-h-h-h-h!” The scream ripped from her before she could stop it. The sharp downward tug on her nipples forced her to suck in a series of short, jagged, hissing breaths through clenched teeth. Okay, that thing may look like a fishing weight, but it feels more like a bowling ball. “You do, Jesse! You and Adam!”

  He smirked, reaching for her teal silk blouse. “You sure about that?”

  She shot him a murderous look, which, thankfully, he didn’t see. Annoying man.

  While she was mincing about from foot to foot, trying to deal with the pain shooting from the tips of her nipples through her entire system, he guided her arms through the sleeves of her blouse, dressing her as if she were a child, buttoning it carefully, making sure to brush his knuckles accidentally on purpose across her clamped nipples so he could enjoy her quivering little cries of agony and ecstasy.