Chasing Chelsea (Masters of the Castle)

by Maren Smith

  “Put her up to what?”

  Chelsea jumped, grabbing convulsively at the application, but Sinclair was faster. She snatched it back, tucking it out of sight under the counter. They exchanged what must have been identical ‘oh-shit’ looks before glancing back at Kade.

  “Well, don't that look guilty as hell.” Easing the door closed behind him, Kade affected a smile meant to cover the telltale irritation from—Chelsea hoped—his confrontation with the plump blonde. His attention now, however, was solely on them as he strolled through the candy aisles, heading straight for them. “What mischievous plot are you two hatching in here all by yourselves?”

  “No plots,” Sinclair replied, smiling back. “I just offered her a free cake ball for helping out my counter girl.”

  “You mean Molly?” Picking up the small sack, Kade unfolded the top and looked inside. “The one who just ran out of here in tears?”

  “Yeah.” Sinclair sighed. “That would be the one.”

  “She hates this job,” Chelsea supplied when he glanced at her.

  “Yeah, I got that impression.” Kade smiled again. This time, it seemed more genuine when he leaned down to brace his elbows against the counter. He whispered to her like a conspirator. “Are you fond of chocolate, Red?”

  “Sometimes,” she countered, dropping down to her elbows beside him. As awful as she had felt just moments before, funny how it took only a few playful words from him to mask it all. Nothing was fixed. Nothing was really better, but it felt better. Besides, since he seemed willing to forget what he’d overheard, she was more than willing to help distract him. “Are you going to buy out the entire store for me?”

  His smile made her heart dance.

  “Not even close.” He chucked her under the chin with the tip of his finger. “But maybe you’ll consider this a close second. How do you feel about my dousing, dribbling and otherwise painting your naked body in a confection of white chocolate, milk chocolate and butterscotch drips before licking it all off again in small, concentric circles?”

  Chelsea smirked, knowing he was only joking. “Sounds very sticky.”

  “And sweet,” Kade added.

  “And messy,” Sinclair added. The register dinged when she tapped two buttons to close out the sale. When the money tray rolled out, she promptly slapped it closed again. “I’ll go lay out a tarp.”

  Chelsea straightened in surprise. “Seriously?”

  Chuckling, Kade circled behind her. He snaked his arms around her waist, drawing her back to lean against him. “I’m feeling very artsy,” he murmured, hot against her ear. “Congratulations. You’re going to be my very first victim. It’s a brand new program. Master Marshall tested it out on Kaylee, but otherwise, as far as I know you’re the first guest it’s been done to.”

  “Victim, hm.” She loved being held close like this. She didn’t feel even the slightest trepidation as he walked her around the counter into the same back room Sinclair had disappeared into. “So, what? I just sit back and let you do whatever you want?”

  “That would be my preference, yes.”

  “What if I don’t like it?” It was a silly question, and she knew it. If he was doing it, something told her she was going to like it just fine.

  “You have your safeword, but do you really think that’ll be an issue?”

  The back room wasn’t much different from her kitchen back home. It had no sink or stove, but there was a counter island, over which Sinclair was shaking out a clear plastic drop cloth. A rolling cart had already been set up with ten or so small cans of what looked like colored paints, set down into a warming pan partly filled with steaming water. The smell of rich chocolate tainted every breath she took.

  “You have an hour,” Sinclair said cheerfully and retreated from the room, closing the door securely behind her.

  Something told Chelsea one hour wasn’t going to be anywhere near long enough.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  There was no way he’d be able to squeeze in everything he wanted to do to her in a single hour. Impossible. He was going to have to prioritize and stop wasting precious seconds just standing here, holding all the soft curves of her to all the hard angles of himself.

  Kade stroked her, unfolding his arms from around her, as if he had all the time in the world. “Where were we?” he asked as he turned her to face him. Her cheeks flushed the most enchanting shade of pink. Her soft lips parted, the tiny pink tip of her tongue darting out to moisten them and bedevil him. Its retreat beckoned him to steal a taste, and in no way was Kade about to deprive himself.

  Her strawberry hair was soft as soft could be and as entangling as Shibari rope. He combed his fingers through the long strands, loving the way it yielded to his hands even as her warm mouth yielded to his kiss. He growled. He couldn’t help it. He had never invested so much time or effort into any one conquest before, but he didn’t want to stop. Bag her, tag her, release her back into the wild. That was his game and the rules hadn’t changed, would never change, but he couldn’t deny there was something about her that just kept pulling at him.

  Perhaps there was some truth to the old adage: you only want the things you can’t have. Beth had certainly made him work for it, but he could—would—have her now. He could feel her softening, melting in his arms, her hands coming to rest on his chest as she tipped her head and opened wider. The tentative twining of her tongue was sheer heaven, though he could tell she hadn’t much experience being kissed like this. He took his time, showing her what to do, when to thrust and when to yield, everything that he liked until the heat of her soft body against his became a hellish torment he had no further intention of resisting.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said, throaty and low.

  “All of them?” she whispered back, that dazed look of wanting almost enough to make him want to forget about the chocolate and simply bend her over and fuck.

  He barely managed to restrain himself. Barely. “We’re about to get messy. I promise, you’re going to have chocolate in places you didn’t know you had before I’m done.”

  If he didn’t let go of her now, he wasn’t going to at all. Forcing himself to back away, Kade propped himself against the foot of the counter to watch and wait. “Go on, Red. Take it all off. Do it slowly, just for me.”

  Chelsea blushed, raising her hands to hook her fingers under the shoulder straps. There, she hesitated. “You’re going to watch?”

  He nodded once. “Show me what’s mine to take.”

  The flush on her cheeks was almost as dark as her hair when she finally pushed the straps down off her shoulders, hesitantly baring her breasts first—those modest handfuls topped with a slight smattering of freckles and the jutting twin peaks of her nipples. His mouth ran dry, but that was all right. He’d be tasting them soon enough.

  “More,” he coaxed.

  She let the straps gather limp around her waist before hooking her thumbs in her slave costume and skinning it all the way down over her round hips. At mid-thigh, gravity caught hold and dropped it the rest of the way to her feet. She stood there, her hands twitching with the need to cover herself.

  “Good girl,” he praised her when she didn’t. Instead, she waited for his next command, trembling just a little before him and no doubt wondering if he found her body pleasing. He touched her, letting the backs of two fingers glide over the rounded slope of her shoulder and down her arm. Oh, the things women wasted their time wondering. His gaze traveled her, tracing the long, slender lines of her tall legs, that thin landing strip tuft of neatly trimmed pubic hair, the womanly curves of her hips as they dipped in, becoming the slender pinch of her waist before rounding out again as her waist became her ribs, chest, and breasts. She was beautiful, and she was his. At least, for now.

  He got off the table and patted the tarp where he had been sitting. “Right here. Sit.”

  She took his place on the sheer plastic tarp, all long beautiful limbs, red hair and timid obedience. He ached to touch her, to wra
p his hands in her hair and pin her to receive his most intimate kisses. And caresses. Chocolate-covered caresses…he smiled, and when he pulled his shirt up over his head, he heard her breath catch.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked—actually squeaked—he had to fight not to laugh at her.

  “Getting undressed. This is going to get messy, remember? Very, very messy, and I would prefer not to spend the day with chocolate on my clothes.”

  “Oh.” Her breath shivered out of her, but her nipples were hard as rose-colored diamonds. Soon, he told himself, his cock already pressing so hard against his zipper that it hurt. He’d be tasting and teasing those treasured mounds soon enough. Waiting was half the fun, or so he’d been told. He could wait.

  He left his pants on, but removed his shoes before reaching for the rolling cart laden with small cups, each one filled with a warmed, bright shade of rich chocolate. There was a veritable rainbow represented here. He tested the temperature of the green against his inner wrist, finding it pleasant.

  “Lie down.” Choosing a long paintbrush from an assortment on the table, he ripped it from its sterile packaging and wet the tip in the thick chocolate, stirring it. “On your back.”

  She started to scoot back, to center herself to lie fully upon the island counter, but he quickly set the chocolate aside in order to catch her hips. He pulled her right back to the foot of the table where he wanted her—all of her, within his easy reach. He gripped her knees, his fingers applying gentle pressure until she gave in. An entire battle of embarrassment and desire played across her face as he spread her open wide. He bent, rewarding her compliance with a kiss planted just south of her navel. She smelled good. Really good. No overpowering perfumes or body spritzers. Just a faint hint of lotion and the rest was all her, feminine and alluring. Her stomach flinched just under his lips. She tried to close her eyes, earning a single nipping bite as punishment.

  “Look at me, Red.” Her taste was his addiction; he kissed and licked, flicking her skin with the tip of his tongue, unable to get enough and he hadn’t even started with the chocolate yet. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to see how much you want me every time I look at you.”

  He waited until she once more locked her gaze with his. One last nibbling kiss and he pushed back off her. He walked around the counter, keeping an eye on her to make sure she watched him all the way. When he reached the head of the island, he pushed the plastic tarp aside and found the drawer marked ‘restraints.’ He had his choice—leather, chain…no, both were too harsh for skin as soft as hers…ah, there it was: soft streams of silk, dark crimson in color, perfect for what he had in mind.

  He removed three of the four ribbons from their brand new packaging. “Give me your hands.”

  If she hesitated at all now, it was only for the barest second before she reached for him, her back arching as she stretched both arms high above her head. Kade bound her wrists together, securely fastening them to an eyehook under the lip of the counter. Unable to reach that far, she hooked her fingers around the rope of ribbon, holding onto it.

  Kade walked another slow circle around the counter, caressing her as he went, loving the way she arched up into his hand. Her hips squirmed when his fingers trailed lightly up the outer curve of her thigh to her waist. Her breasts trembled and heaved, straining to be next as he stroked her ribs. He let his nails scrape a path through the valley between them, denying her the touch she wanted so badly.

  When he reached her head, he bent and rested his folded arms on the table. “Comfortable?”

  “Sort of,” she replied, testing her bonds.

  “Is there any part of you off limits to me?” Twining a wayward lock of her hair around his finger, he gave it a gentle tug.

  She opened her mouth, but hesitated. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten the bow of her lips. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Shall I make it easy for you?” Another soft tug, then he unwound his finger to stroke the ribbon curve of her bottom lip instead. Her flesh yielded so easily to the slight pressure of his finger, and when he reached the midway bow, she opened and caught his finger in her mouth. He felt that suckling kiss like a jolt of pure lust. It shot all the way up his arm and straight down through his gut to his already high-standing cock.

  “Make it easy for me, Master Kade,” she said huskily, that wanton tone rubbing him raw in all the right ways.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” he promised, loving the way her stormy eyes now dilated with the rawness of her need. Such looks were sheer ego-strokers. It made the dominant within him surge. His blood was pounding, burning. He felt fucking invincible, and the words that came rumbling out of him felt less like a vow and more like a threat when he said, “You’re going to ask for it—you’re going to beg for it. Down on your knees, with your hands turned up to me in supplication and your kisses still drying on my boot—that is how I will have you, and I promise, it’s going to be the fucking of your life.”

  Her belly flinched, her thighs clenching in. She almost closed her legs, but he was already moving to stop her, to pry her knees apart and push himself to stand between them. He stroked her legs—those impossibly long and gorgeous legs—until they were hugging at his hips.

  “Open,” he ordered. There was no part of her that he couldn’t touch now, but he wanted her to feel how exposed she was. He wanted every nuance of her vulnerability to invade her consciousness, to weigh on her. He wanted to see it in her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, before he tied each of the remaining ribbons around her thighs, just above her knees, and then to opposite eyebolts at the corners of the counter.

  She couldn’t close her legs now if she wanted to, and judging by the way she kept testing the ribbons that bound her, he could tell she wasn’t sure what she wanted. For him to stop, for him to continue…her belly flinched again when he lay his hand on her slender stomach. He stroked her, soothing her uncertainty, taking his time to touch all of her, from her face to her waist, to her ankles and feet and all the way back up again.

  In that unguarded moment, something inside him went temporarily stupid. Before he could stop it, he said, “I love your eyes.”

  She shivered, those beautiful eyes of hers dilating all over again. Glistening moisture trickled down along the exposed seam of her pussy, pulling at him to touch as well as look. She scoffed, trying to hide her body’s reaction. “There’s a pick-up line if I ever heard one.”

  “I never use lines.”

  “That’s not what you said before.”

  “Maybe I lied before.” As gentle as gentle could be, he stroked her from head to toe all over again. The only place he didn’t touch was between her legs. He came close, caressing up between her thighs, letting his hands circle her pussy until her hips were lifting and rolling, trying to force his fingers where she needed to feel them most. He smiled, denying her all over again. “Lines are for men who have to work at getting what they want.”

  She groaned. “You don’t have to work for it?”

  “Never.” Her back bowed, her spine losing contact with the table when his hands roved up over her stomach, massaging her in languid meaningless patterns that followed her curves back to her breasts. “Women chase me.”

  “Like that woman in the hall outside?”

  He cupped both mounds, liking the way her nipples stiffened against his palms, but definitely not a fan of the direction in which the conversation had turned. “Yes, like her.”

  “Because you’re the big, bad wolf,” Chelsea sighed, pulling just a little at her bonds when he squeezed. “The biggest, baddest wolf this castle has ever seen.”

  He grinned. That was better. He gave each nipple a rolling tweak, a tender tug, and even bent to catch one between his hungry lips. He suckled fiercely, letting her feel his lips and tongue, even his teeth, and finally ended with the delicious scrape of his whiskered chin across the highly sensitive peak. He loved how she gasped and arched, and that writhing, breathless undulation that followed
the alternating kissing-scraping path he wandered down her torso. He cupped her hips when he reached them, kissing, licking, scraping his unshaven chin across her mons. Directly over the cleft of her sex, he took his time in grinding the sensation in.

  Her moaning cry was music to his ears. Her clit was the barest distance from his mouth. The urge to taste was the sweetest torture, but he resisted. He breathed instead. He really, really loved her smell.

  He stood up, giving the folds of her labia—already swollen, aching, aroused—a fond if brisk rub, which ended in an even brisker pat. Then he reached for the rolling cart and picked up the paintbrush. “I think I’ll start with green.”

  “Oh, you bastard!” she groaned, jerking at all her bonds in her need to touch herself, and perhaps even finish what he’d started.

  He tsked. “That’s no way to speak to your master.”

  She very quickly switched her glare from him to the ceiling. “You’re not my master.”

  It was a silly statement, and it never should have bothered him. But, it did. He looked at her for a long time, until the silence and stillness between them grew so pronounced that she couldn’t pretend to ignore it anymore. He waited until she switched her gaze from the ceiling back to him and then deliberately dribbled a thin line of bright green chocolate directly on her nipple. He’d already tested it, so he knew it wasn’t hot enough to burn, but she still sucked a startled breath. Her arms twitched, but the ribbon bonds held, refusing to let her cover herself.

  He cupped her breast, holding it firm and steady. He held her gaze just long enough for her to know it was coming, and then he bent.

  She lost all her breath in a single gushing exhale when he claimed her nipple. The chocolate was sweet, but her reactions were even sweeter. She arched into his suckling kiss, flinched and squirmed when he punished with his teeth, groaned when he used his tongue to soothe the sting.

  “Who am I?” he asked when she lay gasping and trembling beneath him.