Her dark mahogany hair, usually so shiny and neat, was mussed. Probably from when she’d hit the table after her climax. Other than that one tell-tale sign, though, Megan looked no different than she had when she’d been working on her spreadsheet that first night in Goldie’s. Her eyes should have been sleepy with that just-got-laid look every man liked to see and know he was responsible for. Her lips should have been puffy and wet from his kisses. But they hadn’t kissed.
Her eyes looked direct. One hundred percent pure business.
What the hell was this they were doing?
He didn’t know. Megan fucked with his head until he didn’t know up from down. He only knew he hadn’t gotten laid yet and no way was he ready for it to end. And he didn’t doubt for a minute that if he said the wrong thing, she’d turn on that heel barely half the length of his size elevens and walk out of there.
Jesus, could he be any more frustrated?
“I. Don’t. Understand.”
The only visible sign Steve could read off of Megan was a slightly deeper than usual intake of breath as she pushed herself the rest of the way up. Hopping off the table, she picked up her backpack from the empty chair where she’d tossed it earlier. He consoled himself that her first few steps hadn’t been completely steady; what on any other woman he would have called a wobble in her walk.
Reaching into the bag, Megan retrieved a fistful of nylon rope.
“I want to tie your hands. May I?” A shiver skated up his spine at her matter-of-fact announcement. He looked back at her a long time before speaking, a million thoughts tumbling through his head.
“I don’t understand.”
“I want to finish what we started. To do that, I need to bind your hands.” Megan looked back at him, eyes steady, breathing even. “And I think you want me to.”
Megan knew she was rushing things but, damn, it was hard to control the want. Instinct told her that she had what he needed. That he needed to go to the next level and she was the only person in his life who could take him there. Her gut told her that if he backed down now he would retreat back to his safe vanilla existence and never challenge himself again. What kind of life would that be?
Deep inside her, Megan knew with everything she was that Steve was a sexual submissive.
Whether it was due to DNA, birth order, or the result of being breast-fed too long, the truth was nobody knew the why of it. And at the end of the day, what difference did it make anyway? It just was.
He was.
He could either face it and choose to accept it. Or he could turn his back on it and deny it even existed. That doing so would mean turning his back on her was only part of it. Ask any gay man still in the closet what giving up a basic part of your identity meant.
She could have wept in frustration that he was so close. So close to trusting. He needed to trust not only her, but his own instincts, as well.
Megan understood the fear that kept him from accepting her challenge. All his life he’d been taught that what he was feeling right now was wrong. That a real man didn’t let anyone tell him what to do. Real men called the shots. In everything from what he did for a living to where and what he ate for dinner. But most especially in the bedroom.
She knew the kind of names men gave to anyone who was different. Faggot. Ball-less. Pussy-whipped. And those were the nice ones.
Clutching the rope in her hands to keep from reaching for him, she fought to keep the emotion from her face. It had to be his choice. Like coaxing a wild animal, Megan knew that the key was to project a calm exterior. If he sensed even a fraction of how tense she was … how much his answer meant to her, she would lose him.
“Okay. We’ll do it your way. Let’s keep going.”
“Lie down on the bed. Face up. Hands over your head.”
Now that Megan knew Steve wasn’t going to walk out—or worse—a calm had settled over her.
The play of muscle sliding under skin drew her eye irresistibly as Steve lowered himself to the big bed. The navy coverlet repeated the clean lines evident in the rest of the house. A wing chair sat in the corner, covered in an improbable plaid combining maroon, dark green and navy. Either Steve had surprisingly sophisticated taste in decorating or he’d had help. An unwelcome clench in her gut at the thought of the source of the presumed help reminded Megan that no matter how much she might want to own him, body and soul, in the present, he would always have a past. A past that existed without her.
Steve lay back on the bed, the dark comforter making a fine contrast, like an artist’s drape, behind the graduated shades of his skin. He obviously worked outdoors fairly often, because the skin of his torso and arms was darker than that of his lean flanks. His Scandinavian heritage showed plainly in the fair skin there, while the sun-bleached hair of his legs and forearms was several shades lighter than the red-gold of his head and groin.
Having separated the bundle of rope into the three smaller lengths that made it up, Megan now drew the longest of the three through her hands as she circled the bed. Never taking her eyes off Steve’s, she moved slowly, enjoying the slightly nervous, obviously excited sight of him—displayed as he was on the bed.
Not displayed quite enough, though.
“Spread your legs for me. I want to see every inch of you.”
Eyes on her face, Steve cautiously did as he was told. Although she stood behind him, Megan knew that while his cock continued to strain upward toward his belly, his balls would now be visible when she eventually moved back between his legs.
“Now put your wrists together. Mmm, yeah, that’s it. Oh, that’s perfect.”
The soft nylon rope slid between her fingers as she took a doubled length of it and laid it across his wrists. While she could feel his eyes on her, Megan kept her movements calm and deliberate. Wrapping the rope around his forearms a second and then third time, she drew the tail portion between his wrists and tied it off.
“Is it comfortable? Not binding anywhere?” She knew it wasn’t, but Megan nevertheless ran her fingers between the rope and Steve’s skin to confirm it.
“It’s okay.”
“You don’t sound too sure.” Megan leaned on the bed, bending low to caress his face with her lips. She kissed his broad forehead first, then the upward slope of one cheek.
“It’s … different.” His lips skimmed her ear as she continued to drop small kisses on his upturned face, his breath carrying the scent of her own excitement back to her.
“It’s perfect. You look wonderful.” Megan only needed to turn her face slightly to bring her mouth in contact his. She tasted herself on his lips as their tongues began to explore and the memory of his mouth on her pussy shot a fresh bolt of lust through her. When Steve tried to deepen the kiss, Megan let him for just an instant before breaking it off. “I’m going to put the end of the rope down here, between the mattress and the box spring. Unless you really pull, it should stay put.”
Matching actions to words, she tucked the lengths of nylon under the mattress before returning to his feet and shaking out the two remaining sections of rope.
Before things in San Francisco had gone so disastrously wrong with Damian, she had developed an interest in Shibari, the Japanese art of rope bondage. With its emphasis on visual presentation and the comfort of the one being bound, it was as beautiful as it was effective. Steve’s height and coloring would make him a dream to work on. But that would have to wait for another time. One step at a time.
After securing Steve’s feet in the same manner as she had his hands, Megan climbed up beside him on the bed.
“How do you feel?”
As turned on as she was, her voice came out low and husky. She couldn’t explain it, but when she was truly excited her voice took on traces of a southern accent. Holly Hunter meets Kathleen Turner at her sultry, sexy wildest.
“Exposed.”
“Poor baby.” He sounded worried. She’d have to do something to put him at ease.
Taking his lovely long cock in one h
and, she used her other hand to catch the pearls of fluid that had been collecting at its tip. Megan trailed two fingers through the salty liquid and brought them to her mouth as she ever so gently began pumping him. Letting him see her tongue as she swiped at the tips, Megan closed her eyes as she drew them into her mouth to suck them clean.
“Oh, God. You’re killing me here. You know that, don’t you?”
The strain in his voice would have told her he was on the edge, even if she hadn’t been holding his cock in her hand, a visible throb pulsing through it.
Kneeling at his side, Megan continued stroking him with firm, easy sweeps of one hand. She brushed a few hairs off his face, where they had caught when he had begun tossing his head from side to side, and caught his chin in her hand.
“Look at me, Steve.” He forced his eyes open with a visible effort. Megan stared at him hard. “Don’t come until I tell you to. Got it?”
“What—?” Megan continued pumping ruthlessly on his captive cock. Unable to hold her gaze while she worked him, Steve’s head dropped from her grasp.
“Don’t come until I give you permission.”
With that Megan turned her back on him as she regripped his gorgeous fat cock, lowered her head, and deep-throated him.
Chapter Eight
Shit. Oh, fuck! So good. Fuck. Dammit. Shit. Oh, fuck, no.
Steve tried, but there was no way he was holding this back. No way to keep his mind off the mind-blowing hotness of her mouth on him. Sweet and dark, swallowing him down. God, so fucking good!
One cool hand on his balls squeezed pressure down on him, but it was like holding back the sea with a child’s sandcastle. It couldn’t hope to stand before the crashing pleasure that swept over him. The heat and pleasure retreated for a moment, but the second time her mouth covered him and he felt her lips part to accept him, he was lost.
He tried to grip the sheets, but his hands were held uselessly over his head. He was powerless in the face of it and he cursed himself as he shot helplessly into her mouth.
Fully expecting Megan to pull off him in disgust, his sanity exploded as she stayed on him, riding out his orgasm. His brains were sucked out his dick as Megan swallowed him down, the tight constrictions of her throat triggering him again and again. Aftershocks were wrung out of him as she continued to draw him down, tongue wrapping languorously around the underside of his sensitive flesh, mouth suckling gently.
Megan released him at last, the furnace of her hot little mouth pulling away with a little pop, leaving him bereft.
“That’s some mouth you’ve got on you there, sailor.”
She sounded downright smug. As though she knew she’d ripped the soul right out of his body, taken it apart and rearranged it. He’d have to do something about that. Later.
“Mpfh.”
Seconds ticked by. Steve tried to form words, but nothing came. He floated in a perfect place. Content. Fulfilled. Complete.
The bed shifted and warmth pressed in on him along one side. A welcome weight came to rest on his chest. Puffs of moist air gusted intermittently over his sensitized skin. He drifted.
Time was relative. He had no idea how long he lay there, Megan’s head pillowed between his chest and shoulder. Until the weight shifted and moist heat closed over his nipple.
“Fucking a—”
“There you go again. Does your mother know you talk like that?”
“Dunno. Maybe you should ask her.”
“I just might, at that. That would be some conversation. ‘Mrs. Eriksson, your son Steve has an appalling lack of self-control. The absolute second I began going down on him … Well! You simply wouldn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth. And not a one of them polite, let me tell you.’”
Megan laughed at her own joke, her chuckles vibrating along the wall of his bare chest.
Steve pried his eyes open as realization dawned and he became aware of her movements drawing her away from him. When had she taken the rest of her clothes off?
“Where you going? Get back over here and untie me, woman.”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I am far from done with you. You’ll just have to stay right where you are for a little while longer. You came before I gave you permission. It’s time for a little lesson in control.”
Jesus, is she joking?
“What, are you fucking kidding me? You were going down on me. Lady, I was so damn hot for you…”
The peace and contentment of moments before was gone. The injustice of it all—pissed him off? You betcha. It was fucking insane.
“Steve. Calm down. I know you were excited. But that’s not the point.”
“Yeah? Then what is?”
He felt like an idiot. Tied up like a chicken on a spit. Teased out of his mind and then beat up for doing what any man would do. He might have to listen, but he didn’t have to like it. It didn’t help that she just sat there, resting on her heels, looking back at him. Why was it the more pissed the man got, the calmer the woman became?
“This is all new to you, I know, what I’m asking of you. But for it to be as good as it can be, I need you to try. Do you think you can?”
“Try what? Do what?” Frustration boiled up and poured out of him, but he couldn’t help it. “Megan, what the hell is it we’re doing here, exactly? Tell me, because I’m not getting it.”
What was going through her head? Steve laughed at himself when he caught that thought flickering through his head. What man ever knew what a woman was thinking? Supposing that they were. Megan looked so calm, just watching him from behind those inscrutable eyes of hers.
She was so different from any other woman he’d ever been with. So calm and controlled. She was the only woman he could think of that wouldn’t be cuddling right now, planning their next date and picking out a color scheme for the wedding. If he hadn’t seen her swallow his cock like a wet dream and drink his cum without missing a drop, he wouldn’t have believed it of her. She looked like she was more ready to talk about mutual funds than mutual orgasms.
“Steve, let me ask you something. Haven’t you always felt different? Like you needed something you weren’t getting? That you weren’t getting the same thing that everyone else was? Maybe the sex wasn’t all that, either? Did you ever feel like that?”
“No. Shit, no.” Although … He wondered sometimes what was different between him and his brother. If he tried half the things he’d seen Rick pull … He’d tried copying Rick’s style when he was younger, but he hadn’t liked the feeling of going down in flames. So he’d adapted. But, still. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Megan seemed to decide something, because she sat up. Dropping to hands and knees, she crawled over him, straddling his chest. She ran her hands up his sides, beginning with his torso. Not tickling. Just gently running her hands from his chest and belly, stretching up to reach his arms, her small pert breasts almost within range of his mouth.
A shiver ran through Steve and his nipples stood up, almost painful where the barbells touched nerve endings. His cock began to stir.
Letting her fingers trail down the inside of his outstretched arms, Megan left a trail of fire in their wake. Her hands traced circles around the pierced flesh; trapped the sensitive skin between thumbs and forefingers and pinched. Steve was nearly erect now, the head of his dick reaching for the warm flesh of her tender backside. She took a nipple in her mouth and sucked hard. Never quite releasing him, her teeth slid down to the barbell, gripped the metal and tugged.
Steve’s body bowed up off the bed, taking Megan with him, as a bolt of sensation shot through him in a direct line from her mouth to his cock.
“Ah, God! Oh!”
“I don’t think you’ve ever truly gotten what you needed.” Megan blew a small stream of air over the skin her mouth had just covered and another jolt of lust rocked him. “You’re special. Different. And I don’t think anyone has ever known quite what to do with you.”
She was licking his other nipple now, giving it
the same attention she had treated the first to. She worried the tip with her teeth, rolling the metal back and forth. Bit down slightly harder on it than she had the first. Her eyes swept from watching the effect of her clever tongue up to his face. “But I think I do. I know what you need. The question is, will you let me give it to you?”
Hoo, boy.
She hadn’t meant to go there.
Not at all.
Megan’s plan had been to tease Steve. To play with him—keep him teetering on the knife-edge of wanting but never quite getting. Until he admitted the truth. About himself. And her.
But she had looked in his eyes and seen the frustration. More than that, she’d seen the pain and the memories it masked. And in that moment she hadn’t been able to domme Steve. Instead of being strong and putting his well-being first, she had stepped completely out of role and poured her heart out to him.
She was such a dope. Maybe that was why she always came up short. When push came to shove she never seemed to quite have what it took. Damian had shown her that. No, that wasn’t true. He’d only confirmed it for her.
“I know exactly what I need. My dick in your cunt.”
Okay. So maybe he wasn’t quite as down as she’d thought. Or maybe he’d learned to take what he could get since he never got what he really needed.
“Relax. We’ll get there eventually. I think.”
“You ‘think’?”
“Sorry, sweetpea, but your dick in my cunt, as you so delicately put it, is a privilege—not a right. You’ll have to earn that.”
“Let me guess. More pussy licking.”
“I like to think I’m not quite that predictable. Not to mention repetitious. No, this will be something a little harder for you, I think.” Megan narrowed her eyes a little. “I want to know your secrets.”
“Secrets? Like, what did you have in mind?”
The wary look was back in Steve’s eyes now. To counteract it, Megan resumed the stroking she had momentarily forgotten.
Cruel to Be Kind Page 6
