by Joey W. Hill
Recalling himself, he straightened, but she’d already anticipated his retreat and eased back, tossing him a smile as she nudged him away from the sink. “Pretty good icing, right?” she asked, washing her hands. “I could eat a whole vat of it myself. Did it once and made myself completely sick. Now I avoid overindulgence in the things I find irresistible.”
She gave him a pointed look and took a seat at the table, gesturing him into the other one before she spooned out a generous amount of eggs, fruit and bacon for herself. “Take as much as you want and don’t hold back. I let myself have as much as I can pile on after a workout, but the rule is I can only have the one plate. And I use a mid-size plate.” She winked. “The games we play with ourselves.”
He slid into the chair and surveyed the food before him. At her encouraging nod, he admonished himself to pull his head out of his ass and get a grip on whatever the hell was going on with him. He put double bacon on his plate; no need to tell him twice to help himself.
As he loaded up, she watched him, eating her eggs in small, polite bites. “Ask me a question,” she said at length.
He grunted, consuming food like a high-powered vacuum. “What do you want me to ask?”
“Something to start a conversation. You’re practiced at getting a woman to talk about herself, so she’ll think you’re interested in her. Something should come to mind.”
“I am interested in them,” he said shortly. “I remember everything they tell me, and lots of stuff they don’t but I pick up.”
“Hmm.” Her gaze became more thoughtful. “Like my attraction to lost souls?”
“Yeah.” He bit into a cinnamon bun, and died a little death. He could hardly stop himself from shoveling in the eggs like a backhoe. He loved her voice, so he wished she’d just talk and not ask him to do so.
Fortunately, she seemed to pick up on that. She didn’t ask him to talk again. Eating was serious business, so when he got a chance at a spread like this, he didn’t like to split focus. Though he didn’t mind that he was sharing the meal with a beautiful, hot Domme who smelled like clean sweat, cinnamon and sugar. And bacon.
As he scraped the last of the eggs from the bowl onto his plate, he realized the bacon was gone, and he’d mowed through half the cinnamon buns. She was still working on her first one, pulling the soft, fresh sweet bread into pieces to put them in her mouth, licking icing off her fingers after each bite and making him want to do that for her all over again.
However, her scrutiny distracted him. She’d been watching him closely.
“When was the last time you ate, Marius?” she asked.
“Last night. With you.”
“I meant before that. I get the feeling you’re used to feeding yourself on the cheap.”
“It’s not hard. McDonald’s has a dollar menu.” Christ, shut up, he told himself.
“You made money working security, and you make money on those fights, I hope. Where’s your money going?” She leaned forward. “Marius, your only contact info is a Zone email account and a burner phone just for Tal. Where do you live?”
He pushed back from the table. “I got to go. I have to go.”
“Nice grammar correction, but it’s not the first time you’ve slipped. I know you’re a rough man. That you have to work at it to sound educated. But you can do it, because you’re also a smart man. That’s different from an educated man, but valued far less than it should be. I’d hire a smart man over an educated one any day.”
She rose and went to the counter. “I’m giving you a shave. Then you can go.”
“I’m going now.”
“That would be poor manners for a full breakfast. Or are you scared to let a woman shave you?”
She pivoted and he saw she was holding a hunting knife. Perhaps five inches in length, the blade flashed, catching the overhead light over the kitchen table.
The look in her eyes was pure Mistress, and it did something to him, he couldn’t deny it. He felt rooted to the chair.
“I’d think twice before letting anyone shave me with that,” he said, to buy himself some time.
She grinned, and something loosened in his gut at the relaxed gesture. She was going to let the other topic go. For now.
“See? Smart man. But am I just anyone?” Setting the knife aside, she pulled off the sports bra, freeing her generous breasts. Beneath the sports bra, she had on a scrap of a bra that engaged the male senses far more provocatively. It seemed to be nothing more than a transparent, shimmering black mesh. She shimmied out of the exercise shorts, revealing a matching pair of panties which showed the cleft of her sex. Tiny red bows were at the strap on either hip, which he found absurdly sexy and delicate at once.
Picking up the knife again, she gestured. “Pull the chair back and straddle it, facing away from the table.”
He swallowed. She had him, she knew it. If she’d kept it casual, just “fine, leave, and have a nice day,” he would have left. But she’d shown him the knife and pulled out her Mistress side. She knew how to bait a hook. She was registering his triggers, learning how to stay a step ahead of him. That could get her hurt again, and he needed to go. Needed to go…
“Duncan.” The edge of her voice cut into him like the physical blade. His lip twisted, an automatic reaction of rebellion and defense, but the rest of his body betrayed him, already turning to straddle the chair as she’d commanded. Her gaze slid along the denim creased over his thighs.
“See something you like, Mistress?” he said, trying to work up the energy for the taunt.
Her dark gaze lifted to his. “You’re the one with a hard-on. Seems I should ask you that question.”
He shifted his gaze to the wall before him without answering.
“Shirt off,” she said. “I don’t want to get it wet.”
He removed and laid it aside. He wanted her to keep it anyway. Wanted to think of her wearing it like she had last night.
She brought a bar of soap and a bowl of warm water to the table. Putting the knife to the far side of them, she cleaned her hands, adding a froth of bubbles to the water, then dried her fingers on a towel. When she moved in front of him, everything inside went on alert, gravitating toward her. Her breasts, the nipples barely contained by the translucent fabric, were before his face. Her fingertips caressed his stubbled jaw, his chest. When he reached for her, this time she evaded his touch. “Just sit there, or I’ll cuff you to the chair. Once I start this, don’t talk or move unless I say so. Don’t want to cut you by accident.”
“How about on purpose?”
She pulled his face up with enough force to spark things in his lower belly and cock. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
He closed his eyes as her thigh brushed his. Moving behind him, she put a knee on the chair, against the seam of his ass and leaned into him. Gripping his throat anew, she tilted his head back. Her nearly bare body was brushing his, her breasts against his shoulder blades. But she hadn’t started yet, and he wanted to ask a question.
“How did you figure out the Domme thing? That you liked being a Mistress, that is.”
“Ah. I knew you’d eventually be curious about how I discovered my super power.”
The dry quip surprised him into smiling. She saw it, her fingertips brushing the curve of his mouth before she started lathering the right side of his face with the soap. “High school. I was dating a football player. I was into sports myself. Basketball, track. Wanted to join the wrestling team and they didn’t have one for girls, so I created my own and learned from watching the boys do it. The boys started coming to the matches because, well, girls wrestling.”
Marius chuckled and she clucked. “Remember not to do that when I pick up the knife.”
“Believe me, I won’t be laughing then.”
“Don’t be a wimp. You’ll be fine. I’ve only had a couple people bleed out when I did this, and it was before I learned how to properly sharpen a knife. That’s the key to doing it right. Having a knife sharp enough for the job.”
“Well, if it’s only been a couple people…”
She tugged his hair. “Anyhow, the football player, Clarence, came to one of my matches. We started talking after it and then started dating. He was in line for full scholarships to major schools because he was a tank on the field. Unstoppable. But in the bedroom, it was a different story. He’d do all the right things, show me a good time, but I kept having this feeling something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t hook up with many girls, despite there always being a million after him. I’d heard that the rest of his teammates were getting nonstop pussy, and they teased him about saving himself for marriage, even though he wasn’t a virgin. But he liked me, liked what he saw when I wrestled, the way I talked to him.
“So one night, just following an instinct I didn’t yet fully understand, I told him to get on his knees, put his arms behind his back like they were tied, and go down on me. He turned into a freaking sexual beast.” She paused, fondness in her voice. “It was like I’d unlocked something deep inside him. Taking away his control, making him subject to my commands, we both discovered a drug we couldn’t get enough of. Didn’t know shit about what we were doing, and so of course we had some near misses as we got deeper and deeper into it with each other.”
Her lathering fingertips were a firm stroke that made his cock harder, but also had him closing his eyes just to enjoy the sensation. He didn’t like the warm affection in her voice as she talked about the previous lover, though. Which was stupid. He tried to ignore it.
“He got his scholarship and I had other college plans, so the relationship went the way most relationships do between high school to college. But we’ve stayed in touch over the years. He went pro, did several years in the NFL and then became an assistant coach. He married a Domme he met out in a dungeon in California and they have two kids.”
“All thanks to you.”
“Not hardly, but I played a part. Don’t be an ass because it bugs you that I’m talking about another man.”
“I’m not,” he said reflexively. She picked up the knife and gazed down at him, a faint smile on her mouth, though her eyes were serious.
“Yeah, you are. Possessive isn’t a bad look for you, but keep the sarcasm on a leash. Now be still.”
She gripped his jaw and he saw the blade in his peripheral vision as she brought it to his cheek. Her gaze was intent, her hold on his face firm and steady.
His eyes closed again, and not because he feared the blade. It did something to him, her holding him still and running that lethal blade so close to his jugular. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, a slow thud. He realized her leg was pressed against his knee and he curved his hand around her thigh, needing more contact. He stroked her warm, firm skin, and thought about her pussy beneath the sheer panties, only a few inches above his touch.
He wouldn’t go there, because it would be idiotic to try and arouse her when she had a knife to his throat. She also hadn’t said he could touch her like that. She hadn’t given him permission to touch her at all, but she hadn’t rejected him sucking on her fingers or kissing her neck, and she wasn’t objecting to how he was touching her now. She wasn’t that kind of Mistress.
He’d studied her as hard as he’d studied any of them, but he’d done that to figure out advantages, weaknesses. Now he thought about it in terms of the things she liked. When out of scene, she didn’t discourage physical affection from her subs, and seemed to enjoy it as much as they did. She was an unexpected combination of hardass Mistress and a softer Domme side.
She tipped his head up, holding his chin as she worked the blade over his jaw and upper neck, following it with her thumb to ensure she’d left it smooth. Then she turned to rinse off the clippings in the bowl of water. As she continued the cycle, he slid his arm farther around her thigh. When she finished and patted his face with a towel, he circled both her thighs, and pressed his mouth to her abdomen.
She threaded her hand through his hair, and he sighed, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He didn’t want to go forward or backward, think about his mistakes or missteps, how fucked up he was or what he needed to do to stay on guard against the whole world, and especially against all the flammable shit inside himself. He just wanted to be held in her arms.
He couldn’t ask, because he had no right to do so, and he wouldn’t know how to ask anyway. But she kept stroking his hair, and let him put his head there on her abdomen, her soft breasts brushing his crown. He had his arms coiled around her hips and upper thighs, the thin panties and her excellent ass.
She eased him back, but her hands moved to his forearms to maintain the connection between them. “Come,” she said quietly. As she tugged him to his feet, she caressed his now smooth jaw critically. “Good. No missed spots.”
Interlacing their fingers, she led him out of the kitchen and down the hall. They passed the guest bathroom. At the end of the corridor there were two doors, one closed and one open. The open one was the playroom. This time, he noted the mirrored hallway tree had a dried flower arrangement and some knickknacks on the two raised flat surfaces that framed it like miniature tables.
Regina drew him to the closed door and turned the knob. As she pushed it inward, uneasiness spiked in him. It was her bedroom. Through the doorway, he could view the clothes she’d worn last night, draped on an easy chair. A set of notebooks and a closed laptop were on the seat. The bed was unmade and inviting, lots of blue and green linens and pillows.
Her room, her life, separate or integrated into who she was as a Domme, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t go in there. It was like a vampire not being invited into a house, to protect the inhabitants. He wouldn’t, couldn’t bring what he was into an area where she might not have as many safeguards against something like him as she obviously did as a Domme.
He banded an arm around her waist from behind and pushed her up against the wall, next to the door, his erection grinding against her ass. “Here,” he said hoarsely. “Right here.”
He spun her around, seeing the dark flash of surprise in her gaze, and lifted her, putting his mouth to her budded nipple in the sheer, thin bra cup. She spoke, but he didn’t hear her. He had his cock against her pussy and rubbed. The denim and sheer mesh could only delay—not deny—the build to climax he could give her from just the friction. He wanted inside her, wanted it badly, but he didn’t want to take his hands from her to search for a condom. He wished he could be inside her without it, but he’d keep her safe this way, at least.
He was exciting her. Her breath was accelerating and she was pushing her core against him, her back arching so more of her breast was accessible to the heated wetness of his mouth, the sucking and nipping he was doing to it and the nipple. He had her. She was giving in to him.
No. Some part of him roared it. Stop. Don’t ruin this. Don’t…
But it was too late. She’d shown she was just like the others. He could get her off, and that was all he’d need to give her to remain in control. She was aware of the tide turning, however, because she’d started to push against his shoulders. She was telling him to let her go. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
He turned and brought them to the floor, holding her there with the weight of his body. She was strong, she knew how to defend herself, but he knew all that now, knew how to hold her down and keep her there. He wouldn’t bruise her, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Condom’s in my pocket,” he said. “Put it on me. I’m fucking you no matter what, so protected or not, that’s your only choice.”
She stared up at him. Somewhere in the twisted labyrinth of his mind, he knew she could do all sorts of things, whether or not he thought he had her pinned. Hell, when she put the condom on him, she could tear his dick off. She’d do it. It made him grin, in a demonic sort of way. He was fire and ice. Heart of ice, cock on fire, needing her pussy to ease everything.
He could see into her room from here so, as she reached for the condom and tore open the packet, he leaned over, caught th
e edge of the door and closed it with a decisive slam. Now he wouldn’t have to see inside her life like that. Just two doors and a wall, the end of a hallway.
She opened his jeans, pushing the zipper and fabric out of her way to roll the condom on him and grip his cock. From the tightness of her hold, he thought he might be right about what she was going to do, but she released him to push his jeans off his hips and grip his ass in both hands. He tore through the mesh of the panties and plunged his fingers into her wet heat, savage pleasure twisting through him at her soft moan, the way she responded to his touch. Her dark, glittering eyes speared him to his worthless soul. She was letting him take her. Letting him have this.
“Fuck, you’re everything,” he muttered. “Beautiful tits and cunt, long legs, face of an angel, heart of a stone-cold bitch.”
She didn’t respond to that. She kept watching him with those angel eyes. Measuring, judging. He pulled his hand free and replaced it with his cock, thrusting into her with one hard shove that felt like heaven and hell combined. She was slick and hot. As he braced his hands on either side of her, he jostled the hallway tree. He heard something wobble above him and instinctively covered her face with his back and shoulders. The falling object bounced off him and shattered on the floor next to his braced hand. He saw it was the vase that had held the small dried flower arrangement, but he didn’t care as long as the broken glass was clear of her body. Soon as it settled, he started thrusting, keeping his gaze fastened to her face.
She would come. He would make her come first. No way was he giving himself an orgasm before then. He wanted to feel her pussy ripple around him, the fullness of her clit, the sharp points of her nipples. He definitely wanted another taste of those. He ripped one cup free, shredding mesh, and curved his back over her like a beast to suckle. Hell, he wanted to spend a day of doing nothing but enjoying her gorgeous tits. Then another day for her ass. Maybe a week for her cunt and months for all the rest of her. Every inch of warm, brown skin with that faint luster like gold dust.
