BDSM Connections - The Complete 4 Novel Series

by Claire Thompson

  He rolled away from her and they both got to their feet. Rylee reached for her clothing, though her muscles didn’t want to cooperate, still jelly from her powerful orgasm.

  Dressed before her, Taggart bent down and picked up her jacket. As he held it out for her, something fell from the inner pocket to the blanket.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  They both stared down at the small, red plastic flash drive. “Oh, that’s the video from the shoot. I forgot all about it.”

  “Me, too.” Taggart bent to retrieve the drive, which he slipped into his back pocket.

  They heard the stable door sliding open and then the approaching click of boots on the concrete. “Y’all still in here?” Harlan called.

  “Yep,” Taggart called back. “We decided to wait out the rain. Just heading out.”

  Rylee, suddenly conscious of her no doubt disheveled appearance, tried to run her fingers through her damp, tangled hair.

  Taggart flashed her a grin. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his clear gray eyes dancing. “You look perfect.”

  ~*~

  Rylee followed Taggart from the ranch back to his house in her red VW bug. It had stopped raining, and some blue sky was even making an appearance in the spaces between big, fluffy clouds. They parked behind the house and Taggart unlocked the back door, which led into the kitchen. “You can just hang your jacket there,” he said, indicating the row of hooks that hung on the wall beside the back door. He pulled off his still-damp outer shirt and hung it there as well.

  Rylee looked around the kitchen. “A real tin ceiling,” she said, staring up at the square-patterned tin ceiling tiles. “I love those.”

  “Yeah, me too. Someone had actually covered it with a drop ceiling, if you can believe it. Probably the same people who covered this antique hardwood with hospital green linoleum.”

  Rylee flashed one of those dimpled grins that made Taggart’s heart flip around in his chest. “This is a great space. Cozy, with everything you need near at hand.”

  “Tiny, you mean,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “But it works for me.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little early for dinner yet. How about a hot drink and a piece of homemade apple cake?”

  “Homemade apple cake?” Rylee echoed, her eyebrows lifting. “You don’t strike me as the domestic type.”

  Taggart laughed. “I’m not. Actually, a customer of mine owns an apple orchard in Sherwood. He doesn’t always have a lot of cash flow, so sometimes we barter instead. Recently he gave me a case of cider for a single tail, and his grateful wife threw in a dozen apple cakes. Luckily the cakes freeze well.” He grinned.

  “Hey, that’s awesome,” Rylee said. “Bartering is good.”

  “Yeah. Except it’s going to take me a few decades to drink all that cider. Speaking of which, it’s really good heated up. Want some with the cake?”

  “Sure. What can I do to help?” Rylee’s hair had dried in a wavy tumble around her face. Her eyes were such an unusual color, shifting with the light from blue to green and back again. He mentally undressed her and placed nipple clamps on her breasts, a hobbling chain around her ankles and high heels on her feet, which was how he’d make her do her chores if he owned her.

  He shook away the fantasy. “Nothing,” he said. “It’ll just take a second to prepare.” He waved toward the table tucked into the alcove of a curved bay window that looked out over the herb garden, the old barn he hoped to renovate someday, and the creek and woods beyond. “Sit down and relax.”

  As Rylee slid onto one of the padded benches that stood on either side of the table, Taggart lit a burner on the old gas range and pulled the cider jug and cake from the refrigerator.

  “It feels peaceful here,” Rylee said. “There’s a positive energy.” She had appeared beside him as he was pouring the cider into a saucepan.

  “I thought I told you to sit down and relax,” he said, glancing sideways at her. She smelled good, like fresh hay, sunshine and sex. His cock stirred.

  “I didn’t know it was an order, Leather Master,” she said in a sassy tone that made him both want to kiss her and to smack her bottom. “I don’t like to just sit around. It makes me antsy.”

  “That’s because you lack discipline. You need training.”

  “Says you,” she retorted with a grin.

  He turned to regard her more closely, catching her gaze in his until her smile fell away, her lips softly parting, her nipples suddenly visible beneath her shirt.

  “I do,” he said softly.

  They stared at each for several moments, until the sound of the cider boiling over in its pot broke the spell. “Shit,” Taggart swore as he pulled the pot off the flame. “Since you’re up, you can get out the mugs and plates. They’re in that cabinet there.” He gestured with his chin.

  They sat across from one another at the table, and Taggart cut two large pieces of cake and slid them onto plates. He watched Rylee as she brought a forkful of the cake to her mouth. As she chewed, she closed her eyes. “Hmmm,” she said. “So good.”

  Taggart’s mind instantly veered to another fantasy, and this time he verbalized it. “It would taste better if you were naked, on your knees, and I was feeding it to you with my fingers.”

  Rylee, who had been lifting the cider to her lips, froze in mid sip and then slowly lowered the mug. “Oh,” she said softly.

  “Do it.”

  “Excuse me?” Her normally somewhat husky voice came out as a squeak.

  “Now. Stand up. Take off your things and kneel on the floor.” He grabbed one of the cushions from the bench and tossed it to the ground. “Kneel on that, arms behind your back, knees spread so I can see your cunt.”

  Rylee glanced around the room as if someone else were in there. “Now? Here?”

  Taggart couldn’t help but smile. “Yes. Now. Here. I dare you.”

  She was into heavy erotic pain and bondage, but what about the more subtle aspects of submission?

  He stared at her, silently willing her to obey him.

  Her eyes on his, Rylee stood from the table. Bending over, she pulled off her boots and socks. Her eyes still on his, she slowly undressed.

  His cock got harder and harder as she tossed aside each article of clothing.

  Her body was strong, her broad shoulders balanced by her round, lovely breasts. Her hips were slender, but feminine, the small mound of smooth flesh just above her cleft pale in contrast to her taut, tan stomach.

  Taggart pointed to the cushion. “Kneel and obey me,” he said.

  Rylee moved to stand in front of the cushion, facing him. She lowered her long, shapely legs until she was kneeling up. She placed her hands behind her back.

  Taggart cocked an eyebrow as he waited for her to execute the last of his commands.

  A faint blush moved over her throat and cheeks as she spread her knees.

  He tilted his head as he stared at the pooching labia, his cock hard as steel, his balls aching. “Wider,” he commanded.

  She obeyed.

  He broke off a piece of the moist, buttery apple cake and held it close to Rylee’s lips. She opened her mouth and he placed the morsel on her tongue. He ate a bite of cake as he watched her chew, and then gave her another piece, grazing her tongue with his fingertips as he placed it in her open mouth.

  Her face had assumed a dreamy expression, softening at the edges, all trace of the sassy, tough-girl persona gone.

  Taggart stroked her soft cheek with two fingers and then trailed his hand down her throat to her breast. Gripping her nipple between thumb and forefinger, he gave it a squeeze. She shuddered but otherwise remained still.

  They continued in this way until the cake was gone, with Taggart feeding her, giving her sips of cider and teasing her nipples between bites until they were as hard as his cock, red and engorged and begging for clover clamps.

  Through it all, Rylee had kept her knees spread wide, her hands behind her back, her heavy breasts thrust out like an inv
itation to a party Taggart never wanted to leave.

  “I don’t want you to go,” he blurted, the words having skipped directly past the usual censors.

  Shit. What had made him say that? Taggart never, ever asked a girl to stay over. It wasn’t his style.

  “What?” she said, as if startled awake.

  Now that he’d said it, however, he didn’t want to take it back. “I want you to stay,” he repeated. “Stay here with me tonight.”

  I want to make love to you.

  Whoa. Where had that come from?

  Aloud, he continued, “I want to fuck you again. I want to tie you down and whip you until you fly. I want to take everything you have to give, and then a little more. Will you stay?”

  “Yes,” Rylee breathed. “Yes, Sir.”

  Chapter 8

  Rylee opened her eyes and blinked in the pale light filtering through the room. Something heavy and warm was draped over her shoulder. As she came more fully awake, she realized it was an arm. It took another second to recall whose arm it was, and where she was. As memories of the amazing previous day and night flooded her mind, she snuggled back against Taggart’s warm, substantial bulk and sighed happily.

  “Hmm,” Taggart murmured.

  Rylee savored a deep sense of contentment that was rare for her. It had been a long time since she had spent the whole night in a man’s bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so soundly.

  She should’ve been exhausted, since they’d made love half the night, alternating vanilla sex with bondage play and a wicked little single tail Taggart had produced from beneath the bed.

  Yet she was wide awake, eager to leap up and face the world. Carefully, she slid from beneath Taggart’s arm and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “What time is it?” Taggart asked in a sleepy voice from behind her.

  Rylee glanced at the small alarm clock on the night table beside the bed. “It’s six thirty-five.” She twisted around to look at her new lover.

  All at once, Taggart bolted upright, his eyes wide open. “Holy shit. I forgot to set the alarm. I have to be in Seattle at ten o’clock.” He threw back the covers and placed his feet on the floor with a thump. “I haven’t even packed my gear. I meant to do that yesterday when I came back from riding.” He jumped up from the bed and strode toward the bathroom.

  Rylee followed him “Don’t worry. There’s time. Seattle’s, what, two and a half, three hours from here? I’ll help you pack. Even if you’re a little late, I’m sure people will wait for the Leather Master.”

  And I’ll wait like a love-struck teenager until I can see you again, she thought wistfully.

  To her surprised delight, Taggart turned back and opened his arms. Rylee stepped into them, melting against his strong chest. “Thanks, Rylee,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “I wish you could come with me. I don’t want to be away from you, even for a day.”

  “Me either,” Rylee whispered.

  His arms fell away and Rylee stepped back, suddenly poised on a high dive of emotional risk. She took the leap.

  “There’s no swim meet today. I could totally come with you, if you want me to.” She tried to keep from sounding over excited. “If you didn’t think I would be in the way.”

  Apparently she landed without too much splash, because Taggart’s face lit up in a smile. “Not at all. In fact, you’re right, you could help me. This isn’t a demo like I usually do, where I’m the sole attraction, or rather, my gear is. This is a big sales event at the annual International Leather Association BDSM convention. I just reserved a booth there. Pure sales. You could help me handle the money part, maybe? I’m terrible with that stuff.”

  “I’d be happy to.” She thought suddenly about her soiled, discarded clothing, which they’d brought up to the bedroom with them the night before. “Do you think we’d have time to stop by my place so I could change? My apartment building is only about fifteen minutes from here.”

  “Sure. Like you said”—he flashed a self-deprecating grin—”they’ll wait for the Leather Master.”

  They both used the bathroom and showered quickly. Taggart gave Rylee a spare toothbrush to use and then they went down to pack the truck. Everything was ready to go in about thirty minutes.

  Taggart followed Rylee in her car to her apartment. As she climbed out of her car, he gestured her over. Rolling down his window, he held out a white clothing box in his hand, one of the many they’d packed for the sales event. “For you.”

  “What’s this?” she asked, accepting the package.

  “It’s a gift. I’d like you to wear it today at the sales gig. It should fit, if snugly.” He eyed her chest and smiled, a slow, sexy smile that made her want to jump on him then and there.

  “Okay,” she said, controlling herself. “Thanks.”

  She raced up the stairs to her apartment and let herself in. At once she opened the lid of the box. Nestled in tissue paper was a stunning leather lace-up corset with thick, white satin ribbons crisscrossing down the front.

  Shucking her clothing as she moved to the bedroom, she pulled on the corset, which zipped up the front, the ribbon more for decoration than support. The fit was, indeed, quite snug over her breasts, which were forced up and together by the stays built into the bodice.

  Since it was a daytime event and not a dungeon scene, she chose black leather pants instead of a short skirt, completing the outfit with a pair of low-heeled black boots. Though they hadn’t discussed her staying again overnight, just in case, she grabbed a travel bag and threw in some clothing and toiletries.

  She pulled a fitted black leather jacket from her closet to cover the corset for the drive, gave herself one more cursory look in the mirror and rushed out of her apartment and down the stairs.

  When she came up to Taggart’s truck, he leaned over to the passenger side and opened the door. She started to climb up into the cab, but Taggart stopped her. “Wait. Take off your jacket and let me see you.”

  Rylee glanced around the small parking lot. No one was out, but still she hesitated at the thought of removing her jacket, not used to appearing outside the scene in such a revealing outfit.

  She looked back at Taggart, who regarded her with an intense, commanding gaze that brooked no refusal. She opened her jacket and let it fall from her shoulders. The air was crisp and chilly, and goose bumps rose on her bare flesh.

  As Taggart looked from her face to her body, his eyes hooded, his tongue appearing between his lips as if he would devour her. “Perfect,” he breathed. Rylee stared back at him, captivated by the raw power and dominance he managed to exude with just a look.

  After a moment, he broke the spell. “Put on your jacket and let’s go.”

  Rylee obeyed. Once seated, she half expected her sexy new lover to order her to remove the jacket again and maybe open the zipper to her pants, but he seemed focused on his driving, and Rylee ordered herself to stop being such a slut. After all, her poor cunt was still sore from the all-night lovemaking.

  On the way out of town, they stopped at a bakery and picked up two large cups of coffee and a dozen chocolate croissants for the road. They drove quietly along I-5 for a while, sipping coffee, munching pastries and listening to the radio.

  Eventually, Taggart said, “How did you get the name Rylee? It’s unusual. I think of Rylee as a boy’s name.”

  Rylee shrugged. “Yeah, my dad wanted a boy. He’d been captain of the football team in high school, and played college ball for a while, though that came to an end with a shoulder injury. I think he wanted to live vicariously through a son. They’d already had two girls when I came along and my dad was absolutely certain I was going to be a boy, even though the ultrasound had indicated otherwise. He had already picked out Riley Evan as my name. When I was born, he refused to budge, at least on the first name, but my mom wanted something more feminine. They compromised on Rylee.” She spelled it out for Taggart.

  “I get it,” he said with a nod.
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  She was quiet a moment as she thought about her dad. Growing up, the only time he really noticed her was when she excelled at sports, but no matter how many varsity letters she earned or trophies she won, she could never be what he really wanted—a son.

  “He seemed to accept my two older sisters’ love of Barbie dolls and tea parties, but he always pushed me in sports, riding me hard and admonishing me not to be a pussy, his word, when the going got tough.”

  “I was an only child,” Taggart offered. “Probably a good thing.” He didn’t elaborate, instead saying, “But I interrupted. You were telling me about your controlling father.” He offered a wry grin.

  Rylee smiled back. “I went along, since I’ve always enjoyed athletics of all kinds, and it was a good way to get his attention. I played softball and soccer and ran track all through elementary school and middle school. I joined the swim team in high school, and that’s where I really found my niche. I was training for the Olympic team when I was at Lewis and Clark. I nearly made it, too.” She wrapped her arms again around her torso. “Except for these damn things.” She glared down at her large breasts. “Even when I taped them down, they would get in the way. My coach said if I was serious about competing, I’d need to have breast reduction surgery.” She gave a rueful laugh. “I guess I wasn’t that serious.”

  “Thank god for that,” Taggart said emphatically. “You’re gorgeous just the way you are.”

  Rylee flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks. It probably worked out for the best. I got into computer programming and web design, and I can still swim for pleasure and coach the team on weekends.”

  “Parents,” Taggart said, shaking his head, a dark expression moving over his face. “They can really fuck you up.”

  Rylee shrugged. “I guess. I’m over it now. I’ve come to accept they are the way they are. I’m the only person I can change.”

  Taggart glanced sharply at her and seemed to be about to say something, but then he just looked back at the road ahead of him, his lips compressed into a line.