by Cathryn Cade
She shivered and pressed her thighs together as arousal spun through her, tightening her nipples under the bodice of her dress and making her pussy throb.
Trace leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You look so pretty when you’re turned on, Red. And right now, you are very turned on.”
Sara shivered at the warm, moist tickle of his breath, even though she wished desperately they were someplace where he could follow it with his tongue. Luckily, they were interrupted by the waiter, who had returned with dishes of elegantly garnished chocolate mousse and coffee.
“Oh look, dessert,” she said brightly.
Trace lifted his head, nodding at the waiter who held the coffee carafe over his cup, and stroked her back again.
“Trace, please.” If he didn’t stop, she was going to jump on him again, and this time not with anger.
“Like the way you say that, baby.”
Sara didn’t whimper, but she came close. Then she jumped as a hearty voice spoke behind them.
“Trace,” said Harrison Hardy, appearing on Trace’s other side. He was smiling, and his daughter stood at his side. “Finished with your supper? Join me in the library just for a few moments, and give the girls a chance to get acquainted. Manda says she can’t wait to meet your Tara.”
“Sara,” Trace said. “It’s Sara.”
He looked at her, and the danger in his gaze made her want to flinch back and yet hang on to him, support him through whatever had him so wound up.
“You okay if I leave for a bit?” he asked, in a tone that meant he really wanted to know.
She nodded at him. “I’m fine. You go talk your business or whatever.” Then she batted her lashes at him.
His lips twitched. “Thanks, honey. I’ll be back soon. Remember what I said.”
She smiled. It was fun having their own secret code. “I remember, Trace.”
He walked away with his stepfather, and Sara picked up her spoon and thrust it into her chocolate mousse. She took a bite and looked over her spoon at Manda Hardy, who was regarding her intently, as if wondering what Trace saw in her.
“Mmm,” Sara said around the mouthful of creamy chocolate. “Trace knows what I like.”
His stepsister bit like a hungry trout. “Trace knows what a lot of women like.”
She waggled her fingers at a slender blonde with breasts that threatened to burst out of her low-cut black dress. The blonde hurried over to slither into the chair between her and Sara. She favored Sara with a look of innocent interest so false Sara wondered cattily if she’d purchased it with her breasts. This encounter had clearly been planned.
“This is my friend, Kiki Forest,” Manda said. “She can tell you all about Trace. Maybe even give you some tips.”
Kiki was wearing a wedding ring loaded with huge diamonds. Hard to miss, since she put that hand to her chest when she laughed, a girlish sound that made Sara’s lip curl. She took another bite of the creamy, light mousse. Then she licked her lips and gazed wonderingly at Kiki. She could fake it too.
“You’ve been with Trace?” she asked.
Kiki preened. “Oh yes.”
Sara’s hand clawed in her lap. Bitch.
“Did he tie you up too?” she asked breathily. “That’s my favorite. When he makes me—you know—do things. Dirty things. Of course, I always come so many times I don’t mind a bit, even when his hot friends watch. Trace says if I’m not a very good girl, he’ll let them join in next time.”
She licked the spoon again and giggled. “I can’t wait.”
The other two women stared at her, their faces frozen. Sara stuck her spoon in the remainder of her mousse, rose from her chair and leaned close to them.
“Are we done here?” she asked quietly.
When they said nothing, she smiled. Then she walked away.
Chapter Nine
It took nearly half an hour for Trace to emerge from the house. When he did, dusk had fallen over the hillside and the valley below was lost in shadows beyond the tiki torches burning around the terrace. However, Sara saw his tension and anger in the set of his broad shoulders, the prowling tension in his lean body.
She excused herself to the very nice middle-aged woman with whom she’d been chatting, and followed as he stalked across the terrace and down the steps leading to the dark lawn below.
He cast one look over his shoulder, letting her know he was aware of her. His steps slowed to let her catch up, although he said nothing as he led the way along a graveled path through the shrubbery until the terrace was no longer visible, the babble of voices a distant murmur.
Sara faced Trace. Despite the darkness out here behind the shrubbery, and the fact she couldn’t see his face or his eyes, that one look had been enough. Like gazing into the heart of a blast furnace on her tour of a Seattle glassworks. Emotion rolled off his tall lean frame in waves, buffeting her with his anger and hurt.
Not directed at her, though.
She knew exactly who it was directed at. His mother’s husband, his stepfather, and the cronies who had gone into the house with him and Trace a little while ago.
“Trace,” she said. “I’m here.”
He didn’t turn to face her, just stayed where he was, hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks, head down. “You should go inside, Sara.”
She considered his tone, which wasn’t unfriendly, more in the nature of a storm warning.
“I’m here,” she repeated. “For you. Like you were there for me, when I needed you.”
He gave huff of laughter and shook his head. “This isn’t like that. If you knew what was in my mind—what I need, what I want—you’d run as if the devil were after you.”
She rolled her eyes to herself, bravado that he couldn’t see. “You aren’t the devil. I think he’s after you right now.”
He turned to her, his feet scuffing on the patio. “Maybe he is—and maybe I feel like letting him catch me. I’m furious, I’m pissed off, I’m sick to my stomach. I’m also a dom. Who has himself on a very short leash, woman. Do yourself a favor and get in the house.”
Her breath shallow, heart pounding, Sara stepped nearer to him. “Trace. I’m here. I’m not leaving. Talk to me.”
“I don’t wanna talk. I’ll just say…all my worst fears played out tonight.”
“What happened?” she insisted. He needed to lance the wound, or it would fester.
“That asshole told me if I don’t invest, he may lose my mother’s money and her home. And it would be on my head.”
She gasped. “Can he do that?”
“No, because I happen to know my father was smarter than that. Most of the money’s tied up where Harrison can’t get it. Thus he needs me to sign papers, and thinks he can use my mother to do it. I won’t go along, but I would appreciate being able to come to my family home and not be played—not see my mom living like she’s so unhappy she has to drink to stand it.”
He shook his head. “Enough of that shit.”
He looked down at her, and the energy coming off him changed, morphed into something hotter and more dangerous in quite a different way.
“And now here you are, and I’m telling you, you should go.”
“No. I came down here to help you, to be with you. I’m not turning my back on you now.” But it was more than that. She wanted to be more than his friend. She was tired of being afraid of what he stirred in her, tired of denying the heat he aroused in her with just a look, a word—or his thumb on her back.
The air between them changed. Popped with invisible, mute electricity, the force of his will. And with her determination not to fail him or herself.
“You’re still here,” he repeated. “All right, then.”
His hand fisted in her hair, not painfully but with enough force to pull her head back. “You’ll do anything I say?” His voice had deepened, smoothed. “Anything I need?”
“Yes,” she managed. Anything, if he continued speaking in this new voice. Like he was absolutely in
control of himself, and her.
“All right. Take off your pretty dress for me.”
She gasped. Opened her mouth to protest, to mention they were outside, with only a hedge separating them and a crowd of people.
None of whom she knew or cared about. And she did care about this man. She wanted to please him, to drive those demons from his gaze. And from her own psyche.
She hadn’t been enough to entice her husband to stay in her arms, but Trace thought she was pretty, thought she was sexy. He’d made it clear that he wanted her, and not just as someone to humiliate or hurt. She knew from getting to know him, from watching the other women at the gym and the club that they admired him, respected him.
She reached up under her hair and grasped the fastener at the back of her neck.
Trace surprised her by grabbing her hand and pulling it gently away from her task. He pressed a kiss to her palm. “You really would strip right here, wouldn’t you?”
“Well—yes. I guess so,” she finished uncertainly. “You wanted me to.”
He sank his teeth into the heel of her palm, gently, just enough that she could feel it.
“Changed my mind, Red. I want you in my bedroom. Want to see every inch of you. Touch every inch. Taste every inch.”
“Wh-what about you?”
He put his free hand, big and warm and powerful, on the inside of her knee and slid it up very slowly, until he cupped her through her panties. He held her that way while he traced the marks of his teeth on her palm with his tongue.
Sara whimpered. Her knees were weak, her legs trembling as if only his touch held her on her feet.
“Are you mine tonight?” The rich satisfaction in his voice said he already knew the answer.
She swallowed. “Yes. Yes, Trace.”
“All right, then. Let’s go get you naked for me.”
Somehow she managed to walk with him back through the crowd on the patio. Sara avoided as many gazes as she could, sure that his touch was visible like a brand. Her nipples were stiff, rubbing against the bodice of her dress, and with every step her panties rubbed on her swollen, wet labia, as if he still held her cupped in his palm.
In his room, the door shut behind him, and two bedside lamps sprang on at his touch. Without pausing in his stride, Trace unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, tossing it aside. He toed off his shoes, unbuckled his belt and pants, and then turned to her, his pants open. He shoved them down slowly and kicked out of them, leaving him clad only in dark briefs, tented in the front with a huge erection.
“Now,” he said. “Strip for me.”
If Sara’s eyes got any bigger, they were going to swallow up her pretty face. Trace’s chest swelled with triumph and possessiveness. His little Red was here in his room, all for him. All his.
“Strip for me, honey.”
She jolted as if he’d poked her. Then she crooked one leg, her toe pointing to the floor. She tipped her head to one side, her hair falling over one shoulder as she looked at him shyly under her bangs. It was one hell of a look, because it was not a sub playing at innocence, but real. Sara had been married, had had sex, but she’d never submitted to anyone. Not the way she would to him.
She reached up under the fall of her hair and worked the fastener of her halter top. The two straps fell loose down across her breasts. Then she reached under her arm and lowered the hidden zipper. Her dress loosened. She ran her tongue over her lower lip, slicking it with moisture.
Then, holding his gaze although her cheeks were stained with pink, she shimmied out of her dress and let it fall to the floor around her feet. She stood there, clad in a tiny pair of ecru lace panties, through which the red curls on her mons were visible.
Her breasts were like two halves of an apple, he decided, pale and round, tipped with small nipples of dark rose. A few freckles spangled her pale chest, matching those across her cheeks.
Her torso was lithe and slender—he’d already known that from her gym gear—but nude, her pale skin exposed, she looked delicate, fragile. She was, emotionally. He would care for that.
“Push your panties down, Sara.”
“Oh. Okay,” she breathed. Her voice was soft and shaky. He liked that, liked that this was a moment of uncertainty for her. He was going to make everything all right, after he took her as far as she’d go.
Her slender fingers hooked in the thin ecru lace, and she pushed the panties down, shimmying her hips to let them fall with the dress. Then she lifted one foot and the other, stepping out of them and the dress. She stood there in her strappy sandals, which he could tell she’d forgotten all about. He fucking loved them—made her look even more naked.
She bit her lip, her hands fisted at her sides, waiting for him to tell her what to do.
“You are a gorgeous, fuckable woman,” he told her. “Now turn around and show me that pretty ass.”
She blushed even harder but turned, gracefully bending one leg so that her full, taut ass was cocked slightly to the side.
“Just as beautiful from the backside,” he approved. “Now bend over.”
She turned her head so fast her hair flew out in a bell from the pearl barrette, gaping at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in a perfect “O” of shock. A strand of auburn hair caught on her lip.
“Trace,” she gasped. “I—no.” She shook her head.
He raised his brows, not giving an inkling of how much he loved this little battle. “We done here, Red?”
Shock and then uncertainty chased each other across her expressive face. She shook her head and turned away. He watched her brace herself to do it, watched her take a deep breath and let it out.
Then she slowly bent over and gave him a view of his version of heaven. A gorgeous, sexy sub presenting herself for him, naked, vulnerable and trusting. The tight rosette of her anus and the pink lips of her labia framed by her full cheeks and rounded thighs. And she’d displayed herself for him without any of the negotiations and the talk they’d have before they scened at the club. He needed this tonight, and she was giving it to him.
He walked to her and put his hands on her hips, squeezing gently. Her skin was cool satin, trembling a little under his touch. She had another freckle on the top of her right ass cheek. He wanted to lick it.
“Thank you, Sara. Now I want you to put your hands here, and hold.” He showed her how to grasp her buttocks with her hands, gave her a caress of praise and then stepped back to look again.
He smiled to himself. Perfect. The press of her hands pulled her cheeks farther apart so that he could see more of her secrets. And she was wet, her labia glistening with moisture and swollen with arousal. She liked this. One day he’d fuck her this way.
But for tonight, this was enough. He walked over to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Come here,” he ordered.
She straightened and looked at him over her shoulder again, a wary, half-resentful look. A glower, really. That would earn her a spanking if they were at the club.
He held out his hand, and she turned and walked to him. He took her hand and pulled her between his thighs, close, so that her mons brushed his cock, covered in a thin layer of cotton. He reached up to cup the side of her neck under her hair as he spoke.
“Like the way you obeyed me, honey,” he praised. “Sweet and hot.”
She frowned at him. “I didn’t like that. I don’t know why I did it. “
“I think you know.” He cupped her mons with his free hand. She was all soft curls and hot wet silk and tender flesh in his grasp. Her pupils dilated, and her lips parted.
Holding her gaze, he dipped his fingertips into her labia. They slid smoothly, and he withdrew them and then dipped them farther the next time.
“Spread your legs for me,” he ordered gently.
She moved, shifting one leg to the side, pressing against his thighs. Her breath was coming quickly, her breasts moving enticingly with each breath.
Trace explored her further, stroking his fi
ngers into her pussy and back out. She released him with a succulent, wet sound and, he hmmed his approval. “Is your pussy wet, Sara?”
She nodded, her breath sighing out as she let go of her resistance. “Yes, Trace.”
Beautiful, she was all his now, loving what he was doing, that he was making her participate fully.
“You like my finger in your pussy?”
“Yes, Trace.”
“You want to come on my fingers?”
She shivered, moving to take his fingers, fucking herself on them now, her gaze locked with his. “Yes. Please.”
His cock jumped, his dom giving a silent roar of triumph. Slowly, he withdrew his touch.
“Soon, honey. First, you need to take care of me.” One, it wouldn’t hurt her to learn to wait and two, he wanted to concentrate on her pleasure, make her come two or three times. He was too close himself to do that now—he’d end up coming all over the bedspread.
She reached for his cock, her soft, warm fingers closing around the sensitive shaft. “Yes, I want that.”
He grabbed her wrist. “Who’s in charge here, Sara?”
“You are,” she said, uncertain again. “But don’t you want me to touch you?”
“Yes, but my way. On your knees,” he urged.
She licked her lips, then put her hands on his open thighs and dropped gracefully to her knees, which placed her head just above his crotch.
A gorgeous, naked sub kneeling between his legs, ready to take him. Trace felt his life level out and settle into what it should be. Thanks to the pretty redhead waiting trustingly for his command.
“Help me get my shorts off.”
He lifted up enough for her to tug his BVDs off. He felt a rush of pleasure as his cock sprang free and he sat before her, naked and ready. Hell, his cock liked her gaze so much, he was half-afraid he was going to shoot his load before she even touched him.
“You ever swallowed come?” he asked, giving his shaft a calming stroke.
