by Susan Arden
“God yes.” Mia’s husky voice pleaded. She swayed then flexed back, impaling herself on the dildo as he finger-fucked her ass. He watched as she freely gave herself to him, letting him fuck her…own her body.
He had to get inside her, no more waiting; he removed the dildo as she whimpered his name. “It’s time,” he growled, grabbing the bottle of lube. He squeezed and slathered his hard-on with a slick coating.
Rearing up behind her, Brandon lifted her hips higher, tucking the glistening head of his cock against her slippery pink rosette. He pushed forward, moving slowly between the tight bands of muscle that gripped him. “Take a breath, baby, just like before.”
She hissed out her exhale. “Sir. Oh. Please.”
“Breathe,” he reminded her. “Now.” He watched her ribcage expand and slid further inside.
He held her cheeks apart, enticed by the tight way she swallowed him. His cock throbbed with pleasure, growing harder the longer he waited. They both moaned as he curled her hips up to him and then drove his cock inside. Not all the way, but enough to get her to stretch.
He bent over her back, letting her get used to the feel of him inside her ass. She whimpered, her body shaking, and he kissed her shoulder, cupping her breasts, and whispered, “Ssshhh. My love. Just relax for me.”
She melded against him and he nuzzled closer, sucking a spot on her neck and she clenched around him. A tight, sweet coil. “Please,” she whispered.
Hearing her moan and move under him, he was coming undone. God, he was ready to tell Mia he loved her—that he was in love with her. He knew it sounded crazy. They’d known each other a few days but it felt like forever. She did it for him. Completely.
He pushed forward, buried deep inside her, and he rubbed his hands up her back, massaging and relishing the way she clenched around him. She moaned, arching and moving, and he didn’t need another sign. He held her firmly and withdrew from her, watching his slippery cock and biting his lip.
“I’m going to fuck you, baby. You’re mine, Mia. All. Mine.” He hovered at her entrance then thrust back inside her until he was fully seated in her tight ass. He flexed back and thrust again, holding onto her hips, then moved her body in tandem with his.
“Feels incredible.” Mia rocked along his length, short clenching strokes that drove him wild.
“Mia,” he murmured and began to speed up, matching her rhythm and driving his cock into her.
“Yes, Sir.” Her voice held his attention as much as her body.
“Say it, Mia. I want to hear you say it again. Who do you belong to?”
“I’m yours.” Arching her hips, she moved away a couple of inches then pushed back onto his cock, taking him deeper, and the coiling pressure to release started to unwind.
“Got to fuck you.” He plunged into her, and when he was certain she enjoyed this type of sex, he got serious. Fast.
He drove his cock so deep and so hard, he grunted in pleasure. He pounded away from behind her, stroking her clit, and lifting her up to him, riding her ass until all of his thoughts dissolved. In a twinned haze, they fucked each other blindly. It wasn’t just a body fucking, she fucked his mind, too. They both groaned, whispered half-words, and he tried to describe in a raw voice how she felt clenched around him.
He pumped his hips against her until she screamed his name, their skin slippery, their movements fluid. A white-hot spasm rocketed up his spine and he joined her in coming undone. His world splintered as he spurted a long, hot stream into her. She milked him, stealing his mind and filling him with pleasure. He pulled her down with him to the bed, spent and satisfied; he closed his eyes, repeating her name over and over, “Mia.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sitting in class after spending three days with Brandon, Mia glanced up and realized the professor had just called on her. She shifted in her seat and pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, can you please repeat the question?”
“Would you care to share something from your thesis project?”
Great. It was her turn to share something impressive. She cleared her throat, thinking back on her visit with the twins, but took care to make her reference innocuous as to their identity. “I have concerns that my patient was severely traumatized as a young child. We’ve hit a wall, insofar as an inability to open up. I was thinking about art therapy.”
“Group. Anyone with experiences to share?” Dr. Orton solicited responses from the other grad students.
As the supervising professor, Dr. Orton facilitated these discussions within a tight-knit group. Mia was glad to be discussing therapy instead of what she’d learned at a sex club. That idea would have been disastrous. It would have been impossible to act as though the Dom wasn’t doing her. And oh, sweet Moses, he was—on every level. She refocused as one of her fellow grad students offered a suggestion.
“I had some great success using it with a non-verbal patient. But we had to figure out what type of art worked. I have an easy to administer art checklist. My patient enjoyed clay, not so much painting or drawing. Also used pet therapy with my patient and had tremendous results. Does the facility have art therapy staff? If not, I have a friend who is willing to do some hours for free. If your patient is interested in art.”
Mia wrote a few notes then swung her attention up to meet the helpful student’s gaze. “That’s a great idea and a wonderful offer. Thanks.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. The twins weren’t doing well in the sessions with their counselor. They were still in the beginning, but now they were stone-walling. They used their charisma as a veil to distance themselves from anyone who might get too close. She’d talked with their counselor who dismissed Mia’s suspicions about possible sexual abuse. Said not to broach the subject. Confused, she couldn’t understand why the woman who had gruffly refused to be talked down to by the girls’ father was now backing away from touching a cornerstone that might make a difference in the girls’ lives.
“The center has an art therapist. I’ll reach out to him,” Mia said.
“If you need help to sway the center, call me,” the Professor smiled at her. “I’m friendly with Dr. Cane.”
“I might. No, I will. Thank you. Both.” Dr. Orton had agreed that the treatment center was a much better fit for a thesis and had gladly agreed to the switch in Mia’s thesis project.
She knew that her advisor had harbored regrets about giving her the go-ahead on an edgy project that might get the department in some hot water. Thank goodness Dr. Orton would never know how much hot water there was; Mia didn’t want to contemplate the tropical storm she had barely avoided precipitating.
But it was done, and the irony of her finding a “golden triangle,” as Dr. Orton called the match between the center, the twins, and herself, was her own secret. One she had skirted as confidential and privileged when asked how she’d come into contact with the girls. The center couldn’t divulge the information, and she sure wasn’t about to do it any day soon.
“Celia, I need your phone number,” Mia whispered to the student who had offered the free art therapy. She leaned back in her chair, relaxing from the tension of having been caught daydreaming, and stifled another retreat into her hot memory bank featuring Brandon.
“Let’s have one more person speak.” Dr. Orton wrote a note then looked over her glasses. “Come on, people, this is your chance. After last week, I know everything isn’t smooth sailing…remember, I do read your clinical records.”
A bunch of hands shot up in unison, and at the same time, Mia’s phone vibrated. Out of the hot seat, she surreptitiously glanced down at the screen, and caught the gasp on the tip of her tongue. Brandon had sent her a text. She rubbed her finger lightly along the edge of her phone, scrolling to read what he’d written.
Meet me. Can you do lunch?
I’d love to do you! She thought, and wriggled in her seat, anticipation fluttering in her stomach, heating her face. Oh, after what they’d done together, being shy in front
of Brandon was ridiculous. He’d promised to blow the doors off her imagination and he’d delivered, big time. They’d fucked each other until she’d fallen into a deep sleep that first night at the cottage, and woke up with his cock embedded inside her. The whole stay with Brandon, from start to finish, was equally intoxicating.
She kept wondering about her foggy memory of their hot tub adventure where they’d had some pretty crazy sex and said some pretty crazy things. Was it a dream? Maybe way too much wine and weed. Afterward, they’d skirted around talking about the powerful ‘L’ word in direct terms, other than sexy connotations. Did he actually say that he loved her? No way. She bit her lip. In that same hot tub, she’d said something similar back to him. Her heart skipped a beat.
The class began to come alive with chatter and chairs scraping across the floor. She rapidly typed a message. “Any place. Any time. I can do you!” She hit ‘Send’ and tucked her phone into her jacket pocket before springing up from her seat.
“Wait up, Mia!” She heard her name called and glanced over her shoulder.
“Hey, are you going to the library?” Jonathan smiled at her. He was one of the grad students who thought she’d lost her mind when she’d announced her intention of visiting and studying a sex club. “There’s a group of us. We’re looking at alternative therapies. From what you said, it might be of interest.”
“Alternative, as in untried or unorthodox? Doing more research online?” She couldn’t resist the slight jab.
“Both, as a matter of fact. Everything from yoga to hypnosis to rope courses.”
“I studied them and enjoyed several up close.” She pulled on the straps to her backpack. “I appreciate what the library offers. Really, the journals, texts, and studies…but I want to know the real side. I’ll be over to review art therapy. Probably tonight.” She turned to leave.
He reached out and touched her shoulder to stop her. “We’re doing more than studying what others say. I appreciate your point of wanting to learn something from an experiential standpoint. You got me thinking, enough to do more than sit and read. We’ve got a group that meets regularly and each week we visit a place and actually get involved. You know, try out the treatment. How can we know what we’re suggesting if we’ve no idea what’s involved?”
The small part of her that was disappointed at first, when he’d thought her idea was going overboard, bubbled gleefully. “That’s great to hear and sounds promising,” she said.
Finally, others in her group were learning that therapy or self-discovery involved more than abstract theory. She was a prime example in stepping outside her own comfort zone. Yeah, so far outside she’d landed in a sex club, and found the keys to unlocking the truth about herself. On top of her journey to self-discovery, she’d been able to offer meaningful crisis intervention to Esme and Selma, and that would never have happened if she’d been too scared to take a chance.
And meet the man of my dreams…God!
She swallowed, trying to breathe around the lump in her throat. A realization was starting to unfold in the depths of her heart. The blooming truth of how much Brandon meant to her. The idea was dizzying, and the fluttering in her chest felt like the pages of a secret book were blown open by a gale force wind.
There was no wind, only—only—only Brandon.
She gripped the straps of her backpack, her mouth having grown dry and tried to say something that sounded relatively sensible. “I’m glad to hear that you guys are trying out the experiential route.”
“Why not join us?” He shook his head. “You’re not still upset about what I said?”
“Gosh, no. Just surprised. And very happy, but I’m super busy.” She fought to stay focused on Jonathan and noticed his expectant expression. And relented at being unsociable. “But text me. I’d like to see what’s around.”
“Cool.” He waved to another student. “I’ll let you know.”
Her phone vibrated and she reached into her pocket, her heartbeat started to ramp up. “Look, I should cut out of here.”
“Catch you later then.” Jonathan replied.
Brandon had texted that he was outside. She rushed out of the class, down the hall, and wove around people before bolting down the stairs. Her chest convulsed and she exited the building, scanning the courtyard between the buildings. She didn’t see him but heard a soft whistle. She turned and their gazes connected. He leaned against his truck, one of his long legs crossed in front of him, and he tipped his hat.
A wide smile broke across his face and she felt the same type of smile stretch her cheek muscles, too. She tried to walk with measured steps, but found it too much trouble. By the time she reached him, she was skittering down the walkway, and he stood up and held out his arms.
“God, you smell incredible,” he murmured, skimming his cheek over hers.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
“Didn’t know if it was allowed.”
“Aren’t you the person who makes the decisions for me? Unless you have had your fill.” She wouldn’t blame him. They’d traversed some barriers, and she’d thought he’d be long gone to Annona by now.
“Hardly,” he said and kissed her, deeply but not for long enough. When he raised his head, his eyes were focused and intense, and her breath hitched. The muscles in his arms tensed under her fingers. “What happened?” she asked.
“Had a meeting with a private investigator about the club. We need to talk.” His cerulean eyes looked serious.
“Is everything okay?”
“It will be.” He took her by the elbow and walked her to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door, and helped her inside.
She pushed her backpack onto the floor and grimaced. “Just not right now.”
“I came for you ‘cause I didn’t want you to worry.” Then he kissed her again, bringing their mouths together, and any idea that the fire between them was spent flew right out the window. “Want you right this second, Mia. Mine,” he murmured against her lips.
Brandon traced her bottom lip with his thumb, holding her attention. In that instant, she was certain she was falling fast. And the realization tore through her, detonating her senses, and she wanted to shout so that the whole world could hear.
“Can we go somewhere private…my apartment?” she asked.
He nodded and shut her door. She followed his progress as he walked in front of the hood and glanced into the cab, meeting her eyes. She was struck by his masculinity—a Stetson riding low on his brow, and more so by the dark stubble on his face, giving him a badass persona she knew wasn’t cultivated for marketing. He wasn’t a man who was accustomed to putting up with bullshit. Not with the mean left hook she’d witnessed.
Her chest tightened at his words, his promise that she was his no matter how far she travelled away from Paris. I am his!
She dropped her gaze when he came around to the driver’s side, shaken to think it might be true. What if she was his, and couldn’t say goodbye, come May? She wanted to leave and she wanted Brandon. Both together were not even remotely possible. He wasn’t the type of man who’d agree to her going off and him staying here. No, he wasn’t the long distance type. They’d hardly been able to stay away from each other with him driving back from Annona. She pressed the skin at her temples.
Brandon started the engine but he didn’t pull away from the curb. “I won’t sugarcoat this.” He gripped the steering wheel, gazing into the distance through the windshield. “Found out that what you said was true. My ex has gotten a shitload of loans approved in my name…using the club as collateral.”
“I’m sorry.” She felt her ribcage pinch in concern for him.
“It gets worse,” he said, and reached for her. “I want you to be safe.”
She shrugged. “She didn’t see me. How would she even know it was me who told you?”
His eyes looked worried. “No. The bank who underwrote the loan…authorized it, was First Commercial on Broad Street. Actually, some shady subsidiary, run by
Humphrey.”
“What?” She felt her throat muscles seize her vocal cords. “How is Beau involved?”
“He’s responsible. So far, looks like he’s involved in a shitload of fraudulent loans. He’s called in house notes, and resold the properties to friends for pennies. So greedy, he didn’t check out the paperwork that Val must have given to him. I hired an attorney and he’s filing a complaint, and he’s getting the U.S. Attorney’s office involved. That SOB is going down. I don’t want you staying at your apartment. I’m here to collect you and your stuff. I want you to stay with me until he’s arrested and we can get some sort of restraining order.”
“Beau won’t do anything to me,” she said. “Really. He’s not going to risk his reputation.”
“Darlin’,” he sighed, taking hold of her leg and squeezing. “He’s going to prison. This isn’t a mistake. Seems like he has been doing some underhanded business for a couple of years now. No one suspected him because of his family’s reputation.”
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. “I don’t understand. His family has been in the banking business for generations. They have standing in Paris.”
“They aren’t all as upstanding as you’d like to think. Humphrey is running some scam, and whoever is onboard with him in this sham will be prosecuted. Pure and simple, they’re crooks. Stole from the people who could least afford it. They turned people out of their homes.”
“Oh. God. How tragic,” she murmured, certain that what he said sounded more than plausible.
He put the truck into gear and stepped on the gas. “There’s no argument. You’re not staying in that apartment.”
“I can’t go with you.”
“Yes. You. Can.”
She covered her mouth with her palm and shook her head. If she went with Brandon now, she’d never find even one iota of balance in her life. She was on the verge of abandoning all her plans to move away and be free of a small town with small minds. She’d seen women fall for men and their whole worlds changed as they forgot their dreams. Not. Her.
