Mary Had a Little Problem

by Blaine, Destiny

  “Tell me, Mary,” he whispered, watching as she slid her slender arms away from rolled sleeves. The soft silk top drifted to the carpet, and Brock’s gaze fell to her full chest. Lace covered her, but did little to hide the hard nipples pressing through the material. “Show me how you were taught to love.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled like the royal waters of the Pacific as she tossed her long, straight golden hair over thin shoulders using both hands to slide her skirt away from shapely hips. Bowing her head and lowering her eyes, she said, “Luke taught me everything a man like you expects a woman to know.”

  Brock’s heart threatened to collapse right there. Had Luke trained her to enjoy the things he’d come to expect from his lovers as well? Was Mary his submissive little bride?

  Reining in his need, Brock imagined what Mary held in store. This was too good to be true. How had he overlooked what was in front of him the whole time? How had he missed what Luke must’ve been trying to tell him in so many words?

  He recalled key words Luke had said in the past, statements like “presenting” or “knelt”, but he also remembered how Luke often made light of the comments, too, which was why Brock never thought twice about Domination and submission. Until now.

  “Come here, Mary,” he said, reaching for her.

  She followed his request, inching closer to where he sat. She stood in front of him, stepping in between his open legs.

  Mary’s tiny waist was a perfect fit for his large hands. Placing both palms on either side of her torso, he brought her closer. His lips met her skin, and he dragged his tongue across her warm silken flesh, savoring her taste. The honey sweet smell of her sex engaged him, taunting him to take what he wanted most.

  “Show me what you were taught,” Brock encouraged her, raising his gaze to meet hers while avoiding the temptation her body brought. Holy hell, what he’d give to dip his head a bit lower, strip that thong away from her body, and wedge his tongue inside her wet pussy.

  Mary backed away from the bed, reached behind her shoulders, and unhooked her bra. As she freed herself, Brock did the same—releasing his belt, lowering his zipper, and yanking off his pants as he kicked away his shoes. Lastly, he shrugged out of the tight shirt confining him.

  The only clothing to speak of was the thong Mary sported as she sashayed around the tall post at the end of the bed. She gripped the dark wood so tightly, her knuckles looked pronounced, whitened by the loss of circulation.

  As she teased him, Brock relaxed against the bed, observing as this remarkable woman twirled around like a stripper taking to her pole. Long locks shimmied down her back as she swayed right then twirled around to the left, wrapping her body around the furniture as an exotic showgirl might.

  “You like to dance, don’t you?”

  “I like to please,” she replied. “But you’ve already gathered that, haven’t you, sir?”

  Sir? Dear God. Was she so practiced in Domination and submission that she recognized an impetuous Dom, a dominant partner ready to train and connect with his submissive?

  He caught himself closing his eyes. Her words were like music to his ears. Mary and Luke had been in the lifestyle to some degree. No question there. Whether they toyed with a little bondage and role play or lived in the throes of the BDSM community wasn’t a matter of question. The military wouldn’t have allowed their soldiers the opportunity to collar a wife, much less visit and frequent known BDSM clubs. It would’ve been greatly frowned upon, which led Brock to several questions.

  How much did Mary know? What had Luke taught her?

  Mary’s pale skin was flushed. Her high cheekbones were the perfect shade of pink. She smiled, and for a split second, Brock was lost in expectation, as if he fully expected Mary to give herself to him without reservations, without holding back.

  About the time he ran his hand across his cock for the first time, her eyes watered. He held his breath and waited for the tears to come, expecting a widow’s guilt to emerge. Instead, to his sweet surprise, the only expression remaining there was unharnessed lust.

  Chapter Six

  This was a hell of a way to get involved with another man. There were so many similarities here, too many to consider. This night was reminiscent of her first evening with Luke. Brock reminded her of Luke, too, yet the notable differences appealed to her as well.

  Brock was harder. His cold eyes warned of a harrowing past, a troubled history a woman didn’t want to know about. But she was curious what his eyes had seen, where his hands had traveled. She longed to know more about him one minute, and the very next, she didn’t care to understand him at all.

  One minute, she was interested in asking questions. The next, she became as indifferent as humanly possible.

  Brock had a story to tell. She didn’t want to hear it. He had past lovers, friends and family, maybe even an ex-significant other. She didn’t care.

  She focused instead on the physical aspect, on the chemistry between them. The journey that led them there really didn’t matter.

  Brock cared about yesterday enough to mention his association with Luke. While she was grateful for his honesty, she didn’t want him to stick around tomorrow.

  There were enough warning signs to stop this potential catastrophe before they even began, but she couldn’t throw on the brakes. Luke was gone. Brock was right here. And he was looking at her as if she were the sexiest woman in the world, as if he understood her desires and needs. What woman turned away a man like Brock Taylor?

  Certainly not her.

  Her motivation for getting carried away seemed valid, legitimate enough for understanding, not that she sought approval from outsiders, but at the same time, she’d never want to disrespect Luke’s memory. Still, at that moment, she found the courage to shelve the past, to get on with a future, and lay down with a stranger for the very reasons he suggested.

  She needed to get the sex out of the way and go from there. Perhaps Brock meant they could move on together. She looked at this experience a little differently. If she went to bed with Brock, perhaps she would later find the courage to finish living out her life. And with an uncertain future, who could say what tomorrow held for either of them.

  One thing was certain. The here and now looked mighty appealing.

  * * * *

  Restraint was out of the question. Her body moved like wind chimes in a violent wind, and Brock had never seen a more sensual creature. Typically, one to take his time with a new submissive partner, Brock doubted his own self-control.

  “Mary, if I ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable, tell me.”

  “My safe word is forbidden,” she said, insinuating the word had been used before.

  He narrowed his gaze on her pretty, pointed nipples, and his mouth watered as he considered all the ways he wanted her aroused. Without a doubt, Luke trained her to submit. Luke, without knowledge, prepared her for him.

  “Lie down,” he instructed, pulling her next to him.

  Once she stretched out beside him, he became the man he was behind closed doors rather than, perhaps, the man she needed him to be.

  “I want you to spread your legs,” he told her, lying on his side. He watched as she complied without hesitation. He propelled his hand down her chest, raking his fingers over her nipple, and settling a flat palm against her stomach.

  Her mound was bare but prickly, indicating she shaved rather than waxed her pussy, a fact he’d have to change immediately. A Brazilian wax was in order, and he wondered how she’d feel about that. There were many things he wanted to discover about Mary. Many secrets he’d expect her to share.

  Leaving the bed, he stood at the edge, eying her parted, sleek folds. The glistening moisture around her opening caught his eye, and he longed to push his tongue high inside her channel, bury his mouth in her sex, and lap up her sweet essence.

  He gripped her thighs and towered over her, leaning down so he could kiss her belly, dragging his tongue up and down her trembling flesh. Pausing a
t her mound, he whispered across her intimate knoll, “I’ll never hurt you, sub. Do you believe me?”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded, arching her neck as if she were bracing for the sensual acts set to begin.

  “Will you trust me?”

  “I…maybe,” she replied, spreading her legs wider.

  He slapped her pussy and eyed the discoloration as the smack left its temporary place on her skin, the imprint of three fingers quickly disappearing. “Maybe isn’t good enough, sub.” He smacked again.

  She yelped as she jerked, responding to the pussy swat he gently delivered. He wanted her attention and her compliance. Sure, he wanted her respect, too, and trust would come sooner than later. His submissive women learned to rely upon him because he made sure to earn the confidence instilled in him.

  “I don’t know how to trust anyone other than Luke,” she admitted.

  He saw the heartache and the devastation then. He also noted something else, an emotion that threatened to yank his heart from his chest. “Are you scared, sub?”

  Mary’s nose twitched and she sniffed. She was frightened. “Yes, sir.” The dam broke then, and she cried aloud. “I don’t know how to live without him!”

  Brock should’ve gathered her in his arms without hesitation, but he wasn’t able to offer her the compassion she needed. He was envious of the love she’d shared with another, a man he knew as a friend and fellow soldier.

  Her soft sobs became a song of despair, and Brock reluctantly caressed her hips and thighs, working his hands up and down her legs. “Cry, sub. Cry it out, honey,” he said softly.

  He’d never witnessed anything more pitiful in his life. The woman he cared for, could potentially love, exposed her soul as much as her body as she lay there, timidly placing her arms over her bare breasts as complete torment shook her.

  There wasn’t anything he could do except go to her. He tried to resist being drawn into the understandable grief of a widow, but the overwhelming desire to comfort her was more than he could stand. He wrapped her body against his and rocked her.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered against his chest.

  He was sorry, too. Even though he wanted the woman Lieutenant Lucas Worthington had coveted most, in that moment, if he could’ve brought him back, he would have moved hell and earth to give Mary what she needed most.

  He would’ve stepped aside, even though the cost would’ve been great, the price a going rate he hoped he never had to pay. His happiness in exchange for hers. Still, he would’ve surrendered his dreams, his future, to give her back what she felt she’d lost rather than the future he hoped they’d someday gain.

  “You don’t understand what it’s like. I’ve always been alone. Even when Luke was here, he was always signing up for another tour, leaving for an unknown destination, or attending meetings in undisclosed locations. I’ve spent my entire adult life by myself.”

  Brock gritted his teeth and grated back an explanation. There wasn’t one. Being married to a soldier was a great sacrifice. He understood the seclusion, the isolation often felt by those married to men in the military. Still, he fully expected to ask Mary to do the same for him. He’d longed for her in a way that didn’t make sense, and he was grateful for the chance to hold her.

  “Shh, sub. It’s all right. You’re not alone now, Mary. You’ll never be alone again.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brock was a man designed for a woman’s good time. With palms on either side of her head, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, lapping at her mouth as if he had all day, maybe all week, to learn the taste of her.

  She wrapped her hand around his nape and pulled him closer, wedging her tongue inside his mouth as she took the heated kiss she needed most. “Don’t rush me, sub,” he warned, breaking the connection, staring down the length of their bodies.

  He stood then, easing away from the bed in slow motion, watching her as if he wanted her image stamped to memory, etched in his mind’s eye forever. He used one hand to stabilize her trembling leg. “I won’t hurt you, Mary.”

  His hard length protruded, making her gasp in anticipation. What she wanted from him wasn’t normal, wasn’t acceptable. She was still married in her mind. What kind of woman took another man to her bed when she deeply loved and cherished the husband who gave her his last name?

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked, a whimper in her voice.

  Brock’s eyes were moist. He slowly nodded. “Yes, Mary. Luke is gone.”

  “And he’d want me to be happy, right?”

  “I think so,” Brock said, clearing his throat. “I know that’s true.”

  She forced a smile and released a worrisome sigh. She questioned her motives then. The way she looked to Brock for reassurance insinuated she planned to rely on him in some way.

  He advanced, moving between her legs and kissing her calf, thigh, and hip. He used his thick arms to widen her legs and took to task pleasuring her, dragging his tongue up and down until she was anticipating more, eager to have the rest.

  His hot breath whispered across her pussy lips, and her moans caught in her chest. “Tonight, I’ll take care of you, Mary, but there are still things I require when a willing sub is in my bed.”

  “Yes, sir,” she muttered, moving her legs closer to his head, hoping to confine him.

  Glancing up, he slapped her pussy. “Wait for me.”

  She’d agitated him, and she saw the irritation in his firmly set jaw and narrowed gaze. He studied her body as if she were a special delivery he needed to inspect before signing off his approval.

  She lay there quietly, her body heating, her sex clenching. And that’s when the first of many slow and indulgent licks set fire to her pussy, and the flames that surrounded her were too numerous to contain.

  Within seconds, she was bucking, arching, and calling Brock’s name.

  * * * *

  He let her have what was hers to own. Under normal circumstances, he might have stopped his submissive from taking the orgasm he helped them claim, but Mary was different. She needed him, and she certainly needed this.

  He lapped at her sweet juices as he fingered her, licking around the folds, nibbling her sex, before lodging his tongue inside her vibrating channel. She was coming, silently and timidly. Her body trembled as she took her orgasm, and he didn’t prohibit her from finding her pleasure and riding out her climax.

  Sucking her clit, he inserted one finger, two, flicking his tongue up and down, thrusting inside her until the only taste he knew was Mary, the woman he wanted to love, protect, honor, and cherish.

  How did he tell her? What would he say? More importantly, how would she react?

  “Brock,” she whispered, rising up to watch him. “Stop, please.”

  “Not a chance,” he whispered, blowing a steady stream of air over her tender folds and observing as she jerked. “Enjoy me, sub. Take advantage of our first night together. Trust me. I’m not always this agreeable.”

  Mary drifted into another state, acceptance washing over her face as she collapsed against the pillows and spread her legs still wider. He used his fingers to part her damp lips and feasted on her sweet taste, bringing her to climax all over again and nearly insulted when she didn’t cry out his name like before.

  Brock lapped up the heat dripping from her, screwing his tongue inside her channel until he wanted to believe he’d become a part of her. But when she cried out for mercy, he could only think of one way to extend leniency.

  He slipped away from the bed, sheathed himself, and towered over her. He didn’t pause. He didn’t miss a beat. He thrust inside her and was balls deep with the first stroke, taking what he now viewed as his to claim.

  Mary was his woman, and perhaps she had been for some time. She could deny the feelings now, but she’d possess them later. Her soft eyes watered as he fucked her, but soon she was wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him to her, bracketing her legs around his waist and riding his cock, begging for deeper
penetration.

  “Slow down, sub. I won’t make it if you don’t…hold up!”

  “I can’t, Brock,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me wait. Please give me what I want. What I need.”

  So he did what any man would do. He shoved her hands high above her head, latched onto one of those beautiful, pointed nipples and screwed her as if he’d never stop. His cock slid in and out of her sleek pussy until her body consumed his, inspiring him to take more, pump harder.

  A jet of his semen shot free, filling the condom he wore. He collapsed against her as she clung to him, raking her nails over his shoulders and arms. “Oh Brock, what have I done?”

  He wondered the same. He’d taken her hard and reckless, without regard for anything more than his own selfish needs. Even so, he told himself over and over again that this was what she needed, what she couldn’t live without. Mary longed for a man, and he wanted to be the one she relied on from that day forward.

  Reluctantly, he looked up and was—thank God—pleasantly surprised to find the sated appearance of one well-satisfied woman. While sorrow existed in her eyes, a great deal of something mighty close to appreciation seeped into her warm gaze as well.

  “No regrets, Mary,” he said. She swallowed hard as he caressed her, and he tried his best to encourage her to mirror his smile. “Please tell me you don’t regret this.”

  She shrugged. “Do you?”

  “Are you kidding me? That was incredible.”

  “You know I still love my husband.”

  Brock took a deep breath and reached a decision then. He refused to play second best to a dead man. And Lucas Worthington was dead. Now, he had to convince Mary to leave him in the grave.

  * * * *

  Hours later, Mary slid away from the mattress. She stared down at the sleeping giant occupying the greatest part of her bed then tiptoed to her closet where she retrieved a red silk robe.