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by Sierra Cartwright


  “You’re going to get it?”

  “I’m not helpless.”

  “I know. It’s just that it’s my house, and I’m technically the hostess, so I should do it.”

  “And I want you to conserve your energy because I’m not finished with you yet.”

  She scooted away. “I started with red at the gallery, so I’ll stick to that. Do you mind adding club soda to mine, and maybe an ice cube?”

  He exaggerated a shudder.

  She tossed a pillow at him.

  The moment might have morphed, but a trace of the intimacy remained.

  “There are a couple of bottles of wine in a rack on the counter. Nothing fancy, though. Not like what you’re accustomed to.”

  “I went to college,” he reminded her. “I’m not as big of a snob as you think I am.”

  “Uh-huh. I didn’t even recognize the kind of wine you named earlier.”

  “The sommelier at the restaurant mentioned it. I had to practice the pronunciation half a dozen times. Never took French lessons, so I butchered the accent. I was just trying to impress you with my vast knowledge. How’d I do?”

  “Bring that same attention to chocolate cake, then we’ll talk.”

  “I’ll make certain the chef has that on tomorrow night’s menu.”

  Her mouth opened. “You can make that happen? Well why didn’t you say so before now? I’d have started dating you a month ago.” She fell back on the bed.

  Damn, she was tempting in her half-nakedness.

  He went to turn off the bathtub faucet. “Naked,” he warned. “Bonus if you’re on your knees waiting when I return.” With that, he headed down the stairs.

  “Pretend you don’t see the mess,” she called out.

  It wasn’t a mess. But it was a revealing glimpse of her personality.

  Her shoes, pantyhose and thong were all still in a pile, so he moved the shoes into the coat closet and placed the undergarments on the entryway table.

  He found light switches, and as he walked through to the kitchen, he saw that she decorated with lots of photos, mostly of family members, he guessed. She wasn’t in many of them.

  Her kitchen was exactly as he’d expected. Lived in. A cup with a splash of coffee in the bottom sat on the countertop. The coffeemaker had a half-full carafe. A bowl had been rinsed and left in the sink.

  A framed trivet was hung above the stove. It read Divorce made me what I am today. Happily single.

  Something she’d bought for herself? Or a gift from a well-meaning friend?

  One surprise was the yellow legal pads. On almost every flat surface. On a counter, the bar, the table in the adjoining breakfast nook. If he remembered correctly, there had been one on the entryway table, as well.

  He was addicted to technology. He jotted numerous notes through the day, but he did it on his phone, which automatically synched to his home and work computers. Still, he saw the appeal of what she did, the creativity with different colored pens and the size of the writing. Some words were large, others almost needing a magnifying glass. Most of it wasn’t legible to him, but there were arrows and stars and one note was outlined in something that looked like a cloud.

  He sought out glasses and found two in a nearby cabinet. The corkscrew was buried beneath a dozen other gadgets, telling him she really was a boxed-wine kind of woman.

  He selected a bottle of red and looked at the label. An Argentinian Malbec, something he would have stocked. Then he opened the wine and set it aside to breathe.

  Her two-level home was in a brick building with a flat roof. Not his usual style, but the sleek, open spaces worked for him. He saw only a couple of doors. Hardwood floors were polished to a gleam, with only the bathrooms and kitchens tiled.

  She had numerous lighting choices—recessed, pendant, chandeliers. Oversized windows to let nature in. He could see why this appealed to her.

  The bar was covered with stacks of papers, magazines, newspapers, bills.

  He wandered over.

  His name jumped out so he picked up the pad.

  An architectural magazine featuring State Street Plaza had been tossed aside.

  Her notes on this page were under the heading of who to contact. She’d been thinking about him, but had changed her mind, obviously.

  So what did she do for a living that she spent her time making these kinds of notes? And why had she marked him off her list?

  After putting the pad back, he splashed less than an ounce of the Malbec into his glass. More from habit than because he was a snob, he swirled his glass then sniffed the wine before tasting it.

  Though it likely wasn’t a pricey wine, it was excellent. Another thing he’d learned from his sommelier. A good bottle of wine didn’t have to cost a fortune.

  Before going back upstairs, he poured himself a full glass and filled hers halfway. Seemed a sacrilege to dilute such a nice wine. He winced when he dropped in ice cubes and added a spritz of club soda.

  He nearly stumbled when he saw her inside the doorway, on her knees, head bowed, gaze cast down, hands linked behind her head. As he’d instructed, she’d removed her dress and bra.

  Kennedy hadn’t really expected that she’d comply with his request. And to see that she’d done it, and so perfectly, so pleasingly, made his gut tighten.

  A renegade part of him wondered what it might be like to come home at the end of the day and find her waiting for him in much the same way. The idea appealed to him. “Sensational,” he said.

  He placed both glasses on the nightstand and helped her to stand. “Let me see you.”

  She turned her back to him. Then, in a move so totally natural and wonderful it walloped him, she spread her legs and bent to grab her ankles.

  Because he couldn’t help himself, he moved in and outlined some of the faint marks left by his belt.

  Her breath hitched but she remained in position.

  He stepped away and she slowly straightened then pivoted to face him. This time she tipped back her chin then cupped her breasts and lifted them to him.

  In his years at BDSM parties and clubs, he’d had the opportunity to watch a lot of couples, even threesomes. He’d seen plenty of Doms with their subs. Most these days were low protocol couples, but some still adhered to a more formal convention, including more of a Master/slave relationship. But this, the way Mackenzie was offering herself to him, rocked him back on his heels. “Thank you for this,” he said as he moved his thumb pads across her nipples, making them pucker.

  Now that he’d had a taste of her, he knew he couldn’t let her go. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

  She closed her eyes. “Yes… Sir.”

  With his gaze fixed on her, he tightened his grip. “Does this get you wet, Zee?”

  “It does,” she confessed. “I love nipple play.”

  “But you don’t have clamps of your own?”

  “No.”

  “Clothespins?”

  “I do have some, plastic ones.”

  “Good. We’ll use those later.” He released one nipple so that he could stroke her pussy and slip his finger inside her. “You are wet.”

  “Seems to happen a lot when you’re around.”

  The musky scent of her arousal made his cock hard again. His raw, carnal desire for her stunned him. He’d been attracted to women before, but not like this.

  He continued to toy with her until she started to whimper. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes…”

  He squeezed her nipple harder and sucked the other into his mouth, all while lightly touching her pussy, not enough to get her off, just enough to keep her on edge.

  “Kennedy!”

  “Mm?”

  “I…”

  He lifted his head and loosened his grip on her nipple and lowered his other hand. She drummed her fingers on the outside of her thighs.

  “That’s mean. Mean, Sir,” she protested, opening her eyes and lifting her head to look at him.

  S
he wore a scowl that made him want to grin. He was too smart to actually do it, though. “I want you to be thinking about it. About me. About us. Wondering what’s next. When it will happen. Even while we’re talking about other things, I want it in the back of your mind.”

  “It’s at the forefront right this moment.”

  He dug his fingers into her hair, holding her prisoner. “I like having you on edge.”

  “Just two more minutes,” she pleaded. “I was almost there.”

  “How does your clit feel?”

  “Achy. Throbby.”

  “And it wouldn’t take much?”

  “Are you kidding? All of my nerve endings feel as if they’re ignited.”

  “Show me.”

  She was silent.

  “The way you masturbated in the car was hot. But since I was driving, I didn’t get to watch.”

  “That was embarrassing enough.”

  “I don’t want you hiding from me,” he responded. “Show me.” He released the hold he had on her head.

  “This is under duress.”

  “Duly noted.” He picked her up and carried her the few steps to the bed and placed her on the edge.

  She started to scoot away, but he clamped a hand on her knee.

  “I was just going to put my head on a pillow.”

  “Lie back,” he instructed.

  “Right here?”

  Instead of answering her, he raised an eyebrow. “I think we’ve discussed stalling before.”

  She exhaled. “Fine.”

  Again he fought to suppress a grin.

  She parted her legs, and he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and moved it to within a few inches of her.

  “You’re not really going to sit there. That close?”

  “Yes. Really. I am.”

  “How do you even dream up this stuff?”

  “Zee, this is only the beginning of what I have planned for you.”

  Her ribs rose with her frustrated huff.

  “Let me get you started.” He moistened a finger and slid it into her hot cunt. “You’re right. This shouldn’t take you long.” He crooked his finger to her G-spot.

  Her hips all but levitated off the mattress.

  “Put your right hand between your legs.”

  When she did, he guided it across her pussy.

  She moaned. The fact he was there, participating, seemed to be enough to loosen her inhibitions.

  “Keep going, Zee.”

  He pushed back the chair then went to the master closet to find clothespins.

  When he returned, carrying a handful, she had her hand between her legs. “Work it,” he instructed.

  “What are those for?”

  “Your clit if you don’t do as you’re told.”

  She yelped, but then she closed her eyes and followed instructions.

  “Good girl.”

  While she masturbated, he stood over her and tweaked her nipples to erectness. Then he released a clip onto each.

  She arched with the additional pressure and cried out.

  “So hot watching you do this for me.”

  “It is for you,” she said. “No one else. Ever.”

  “Faster.”

  “I…” She frowned, but she did as she was told.

  “Now stop.”

  Her breaths were ragged, but she moved her hand away.

  He tormented her for a minute until her head rolled to the side, then he gave her cunt a hard, sharp slap.

  She screamed.

  “Play with yourself,” he urged.

  He hooked a foot around the leg of the chair and pulled it in closer before sitting down, barely inches from her pussy. “Keep going.”

  Kennedy smelled the sharpness of arousal. She was close. And he was every bit as hot as she was.

  He picked up her ankles and propped them on his shoulders.

  “Sir?”

  “Go with it.” This changed her angle, and it allowed him access, too. Even though she was feverishly stroking her swollen cunt, he eased a finger inside her.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” She’d managed to blend it into a single, hungry word.

  Ignoring her, he withdrew the damp finger from her then pressed it into her ass.

  “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “Not yet, I’m not.” With his free hand, he placed the other two clothespins on her inner thighs.

  “I can’t… It hurts too much… Just…”

  He finger-fucked her ass harder and faster.

  She leveraged her ankles off his shoulders.

  “I… Master Aldrich!”

  He penetrated her vagina with three fingers from his free hand. Her pussy clenched around him, and her ass was all but vibrating. Her legs went rigid as her ankles pressed down on him. Then he turned to gently sink his teeth into the delicate skin of her inner thigh, an inch or two from one of the clothespins.

  “Fuck,” she whispered.

  “Now.”

  She screamed. Her body jerked and she wrapped her arms around herself, just beneath her breasts.

  “Beautiful, beautiful,” he said.

  His submissive woman took a few stuttering breaths and gave a huge sigh. He told her she was fabulous as he eased his fingers from her pussy and her butt. Then he plucked off all the clothespins.

  “Fuckity fuck,” she said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “Better to do it fast.”

  “Says you who’ve probably never had them on his body.”

  “True,” he agreed. “We’ll try it again, and I’ll do it slower. You can provide the comparison for me.”

  “I’m good with waiting a while.” She rubbed her nipples with her palms.

  “I’m happy to do the experiment while you’re already so gorgeously displayed.”

  “No, really. I’m sure you’re right.”

  He laughed.

  She rolled her head from side to side to work out her muscles. “You set me up.”

  “I did,” he said without remorse.

  “All along you intended that to be a… What would you call it?”

  “Joint masturbation?” he suggested.

  “That works.”

  He tossed the clothespins on the mattress. “I’m going to fuck you in that position soon,” he said as he slid one of her ankles off his shoulder.

  “Are you?”

  “I want to be your nipple clamps.”

  She opened her eyes then. The blue was lighter than it had been earlier.

  “I think you probably pinch harder.”

  “You’re hoping so.”

  “Am I? They’re already sore.”

  He lowered her other leg then helped her to sit up. “Satiation looks good on you.”

  “It feels pretty good, too,” she confessed.

  He picked up their glasses and led the way into the bathroom. Since the water had cooled, he turned on the faucet to warm it back up.

  “This is decadent,” she said, testing the temperature with her toes.

  She climbed into the tub and lay back, and he offered her a sip of wine before saying, “Scoot forward.”

  “What?” She sputtered on the drink. “Are you getting in with me?”

  “Move it, subbie.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I said move it.”

  She kept her gaze feasted on him while he dropped his trousers. He scooped them up and hung them from the hook on the back of the door.

  She followed his order then took another drink. “You really are compulsive.”

  “I wasn’t always. But since my father’s illness, I’ve become more so.” Until now, he hadn’t realized that about himself. At UT Austin, he and his roommate had lived a typical bachelor lifestyle. They’d cleaned when a girl came to visit or when parents had shown up. But after he’d starting dating Samara in college, he’d preferred to hang-out at her place.

  At grad school, he’d still partied, but not like he had while attending UT. And putting thi
ngs back where they belonged had helped him manage priorities and stay focused. As he’d started to take over the businesses, bought a house and cars, he’d needed to have things more and more structured.

  “Tell me about your dad,” she invited as he climbed in behind her. Then unexpectedly he pulled her back against him, settling her between his thighs and splashing water outside the tub.

  To her credit, she saved the wine by lifting the glass and holding it steady.

  “This bath isn’t big enough for the two of us,” she protested.

  “Plenty of room.”

  “If you weren’t so big.”

  “Stop complaining or I’ll put you on my lap.”

  “Then I’ll get cold.”

  “There you are.”

  “Fine.” She settled in against his chest.

  That was the real problem, he realized. Her settling in. With him. With any man, most likely.

  He curved his right arm around her and reached for his glass with the other.

  “Your dad,” she prompted.

  “Thomas,” he said. “He’s like his father before him and his father before him. You get the idea. Hardworking, high expectations. Never deviated from the norm.” Now that he’d said that, he wondered if it was true. How well did he know his parents? “I think the health issues have come from the constant stress.” He shrugged and drank. “But maybe not. Maybe he should have taken better care of himself.”

  “And your mom?”

  “Jacqueline. Considers it her only duty to ensure I produce an heir. I was bemused that she survived the Chantelle implosion. But I think she decided that was ammunition. Surely I’ve sowed my oats.”

  “Sown.”

  He kissed the top of her head.

  “You call your parents by their first names?”

  “I have since I was a teenager. To keep distance,” he admitted. “When I was younger, I wanted my independence, didn’t want anyone telling me my future was preordained. It seemed like a burden.”

  “Still does?”

  “I’ve found that I enjoy the work, the challenge. It’s a fucking big responsibility, but I’ve got Thomas to call on, and I listen to his advice. I’ve started to do a fair amount of delegating. I learned that from Julien. He’s convinced he can’t do what he does best if he’s micromanaging everyone’s projects. So, he goes and does visionary things and lets others deal with the details.”

  “I’ve seen articles about him. His obsessiveness. That he fires anyone he considers incompetent.”

 

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