The Christmas She Rules

by Jennifer Leeland

  “Because I’m going to be disrespectful and when I am, I don’t want an audience.”

  Her breath caught and her eyes widened. For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse, but instead she turned and strode toward a staircase. “I don’t need a key. I have a room for my own use here.” She mounted the stairs and he followed her.

  The silence between them was tense and crackled with something electric. Instead of worrying him, it turned him on. By the time they reached the bedroom his cock was straining against his pants. She flicked open the door and walked in. When she reached the center of the room, she whirled and faced him. “What do you want from me? We didn’t know each other. Why are you here?”

  “I deserve an explanation.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “David implied that you did. Was he lying?”

  The flash of pain and fear was hard to see in her face and it was gone so quickly he wondered if he’d seen it. “I have nothing to say.”

  “Fine. Then all bets are off.” He stalked her.

  She glared at him and held her ground. “You don’t frighten me.”

  “Who said I was trying to frighten you?” He reached for her corset and untied one tie and then another. And another.

  Her hands slapped at his. “I did not give you permission to touch me.”

  “That would imply we were playing,” he said as he undid another tie. Her breasts spilled out. “And that I’m your submissive. You said I wasn’t. I’m just a man, just another token cock.”

  “You’re not my submissive.” The last word was a gasp as his fingers rolled her nipple between them. He loved the way they turned a dusky burgundy and peaked in his hand.

  “No? Then we can just fuck like regular people.” He stopped and met her gaze. “Is that what you want, Pamela? Just vanilla sex?”

  She blinked and then he cupped her breasts in his hands and stroked both her erect peaks at the same time. “No,” she gasped.

  “Then what do you want?” He dipped his head down and captured one of her nipples with his lips. She arched into his mouth, her hands clasped around his head to grasp him closer.

  She twined her fingers in his hair and she wrenched his head away from her body. She met his gaze with hers. “I want to fuck you. Now.”

  He drowned in the need in her heated stare and lowered his gaze. “Yes, Mistress.”

  She sighed and stepped into the circle of his arms. “Do you have any idea how hot it makes me when you call me that?”

  “No. Tell me.”

  As she stroked his neck and pressed a knee into his hard dick, she murmured, “It makes me so hot I want to brand you as mine. I want to mark your ass with a hot brand that will burn your skin and make you sweat with the pain.” She made a low hum in the back of her throat as her lips claimed his.

  She thrust her tongue in his mouth and he melted. He was hers. Whatever happened, whether she refused to sign a contract with him or not, he was her submissive. He loved her, but he didn’t tell her. He was sure it would scare her.

  When his hands wandered, she brought the crop he’d forgotten she had up and smacked his hand viciously. He growled and she reached down with her free hand and grasped his balls. Her face was filled with determination. “These are mine. Say they’re mine.”

  He groaned. “They’re yours. All yours.”

  Her touch softened and she stroked his penis with long, hard scratches through his jeans with her nails. He shuddered. She undid his jeans with a jerk and shoved them down. She released him for a split second when she grabbed a condom and ripped it open. He groaned when she slid the condom over his length. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and brought the crop up to slap his ass. “Mine. Your ass is mine. Say it.”

  “My ass is yours.”

  “And I can fuck it whenever I want.”

  He met her gaze. “You can fuck it whenever you want.”

  She stopped and something vulnerable filled her eyes, something so wrenching he wanted to wrap her in his arms to shield her from it. “And you’ll tell me when it’s too much when I go too far.”

  So that was it. Instinctually, he knew there was something there, some damage. Without hesitation, he answered, “I’ll use my safeword, Mistress. I swear it.”

  Her lower lip trembled so slightly he might have missed it if it wasn’t for the fact he watched every twitch, every tick of her muscles. He leaned in and then halted. “Mistress, may I kiss you?”

  “Yes.” She breathed the word out. He captured her lips and moved over them with a light brush at first. But when she dug her nails into his scalp he increased the pressure. Then he lost his mind. He devoured her, absorbed every sensation he could. He buried his hands in her hair, a first, and bent her backward over one arm. He wanted to meld with her, own her the way she owned him, brand her emotionally the way she branded him.

  They tumbled to the carpet and he landed on top of her. He thought she’d resist it, but instead, her stiletto heels dug into his bare ass and she thrust her hips against his aching cock. He moaned and bit her neck, her shoulder, traveling down until he reached her tits. Each one received special attention on his way down, down. He reached the button of her leather pants and he glanced up toward her face. Her hands were splayed on either side of her head, one hand still holding the crop. Her gaze met his and she smiled.

  “Take them off, Christian.” He lifted a hand, but she threatened him with her crop. “With your teeth.”

  He grinned and went to work. First the button, then he tongued her navel. Then the waist of the pants came down inch by inch. She lifted her hips and he bit her thigh. She jerked and shuddered. He smelled the scent of her excitement while he lowered her pants. She moaned when his teeth grasped her thong. He flicked his tongue out as he slid her underwear down her legs. She arched her back and tossed her head. He finished and then loomed over her. “What now, Mistress?” He voice was gritty and rough to his own ears. He longed to thrust inside her, claim her.

  “Make me come,” she demanded, her gaze on his face.

  He wanted to watch her come. He wanted to see her face. She hadn’t been specific about how. He shifted and brought his hard cock to lie on her clit. He’d fuck her without being inside her. He’d use his dick to make her come.

  He rubbed her clit with long, hard slides and noted how she gasped and a flush spread over her chest. He didn’t touch any other part of her, just his penis against her clit. He loved the way her breasts swayed and her mouth parted. Her eyes glazed over and she choked when she found her release. Her body shuddered from her orgasm and he slammed inside her. He groaned and thrust his cock in her warm, waiting hole. She screamed as he filled her.

  He lost control. With a growl, he grabbed her hips and pounded her. Her pussy tightened around him and his cock was bathed in the warmth and sweet come. He opened his eyes. “Mistress,” he cried, begged. She knew. She had to know.

  “Come for me, Christian. Give it to me. Finish me.”

  He exploded inside her. It went on and on until he thought he’d die from it. He emptied more than his cock. He drained his very soul inside her. It was almost a spiritual experience.

  When he opened his eyes, he was still spinning and his arms were shaking. She was panting and stared at him. “I love you,” she said and then closed her eyes as if waiting for a blow.

  “I love you too, Pamela,” he told her and kissed her. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  “I do owe you an explanation,” she told him.

  He kissed her nose. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”

  “I want to tell you now, while your cock is buried inside me.”

  “Tell me.”

  ***

  Somehow, with his cock embedded deep inside her and his body looming over hers, Pamela felt safe to tell him. “Roger was a Dom. He trained me, taught me to be a Mistress.” She bit her lip. “My brother—” How could she do this? What would Christian say?

  Christian tightened
his hold. “Go on.”

  “Frankie followed me into the lifestyle, but he was a submissive.” Memories of her brother flicked across her mind. His joy at finding a community that understood him. The way his eyes would light up when he talked about his play sessions. Frankie had loved the give and take of the D/s relationship. “He and Roger became lovers.” She cleared her throat. “Roger loved autoerotic asphyxiation.”

  Had Frankie liked it? Pamela had never thought he did. But maybe she was wrong. Too many things had gone unanswered that night. One thing she did know, the other Doms had been worried that Frankie didn’t say “no”, that he allowed Roger to go too far. She took a deep breath and finished the story. “Roger was an expert, but I think he and Frankie were beginning to take risks, go further than it was safe to go.”

  This was the tough part. That day. That horrible Christmas Day. “On Christmas Day, Roger and Frankie had sex under their Christmas tree. Roger used a plastic bag. Frankie was restrained, bound with rope.” Her throat ached. God, she didn’t want to remember that sight. Her brother’s blue face, blood oozing from the scrapes where the rope had bit into his skin and his naked body slumped under that fucking tree. “Roger didn’t realize he’d…” Tears clogged her voice and she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  Christian stroked her back and kissed her forehead. He stayed quiet while she tried to regain her voice. She took another deep breath. “Roger called me, panicked. I called 9-1-1 and rushed over to their house. By the time I got there, Roger had blown his brains out and I found them both dead.”

  “Jesus,” Christian exclaimed in a long breath.

  When she told him about her parents and the ensuing mess that followed, he kissed away the tears she shed. Her heart felt light, easy. His next words were perfect.

  “I won’t tell you not to blame yourself. It’s not your fault, but I see how you’d feel responsible.” He kissed her cheek. “I will tell you that you’re an amazing woman who has overcome incredible odds.” He met her gaze. “Think about all the people you’ve helped in the community. David told me you are one of the founding members of this one. Imagine how many people you’ve helped.”

  She cried, really cried, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her. “You’ve helped me. Even if you send me away, Pamela, I’m a better man because of you.”

  Her hands clenched around his arms. “I’m never sending you away. I love you.”

  He grinned. “Is that a contract?”

  Her lips trembled as she smiled. “The best kind.”

  She stopped him when he leaned in to kiss her, and he frowned. “What?”

  “There’s one more thing you should know.” She swallowed. Hardly anyone knew this secret and she hated revealing it. She closed her eyes. “It’s about my hair.”

  “I figured it was a wig.”

  “It is.” Her eyes flew open and she flicked the bobby pins away. Then she slid the wig off her head and waited for his reaction.

  He ran his hands through her real hair. It was short, curly, black. “You like it short?”

  She frowned. “My hair grows really fast. I donate my hair every year to Locks of Love for kids who lose their hair for medical reasons.” She searched his face for signs of rejection. “I wear a wig when I play. I thought you should see the real me.”

  His expression was completely besotted. She had a hard time believing the look was directed at her. He kissed her until they both groaned in unison. “I love you. All of you.” He tangled his fingers through her short, curly strands.

  A grandfather clock sounded in the hall. Midnight. It was Christmas Day. She kissed Christian. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

  “Merry Christmas, Mistress.”

  As she deepened the kiss, she thought this was one Christmas that she ruled, not her past. She was content, happy, and thought that was the best present she’d ever had.

  About the Author

  To learn more about Jennifer Leeland, please visit www.jenniferleeland.com. Send an email to Jennifer Leeland at writerjenleeland@yahoo.com.

  Five days. Close quarters. It’s enough to drive any woman crazy—or into submission…

  Reaction Time

  © 2008 Alannah Lynne

  Nikki Kincaid carries her smart mouth and in-your-face attitude like other women carry mace. But the sharpest parts of her razor tongue are reserved for Adam Guthrie, a man who sparks her body’s reaction time quicker than a green light. That out-of-control response terrifies her, because control is her middle name.

  When someone starts sending Nikki threatening letters, Adam jumps at her brother’s request to help protect her—whether she likes it or not. For the past year and a half he’s been watching her, analyzing her body language and cutting remarks, and has come to one definitive conclusion. She’s a sexual submissive in hiding.

  Five days in close quarters is exactly what Adam’s been waiting for—and Nikki’s idea of hell. Bringing her deepest desires to the surface will be the greatest challenge of his life. And, if he succeeds, his greatest reward.

  Warning: This title contains some dominance and submission, some light bondage and some sexy scenes that’ll make you want to lose control.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Reaction Time:

  Nikki Kincaid shook her head, almost feeling sorry for the kid in the piece-of-shit Honda next to her, revving his engine and signaling he wanted to race. She knew she shouldn’t accept his challenge. Street racing was dangerous, plus the pesky little detail that it was illegal. But dammit, it was fun.

  And she wanted to have a little fun for a change.

  Did the kid honestly think his one-hundred-and-fifteen-horsepower Civic could compete with her Shelby GT500? The power of her Mustang alone would leave him sitting at the light wondering what happened. Considering she had one of the fastest reactions times in the NHRA Pro Stock Drag Racing Series, when the light turned green she’d be a quarter mile down the highway before he could blink.

  She sighed. Three years. That’s how long it had been since she’d had any fun. That’s how long it had been since racing stopped being a choice and instead had become a job that carried an overwhelming responsibility. That’s how long it had been since racing ceased to be her true love and passion.

  But this little race would be like before—fun.

  She glanced around, checking to make sure there were no other vehicles in the way and no cops. Well, none other than her irritating passenger. Looking out the passenger window, she nodded once to the kid before returning her attention to the stop light. “That car sounds like a pissed off bumblebee,” she muttered beneath her breath, unable to believe the kid truly wanted to race.

  As the word “race” hit her brain circuitry, her body instinctively took over. Her left hand clenched the steering wheel while the fingers on her right twitched on the Hurst shifter. Her left foot mashed the clutch to the floor and the toes on her right flexed with the anticipation of stomping on the gas pedal.

  She flicked a casual sideways glance to her passenger, Adam “Tight Ass” Guthrie, off-duty detective and friend to her brother, Nate. Head bent over, eyes focused on the threatening letter she’d received that morning, he was oblivious to the kid next to him or the launched gauntlet.

  Nikki smiled as she considered the added bonus to this race. Tight Ass was gonna shit a brick.

  He would probably lecture her on yet another of her obligations—acting as a responsible role model. He would probably make the three-hour trip to Richmond miserable. He would probably do that anyway, so she might as well go for it now and have her fun.

  God, she could throttle Nate for insisting she have a weekend babysitter. The threats she’d received, the ones suggesting her health might fare better if she didn’t race anymore, seemed relatively harmless. But her ever-watchful big brother insisted she have protection. Tight Ass agreed with Nate’s cautious attitude, damn her bad luck, and had volunteered to take a couple days off to accompany her to the drag strip.

&nbs
p; Unfortunately, he was the last person she wanted to spend five days with.

  Maybe if she made his life hell he’d pack up and leave. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with him or the mix of unwelcome emotions his presence stirred in her.

  The left-turn lane got the green arrow and she zeroed in on it. Watching. Waiting. As soon as that light turned red, she’d get the green light.

  Yellow.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins like it always did at the starting line of a race.

  Red.

  She popped the clutch and mashed the gas at the exact instant her light flicked green. Tires squealed and her body slammed backwards into the seat from the forward thrust.

  Second gear.

  Third gear.

  The kid was still sitting at the light and she burst out laughing, imagining his face. Eyes wide, mouth dropped open. Friends in the car laughing their asses off at the spanking he’d just gotten.

  Fourth gear.

  Fifth gear.

  She cut her gaze to Tight Ass’s fingers embedded into the dashboard. He was wearing an expression she imagined was similar to the kid in the car. Pure shock.

  She threw her head back and enjoyed a rare, roaring laugh as she slid the shifter into sixth and eased her foot off the gas. One hundred ten was probably pushing it.

  “Stop!” her passenger demanded.

  She bit into her bottom lip to squelch the laughter and continued to let the car coast to a slower speed.

  “Stop the fucking car. Now.”

  “All right. All right. Give me a sec to get to the exit.” With feigned concern and a lot of humor, she asked, “Do you need a men’s room, or is the side of the road okay?”

  His lip curled back in a snarl.

  Holy shit. Eyes wide, she sucked in a startled breath. Much to her surprise, and dismay, Tight Ass was even hotter all riled up.

  She stopped on the side of the road and as she shut the car down, he shot out of his door, circled the car and yanked her door open. He grabbed her arm and jerked her from the car while she fought to shake him loose. “Let go of me,” she yelled.