Mr. Sir
Jayne Kingston
Even the most dedicated Dom/sub couples are subject to the pitfalls of domesticity. Right?
Owen and Grace’s kinky life has become a thing of the past. It’s been a year since Owen’s job moved him to a new city and away from all of their old friends. New city, new friends, new house—no play. And it’s making both of them really cranky.
After Grace attempts to take matters into her own hands on their tenth wedding anniversary, Owen realizes he’s failing her as her Dom. He comes up with just the thing to get them back on track—a surprise that’s custom made to keep his feisty little sub bound and begging for more for years to come. At least if everything goes to plan.
Mr. Sir
Jayne Kingston
Chapter One
“I like that color on you, O.”
Owen looked at Sanders standing at the next urinal.
“It works well with your skin tone,” Sanders added with a wink.
Owen fixed him with a look that might have given another man a moment’s pause. “Eyes on your own dick for a change.”
Sanders chuckled, tucked and zipped. “Nothing like a humdinger to put a little sunshine in the ol’ workday, is there?” he asked, clapping him on the shoulder before he went to wash his hands.
Owen looked down and sure enough, there was a ring of vivid, cherry-red lipstick smudged around his cock.
How many times that day had someone walked by the desk stationed outside his office to comment on her lipstick? He’d been hearing things like, “Wow, Grace. Hot color. What’s the occasion?” and “I love that color on you. You should wear it more often,” all morning.
Sanders himself had even stopped to tell her she looked especially pretty on his way into Owen’s office earlier. The bastard.
Not that Owen blamed him. She did look finer than usual in the thin sweater and knee-length skirt she was wearing, both hugging her curvy body without showing too much. And the heels…
Christ, he was going to start pissing up the wall if he didn’t stop thinking about her.
She’d sent him a text just as the junior partner meeting was wrapping up.
Coming in to suck your cock in 5. Be ready.
It had beens the longest five minutes of his life followed by five of the most exquisite.
He’d been sure the clock had stopped several times, but then, at exactly the five-minute mark, he’d watched from his desk while she’d put her computer to sleep, wound that long dark-red hair of hers into a knot and secured it with two yellow No. 2 pencils.
She’d stepped into his office, closed the door and locked it silently while his dick, already rock hard and ready to go, had strained against his zipper in anticipation.
“You weren’t kidding,” he’d said, transfixed by the sway of her hips as she came around the desk like a woman on a mission.
“That would be a cruel joke, now, wouldn’t it?” She’d gone down on her knees and pantsed him as though she’d done it hundreds of times instead of just that once.
His heart had hammered in his throat as she’d slid her fingers up the insides of his thighs, her nails—also cherry-red—skimming across his skin. She’d cradled his dick with one hand and tucked the other into the crease where thigh met groin. Her thumb had stroked the ultrasensitive spot behind his balls, fraying the already-tenuous grasp he had on his self-control.
She’d given him a long, slow lick from root to tip, her hot, wet tongue undulating over his shaft. Blue eyes had raised to his, she licked the already-leaking slit, smiled up at him sweetly and gave it a loud, smacking kiss. She’d taken her sweet time circling the hard, sensitive head, had driven him full-steam ahead while also drawing out the anticipation.
He’d been ready to burst by the time she’d drawn him into her mouth, teasing him by sliding her lips over the ridged crown one, two, three times before sucking hard and taking him so far into her mouth he’d nudged the soft flesh at the back of her throat.
And then she’d gone in for the kill, moving in quick, short strokes followed by a long, hard suck, repeating the rhythm until he was panting hard. He’d gripped the arms of his chair, hands white-knuckled and fingers digging into the leather.
His head had slammed against the head rest when she’d added a little humming noise that sent shock waves through every single nerve ending in his body. Only her hands holding him steady had kept him from fucking upward into her mouth as he’d come in long, glorious, hip-jerking pulses, choking back a growl the entire floor would have heard if he’d let it loose.
She was already getting to her feet by the time he’d been able to pry his eyes open and unclench his jaw. He’d watched as though he was deep in a dream as she’d wriggled her skirt up, peeled one of his hands from the arm of his chair and slid it up the inside of her thigh. She’d been so aroused, she’d soaked through the thin lace of her panties.
“I cleared your schedule,” she’d said, sighing as he moved the fabric aside and started to work her. She’d opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a slip of paper and a garage door opener, of all things. “You have a late lunch reservation,” she’d added, tapping the paper with her fingernail before she’d eased away, pushed her skirt back down and composed herself.
The address she’d written was for a motel near the highway that was popular with certain people around the office. Each room had its own private entrance through a garage, ensuring the utmost discretion, should it be needed.
“How long is this lunch reservation?” He’d taken her hands when she offered them and let her pull him to his feet.
“We have two hours as long as you get there on time,” she’d answered mildly, crouching to pull his pants up his legs.
“Two hours?” He’d arched an eyebrow at her as he’d adjusted his cock—already looking forward to round two—back into his underpants. “I’m not going to make it two minutes I’m going to be so jacked up by the time I get there.”
The heavy fringe of her carefully mascaraed lashes had lifted and she’d given him a coy look.
“You and I both know that isn’t true,” she’d purred, straightening his skewed tie.
He’d let out a heavy breath and pressed his lips where her long neck curved into her shoulder. “I’m not going to make it to the motel at this rate,” he’d murmured against her skin, making her shiver.
She’d touched a fingertip to the center of his chest and he straightened. She’d been outwardly calm, cool and collected even though he could see the tight peaks of her nipples beneath her sweater and she was rosy-cheeked with arousal.
“You’re killing me, Gracie,” he’d breathed.
“Focus, Owen.” She’d helped him tuck his shirttails into his pants and had buttoned the button for him. “It’s only a few hours away.”
He’d zipped and buckled his belt. “What about the meeting with Ziegelski?”
She’d smoothed her hands over his chest to straighten the fabric of his shirt.
“Sanders will be sitting in for you.”
His eyebrows had shot up. “And how did you convince him to do that? He just told me this morning he had a ton of work to do before he went on vacation next week.”
She’d given him a wicked little smirk. “I have my ways.”
He’d dropped his eyebrows into a scowl and she laughed. “Not those kind of ways.” She’d given him the lightest of kisses and turned. “Let’s just say I know a little too much about the last time he took Stacy with him on that business trip to Vegas.”
“So clichéd,” he’d muttered, shaking his head.
She’d turned, one hand on the doorknob. “What’s that?”
He’d made sure all of his clothes were back in pl
ace, looked up.
“Having an affair with your secretary,” he’d said straight-faced.
She’d rolled her eyes, then jumped as the doorknob moved in her hand. They both had heard someone mutter something from the outside. Very carefully, she’d turned the lock without making even the smallest sound and pulled the door open.
Tim Greenburg had stood on the other side of the door, looking annoyed and confused.
“The handle wouldn’t turn,” he’d said. His eyes skimmed Grace and Owen had felt an unexpected urge to slap them out of his head.
Grace had smiled easily. “It sticks every once in a while. I’ll go call maintenance.”
Owen hadn’t heard a word Greenburg said for a minute. He’d watched Grace over his shoulder as she turned those huge eyes of hers his way, gave him a mischievous little smile, and pulled the pencils out of her hair.
“Sanders,” Owen said, going to the sink just as the hand dryer shut off.
Sanders gave him a look over his shoulder, tugging his shirt cuffs in place.
“This stays between you and me.”
Sanders looked offended. “Like you even had to mention it,” he said, and left.
Chapter Two
She was going to kill him. Dead.
Owen pulled into the motel garage and killed the engine. He seriously considered not going into the room for a moment, but decided getting it over with sooner rather than later would be better. There was no getting around it. He was close to an hour and a half late. She was going to have his balls.
He climbed out of the car with the garage door closing ominously behind him, making a quick escape virtually impossible, and steeled himself for the onslaught that was surely waiting for him on the other side of the door.
He opened the door with an apology hanging off the tip of his tongue and stopped.
Maybe he’d get to keep his balls a little longer.
Grace was sound asleep in the middle of the room’s enormous bed. Her long, gorgeous red hair spread over the pillow, a sharp contrast to the black of the sheets he recognized as theirs—she had a thing about motel sheets—and the creamy white of her fair, redhead complexion.
He and his cock forgot all about the late hour as he took in the sight of her, barely covered in lacy black bra and panties, a black silk scarf tied around her neck like a man’s necktie, the ends lying between her breasts.
He knew then more than ever he was the luckiest asshole on the planet to have landed a woman like her, and not just because she was stop-traffic gorgeous. She made his entire universe run like clockwork. She was his best friend and his life partner. Together they’d created a home he couldn’t wait to return to at the end of the workday. She’d given him two beautiful, wildly rambunctious sons that filled that home to overflowing with messy, noisy, glorious love—a far cry from his own childhood home.
And she’d loved him with that body in ways that surpassed even his wildest dreams. She’d looked deep into his soul and embraced his darkest fantasies, taken him by the hand and taught him that he wasn’t sick or perverted. Not even a little.
He ground his teeth together and propped his hands on his hips as he considered. He could let her sleep, because God knew she needed it, but there was also still plenty of time to wake her up and properly thank her for the surprise she’d given him earlier. There was, he rationalized, no reason to waste the room and the opportunity to have a little noisy fun without the risk of being overheard by impressionable young ears.
His cock, hard and pushing against the confines of his suit pants, agreed.
He started to loosen his tie, turned to find a place to lay his clothes and nearly stumbled over a chair he hadn’t noticed standing in the middle of the room.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, unable to believe what he was seeing.
On the chair, centered perfectly in the middle of the seat cushion, sat the duffle bag.
He hadn’t seen it in too long. It had disappeared from the bedroom closet shortly after they’d moved into the new house a year earlier. They’d thought they’d kept it hidden well enough until the afternoon the boys went screaming through the house, Ian wearing Grace’s collar with Liam hot on his heels, wielding the riding crop.
Owen reached a tentative hand into the bag and pulled out the crop. The folded leather on the business end was a little stiff and bent at a funny angle from being stored and unused for the past year, but it was still in pretty good condition. He gripped it in his fist and it softened almost instantly, a sharp contrast to his cock, stiff to the point of aching with the longing simmering inside him.
He couldn’t bring himself to reach in the bag for anything else. He could see it—the lengths of rope still tied in neat loops, the leather cuffs and locking collar. He didn’t want to touch any of it. The disappointment of what he’d missed by not being able to get to the motel on time would crush him if he gave it too much thought.
He set the crop aside and checked his watch. The afternoon wasn’t a complete waste, but he’d have to get moving if he was going to make it up to her even a little. He undressed quickly, took the riding crop to the bed and knelt beside her legs.
She was sleeping so soundly that her breathing didn’t even change as he bent her legs at the knee and moved them to the side, rolling her from the waist so she was still on her back with her bottom exposed to him. He shook her and called her name once but she didn’t flinch.
Holding the crop in his teeth, he leaned his weight on her legs with one hand, raised the other high and brought it down with an ear-splitting crack to her ass. She started to thrash immediately, but he held tight. He caught her wrist with one hand as she took her first swing and angled his body so the ball of his shoulder took the blow of the second. She stopped flailing just as quickly as she came awake.
“Sorry,” she panted, opening her hands and showing him her palms.
He released her wrist, took his weight off her and the crop out of his mouth.
“No, baby,” he said, leaning over her, hands on either side of her head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Ziegelski came into my office right before the meeting. I’m really late.”
“What?” She moved to sit up but touched her shoulder and she lay back. “What time is it?”
“There’s still time,” he told her, stroking her cheek with the end of the crop. “Just not enough time for this.”
“God damn it, Owen,” she said, turning her face away from the touch.
“I know. I’m sorry, love.” He trailed the leather down her neck and through the valley between her breasts. “That’s not to say the afternoon is completely lost,” he added quietly, circling one hardening nipple through the lace of her bra with the crop. “You know I can get a lot done in half an hour.”
She slid him a withering look. “That’s not what I wanted. I had to practically move heaven and earth to make this anniversary special.” Her nostrils flared. “It’s our tenth.”
“I know,” he assured her, using his calming voice.
“And it’s been so fucking long.” Her voice trembled on the last word.
He felt just as whiny as she sounded.
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want just half an hour.”
He could see how badly she needed it. He’d been feeling prickly lately as well. They hadn’t had any real playtime in too long—not since her parents had moved away right before he’d been transferred. Months earlier, when his parents had come to visit for a week and took the boys to the movies, he’d laid her out on the dining table with her wrists tethered to her ankles and had his way with her, but that hardly counted. The excitement of a few stolen moments combined with having her tied up that way turned out to be too much. They’d both come faster than a couple of eager teenagers.
He nipped at her bottom lip, kissed it, tasted it with his tongue. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He sat back on his haunches and swung one of her legs over his lap so he was seated between them.
“When?” she demanded, gripping his hair when he went up on all fours over her.
“Soon,” he promised, biting and kissing at her upper lip in turn.
“I wanted it—”
He cut her off by taking her mouth, sinking his tongue in deep and making her groan. He knew exactly what she was going to say now. She could be demanding for a woman who knew her place well, but there wasn’t time to let her get away with any behavior he couldn’t properly punish her for right then.
She started to drag her right heel up his calf as she raised her leg, but he put his hand on her knee and very gently pushed it back down. He straightened above her. Her eyelids drifted open most of the way, her eyes met his as he continued to trail the crop down the length of her body.
“What did you think I was going to do with this?” he asked with a smirk, sliding the fingers of his free hand under the scarf.
The color in her cheeks brightened. “I couldn’t find the blindfold.”
He lowered his brows into a fierce look and shook his head slowly. “As though you get to decide whether you get to wear the blindfold or not.” He’d wound the silk, warm from lying on her body, around his fist and pulled gently. She rose toward him and he gave her another possessive kiss. God, he wanted to devour her.
He let her go suddenly and rose to standing on his knees, making small circles around her bellybutton, trailing lower to stroke the mound of her sex through the nearly transparent fabric of her panties. The sight of her lying there spread open for him had his cock straining, standing straight up, aching.
She flinched, her lush mouth fell open and she gasped when he tapped the end of the crop against the sweet flesh over her clit. He tapped her very gently at first, slowly increasing the pressure until he gave her one sharp flick that had her back arching off the bed. His dick jerked in response to the long moan that slid out of her throat when he did it a second time.
“Take off your bra,” he told her, stroking the leather down the inside of her thigh.
Mr. Sir (Ball & Chain) Page 1
