When she made no effort to move or respond, he lifted her freed leg onto the table and moved to disconnect the other. He loosened the rope binding her wrists without completely untying it, pulled the edge of the sheet until her body was perilously close to the edge, and rolled her onto her stomach.
He couldn’t help but laugh to himself at the surprised sound she made as she flipped over and landed solidly on the padded table, facedown. He quickly got the rest of the sheet out from under her and gave her bare bottom a little pat.
“Up,” he ordered. “Ass only.”
She went up on her knees as he secured the rope holding her arms again. He removed the blindfold and tossed it aside, got two pillows from the cabinet and put them both under her hips, raising her ass to him without leaving her neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. While she was still blinking, trying to regain focus of her eyes, he got the crop out of the cabinet, stuck it in his back pocket where she couldn’t see it, and picked the whip up from the floor.
“You with me, baby doll?” he asked, touching the soft, split end to her cheek.
Her deep-blue eyes, all the bluer for the dark makeup that was now beautifully smudged by the mask, gave her a silent but unmistakable eat-shit-and-die look. He bit down on the handle and moved around to the head of the table again, letting the tail of the whip fall where it may.
He stroked her back, digging his fingers into the long muscles, kneading some of the tension out of them until she was practically purring and arching into his touch. He let the bulge of his cock rest against her bound hands, pretended he didn’t notice so he wouldn’t have to add to her punishment as her hand turned, cupped and stroked him. He rocked his hips, grinding into her touch as he leaned over her, hands splayed over the satiny-smooth skin of her gorgeous round ass.
He took the whip out of his mouth. “That feels good,” he told her approvingly, “but you’re not going to get out of it that easily,” he added, as though she’d initiated fondling him, and cracked the whip in the air very close to her hip.
She jumped and screamed, then screamed again, raw fear ripping the sound from her lungs as he snatched the crop out of his back pocket and struck her directly next to the scar on her hip with it.
“You fucker,” she screamed, instantly realizing he hadn’t hit her with the dreaded whip. “You fucking cocksucker.”
He chuckled. “I love you too, pet,” he cooed, and struck her again as he moved around to the foot of the table, his cock aching from the sight of the small welts as they raised on her clear skin.
Owen smacked her with the crop a dozen times in rapid succession, alternating sides and hesitating half a beat between hits. He smoothed his hands over her quickly reddening flesh, and got her another dozen times while she gasped and flinched with every stroke. She moaned and rocked back against him when he pulled her up higher on her knees and buried his face in her pussy, licking her slick folds and flicking his tongue over her clit.
She muttered something he didn’t quite understand when he backed off suddenly. Her arms pulled tight as she looked over her shoulder and stretched back, reaching for him with her ass, wanting more. He moved to the head of the table and took a long, rough pull from her mouth.
He threw both the whip and the crop to the floor impatiently and stalked to the cabinet for the paddle. She moaned and her eyes rolled closed for a moment. She loved the paddle even more than she hated the whip.
“All right, baby doll,” he said, using his this-is-going-to-hurt-you-much-more-than-it’s-going-to-hurt-me voice. “Twenty-four down and about another hundred to go. Let’s start with another twenty. Count down with me. And you’d better say it like you mean it,” he said brightly, and swung the paddle, landing it solidly on her ass.
Chapter Nine
At number thirteen on the next round, Grace’s head came up and she screamed, “God damn it, Owen. You keep hitting me in the same fucking spot and it hurts.”
His hand froze in midair, the leather-covered paddle shaking in his grip. He ground his teeth together to keep from laughing. Of course it fucking hurt.
“Well, well, well,” he said, laying the paddle carefully across the small of her back.
He knew damn well his aim was better than that. Although he had been in the same, sweet, fleshy area of her bottom just above the back of her thigh for a little while. His bare hand came down with a thunderous crack just above the spot in question.
Grace cried out and gave him a murderous look over her shoulder.
He cracked her again, slightly higher still. She dropped her forehead to the leather tabletop and screamed through clenched teeth. He smoothed his hand over her fiery-red flesh and swallowed a groan at the feel, the sight of it. Then slammed his open palm down again just above the last spot, but close enough she felt it.
Her entire body tensed and released. A long, guttural groan poured out of her throat as she crossed the threshold between fight and submission.
Owen climbed onto the table behind her with his knees between hers, pressed his cock into the seam of her ass and stretched out over her back. The heat radiating from her firm, round bottom through his pants onto his dick about sent him rocketing out of the stratosphere. The fine sheen of sweat covering her back mixed with the sweat on his chest. He shifted his hips and ground against her, took her earlobe between his teeth.
“Let’s try that again,” he told her. “What did you really mean to say?”
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.
“That’s more like it.” He sucked on her earlobe, making her ass wriggle against him deliciously, bit her neck, took his sweet time trailing nips and kisses along the sensitive curves of her back until she was quivering, begging for him to please fuck her, she needed it so bad.
“Not yet,” he said, picking up his paddle. “All right,” he told her cheerfully as he hopped off the table. “Since I lost count, let’s take this from the top, shall we?”
She moaned.
“From twenty,” he said, making sure the paddle landed as hard as he knew she could take it just above the spot that caused her to curse at him. Owen glanced stinging blows over the back of her thighs as she counted, her voice becoming more strained as the numbers grew smaller. He got no response at ten.
“What number was that?” he asked, his paddle positioned should she answer.
She didn’t answer.
He set the paddle aside and smoothed his hands over her fever-hot flesh.
“Are you still with me?” he asked gently.
She had her face turned almost completely into the padded tabletop and her breath was coming in short little pants. A single tear, inky from her mascara, rolled across the bridge of her nose.
“Please, Sir,” she whispered, the sound barely audible. She was so far under, her voice sounded otherworldly. “Please fuck me.”
Goddamn, he could come. A year or more out of practice and he could still push her this far. The power rush made him want to beat his chest with his fists and roar.
And to fuck her while she was in this state, when she may or may not know what was really happening, would have been nothing more than masturbation.
“What’s your safeword?” he asked, keeping his tone calm.
She let out a deep, unsteady breath. “Please.”
“Grace,” he barked, giving her the barest of slaps on the outside of her thigh.
“Yes,” she half hissed, half moaned. “More please, Sir.”
She was too far out of her head and he knew it. He very gently grazed his teeth over the tip of her spine and made her giggle in a deliciously distracted way. He touched his cheek lovingly to her red-hot bottom, reveling in the heat he’d caused, stroked her back and rallied himself to wait until she came back from wherever it was she’d gone.
When he felt her relax completely onto the table, he untied her hands and laid her arms at her sides to let her circulation come back on its own. He got the pillows out from under her hips and turned her onto her side, took h
er hair down and used the corner of the sheet to wipe her damp eyes, cleaning some of her ruined makeup off in the process.
He smiled at her when her eyes eventually drifted open.
“Hi,” he said, his heart swelling with the unbelievably huge love he had for her.
She smiled and blinked slowly. “I missed you, Sir,” she whispered, weakly lifting her hands one at a time so he could unlock her cuffs.
He paused long enough to kiss her softly. “I missed you too, baby doll.”
Her eyes closed again and she was still while he unlocked her ankle cuffs. He removed her collar and let it fall open, picked her up in his arms and carried her to the chair in the corner. He sat, draping her legs over one arm while resting her upper body on the other.
“The room is tits,” she told him, shifting her hips as she settled in his lap without sitting directly on her tender bottom.
“You are tits,” he said with a laugh, kissing her gently when she angled her face toward his.
He let one hand rest gently on her ass while the other cradled her head. Her arms came up around his neck and gripped him tight. He could tell she was going to come back with a vengeance when she returned from whatever realm she went to when she went deep. He braced himself.
A fireball burst through her entire body as her head dropped back into reality. She could feel his long, thick cock against her side. That combined with the dreamy way he was kissing her was the equivalent of pouring gasoline into a bonfire. She wasn’t going to be able to get him inside her fast enough.
He practically lifted her in the air himself when she started to shift so she was straddling him, her unsteady hands fumbling with the zipper of his unbuttoned jeans. He sucked in a sharp breath as she clutched his incredibly hard cock and angled herself over him while he attempted to wriggle his jeans down his hips.
The sound of the groan that rumbled up out of his chest tore through her as she touched his hot, swollen head to her cunt and sat down hard. The first jolt of her orgasm caused her back to arch and her hips to grind down on him. She braced her hands on his shoulders, raised herself up on wobbly legs, and lost her fucking mind.
She could hear herself calling out his name as she rode him wildly, crest after teeth-jarring crest crashing through her from where he filled her to impossibly full outward. His grunts and gasps, equally as desperate as hers, filled her ears, electrifying the tips of her fingers and burning through her nipples, her clit.
And when she didn’t think she could take any more, he gripped her hips and fucked wildly up into her, pushing her farther over the edge of bliss than she ever thought possible as he came with a gloriously primal growl.
She collapsed against his chest even as he continued to pulse and throb inside her. She pressed her lips to his sweaty neck, touched her tongue to his salty skin, breathed in the heady smell their bodies made together. Eventually he went completely slack beneath her, panting for breath, their bodies still connected.
“Fucking hell, Grace,” he said after a very long time. “I hate to say we should wait a year again, but maybe we should wait a year again.”
She smiled into the curve of his shoulder.
“I still can’t feel my toes,” he added, stroking her bottom lightly.
She winced. Then she thumped his shoulder with her fist and sat up.
“The whip was a dirty trick,” she scolded, and thumped him again.
He laughed, then dropped into his stern face. “The whip was long overdue.” He touched his fingers, still full of the unmistakable smell of her arousal, to her lip just under her nose.
Remarkably, her body sprang to life instantly.
“Tell me not to use it again and I won’t.” He slipped two fingers into her mouth.
She sucked and his eyes flashed dark.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, smirking as his cock, which hadn’t yet gone soft, jerked within her. “You want to take this upstairs like normal people?”
She angled her head back until his fingers almost slipped free, then sucked them back in and shook her head.
“Did I tell you the builder who custom-made that table asked for my specific leg measurements?” he asked conversationally, taking his fingers out of her mouth.
“You didn’t,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck as he shifted toward the edge of the chair.
“Well, I did. And do you know what that means?” he asked, getting his arms under her as he stood with her clinging to him.
“I really don’t.” She knew full well where he was going with that.
“That means,” he set her carefully on the edge of the table, “that your sweet pussy should be at exactly the right height for me when I’m standing here, comfortably.” He gasped as though he was surprised when she lay back without him slipping out of her. “Well, would you look at that.”
“Best anniversary present ever,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist as she reached for him. She needed his mouth, his body pressed to hers. She needed to be touching as much of him as possible. “How are you going to top this next year?”
Mercy, he was rock hard again as he sank deeper.
“I’ll think of something,” he promised.
Chapter Ten
“You’ll be back at your desk on Monday,” Owen said, bringing Grace out of a doze.
She opened her eyes and looked up from where her head rested on his shoulder. He lifted his head from the edge of the deep, claw-foot bathtub and smiled.
“Turns out it was Tim, not Sanders, who went to Ziegelski.”
She frowned. “Tim?”
“He was in the bathroom the day Sanders was giving me a hard time about the lipstick.” His smile widened when she giggled. “We had no idea he was in the room.”
She gasped and her eyes went wide. “He overheard us talking the day he came in after Ziegelski reamed us,” she said. “He’s the reason I was moved from my desk.”
Owen nodded.
“Why would Tim go to the boss about something like that? It’s not like he’d be considered for partner even if he had something more than a little office indiscretion to use against you.”
He shrugged one gorgeous shoulder, stirring up the fragrant scent of the milk and honey bath when the water rippled.
“Apparently he thought if he could come up with some dirt on Sanders and I, he’d have a chance.” He rolled his eyes. “And Stacy isn’t sleeping with Sanders. She’s been telling everyone she is so he looks bad to Ziegelski.”
“Let me guess. She’s really having an affair with Tim.”
He simply smiled in response. He took the washcloth draped over the side of the tub, soaked it and squeezed the water over her chest where it was exposed over the surface of the opaque water.
“Tim knows what a puritan Ziegelski is,” he said. “He’s been playing into the boss’s high moral standards to try to get on his good side.”
“If he’d put as much effort into doing his job well as he did trying to mess things up for everyone else, he might actually be in the running.”
“Right?” He gently stroked the washcloth over her neck.
She practically purred at the feel of his touch. “Poor Stacy.”
He snorted. “Poor Stacy knew exactly what she was getting into.”
She shook her head. “I really don’t think she did. She’s a good worker, but she’s not that bright. He probably fed her enough bullshit she thought she’d attached her star to the right comet tail.”
He was quiet for so long she looked up at him again.
“Don’t worry about Stacy,” he told her, his tone serious. “She’s not the innocent little rube you might think she is.”
She sat straight up and looked at him over her shoulder. “What does that mean?”
He sighed, clearly realizing he should have kept his mouth shut.
“I think Stacy had her own reasons for wanting to get you away from your desk.”
“I’ll kill that little bitch,”
she muttered.
His eyebrows shot up and he laughed. The warm, quiet sound immediately squashed the flash of anger that threatened to ruin the bliss of the moment.
She would have bet everything she held dear that her husband had given the little slut the same amused look he was wearing right then when she made her pass at him.
“What did she do?” she asked, settling back against his chest again.
“It doesn’t matter.” The washcloth disappeared under the water as he ran it down her chest between her breasts. She could feel his cock stir against her back.
“I want to know,” she told him, sighing as the cloth stroked her beneath the swell of her breasts, then brushed ever so lightly across one then the other of her nipples.
“She attempted to do the same thing you did for our anniversary.”
“Suck your cock?” She rolled her eyes. “How original.”
“For the record,” he added, “she landed ass up with her face in the carpet when I rolled my chair away from her as fast as I could. I warned her she got one free fuckup, but if she did it again I was going to tell my wife.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “And I made it very clear she did not want me to tell my wife.”
“Damn straight she doesn’t,” she muttered, shifting her hips between his legs as the cloth trailed down her stomach. The water rippled again as he laughed silently.
Grace draped one leg over the side of the tub when he abandoned the cloth and slipped his fingers between the folds of her sex.
He hummed near her ear. “Maybe I should tell you every time one of the girls at the office hits on me,” he murmured, stroking her clit gently. “Look what it does to you,” he observed, toying with her.
“I’m clearly still not thinking straight,” she responded, bringing her arms around his neck from behind to pull him down for a kiss.
She could feel his cock swelling further, pressing against the small of her back, and marveled at how easy he still was, even all these years later.
Mr. Sir (Ball & Chain) Page 6
