by Desiree Holt
“If that thing isn’t buried in me in the next couple of minutes, I don’t know what I’ll do,” I murmured between kisses.
“Beg?” Marcus suggested. “Oh, that sounds like an idea…”
The lift came to a halt at our floor. Barely able to keep our hands off each other, we stumbled out into the corridor. Marcus fumbled for his key card, his mask of control slipping for just a moment as he slotted into the door the wrong way round, before quickly correcting his mistake.
“Demerit point,” I murmured in his ear, laughing.
“Why, you cheeky little minx…” He dragged me inside, threw me down on to the bed. I looked up at him, seeing beyond Marcus the master to Marcus my friend, my lover, the man I wanted so badly. What he thought as he looked back at me, I couldn’t presume to know. Already he was reaching for a tub on his night table. Lube. The thick, clinging kind designed for anal play.
“Take your bodysuit off,” he ordered me. “Leave the tights on. I love the way they look on you.”
I did as he asked, then followed his next command, which was to undress him. A simple enough task, given that he hadn’t bothered with underwear beneath the trousers. His cock flopped out into my hand as I unzipped him, lengthening as I gave it a few sensuous rubs. Playing with him like this wasn’t part of my instructions, but I couldn’t resist—and he didn’t make any objections.
Once he was naked, apart from his heavy, many-buckled boots, and fully hard, he told me to sheathe him with a condom. As I tore open the packet, a little voice in my head reminded me that this was the last time I’d perform this task for him. Tomorrow, our relationship would return to its old, familiar footing. If things could ever be quite the same between us.
I stopped analysing the situation the moment Marcus rolled me on to my belly. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw him dip his fingers into the lube. Bringing out a generous amount, he rubbed it in and around the entrance to my arse. My own juices had already trickled down to wet me there, but I needed more in the way of lubrication before I could take Marcus’ thick, latex-clad shaft.
Excited as we both were, he took his time, opening and relaxing me, every so often slipping a finger down to brush my clit, keeping my desire on a steady simmer. At last, he judged I was ready. Pushing a pillow under my body, he raised me up a little so my backside was at a comfortable angle for him to enter.
“How much do you want this?” he asked, hand smoothing over the planes of my bare back, down towards the cheeks of my arse.
“As much as I’ve ever wanted anything,” I replied honestly.
That seemed to satisfy him, and the next thing I felt was the head of his cock nudging in where his fingers had so recently been. Bearing down, I felt the tight ring of muscle surrender to his thrusts, and he slowly slid into my passage, claiming me where no one else had.
“Oh, that feels so good.” The words were almost choked out, as Marcus took me with slow, assured strokes. He’d mastered me—first with his words, then his paddle and now his cock. How could I have known when we’d first talked about my need to experience submission that it would end like this, with Marcus fucking my arse in some anonymous hotel room, and me responding with wild, sluttish abandon?
His finger slithered over my clit again, and I knew I was dangerously close to losing all control. Did it matter anymore? Did I really have to be in charge all the time, now I knew how good it felt to experience the other side of the equation?
Marcus increased the speed of his thrusts, and I responded with a throaty cry of passion, both of us teetering on the precipice of orgasm. It wouldn’t take very much to push me over, and, when Marcus gripped a tight fistful of my hair, tugging me back hard on to his pounding cock, I gave in. My anal muscles contracted around Marcus’ shaft, and I came, babbling in pleasure.
That triggered Marcus’ own response. Deep inside my arse, he shot his cum into the condom. A fitting end, I thought, to the game of exploration and adventure we’d been playing for the last month. Except that the words he spoke as he came didn’t signal an end at all.
“God, Selina, I love you so much.”
As he withdrew his cock, I rolled over and looked him in the eye. Something had changed in that moment, I could feel it, and I needed to know where I stood.
“You mean ‘love’ as in the way you love a friend, or…?” Aware that what he said next might be the most important words he ever spoke to me, I still couldn’t help pressing him for an answer.
He shook his head. “It’s more than that. It has been for a while, but at first I thought I was just looking for someone to take the place of Lydia, and you know what that’s like. You take up with someone on the rebound and it goes wrong, you don’t just ruin the relationship—most of the time you ruin the friendship, too. And you mean too much to me to ever allow that to happen.”
“And the bet…?”
“Was a way of proving to you what I’d always said, that you become a better dominant once you know what it means to submit. But somewhere along the way it became more than that. And you know what the strangest part of all this is? When I told you that you were the perfect sub, I really meant it. For someone who always gave the impression she didn’t have a submissive bone in her body, you proved me wrong on every level.”
I let him pull me into an embrace, hearing his heartbeat, strong and steady, as I rested my head against his bare, warm chest.
“So, you love me,” I began carefully. “And I love you, too, Marcus. I really do. Like you, I suppose I’ve been skirting round admitting it for a while, but it’s true. But how can we do anything about it? I mean, despite everything that’s happened recently, I’m a dominant, you’re a dominant. How can we make that work?”
“Well, we wouldn’t be the first couple on the scene who were both tops. Look at Lord Andrew and his wife, Lady Petra. They seem happy enough together.”
I paused for a moment, considering the couple he referred to. “But don’t they have a live-in slave?”
Marcus grinned down at me. “Now you see the territory we’re getting into. You could still have your boys to discipline and torment, and it wouldn’t matter that you didn’t have any kind of lasting connection with them. And, as for me—well, think of all the fun I could have auditioning a new slave girl…”
Something inside me brightened at the possibilities Marcus outlined. The games we could play, the submissives we could train. Separately, we both commanded power, but together…
Before I could get too carried away by my vision of us rising to become the scene’s alpha dominant couple, Marcus brought me sharply back to reality.
“It’s still not quite midnight,” he pointed out, “which means I’d like you to spend the next few minutes sucking me back to hardness, girl.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied obediently, a broad smile on my face as I scooted down the bed to do as he asked.
* * * *
I woke sometime around eight, thrown by the unfamiliar surroundings of Marcus’ hotel room.
“Sleep well?” he asked, brushing hair from my eyes. When I nodded, he replied, “Well, I’d love to pick up where we left off last night, but I guess I don’t get to give the orders round here anymore.”
“Shame.” I grinned. “And it’s been fun, but I suppose I ought to be going home now.”
Marcus shook his head. “Not so fast. Montecristo’s running at Fenton Park again today, and I really want you to be there. I took the liberty of picking out a dress for you to wear. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you’ll never get into the members’ enclosure in jeans”—he gestured to the street clothes I’d arrived in the night before, still hanging over the back of a chair—“and as for how they’d feel about that little PVC number you wore to Severe, I really don’t know. Though I’d like to see you try.”
“Well, technically I don’t have to do as you say,” I said, “but a day at the races does sound fun. And, in the meantime, maybe room service could send some breakfast up?”
<
br /> I padded naked across the bedroom carpet, aware of Marcus’ eyes on the arse he’d punished and fucked the night before. Feeling secure in his love for me and my ability to please him whether I took the dominant or submissive role, I went to run myself a bath.
Epilogue
Nine horses stood patiently in their starting stalls, waiting for the race to begin. Had it really only been a month, I wondered, since I’d last watched Montecristo in action, and had lost my bet with Marcus in the process? I’d learned so much in that time, just as he’d hoped I would, but even he couldn’t have suspected that, in the course of my training, our friendship would have changed into something deeper. I might have discovered how to submit to him, but, more importantly, I’d also discovered how much we loved each other.
“I’ve got a proposal for you,” Marcus murmured in my ear. He paused for a moment as the stalls opened and the horses were off, making their first circuit of the track. “How does double or quits sound?”
“In terms of?” I did my best to sound disinterested, although the mere thought of playing another of his kinky little games was causing the heat to build between my legs.
“The terms of the bet are the same as before—if Montecristo wins, you submit to me, and if he loses, I submit to you. But this time it will be for two months.”
“You’re on,” I replied without hesitation.
As we shook hands on the bet, I couldn’t decide what would be the better outcome. Marcus had revelled in my very public punishment, and I relished the thought of exacting my revenge, making him worship me with his body and feel the sting of my riding crop on his bare arse if he failed to please me. But, equally, I knew he still had much to teach me, and that I would take real pleasure in learning from him.
I linked my fingers through Marcus’ and rested my shoulder against his side, enjoying the thrill of our subtle physical contact. Switching was such fun, and the possibilities it offered were endless. But, as Marcus urged his horse on towards the finishing line, and I squeezed his hand a little tighter, reminding him that victory could equally be mine, I realised it really didn’t matter whether Montecristo won or lost. I’d gained Marcus’ heart, his trust, his devotion, and he mine—and in my book that made both of us winners.
About the Author
Elizabeth Coldwell is the author of numerous short stories and two full-length novels, ‘Calendar Girl’ and ‘Playing the Field’. Her stories have appeared in the best-selling ‘Best Women’s Erotica’ series and Black Lace’s popular ‘Wicked Words’ collections. Formerly the editor of the UK edition of Forum magazine, she also contributed a spicy monthly column, ‘The Cougar Chronicles’, to its pages. When she is not busy writing, she is an avid supporter of Rotherham United Football Club and can be regularly found on the terraces at weekends, cheering her boys to victory (hopefully!).
Email: [email protected]
Elizabeth loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Elizabeth Coldwell
Her Dream Lovers
The Feel of Wings
Cougars and Cubs: Something Within Him
Master Me: Neil and Obey
Subspace: Away From It All
Treble: Three Part Harmony
Christmas Crackers: The Christmas Box
Feral: Abyssinian Heat
Mi Amore: Missing in Milan
STILL THE ONE
Wendi Zwaduk
Dedication
To JPZ—as much as you drive me to the brink, you’re still the one I turn to.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Challenger: Bombardier, Inc.
Chevrolet Malibu: General Motors Corporation
Prevost: Volvo Group Canada, Inc.
Chevrolet Monte Carlo: General Motors Corporation
Bristol Motor Speedway: Speedway Motorsports, Inc.
Chapter One
For once I’d like things to go according to plan. Eric Trask gritted his teeth. If he kept up the nervous gesture, he’d break his teeth and bite clean through his jaw. He wiped his hands on his shop towel and measured the B-post on the race truck once more. The thing should’ve fit the templates. Damn. He glanced up at the flags hanging from the ceiling. Each flag highlighted a win for Blitz racing—the racing team he loved and worked for.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Oh, fuck. Not another thing.
He flicked on the screen and set the call to speaker. “Trask.”
“I’m glad I caught you. Are you on your way to the airport? You do remember it’s Tuesday morning, don’t you?” Megan Poston, the team owner, asked from her end of the call. “You’re supposed to be here, helping to get the truck around for practice tomorrow.”
On his way? Practice? Eric glanced over his shoulder at the wall clock. Eleven-forty-five a.m. Shit. He should’ve been cleaned up and at the airport fifteen minutes ago. Hell. He’d just got back from Michigan.
“I’m still at the shop. The B-post on the Atlanta truck isn’t fitting the templates right. Give me another fifteen and I’ll be out the door.”
“It’s a quicker turnaround in your schedule, but this isn’t like you.” Megan went silent for a long moment. “Tucker wants to talk to you.”
The connection snapped and crackled as Megan handed the phone to Tucker. “Eric?”
“You called me.” Eric groaned. “I’m sorry, man. What’s up?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” The line snapped again. “I had to get out of Megan’s earshot. She’s worried because you’re not here.”
“The B-post is fucked up. I don’t know how it was fabricated wrong, but it was.”
“Shit happens. Look, you’ve been freaking out about everything. You’re the calmest guy I know. Why are you chewing everyone out? I wouldn’t have nominated you for the crew chief position if I’d thought you couldn’t handle it.”
“I can handle it. There’s just a lot of crap happening and this quick run of races over the weekend. I got behind but I’ll get the rest of the way caught up.”
“Like?”
“Broken spark plugs on the backup truck. I’ve spent four hours going through the box. Half of them are screwed up. We never have that issue.”
“Have Delaney work on it. He’s in the engine shop for a reason.”
“I can’t figure out what the hell you stuffed in the radiator before you slammed into the wall in Pocono. It’s shit like that.”
“Okay, I’m going to get a little emo on you, but tough titties. You’re my best friend and like my brother. You’re going to have to chill out. Your blood pressure has to be through the roof and, yes, before you butt in with it, I know you’re healthy as a horse. Guess what? I don’t want my best friend to kick off because of hypertension.”
“Hypertension won’t kill me.”
“Uh-huh. How is your blood pressure?”
“I don’t have a monitor right here to check.”
“That’s what I thought. I had to talk to the powers that be today, too. Seems you’ve been swearing more than they deem necessary on the radios.”
Fuck.
“I can swear with the best of them. You and I both know that. But I don’t want you to have to suffer the freaking crazy fines I’ve had. Okay? You need to find a means for managing the stress.”
“I’m not going to an anger management class.”
Tucker groaned. “Seriously? It might help. Teach you ways to centre instead of giving in to the tension.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good, and get your ass to the airport. We’ve got strategies to get done.” Tucker clicked off the line, leaving Eric in the chaotic clangs of tools and chatter from the guys working in the shop. A radio somewhere across the room blared a recent country music hit.
Eric clo
sed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He wasn’t going to go to an anger management class. No way, no how. His issues weren’t that bad. Not bad enough to go to a class.
He needed a release if he was going to deal with the insane amount of stress in his life. Something that had nothing to do with his number one stressor—racing. Janine worked wonders in the stress reduction department. Every time they made love, he saw stars. She made sex new and explosive. But she was part of the racing community. The team and team issues made it into their private moments from time to time.
He liked her, maybe even loved her, but he needed a change. What the change was—hell if he knew.
“Hey, you! There you are.” Janine’s perfume fluttered into the shop as the sound of her high heels tapped on the floor. “You’re late.”
Eric opened his eyes and turned towards her voice. “I know,” he bit out. “I’m perpetually late.”
She brushed a lock of her honey blonde hair behind her ear. Her crimson lips parted. “Eric?”
“Sorry.” He worked his gaze down her body. From the top of her head to those legs. He stifled a groan. She had killer legs and knew how to use them. A fleeting visual of her riding him came to him. He pressed his thighs together to hopefully hide the erection. God, she had stilettos on. He dropped his hands in front of his crotch. “I’m distracted.”
“Nice way to cover.” She took the rag from his hands and stepped in close. “I visually grope you every time I see you.” She cleared her throat and took a step back. She straightened the scarf draped about the column of her neck. “Delaney is working on getting replacement spark plugs. Hanlon and Grau have the B-post situation in hand. They found the issue with the radiator—chunk of rubber the size of a golf ball was clogging it.”
