by Alison Tyler
What she wants with Reed Frost is forever.
She invites Frost to meet her. She tells him the time. She has no idea if he will do what she requests. There’s no worldly reason to believe that he will—except for the connection, except for the fact that when she pictures him, her breathing quickens. When she visualizes his face, her pussy clenches.
She thinks about all those chick flicks she’s managed to see over the years. The ones with the cute meets between hero and heroine. The scenes in which one of the players finally realizes he or she has true feelings for the other.
Have any similar meets occurred in a BDSM club? she wonders.
* * *
When she meets eyes with Frost this time, she expects him to be ill at ease. He doesn’t run this spot. He’s not Coach here and he’s not Dom. But he doesn’t leave.
Dean has her bent over the leather horse. She knows there’s a similar piece of furniture at the gym. That one is for vaulting. This is for spanking. Frost stands ten feet away and watches. He has on a scarlet T-shirt, so visible in a sea of black. Don’t leave, she thinks. Don’t leave. She’s begging him with her eyes.
He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want to know more.
That gives her a small spark of power. One that lets her last longer than she might otherwise have. Dean stops before she has to give her safe word.
* * *
Frost is waiting for her in the parking lot.
He drives an old truck. A beater. What her dad would lovingly have referred to as a hooptie. Hadley grew up with men who drove trucks like this one. Then one day she woke up and found herself in a world of Guys, where men used product and spent more time primping in the bathroom than she did. Maybe she was born into the wrong era. Not only doesn’t she want a metrosexual; she doesn’t even want to date someone who uses the word.
Frost is leaning against his truck in a pose straight out of a ‘50s cowboy flick. She knows somehow that he’ll use two wires to make the engine catch.
“Do you want to go somewhere and have a drink?” she asks.
“You think you can sit down after being punished like that?”
“I’m tough.”
“I’m starting to get that feeling.”
“Why did you come?”
“Why did you ask me?”
Oh, fuck, they’re so much alike. The only difference is that she’s making the moves. Otherwise, they might be lost forever—both wanting, but neither taking the step forward. Topping from below. That’s what she’s doing. She would smile at the thought that he wouldn’t understand what she was talking about—if this felt like a situation in which to smile.
“I asked you,” she says, “because you can give me what I need.” She wants to tell him more. That if he tried, he could cross her wires and start her engine. She knows this about him. She doesn’t know how she does, but she does. Like the man in Albuquerque who slid his wheelchair over by her chair and spoke to her in that low whiskey tone all night. Unraveling her fantasies until she was naked and exposed. He mindfucked her, and it was the best sex she’d had in years.
Reed Frost looks her up and down. She believes he could make her come by looking at her like that. In his eyes is ownership. She would wear his name tattooed on her skin. “Why would you think that?”
“I have a good sense for people.”
“Like Guy?”
“I was wrong about Guy.”
“Maybe you’re wrong about me.”
“Am I?”
He puts his hands on her arms and kisses her. The way his lips feel on hers resonates through her entire body. She is demolished by the kiss. He grips her in his arms, and she can feel that he’s hard through his Levi’s, and this delights her. He got hard watching another man whip her. If he’d been disgusted, he would already have torn out of the parking lot in a squeal of rubber. The throb of his cock through the denim is an unspoken promise. She loves the fact that he wore jeans and a scarlet T-shirt to a BDSM club, when every other player in the building wore black and leather. Through his truck window she can see the striped emerald athletic jacket he wears while coaching.
“Take me home,” she says.
He shakes his head. “I can’t wait that long.”
Oh, God, she thinks, it’s going to be good.
He gets her into the truck. They drive to a spot where they can see San Francisco—the whole twinkling fantasy of the city—spread out for them. But neither one has time for the view. Frost has a rough green army blanket in the back of his truck. He lays Hadley on the blanket in the truck bed, and he starts to touch her. His hands are so gentle. She’s surprised by the way he makes her feel.
She thinks of the man she met while on the road, the one who talked to her, his voice his instrument, telling her what she needed, getting her off with his words. That was the night she discovered who she really was. She wonders if she can help Frost discover the same thing about himself.
“Take off your clothes,” he says.
She unzips her shirt and peels off the shiny PVC. She undoes the three shiny chrome buckles of the skirt, and the fabric falls open. She now has on only a black satin bra and matching panties, thigh-high stockings, and her engineer boots. She’d be cold if not for the heat between the two of them.
“Roll over, baby. I want to see.”
Baby.
She does what he tells her, exposing the welts left by Dean’s crop on the backs of her thighs. Frost runs his hands over her skin. He pulls her bikinis down to see her ass. She moans as he traces each mark left by the crop. Her hips start to shimmy against the blanket.
“You like what he did to you?”
She looks over her shoulder at Frost and meets his eyes. She nods.
“Tell me why.”
“Tell me why you won’t be with anyone else.”
“I never said that.”
“You said you were happy with what you had. And what you had was nothing.” How odd to have this conversation while she can feel the rough blanket against her naked sex. He slides one hand under her, and he cups her pussy while they talk. The words flow over her, because she is focused on his fingers on her clit. He plays her magnificently, as if he’s always had one hand between her legs, as if he knows exactly how she touches herself when she’s all alone in bed.
“I never said I was happy.”
“You said you were—” she searches for the word in her mind as his finger strokes her “—accustomed.”
“Check your notes. I said I didn’t think I could do this again. You’ve filled in the rest.”
“What did you do before?”
His finger splits her nether lips and nestles between them. She feels as if she is balanced on his pointer, as if her whole body is suspended on his single digit. He rubs her clit. She knows she’s close.
“I got so tired of the games,” he says, and he bends and starts to kiss along her welts, his fingertip still spiraling over her clit. He adds another finger, and she sighs. He’s kissing the hot lines of her skin. She’s having a difficult time believing this is for real.
“I’m not in this for a game.”
“I’m satisfied with what I’ve got.” He licks along the crop marks, and she feels herself teetering right on the edge. He is going to make her come. She wants to ask what he’s doing to her, but she’s the one who started them on this ride. She’s the one who supposedly knows what she’s doing. Except she doesn’t. This is new to her. Being a sub is like wearing her insides on the outside. She knows only what she wants.
“You haven’t got anything.”
“This doesn’t feel like nothing.”
He’s right. This is something. Something big. If she could paint a picture of what they’re doing, she’d put fireworks in the sky. He knows how to take care of her. His f
ingers play her clit, while his mouth continues to kiss the marks of pain left by Dean. But suddenly she wants more. She wants him inside her. It’s bold and demanding, but she says, “Please fuck me.”
“Do I have to whip you first?” His fingers stop moving. There’s ice in his tone.
She wonders if it was a mistake to let him see another man touch her, see another man hurt her. She tries to be flippant. “Next time. Tonight, just fuck me.”
He rolls her over and he presses his mouth to her pussy. She starts to shake. He licks her slowly, using both hands to spread apart her pussy lips. The cool night air on her cunt makes her shiver. His tongue traces circles over and over, and she lifts her hips up and presses against him. She’s greedy and she knows it. She wants his cock, but she wants his tongue, and she can’t have both at the same time.
“You’re pure sweetness,” he says, and he sets her back and starts to undo his belt. She can see a time when she’ll beg him to use the leather on her. Right now, it’s only in the way of getting his pants off. She’s desperate to have him inside her. Luckily, he doesn’t make her wait any longer.
“I wanted to do this from the first time I saw you,” she says.
“I know.”
He teases her first, fucking her clit with the head of his cock. She feels as if her clitoris is swelling and expanding. Nobody has ever taunted her like this before. They wouldn’t dare withhold pleasure. Reed doesn’t seem afraid of her at all. She raises her hips in an attempt to get him to thrust inside her. He refuses to be rushed. Every move she makes, he counters. He simply fucks the wet, slippery length of his cock against her pussy, over and over until she feels the pleasure in every cell of her body. Only when she is on the brink does he thrust inside her. Only when she is begging does he actually start the ride.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says.
His cock is in her, and she groans at the way he feels. Filling her. Completing her.
“I never had that before. That connection at first sight.” She can’t believe she’s talking while he’s fucking her, but she wants to explain. She’s not a girl who will fuck anyone.
“I know,” he says again.
“How do you know?”
He makes sure to slide one hand between them, so he can continue plucking her clit while he fucks her. “I just do.”
She wraps her thighs around him. She is so glad they fit. His cock is hard and strong, hitting all the right places deep inside her. She can’t wait to suck him, to taste the way their juices mingle, can’t wait to try all the different positions she loves—doggy-style with him pulling on her hair, reverse cowgirl so he can grip her hips and work her just right. But right now, he’s on top, drilling her hard, and she knows she’s going to climax.
But then he says, “Why would you let that man whip you?”
There it is. The chilled tone once more. “I wanted to show you…” She’s not sure how to explain. “I wanted you to see.”
“But why him… and not me?”
What is he saying to her? The way he’s talking is like a stone-cold dom. She feels a shiver trace along the back of her neck.
“I didn’t think you’d understand.”
His eyes are cold. “I don’t ever want you to ask someone else to lay a hand on you when what you really want is me.”
The way he says the words makes her come.
* * *
Guy stays at the club. There’s no reason for him to leave. She’s with Frost, and he has no backup plan. He brought Hadley to the gym so they could have another shot. He told Frost to steer clear, so he could dance his way back into Hadley’s heart. He isn’t a psychopath. She doesn’t want him anymore. He has to accept the fact that she’s really gone.
That doesn’t make the pain easier to bear. And it’s not his first choice of pain.
Dean finds him on a leather bench.
“You were with her for a while?”
“Two years.”
Dean puts one hand on Guy’s thigh. “I used to watch the two of you do scenes together,” he says.
Guy looks at Dean. He leans in close. They share a kiss.
“That’s the last time you lead,” Dean says. Guy feels as if someone has wrapped a chain around his heart to keep the organ from breaking.
* * *
Frost asks, “Don’t you ever just want to get a cup of coffee?” They sit in the truck bed together, her legs over his. Their connection feels so natural, as if they’ve been a couple for years.
“What do you mean?” She’s trembling. He reaches through the window of the truck to grab his jacket, and he sets it over her shoulders. The gesture tugs at her. He’s a gentleman.
“Twenty-four-seven relationships—like the ones in the books you sent me. Do they make any sense to you?”
So he read the books. “Aren’t most relationships 24/7?”
“Smart-ass.”
His tone strikes a chord in her stomach. She sits up straighter.
“In the past, have you escaped on the weekends?” she asks him. “Taken a few personal days—got off early for good behavior?”
“I can see how it might feel nice to give you a good, hard spanking.”
She lets herself smirk. There’s still time. “Do you now?”
He leans back and looks at her. He’s told her straight out. He’s not someone who plays games. She likes this about him. “I can. I can see exactly what that would feel like, dragging you over my lap, lifting that poor excuse for a skirt up.” He nudges her PVC skirt with his foot. “Spanking you on your bare bottom.”
He says bottom. But she knows she can get him to say ass.
“In fact, I can imagine exactly how long I would spank you before you’d cry and beg me to stop. But I wouldn’t stop.…”
She’s getting wet again.
“I’d keep punishing your pretty bottom until I was finished. And that might take me a while. I’ve got a very firm hand.”
She squirms on the blanket. She wishes he’d do exactly what he just described. Even after having been worked by Dean at the club, she’s ready for a spanking at Frost’s hand.
“But I don’t know about having someone waiting for me to tell them what to do.”
“That’s your fucking job. You tell people what to do all day long.”
When she says fucking, his eyes harden. “I don’t tell them to suck my cock.”
He’s getting closer. She can almost feel him crossing the line.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then you tell me what it’s like. Stop giving me books and hints and fucking taunts. Tell me exactly what you want from me.”
She stares into his eyes. She sees something there. What she saw when she first walked into the gym. “This.” She grips his hand. She means the connection.
“I don’t get it.”
“Take me home. I’ll show you.”
* * *
Frost’s apartment looks nothing like Hadley had expected. She’d thought there would be photographs. Medals. Trophies. The walls are white. The furniture is dark. There is nothing else.
He takes her to the bedroom. She sits on the edge of the mattress and looks at him. She’s wearing bra, panties and his shiny athletic jacket. “Your house is so empty.”
“She took everything.”
She.
Hadley doesn’t ask who she was. When Frost wants to, if Frost wants to, he’ll tell her. He comes close to her and undresses her. Hadley feels like a doll the way he moves her, carefully pulling off the jacket, undoing her bra, slipping her panties down her thighs.
Hadley opens her arms. Frost hesitates before embracing her, gripping her body to his. She’s entirely naked, and he has his jeans and shirt on. She likes that.
“You’ve lived li
ke this for how long?
“Seven years.”
“Seven,” she echoes.
“It was easier than doing anything else.”
For a moment he simply holds her, his palms under her ass. She feels weightless in his arms. She runs her fingertips along his biceps. She shivers when she feels how strong he is. He sets her down only long enough to strip, himself. Then
he carries her across the room and holds her against the wall, pinning her. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t do this again. But he already broke that promise. She’s so warm. He feels as if he’s melting inside.
* * *
Dean hustles Guy into the bathroom. “You’re so pretty,” Dean says. “I’ve admired that mouth of yours for so goddamn long.”
Guy looks at his reflection in the mirror. His hair is tousled. For once he doesn’t move to fix it, even though he has a comb in his back pocket.
Dean traces his fingers over Guy’s full lips. “Your mouth was made to suck cock. You know that, don’t you?”
Guy thinks of the time with Hadley and the strap-on. He thinks of what made him cry that night, and he nods.
“On your knees, boy.”
Guy drops to his knees on the bathroom floor. Dean slides a thumb between Guy’s lips. “Suck it,” he says. “Show me what you can do.”
Guy’s cock is a rod in his leather pants. He sucks Dean’s thumb, and he stares up at the handsome dom, wanting so badly to suck something else, to drain Dean to the root.
* * *
Hadley’s thighs are around Frost’s waist, her body pressed to his. She knows they’re going to fuck again, soon, but she wants him to talk to her first. She needs to know.
“She left,” he says, “and I didn’t want to try again. I got used to having what I have.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing is easy.” He laughs, but darkly. “I don’t mean it the way that sounds. It was easy growing accustomed to having nothing.”
