by Mia Downing
“So you said.” She stood in front of him, looking wary. “What is it?”
“A word. One that will end our play.”
“Why?” Her brow furrowed, but her eyes brightened with interest.
“Why not? Some people have two words—one to start the play, one to stop. Maybe you’d like that.”
“So you say this word and I become horny?” She snapped her fingers. “Like that?”
“Wouldn’t that be better than being horny all the time, for no reason? Look at you. You’re strung out with need. You can’t work like that. So yes, I’ll give you a word we can use, and when you hear that word, I want you ready for me. At any time, any place.”
Her pupils dilated and her breathing increased. She smoothed her skirt with hands that trembled. “Pineapple,” she whispered.
He nodded, liking her choice. “Now you need to pick a word to stop the play. It’s called a safeword. If you feel uncomfortable or scared, you say that word, and I’ll stop. No matter what.”
“What if you’re about to come?”
“I can stop, no matter the timing. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll always stop. Then we can talk about what’s bothering you, and you can decide if play will resume.”
Adam made it sound so easy, so simple. Megan studied him and realized this was the man, this commanding, self-assured side, was the one she first had become attracted to—the shark in court persona. Strong, determined, unconquerable. He’d scared her, but she found him to be exciting as well. Now that man was offering her a different type of control. She glanced around the room and an orange stripe on a pillow came into view. “Orange?”
“Perfect. I don’t need to give you the play word—you’re ready.”
She reached for him, wanting his kiss, but he shook his head, his blue eyes like steel in his handsome face. “Strip for me, Megan.” It wasn’t a request.
“I—” She searched his face. “Where did you get the idea of words from?”
“It’s a part of the BDSM world. I think you’ll find them incredibly useful.”
BDSM. A shock ran the length of her spine. “I don’t do BDSM.”
“They’re just words and letters, Megan. How bad do you want me?”
“Very.”
“Then strip. Now.”
An inner need to please him, to make him happy surfaced. Her hands shook as she started with her suit coat. She took it off and looked at him, leaning against the sofa, his arms crossed. He gestured to the chair. She laid it there and then worked at the shirt buttons, her fingers clumsy. If she were good at this sort of thing, she’d add some flare to it, but she wasn’t. Sexy didn’t come naturally to her.
“Look at me.”
She did, and her stomach fluttered at the hard, lustful look in his eyes. Juries practically danced for this man, and now he gave her that same stare he gave them at the end of a long trial, the one that demanded she give him what he wanted.
The need to please him beckoned, and she undid the first button, then the second. She took it off slowly, peeling the cloth away from her skin and her nipples, harder than rocks under her bra. She kicked off one shoe, and he shook his head ever so slightly, so she put it back on and was rewarded with the ghost of a smile that sent a flood of dampness to her pussy.
Her skirt followed, and soon she stood before him in her lacy panties, bra and thigh high stockings, pumps still on her feet.
“Now undress me.”
That she could handle. She crossed the floor and stood before him, inhaling his scent as she unknotted his tie. His coat came next, then his shirt, and she itched to caress his chest. When she reached out to touch his nipple, he grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch.”
Her gaze flew to his, and he shook his head. “Follow the rules or be punished.”
She blinked. “Will I enjoy it?”
“Eventually. Part of the punishment will be delaying your pleasure.” He pointed to the kitchen. “Get a chair, bring it here.”
She did as she was told, placing it before him.
“Sit,” he commanded.
She did, her breathing heavy. The chair brought her face even with the bulge in his pants.
“Finish,” he whispered.
Her fingers refused to work properly as she unbuckled his belt and pulled it free. Then came the button, the zipper loud in her ears, and then the cloth slid down around his hips, leaving him in his underwear.
His cock was so incredibly close, tenting the blue briefs. She looked for permission and he nodded slightly. The elastic waistband stretched in her hand and then she slid them down to his pants, his cock bobbing free.
“Don’t touch,” he reminded her.
She’d never taken the time to really inspect his masculine attributes—cocks had made her a little nervous, until now. His seemed of decent size, the skin smooth and silky, the tip sporting a bead of milky arousal. She swallowed, wondering how that bead would taste in her mouth, how he would react if she ran her fingers up the shaft, encircling him.
But she wasn’t allowed to touch him. Yet knowing she had an out, a safeword, did make her bolder. She ran a finger down the bottom side, over the protruding veins to his sac. The hair at the base was soft yet crisp, much like her own. Her hand encircled the base of his shaft, feeling his width. That’s why he stretched her so deliciously. She pumped upward, delighting in how the skin slid with her hand, all the way to the top. The pad of her finger slid over the head, coaxing the bead of pre-cum over the tip, lubricating him. He sucked in his breath and she looked up at him.
“Don’t,” he warned.
She looked back at the tip of cock. Would he be salty? Sweet? She breathed on the engorged head, and his cock jumped and bobbed. Leaning forward, she parted her lips and let her tongue touch the tip, dipping into the slit at the top, tasting his essence. Salty, musky. Definitely male. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth wider and slid the head in, pressing the end to her tongue.
“You don’t follow directions very well,” he whispered.
She answered by sucking the head deeper into her mouth, letting her tongue run around the rim, over his veins. How much could she take? She slid downward, taking his shaft into her mouth slowly, until she reached the base. Then she let him slide out, sucking as he left, mimicking what her pussy did when he was deep inside.
“Stop.” He grabbed her gently by the hair and pulled her away. “And you best behave. You’re not ready for me to come in your mouth.”
No, she wasn’t. She obeyed this time, then realized she’d broken many, many commands. What would he do to punish her? “Thank you,” she offered meekly.
“You’re still going to be punished for this. You’re a naughty, naughty girl.”
“How?”
“You’ll have to fuck me on the bed.”
Chapter Eight
Megan swallowed as she looked toward the bedroom from her chair, wanting so badly to please Adam, but terrified to go there. Despite lying in her bed with him yesterday, sleeping, cuddling, the thought of giving over to him fully, scared her. She stood and said, “Orange.”
“It’s just a bed, Megan. Beds don’t turn men into monsters. It’s time to get over that fear. How bad do you want me?” He stepped forward and slid his hand into her panties, his thumb going straight for her clit. He thrust his two fingers inside her soaking wet core, the truth of her arousal evident in the sucking noises her pussy made when he pumped in and out. “I’d say you want me pretty fucking bad.”
Yes, she did want him that badly. He was right, she was foolish. A bed wouldn’t turn him feral. She nodded.
“Then pineapple. Go get on my bed.”
She went into his room and paused. The queen-sized bed beckoned, the crisp white sheets pulled back to invite her in. She sat on the edge, smoothing the bedding, then rolled onto her side, in the middle. Somehow she knew he hadn’t slept here in a while and joining him here made her tremble.
“Good girl,” he growled from the door, all man, fierce, d
ominant. He strode to her, and she closed her eyes, unable to watch, her heart in her throat for more reasons than one. The bed sagged and his warmth neared. He was like an inferno to her skin.
“Look at me.”
She opened her eyes to his chest. So powerful, muscular. She never tired of touching him there. Tasting that salty flesh.
“Eyes up here.”
She did as she was told, unable to resist. His blue eyes were dark, intense, and his jaw moved sideways slightly in a way that bespoke he had more planned, more commands. Then he leaned forward, pushing her back, sliding between her thighs. She went down on the pillow, him on top, his weight hard, not uncomfortable. He took first one hand in his, then the other, and pulled them over her head. He took one hand, then the other, and wrapped it around a wood support in his headboard.
She gasped at the pleasure, his hands holding hers, pinning her down. She felt exposed, powerless, and a shock so fierce went straight to her pussy she almost came, there, with him on top of her, not even inside.
“Kiss me,” he commanded.
She lifted her head and her mouth found his, desperate, shaking. Anything he wanted. Then he broke the kiss to adjust the covers, and as his hips met hers more fully, she felt his cock nudge between her legs, bobbing against the opening of her core.
“God, you are perfect. My submissive.”
A warning bell went off, and she froze, clamping her thighs on his, stopping the beginning thrust he was about to take. Her hands were still over her head, his mouth against her ear. She yanked her hands down and shoved his chest. “Orange.”
“Am I scaring you?”
“Orange.”
He slid from her, his face confused in lust.
“What did you just call me?” She had seen many sides of Adam over their weekend, but this Adam was new. He had an “oh, shit,” look on his face, and she could almost see the wheels turn in his head as he frantically searched for a way to backpedal out of this. She wasn’t going to like what he had to say, not one bit.
“Tell me.”
He ran his hand through the hair at his forehead. “A submissive is someone who likes to be commanded in bed. Told what to do.”
There was more to it than that—she wasn’t stupid. She was getting the abridged version because he was scared of how she’d react. Damn straight. “And there’s a word for what you are?”
“A Dominant—Dom. They like to give the orders.”
“This is that BDSM stuff.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “Only words, Megan.”
“Aren’t submissives weak?” She laughed bitterly. “You must think me weak to lay here under you while you tell me what to do. To strip. Fuck you senseless. What’s next?”
“A submissive isn’t weak. They actually have the most power.”
“Liar.”
“No, I’m being truthful. It takes a lot of strength to give up the control, to offer all of yourself to me. And my job, as a Dom, is to watch you, to see what you need, to read your body cues so I can dial it up or bring it back, so you are satisfied.”
“You let me command you.”
“Some. I have to know what you want, what you like. I tolerate it, because I’m a patient man. In the end, I’ll get what I want.”
Yes, he was patient. But she didn’t like these new labels and what they insinuated about their relationship, about them. He’d always directed their play, even in the beginning. She hadn’t really been in control, not ever. She suddenly felt very, very naked, and he seemed to sense this as he pulled a sheet over her, wrapping his arms around her.
“Are all your women submissives?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“I’m not submissive.”
“Sweetheart, we are what we are. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
She had to prove to him he was wrong. The need was still there—she wanted him, always—so she turned and looked up at him. “I want you to make love to me. Normally. Without any words or commands. Just sex, like normal people have.”
He hesitated, his expression guarded. “Okay.” He rolled on top of her, positioning himself between her thighs. He brushed her hair from her face and supported himself on one elbow.
She bit her lip, hating that she worried about him, even now, when she was pissed. “Will you enjoy it?”
“Hell, yes.” He kissed her neck. The stubble was already appearing, and his jaw bristled along hers, creating lovely friction.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Megan, they are just words.” He drew away to look at her. “You don’t seem to get that I want you, no matter what, no matter how. I’m not going to lie—I love commanding you. I love being in control. But I’ll take what I can get and be happy with that right now.”
“Then make love to me,” she whispered, desperate to prove him wrong. She wasn’t a submissive. He slid his cock inside of her pussy easily, his weight shifting. He loomed above her in a good way, a non-scary way, his shoulders broad, and the heat from his pelvis scorched hers. His thrusts were languid, easy, his lips exploring her neck, her ear, her throat.
After the torrid sex they’d had over the weekend, this gentleness was so sexy. Sinfully sweet. But missing something. She arched her back, thrusting her hips, and he increased his tempo, supporting himself with a palm to suckle a nipple. Her clit bumped his pubic bone, and she bucked up to continue the contact. He grabbed her hip, helping her, but it still wasn’t enough.
She reached upward, not knowing what she wanted, until her hands found the slats in his headboard. She grabbed the wood with her fingers, and instantly, a shock ran through her, igniting an inferno over her skin. He’d done this exact thing to her moments before and had praised her for being a good submissive. And now her body nearly howled with lust at being pinned beneath him, wanting his voice in her ear, his command.
“No,” she whispered and closed her eyes, hating and loving him all at once. She didn’t want him to be right.
“No?” He paused mid-thrust, and his breath caressed her cheek, his lips kissing away the tear that rolled down it. “Sweetheart?”
Another tear rolled. She couldn’t stop the wetness any more than she could stop the need to have his voice in her ear, to have him control her. She grabbed the rails above her head tighter, as if they’d give her support for what she needed to do. Why was it so hard? “Please.”
“What? I’ll do whatever you need, Megan. Please, don’t cry. Look at me.”
The command sent another shot of desire through her, fanning the flames. But it wasn’t his controlling voice from earlier—it was his own, bridging the brink to desperation. She realized it didn’t matter which persona said it—Dom or not—he was still Adam. And she needed him to take control.
“Command me,” she finally whispered, drowning in the emotion in his eyes. “I give up. Please.”
Dawning crossed his features, and his hand shook a little as he wiped another tear from her cheek. She glanced upward, to her hands, and his gaze followed her path, taking in her grasp. His cock twitched inside of her pussy, and he shifted his weight to cover her hands with his large one. “Are you bound for me?”
Swallowing was hard. Damn, it was all hard. But his soft question sparked a heightening of passion, and she arched her hips upward, sliding his cock deeper. “Yes.”
He released her hands and claimed her lips, his mouth soft in the first touch then he increased the pressure, his tongue driving deeper. His hand slid back up her arm to her hands, then down to cup her breast, leaving a fire in the wake. His first thrust was gentle and then he increased the tempo to match the heat intensity of mouth.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded against her mouth. “Hold me deeper.”
She did so, clenching her thighs around his hips, grinding into his pubic bone, the friction delicious on her clit. Her arms ached, she held the slats so tightly, using them as leverage to hold him closer.
“You’re mine.” He punc
tuated the words with a hard thrust, his hand biting into her hip. “Do you understand that? You. Are. Mine. My sex slave. And I’ve tied you so you can’t escape me.” He bit her neck and she cried out, relishing the pain. “Do you know what I want you to do?”
Another tear slid down her cheek. The pleasure was as intense as the pain in her hands and it all blended together, launching her closer to bliss. “No.”
“I want you to come. And I want you to scream my name, slave. I want the world to know who owns you.”
She cried out and slammed her hips upward, her clit rocking against him, urging him to fuck her harder. He withdrew as far as her legs would allow and slammed into her, his balls slapping her ass. She clenched her pussy around him, the head of his cock seated so deeply the pleasure bridged on exquisite pain. She was there, her orgasm ready to crash over her, and she panted with need. Needing him to release her.
“Come for me,” he finally demanded.
It was as if he shoved her off a cliff into an endless chasm. She free-fell for a moment and then the convulsions inside her pussy started, deep, rolling contractions that rocked her down to her toes and brought a cry to her lips.
“Scream my name.”
She did, her head flung back against her arms, the orgasm endless. He grabbed her ass, his hips still pounding his cock into her depths, and then he stiffened, groaning, finding his own release.
Finally the spasms inside her pussy ended and her toes uncurled. She didn’t realize her eyes were closed until his mouth found her eyelid, then her cheek. So soft, his kiss was, as if he was consoling her, saying he was sorry for being right.
And then the emotions bubbled upward, ripping through her chest, tearing though her throat. She whimpered and turned her head away from his lips, unable to bear it, unable to name what she felt. Shame? No. Embarrassment? Definitely. But there was something more and she shook as the tears rolled harder.
“Shh.” He opened her fingers one by one, loosening her grip, then he took her hands down and cradled her against him, her cheek nestled in the light fluff of his chest hair, his arms holding her as hard as he could. He kissed her forehead, his lips in her hair. “Is it really so bad to be mine?”
