The Gentleman Dom

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Elle leaned over him, brushing her breasts over his stomach and up to his chest as she kissed him deeply, working her hips slowly, at first, drawing anguished sighs from him with every movement.

  This was not going to take long, she realized, but she made him wait as long as she could, wanting to draw it out as best she could. At one point, she stopped altogether, with him deep inside her and sitting back to cup her own breasts, twisting and tugging her own nipples, catching his hand as he tried to touch them himself and putting it, instead, between her legs, where he was more than happy to have it.

  When she sensed he was quite close, that they were getting to the point that he wouldn't be able to hold back any longer, she reached behind her to pat his balls firmly, raking her nails over that tight bundle occasionally, and that was all it took.

  He grabbed her and held her still while he took what he wanted from her at the end, her arms clamped to her side as he worked her up and down his shaft, wrestling control from her, finally bellowing his completion, making her wonder fleetingly just how much the chauffer was enjoying the show between the two of them.

  Elle had – almost – gotten to the point where she didn't care, she was so damned exhausted. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, although as his breath bellowed out of his lungs and he lay back for a moment with his eyes closed, she felt a surge of pride that she was able to make him feel like that, to put that slack-jawed, almost painfully blissful expression on his face.

  After indulging himself for a few short minutes, during which he shrank within her, for the time being, she curled up as best she could atop him, like a kitten. Alt transferred her to the seat as carefully as he could, wanting to disturb her as little as possible, adjusted himself then redressed her almost from scratch, discovering that some of her clothes were not reparable and simply putting her into her coat, which covered a remarkable amount of sins, thankfully.

  When the vehicle stopped, they were right where he wanted to be – outside his building. He tipped the man generously, then lifted her out of the back and carried her into his apartment, installing her where he'd wanted to have her since he'd met her. In his bed, tucking her up like a treasured child, then leaving the door ajar so that he could hear her if she woke to let her to sleep it off before he was at her again, knowing it wouldn't be long before he'd be driven to wake her, in the most naturally possessive way.

  Hell, he'd just had her, and he was already hard again. He was insatiable, and he knew that, if they got together on any kind of regular basis – and he intended that they would – he was going to have to guard against the idea that his body wanted him to be at her constantly.

  At least this time, it wouldn't be nearly a month before he could make love to her again. There was no way out of his room except to walk right by him.

  He wasn't tired in the least, so he pulled out his laptop and got some peripheral work done, instead. He often found himself wide-awake while others slept, and he liked it, actually. His phone wasn't constantly ringing, no one was texting or emailing him at this hour – well, few people were, anyway. None that expected an actual response until morning.

  And none that would get one. It was one of his personal rules that, if he worked late at night or in the wee hours of the morning, unless it was a dire emergency, he felt under absolutely no obligation to respond to the many demands that were made on him and his time. This was his time to get shit done that he couldn't get to when there were five or six people constantly hovering around him during the day, expecting him to get things done.

  Only a small handful of people knew the likelihood that he was awake at this hour was high.

  Andrea was one of them, and one of the two or three people he would probably actually respond to.

  So, fucking your mother much? came the text.

  He glanced at his phone – because there was no real way to break that habit that he'd established – and debated about whether or not he wanted to engage with her.

  But, of course, he did.

  Yeah, and she's damned good, he replied. I'm wiped.

  But still up, she returned.

  In more than one way, yes.

  I thought you said she was good?

  LOL. She is. So good, I'm always wanting more.

  There was no response to that for a little while, and he had returned to what he was doing before her last words came through.

  I can't see that she's really right for you. Be careful, Alt. Just…be careful.

  He knew exactly what she meant, and it wasn't necessary that she see what he did in Elle now, or ever. Aren't I always?

  All he got back from her was a SNORT! that he could hear in his head as clearly as if she was sitting next to him.

  He knew he was playing with fire in a lot of ways – knew that the smart thing to do was not to have fucked her in Florida, or at the very least to have let her escape him when she so obviously wanted to. But – if he truly wanted to have a future with her, and he felt he did – to have slowly gotten to know her over time, while having her thoroughly vetted. He was a public figure, and he had a board to report to. Hell, he had several boards and thousands of people's livelihoods in his hands at any given time.

  He should have been adult enough not to put his brand in jeopardy. She could have been a very big, very costly mistake.

  Instead, he had a feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach – not quite where he would have had it be – that she was it, and that if he let her slip through his hands now, he'd never really be happy again.

  In the end, she didn't call for him or reveal herself to be awake in any overt way – he just heard the toilet flush and caught her trundling – head down, still pretty much asleep – from the bathroom to the bed.

  This time, he crawled in behind her, spooning the shit out of her, enjoying the fact that she let him do that to her – folding her tightly into the curve of his body – without protest. In fact, he would have sworn he could detect a sigh of contentment from her, although he knew it was probably just a yawn of exhaustion.

  But with her, he'd take what he could get. She was with him. She'd let him have her, even spank her. He felt himself relax in a way he hadn't since he'd awakened that morning without her. The rock that had been in the pit of his abdomen crumbled a lot just having her in his arms.

  He did sleep, but not for very long, as was his habit, and quite lightly, waking up pretty much every time she moved, until he roused himself about seven or so to head out to the kitchen.

  She wasn't far behind him, and he was delighted when she stumbled out – wearing just his shirt, which, despite the fact that she hadn't buttoned it, she was still drowning in, and he adored how it made her seem even tinier.

  Without so much as a thought, she aimed herself right for him, not even really taking the time to look at him, but just heading into him until she couldn't go any further forward, groaning in pleasure when those strong arms closed around her.

  "Yumph weafgh mugh ooof," she said into his chest.

  His warm chuckle flowed over her. "Translation, please?"

  Leaning as little away from him as she could manage – or he would let her – she repeated, a little more legibly, "You wear me the fuck out."

  He frowned. "Not to be a grammar Nazi, but wouldn't more correctly be, 'you wear me out fucking'?"

  "You wear me the fuck out fucking."

  "That's it!" he crowed, using his hold on her to lift her against him. "Good morning, sleepyhead. Are you hungry?" he whispered between delicate kisses that made her hungry, but not for food.

  But food was probably the more intelligent choice, not that she had much of a history of making the right choice when she was around him, so she didn't answer the way her heart – and the rest of her body – wanted her to. "Yes, starving."

  He escorted her to a bar chair on the snack bar side of the kitchen counter, then whisked an enormous platter out of the oven and proceeded to load up a plate for her, and when he presented it to her, she couldn'
t believe it.

  He'd remembered almost everything she'd eaten when they'd had breakfast together that one time – limp bacon, scrambled eggs, a slice of French toast, hash browns, and coffee that had so much sugar and cream in it he believed could more reasonably be called a coffee milk shake.

  "Did I get it right?"

  When she looked up at him, she was still feeling a bit dumbstruck by his efforts. "Yes. Yes, you did. How'd you do that?"

  He shrugged. "I guess I just paid attention to what you liked."

  For the first time that morning, Elle found herself having to fight back tears while he turned his back to grab a plate for himself.

  But it was far from the last time, and she wasn't able to hide it from him from that point on.

  He came to sit next to her for breakfast, and she loved the physical and psychological intimacy of eating beside him while only wearing his shirt. He was shirtless, which was only appropriate, a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips, revealing that perpetually enticing Adonis Belt of his that made her want to follow its contours with her tongue…

  When they were finished, he cleaned up without a word, taking the plates she had been heading into the kitchen with out of her hands. "No housework for you. I cooked, I'll clean."

  She loved the sound of that, since she considered herself allergic to housework. He obviously was an aficionado, though. She could probably eat off the floor here with less cause for worry than off one of her own plates at her house.

  "Why don't you take a seat in the living room, love? I want us to have a chat. I'll be right there when I'm finished loading the dishwasher."

  He was just too good to be believed! A rich man who not only cooked but cleaned up after himself – and her? She might have to revisit her objections…now, what were those, exactly? She couldn't quite remember…

  And then she watched him walk – all lean elegance and grace and carefully controlled power – towards where she'd plopped her fat ass down on a huge couch that probably cost as much as her condo did, and she suddenly remembered – and an uncomfortable flood of those bald truths – the stark, undeniable, unconquerable contrasts between the two of them.

  It was not going to be easy for her to do what she knew she needed to, and what was more, he wasn't going to make it easy for her, either. He was going to make it very hard.

  When he reached the couch, he sank down into the corner of it and pulled her alongside him, so that she was sort of sitting in his lap, almost. Although, she was facing away from him, both of them with their legs – hers dramatically shorter and embarrassingly rounder than his – stretched out in front of them, his arm around her, pulling her back so that she was leaning against his chest rather than the couch cushion.

  "Comfy?"

  Elle nodded, and then whispered tentatively, "Yes."

  "Good."

  Alt kissed the top of her head, then drew a breath. "I understand why you left me in Florida. I do. I don't agree with it, and I'm still pretty pissed, and you probably haven't gotten your last spanking about it, but I understand – intellectually – why you felt you had to go."

  "You do?" she sounded dubious in the extreme.

  "Yeah. You said it many times when we were together – that you couldn't understand why I was with you, you're decrepit and I'm in diapers, I'm rich, you're not, I'm good looking, you're Quasimodo…" He frowned at that analogy. "Or the female equivalent. Medusa, maybe? I don't know." His arm squeezed her tighter before his next sentence as he met her eyes. "Nor do I care about any of those things – real, or imagined, and I believe most of them are. I don't know what it will take to get you to believe me when I say that, and I'm willing to do almost anything, because I don't intend to lose you again."

  She tried to turn her head, but he wouldn't let her.

  "I want you with me. Hell, I know I'm going too quickly for you, and I know I shouldn't say this, but if I thought there was the smallest chance you'd say yes, I'd propose."

  Elle couldn't help it. She snorted out loud at his potential marriage proposal.

  It made him stop gushing – stop talking completely.

  "I'm sorry. I often snort when I'm dumbstruck. A proposal – Alton, you can't possibly be serious."

  He still didn't say anything, just turned her head to look into her eyes with such an earnest expression that it prompted her to apologize again.

  "I'm sorry. Of course, you're serious. But…I just…I can't see it working out between us. We're too different."

  "No, we're not. We both want the same thing." A hand came down to cup her, making her start and rub herself inadvertently against him without thinking, her body remembering the exquisite pleasure of his touch before her mind could rein it in, his middle finger slipping between her lips to bathe itself in her, then make an unerring bee line for her clit. "Your submission to me. My cock in your cunt. Me spanking your bright red ass until you beg me not to. And I still don't."

  Why did he have to be so good at talking to her about this kind of thing? It was distracting and disturbing and it was making her want to grind herself against his hand when she knew that was the last thing she should do.

  "That's a problem right there," she said, instead of doing what she wanted.

  "Why?" he shot back.

  She reached down to wrap her hands around his wrist, trying to move his arm, but was getting nowhere. "Because I can't have a Dom right now, I've been there, done that, remember? I couldn't take being hurt again, like he hurt me. It would crush me, Alt. I'm not kidding. When a woman lays herself bare like that, when she entrusts herself to someone who abuses it and her, how do you get past that? I'm not sure I could have any kind of a relationship right now with any man, much less a D/s one with a…" Young Adonis? her mind supplied. Fucking gorgeous man who could be her son… "Man like you." It was a lame finish, she knew, but it was all she could come up with that didn't sound insulting, even in her mind.

  "And then there's you – just you." She shrugged. "You say everything and do everything right."

  He wanted to bask in that compliment, but then she kept talking.

  "But so did he, at first! To say nothing of the age difference – which I know you don't want to consider a factor, and it might not be for you, but it will be for everyone else, including me. And you're right – I think there are too many differences between us for us to make a go of it. That's what I wanted, you know. I want to be someone's forever. Someone's happily ever after. Eventually, I want to find someone around my age, with whom I'm sexually compatible, hopefully, someone who's smart and has accomplishments and friends and family and who wants a committed relationship."

  He raised his hand, as if they were in school, but all she saw was the size of his paw, remembering the feel of it on her bottom when he was spanking her.

  No wonder his spankings hurt like the devil!

  "I have all of that, except that I'm not your age. You're going to let that be the reason to not allow yourself be happy with me? Because I know you would be."

  Another snort. "No ego there!"

  He was unapologetic. "Definite ego there – I'm a success, and I'm not ashamed of that fact. So are you – not on quite the same scale, but you worked your way up through your chosen career. You've been promoted multiple times. You're ambitious. That's good. I admire that. So am I."

  Both arms closed around her. "And what I'm most ambitious about right now is you. I'll go as slowly as you want. I'll pass whatever trials of Sinbad you'd like to throw at me to convince you that I'm a good person and that I would never hurt you like he did. You're worth any amount of effort to me to get you to see your way clear to saying yes to us. I know, deep down inside me, that you're mine. That we were meant to be together. I don't know how I know it, but I do. I can't ignore it – I just spent the past few weeks obsessed with finding you, because I know what we can be together, if I can convince you to give us the chance, and I won't stop until you agree to at least try and see if we can make it work."

&
nbsp; And, apparently, he wasn't above using dirty tricks to get what he wanted, because the entire time he was talking to her, whispering into her ear in that deep, dark voice of his, he was stroking her intimately, teasingly, carefully, deliberately bringing her along, kissing her occasionally, but always lightly.

  He was doing his best to seduce her into acquiescing to him in the most devilish, most likely to succeed tactic he'd ever try.

  CHAPTER 7

  Elle tugged at the hand that was busily torturing her, but it was like trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar. He might be King of the Nerds, as Time Magazine had proclaimed him to be, a few years ago, but he was no slouch physically, either – and she knew that. She'd been at the mercy of his strength more than once, and the thought made her shiver delicately in those very same arms, beneath those very same hands that were making her want to writhe so badly.

  "Stop."

  Not only did he do exactly as she asked, but he removed his hands from between her legs entirely, wrapping them around her instead. He didn't pester her with questions, he didn't ask her to justify why she'd used that word in particular, knowing he would obey it. He just asked one simple question.

  "Are you all right?" Alt felt as if his whole world was hanging in the balance, hanging on her answer.

  "Yes. It's just not fair of you to use sex to try to convince me to see your side of things. I already know that we're sexually compatible. That's not in question. You're so fucking good at that it's almost frightening." She cleared her throat, resting her much smaller hands over where his were folded on her bare belly. "I –" she started, then stopped, opening her mouth again to say something, but nothing came out.

  Then she took a deep breath and started again. "I ran away from you – and I'm shying away from you now and in general – because I don't know what else to say or do. I've never dated a celebrity. I've never dated a man who was in grade school when I graduated from college. I've never dated a man who is as physically beautiful – or in shape – as you are." She shrugged, feeling her eyes water and her voice beginning to wobble. "And then adding to that the fact that one of the basic tenets of your sexuality – and mine, although it's kind of broken feeling right now – is D/s, and the fact that I don't think I can trust anyone – not just you – to have that kind of relationship with me right now –"