by Kate Allure
“So wet already?” He chuckled again. “Interesting.”
He slid his fingers in and out of her, drawing more needy sounds from her. Everything from the prospect of imminent pain to his wicked words and fondling fingers only made her hornier.
She squirmed, needing just a little more to come. “Please.”
She blanched. Had that desolate, needy plea come from her?
Now he laughed outright, clearly loving his power over her. It might have annoyed her, but for the driving desire for more of what he was doing.
“Please, Ian. I’m so close.” This time she actually whined, and he laughed louder.
He denied her the orgasm, pulling his hand from between her thighs. “Punishment before pleasure, sweet Candi.”
With lightning speed, he swiped his arm downward and smacked her ass hard, and she jerked.
Thwack!
A spot of heat instantaneously erupted on her bum. She twisted to see what instrument he was using and caught a glimpse of a black paddle.
He struck again, three times in succession.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The sharp swats, always in a new place, quickly grew to a raging inferno on her backside. She started to struggle, not consciously trying to climb off him but unable to control her instinctual response to get away. His free hand slapped down onto her back, holding her firmly in place.
Thwack!
“Ouch,” she squawked, then slammed her mouth shut.
“Too much?” He sounded more amused than concerned.
“No!” It didn’t make any sense, but—
“Why do I like this?” she wailed.
“Sometime, I’ll explain the physiological response you’re having, but not now.”
“You’re not done?”
He rained down several more blows, and she jerked after each one. She gripped his ankles tightly or her hands would have flown up to cover her bum. She tried not to cry out, but whimpers and mewling cries erupted from her lips even with her mouth closed.
“Nice and red.” He grazed his fingernails lightly across both cheeks, and she reared as if he’d scraped her with a sharp knife, her skin was so highly sensitized.
“Ouch!” She cried out when he hit her again, squirming uncontrollably. Her bum burned, glowing hot as lit coal.
She opened her mouth. Barely stopped herself from using the safe word. She wouldn’t take away his control. After all, she hadn’t given him any when she’d spanked him in her chambers. But the pain was becoming too much.
He placed the paddle down next to him on the sofa.
“Ow, ow, ow! Shit, that hurts!” She hung over him, panting.
He chuckled. “It was supposed to. But let’s see…” His hand slid between her thighs, searching. “You’re soaking,” he murmured, approval in his tone.
Her sex clenched repeatedly, eagerly grasping at the fingers playing at her entry. She was enflamed everywhere, as if the heat spread outward from her burning cheeks, even as more blood flowed to her arse.
Super sensitized, she didn’t just feel, she absorbed the moment into her being—the scratchy texture of his wool pants under her belly, the strong weight of his warm hand pressing down on her back, even the barely there wisps of his breath on her heated skin when he bent down to have a closer look at her ass.
Everything flooded her nervous system with input, and more blood rushed to her swollen sex, making the spot between her legs the most sensitive of all. She no longer questioned why the spanking turned her on—she only knew that she needed to come, needed him to give it to her, and needed it right this very instant.
“Please, Sir!”
“What does my slave need?”
“Please, Sir. You know.” Remnants of the old her didn’t want to admit how horny she’d become from being spanked, that nothing else mattered in the world but her orgasm.
Thwack!
“Ouch!” She’d earned it for not answering his question, as a good slave should.
She tried again, crying out, “Please fuck me, Sir. Fuck me hard!”
“Your begging is music to my ears, but that isn’t what I asked.” She sensed his hand rising again.
“No, no, Sir. Wait! I need to come, Sir.”
“Better.”
Somewhere in the midst of her ravening desire, a thought flitted through her mindless state of pain and pleasure—he was having too much fun, by far. When it was again her turn, she would thoroughly enjoy paying him back. But right now she needed to get off his lap and onto his cock. Then she realized something that had escaped her notice while her burning ass consumed her ability to think.
Through his pants, his engorged cock pressed into her belly.
Adopting the honeyed tones of a supplicant, she offered, “Sir, this slave would like to pleasure her master. Please let me serve you.”
“How? What do you have in mind?” He sounded somewhat surprised—at her subservient tone or at her offer, she wasn’t sure which.
She threw his words back at him. “My purpose is simple. I’m here to serve you, however you see fit, however you desire.”
Not waiting for permission, she squirmed off his lap to land at his feet. Gazing up at him seductively, she rose to her knees and reached for the zipper on his pants. When he didn’t stop her, she unzipped him and pulled out his erect cock. Licking her lips, she grinned slyly at him.
“Please, Sir. May I blow you?”
He laughed aloud and nodded.
She lowered her mouth to his twitching shaft and licked the tip once. Grasping the base with her hand, she delicately lapped the head with her tongue and was rewarded by the sound of his needy groan. Encouraged, she licked up and down his swollen shaft until he was completely moist and then slid her mouth down, enveloping him.
He groaned louder and shifted backward on the sofa, forcing his pelvis upward and his member farther into her.
A novice at sucking cock, she was thrilled by his reaction. Over and over, she bobbed her head, drawing him farther inside her wet warmth, her lips molding tightly around his shaft, occasionally raking him gently with her teeth. Every groan and grunt from him inspired her to try harder.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered harshly. “Yes!”
Gripping her head, he forced her down farther still, and she took it, took all of him until the tip of his cock grazed the back of her throat. He pumped her head up and down, over and over, and she let him, gave up control of her body to him. She fought the need to gag when he shoved her so far down his cock slid into her throat. He held her there, and she felt the invasion of his hot, hard rod into her virgin passage, her tongue fluttering along the velvety underside. After mere seconds, he released her, and she jerked back, desperately sucking in oxygen around the cock still filling her mouth.
He gently pushed on her shoulders to ease her off, but she fought back, surging down on him and licking furiously, wanting to bring him to his knees. She grinned as she worked, enjoying this new sort of sexual power she’d never conceived of before—that even as a submissive she had control over his pleasure. Determined to prove it, she gripped his cock tightly with her lips and sucked him deeper. Faster. Harder.
“Stop!” he thundered. “I want to come inside your cunt. I want to feel you quaking on me.”
Before she realized what was happening, he pulled her off and whipped her around, placing her on all fours on the floor. Spreading her legs apart, she watched him over her shoulder and offered him access. After grabbing a Durex condom, he mounted her doggy style. In one powerful thrust he filled her, his groin nestled against her cheeks. She pushed back on him, wanting him even more deeply embedded in her. Rising upright on his knees, he grasped her hips—his grip so tight she’d have bruises later—and he began to bang her like a man possessed. The animalistic sounds of their smacking bodies and grunting pleasure filled the room.
“Yes, Sir. More! Please, Sir,” she begged, getting closer to the fine edge of rapture.
“No! You’re j
ust Tori now. Just you and me…and this.” He groaned, pumping her again even harder.
Joy flooded her. In this moment of exquisite sensation, he wanted her. Only her. Not their games, but her. They became true lovers, equal partners in their need to give and take pleasure from each other.
But she was frantic for more, mindlessly begging and whimpering and crying, desperate to hear his joyful shouts of ecstasy and wanting it for herself even more. The white-hot, blazing knifepoint grew closer. Brighter. He rode her with determination, driven and relentless, and she bucked frantically against his every thrust.
She became a wild thing only he could tame. The man who had hunted her mercilessly in court was merciless here, too. He demanded everything from her. Nothing would satisfy but her complete and total surrender—to sensation, and to him.
With a heathen cry, she gave herself over to the moment and to his desires. Her world exploded into an incandescent blaze of pleasure, peaking and falling, rolling and swirling. Exquisite euphoria that went on and on. His wild roar joined hers even as he continued urgently bucking into her, nearly lifting her from the floor with each thrust.
After eons of delight, they slowed to a stop, hovering motionless as they floated back to consciousness. Her chest pounded, and she tried to catch a breath.
He pulled out, and they fell laughing, panting, to the carpet, to lie facing each other.
“Was it good for you?” he asked, grinning.
“Was it good for you?” she countered.
They both knew it had been good. Very, very good.
Sobering, he rolled over her, holding himself up on his elbows. “I…um.” He looked serious, a little unsure, but also determined. “Ah, fuck it. I’m going to tell you something, and I hope you don’t mind.” He gave her a quick kiss and pulled back to gaze into her eyes. Then he said, “I love you.”
She suddenly realized how much she had longed to hear those words from him, even though a month ago she’d have sworn she wanted nothing like that. And she realized—she really, truly did—that the past, all of it, didn’t matter anymore. Only he mattered.
“I love you, too,” she said.
He rolled to his back and pulled her into his arms—sweaty, slick, panting, and all—and held her tightly within the circle of his care and love.
The hunter and the hunted were now a bonded pair. A wicked, naughty, salacious, bonded pair of kinkster switches. They would each make the most of their time on top, even knowing their time on the bottom would be equally fulfilling.
And, all the time, they would shower each other with love. Always.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at book two, Trapped!
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Excerpt from Trapped
A light touch glided across his back. It was a caress but so gentle it was barely there. Sebastian Fletcher shivered, enjoying the feel of the expert hands working their magic on his skin and muscles. Fingers trailed lightly up and down as they played across his torso, like an artist swirling warm oil paint across a canvas.
Then the young woman began to work him in earnest, kneading his muscles and pounding them when necessary. She was a natural at this, inherently sensing where he was tense and what would most please him. It was obvious she was well trained and experienced, but it went deeper. Sebastian presumed that she was intrinsically empathetic. Like the very best submissives, she wanted to please and instinctively knew how to serve. He’d encountered this in therapists before, but rarely. He gave himself over to her superb ministrations.
First his upper back—she worked him, occasionally soliciting feedback. “Please let me know if I’m too rough. If you want a lighter touch…” she murmured. Even her voice was honey soft, enhancing the warm, lazy cocoon that enveloped him. The room was nearly dark. A light, earthy music soothed his ears.
“It’s fine,” he returned, sounding muffled, his face buried in the circular pillow holding his head. “Amanda, is it?”
She murmured concurrence.
Her hands moved down to his lower back. The young woman continued to alternate a soft, sensual caress, which seemed to be her signature warm-up, with a harder pounding that would work the knots out of his muscles, knots earned on this waste-of-time business trip to the colonies.
Sebastian snorted…realizing his Europe-centric mind-set was half the problem. The United States of America was no longer the property of Great Britain, and he’d been overconfident thinking he could breeze in and dictate his preferences with these potential business partners.
It had been a tiresome week of meetings, resulting in the conclusion that Atlantic City was not the place to launch Club Exotica’s first U.S. location. He’d try Las Vegas next, or maybe even go outside that city to a county where prostitution was legal, as it was in England. Not that Club Exotica offered that service, exactly, but there were certainly times when “happy endings” were offered, ones like this that were pure, orgiastic sensation.
Sebastian sighed. That wouldn’t be happening today.
“Sir?”
Her tentative voice stirred him. He was a Dom, after all.
“Sir, I feel bad that my service yesterday wasn’t satisfactory. I want you to know that today’s massage is on the house.”
“What?” Bass raised himself up on his elbows so he could look at her. “What are you talking about?”
Meeting his incredulous stare, she raised her chin a little. “I take my profession very seriously, and if a ninety-minute massage wasn’t enough to work the kinks out, then I must have done something wrong. So I’ll try again and won’t charge you. That’s all.”
Bass liked this woman. Her looks. Her professionalism. In fact, everything about her. But he had to stop himself from grinning, knowing it would reveal something else entirely.
Kinks.
If she only knew what that word meant to him. He’d happily work out kinks with her, every possible kind of filthy, dirty, sinful kink. But the woman sweetly named Amanda looked way too innocent for his needs.
Strangely, something in him wanted to reassure her. “I appreciate your commitment to your work. Very admirable, but I have absolutely no complaints about yesterday.”
“Oh! Then why…I mean, most people don’t get another massage the very next day.”
“I own a club with a spa in it and was doing research. I get massages everywhere I go. You know, checking out the competition.” She didn’t look convinced. “To be honest, yesterday was all about work, but I enjoyed it so much that I came back. Today is just for me.”
It was a bald-faced lie, but she seemed to like it, a pretty blush lighting up her cheeks. “Thank you. That’s kind.”
Bass lowered his face back to the pillow so the woman could continue, but he felt like a bloody idiot. He’d come back for one reason only—to see her again.
Amanda Jones. He even liked the solid American name.
But it made no sense. He didn’t chase women. They chased him. And gave of themselves to him in every possible way. That was how it was supposed to be. Not this irrational need to see a complete stranger again for no reason at all.
Her massage yesterday had worked out all the kinks, save one. And he knew that one wasn’t going to happen. He might be in a casino spa, but this woman radiated professionalism.
So why am I here?
Bass had no idea, but he kept telling himself it was because of her expert massage skills.
She applied more warm oil to his back, and he felt her hands gliding over his skin, working his muscles.
Push. Roll. Flatten.
Glide back and repeat.
Bass sighed audibly from the pleasure of it.
Push. Roll. Flatten.
Glide back and repeat.
Her fingers wandered down farther, and he shivered. She was at that point just above his ass, the super-sensitive apex nestled between his cheeks. His most erogenous spot. His groin tightened. He stifled a low moan.
&nb
sp; It wouldn’t be the first time a massage gave him a hard-on, but he was not in Club Exotica, he reminded himself. Worse, he might embarrass the young woman who stood over him, just doing her job. Her amazing hands left his back for a moment, and he heard her getting more warm oil. It gave him a moment to take a deep breath and try to get his libido under control, but he quickly realized it wasn’t going to work.
Bollocks!
He had no interest in looking like every other bozo businessman at a conference trying to get his rocks off from the services of a pretty young masseuse.
When her oil-warmed hands returned, she started to work his hamstrings, rolling and kneading the firm muscles and sliding up between his thighs. Just one more inch and she’d be caressing his balls. His entire pelvis tightened from his buttocks through to his cock, and he grunted in his effort to refrain from moaning.
“I’m sorry. You must be ticklish there,” she noted in a light soprano.
“Harder,” he ordered, sounding harsh. Sucking in a calming breath, he restated, “I mean, feel free to work my muscles firmly. They’re still stiff from traveling.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was washed over him like an angel’s breath.
Shite!
Did she have to sound so much like one of the many submissives that routinely submitted to him in his club? But she did begin to apply a rougher touch, becoming more forceful, aggressive even, in her movements.
It helped. Some.
It would be far easier if she weren’t so pretty, so deliciously sweet, a fact he’d been trying in vain not to notice. Her body was displayed to perfection in that skimpy casino costume she wore, a sort of clingy toga. He could make out every perfect line of her willowy body. He’d been struck from the first moment he saw the young woman by the sight of her shapely, delectable thighs below the miniskirt. She had legs that went on forever, legs created for wrapping around a man and holding tight while fucking. For holding him tight.
But it was her contrasts that made her so extraordinary and alluring. While she practically screamed sex appeal, at the same time she gave off an opposing aura. Her all-American, girl-next-door quality enticed him. A delightful find in this casino of iniquity. Pure. Angelic. The exact opposite of the cosmopolitan women of his London circle. They’d eat her alive back home, but here she’d own him body and soul—if he let her.
