In His Service (6 page)
I could hardly hear her, her voice tiny and high and breathless. “Yes.”
“Again, Chloe,” I insisted flatly. “Say it louder.”
She struggled against the collar to swallow hard again. “Yes, sir.”
“You can’t move, can you? You can’t even come unless I let you.” I illustrated my point by sinking the smooth vibrator deep inside Chloe’s wet sex and removing it just as suddenly. Her body stiffened, then sank, like I’d applied an electroshock from the inside out. “This is what you want, isn’t it, Miss Bloom? Blameless pleasure? Total abandon? You can’t be expected to resist me. I can take you every way you’ve ever secretly wanted to be taken.” I let the vibrator slip from my hand and positioned my cock at Chloe’s warm, tight entrance. “And I will.”
The squeal that burst from her as I thrust into her ready sex was the loudest I’d heard Chloe since I buckled that leather collar to her neck and tethered her to the bed. I matched her with my groan as I sank to the root inside her sheath in one unforgiving stroke. Her body gripped me and held me as tightly as the collar hugged her throat, and it took every ounce of concentration I was capable of to draw back and try to set some semblance of a rhythm as I worked myself in and out of her. I wanted to make her beg for permission to come. I wanted to make her swear she belonged to me. I wanted to make her say my name over and over and over. But all I could do was clench my jaw and grunt out in effort and need as I rode her warm, soft, helpless,
hungry
body.
I mounted her so feverishly that the muscles of my thighs and stomach started to burn, and it still wasn’t enough. I wanted more. Deeper. Everything she had and wouldn’t give me. What she would give me—what she wouldn’t be able to help giving me—was the proof of her pleasure. I angled my hips to grind against her mons and her clitoris at the culmination of every stroke.
Forcing my breath up my throat and through my mouth, I haltingly demanded, “Say my name, Chloe. Say it when you come.”
Her lips parted, breath pushing lightly at the inside of her cheeks, she finally shifted her gaze to mine. “Yes, sir,” Chloe whispered in a hoarse voice. Then louder, she sighed, “Oh, god, yes.” And louder still, “Adrian.”
She couldn’t arch or grind or writhe as her orgasm took her, but her whole body tightened and quavered, so steadily and so hard and for so long. The walls of her sex clamped around my cock, and it was all I could do to pull out a second before a profusion of white foam spilled down her tensed thigh, reminding me what a dangerous game I played not using a condom with her even while she was on birth control. Dangerous mostly because of why I insisted on taking her bare, raw, skin to skin. A story I would never tell her. She didn’t need to know. I knew, and Penn Ellison knew, and when he learned what had passed between Chloe and me, he’d understand why I took her bare.
***
It was almost…domestic. Adrian had untied me, removed the leather cuffs, unbuckled the wide leather collar that I’d thought I couldn’t stand another second, though my skin seemed strangely bereft of it now. He was stretched out on the bed on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other wrapped around me as I rested with my cheek against his chest. Later, I knew I’d probably tell myself not to do this again, not to cuddle with Adrian Knight, not to pretend… But for now, what was the harm?
The only light in the room was the sunlight filtering in through the gaps in the shudders, and it was starting to fade, just a little—a deeper, richer shade of tropical gold.
“Did you have breakfast?” he asked.
“M-hm, while you were running.”
“Hm.” He turned his head to glance at the bedside clock. “Afternoon already. We should probably send over to the resort for lunch.”
But we didn’t. We didn’t move. Twilight had definitely settled in before Adrian took a deep, rousing breath. “Almost time to join the guests for dinner.” His attention shifted to me. “I’m going to have you start doing dinner duty with me.”
“Dinner duty?”
“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, aren’t you?” I paused a moment, as I tucked my head down just a little, uncertain how I felt about or could respond to that question. “From now on, you’ll dress and join me for dinner. I know the guests will find you far more charming than I am.”
I cleared my throat to cover a snicker. I didn’t think I’d met anyone as charming as Adrian Knight—when charming was what he wanted to be. He just frequently didn’t seem to care for that role.
“I’d better get cleaned up then,” I told him, slowly extracting myself from his loose but warm embrace.
Adrian caught my wrist. “Are you okay, Chloe? That...just now, it didn’t get too intense?”
“No,” I said, then gently pulled away from his grasp. “No, sir.”
A suggestion of a grin flitted across his handsome face. “As usual. You take everything in stride, don’t you, Miss Bloom?” A definite smirk and flirtatious wink erased what might otherwise have been a pensive moment on his part. “Still, you’ll have to try disobeying or failing in your duties once in a while, just to see if you enjoy
correction
.”
I didn’t comment, but the little glimmer in Knight’s eye when he said this stuck with me. In the shower, then putting on my makeup and slipping into a simple pink silk dress, I kept thinking about how fatigued—in a very good way—my limbs felt and how sated I was and
that look
on Adrian’s face. I kept recalling the intolerably blissful sensation of that gold vibrator on my nipples and inside me and the grip of the collar that I could
still
feel at my throat. And the satisfaction on Adrian’s face as we laid there on the bed for several hours afterward.
Was it a conscious choice? That was debatable. I was on Adrian’s typically stylish arm at dinner, just starting to mingle through the dinner crowd, when his hand strayed over my hip and felt the subtle telltale ridge.
Adrian went still and twisted about to look down at me, then leaned to whisper into my ear. “Are you wearing panties?”
I put on what was probably a pretty pathetic excuse for a look of surprise and chagrin. The delight in Adrian’s expression nearly made me burst out in laughter.
“Back to the villa, and take them off right now, Miss Bloom,” he growled low against my temple. “After dinner, you’ve got a punishment coming.”
Biting my lip, I lowered my head, glad to hide the smile on my face. What had come over me? Why so light and flirtatious with Knight? “Yes, sir.”
“I’d spank you right here if we didn’t have an audience. Now take them off and get back here asap, Miss Bloom.”
Still giggling under my breath, I hurried down the private path that led from the resort to the villa. My stomach bobbed and trembled at the idea of what Adrian had in mind for punishment. My heels tapping out a staccato beat against the concrete floor, I rushed down the hallway reminding myself that even his rewards had moments I could hardly endure, so I’d better not get too far ahead of myself.
I didn’t notice the woman when I first entered the bedroom, not for a full second at least. One of my hands was gathering up the hem of my dress, ready to hook the ribbon on the hip of my thong panties and tug them down my legs. She glanced up with a quizzical tilt of her blond head, pale curls creating a sensual, tousled halo around the fine, delicate features of her angular face. Still, she didn’t move from her position, kneeling naked on the thick rug at the foot of Adrian’s bed, her hands clasped at the base of her spine and her knees spread wide to reveal her smooth-shaven sex. The light of the floor lamp caught the gleam of the platinum and diamond rings she wore on her nipples and through the piercing in her clitoris. The sight made me want to cross my legs.
Pulling up short, and hurrying to tug my dress back into place, I stumbled for words. “Who…?” was the best I could manage.
“Sorry,” she said in a practiced, melodic voice, “I didn’t mean to take anyone by surprise. Well, except for Adrian.” Her smile was angelic enough, but that wasn’t innocence glinting in her blue eyes.
“But who are you?” I asked louder and more bluntly than I’d intended.
The woman sighed out a breathy giggle and regarded me coyly from under her thickly mascaraed lashes. “We have an arrangement, Adrian and I. I’m his girlfriend, I guess you could say, and his submissive.”
The flare of anger that went off inside me was an explosion of heat and humiliation so great that a flash of deep red literally blacked out my vision.
To Be Continued In
At His Mercy: His #3
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ALSO BY ERIKA MASTEN
AN EROTIC DOMINATION SHORT
Valerie has taken Ian’s friendship for granted for years. She’s been too busy chasing muscle-bound bad boys to recognize that Ian isn’t exactly a boring Mr. Nice Guy himself. When she steps over the line with him one too many times, Ian shows Valerie that there’s more skill than brute force involved in taking—and owning—a woman like her.
AN EXCERPT FROM ERIKA MASTEN’S
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Ian is so fast, so precise and practiced, that I’m not sure how he does it. One moment, I’m staring into his eyes. Then I’m twisted around on my stomach, bent forward over the arm of the couch with his hand on my back holding me down. I gasp as I feel him pull the hem of my dress up to my waist. He leans over me, controlling me now with his hand at the nape of my neck, and pulls my black silk panties aside. I can feel his stiff dick, pressing through his expensive suit pants, against my ass. A moan bursts out of me without warning as he sinks two long fingers into my pussy.
Ian’s hot breath warms my neck and my ear. “Are you this wet from thinking about him overpowering you, using you?”
“Ian, let me explain—”
“Valerie, be quiet and listen to me. If I ask you a question, you will answer it with a yes or a no. If I tell you to say something, you will say it. If I tell you to do something, you will do it. If you refuse at any time, I will turn around and walk out that door.”
The implication—that he will walk out and not come back—makes my chest ache. The tone he is using makes my pussy ache.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
“Y-yes,” I choke out.
“Very good,” Ian says and rewards me with a deeper thrust of his probing fingers. I whimper and can’t help pushing back against his hand. “Shh,” he whispers soothingly against my hair and nuzzles my ear.
My reaction to Ian is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. The stern edge to his voice makes my stomach tight, makes me anxious, desperate to please him. Then his tone softens with praise, and I melt. His touch, as he holds me still by the back of my neck, is firm and assured, but not rough. Usually, nothing short of being called a cheap cunt and getting ass-fucked without lubricant makes me this aroused. Already I can feel the wetness from my pussy slicking my shaved mound and my thighs. I bite my lip at the thought of how wet Ian’s hand must be as he fingers me.
“You are so ready to be fucked, Red,” he murmurs, his fingers grazing my G-spot, then slipping away, then teasing it again. My moan sounds more like a sob, and I’m clutching the throw pillow underneath me in a white-knuckle grip. “So now you’ve got to make a decision. Your date is going to be here in a few minutes. Yet here you are bent over for me with my fingers in your pussy and my cock pressed against your ass. Do you want me to let you up, so you can leave with him? Or do you want to spend the rest of the night here with me making up for your poor behavior over dinner?”
I arch, nudging and rubbing my ass against the bulge in Ian’s pants. “I want to stay and make it up to you,” I say in a small voice, unsure and unsteady. In truth, I’m terrified, and excited, and desperate for his reassurance.
“You need to be sure about that, Red. I’m going to push you hard, and you’re going to have to make all this time I’ve spent waiting for you to grow the hell up worth it to me. Are you ready for that?”
Taken: Dominated #1 is available now at online retailers.
ALSO BY ERIKA MASTEN
AN EROTIC DOMINATION SHORT
In Bitter Creek, Vicky is one of those women. The small town slut who wears too little, drinks too much, fucks too soon, and never spends the night. The hard jilting she got from her high school sweetheart and fiancé broke something deep inside her. Now it’s up to his best friends, twins Morgan and Heath, to break her down yet again—with gentle words and rough handling—and get what’s broken to heal right this time.
AN EXCERPT FROM ERIKA MASTEN’S
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This isn’t going to derail us. I rub myself shamelessly against his hip and come up on tiptoes to graze my lips against his cheek. Gotta love lip stain—no smear. “Is there a storage room back here?”
His eyes narrow, and his breath snags. “You’d be okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Is that so much less romantic than a dark little office? Honestly, Morgan, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m no wilting flower.” I make him jerk when I yank his shirt open, ripping more than one button loose. “Storeroom…” My fingers find one of his pebble-hard nipples, dark rosy brown and so damn warm, while my tongue finds the other. His first instinct is to close his large hands over my shoulders like he’s going to push me away, but his fingers slide up into my hair after a moment, gently tugging at the nape and giving me shivers. “Up against the wall out behind the building,” I suggest between long, slow licks around those sensitive nubs. His abs tense and flex in time with the motions of my tongue and his ragged breath. Impatient, I grab his crotch, pressing the heel of my palm hard against the impressive ridge of his erection through his black jeans. “Over the hood of your car. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”