Breaking Skye (6 page)

She did as he asked. There was no struggle in her to obey, only not to come.

She was too damn perfect, this gorgeous creature.

His cock was a hammering beat in his groin. He needed to come maybe almost as badly as she did.

Focus.

He looked down at her, at the curve of her ass, the sinuous length of her back, the long brown hair falling down around her shoulders. He breathed in her scent: her hair, the sharp scent of her desire.

Just do it. Do what you must. For her.

Because that’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? Being of service in some perverse yet very real way. In his mind what he did as a Dom was service every bit as much as some subbie scrubbing the floor, naked on her knees. Service and…restitution.

Don’t think. Just be here with her.

He smoothed his palm over her lovely pinking flesh before starting again with a sharp volley of hard, punishing slaps, making her wince. Making her groan. He slid one hand under her body to press onto her lusciously swollen clit with his thumb as he smacked the heated flesh of her ass, murmuring, “
Now,
Skye. Come for me, beautiful girl.”

She came apart under his hands. Just shattered—he could feel it. She called out, her body writhing, her tight little cunt clenching hard around his fingers. She was soaking wet, her hips arching. Fucking beautiful.

He’d never needed to come so badly in his life.

It only made him work her mercilessly, roughly, milking her orgasm for all it was worth until she was squirming and moaning in his lap, her head thrashing.  Totally undone.

When it was over he could hear the ragged cadence of her breath, and his own. His cock was still rock-hard beneath her. Hurting.

Didn’t matter. All that mattered was serving her needs. That was his job. And this was her first time. He certainly couldn’t fuck her now. Irresponsible. That’s what it would be if he did what he wanted to do—flip her onto her back and plow into that wet, silken cunt until he emptied himself into her.

Christ
.

He shook his head. What was wrong with him?

He pulled her up so she was sitting in his lap and put his arm around her. Taking her chin in his hand, he searched her eyes, which were a warm golden-brown. Whiskey eyes. They were glossy with her climax, her lids half-closed—she was fairly deep in subspace.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Skye,” he murmured. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And you take it well. Your body soaks it up. Revels in it.”

He paused to brush her hair from her face. To admire the pink pout of her mouth. Resisted the urge to kiss it. That was something he didn’t do with the girls he trained. This was power play, the thing he got off on. The thing he did so well. Not a relationship, which was something he didn’t do, either, for damn good reason. He only ever kissed the women he dated, fucked. Vanilla girls that knew nothing of who and what he really was. Again, for good reason. If he ever dared to mix the two…But he wouldn’t.

She blinked up at him, a question clear in the way she drew her brows together.

“You did great. Perfect. I have to try some other things with you, but later. Later. You’re done for now. Come on, lean into me.”

He stood with her in his arms and carried her to the bed, laid her down and draped a blanket over her. He watched her for several moments, his gaze roving the hills and valleys of her body beneath the cashmere blanket, then up to her now-calm gaze, her flushed cheeks.

Need to get my head clear. Need just a minute…

“I’ll bring you something to drink,” he told her before walking from the room.

What the hell was wrong with him? Adam paced his narrow kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. He should bring it to her. But he needed time to calm down.

Christ, the way she’d squirmed and moaned in his lap…

He’d spanked dozens of other beautiful women. None had ever affected him the way Skye did. He hadn’t fucking allowed it. What was it about her? Maybe the way she’d fought so hard when they were talking about her submitting, then slipped into it as easily as any experienced bottom the moment he’d laid his hands on her?

Whatever it was, he had the hard-on of his life and he’d been seconds from tearing his clothes off and fucking her senseless.

Unforgivable, that loss of control for a Dom.

Even now he couldn’t get the image out of his mind of her skin pinking so beautifully under his hands. That glorious mass of chestnut hair falling over her naked back. Fucking poetry, everything about this woman.

Was that why he needed to kiss her as badly as he needed to fuck her?

He shook his head at his translucent reflection in the kitchen window, frowning.

He had to get back in there. Inexcusable to leave her alone for more than a few moments after her first play session.

He scrubbed at his goatee, dragged in a long breath, blew it out and headed back to the bedroom. She was draped across his bed, her pose languorous, utterly relaxed. The blanket he’d wrapped her in had slipped down, exposing her flawless breasts. Unbelievable, that gorgeous skin, the areola a dusky pink, her darker pink nipples swollen and so damn succulent all he wanted was to take them in his mouth and suck.

Instead he bent over her, helped her to sit up and take a few sips of water.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fine. Great, if you really want to know.”  She smiled, dazzling him. Too beautiful.

“I’ll keep you here a while, let you come down before I take you home.”

“Home? Do I have to go?”

Her voice was a soft, husky sound, her brown eyes enormous. Hell, he’d keep her there forever, if he could.

But of course, he wouldn’t do that.

He never let any woman stay at his home.

Want her here…

He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “You’ll be here with me for a while.”

“Okay.” The answer seemed to satisfy her. She closed her eyes, her dark lashes laying like a sooty fringe against her flushed cheeks.

She curled onto her side and he sat on the bed, keeping some distance from her soft body. His cock was still hard as stone. Distracting. But he forced himself to sit still next to her, to stroke her back while she dozed, making sure she had enough human contact to help her come down from the lofty heights where her mind, her body, had been flying.

He was still rock hard two hours later when he helped her get dressed, put her in his car and drove her home.

She was silent in the car as they sped through the dark city, past the dim streetlights, the slowly moving streetcars. He was grateful for her quiet sleepiness. Grateful he didn’t have to make conversation. His head was too twisted up. There was barely enough room in there for his own thoughts. Thoughts he couldn’t untangle enough to make sense of.

And what was this deep churning in his gut? Telling him—demanding of him—that he see her again as soon as possible?

This was not the kind of thing he was used to feeling. Not the kind of thing he did other than for training purposes. Certainly not with this strange
yearning
.

He glanced over at her, needing to reassure himself that she was okay. Her eyes were half closed, her head resting on the back of the seat. He turned back to the road and downshifted as they climbed the steep Church Street hill.

He was doing his job—that was all. That was all he ever did. He did it damn well. He didn’t need to make excuses to himself tonight about why he wasn’t doing more. Letting her stay with him. Holding her all night.

Fuck.

When they arrived at her building he helped her from the car and up the stairs, her warm little body pressed against him all the way up. The scent of her, the feel of her, was making his stomach tighten up again. He tried to mentally shake it off, whatever the hell it was.

He got her inside the apartment, quickly took in the comfortable furnishings, the beautifully worn antiques. He took her coat from her shoulders, sat her down on the overstuffed velvet sofa. Her long hair was mussed, her eyes still glazed, her lips a perfect candy pink, wanting to be kissed. But all he dared was a quick brush of his mouth across her forehead.

“You’ll be fine,” he told her. He didn’t want to stay longer than he had to—just long enough to make sure she was okay. He was too undone. He didn’t trust himself.

“Yes, I’m fine. Wonderful. A little tired.” She smiled sleepily.

“I’m going to let you get some rest, then. I’ll see you next week. Make yourself ready for me. I’ll email you instructions tomorrow.”

Her smile widened. “Yes, Sir.”

He laughed. “No need for that. That’s not what you and I are about, not what you need right now. I’m Adam to you, beautiful girl.”

“Yes, Adam.” She blinked, barely able to keep her eyes open. “Tomorrow.”

He stared at her, searched her face for any sign of panic or disorientation. “You’re to call me if you experience any sub-drop. Damn it, we didn’t go over this, and frankly that’s inexcusable on my part. If you feel panicky or depressed, or strange in any way, you’re to call me. Understood?”

“Yes. Understood, Adam.” She smiled at him.

“Okay. Good.”

He leaned in and brushed his lips across her forehead once more, then before he could stop himself, over her smooth, warm cheek. She made a small sound of pleasure, just an easy escape of breath from between her lips.

He let his hand sweep over her hair for a moment before he made his escape—for that’s exactly what it was—as quickly as he could down the old staircase and onto the street. He got in his car, started the engine and drove home a little too fast.

Back at his place he paced his living room, trying to figure out what was going on in his damn head. Why he could barely stand to leave her at her apartment despite the driving need to flee.

He never became attached to a woman. Never had, never would. He understood why he was like this, the lone wolf. He had damn good reason to be. He’d had one huge loss early in life—hell, two—and he wasn’t about to set himself up to go through that again. Ever. He’d successfully avoided attachment since that God-awful night, so long ago. Why the hell was it so damn hard to let Skye go, even for what little was left of the night?

He strode to the sideboard in his dining room, poured himself a scotch and threw it back. It burned going down, a good cleansing burn. He poured himself another, then shook his head and set it down on the sideboard so hard the golden liquid splashed.

“Fuck it.”

He stalked into the bathroom, where he turned the hot water on to blasting in the shower. He peeled his shirt off, yanked down the zipper on his slacks. But he couldn’t fucking wait to get into the shower. Instead, he pulled his cock out and began to stroke. He caught sight of his face in the mirror over the sink before he closed his eyes and saw
her
face. Her lush body. Imagined the dark pink of her hard nipples, the plump curve and the heat of her breasts in his hands.

Oh, yes.

He thought of leaning down to suck on her nipples, tugging them with his teeth until they were long and swollen on his tongue…his fingers pushing into her soaking wet pussy, then his cock.

He arched his hips into his tightly fisted hand, over and over, imagining what it would feel like to fuck her.

“Skye…have to fuck you, beautiful girl,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

He fucked his own hand instead, pleasure spiraling, a coiled spring in his gut, in his balls, his swollen cock.

In his head he turned her over, his cock driving deep into her while he smacked her perfect ass, harder and harder until she was squirming, panting, her gorgeous skin beginning to welt.

Fucking her…spanking her…using his hard, pinching fingers on her clit to make her come. To make her scream.

“Ah, Skye!”

He came into his fist in long, shattering jolts of pleasure, his hips pumping.

“Fuck.”

He braced himself on the edge of the granite counter, his breath coming in rasping pants. When he’d finally caught his breath he glanced up, saw his own pleasure-torn face in the mirror. Saw the doubt in his eyes.

Skye.

Why couldn’t he get this girl out of his mind?

He was supposed to see her in a week. He’d better have his shit together by then. He
would
. Control was key, the antithesis of weakness. He’d had years of practice. He knew how to do it, how to keep his emotions at bay.

He damn well
refused
to be weak.

The problem was, he’d never been challenged in this way before. While he told himself he could handle the situation, he wasn’t completely certain he believed it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Morning dawned with the usual San Francisco fog floating outside her bedroom windows. Skye glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Almost ten. Late for her. But she didn’t want to get out of her warm bed yet. She stretched, noticing how her arms and legs felt used, a little sore. Her nipples felt the same way. She ran a hand over her bottom and smiled at the tenderness of the skin there.

Why should this make her happy?

She didn’t know. She only knew that it did.

She smoothed her hands over her body: her stomach, her ribs, her breasts. Beneath her fingertips her nipples came up hard. Her skin was hyper-sensitive everywhere, as though her night with Adam had awakened something in her.

The trilling of her cell phone made her jump, and she grabbed it off her nightstand, a part of her wishing it would be him. She glanced at the caller ID.

“Hey, Esme.”

“Good morning, cous. Get any sleep last night?”

“Not much. And you’re too damned chipper.”

“You know me—I’ve always been a morning person. You, on the other hand, can be a right witch in the morning. And it’s nearly ten, hardly even morning anymore. So, tell me. What happened? How are you?”

“I’m fine. I feel good in sort of…strange ways.”

“Bruised?”

“Maybe a little. More sore than bruised.”