Claiming Lauren (eXclave) (3 page)

How would she let him go? How could she return to separate beds, separate
cities, most of the time separate countries? She wanted to ask him about after,
whether he would continue to communicate with her online, but feared the
answer. So she threw herself into him. Surrendered, narrowed her focus down to
his mouth and his hands.

Master seemed to sense the moment she gave. His lips fastened around her
clit. He slid his fingers into her heat, curled them until he massaged her
G-spot with the rough tips. Pressure built in her abdomen, firing signals to
her brain, etching sparkling shards of color on the insides of her eyelids.
 He only gave her one—she wanted more.

More of the bone-melting, thought-robbing pleasure that calmed to an echo
too soon.  Master lingered in her pussy, pulsing calloused fingertips in
her quivering grip. She bore down on his hand, striving for another orgasm,
while he released her arms from suspension and gathered her against his chest.
She missed the cold of exposure when he delivered her to the too-soft bed.

Lauren's thighs trembled as he settled between them. She brought cuffed
hands to his face, caressed his jaw, tried to make her voice work to thank him.
The fingers he pressed to her lips smelled like sex.

"I want to watch you squirm beneath a flogger," he whispered.
"To whip your ass until it's striped red. But you came so hard, so
perfectly, that I can't bear to punish you."

Her breath rasped, just on the edge of control. Master stroked her
throat, her shoulder, released one of her nipples from the clamp and
immediately opened his mouth over the swollen tip. When the first sharp needle
of pain hit, he was there, sucking and soothing.

"You want the lash, too," he said as he moved on to her other
breast and introduced that eager nub to the same hurt. "Leather on your
thighs. Between them when I roll you over."

Distantly, Lauren realized she'd lost herself. He could have told her she
wanted anything—hot wax, piercings, a gang bang with him at the lead—and she
would have agreed. His voice, velvet and harsh at once; his hands, kneading the
backs of her thighs, turning her onto her stomach—they hypnotized her.

She buried her hot face in the bleach-scented pillow and pushed her ass
in the air.

J.'s hands measured her cheeks, spread them wide. The toy he'd placed
inside her felt impossibly, uncomfortably big. Relentlessly hard.

Once more, as if he had access to her gasping quiet thoughts, he homed in
on her need.

"Something different here. Softer, to absorb the shock."

Shock? Lauren tensed, listening to his breathing as he reached into his
duffel. The pillow absorbed her groan as her skin absorbed the slippery oil he
smeared between her buttocks,. He kissed the small of her back and removed the
metal egg. Her nipples jerked to life all over again.

He worked an oiled finger into her loosened passage, massaging oil past
the ring of muscle. She was too eager, too wired, and penetration hurt even so
soon after the preparatory toy had been removed. Master hushed and soothed her
whimpers, soon replacing his finger with a slim, spongy rod that gave slightly
to the clench of muscle. She worked at breathing, accepting, and a lick of
leather behind her knee rewarded her efforts.

"I want to fuck you," he confessed. "But not yet."

The first crack of the flogger struck her ass. Immediately, she craved
the burn. Master struck again. Tongues of heat claimed her upper thigh. He drew
back, hit her again. Rewarded her cries by pressing the end of the handle
against her clit. Lauren shoved back, urging the textured shaft toward her
entrance. She needed it inside—if he wouldn't give her his cock, she'd take
anything. The mental image of bearing down on a dildo wrapped in black leather
made her come again. She bit into the pillow, tried to hold still but her body
jerked and her hips thrust in the air, begging for penetration, for another
stinging blow.

Master's hand landed on the small of her back, leather braids swinging in
the curve of her waist as he grasped the artificial phallus and drew it out.
Pressed it back in.

"Oh, God, do that again," she moaned, toes curling against the
mattress, lifting into the thrust. She wanted something thicker. She wanted his
cock there, the broad head blowing through any resistance her muscles gave, the
power of his orgasm shooting pumping into her. The longer he fucked her with
the dildo, the more she craved. Bigger, thicker, longer, rougher.

"Hit me again," she gasped, writhing. "Please. Oh,
please—"

His open palm cracked against the lower curve of her ass cheek. Her hips
jerked from the blow and she clenched around the dildo. She wanted 
more
.
"Harder—"

Slap. 
His hand stung her thigh. It wasn't enough. Lauren
wedged her bound hands between her legs and crammed her fingers into her heat,
four of them, stretching herself with no regard for her body's elasticity. They
weren't enough. He'd awakened a hungry, greedy animal inside her and it wanted
abominable things—two cocks at once, the flogger on her back. 
More. 
She
imagined Master fucking her while he drove the fake cock in and out of her ass
and came all over her fingers—shuddering, gasping, begging 
please
.

Abruptly, his hand stilled. "Are you fingering yourself?"

When Lauren didn't answer, he groped between her legs and pulled her hand
away. He slapped her ass, hard. "You didn't ask and I didn't say yes.
Maybe I am interested in punishing you after all."

He grabbed the flogger from her back and smacked her thigh with his open
palm. "Spread your legs wider and hold your pussy open."

Trembling, she opened her knees and thrust her hips as high as she could.

Master could see everything and she couldn't even see what color the
walls were. Her vulnerability crashed over her on a wave of pleasure. Obeying
his instructions to the letter, she caught her labia, one fold in each hand,
and held the sensitive pillows of flesh as far apart as she could manage. Her
fingers bruised—she was so wet she had to pinch hard to keep her grip. She
prayed he would fuck her now, relieve the ache, release her from the shocks
riding her muscles. But he didn't. He struck her ass and the flogger's braids
connected with the sensitive ring of her anus. Fingers of heat snapping at the
base of the dildo still buried inside.

And he wasn't finished.

The bed creaked as he drew back and swung. This time, the flogger
connected with her wet, ravaged pussy. The end of a tongue bit into her clit.

Lauren had never been a screamer in her entire sexual life but she
screamed over and over for him as he whipped her pussy until she couldn't hold
herself open. When her hands fell away, he reached between her legs to take
over.

He brought her over that way, three and four times, until her arms
wouldn't support her weight anymore and she collapsed on her chest, struggling
for breath, unable to lift her face from the pillow.

She didn't know when he threw the flogger aside and grabbed her hips, but
the head of his cock riding up to her pussy brought her back to earth. She held
her breath as he withdrew the rod from her bottom. His thumbs replaced it
almost immediately, nestling against her rear entrance. He grasped her cheeks
and spread them wide, held her still as he slid deep. Lauren nearly wept for
the sensation of being filled, for the size of him. He didn't pause to savor
her. His penetration was hard, fast, deep and his balls took up where the
flogger had left off, slapping her clit as he fucked her. The Latex of his
condom abraded her walls once her cream ran dry. Still he continued to thrust,
forcing her to appreciate the friction until shuddered against her.

She didn't remember when he freed her hands from the cuffs. She did
remember that she cried and he whispered sweet words, praising her.

Beautiful. Sexy. Responsive. Deserving.

By the time he slipped from her arms, she even believed him.

Chapter Three

Lauren returned to her Long Island home late the following afternoon,
minus her wedding ring, which she couldn't find even after emptying the
contents of her bag. Losing it bothered her on one level and didn't bother her
at all on a different level. Of more pressing concern was returning to her life
without Master. The night she'd spent behind the dark of a blindfold had done
something to her eyes. Changed the way she looked at the world. She'd expected
some of the strangeness to abate once she returned to familiar surroundings but
she gave up on that hope fifteen seconds after locking the front door behind
her, when her husband's voice made the hair on her arms stand up.

She didn't have to wonder why he'd decided to visit. All indicators
pointed to her phone call and confession as the reason. What she didn't know
was what he intended to do now that he'd come.

Well, there was no point speculating. Leaving her small suitcase near the
door, she followed his voice to the formal dining room. His laptop sat open on
the long mahogany table. Jacob spoke into his cell phone while he paced the
length of the table. His back was to her long enough for her to absorb the
details of his clothing--gray wool trousers, a pressed blue shirt, gold
cufflinks winking at his wrists--but not long enough for her to execute a
retreat. Before she could quietly sneak away, he turned and met her eyes.

Without a word of warning to the person on the other end of his call, he
disconnected and pocketed his phone. "Good evening, Lauren."

Her body responded instantly, heating and softening despite her shock.
Despite all her best intentions to remain aloof, she hungrily ate up the
details of his appearance. She'd forgotten how his lean frame towered over most
of the population in a manner that was authoritative but not intimidating. His
slate blue eyes and strong jaw commanded respect. After the night she'd spent
with Master, the respect came easily. Lauren had to fight her instinct to lower
her gaze in deference.

"Jacob. I wasn't expecting you."

"I had a last-minute change of plans and thought we could have
dinner." He closed his laptop. "Your housekeeper is preparing one of
the guest suites for me. I trust you won't find my presence an
imposition."

She blew out a slow breath and counted to five, searching for a calm
place. Peace eluded her but her voice at least didn't shake. "You're
welcome here, of course."

"And dinner?" He lifted one dark eyebrow.

"I'm sure Margaret can prepare a last-minute meal. I'll speak with
her right now." Desperate to get away from him and regroup, she turned to
leave the room.

"I've made arrangements elsewhere," he said, stopping her
retreat.

Instinct told her to plead exhaustion from her flight so she could gather
herself and figure out how she wanted to handle his visit, but she shied away
from calling attention to her recent activities. Better to pretend nothing had
happened, that she hadn't called him with a middle of the night confession.
Lauren exhaled slowly. "I'll go dress for dinner, then."

She didn't even try to cling to dignity as she bolted from the room.

Upstairs, behind a locked door, she gave in to panic. Why had Jacob come?
They'd been married five years and in the three years she'd spent in the Long
Island house, he'd never once visited. His choice, not hers. She would have
been glad for the chance to make something of their marriage, even if only
friendship. But Jacob had never given her the slightest opportunity. With the
aid of his assistant, she represented the United States' social face of Brant
Enterprises, but Jacob conducted his business and personal fairs abroad. Rarely
did he make a personal appearance state-side. He employed an army of trusted,
highly-qualified staff to travel on his behalf. Or he used to. Now he was
downstairs and she had no idea what to do with him.

Her gaze fell on the laptop she kept tucked beside her bed, an easy-reach
outlet for restless nights. Her bouts of insomnia began nearly two years ago.
Lauren was startled to realize her night troubles had coincided with Jacob's
last visit. She'd only met up with him long enough to fulfill her role as a
business dinner companion. They'd parted immediately after the dinner party
broke up, Jacob to his hotel room and Lauren to hers. The following morning, he
was gone. That very night, she'd tossed and turned, unable to sleep, finally
turning to the Internet for a distraction.

Through a chain of links she no longer remembered, she'd found her
distraction.

She'd found Master.

A sense of calm settled over her. She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes,
searching her passion-drugged, blindfold-dark memory for the details she'd
caught and catalogued. Instead of a familiar faceless presence, however,
Jacob's image filled her mind. Her eyes flew open and she braced for the panic
but it didn't return. Her vision was clear, her thoughts uncluttered. She
wasn't at peace, though. Unease simmered on the edges of her awareness. When
she couldn't pinpoint the source after several minutes of internal searching,
she gave up and focused on the here and now of reality.

Here, now--her husband.

Reality--waiting for her to dress and rejoin him for a meal.

She could handle sitting across a table from him for one evening. Likely
he had a flight to catch before dawn, and her life would return to normal by
breakfast.

Half an hour later, centered in the knowledge of her position and dressed
in a tasteful teal cocktail dress, she found Jacob nursing a drink in the
study. A charcoal dinner jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. As
before, he stood with his back to the door, his posture confident and relaxed
as he took in the view of their property's private beach. Soon the days would
be warm enough for sprawling on the sand with an engrossing book, but as March
drew to a close, the waves were best enjoyed from afar.