Hers for the Evening (32 page)

Simon’s big hand engulfed hers. “This way.” Like an alley cat who could see in the dark, he led her down a short flight of stairs to a door. With one touch, a keypad lit up, and he punched in some numbers. The door lock clicked. He hit another switch, lighting the staircase, and led her down. His big hand clasped around hers did funny things to her heart rate. The wall of windows from above continued down below with the same breathtaking view of the forest. A large four-poster bed dressed in a gold down comforter stood against mahogany paneling. Directly across, more wood paneling and a floor-to-ceiling mirror showcasing the bed. The back wall, built into the side of the hill, appeared to be made of irregular stone pieced together in a tight fit. Her eyes seemed to widen involuntarily. Simon smiled. “Welcome to the 211

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dungeon, baby.”

“Lord, Simon.” She turned in a circle. Chains were sunk into the stone wall, manacles attached. There was more. A huge cross-like contraption, again with manacles. A machine like a horse’s saddle with a great phallus in the middle. A sex machine. Bars were suspended horizontally from the ceiling, one in front of the mirror, another over the bed. Ankle and wrist restraints hung from the four posters of the bed.

“Do I need a safe word for all this?” She’d read enough on the Internet to pick up some of the terminology.

Simon chuckled, touched her cheek. “That’s only for pain and gangbangs.”

She shuddered.

“I have no intention of doing that stuff to you. If you really need to stop, all you have to do is tell me.”

She stared at the metal bars hanging from the wood beams of the ceiling. Lined handcuffs dangled from the ends. The dungeon master would suspend his handcuffed victim from that horizontal bar.

“Don’t be a pantywaist, baby. This is what you wanted.” Simon moved in so close she dragged in his musky male scent instead of air. “You will love this,” he murmured as if it were a command.

“Yes, Simon.”

The smile that grew on his face was devil and angel all at once. He grabbed her, hauled her up his body, bunching her skirt, forcing her to latch on to his hips with her thighs to keep from falling.

He shoved her up against the stone wall. “You must always say yes, Master.”

Her breath fluttered in her throat. She felt so damn deliciously manhandled, wet and creamy as his cock nestled between her legs. “Are you really a BDSM

dom?”

He nipped her neck, licked the bite, then rubbed his nose to hers. The small intimacies stole her breath.

“I’ve watched my friend perform. Tried it once.” He shrugged. “Not for me.”

Grabbing her chin, he captured her in his hand. “I only do this for you.”

For her. “I love the way you pick me up and toss me around. Like I’m some tiny little thing.”

He nuzzled her hair. “You are a tiny little thing.” He let her slide down his body. “Let’s see what we’re going to need for tonight’s adventure.”

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Striding to a wide but shallow cabinet next to the mirror, he slid open the door to reveal an unnerving array of devices, the names of which she’d gathered from her Internet perusing. Dildos, short floggers, long whips, wrist and ankle restraints, ball gags, nipple clamps, ropes, brightly colored scarves, blindfolds, bars of varying lengths much the same as those that hung from the ceiling, plus instruments she was afraid to even ask the purpose. Her mind boggled. Simon shot her that wicked angel smile again. “Oh baby, we are going to have so much fun.”

She backed up a step, her heart clamoring, as he advanced on her. He stuck two fingers inside the waistband of her skirt and hauled her close.

“Now take off your clothes.”

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7

SHE WAS LIKE THE PROVERBIAL SQUIRREL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE road, twitching, not knowing which way to run.

Simon had dreamed about her naked body for twelve years. Now Haley was his. “Do you want to do it?” he said. Then he smiled. “Or do you want me to undress you?”

Her pupils dilated. Haley Ventura was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen in his entire life. Plump breasts a man could hold in his hands, full enough to take his cock in a slow, sweet titty fuck. Wide brown eyes, thick black lashes, long silky hair he could bury his face in and wrap around his hands to draw her close. Hips he could grab on to as he buried himself deep inside her. All the things he’d imagined were suddenly within his grasp, but only for this one night. If he stripped her, he’d end up tearing her clothes. He backed off a step, eased his fingers from her waistband. “You do it.”

She blinked, still the twitching squirrel. She needed some ordering around.

“Take your clothes off for me . . . now.” He gave a split-second pause before that last all-important word. He then glanced down at her feet. “Leave the heels.” Black suede fuck-me spikes.

Her gaze dropped, then she closed her lids.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Her eyes snapped back to his. As he watched, she tugged her tight T-shirt from her skirt, inching it up her delectable torso. Her breasts almost spilled from the lace cups of her bra.

His mouth watered. “Holy shit.” She was more beautiful than he’d imagined. She yanked the shirt over her head, her hair settling around her shoulders in a cloud, falling across her breasts. He pushed the soft strands back, reveling in the silky feel of hair and skin.

“Skirt next.” He wanted her in bra and panties only. Reaching behind for the back zipper, her breasts thrust forward for his view, her nipples beading against the lace bra. She shimmied deliciously, sliding the tight skirt over her hips.

“Nice,” he whispered, a note of awe trimming his voice. She wore the tiniest thong of the sheerest black fabric. “Did you buy that for me?”

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She nodded, her eyes wide.

“Excellent choice.” He hated that he would eventually ruin the sensual lingerie, but he’d buy her a new set.

Grabbing a remote off the bedside table, he perused the controls. Okay, which one? He pointed at the suspension bar hung five feet back from the mirror, then pushed a button. The chain lowered from the ceiling. Ah, the correct one right out of the gate. His friend Damon was good to his submissives, and the restraints attached to the end of the suspension bar were lined with sheepskin. In Haley’s fantasy, she’d been tied to the bed, which was fine except for the fact she’d be either on her stomach or her back. The opposite side would be completely ignored. Unless he untied her and rolled her over. The suspension bar was so much better. She’d have all the immobilization she required, with every inch of her available to be licked, kissed, nibbled, sucked, tasted, and fucked.

“Come here.” He snapped his fingers and pointed straight down. She jumped like a frightened rabbit. He wasn’t sure how much of this she’d get off on. He’d never snapped his fingers at a woman in his life. That was something you did to a dog. Yet it was pretty damn fucking hot as, in bra and panties, she scurried to his side.

“Can you reach this?” He held up her arm, the tips of her fingers barely touching the metal. Her height required lowering the suspension bar a bit more.

“Arms over your head,” he ordered.

Her skin was warm to the touch, flushed a rosy pink, her pupils wide, eyes the color of rich 70-percent cocoa chocolate. He thought of asking again if she was sure this was what she needed, but that would spoil the mood. He had to trust she would tell him when he pushed her too far, when enjoyment and excitement turned to fear and disgust. For now, her nostrils flared like a pedigreed filly as he cuffed one fine-boned wrist, then the other.

“Does this hurt?” He wanted no pain.

She shook her head.

He narrowed his eyes to slits. “Cat got your tongue?” He allowed a harsh tone to creep in.

“No. It feels fine.”

“No, what?” he emphasized.

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“No, Master.” Her voice quivered.

The oddest, kinky thrill sizzled to the tip of his cock. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get a wet spot on his jeans.

Using the remote, he raised the bar a couple of inches. He didn’t want to yank her arms from their sockets, but he needed her to feel the slight tug of suspension, the pull of the restraints.

“Is this what you crave, slut?”

For the first time, a smile trembled on her lips, then she nodded. The game was on. And she liked it.

He stepped aside so they could both see her image in the mirror. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “Fucking hottttt . . .” letting his tongue hiss on the T.

He strode to the cabinet he’d opened earlier and grabbed a spreader bar. Standing in front of her once more, he nudged her feet apart, then hunkered down on the carpet to test the bar’s length. Perfect. He buckled the ankle restraints lined with sheepskin. Eye level with the scrap of sheer thong over her mound, he blew warm breath on her hot pussy. She moaned, and her scent enveloped him.

Rising slowly, he dragged his fingers up her toned calves, over her firm thighs, squeezed her tight ass, pinched a beaded nipple, until he stood at his full height above her.

“I want nothing more than to climb behind you, sink my fingers into your hips, and impale you with my cock right in front of this fucking mirror.”

With a sharp intake of breath, her lips parted, revealing the pink tip of her tongue.

“Later,” he promised. They had a plan, a scenario. “Right now, I have a man waiting to do everything to you that I demand, giving you more pleasure than you can take.”

His words set off a full-body shiver that rippled through her breasts. Putting his hand between her legs, he cupped her pussy. “This is mine,” he said. She gasped, then bit down on her lip as he stroked along the thong’s crotch.

“I will allow the man I have chosen to pleasure you while I watch.”

“Yes, Master.” Her breath quickened.

He pinched one peak of her breast, hard, gauging her reaction, her delight. Her eyes damn near rolled back, and her head lolled on her shoulders before she 216

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straightened once again to meet his gaze. Oh yeah, she liked a small measure of pain with her pleasure.

“You will not come until I give you permission. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master.” Each time she said it, her voice grew stronger, more confident.

“When I say it’s time, I will count to ten, and you will come right then.” He tipped her chin with the tip of his finger. “Or you will not come at all. Understood?”

She nodded. “Yes, Master.”

He was a quick study. He’d watched Damon work his magic. He knew the words Damon’s submissives craved, and he fed Haley every line. Yet it was more than a recitation of acts he’d witnessed. She would come from another man’s tongue, another man’s fingers, but she would climax because Simon allowed her to and because he commanded it. It made him the key player. Simon didn’t believe that sex and love went hand in hand or that love precluded sharing. He’d had all his sex without being in love, and he could now allow someone else to pleasure the woman he loved. Because it was all about Haley’s pleasure. Tonight, she would receive more than her wildest fantasies.

“I’m going to leave you now,” he told her.

“What?” The pulse at her throat throbbed with anxiety. A real dom would let her stew in her own thoughts and fears as punishment for not trusting him. That was part of the dom/ slave relationship, no explanations, the sub simply accepted. That wasn’t their relationship.

“I’m going to buzz our friend through the front gate.”

“Do you know him?” she said, still with a bite of nerves.

“He’s a courtesan through an agency I’ve utilized before,” he explained. “I haven’t met him, but I trust in the agency’s recommendation. Isabel has chosen perfectly for me in the past.”

“Who is Isabel?”

He recognized a thread of jealousy in the question. “She runs the agency.”

“Is this guy, like, a hooker or something?” Her voice rose higher on the last word.

Simon cupped her throat. “He’s a male courtesan trained to give you every pleasure that I instruct him to.” He felt her nervous swallow against his palm.

“Trust me, Haley.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Yes, Master.”

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That was what he wanted to hear. And he left her alone down in the dungeon.

ALONE IN THE DUNGEON, HALEY STUDIED HERSELF IN THE MIRROR. Arms stretched over her head, the bar spreading her legs, high-heeled shoes sinking into the plush carpet. Yet it wasn’t the bars or the cuffs that staggered her. It was her naked body. The heat in Simon’s gaze had only worked its magic on her until he closed the dungeon door.

She exercised daily, considered herself in decent shape. She didn’t hate the way she looked as some women did, but Simon should never have left her there to notice every bump and bulge. Artie’s girlfriend had been model perfect—tall, blonde, svelte, and ten years younger than Haley. Now she was forty, but even ten years ago, Haley hadn’t been flawless.

In contrast to Artie’s nympho, Haley was . . . a fireplug. She’d wanted to be tied to the bed and hadn’t imagined that she’d be looking at herself. What was taking Simon so long?