Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel (23 page)

“Suck me, darlin’,” he ordered. And then he started eating her pussy as if he had all the time and energy in the world to bring her to the brink of insanity again.

Her tissues were so sensitive, but the feel of his mouth there had her working herself against him, lifting and lowering her hips so he was stroking her with his tongue in a rhythm that made it difficult to focus. But as much pleasure as he could bring her there, she wasn’t wasting her first opportunity to serve her Master in such a basic way.

It gave her pause, how quickly her subconscious embraced the idea of him as her Master. She curled her hands around the base of his cock, and slid her lips over the broad head, tasting herself on his flesh as well as his semen. Semen he’d shot inside her, that was drying on her inner thighs, that he was teasing with his tongue when he wasn’t thrusting it inside her or playing it over her clit. That iron hold he had on her hips was quickly making the sensations intense and overwhelming. She had to work all the harder to take her time, take him in, slide him into the cavern of her mouth, as far as she could take him. What she couldn’t take she gripped to stroke and pump him into her mouth, thrilled at the hardening, the twitch of that massive organ that said her efforts were making him bigger. Her other fingers stretched out, caressed his testicles.

She groaned as another lightning bolt of sensation shot between her legs, thanks to his ministrations. She took him deeper, worked over him more intensely as well, fingers slick with her saliva and with the pre-come she tasted from the tip when she worried her tongue in that opening. His hips lifted, thrusting deep, and she fought her gag reflex, not wanting him to be any less forceful. When she accidentally scored him with her teeth, she jumped as he gave her a stinging slap on her wiggling ass. Then she let out another needy sound as he dipped his thumb into her cunt, working it around until it was slick, and then gripped her ass anew, shoving that thumb into her rectum.

“Ahh….” Now she simply attacked him the way her desire dictated, lips sliding up and down his fully erect length, the shaft glistening from her agile tongue. She gripped his balls again, holding, stroking and rolling them in her palm, her thumb sliding beneath to tease the perineum. He was like a powerful rodeo bull, she thought, the way he bucked up into her mouth, the way his muscular body rolled and rippled beneath hers.

He was going to make her come, but she wanted to give him pleasure first. “Master…” she gasped. “Please…I want you to come first. Please…”

It was essential, important. His voice was a growl, vibrating against her wet flesh. “You want to serve your Master before your own pleasure?”

“Yes. Please.”

“I’ll think about it.” She bit back an animal cry as he worked that thumb inside of her ass. Now he was keeping his mouth off his pussy, though she could feel his measured breath. It didn’t help her self-control at all to visualize his position, his face inches away from her wet pussy as he watched it get slicker for him.

“Please…” She had her mouth on him, over him, but he understood the garbled plea well enough.

“All right. Serve your Master.”

She obeyed, resuming the ascending and descending motion as she sucked him in, dragged her mouth along his length, licked and teased, stroked his testicles. She clasped her hand around him, gliding along velvet steel. She rode his movements as he thrust his hips upward, taking himself deeper, faster as she moved to accommodate him. He held on to her hips, kept his thumb slowly moving inside her, a sensual torment, especially when he occasionally passed an idle finger over her labia, just an easy rub that kept spirals of sensation coiling in her lower belly. His breath was getting rougher. Now he started to spank her again, random, hard blows, as if he were driving her onward. Then he was past such coordination and gripped her hips in bruising hands, held her fast as his cock began to pulse toward climax.

“Fuck, yeah. Suck me harder, darlin’. I want your jaw aching.”

She obeyed with fierce pleasure, and was rewarded for it. She savored the first jet into the back of her throat, his rough undulations into her mouth, the hiss and curse as he released, pumping his seed into her mouth. She worked her ass off to swallow him down, loving the way he shoved into her mouth without care now, all demanding male animal.

At last, he reached down, put his hand flat on her back, a mute command to cease. She drew off of him slowly, cleaning him with her tongue to draw out the experience, and then she laid her head on his thigh, staying there because he kept holding her. When he turned his mouth back to her pussy, it took no more than a couple slow circling strokes with his tongue to send another orgasm ripping through her. He held her fast as she writhed and squealed, his mouth working her, sucking her juices. During the climax she put her mouth over him again, just wanting to hold him there as she came. She stayed that way in the aftermath, panting against him as he softened. She drew off of him reluctantly, hand still curled around his base, knuckles resting in the damp nest of his testicles. She put the tip of his cock to her lips, teasing the slit with her tongue, working around the corona. She owed him once more, and she wanted to let him know she was ready at any time. She wanted to do it.

Another replete male groan came from between her legs, making her smile. Despite her protest, he turned them once more. This time he dropped a pillow on the floor and then eased her down to it on her knees. He sat up on the bed, keeping her between his splayed thighs, guiding her so her head lay on his inner thigh. His firm pressure on it kept it there and the way he slid his fingers beneath the buckled back of the collar trapped her mind in a slow spin.

“Keep your eyes on the floor, sub. You just sit there while your Master recovers. You’re trying to kill him.”

“You set the number at six,” she reminded him, smiling as she focused on his bare foot. Reaching out, she slid her fingers over his toes, traced the bones to his ankle. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, you know. Most men overestimate their sexual stamina.”

Though privately she had no doubt he’d summon an erection for that sixth time. Nerves between her legs twitched in anticipation of it.

He chuckled, tugged her hair. “You little bitch. That was a gauntlet if ever I heard one.”

“I think your masculine pride will remain intact. My blog will say: ‘Regardless of a shortfall of erections, Sergeant Leland Keller did rock
my
world with half a dozen orgasms. So all in all, the night wasn’t a complete letdown.’”

“Let me go get that ring gag.” He started to stand up, and she wrapped her arms around his leg.

“No, no, no. I’ll print a retraction.”

“Yeah, on page twenty behind the obituaries and car ads.” But he sat back down.

She laid her head back on his thigh. Drawing a breath, she let it out slow. Wow. She was starting to tire. She’d probably need another massage to get out of bed tomorrow. His bed.

It was already past midnight, and he’d told her she was staying here tonight. Though it gave her some uneasiness, she didn’t have the willpower to cater to her insecurities. He was stroking her hair. Tender, easy.

“That night with Ben,” she said slowly. “He gave me a lot of pain the way you did tonight. Why does that help?”

“Because when I treat you gentle, it opens up scary things inside you. Things you’re afraid to want. You need to be angry, need the pain. But the pain brings you back to this point, where you can be held and I can be gentle with you. Gives you those things you’re afraid to want. You’re like a tide, darlin’. Keep your eyes down.”

She’d been about to lift her head and expected she’d telegraphed it through tension in her neck. She’d forgotten. She kept her eyes on his foot.

“You asked about the wrong kind of bratting earlier,” he continued. “When you demand pain and punishment with your rage, you’re really wanting the opposite, but you need to reach it through the pain and rage.” He curled a lock of her hair around his fingers. “That first time, after your punishment, you shot right through subspace, bounced down into subdrop and went right back to bratting. That’s hard on you emotionally and physically. It broke my heart not to give you the aftercare you really needed then.”

He had an uncanny way of pulling thoughts out of her mind, giving them clarity. She bit her lip. “I couldn’t.”

“I know. And that’s okay, darlin’. It’s all okay. I’m here.”

“What do
you
want, Leland? Truthfully.” Tightening her arms around his leg, she pressed her forehead a little harder against his thigh and lied. “It won’t hurt me if I’m not it. I just want to know who you are. What you want.”

He leaned over, his lips to the top of her head as he wound his arms around her. She curled her hands over his forearm, burrowed her face into his chest and shoulder as he spoke against her hair.

“I want a very special kind of submissive. She might use her claws to tear me apart, but each time she’s done with that, she’ll know she can be the kitten she really is with me. She knows I'll be her port, the place she can trust to keep every fear, pain and ugly feeling safe, keep her safe. It doesn't matter how often she scratches and bites. She'll know when I look at her, I see the kitten with all the rest, her vulnerable heart. I'll always treat that kitten gentle, even when everything else she is needs the rougher stuff.”

She was glad she had hold of his leg, because her world just dropped away beneath her. She closed her eyes to stave off the vertigo. “Leland…”

“Be quiet now. Just hold on to me.”

He’d kept her on her knees on the floor, talking of this and that. Sliding his finger into the D-ring on the collar, he’d idly played with it, giving her little tugs, reminding her of what it meant. Eventually, he told her to go get them both a beer. Made her walk naked to the fridge and back, the chill in the front room peaking her nipples. When she returned, he took the beer from her, set it on the night table and then pulled her down over his lap to run his hands over her ass, see how the marks he’d put on her were doing. He refreshed them with a few more healthy slaps of his broad palm, commanding her to keep her knees spread, her toes straining for purchase on the floor. He had her yelping when he put the ice-cold beer against her sore ass and between her legs, ordering her to shut her legs tight over the glass bottle until she was begging him to take it away because the cold had become painful.

Chuckling—the sadist—he put her on her knees again, in front of his once again erect cock, and had her suck him off that one last time. When it was over, she was amazed to find herself vibrating with need, despite being exhausted, physically and mentally. But Leland told her it was bedtime and she didn’t disagree. Scooping her up, he took her to the bathroom door, politely giving her the chance to answer nature’s call. It oddly touched her when she emerged and found him still there. He carried her back to the bed, despite the short distance between the two points.

He put her down, tucked her in and slid in behind her, curling around her. Reaching over her hip, he slid his fingers down between her legs and began to stroke, slow and leisurely, but with obvious intent. Her body hummed, even as she tightened her legs, thinking she couldn’t possibly make that climb one more time.

“Denying your Master, darlin’?”

His other hand settled around her throat and tipped her head back onto his shoulder, an inexorable hold that raked fingers of desire down her weak body. Her thighs loosened, no thought needed. He made a noise of approval and brought her to that climax in a way that reminded her of a slow, rich spiral of caramel winding its way around her. She clung to his arm, keening out her pleasure as he worked her through it.

When it was over, he loosened that hold on her throat, kissed her temple. “There you go, sweet baby. Go to sleep now.”

I’ll take care of you like the sweet baby you are…

She’d never relaxed in a man’s arms after sex like this. Never been carried, cuddled to sleep. Cuddling was not part of Celly Lewis’s MO.

She fell into dreams with his hands curved possessively over her throat and pussy, still stroking. Her dreams were peaceful and blank, like a clear blue sky with the sun beaming on her skin.

When she woke at dawn, she was sure those dreams were the direct result of having him up against her back, still coiled around her. She wished she could carry the peaceful feeling into wakefulness, but as she pressed her face into his biceps under her cheek, inhaled him, she knew it was time to leave. That familiar weirdness in her belly was stirring, warning her she’d been shoved way too far out of her comfort zone. She needed to regain some control.

When she pushed up with some vague notion of retrieving her clothes from the other room, his arm went around her waist, an iron band holding her fast, and he put his mouth to her neck.

“I have to go to work,” she said. “Do things. Back to real life.”

He grunted. “Do you make coffee?”

She smiled, despite her uneasiness. “I’ve been known to push a button on a Keurig, yes.”

“How about we share a cup before you go?”

It was a reasonable request. She could act reasonably, not be foolish. She slid from the bed, silent acquiescence, though she noticed his arm loosened reluctantly. Since it was chilly and she didn’t know if he’d left the curtains open in the living room, she picked up a T-shirt he’d left over a chair and slipped it on before she headed for the kitchen.

He already had the coffee ready to go. Just a button push, after all. She poked her head in his refrigerator and discovered some boiled eggs. Since her stomach was growling, she snagged one and a bottle of water while the coffee was brewing. Going into the room they’d occupied most of last night, her gaze lighted on the aftermath. The chains and cuffs in disarray on the floor, the paddle, rod and single tail now not so neatly arranged on the table. The candles were stubs in pools of wax, but their scent still permeated the room.

Looking at the mat on the floor, she could see herself, chained on all fours, him moving around her, using the dragon tail, the paddle. Holding the chain right up against her collared throat as he stung her nipples with the rod. A shiver ran over her skin, recalling the orgasms he’d wrung from her, her screams vibrating against the gag. It was on the table as well, waiting to be cleaned.

She shifted from foot to foot. He probably had special things he used to clean his tools. It wasn’t her job. But it felt weird, leaving a mess. Quelling the ridiculous notion that somehow, as his sub, it was her job to clean up, she snatched her clothes and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her. That scent clung to her, though, as did the images from last night.

Going into the bathroom, she concentrated on making herself presentable not only for the man in the bedroom, but for when she left the house, which would be soon. Very soon. He had some mouthwash she used in lieu of a toothbrush, and she combed damp fingers through her hair after washing her face. She needed a shower, but she’d get one at home. She wasn’t using a guy’s shower and toiletries after one night together. No matter how incredible that night had been.

She found the coffee ready to go. Taking a deep breath, telling herself to act casual and normal, she headed back to the bedroom. She had her clothes over one arm and a coffee cup in each hand. He was sitting up and had pulled on a pair of dark-blue flannel pajama bottoms that rode low on his hips. She expected she was wearing the T-shirt he’d been planning to pull on, but having the chance to see his brown, bare chest and shoulders and the ripped abdomen, made her glad she’d snagged it. It conjured another vivid image from last night. Him shirtless, only in his jeans, which were tight over the crotch because his aroused cock was taking up all the room. When he’d squatted in front of her, held the chain, she’d been staring right at that part of him, the way the inseam cut in to shape his balls for her greedy gaze.

That was all about the sex. A much safer thing to dwell upon than all the rest. Safe sex. She snorted at herself and handed him his coffee, shaking her head at his quizzical look. But she couldn’t keep her mind in such safer realms. Instead, standing this close to him, she imagined moving closer, between his spread knees. She wished she was comfortable enough to hand him the coffee, sink down between his knees and do like she’d done last night, lean against his knee, her cheek against his leg and arms twined around it. He’d drink his coffee, stroke her hair, and her mind could be as still as he’d made it last night, after doing all those amazing things to her.

She didn’t do it, though. She backed up to the dresser, laid her clothes there and then leaned on it, taking a sip of the coffee. Looked out the bedroom window since he’d cracked the blinds. It wasn’t far past dawn, but the gold tone of the sky said there would be sunshine today. Good. That was good.

He clearly wasn’t a big morning talker, which was either the cause or effect of him working later shifts, but his lips against her neck when she’d woken, the strength of his arm around her, had made her feel welcome in his bed, not a morning-after regret. But morning-afters were likely more problematic for her anyway. She wasn’t used to hanging around.

“Where did you get the scar on your stomach?” she asked, nodding to the shiny, small indentation in his skin there.

He glanced down. “Ricochet. Damn drunk idiot waving a gun around and it went off. Bullet hit the pavement. Gravel and asphalt punched through the uniform.”

“Is that the only time you’ve been shot at?”

“As a cop, yeah, pretty much. Had a few blunt objects swung at me during takedowns or in domestic disturbances. Have to especially watch the women in those situations. They aren’t shy about using hammer, skillet or toilet brush.”

“Assault with toilet brush?”

“You laugh, but those bristles are prickly. I don’t think it had been cleaned since it was bought. Lucky the skin didn’t break or I probably would have died from infection.”

“The dangers of the job,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel. “You said as a cop. How about not as a cop?”

He grimaced. “Damn reporter. Better at picking out the details than a cop.”

“Well, that’s not much of a compliment. Wave a donut in front of most of you and you lose your train of thought entirely.”

She scampered around the dresser to the door as he made a quick lunge at her from the bed. He settled back, chuckling. “Come back in here and give me that attitude, darlin’.”

“I think I’ll stay here,” she said prudently, taking an exaggerated step into the hallway and winning a grin. The chuckle made her feel better. “So what about not as a cop?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I served overseas, saw some action in the Middle East. Wasn’t ever hit. Some buddies I was with weren’t so lucky.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He sipped the coffee, gave her an unreadable look. “Most people don’t understand how quickly a situation can turn bad or violent. Or just how violent it can get. They expect life to have a certain rhythm, routine, and they assume that the rhythm protects them. They don’t realize how fast it can hit a sour note. Like a reporter who gets too comfortable rubbing shoulders with gang members and calls one of them out on his own turf.”

She stiffened, stepped back through the doorway. “Mike is a rat. And I didn’t get in Dogboy’s face. I’m not stupid, Leland. I know how to do my job. I didn’t push him to the point he felt like he had to prove himself.”

“And you learned that how?”

She didn’t flinch at the ominous tone. “By trial and error. Luck, good and bad. I’ve had to take a few hits in the face to figure out where the lines are. But that’s the deal. Just like your rookies, I had to take those blows to learn the ropes and do the job.”

His jaw tensed. “A rookie has a backup, body armor, weapons. A radio. You’re out there with nothing but your wits.”

“I think wits are the one weapon most people tend to underestimate.” She scowled at his look. “Don’t go all Neanderthal on me like you did the other day. If you do, I’ll tell you the same thing I did then.”

He lifted a brow, gave her a sweeping appraisal. “I wouldn’t do that, darlin’. If you have all that judgment you claim to have, you’ll know this is my turf. You think I won’t put you over my knee and beat some manners into you?”

She bristled. “We’re not doing that right now. It’s not Master/sub. That’s just…bedroom stuff. Today is today.”

“And what was last night?”

Alarms went off as he rose. With the loose fit of the pajama bottoms, it was obvious he was still experiencing that impressive turgid state males had upon waking. Or maybe the argument was working him up, which should in no way inspire the leap low in her stomach that said she was responding to such a primal reaction. When he moved toward her, her gaze was filled with the impressive play of firm skin over hard muscle at his abdomen and hips. The bottoms were low enough to show his hip bones. If she was behind him, she’d be able to trail her fingers over the taut upper slopes of his ass.

So fine. He was overwhelming to her, sexually and emotionally, a combination that had her pulse pounding, but he was attacking the most important thing to her. That gave her the fortitude to plant herself, not back away an inch. He wasn’t going to intimidate her.

“It was amazing,” she said coolly. “But today is today. We’re not Master/sub right now,” she repeated.

“Hmm. Could have fooled me.” His gaze went pointedly to her throat. “Did you realize you were still wearing it, darlin’?”

The collar. Her hand went to it. Fuck, she hadn’t. Well, she had, but she hadn’t. It had felt like a part of her when she got up, a part she didn’t want to remove. Panic shot through her, but before she could back away, he curled his fingers in the ring and brought her up onto her toes in a smooth jerk that flip-flopped her stomach.

“You matter,” he said flatly. “And everything that happened last night tells me you’re mine.”

“I need to get dressed,” she said tightly. “Please let go of me.” The pull of the collar against the back of her neck, his hold on her, had a tremor running through her legs. She closed her hands into fists against his bare stomach, straight-armed him.

She was sure he read the body language. But he waited just long enough to make it clear it was his decision to let her go. She might claim things weren’t Master and sub right now, but that energy was still humming strong in the room.

When he released his hold on the collar, she muttered something about getting dressed again and escaped to the bathroom. Once there, she closed the door, leaned against it. She didn’t lock it. No point to that, given how flimsy it was, but beyond that she knew the punch sound of the lock would be a direct insult. It might push him over a line her body and mind were too eager to test. She needed to get out of here.

Despite that, she stripped off the T-shirt with as much reluctance as he’d demonstrated when he let her leave his bed. She took time to inhale his scent, rub the fabric against her cheek before setting it aside. When she donned her clothes, they felt strange, as if being naked and under his command had been far closer to her natural state.

She put her hand on the collar. He’d startled her by pointing it out, so it should have been the first thing to go when she went into the bathroom, but she hadn’t taken it off even now. She made herself tear her gaze away from the mirror, quelled the desire to run her fingers over the wide strap. She wanted to hook her fingers in the ring as he had, so she could imagine he was tugging on it again. Instead, she finally unbuckled it, coiled it over her knuckles and left the bathroom, returning to the bedroom doorway. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping his coffee.