The Dom's Dungeon (25 page)

He started
slow, letting her pussy stretch to fit him, and then he took her just as hard
as he'd said, drawing out the pleasure for them both.

Something
about this position brought out the beast, and he growled as his balls
contracted and the need to release increased. He picked up the Hitachi and
flipped it on. The loud hum almost drowned out her moan, which sounded equally
of excitement and desperation. The vibrator was so strong, he could feel it
inside her pussy as he pressed it, gently this time, to her clit. Gripping her
hip with one hand, he drove in deeper, his balls slapping against her pussy. He
thrust, then pressed the vibrator against her briefly, thrust, pressed—again,
and she came so powerfully, the spasms almost pushed him out of her. With a
laugh, he tossed the wand aside.

Her pussy
clenched around his cock as he secured her hips and plunged into her, letting
himself go. His balls tightened, squeezing painfully as if someone had grabbed
them, and then his cock erupted in forceful jerks that sent pleasure searing
through every nerve in his body.

He stayed
in her as his heart rate decreased, enjoying the intermittent contractions that
rippled through her vagina. Eventually he took a slow breath and straightened
up. He forced his fingers open and winced; she'd have bruises on her hips
tomorrow.

Removing
the anal plug caused a moan. Withdrawing his cock made her whimper. One by one,
he removed the straps and chains, then the blindfold and gag. She blinked at
him, her big brown eyes dazed.

“My little
sub,” he murmured as he picked her up. In the corner chair, he settled down,
pulling the blanket from the end table over her. Both of them reeked of sweat,
sex, and satisfaction. Her muscles were limp, although an
aftershudder
would jerk through her now and then. But she snuggled into his embrace in a way
that told him his hopes had been justified. Her trust in him had grown.

Had it
grown enough?

“Did you
like being restrained?”

Mac rubbed
her cheek against Alex's chest. Her muscles, her whole body, felt wilted like
aged lettuce. If the house started on fire, she'd probably burn before she made
it out of the chair.

“
MacKensie
, answer me.”

Restrained.
Right
. Her
wrists and legs hadn't forgotten the feel of the straps, of the bindings
holding her in place and how he touched her whenever and wherever he'd wanted.
She'd let him do that to her. “I… It was different.”

“That
isn't an answer.” His hand gripped her hair, tilting her head back so she had
to meet his intense gaze. “Try again,” he suggested. Ordered.

She wet
her lips, her mouth dry.

He glanced
away, moved his arm from around her to reach the end table, and grabbed a
bottled water. She fumbled her arms free of the blanket to remove the top and
then drank half the bottle. “I didn't realize I was so thirsty. We hadn't
been…uh…messing around that long.”

“All that
panting.”
His cheek creased as he smiled, his eyes still slightly heavy from
satisfaction, and she felt an answering satisfaction, both from her own orgasms
and that she'd obviously pleased him.

When he
didn't speak further and just waited, she realized he still expected an answer
to his question. Damn the man. “I…I feel funny about it,” she finally said.
Honesty sucked. She turned her face into his chest and added, “It makes me
hot.”

“And that
bothers you?”

She
nodded. He stroked her hair. How could he smack her bottom, pound into her, and
then be so comforting right afterward?

“Because
you're an independent woman who shouldn't enjoy giving over control to a man.
Ever.”

“That's
it.”

“Our
society says being dominated is a bad thing even if you enjoy it. But it's not
a solely female need, sweetheart. There are a lot of men who enjoy handing over
control in exactly the same way.”

True.
She'd seen men in the submissive positions in the BDSM clubs, with both men and
women as
Doms
. She peeked up at Alex. “You?”

He
chuckled and ran a finger down her cheek. “What do you think?”

She
considered the power he virtually radiated, the authority in his eyes and
voice, and the way he took charge without even thinking. “Never. You'd never
give up control.”

“Very
good.”
His
thumb ran over her lips and rubbed a sore spot the gag had left. “Although I
can play nicely with other people most of the time, I am very much a sexual
dominant.” His lips curved. “And you are a sexual submissive, little cat. Do
you realize that?”

Sexual
submissive.
He'd put a boundary on it. The right boundary. She didn't and
wouldn't want to cave in to him or anyone else during the day. Definitely not
at work. But other times… When his voice deepened and he said,
Strip
, everything in her wanted to do
exactly that—and anything else he ordered. She had wanted him to take her hard,
to tie her down, to tease her, and make her beg. Not having to think left her
with only the feel of his hands on her, his voice, and the sensations he gave
her.

A sexual submissive
. “Yes. I see that.” The
acknowledgment gave her the same paranoid feeling as if she'd left her car
unlocked in Pioneer Square. Like she was defenseless, and now he could take
what he wanted.

His arms
tightened around her. “It works two ways. A submissive gives up her power, yes,
and some people consider that a
submissive's
gift.”

“You
don't?”

“Not
particularly. No more than any trade.” He kissed the top of her head. “You have
a need to submit, to surrender control, and to give of yourself and body, and
being controlled fulfills something inside you.” He paused. “I need to
dominate, but part of domination is the need to cherish and protect. Everyone
in the world has these desires to some extent; we're further to one end of the
scale.”

That felt
right. What she'd done and he'd done. It sure beat thinking that suddenly she'd
turned wussy.

“Okay.”
She could feel her muscles that had knotted with his first question ease. There
was more give-and-take in this than she'd acknowledged. And more equality in
its own way.

BDSM
. All right. She was submissive—and maybe even
that way without Alex. But the thought of being without Alex sent a chill
through her. She needed to face that too, as long as she was dealing with tough
issues. How long was this little interlude going to last?

She licked
her lips and forced the words out. “I have a job now.”

“Yes.”

“Cynthia's
in Europe.”

“Yes.”

And wasn't
he just being a world of help in this conversation? “Then aren't the reasons
for my being here—living here—gone?”

“Ah.” Firm
fingers pushed her hair away from her face, raised her chin. “Do you want to
leave?”

Just
looking at his hard cheekbones, the sun lines beside his eyes, his lips, which
held no smile, made her heart quiver, made her want to plaster herself against
him. Instead she gave him a nasty look. “My question came first.”

He
laughed, and then his gaze turned serious. “Stay, little vet.”

The words
made her heart turn over.

He
finished. “Let's see where this goes.”

It
wouldn't go too far; she knew that. He was rich; she was poor. High society: ex-whore.
Stable: neurotic. But for now, there was no place in the entire world that
she'd rather be than here in his arms.

* * * * *

Late the
next afternoon, Mac edged in the door, juggling her bundles, only to have
everything drop except the one thing that might have survived a spill.
“
Frak
,
frak
,
frak
.”
A bark came from the back of the house and then scrabbling sounds as Butler
charged toward the foyer to greet her.

To top off
the wreck of her day, she heard footsteps. Alex was home.

And this
wasn't her home.
What was I thinking?

Her
stomach sank. He'd probably order her right out of his house. The clawing worry
in her stomach duplicated the tiny claws digging into her forearm. The kitten
had seen Butler.

“Easy,
kitling
,” she murmured. “I don't think he eats cats.” But
she didn't know, now did she? “Butler,” she said firmly. “Behave.” She turned
so the cat was out of the dog's sight and vice versa.

Alex
walked around the corner with that easy grace and power, and her heart did that
funny dip like it did every time she saw him. Maybe she had a heart condition.

“How did
the day go?” he asked; then his eyes narrowed, and he moved forward. “What's
wrong, little vet?”

Caught.
Caught
dead to rights
. When she was a kid, she'd rescued a
half-starved puppy and brought it to the foster home. Arlene had thrown it out.
“
This is my home, not yours
.” That
night, Mac had sneaked out and found the puppy still in the front yard. So
little. All bones and big eyes. She'd carried him across town to the animal
rescue and cried all the way back. You would think she'd have learned.

Of course,
Alex liked animals. Maybe… Her stomach tightened, and she looked down. Anything
to avoid his eyes. This was Alex's home. Not hers. If he liked cats, he'd have
one.

He huffed
a laugh, and she looked up in time to get a firm kiss on her lips. “I'm not
sure which of you is shaking harder,” he murmured, disengaging the kitten's
claws with an easy competence. “Butler, lie down,” he ordered absently when the
dog's approach triggered a tiny hiss.

“I'm
sorry,” Mac whispered, looking at the antique furnishings. “It's just for
tonight, and then I'll try to find him a home. He was in the middle of Mercer
Street, and I couldn't leave him. If you don't want him in the house, then…”
Maybe she could sneak him into a motel.

He gave
her a puzzled look. “
MacKensie
, if you could have
left a kitten in the middle of the road, then you aren't the woman I thought
you were.” He followed her gaze to the antique table. “But if you're going to
bring beasties home—and being a vet, you probably can't resist—then we'd better
move some of this stuff to the attic.”

The
sinking in her chest continued through her whole body until she felt as if she
stood in quicksand. “You mean”—she swallowed and stared at the white kitten
purring against his chest—“it can stay? Tonight, at least?”

“Of
course.”
His
eyes held both amusement and warmth. “However, if you bring home so many that
the house smells like a kennel”—he stepped closer—“I'll have an excellent
reason to spank your pretty ass until it's bright pink.”

The wave
of heat that seared through her took her by surprise.

His lips
curved, and he ran a finger down her cheek. “Maybe I won't wait for an excuse,”
he murmured. But then, as if he had an internal switch to turn off his desire,
he stepped back and handed her the kitten. “I assume there's kitten chow in
your car?”

She nodded
mutely and blew out an exasperated breath as he and Butler headed out the door.
How come he has a switch and I don't?

* * * * *

Later that
evening, Alex leaned on the door frame and grinned. His little sub sat
cross-legged on the rug by the fire, introducing the snow-white kitten to the
pleasures of string chasing. Three feet away, Butler lay quivering with
eagerness to help. The dog and cat had come to a wary understanding after a few
altercations. If Butler sniffed too enthusiastically, he'd get scratched. If
the kitten pounced on Butler's tail, it now knew an entire dog would try to
play. Alex hadn't laughed so hard in a long time.

From the
way she'd been holding her ribs,
MacKensie
hadn't
either. She had a lovely laugh when she really let go, uninhibited and joyful,
and it pleased him immensely that over the past weeks, her laugh came more
easily and had even descended into adorable giggling once or twice.

With a
clever move, the kitten captured the string. Thin tail held high with pride, he
dragged his prize off behind a chair.

“Supper is
ready,” Alex announced.

Mac
turned. “You cooked?”

“That's a
very parochial attitude,” he informed her. “In this enlightened age, men can
and do cook.”

“Uh-huh.”
She pushed to her feet. “You might be enlightened—and I'm not too sure about
that—but cook?”

“If you
must be so literal about it all, Margaret cooked. I heated.”

His
insubordinate little sub laughed at him, so he pulled her closer and took her
mouth. It softened under his, and a quiver slid through her body. He hadn't
forgotten the look in her eyes when he had mentioned spanking her. Perhaps he'd
bed the animals down somewhere and then bed
MacKensie
.