Club Shadowlands Page 8

  Her ass was up in the air, displaying her assets nicely. Perhaps someday they’d explore that perky little asshole. For now, he fingered the little dimples beside her spine before setting his hands on pretty cheeks that were still a little swollen from the paddling.

  A shiver ran through her body.

  Head down, butt in the air, unable to move.

  Does this seem rather familiar? she wondered unhappily. Her hands were between her legs, tied to the inside of her right knee. She pulled at the restraints with no success, and the inability to move sent an unexpected tremor of need slicing through her. Apprehension made her heart pound in her chest as she tried to see what he was doing, what he planned. Her skin, even her core, tensed, waiting for his touch.

  And then his hands closed on her bottom, and she gasped and shivered. He massaged and stroked her still-tender buttocks, where pain lingered. She shook at the feel of his fingers, the slight pain and excitement rolling together, wetting her between her legs. And she wanted more.

  While one hand teased her butt, his other wakened her pussy, sliding into her juices. He ran a gentle finger through her folds and up to play with her sensitive clit. She tried to wiggle, and his hand on her butt clamped down, held her in place. “Don’t move, little one.”

  His finger slid across her pussy, firmly, then teasing flicks, and she could feel her clit swelling.

  “Your sweet little clit is just like my cock,” he murmured. “Soft until stroked, and now feel how it grows harder. Bigger.”

  The merciless touching continued until she throbbed with the need for more. When his hand moved away, she moaned.

  “I don’t want to neglect this area.” His sure fingers touched outside her opening then speared through the swollen inner labia into her slickness. She struggled for breath as the sensations spread from just her clit to her whole core. Everywhere he touched grew sensitive and burned with need.

  She tightened around his fingers desperately, trying to hold him in as he slid his fingers in and out.

  “More,” she rasped.

  He stopped, removed his hands from her.

  Her whole pussy pulsed painfully and she whimpered.

  “What do you call me?” he asked patiently.

  “Sir. Sir, please touch me.”

  “Better.” Suddenly his mouth was there, where his fingers had been. His slick, hot tongue flicked over her clit, teased her slit with swirling motions that set her to shuddering.

  She panted, so close, so close, and then he moved away again, and she groaned, her hands closing into fists.

  He chuckled then drove his cock deep into her in one hard surge.

  She screamed as her world splintered around her, as she spasmed around his thickness, shuddering so hard her legs weakened. His hands held her in place, gripping her hips and keeping her pinned against him.

  He felt even bigger in this position than the other, and now she squirmed, trying to escape. It felt like his cock had filled her completely, was up against her cervix, and she whimpered again, discomfort and desire mingling inside her.

  “Shhh, just wait, little one, just wait,” he murmured. When he bent over her, his cock shifted inside, driving another gasp from her. He set one muscular arm beside her shoulder to hold himself up, and his other hand played with her breasts. He rolled her nipples gently between his callused fingers until her breasts were tight and swollen, sending carnal messages to her groin.

  Her hips wiggled slightly as her pussy shivered around his cock, adjusting to his size. He began to move, each slide in and out making her gasp and then moan as sensations started piling up like mountains on top of mountains. His hand was on her breast, his lips on her back. His cock inside her was big and thick. It sank between her sensitive folds so deep that his balls slapped against her pussy and sent tiny shocks through her.

  Slow at first, he increased his speed from a sensuous slide to a hard, forceful pumping. She couldn’t move; her hands were still restrained, and she could only take his assault. The feeling of helplessness ran through her, heightening every sensation. Her legs quivered uncontrollably; her whole body shuddered as each merciless thrust sent stabs of pleasure pouring through her body. She was so close again. Her pussy tightened around him, her hands closing into fists.

  And then his fingers left her breast, and suddenly he was stroking her clit. With every thrust of his cock into her body, his finger pulsed across her tender clit, over and over.

  She screamed as she came harder than before, great spasms inside shaking her like a hurricane, fire streaming through her all the way to her fingertips.

  He pulled back, gripping her hips and driving into her as her womb convulsed around him.

  “Kitten, you could be the death of me,” he growled, and then she could feel his cock jolt as he came hard inside of her. “Thank you, little sub.” He nuzzled her neck, her shoulder, before pulling gently out of her. She whined like a puppy from the shocking emptiness.

  He disappeared for a second to dispose of the condom.

  Eyes closed, she didn’t see him, just felt his hands as he rolled her onto her side and released her restraints.

  “Come here, little one,” he murmured, and pulled her on top of him like a limp blanket. He took her lips in a tender kiss then settled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, and she found nothing in her to resist. His chest was damp with sweat, slick under her cheek, salty on her tongue when she gave it a lick.

  Through the muscles covering his chest, she could hear his heart beating in a steady rhythm, nothing like her racing pulse.

  His hands stroked her back with shocking gentleness after he’d taken her so hard. Her body felt abused, quivery. Wonderful.

  Inside her head, she felt the same way. What was happening to her, that a man could treat her like this and she got off on it? Got so off on it that she’d screamed and lost control completely.

  She was always in control, dammit; she was an accountant.

  “Being in control in bed isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially for a woman,” he murmured.

  She stiffened a little. He really did read minds, didn’t he?

  “Seems like the world expects you to have to do everything these days: care for yourselves, your families, your children, your jobs… Who takes care of you, Jessica?”

  I do, she thought. Just me. But being tied up couldn’t be considered being taken care of, could it? She frowned, remembering his knowledgeable hands, the way he watched her so closely, how he seemed to know exactly how to push her limits. Was that not being taken care of?

  She managed to lift her head up to look at him, only to find his dark eyes studying her. And then he tangled his hands in her hair—just like that Dom on the dance floor had done to his sub—and took her mouth so sweetly, so thoroughly, it was as if she’d never been kissed before.

  She was a snuggly one, he thought, listening to her mind fade away and sleep take her. She was draped across him like the softest of teddy bears, her breasts cushioned against his chest, her hips a graceful mound in the low light.

  Snuggly and a screamer. Her shock at discovering how far passion could take her had been delightful, and he wanted to hear her low moans, little whimpers, and heady screams again and again. He stroked her hair, soft and silky with a little curl at the ends. Her fragrance surrounded him, a light mixture of vanilla and woman; she’d tasted like peaches on his tongue. He’d never been quite so content just to lie still and savor the afterglow.

  The contentment dimmed at the thought that this might be all the time he had with her. She wouldn’t be quite so complacent about what had happened here tonight once she returned to her own world.

  Her world? He hadn’t discovered much about her. What did she do for a living? She wasn’t married or involved with someone; she had more integrity than that. Her essential honesty drew him like a moth to a bright light.

  In fact, he’d found no one in a long time whose thoughts and emotions had been so engaging. Soothing.
Most people were a jumble of raucous feelings, but her mind processed thoughts and feelings in a linear fashion, this emotion, then this one, each clean and simple.

  Yet she was intriguing, a puzzle. The easy friendliness she showed to those around her was a decided contrast to her controlled, conservative manner. He wanted to know more.

  She roused all too soon, sitting up from him and shaking her silky hair back. If she was on top when he took her, all that hair would rain down on his chest. The thought was tempting. But no, he needed to show some restraint.

  He tucked a hand under his head, watching her. She was so graceful and round, and her breasts swayed gently, tantalizingly. He couldn’t resist and ran his knuckles along the undersides, circled her nipples with one finger, enjoying the puckering.

  “I think… Is it getting close to morning?” Her voice was husky, a little rough, and he smiled, remembering how she’d panted as her climax neared. How she’d screamed.

  “It’s past dawn, yes.”

  “I need to… I’m sure it’s time to go.”

  Ah, reality had indeed arrived.

  * * * * *

  Someone had actually washed and dried her clothing. How many people did Sir have working here?

  Being back in her conservative blouse and slacks seemed to make the evening less real. The club room was quiet now with no music, no people remaining except the bartender.

  He nodded at Sir and smiled at her. A nice smile, but she still flushed. Her lips were swollen, her face beard-scratched, her hair tangled. She must look very well used.

  After a moment, she smiled back. Well satisfied.

  Master Z, with one arm firmly around her, looked at Cullen. “Still here?”

  “Ah yeah. Sam got talked into doing some bullwhip lessons, and every masochist in the place lined up, hoping to get picked as a subject.” Cullen grinned. “That ran really late, then as I was closing up, I found someone to play with. Just sent her home a few minutes ago.”

  Sir frowned. “You’re missing sleep.”

  “Better a brunette than nightmares. I’ll catch up tonight.” Cullen shrugged. “Should be done cleaning up in about fifteen minutes.”

  “How late is it?” Jessica asked.

  “Not late, pet.” The bartender chuckled. “Early. It’s almost eight o’clock in the morning.”

  She blinked. “I definitely need to get going.”

  “Of course,” Master Z murmured.

  Odd how she almost had wanted him to protest. “May I use your phone?”

  “No need. I had a tow truck called. And your ride should be here.”

  After the dim bar, the bright morning light shocked her eyes. In the lingering winds from the storm, low clouds scudded across the deep blue sky. The palm trees lining the long drive swayed while fronds and debris skidded along the blacktop. The air was clear with a salty lash from the nearby gulf, and Jessica inhaled a deep breath before turning to Master Z.

  What was the protocol for saying good-bye to someone who’d tied you up? Who’d made you scream as you orgasmed? “Um.”

  His eyes danced with humor at her awkwardness. Damn him, he was as cool and impeccable as at the beginning of the night. Only the rougher beard growth marred his sleek appearance. He looked like a dangerous pirate dressed for an evening out in London.

  She knew damn well she didn’t look as good.

  “Thank you for rescuing me last night,” she said. “And for… Well…” She flushed.

  One eyebrow rose and he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to her palm. “For baring your ass and paddling it?” he asked. “For tying you down and enjoying your body and making you come over and over?”

  From the searing heat in her cheeks, she knew she’d flushed. Even more disconcerting, her body responded to his words, moistening as warmth pooled in her core. God, she wanted him again.

  And he knew, dammit. “It was my pleasure, little one.”

  He laced his fingers into her hair and took her mouth, his kiss long and lingering with a new hint of tenderness. She sighed when he pulled back.

  “Are you going to give me your phone number?” he asked gently, studying her, his eyes steel gray in the morning sun.

  “It’s—” She stopped. Did she want to continue this? Be the sort of person who did stuff like this? The night was over, and in the light of day, somehow she wasn’t comfortable with the idea, even though, just gazing at Master Z, she wanted to drag him back into that little room. And do more…stuff. “I—”

  His smile was faint. “I understand. Perhaps it is good you have time to think. I fear you had a rather abrupt introduction to the lifestyle.”

  Guilt crawled through her at the darkening of his gaze, almost as if she’d hurt him, but surely not. Ben said he had women everywhere, all he wanted. “I don’t…” She trailed off, unsure what there was to say.

  “I hope you come back, Jessica,” he murmured. “You will always be welcome here.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek, then turned and reentered the house, making her think of a king entering his castle.

  Leaving her with a sense of loss deep in her stomach.

  Okay. Get it together. She turned, searching for the tow truck and saw only a limousine in the driveway. Where—”

  “Miss Jessica?” The uniformed chauffeur stood beside the car.

  A limo for her? All the way back to Tampa? Was Sir crazy? She glanced back at the front door, thought about protesting. She knew she wouldn’t win, and she didn’t really want to. “I’m Jessica.”

  Chapter Eight

  The following week was fairly normal for Jessica: meetings with clients, working on the computer, wading through poorly kept records and ledgers. But something inside her had changed and apparently was as obvious on the outside as on the inside.

  “You look…different,” one of her colleagues said when she saw him in the coffee room.

  She glanced down at herself. Same old tailored slacks and shirt. Hair in a French braid. Discreet makeup.

  “No, not the clothes,” he said, frowning. “Just, different. Hey, why don’t you join me for a drink after work?”

  Too weird. They’d dated briefly and had boring sex. He’d dumped her, which hurt her pride more than anything else. He was the office hunk, after all. Now his interest had returned?

  “Thanks, but no. I’m pretty busy these days,” she said.

  “Oh. Okay.” Confusion, then shock crossed his face at the refusal.

  She was a little shocked too, for she had no interest in dating him again. In all reality, next to Master Z, he seemed insipid. Hollow like a Subway sandwich without any meat inside.

  Pining after Master Z was not good.

  At night, her tiny apartment felt more lonely than normal as she thought about the difference in her, unsure what it meant. On the plus side of the ledger, she now knew her sex drive was alive and well, that she could have fantastic orgasms just like other women. That change was so new, so mind-altering, she couldn’t quite encompass it. She felt…sexy.

  But on the minus side… Well. Leaning back on the couch, she stared up at the ceiling. Those miraculous orgasms were from being tied up, having a man tell her what to do, and make her do it. Even as she shook her head in disbelief, her body heated, moistened. Ready for more. Wanting more.

  Surely she didn’t want more bondage stuff. But the thought of never having sex like that again was…was like imagining life without chocolate. She rested her head in her hands.

  What was she going to do?

  Saturday arrived after seven days of confusion and six nights of erotic dreams. She’d fall asleep, and Master Z would be there, his firm hands holding her in place, his mouth on hers, on her breasts, on everywhere. She’d awaken, panting and aroused, still feeling restraints around her wrists, hearing his low whisper in her ears.

  In her spare time, she hit the Internet, researching BDSM. What she discovered hadn’t made her any more comfortable.

  Now she paced across her living room. Time to
decide what to do. Tonight was bondage night. She could return to the club… Or not.

  This was just so complicated. She’d insulted him by refusing to give him her number. He’d had her car towed and repaired as if it was nothing. He had subs who adored him. He’d hit her with a paddle and let other people do it too. He’d given her the best sex of her life and made her feel beautiful.

  He probably wouldn’t even remember her name.

  That thought stopped her halfway across the room. What if he looked at her like she were…nobody. Another customer. A one-night stand inconveniently showing up. Her arms chilled, and her stomach felt like she’d swallowed cold oatmeal. Could she bear that?

  She shook her head. No. No, she really couldn’t. All her arguments disappeared in the face of such humiliation. She couldn’t go back; he wouldn’t—

  Her doorbell rang and she frowned. At seven o’clock on a Saturday night, who could be at her door? A pizza delivery to the wrong address?

  She checked the peephole—a delivery man—and opened the door. “Yes?”

  “Miss Jessica Randall?”

  “That’s me.”

  He handed her a soft package. “Have a nice evening, ma’am.” He left before she could respond.

  Too bizarre. She hadn’t ordered anything. After locking the door, she set the package on the glass coffee table and started ripping. Inside the envelope, soft tissue paper wrapped around a…nightie? Taken aback, she held it up. Definitely a nightie in a baby-doll style. A soft pink with a halter top and lacy handkerchief hem. Real silk.

  She had never worn anything like that in her life. What in the—A card lay in the bottom of the package. Bold black handwriting. Tonight is lingerie night for the subs. I would like to see you in this and nothing else. Master Z.

  Oh. My. God. Her heart seemed to stutter even as her legs turned wobbly. She dropped onto the couch. He wanted to see her. A thrill ran through her.

  And then she frowned. She hadn’t given him her number, let alone her address. How had he known where to send anything? Of course. The limousine driver, she’d given him her address. Sneaky, Master Z.