Authors: Maren Smith
The stillness seemed to stretch for hours before he looked away from her, cocking his head to one side and said, “Do you mind, or is privacy too much to ask?”
Someone laughed—Travis or Trevor, she had no idea. The sound dowsed her like frigid water. She’d forgotten about the brothers.
“In this place?” one countered. “You’re kidding, right?”
They both laughed now. The bushes directly overhead rustled as the shadows she hadn’t realized were looming over them retreated.
“Was that her?” one brother asked the other.
“Yeah, that was
her.”
Travis and Trevor walked away, leaving Chelsea trembling in the dirt under the weight of Kade’s burning body. Her senses were spinning, dancing, distorting everything except the way his fingers still felt inside her, stretching her open and pressing deep. The solidness and strength of him lying on top of her, and the knowledge that he had done exactly what he’d promised, made this all so surreal. Her belly and breasts were throbbing. The ache was almost physically painful.
Kade looked down at her again, utterly motionless until with a sudden heave, he reared back onto his knees, yanking her up with him. His hands captured her bottom, keeping her pressed tight against him. This change in position altered the lay of their hips, and his cock dropped out from between them. She could feel it now, the nudging head poised along the heated wetness of her folds.
“Say yes, Red,” he said, his voice as deep and soft as a growl. “Say yes.”
He was gorgeous personified. He was strong and dark and he wanted her at least as much as her body wanted him. His hands kneaded the round flesh of her ass. All she could think was how good it would feel to finally have him inside her.
“Be mine, Red. Just for tonight.”
‘Yes’ vaulted right to the tip of her lips. She almost said it, moaned it—it was right there, consent burning at her tongue the way his cock was burning, there, at the heated apex of her thighs where desire had centralized into one churning mass of pulsing blood and weeping arousal.
“Chelsea,” he said, her name spoken so husky and low making her shiver. His fingers moved up her back, coming into her long hair, dragging her head back while his lips drifted down along the arching curve of her exposed throat. “Beth,” he whispered.
Her eyes snapped open. Every burning place where he was touching her suddenly doused from fire to a completely different shocking extreme.
“D-don’t!” she gasped, so embarrassingly breathless that she couldn’t stop panting. She squirmed, struggling to get her hands in between them, pushing enough space between them to dislodge his lips from her skin. That made it easier to think, but not by much. “Don’t call me that!”
“What?” he asked thickly, seeming to have difficulty himself getting his thoughts back under control. “Don’t call you what, your name?”
‘That’s not my name,’ Chelsea almost blurted. Somehow, she got her watery legs back under her instead. She shoved off him, crashing into the
stone wall before she caught her balance. Kade grabbed after her, perhaps only to keep her from falling, but she jerked even further away. He made no further move to stop her, and she grabbed up the dirty white rag her slave’s costume had become and dashed from the bushes.
She ran for the well-lit door at the top of that second-floor set of stairs. Blushing furiously, she didn’t look at anyone—not the woman in the stocks,
nor the shadows of all those men around her. Need still pulsed raw and unfulfilled inside her. She swallowed it back and just ran.
She was up the stairs with the door latch in her hand when she heard Kade call out behind her, the fires of lust and the ice of rejection mingling in every nuance of his voice, “You taste like heaven, Red. Just like fucking heaven.”
Almost in tears, after that, Chelsea didn’t stop running until she had reached the safety of her assigned room in the R-wing. She slammed the hydraulic door behind her, forcing the air springs to close as fast as she could make them go before she collapsed, breathless and shaking, and horribly embarrassed because she was still holding her ripped clothes instead of wearing them. How many people had seen her mad-dash run of shame from the alcove? She had a stitch in her side that refused to be rubbed out no matter how she mashed and massaged it. Worse, now that she was safe—Ha!—there was no stopping the bubbling mix of laughter and tears that came ripping its way out of her too-tight throat. The bitterness of it hurt.
She slapped the light switch on, needing to banish back the darkness, but the phantom sensation of Kade’s wandering hands continued to possess her, squeezing and kneading, single digits from each hand still pushing to sink in deeper inside her.
She sobbed out another hard laugh, the sound falling to desperation before cutting abruptly to shocked silence when she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes were wide and wild looking. There was dirt on her face and her shoulders and leaves in the mussed tangles of her strawberry hair. She still clutched the tattered cloth of her costume as if it could somehow save her from the memory of how powerfully arousing it had been when he’d ripped it off her. How good it had felt with his naked cock rubbing hot against her belly. She could still feel the phantom of that too, every wanton pulse of her sex reliving the sensation of his undulating thrusts.
Chelsea bent, tearing her gaze from her own devastated reflection to grab between her traitorous legs. She squeezed, fighting to banish the need, but it wasn’t working and her fingers came away flecked with dirt and grass and shining as wet as wet could be.
You taste like heaven, Red.
She looked at her shaking hands until tears made her fingers blur. Dropping her costume on the floor, she ran into the bathroom and climbed into the shower. Turning the water on just as hot as she could stand it, she punished every inch of herself, scrubbing hard, forcing her skin to accept the scouring sensation of soap and washcloth over his phantom fingers. She fixed on the
tiles, unable to close her eyes without seeing him or the way he’d looked at her. She kept hearing the rasp of his breaths echoed in the fall of all those steaming drops raining down around her feet.
There were bondage rings embedded in the shower tiles.
Chelsea turned her back on them, closing her mind before it could summon up fantasies of being held immobile for another’s pleasure. Kade’s pleasure. And just like that, her fingers on her own body turned into his all over again.
“Stop it,” she hissed, but her nerves were still singing, still demanding, and so finely keyed that each falling drop of water felt as if it were a flicking, tickling tongue gliding over her shoulders, dripping from the tips of her small breasts, sliding down her body, buttocks, thighs, even behind the sensitive backs of her knees—a hundred tiny kisses that followed her curves all the way down into the bottom of the tub.
Turning abruptly, she grabbed the detachable showerhead off the wall and faced the tiles. One quick twist of the setting turned the gentle spray into a fiercely thumping pulse. Catching her breath, she hooked her fingers in one of the bondage rings and closed her eyes. Pressing her forehead against the cool ceramic, she pressed the showerhead into place and let herself go. She let her moans flow free. She let her hips buck up into the pulse and when her orgasm hit, hard under the full intensity of the brutal spray, she refused to move the showerhead or ease the pressure. She made herself ride that wave until pleasure turned too raw to be mistaken as such anymore.
Her moans became wails, cried out against the uncaring tiles, but she did not stop. She could barely breathe without shouting, but she came again, harder than before, every muscle locking down. It hurt, the way instinctively she knew Kade would have made it hurt. He would have turned her pleasure into knives, and he would have made her feel each and every one of them over and over again.
Because he was dangerous.
This whole place was dangerous.
Her hands and knees shook. Her clit throbbed in wounded protest. And still, Chelsea continued the self-imposed punishment, inflicting wound after heart-stopping, earth-shattering wound, until the heat of the water cooled and exhaustion dropped her to her knees in the bottom of the tub…and her body sang.
“I
don’t think we’ve ever had so many masters pulled off the floor at any one time before,” Sam said, falling into step with Kade practically from the moment Kade stepped out of his apartment and closed the door behind him.
Already in a bad mood and not ready for company, Kade didn’t bother faking a smile. He simply checked to make sure the automatic lock had engaged. “I guess we’ll find out how well-oiled this fuck-machine really is.”
They both headed down the long third-floor hall toward the stairs.
“You’re in a sour mood.” Stubbornly determined not to take the hint, Sam kept pace with him. “What’s the matter? You’re not upset because we brought the twins to last night’s stress relief, are you? Come on. She’s Selena’s friend. Weddings are bad enough without the added drama of a Kade-induced sub-frenzy. Or worse, sub-drop. Even you have to admit, the twins would have kept it light and entertaining. They would have pulled out the stops to show her a good time.”
Kade smiled, but it was thin and crooked, and it never quite touched his eyes. “For all the good it did them.”
“Yeah, I heard she gave them the slip. I would have thought that pond far enough back to make escape damn near impossible. Apparently she made it all the way to the stockyard and into the arms of some…” Sam stopped, mid-word and mid-step, and Kade’s smile thinned even more. “Son of a bitch. That was you, wasn’t it? How the hell do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Do what,” Sam scoffed and they started walking again. “We didn’t know for sure where they were, and still you had her running right into your arms. How do you do that? You must have spent half the night playing ‘damsel in ever-increasing distress’ games, so why the sour mood?”
Looking away, Kade frowned. “She didn’t stay.”
Dark eyebrows drawing together, Sam studied him. “She left Castle grounds?”
“No, I mean she…ran away.”
“You mean she didn’t fall instantly to her knees before your playboy charms and beg to be taken in every orifice?”
“Fuck you.” Kade increased his pace, but Sam refused to be left behind and they jogged down the steps together.
Sam reached the door at the bottom first, catching and holding it to block Kade’s way. “No, no, no, my friend. I want to explore this further. I can’t remember the last time a woman refused you anything.”
“A woman refused Kade?” Jackson came up behind them, still adjusting his leathers. They were on their way to a BDSM commitment ceremony. No one was in a suit or tuxedo. Not even the groom.
“Selena’s sister,” Sam specified. “The tall red-headed girl.”
“I thought she said they were friends,” Jackson said.
“Hell, this is Selena. They probably met on the bus ride in.”
The two men laughed. Even Kade smiled. “She’s a handful. Bill’s going to have a merry chase keeping that one in line.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Sam said. “I don’t want to hear about Bill’s chase, I want to hear about yours and how she told you to keep your playboy hands to yourself.”
That neatly killed his smile. “Don’t you have women of your own to keep track of?”
Jackson grinned. “Are you saying Kade snapped his fingers and Chelsea didn’t fall to her knees and beg to be ravished?”
“Maybe I did my ravishing before she ran,” Kade shot back. “Maybe I made her cum so damn hard—”
Sam took his hand off the door and quacked his fingers.
Jackson laughed.
Kade scowled. That was twice in as many days someone had done that to him. Grabbing the door, he flung it open hard enough to smack Sam in the shoulder,
then stormed through it, leaving both men laughing behind him.
* * * * *
Selena’s wedding gown was a white baby-doll dress made almost entirely out of lace. It had a wide pink ribbon that hugged beneath her breasts and tied in a fat bow behind her, and it did not come down anywhere near far enough to cover the frilly seat of her panties or the hot-pink letters ‘Roll Call’ (except that ‘Roll’ had been crossed out and replaced with ‘Booty’) written across it. Frilly ankle socks and shiny black, buckle-top shoes completed her ensemble. She looked like a three-year-old playing pretty-in-pink princess games. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one dressed that way.
The bridesmaids wore sunshine yellow—every gown just as baby-doll as the bride’s—complete with frilly panties (and similar booty sentiments) that matched. Try though she did, Chelsea could not tug the hem of her costume down far enough to feel covered and she was painfully aware of each and every chuckle when the guests caught sight of her ‘It Ain’t Gonna Spank Itself’ message. It felt like an offer, and she was horribly afraid someone might actually try to take her up on it. In some really twisted, demented, horribly misguided part of herself, she wondered if she would resist if they did. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d give in, particularly if that someone just happened to be that handsome Greek god of a man, Master Kade. She could just imagine how she’d react if he sidled up beside her with that knowing smile of his…and put his hand on her, maybe right on her bottom…and whispered in her ear another sultry sweet, “You taste like heaven, Red.”
Her face turned bright red and her breath caught in her throat. She rubbed her forehead. What was wrong with her?
“Penny for your thoughts?” Selena asked, coming up behind her.
The last thing Chelsea wanted to talk about were any thoughts that included Kade. She gave the incredibly short hem of her skirt another self-conscious tug. “You look very pretty,” she offered instead. Wedding, reception or confirmation ceremony—it didn’t matter. All conversations should focus on the bride anyway.
Hooking her arm through Chelsea’s, Selena grinned. “So do you, my friend. So do you. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.” A nod of her head and a wiggle of her eyebrows directed Chelsea’s reluctant attention across the ballroom to the main door where—oh God—the twins had just arrived. They noticed her at the same time she did them, and her heart dropped all the way down to her toes. One brother nudged the other and both started down the aisle toward her.
“Lovely sentiment. If I didn’t know better, I’d be tempted to think you wore those panties just for me.”
Stiffening, Chelsea turned just as Master Kade circled around from her back to her front. He stopped before her, his body a barricade between her and the twins, who had abruptly ceased their approach. Although he never once looked at either Travis or Trevor, Chelsea didn’t for a second think his choice of stopping place an accident.
“Sara!” Selena threw up one arm, waving in eager greeting to the blonde who had just entered behind the twins. Neatly evading Chelsea’s frantic “don’t leave me” grab, Selena cast her a grin and a not-so-subtle wink before abandoning her to Kade’s devices. She felt like a hen with a fox beside her and two wolves circling the room.
Kade was smiling, his dark eyes dancing as he leaned slightly toward her. Tall as she was, he was just an inch or two taller. There weren’t a lot of men who were, but she liked how he made her feel shorter just by lowering himself to her eyelevel just before he cocked that crocked grin and asked, “Are they still standing there?”
“Glaring daggers at your back,” she confirmed.
That amused him. “Excellent.”
So, the fox saved her from the wolves. For some reason, that wasn’t much of a consolation.
“What do you want, Kade?” she asked testily.
“That’s Master Kade to you, little girl.”
“I’m hardly little.”
His dark eyes laughed into hers. “You’re whatever I say you are, Red. By all means, keep arguing with me. You’re in entirely the wrong costume to get away with it, and I’ve a surefire cure for it that your panties are going to love, though I doubt the rest of you will.”
Kade tried to circle her, but she turned with him, self-consciously trying to pull her hem down far enough to hide those traitorous panties from view. “Stop looking at my butt!”
His amusement was growing. “Isn’t the point of wearing dresses like that so people will look?”
“Only if you choose to wear them.”
“I see, and what would you choose to wear, were the option before you?”
“A burka.” She gave up trying to get the hem down to a respectable length.
Kade barked, a short sharp laugh of genuine humor. When he leaned in again, his hot breath caressed her shoulder. “We can oblige that fantasy. Shall I be your sultan master, dressing you in veils and golden chains decorated with charms and silver bells? Shall I keep you in my harem, under the watchful eyes and the occasional lash of my chief eunuch? I could come to you every night, breaking your will one tender love game at a time on a bed of pillows on the floor. Would you like that fantasy, little Red, or are you afraid?”
She tried to laugh, but she was still thinking about being held on a bed of pillows the way he’d held her last night in the garden, his strong arms around her waist while she straddled his lap, the heat of his cock the only barrier between them. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“I never said you had reason to fear me.” His look turned smoldering. “I think you’re afraid of yourself. I think you’re afraid to let go and just feel. That’s why you ran from me last night and why you’d be running from me right now, if only you weren’t trapped by your role in Selena’s ceremony.”
“I’m not afraid,” Chelsea said again, but her voice was trembling. Her knees were trembling too, something her dress wasn’t anywhere near long enough to hide. What was it about him that kept doing this to her?
His warm lips brushed her shoulder, a very transitory kiss that weakened her knees that much more. “The way you’re looking at me now says otherwise. Be careful, Red. There are men here who would devour you whole for wearing such a beautiful look.”
“You?” she guessed, a little breathless.
His teeth replaced his kiss on her shoulder. Ever so lightly, he let her feel their sharpness. “Big bad wolf, remember?” He glanced past her. “And I’m not the only one.”
She followed the direction of his gaze to the twins, still watching her as they prowled the outer room, biding their time until he moved on.
Kade circled her again, watching with dark eyes until he was sure they’d got the message. “Personally, I’d wrap you in that burka myself, so long as it meant we could pick up where we left things last night.”
There was no way she could ever survive another night like that one. She looked away, from both him and the twins. “There must be dozens of women in this room alone, who would love to pick up with you anywhere you wanted to.” She tried to swallow past the tiny stab of jealousy that swelled inside her at the thought.
“Probably,” Kade acknowledged, his complete lack of humility killing what flattery she might otherwise have felt when he added, “but I’m not interested in anyone else. Right now, you hold my undivided attention.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you? You’re beautiful; I’m available. You’re interesting; I’m intrigued. You’re soft, warm, edible in all the right places; I’ve been famished all day and all night long. If you don’t have a part in this silly ceremony, I’m sure I can find a quiet corner for us somewhere.”
That not only killed her attraction, it actually annoyed her. “That’s a well-practiced line if ever I heard one. Does it work for you often?”
Smirking, Kade arched his eyebrows. “Almost every time.”
“Notch your bedpost with someone else.” She turned her back on him, wishing her legs were steady enough to let her walk away. Unfortunately, he’d probably give chase and she’d end up causing a scene. She frowned across the hall, decked out in candles and teddy bears, that ocean of folding chairs slowly filling up with guests. What was she even doing here? Behind her, at the front of the room, Selena and the other ladies of the Castle were gathering. Hopefully this thing would start soon. She couldn’t wait for this to be over so she could get out of here, back to her room and just…decompress.
…in the shower, with the head held between her legs and the pulsing spray turned all the way up to…
No! Chelsea folded her arms across her chest, squeezing in at herself as if that alone could keep thoughts like that out of her head. Last night was a one-time deal.
A momentary lapse in judgment and self-control. An acknowledgement that this place was sneaking in under her skin, getting to her in ways she hadn’t been ready for. She blinked rapidly, seeing nothing but a sea of people dressed in baby-girl dresses, black leather and shiny latex, and white, blue and pink bracelets. She rubbed at her own, one of only a few purples in the whole room.
“Notch my bedpost,” Kade echoed, settling into place beside her. He surveyed the bridal party without excitement. “That’s refreshing, actually. In my experience, it’s the submissive who comes to me in search of notches of her own.”
“My mistake. You’re merely providing a necessary service by obliging them.”
“I do my job,” he said. “They want the fantasy: the perfect Dom, someone who doesn’t ask permission or make mistakes.
Someone who knows how to deliver a good warm-up, followed by as many orgasms as their bodies can endure. They want the thrill of being conquered, sometimes thinly veiled behind a mask of dubious consent.”
“And you give it to them.” Her own mask slipped a little. Her stomach quivered, and she folded her arms that much tighter over it, trying to keep those snaking tendrils of warmth still. Her traitorous imagination was harder to control. It kept summoning images of Kade laying her back to discover how many orgasms she might be capable of. Moisture tickled down into the cleft of her sex.