Inside the Lines: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel (9 page)

He eyes the neatly made bed and firelight. “Either ye are verra perceptive, or I’m a suckling pig to slaughter.”

“I wasn’t even a Girl Scout,” I tease, but when he looks confused, I shake my head. “Never mind. I try to be prepared for every eventuality.” Something about this man makes me want to smile whenever I look at him, but I can’t analyze that too closely right now. Or ever, really. I sober, forcing myself into seriousness. “For the next hour, you will refer to me as Mistress or Mistress Hathaway. If I tell you to do something, you do it. Understood?”

My change of persona surprises him, but a slow grin spreads across his face. “Yes, Mistress.”

God, he is beautiful. I fight to keep from smiling in return. “If I do anything that you don’t like, you will tell me.”

“Should we have a safe word?”

I drop the facade for a moment. “No. We aren’t doing anything involving pain, and all you have to do is say something.”

“All right then.”

With a deep breath, I close my eyes, centering my thoughts and returning to Dom mode. “Take off your clothes. I want to see you.”

He complies, watching me while he does so. He pauses when he’s only in bikini briefs—which I recognize from the billboard. “Did you want me to take—”

“Did you not understand me?” I snap the words, eyes challenging.

He doesn’t look away, but instead meets my gaze as he removes his briefs. The intensity between us gives me a thrill, as a true submissive would break contact. I’ve never worked with someone who challenged me, and I’m surprised by how my stomach leaps with excitement.

He stands straight, unnervingly calm. And looking like my very own Greek god with his pale skin and muscled body. I swallow hard, resisting the impulse to break form and throw him on the bed now and have my way with him.

I swallow against the dry patch in my throat, then make an act of appraising him. He closes his eyes as I trail a hand down his arm, then follow a path across his flat stomach, within an inch of his erection. I walk a circle around him, enjoying his perfect stillness, the way the candlelight plays over the planes and hollows of his skin. I keep him off balance with light touches and pause to enjoy the perfection that is his ass. Trust me—it’s worthy of worship. He starts when I press a kiss to his smooth back, unable to resist.

I return to face him, and his eyes are closed, his mouth relaxed. Dear God. I have to mentally smack myself to stay focused.

“Lie down on the bed.”

He obeys, and I reach for the ties that are always at the four corners of my queen-size bed. They are soft black rope, easily knotted and released, and I bind all four limbs. Then I stand back to examine my handiwork. There is nothing quite like a gorgeous man bound. Particularly Fin. He has his eyes closed again, breathes steadily, and even when I move around the room, he doesn’t twitch. I strip out of my clothing, leaving my black satin bra and g-string in place.

When I settle onto the mattress, he turns his head towards me with a lazy smile, admiring my body. “If this is as bad as it gets, I think I’ll be fine.”

I offer him a deadpan expression, but inside, I might have melted a bit. Nonetheless, I hold up a crop, its leather end soft as butter from years of use. “If you were a client, I’d start with this.” I drag the soft leather along his torso.

He drops his head back to the pillow, steeling himself against laughing. “That tickles.”

“It wouldn’t if I was using it properly.”

“Aye, well…where would ye normally apply it?”

“Back of the legs,” I say, slapping the top of his thigh lightly. “Ass. Back.” Very lightly, I tap it against his straining length. “Cock.”

He blows out a breath. “I think I’ll skip the flagellation, if that’s okay with ye, Mistress.”

I chuckle, despite my determination to stay in character. “We’re playing, Fin. I’m not going to hurt you,” I raise an eyebrow, “yet.”

Tucking the crop behind me, I reveal a lone peacock feather.

He grins. “Aye, ye’re definitely going easy on me.”

“You say that now.” I smirk, then lay the feather lightly against his skin.

He shivers, pulling against the restraints. “Ye might have a point.”

I tease him, dragging the light fringe over his shoulders, his forearm, and taking an agonizingly slow route to his cock. He tries to stay still, but between the tickling plume and the super sensitive areas, he struggles between laughter and sighs of pleasure.

When I swirl the feather over his swollen head, he exhales heavily, fighting a smile of pleasure.

“How does that feel?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but I don’t let up. Pulling hard against the ropes, his back arches.

“It seems I might have found your poison.”

I torture him a bit more, enjoying his inability to hold still, before I abandon the feather in favor of more involved pleasures. He watches me, and I find myself reveling in his appreciation of my body. I uncurl slowly, then settle between his legs. When my fingers follow the curve of his thick cock, my bed shakes with his strain.

“God, Lux, ye’re killin’ me.”

“I’m sorry—who are you speaking to?” I withdraw my touch.

His gaze centers on me as he spits out through gritted teeth. “
Mistress.
”

I bite back my grin and don’t respond, but continue the agonizingly slow caress, until I take him in my mouth. Flicking my tongue against his aroused skin, his hips shift with my rhythm. Between his width and length, I can’t take him all in, but he groans when he presses against the back of my throat.

When he’s shaking with need, I withdraw, sitting back on my heels.

He opens one eye. “Goddamn ye, woman. Untie me.”

I offer him a sly smile. “That’s not how this works, Mr. MacKenzie. First, you never address me without saying ‘please.’ And second,” I stretch myself over him, trapping his cock as I sit astride him. “I’m not finished.”

He tenses his shoulders, his head falling back. “Ye’re evil.” Then he lifts his head up briefly. “
Mistress.
”

I laugh, then remove my bra and bend over him, offering him my nipple. “You have no idea just how evil I can be.”

He suckles me eagerly, and I’m so aroused from our play that I’m not sure how much longer
I
can hold out. I breathe deeply, lose myself in the moment, feeling a spreading warmth from my center expand over my thighs. His teeth close on the tip of my breast, the pain warring against the exquisite pleasure.

When I finally mount him, we’re both nearly begging, and I’m so wet I take him in nearly to the hilt. I ride him mercilessly, knowing he is unable to thrust fully into me, and the intensity seems endless as I lean forward, pressing my breasts against him as I savage his mouth. He quakes against me, and when I sense he’s close to the brink, I let myself go, falling over the edge with abandon. He goes with me, mouth desperate against mine, as we plunge into sensation.

Afterwards, I untie him, and he shakes his hands and legs to get back his circulation. I’m about to ask how it was, but he reaches for me, pulling me into his lap and devouring my mouth. I’m breathless when he finally pulls away.

“You are incredible.”

I preen under his compliment. “I can be. I take it you liked it?”

“Verra much. When’s it my turn?”

“What do you mean?”

“When do I get to tie ye up and torture ye? Seems only fair.”

I laugh. “Uh, no.”

He leans back on the bed, propping himself up on one arm. “Why not?” He asks it without menace, but my hackles go up regardless.

“Because I’m a dominant woman, and I’m like that in the bedroom one hundred percent of the time.” I wriggle off the bed, putting away my tools, which conveniently ensures I don’t have to look at him.
This is why you don’t take on newbies
, I chide myself harshly.
So you don’t have to deal with these kinds of questions.
If I’m being honest—what is that I hear? My conscience laughing at me?—there’s more to it than my protests...though I barely admit it to myself. The air has cooled, causing goosebumps on my naked skin.

I’m vaguely aware of his movements, but it still takes me a little off guard when he slides his hands around my waist, gently nudging me back against him. His body radiates heat, and he eases my slight chill. “Have ye never tried?” His breath brushes against my ear, his voice soft.

I would prefer not to answer, but he’s been nothing but honest and accepting so far. I let down my guard a hair. “No, I haven’t. I know I wouldn’t like it,” I say in a low tone.

He holds me, rests his chin against the top of my head. “If ye’d ever be up to the challenge, I’d love to see ye just as I was, spread wide and naked.” His hand trails down, finding just the right spot between my legs where I’m still taut from orgasm. “I’d love to push my cock into ye, feel yer liquid heat, knowing ye could do nothing more than lie back and enjoy.” He turns me and kneels down. “And I’d use my mouth on ye, love.” He spreads my legs, and I lean back against the footboard of the bed. “Giving ye pleasure ye’d be unable to refuse.” His hot tongue finds me immediately, his fingers plunging deep inside me. He slides my thigh over his shoulder, giving him even greater access as he slides yet another finger into the rhythm. The fullness is so incredible, and I can’t stop the cries of pleasure from echoing in the room as he laves my clit. My fingers sink into his hair, holding him against me as my release grips me and fireworks explode behind my eyelids.

I sag against the bed, spent, and he returns to his feet, taking me back into his arms. “Do ye think ye might be willing to let me try? I think ye might enjoy it more than ye think.”

And I’m shocked to hear myself say: “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter 12

Divine Accommodations

A week later, Noah and I meet Ella and Ian at our favorite restaurant in the Village: a small Italian dive that has the best marsala you’ll ever taste. Fin had to work late tonight, and I was caught between sad and thankful. We’ve seen each other almost every night, and while it’s taking a toll on our sleep patterns—particularly his, as he has to be at a barn twenty miles outside the city by six a.m. to start work—we haven’t minded. While I want to introduce him to my friends, there’s a part of me that likes having this separate part of my life that is just me.

Ella, who usually glows despite exhaustion, has circles under her eyes. Ian hovers over her a bit, and I eye her closely. “Are you getting sick?”

She shakes her head, then leans against Ian’s solid shoulder. “No, I’m just beat. We’ve had what—four? Five?—parties in the last three days. Between that, my baby who depends on me for sustenance 24/7, and his stepdad’s heart attack, it’s been a week.”

“Wait, what happened to your stepdad?” I look at Ian. Always handsome and elegant, even his usual easy smile seems to have a few cracks around the edges.

“It happened two days ago. He’ll be fine, as it was minor with no permanent damage. He’s been working too hard, as we’ve all been telling him. But he doesn’t listen. This was his wakeup call.” He rubs the back of Ella’s neck as she turns her face towards him for a kiss.

“I’m so sorry—that had to be terrifying.”

He sighs. “It was, but he’s going to be okay.”

I nod, but I’m surprised Ella didn’t tell me.

Even tired, she senses my question. “I barely had time to get to the hospital in between parties and the kids.”

“It’s okay. I can see you’re beat. You know I can help if you need anything.”

She laughs. “Right, between whipping asses and the new man on the scene? Where would you have time?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

“I always make time for my friends.” My cheeks warm. “I see someone’s been telling tales.” I glare at Noah.

Noah holds up his hands. “You never said I couldn’t tell her about the new sexy on your whipping post.”

I roll my eyes and chuckle. “Sexy is right.” I look at Ella. “He’s the guy on that billboard in Times Square for Monsieur.”

Her mouth forms an “O” of surprise. “You mean the hot redhead with the fabulous ass?”

Ian smirks at Noah. “And they say we men are terrible.”

Noah smiles. “I’ve lived with both of them. I can assure you that they are both just as bad as, if not worse than, us.”

I snort. “Whatever, Mr. I-Date-at-Least-Four-Women-a-Month.”

“’Date’ is such a misleading word.”

I nearly spit out my vodka and soda. “At least you’re honest.”

Ella clears her throat loudly. “Back to the
important
subject at hand: so tell me more. Name, age, height, pedigree?”

“Fin; twenty-three; six-four, maybe? And he’s Scottish, a ‘footballer,’ currently interning as a horse trainer, and wants to study to be a veterinarian.”

She whistles softly. “Wow. I’d definitely have me some of that, t’were I in your position. And he’s younger, eh? Better stamina.”

I nod as Ian laughs. “You are incorrigible, Mrs. Cane.”