Authors: Lora Leigh
possessed.
Her legs lifted, wrapping possessively around him, angling her hips up to him, taking all of him, deeper than before, harder than before.
Her nails raked over his hair-spattered chest, combing through the sweat-dampened black curls before
skimming along his abdomen and back again. Just to touch him, to feel the shudders racing through his
body.
Then she was moving beneath him, fighting for dominance as she watched his eyes narrow a second
before he gave her what she wanted.
Surprisingly. He moved, going to his back as he lifted her above him, never dislodging from her, thrusting deeper as she settled astride him and began to move.
The feel of his cock moving inside her was exquisite. The way he stretched her, burned her. The throb of blood pounding into the shaft and rippling against her sensitive inner walls drove her crazy with need. She wanted more sensation, harder strokes, a deeper burn.
“Slow down.” His hands gripped her hips as she began to impale herself on him.
“No.” Crista shook her head wildly. “Not yet. Let me—”
“You’re not coming yet, Crista.” His voice was forceful. Dominant. As dominant as the hands that
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restrained her hips and kept her from riding him as she needed to.
“I need to come again, Dawg.” She would be embarrassed over the whimper in her voice later. “Just one
more time. Just now.”
She flexed above him, straining as his cock stroked her internally.
“Soon, sweetheart.” He grimaced. “Soon…Ah fuck!”
She lowered her upper body, her lips moving to a flat, hard nipple that she nipped at gently, then licked, tasting the salty male taste of his flesh and the heat of his lust.
His hips jerked beneath her, his cock plunging heatedly inside her, just once. Just once when she needed so much more.
“Easy, fancy-face,” he groaned, allowing her to move by the smallest degree, to work herself on the thick, stiff flesh impaling her with the smallest strokes.
“Dawg, please. I need—” She wasn’t certain what she needed. Wild. Hard. God yes, she needed hard.
“Hard. Fuck me hard. I can’t stand this.”
His hips jerked at her shattered plea. Dawg could feel his balls drawing tight, his dick flexing, jerking inside her with the need to come. And a part of him needed to savor. To hold her back, to draw out the
exquisite torment to the point that when the explosion came, she would know, to the depths of her soul,
exactly who she belonged to.
One hand moved from her hip as the other restrained her, forcing her to the slower pace he wanted. To the long, gentle thrusts that forced her to feel every inch of his cock taking her, possessing her.
Just for a moment longer.
His free hand snagged in her hair, pulling her head up as he moved into position for her kiss.
“Come here, Crista,” he whispered. “Kiss me, darlin’. Show me how you need me.”
She didn’t hesitate. Passion and hunger darkened her chocolate eyes and flushed her cheeks. Her head
lowered, her lips meeting his eagerly as he rolled her to her back, moving between her thighs, feeling her pussy tighten on him as he retreated, then clench again with need as he thrust inside her once more.
Sweat slicked both their bodies as her legs twined around his hips and his tongue sought the heated depths of her mouth.
He was lost inside her.
Dawg groaned, growled, slanted his lips over hers and gave his cock the freedom to take her as he needed to. Deep. Hard. He began rocking inside her, fighting for the control to hold back, fighting to torment
them both just a little while longer.
But the pleasure was too deep, too hard. Within seconds he was fucking her with a primal hunger that
should have made him wary. As though he had never fucked before, never known a woman’s touch
before.
Crista could feel herself screaming into his kiss. Her hands stroked over his shoulders, his upper back. Her nails scraped and raked, her palms begging for the touch of his skin.
His kiss was like wildfire.
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The feel of his cock shafting hard and deep inside her added to the surfeit of sensation. Each plunging
stroke, each forceful thrust threw her higher, drew her deeper into the vortex sweeping through her.
Until finally, her senses exploded beneath the impact.
Her orgasm tore through her, swept through her mind and left chaos in its wake, detonated through her
flesh and spasmed through her womb until her broken screams were joined by Dawg’s hard, male cry of
release.
She felt the fiery blasts of his semen filling her, sparking another explosion, another wash of ecstasy. It lasted forever; it didn’t last long enough.
She collapsed beneath him, fighting for breath, certain she could never draw in enough air, when he began moving again.
“Dawg.” Her voice was small, not really a protest, perhaps a question of sanity.
He was still hard, still hungry, and within seconds, she could feel her own pleasure building again. This time, when he rolled to his back and drew her above him, she didn’t have the strength to fight the slow, languorous thrusts he demanded. She needed hard and fast, but her muscles were lax, too worn and
drained to draw the energy for it.
She lifted herself above him, her hands braced on his chest, feeling his palms stroking over her back, her hips, and moved on him with building pleasure.
“How pretty.” His voice was tight, hungry. “That’s the way, sweetheart. Ride my cock. Ride it like you
love it.”
Like she loved it? She had loved him all her life, and he hadn’t known it. He couldn’t know it. And her
body ached for him. Lonely nights curled into a ball because the ache was so bad. Dreams and fantasies
had sustained her. Until now.
Her back arched as she lifted, her hands gripped his powerful arms now, using them to steady herself as
she began to raise and lower herself, feeling him sink into her, rasping delicate nerve endings, stretching tender tissue until the world was spinning around her, and she knew nothing but his touch, but the feel of him invading her body. Her soul.
Her vagina pulsed around him, tighter for the orgasm that had filled it minutes before, swelling the
muscles that surrounded his shuttling flesh and sending an agony of pleasure to wash through her system.
The release that overtook her long, long minutes later was lazier, slower, but no less intense.
And after that, long into the night, each release slammed harder inside her soul. This wasn’t like the first time. He had been drunk, a little clumsier, and had taken her with haste rather than finesse.
Dawg didn’t have that problem tonight. There was no hesitancy, no clumsiness; there was only hunger,
intensity, and strength. Eroticism filled each touch, and his voice, guttural and rasping, explicit and
dominant, filled her head.
By the time he collapsed beside her and dragged her against his chest, she was soaked with sweat,
immersed in the scent of their lust, and on the verge of complete exhaustion.
His hand curled around a breast as his chest heaved for breath behind her.
“Mine,” he reminded her, his voice hoarse, exhausted. “Remember that, Crista. You’re mine.”
Mine. Not theirs. Not one of the Nauti playmates. Just Dawg’s.
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FOURTEEN
“So tell me about your lovers?”
Crista’s gaze jerked from the last of the full breakfast she had made while Dawg was in the shower the
next morning to his icy light green gaze. She had really hoped he was going to forget about that.
“I didn’t say they were my lovers. You did,” she pointed out as she laid her fork on the plate and finished the last of her coffee.
He didn’t deserve explanations, and Mark and Ty’s relationship was their own. She wasn’t going to make
him feel better or ease his little mind by giving him explanations he should never be asking for.
“You slept with them. You admitted it.” He scowled back at her.
“So?” She rose from the table, collected their plates and cups, and paced to the sink. “Do I ask you about your past lovers, Dawg? How many you shared? How many you didn’t? Have I asked you to explain those
choices to me?”
She turned back to face him, bracing her back against the counter and watching as his jaw bunched with
angry tension.
“I didn’t walk away from you because of the sharing,” he said harshly. “You did.”
“Mark and Ty never, at any time brought another woman to their bed, or another man. Would Rowdy and
Natches have loved me enough to give up other women? I don’t think so.”
Mark and Ty had never been her lovers. They were each other’s lovers. Sometimes though, when the
nights were too dark and the pain followed too closely, they would draw her to their bed much as parents would a child. There, they sheltered her between them and gave her the warmth she needed to hold on to
at the time.
His eyes narrowed as his expression turned stony.
“I’m not going to argue with you over this.” She finally shook her head as she glanced at her watch. “The lumber store will be open in half an hour. We should go.”
“I never open.” He shrugged.
“Which is a lousy way to promote a locally owned business,” she informed him. “And I know you know
better than that, Dawg. You’re more of a businessman than this. Besides, I have work to do, and I do my
best work in the morning.”
“My business.” His smile was tight and hard. “Not yours.”
“As long as I’m getting paid to organize and manage that hellhole of an office, then I have a vested
interest in your business,” she told him sweetly. “And holding me hostage here because you don’t like my answers is not going to get you what you want.”
He uncoiled from the table. Despite his size and the obvious power in his body, he moved silently,
gracefully. Like a panther on the prowl, his predatory green eyes narrowed and glittering behind
pitch-black lashes, his body tense but prepared. As though she would attempt to run from him.
Crista stood her ground instead, her arms crossing over her breasts as she stared back at him guardedly.
“That store could burn down around its foundations for all I give a fuck,” he sneered, shocking her with 100 of 183
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the latent fury in his voice. “I keep it to piss off the holier-than-thou relatives who tried so damned hard to take it away from me, period. Its success is due to nothing more than luck.”
And she didn’t believe that. She knew better. He wanted to pretend he hated it, but the stories related to her the day before by the employees showed something totally different.
Dawg did care about that business, but for some reason he refused to admit it.
“It was your father’s business.” She tested the waters gently. “I know your relationship with him wasn’t close, but surely you don’t hate him enough to let the store suffer.”
“I bet he’s spinning in his grave.” Dawg’s smile was tight and vicious. “I’ve hired people from the
families he hated the most, and I’ve made certain people he would never give credit to, have it. The fact that that damned place makes money never fails to amaze me.” He shook his head as though he truly
couldn’t make sense of it.
Yet, when he had fired the manager that had been cheating him, the current floor manager had told Crista that Dawg practically lived in his office until he had the books and the store straightened out.
He had an instinct for what people needed and what they wanted, and he hired people who could provide
it. And every employee hired had been hired by him personally.
“Well, I need your help anyway,” she told him firmly. “Your manager, Layla Matcher, has a pretty good
handle on things, but I was going through some of the more recent catalogs gathering dust in the office
and noticed you hadn’t ordered for the Christmas season yet. You need to get that in.”
“It’s in.” His lip curled in disgust, self-disgust. She could tell by his expression that admitting it didn’t set well with him.
“Then I need the order log.” She turned and rinsed their dishes. “We also need to get a stack of files taller than I am filed. The stock boy I sent for the file cabinets yesterday hadn’t arrived by time I left.”
“They’re waiting in the office.” If his voice could have become shorter, it did.
Crista hid her smile as she stacked the dishes in the dishwasher.
“Good; then you check the problem Layla told me was building in the lumberyard behind the store. For
some reason, orders were missed with surprising regularlity last week. Several of your best contractors
have threatened to use the chain lumberyard rather than Mackay’s because of the mess-up.”
She turned in time to catch the narrowing of his eyes.
“Why didn’t Layla report this when it began?” His lips flattened in irritation.
“Check your cell phone messages.” She shrugged. “She left several texts.”
A heavy grimace tightened his expression then. “I had a problem with the phone last week.”
“There you go then.” She moved across the kitchen where her purse sat on the far counter.
Before she could make it halfway across the room, Dawg caught her arm and turned her firmly back to
face him.
“Don’t start trying to run my life, Crista. You’re the one being blackmailed here, not me. There’s only so much I’ll let you get away with.”
She restrained her smile; gloating wasn’t the best way to handle Dawg.