Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland

She gasped and arched, just the small movement squeezing his cock. She was like deep, rich wine, heady and warm. She went to his head and made him drunk.
    With her flesh in his mouth and his dick inside her, he wrapped one arm around her waist and clamped down, driving himself deeper. She screamed and twisted, her orgasm squeezing him until he couldn’t stand any more.
    Frantically, he thrust inside her, but it wasn’t enough. In a move that only worked because his brain wasn’t in charge, Mark rolled her onto her back and began to pound her flesh with his.
    She thrashed beneath him and dug her fingernails into his back. He growled as she came again, the keening sound she made ringing in his ears. He gripped her hair and held her head so he could take possession of the sweet mouth that had started that morning insanity.
    He’d lost his mind. This wasn’t fucking. It wasn’t domination and submission. It was passion, desire, things that were complicated and messy. And he didn’t fucking care.
    She scratched his back as she convulsed around his cock again, and he couldn’t hold back. His release exploded, his heart pounded, his shout and her scream muffled by their fused mouths.
    Her tears wet his cheeks as well as hers. The only time she’d let tears fall was when she’d been experiencing pain, yet he didn’t think that was the case this time. He broke the kiss but only to catch his breath and dive in to kiss her more. He softened his touch, still dragging his cock in and out of her hot channel, reveling in the aftershocks that made her body shake.
    “You came without permission, Anelda,” he whispered softly.
    “Yes, Sir. I did.” She met his gaze. “Will you punish me? Please?”
    It was at that moment that Mark realized he was completely gone over Anelda Armstrong.
    * * * *
    “Damn it. I want to take it.” Nell was pissed. She’d always fantasized about a cane and floggers, but the reality was frustrating.
    After great morning sex, the rest of the day was spent discovering more about this strange man who was her new boss and her Dominant.
    “Knowing your limitations is a gift,” he said calmly as he stroked her sore ass. She was facedown on the couch on his instructions when the caning ended before it began.
    “I feel like a wimp,” she complained. It was a letdown to find out she couldn’t take the cane more than twice before she screamed salmon.
    “You’re not a wimp,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Some things you have to work up to.”
    She squirmed as his hand touched a sensitive spot on her butt. “So you said, Sir.”
    He’d asked her what she’d fantasized about and told her the cane was too harsh, but she’d been determined to try. They’d talked about a lot of things like movies and music, not just sex. It was Sunday evening, and their plane was scheduled to leave early in the morning.
    What would things be like after that? She was in uncharted territory. Work and her personal life had always been separate and unconnected. Now, they seemed bound together in a tangled mess. “I’m worried about tomorrow, Sir,” she said.
    “Why?”
    “I know what to do as a secretary,” she answered. “You’ve taught me the basics to be a submissive. I don’t have a clue how I’ll do both.” She sighed. “This doesn’t exactly encourage clear thinking.”
    He chuckled, and she smiled at the sound. Who would have guessed that the CEO of ConFed had a warm sense of humor?
    “On the contrary, Ms. Armstrong. To avoid punishment takes clear thinking.” His tone was filled with amusement.
    “That’s assuming I want to avoid punishment, Sir,” she quipped and was rewarded with his laughter.
    She turned around, ignoring her sore butt, wanting to see his face when he laughed. It took her breath away. His brown eyes, always so sad and serious, were twinkling and happy. His face was relaxed, his angled features less sharp as if his smile rounded the edges. He was naked, his chest warm to