snorted at the masculine satisfaction welling
inside him. Her first orgasm in twelve years—or maybe even
longer? She had said twelve years for sex, not for a climax.
In the
master bath, the jets shut off.
As Alex
buttoned his shirt, Mac walked out, flushed pink and swathed in one of the
oversize terry-cloth robes he kept at the beach house. Her scent—vanilla,
citrus, and woman—drifted to him, and he hooked an arm around her waist,
ignoring her squeak.
“You smell
edible, little sub,” he murmured. Wishing he could toss her on the bed and bury
his face between her legs, he settled for shoving her robe off her shoulder and
nuzzling the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Moist skin,
soft. He bit down on the muscle there, and he felt a quiver run through
her. When he slid his hand inside the robe, her nipples were already bunching.
With a
sigh of regret, he smiled into her outraged yet already aroused gaze. “Your
outfit is on the bed. Wear it all—and nothing else, pet. I'll see you
downstairs.”
After
savoring one last caress of the tiny peaked nipples, he released her. He'd kept
his touch casual all week; her break was over. By the time he finished tonight,
he intended to see those peaks swollen to twice the size, dark red, and rigid.
* * * * *
Dressed as
ordered, Mac walked into the living room and stopped to survey the situation.
Alex was building a fire in the fireplace across the room. Just behind him on
the couch, Zachary, a gray-haired rancher, sat with his red-haired sub in his
lap.
Over by
the wall of windows, Peter, a lean blond lawyer, and his sub, Hope, watched the
last remnants of pink disappear from Mount Rainier. Mac vaguely remembered
meeting the two at the club. Short and round, with freckles and an infectious
giggle, Hope seemed far too cute for her serious Dom.
Mac was
the only sub dressed in a costume. Four years of college, vet school, interning—all
those years and here she was, attired in a fancy and very revealing maid's
outfit. Go figure.
Halfway
across the room to the others, she stopped. Why
am I doing this anyway? Frowning, she walked up to Alex. “Could I speak
with you for a moment?” She added a reluctant “Sir” when his eyebrows rose.
“Excuse
us,” he said to the others before walking with her out onto the deck.
Mac leaned
over the railing and looked down. The beach below had an eerie gleam from the
moon rising in the east, and the water glimmered as small waves rolled onto the
sand.
“Did you
have a question for me, little vet?” Alex set a warm hand on her shoulder and
turned her to face him.
“Yes.
Obviously Cynthia isn't a problem for you any longer, so why am I still
pretending to be your submissive?”
Silence.
The pause
worried her. Darkness shadowed Alex's face, and she couldn't read his
expression. “You have two parts to your question, MacKensie ,”
he said finally. “First, we are not yet finished with Cynthia. I can promise
you that.” His voice had a grim quality that made her shiver.
His voice
deepened. “Second.” He tangled his hand in her loose hair and pulled her head
back, putting her fully in the light streaming from the glass door. “Are you
really pretending, little one? When I do this”—he took a step forward, pressing
his body against hers, immobilizing her against the railing, and holding her
hair so she was forced to stare up at him—“are you insulted and annoyed? Or
does something in you shiver?”
With his
body against hers, he couldn't help but feel the tremor that ran through her.
Still holding her hair captive, he took her lips roughly, demanding and
possessive.
The heat
sweeping through her body turned to fire when his hand captured her breast. Too
many sensations hit her at once: his mouth possessing hers, his powerful body
trapping her, his hand on her breast, the thumb scraping over her tightening
nipple. By the time he pulled back, she'd been thoroughly kissed. And thoroughly aroused.
He studied
her face
inside him. Her first orgasm in twelve years—or maybe even
longer? She had said twelve years for sex, not for a climax.
In the
master bath, the jets shut off.
As Alex
buttoned his shirt, Mac walked out, flushed pink and swathed in one of the
oversize terry-cloth robes he kept at the beach house. Her scent—vanilla,
citrus, and woman—drifted to him, and he hooked an arm around her waist,
ignoring her squeak.
“You smell
edible, little sub,” he murmured. Wishing he could toss her on the bed and bury
his face between her legs, he settled for shoving her robe off her shoulder and
nuzzling the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Moist skin,
soft. He bit down on the muscle there, and he felt a quiver run through
her. When he slid his hand inside the robe, her nipples were already bunching.
With a
sigh of regret, he smiled into her outraged yet already aroused gaze. “Your
outfit is on the bed. Wear it all—and nothing else, pet. I'll see you
downstairs.”
After
savoring one last caress of the tiny peaked nipples, he released her. He'd kept
his touch casual all week; her break was over. By the time he finished tonight,
he intended to see those peaks swollen to twice the size, dark red, and rigid.
* * * * *
Dressed as
ordered, Mac walked into the living room and stopped to survey the situation.
Alex was building a fire in the fireplace across the room. Just behind him on
the couch, Zachary, a gray-haired rancher, sat with his red-haired sub in his
lap.
Over by
the wall of windows, Peter, a lean blond lawyer, and his sub, Hope, watched the
last remnants of pink disappear from Mount Rainier. Mac vaguely remembered
meeting the two at the club. Short and round, with freckles and an infectious
giggle, Hope seemed far too cute for her serious Dom.
Mac was
the only sub dressed in a costume. Four years of college, vet school, interning—all
those years and here she was, attired in a fancy and very revealing maid's
outfit. Go figure.
Halfway
across the room to the others, she stopped. Why
am I doing this anyway? Frowning, she walked up to Alex. “Could I speak
with you for a moment?” She added a reluctant “Sir” when his eyebrows rose.
“Excuse
us,” he said to the others before walking with her out onto the deck.
Mac leaned
over the railing and looked down. The beach below had an eerie gleam from the
moon rising in the east, and the water glimmered as small waves rolled onto the
sand.
“Did you
have a question for me, little vet?” Alex set a warm hand on her shoulder and
turned her to face him.
“Yes.
Obviously Cynthia isn't a problem for you any longer, so why am I still
pretending to be your submissive?”
Silence.
The pause
worried her. Darkness shadowed Alex's face, and she couldn't read his
expression. “You have two parts to your question, MacKensie ,”
he said finally. “First, we are not yet finished with Cynthia. I can promise
you that.” His voice had a grim quality that made her shiver.
His voice
deepened. “Second.” He tangled his hand in her loose hair and pulled her head
back, putting her fully in the light streaming from the glass door. “Are you
really pretending, little one? When I do this”—he took a step forward, pressing
his body against hers, immobilizing her against the railing, and holding her
hair so she was forced to stare up at him—“are you insulted and annoyed? Or
does something in you shiver?”
With his
body against hers, he couldn't help but feel the tremor that ran through her.
Still holding her hair captive, he took her lips roughly, demanding and
possessive.
The heat
sweeping through her body turned to fire when his hand captured her breast. Too
many sensations hit her at once: his mouth possessing hers, his powerful body
trapping her, his hand on her breast, the thumb scraping over her tightening
nipple. By the time he pulled back, she'd been thoroughly kissed. And thoroughly aroused.
He studied
her face
Similar Books
