Chapter Four
Standing there like a damned fool with a size thirteen boot shoved in his mouth, Colby squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the hardwood floor would open up and swallow him whole. He felt off balance, off kilter, tipped wildly off his axis. If she put a finger on his chest and pushed, he’d just topple to the ground. He wasn’t normally a man who jumped to ridiculous conclusions. Not that she’d believe him now.
“Mama travels a lot now that she’s retired, and I usually keep her dog. Though Pumpkin really doesn’t like me much.”
He didn’t know what to say, afraid to say something else stupid. He couldn’t imagine anyone not liking her, even a dog. “Maybe he doesn’t like the crate either.”
Laughing softly, she turned away a moment and set the bottles down on top of a dresser, and then her hands were on his chest, his shoulders, like she was measuring him to see if he’d fit in that little crate. He barely heard the sound of a zipper. “Let’s go ahead and get this out of the way first.”
It didn’t dawn on him that had been his zipper until her hand slid down the front of his boxers. Her fingers wrapped around his dick and every muscle in his body tensed, vibrating with intensity. His brain short circuited. He heard someone babbling but couldn’t shut himself up to save his life.
“Christ, fuck, oh shit. Oh fuck. Mal.”
Her teeth nipped playfully at his throat again and his body detonated. He came so hard he tasted blood. Spasm after spasm rocked him back on his heels. Gasping, he clutched at her blindly, trying to stay on his feet.
“I’ve got you, sugar.”
It should have shamed him, a full-grown man trembling and panting, holding onto a woman for dear life. But all he wanted to do was fall down to his knees. Which would have tickled her pink.
She had no idea what this meant to him. That he could come again… That he could be a man again…
“When’s the last time you came?”
He blinked, trying to focus on her. “That hard? Years.” Never. He swallowed hard, searching her face for her reaction. She didn’t seem pissed he’d come so easily and quickly. She didn’t seem to doubt his story that probably seemed pretty far-fetched when a simple caress was enough to make him blow his load. “I’m feeling like I should apologize.”
Her eyes flared and she laughed, shaking her head. “Sugar, that was the best thing I’ve seen in a long, long time.”
He couldn’t help but frown with worry. “What if I can’t do it again? I don’t want to let you down in that department.”
Her eyes gleamed, full of wicked secrets as she untied the sash about her waist. “I’m not worried.”
“You aren’t?”
Her left hand cupped his balls and his thighs quivered. Butter soft leather slid beneath his sack and his softened dick, until his junk was tied up in a neat little package. Just snug enough to stay on. Until… if… he managed to get hard again. Then it would be way too tight. Which would be…
Interesting. To say the least.
If nothing else, he would feel.
I can’t wait.
“What am I supposed to call you?” His voice sounded strange, distant and hesitant. Weak. He didn’t like it. So he put some force into it. “I suppose you want me to call you Mistress.”
“Mal is fine.” She slid her arms around him, pushing the waistband of his pants out of her way so they started to slide down his thighs. Her hand gripped his buttock hard enough that her nails pricked his skin. It made him jolt against her like a skittish colt. “Still good?”
His dick stirred and his eyes burned. Joy, hope, relief. Too much to contain. “Yeah,” he said a little too raggedly.
“When it’s not good, then tell me blackberry. Or red, if that’s easier. Red’s the universal safeword in my world. I’ll stop immediately.”
He searched her face, relieved that she gave him a graceful way to escape… but also terrified. If he walked away, would he ever feel like a man again? Could any other woman do for him what she’d just done? “I walk, it’s over?”
“Safewording isn’t walking out the door forever. Safeword just stops today. We can do something else tomorrow. It’s safe, literally. If you don’t feel good, we don’t do it. Any dom who kicks a sub out because they safeword out of a scene ought to be banned from our community for good.”
He took a deep breath, relieved that it wouldn’t be over if she pushed him too hard out of his comfort zone.
She stepped back so she could look him over like was a prime cut of beefsteak at the meat counter. Pride made him widen his stance, at least as much as he could with his pants around his ankles.
“Nice, very nice indeed.” She walked around him, trailing her fingers down his thigh, then back up to cup his buttock again in a very gentle squeeze. Right before she slapped his other butt cheek hard enough to make him jump. He almost fell with his pants tying him up. “Why don’t you show me those tats you mentioned?”
He’d been unable to take off his shirt for the commercial for fear someone on the force would recognize him. Kicking his pants and boxers off, he shrugged out of the suit coat, careful not to split a seam. He really needed to buy another, but he hated to waste good money on something he rarely wore. “Mal?”
“Yeah, sugar?”
Her voice seemed further away, so he turned and watched her sit on her bed, sliding back to lean against the pillows, though propped up like she was ready for a good show. He probably looked ridiculous, pants-less with cowboy boots, a dress shirt, and tie. With a big yellow bow holding his junk. But somehow he couldn’t make himself care. “When do I get to eat you?”
Now that’s what a Mistress liked to hear. She gave him a sultry wink and let her right hand settle on her stomach suggestively. “Let’s get you undressed first.”
A button popped off in his haste to yank the dress shirt over his head without bothering to unbutton it all the way. He wore a white tee underneath it, and as she’d seen at VCONN, no ink was visible. He stripped the white cotton off and she gasped.
So much ink. Up and down both shoulders, across his chest, his ribs, both black and color. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to jerk off his boots and socks, and she found more ink on his back. “You’ve got a whole book written on your skin.”
“Like I said, there’s no mistaking me once you see the tats.” Finally nude, he turned to face her.
She sat up and traced the eagle wings that trailed down his shoulder, so well done that she could almost feel the feathers. All that ink almost distracted her from the sheer muscle beneath his skin. He was rock hard, lean, not an ounce of fat on him. Plenty of strength to test her.
Plenty of strength to plow into her as hard as she wanted.
He dropped a big palm on her knee. She punished him with a sharp dig of her nails into his pecs.
“Ow.”
“Rule number one: the Mistress puts her body where she wants it. The sub doesn’t touch her unless explicitly ordered to.”
“I’m undressed as you asked.”
“Rule number two: the Mistress doesn’t ask. She orders.”
His eyes narrowed to slits and he leaned in closer. “So order me already.”
“Patience, sugar. We’ve got all night to play.”
“I don’t want to wait all night to get a taste of you.”
“You will if I tell you to.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but at the steady, unflinching way she stared back at him, he must have decided not to risk it. Because as much as she wanted him between her thighs, she’d sure as hell make him wait if he thought to challenge her. His jaws clenched, muscles flinching beneath his cheek, but he didn’t say another word.
In reward, she lay back on the pillows. “Stay exactly where you are.” When he didn’t answer or acknowledge the command, she arched a brow at him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
His tone was more growl than acquiescence but she’d take it. “Good boy.”
He made another rough grumble, his upper lip curling with disgust. “I’m probably not supposed to growl either.”
“I never said that. A sub’s sweet groans and cries of ecstasy are like music to my ears.”
“I’m not a sub.”
He had a very good point. While he was attracted to her and enjoyed her commands so far, that certainly didn’t mean he’d be willing or even able to fully submit to her. Some light play might be all he could deal with, and that’d disappoint the hell out of her. “We’ll see.”
“If I’m not, you walk?”
“When it’s not good for me, I walk. Same as you.” He didn’t like that thought at all, if the grooves deepening across his forehead were any indication. Ignoring him, she stood and headed for the closet to hang up her dress. Partly a test, because she wanted to see what he’d do. Wait and stay… or follow, even though she hadn’t given him an explicit order? Either she’d deal with, but it’d tell her a lot about his personality.
Of course he followed as if determined to prove exactly how un-submissive he was. “It’ll be good for you, baby.”
Without looking at him, she unzipped the dress and let it slide off her shoulders and down her back, revealing the matching golden straps of her bra. “Oh, is that so? How’d that work for you with all those other women over the past few years?”
He made a ragged sound as if she’d punched him in the gut. Or lower.
She had, in a way. No man liked to be reminded of a weakness, especially when it came to his performance and virility. But he needed to be reminded of exactly why he was here. What he needed from her. It wasn’t sex, exactly. No, what he needed from her was control.
Letting the silk slide down her hips, she stepped out of the dress, making sure to bend over enough to give him a good long look at her assets. Golden lace, barely there, and certainly light enough that the dampness of her desire would be clearly visible. He made another sound, a quick gulp of air.
Her skin tingled with the force of his gaze and her instincts told her he was going to reach out and touch her. She could almost feel the trailing of his fingers across her buttock. Or the firm grip on his hands on either hip. Exactly how he’d touch a woman. Any woman not her, not the Mistress. His Mistress. Oh, God, please, someday.
She took a quick step into the closet and she felt the barest graze of his fingers, the breeze from his fingers sliding by. “If I have to remind you of the rules again, you’ll pay the consequences.”
“Are you going to punish me?”
Despite the amusement in his voice, she could hear the underlying tightness of his need. And yes, a slight tremble of anxiety. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
She allowed herself a quick glance at him, drinking in his tall, lean frame propped against her closet door. Trying so hard to be casual and cool, while his eyes smoldered and his cock strained at the sash she’d tied around him. She made sure to look long and hard at his crotch, so he’d be aware of the way his body responded to her.
“That depends,” she drawled out, slowly raising her gaze back to his. “Are you wanting me to punish you?”