Masters 01Bis Doms of Dark Haven (6 page)

Through the years she'd played with any number of men. Now she realized they'd all had one thing in common. She could manipulate them.

This tall, dark Irishman wouldn't tolerate subterfuge, and that thrilled her as much as it frightened her.

“Now,” he said, his voice was roughened, like a diamond sliding across sandpaper.

“Uh…”

“Problem, sub?”

She was always bold, and it sometimes got her into trouble. “I haven't yet seen Master's hot ass.”

He laughed. Slowly, he turned around.

Oh, dear. God.

His ass was as tight as the rest of him. His thighs were muscular; his calves were well defined.

He was beyond dangerous to her, mentally as well as physically.

He finished the rotation, then nodded toward the table.

Following orders wasn't easy. She wanted to touch him, kneel before him, take his cock in her mouth, and suck it until he was hard enough to fuck her again.

She climbed onto the table and lay on her back.

Wordlessly, he repositioned her, putting her feet on the table and tapping her knees so she spread her legs wide.

This was a much more revealing position, leaving her exposed.

“Do you fuck your ass when you masturbate?”

She raised her eyebrows “Not usually. No.”

“Fuck your ass with your fingers, Mira.”

A frisson of excitement danced through her. No man had ever pushed her boundaries the way he did.

“Show me how you like to be pleasured,” he said.

Feeling oddly self-conscious, she reached between her legs and stroked her fingertips across her pussy. She was damp. Her heart was racing.

Her eyes closed as she searched for a rhythm to take her to release. Then she remembered he hadn't given her permission to orgasm, he'd just instructed her to masturbate. She opened her eyes to find him intently watching her, his arms folded across his chest. His blue eyes were like chips of a glacier. In that moment he looked truly masterful. She felt weak inside, wanting to be dominated completely by him. “May I come?” she asked quietly.

“I'll let you know when I decide.”

She continued stroking her pussy, feeling it growing damper and damper. She moistened her forefinger and began to push it against her anal whorl.

“It's a total turn-on to watch you, Mira. My cock's getting hard again.”

Using her heels on the table as leverage, she lifted her hips slightly, realizing she was presenting an even more obscene image.

“Nice,” he said.

She inserted a second finger into her rear and began to move them in and out.

She closed her eyes again, and self-consciousness was lost in the sensation of pleasuring herself while he watched her.

An orgasm, and its delicious tension, spread through her.

Her breathing changed, becoming more labored.

She fought to hold off the climax, grinding her bare heels onto the oak table. But then he was there, painfully squeezing her nipples between each thumb and forefinger.

She was so needy, so close…

Still keeping the pressure on her nipples and squeezing her breasts, he leaned over to eat her pussy.

Mira came with a scream.

Chapter Six

Mira woke up the next morning, tired, sore, well used, with a smile, facedown on the mattress and…
Unable to move?

She pulled on her wrists slightly, realizing she was tied in place.

She pulled against her ankles, realizing they too were secured.

A bit frantic, she opened her eyes.

The room was dark, but at least she recognized where she was: Torin's bedroom in the Hawkeye safe house. She was completely alone.

She heard the sound of running water and inhaled the spice of hot, fresh coffee.

She was safe, but there was no way she was getting out of her bondage.

It was a testament to how hard she'd slept and to his skill that he'd managed to truss her up without her being aware of it.

She barely remembered anything after the scene last night on the kitchen table. He'd carried her to his room over her protests. She preferred to sleep alone, always had. Even when she was in a fairly serious relationship, she rarely had sleepovers, telling the men in her life that she could be called away at any time, day or night, and she hated to disturb them. She'd lied. Truth was, spending the night and having breakfast together were intimacies she didn't want. She enjoyed having a nice, orderly life. Men—relationships—mucked that up completely.

She liked bondage on her terms. She enjoyed being punished when she wanted to be punished, relished being the one to dream up the scenes. For one dom, she'd gone as far as to script what she wanted and send him an e-mail in advance.

Torin Carter, damn him, had his own ideas. Like leaving her spread eagle, facedown on the bed while he had coffee and a shower—after promising her water sex that had never materialized.

So while she'd fantasized about having a man who would push past her boundaries, Torin's actually annihilating them annoyed the hell out of her.

She wanted a cup of that strong, bold coffee with a dollop of heavy cream. Breakfast would be good too. Control over the situation would be the bow on the present.

And since she couldn't control the situation until he got his ass back in the room, Mira schooled her thoughts, trying to rein in her annoyance. She measured her breaths, deeply in, slowly out, focusing on one thing: control of her mind, if not her body.

Unbelievably, she heard him singing in the shower.
Singing
while she was left alone with her thoughts and memories.

Against her intentions, she thought about the way he'd stormed into Dark Haven last night and nearly broken Master Blake's wrist. Torin's temper would be hot, if she went for that kind of thing, which she was suddenly realizing she might. To have a man she desired so intently go after her…

And then the way he'd shackled her to the wall, beaten her, fucked her…

Horny, Mira began to move her crotch against the sheets.

She thought of his hands, the way he'd touched her… His mouth, the way he'd eaten her pussy…

“Naughty sub, humping the mattress just like you tried to get off against the wall in the dungeon.”

She froze.

How had she not noticed he'd stopped singing and turned off the water? The room seemed to echo with the silence.

“You didn't come, did you?”

“No,” she whispered, turning her head to the side to look at him.
Oh. God.

He wore a white towel around his hips and nothing more.

Droplets of water clung to his bare chest, and his hair was slicked back, making his cheekbones all the more prominent. His eyes seemed more frosty than they ever had before, and his lips were set in a firm, nonteasing line.

The man who'd been singing a few moments ago had been replaced by a stern dom.

She hadn't thought it was possible to be more turned on than she had been earlier, but clearly she'd been wrong. He didn't have to touch her for her to become aroused; he only had to speak with that toe-curling brogue.

“Don't mind if I check? Subs aren't allowed orgasms without permission from their masters. I assume you were aware of that?”

When she didn't answer, he asked, “Mira?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” he said, keeping her gaze ensnared.

Softly, her voice roughened by sleep, she said, “My orgasms belong to you.”

“Good girl.” He crossed the room, the towel riding lower on his hips. He sat on the bed and stroked the insides of her thighs.

This was totally different for her.

She'd never had a scene that carried over from the night before. She'd never considered herself a true submissive, just a woman who enjoyed a taste of kink and knew how to play the game. That he'd tied her up while she slept and left her there while he showered bothered her a bit. That he was still exerting dominance this morning left her scrambling. He was taking this thing too far, past where she wanted to go—past the point where she was in control.

When he touched her pussy, she gasped.

“You're wet,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Lift your hips.”

Her restraints made it difficult to comply.

He teased her clit mercilessly, and she pulled against her bonds. When she was on the verge, he grabbed a pillow and pushed it beneath her stomach.

“I was thinking about you while I was in the shower,” he said. “How much I want you again and again. And how hard I'm going to fuck your ass.”

Her heart missed its next few beats and then slammed them all into a sudden surge of adrenaline.

As best she could, being tied facedown to the bedposts, she watched him. He opened a nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom.

He dropped the towel.

His cock was hard, thrusting toward her. For a few seconds she forgot to breathe as she watched him roll the condom down the length of his erection. He squirted a dollop of lube onto his fingers, then knelt beside her on the bed.

He slowly inserted one slick finger into her anus, allowing her time to accommodate his touch. “Relax,” he said, sweeping her hair from her neck, tangling his fingers in it.

She dragged her breathing back under control.

“Ready?”

She knew she could refuse. He was totally controlled, despite his obvious arousal; she had a safe word. But she did want this—
him
—despite the small panic caused by his continued dominance. “Yes,” she said.

He inserted a second finger, followed by a third. He stretched her, holding his fingers apart. It hurt, not badly, but enough that she wanted him to back off. She was going to ask him to stop, but he leaned over and kissed her exposed nape, distracting her.

“You're doing well, mo shearc.”

A hundred pleasurable sensations danced down her spine.

He was attuned to her reactions. The moment she relaxed and surrendered, he began to move in and out, patiently simulating sex.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I want your cock.”

“Where?”

This man was relentless. He was going to drive her loco. “Up my ass,” she said.

He moved slowly. He touched her, soothed her.

She'd never been taken like this, while she was tied down, helpless.

She was aware of him on his knees between her legs. He withdrew his fingers. Then she felt the unyielding firmness of his cockhead against her opening.

“Doing okay?”

“Just take me!”

He laughed and possessed her by slow measures, firm and steady, starting shallow and reaching greater depths with each stroke.

She liked anal sex, but she'd never had it like this before.

It wasn't all about him; he made the act about her pleasure, kissing her, reaching beneath her to caress her clit. “Torin—”

“Master,” he corrected.

“Master! I want—need…”

“Come,” he told her, pulling all the way out and then surging forward, taking her in a powerful motion.

She screamed as an orgasm crashed over her.

“God, woman, you're sexy as hell.” He placed one arm beneath her hips, lifting her off the pillow slightly, holding her prisoner as he continued to ride her.

She felt sore and used, but she wouldn't be satisfied until he came.

She heard his breathing change, felt his cock swell slightly. She bore down hard, and he climaxed with a pure male grunt of satisfaction.

He continued to hold on to her long past the time her breathing returned to normal.

“I didn't sleep last night,” he said, “thinking about doing that with you.”

“Master fucked his sub hard.”

He laughed. “More where that came from, Mira.” He pulled out, and he disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments.

She heard the water running, and she closed her eyes, her thoughts in a whirl.

Now what?

Did they train together? Did he expect that these scenes had changed their partnership?
Had they?

Torin returned to the bedroom with a warm, damp cloth. He pressed it against her anus, soothing her.

That had been missing in all the other scenes she'd participated in—the aftercare from her dom. Generally she hit the bathroom on her way out of a man's house, then called out a cheery good-bye over her shoulder.

Torin, it seemed, was having none of that. She was surprised how much she liked and appreciated the tender gesture.

Once she was cleaned up, he sat on the edge of the bed and released her right wrist from its restraint. “You're a lovely sub,” he said, massaging her skin until circulation returned.

“You don't suck as a dom.”

He swatted her rear, and she yelped. She was definitely sore from last night's beating.

He unfastened the rest of her bonds and then helped her to stand. He pulled her against him, her breasts pressing against his muscled chest.

It felt nice. Right.

He caught a hand in her hair and pulled her head back.

He claimed her mouth, kissing her deeply. He tasted of coffee tempered by a hint of sugar, then drizzled with sin.

She responded and rose onto her tiptoes, leaning wantonly against him. He pressed his free hand against the small of her back, holding her tight. She wiggled about a bit, feeling herself growing more and more aroused beneath his sensual assault. Torin Carter made her want to be a
very
naughty girl.

He slowly ended the kiss. Her mouth felt raw and ravaged. Hungry, she wanted more.

Torin looked at her intently. The color of his eyes never failed to startle her, but what she hadn't noticed before yesterday was that they revealed his thoughts and emotions, whether they were angry ice or aroused smoky blue.

“We need to talk,” he said. “I'll brew a fresh pot of coffee while you get cleaned up and put on some clothes.”

“Talk?”

“About what's next.”

She steeled herself.

If he said that their having had a BDSM scene was a mistake, she'd have to agree with him. Reluctantly. The scenes had been hot. The man knew how to give it to her.

But the emotional cost was high. He'd taken everything she'd offered and then some.