I Belong to You (19 page)

“Between Master and
submissive,
” I say, concerned that that’s where he’s taking this.

“Between two people, Crystal. Even without the BDSM elements, good sex is about caring enough to learn about the other person. And letting go of control isn’t a chore for a natural submissive. You aren’t that. But letting go for a few hours doesn’t make you a submissive. It gives you relief from the pressure of always trying to maintain control.”

“When do
you
get that relief?”

He cups my face. “When we make love. I only make love with you. That’s the trust I give you.”

My doubts fade. He’s intense. We’re intense together. There is no room for the past. “I’m giving you trust. I wouldn’t let anyone else cuff me. No one.”

He brushes his lips over mine. “And I won’t betray that trust.”

Nineteen

Crystal . . .

Mark’s kiss lingers on my lips, his hands on my face, but it’s his words that really get to me.
We make love.
I know this doesn’t mean we have a future together, but it tells me that we’re more than these leather cuffs—and that dissolves the prickling sensations and warms me inside.

I know he wants to protect me. I know he doesn’t want to hurt me.
I’m okay. I can do this.
I can overcome my past and finally leave it behind me.

My bravado fades the instant Mark’s hands slide away from my face, his body no longer touching mine. My gaze drops to the cuffs around my wrists and the prickling begins again, the urge to jerk against them almost too much to resist. I’m cold and on edge; dark shadows cloud my mind and transform into flickering images. I inhale, fighting this damnable weakness. I just want it to go away.

Mark’s hands cover the leather, enclosing my hands. “Look at me, Crystal,” he says softly.

His tone pulls my gaze upward, and I’m instantly trapped in his spellbinding steel-gray eyes. “Stop thinking about the cuffs. Start thinking about me owning you. Me fucking you. Me licking you until you’re whimpering with pleasure. That’s what this is about.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s not. It’s about control that you have, and I don’t.”

“You’re right.
I’m
in control. The monster I know you’re fighting is not. And don’t tell me there isn’t a monster. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”

I try to remember what I’ve told him in the past, but I can’t think. Not naked and bound and staring into his eyes. “We all have monsters.”

“But not everyone has the kind of monsters that I do. And you do.
I know,
Crystal. It’s how we connected in the beginning. It’s what gave me the freedom to be man, and not Master, with you. So whatever your monster is, I’m not letting it have you. You need to own it—and tonight, I own you. But until I know your monster, I’m only going to push you so far.”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, I don’t want that. I want you to just make me stop thinking. Don’t coddle me. Don’t act like I can’t handle this. You don’t know my history. I do.”

“Exactly. I don’t know. And I’m not pushing you to tell me, any more than I’m pushing you somewhere you might not be ready to go.”

This is why I don’t do men like Mark. They want to decide for me. They want to control what I think I can handle. I cut my gaze, wishing I’d never gone down this path.

His fingers slide under my chin. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop.”

“I’m thinking you’re like every controlling man I’ve ever known. You think you know better.”

“You aren’t going to goad me with that remark, little one. Not even close. One minute you’re afraid—”

“I’m not afraid.”

“—and one minute you’re not. We can always go deeper later. But we can’t come back from me taking you too far too fast, and you shutting me out.”

“I won’t.”

“All right. Then right now, you think only about what I give you permission to think about.” He lifts my arms and presses my hands and my bound wrists behind my head. With my breasts thrust high in the air, I am instantly in the moment, aware of the vulnerability I’ve allowed myself with him. He holds on to the cuffs, his eyes meeting mine. “Don’t move them unless I tell you to move them. Understand?”

There’s a strong tug on my sex, and it becomes clear that while being trapped is hell for me, being this man’s captive is more than a little sexy. “Yes,” I whisper. “I understand.”

“Good,” he says. “Now. Back to what you have permission to think about.” His gaze lowers, caressing my breasts, then lifts. “My tongue on your nipples. My tongue licking your clit. My fingers inside you. The many places my mouth can, and will, explore every part of you.” He leans in and nips my bottom lip, the bite making me yelp. “And,” he continues, his voice lowering to a velvety smooth seduction, “the many ways I can make your need for pleasure hurt so good. And I can, Crystal. I promise you, I can.”

I moan at that naughty little promise of what is to come, and then gasp as he plucks off the shells on my nipples. The throb is instant, and I reflexively begin to lower my hands.

“Don’t,” Mark warns, his hand catching my elbow. “I said not to move them.”

Inhaling, I force myself to fully reset my hands behind my head, and “Good girl” slides from those dangerous, provocative lips. My response isn’t the indignation I expect, but something unfamiliar and erotic. I am hot all over, so very, very hot, that I want to rub myself against him and force him to take me now.

“There’s a price for disobeying,” he reminds me, his tone low and absolute.

“What kind of price?” I ask, remembering the threat of him turning me over his knee.

His lips, oh those seductive lips, curl. “My creativity is endless.” He’s quick to shut me down, telling me, “Open your legs.”

I hesitate, swallowing hard at the command that will leave me fully exposed, then shocked when he suddenly twines a rough hand in my hair above the cuffs.

“Don’t hesitate. I say. You do. I reward you with pleasure. Understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper, aroused by the erotic tug of my hair in a way that the me I know would never feel.

“Yes,
Master,
” he corrects.

My reply is instant. “No. I’m not—”

“Ms. Smith—”

“No,” I repeat, my tone sharper this time. “I am not calling you Master. And don’t you
dare
force me to say it in some moment of near orgasm, or I swear I will punish
you.
”

He stares down at me, his face hard, unreadable, and my heart is beating so fast it might explode from my chest. Suddenly, he smiles and shocks me by kissing me, deeply, passionately,
intensely.
“Did you know,” he says when he lifts his mouth, leaving me gasping for more, “that when I’m playing dominant, I never kiss in a scene?”

Surprised at this admission, I want to ask why he kissed me, but he’s already moving on. “And ‘no’ is no. I told you that. You don’t have to call me Master.” His lips curve. “Just as long as you know I am Master.”

My brow furrows. “That’s—”

He kisses me again. “Nonnegotiable. You belong to me tonight. Remember?”

The words do funny things to my belly, and though I’m still confused by the kiss and his confession, my reply is immediate. “Yes. I remember.”

“Say it.”

“I belong to you,” I willingly say, leaving off the “tonight” without intentional thought.

His mouth lingers near mine, his breath a warm, sweet promise I can almost taste, and I know he’s noticed my admission.

I know he’s waiting for me to correct it, and so am I. But I don’t. I can’t. He is more to me than just tonight.

Slowly, his hand slides from my face, his palms settling on my knees, his eyes meeting mine. “Open your legs, Crystal. I want to see and taste you.”

“Yes,” I say softly, and then, remembering that he never kisses in a scene, I surprise us both by adding, “Master,” and opening my legs.

His eyes darken, his expression pure possessive heat that sends a shiver down my spine. His hands begin a slow path from my knees upward, his thumbs caressing my inner thighs. Goose bumps lift on my skin and my nipples are still so oversensitized from all the hours wearing the tips over them that they burn from the distant touch. His path feels eternal, as if he’ll never reach the place I need him to be—but finally his thumbs stroke over my clit, then caress the slick, wet heat beyond. I bite my lip at the long strokes of his finger, back and forth, until he’s pressing inside me, and it kills me that I can’t arch into his touch without falling.

His tongue teases me with a quick flick of my nub and I whimper shamelessly. He looks at me with primal, white-hot desire. “I want to taste you, Crystal. And I want it badly enough that I’m not even going to make you ask for more. This is for me.”

If the eroticism of his words isn’t enough to undo me, his mouth is. He closes it over my sex and sucks deeply. My head falls backward, resting on the heavy leather of the cuffs, as I feel the wicked play of his tongue in intimate, perfect places.

And even as it tortures me, his fingers are still inside me, pumping, stroking. His tongue begins this swirling motion, around and around and then up and down, and . . . Oh God. He’s right there where I need him—and then he moves. Then he’s back. The cuffs are a heavy weight on my arms, reminding me not to move, but then
he
moves, and I’m going insane. This time when he’s back where I need him, my hands come down on his head.

His mouth is gone instantly and he’s on his feet, pulling me with him. Shocked, I lift my eyes to meet his, and in that instant, I know he’s teased me on purpose. This was a battle of his will over my control, and his will has won.

“You disobeyed,” he states. “You’ll now wait to come.” He loosens his tie and pulls it free of his collar. “It’s my turn now.” He wraps the red silk around my neck. “You keep it. We might need it.”

A shadowy place in the back of my mind stirs but I reject it, focusing on him unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging out of it, his broad chest expanding with the movement, the light blond hair dusting his muscular torso. My mouth is dry, and I’m all about fully appreciating his body—but he doesn’t remove his pants. He walks behind me, and as I turn, he sits down on the bed.

He grabs my wrists and pulls me close, my knees against his right thigh. “I’m going to spank you. Then I’m going to fuck you until you come. Understand?”

Adrenaline surges through me, and in shock I automatically answer, “Yes,” forgetting the “Master.” I think I’ve forgotten my own name.

I have a second of realizing the impact of my “yes” before he pulls me across his lap, my cuffed wrists dangling toward the floor. His hand comes down on my backside and he starts to rub and rub. I squeeze my eyes shut and I grab the silk tie, holding on for dear life. He keeps rubbing and in my mind I start saying,
His hand, his hand, his hand.
I don’t know why I’m repeating it. And then there’s the first smack—the sting, the arousing, painful bite of his palm. Then another. And another.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My heart is doing that wild fluttering thing again. Everything spins and burns, and I don’t exist outside the here and now and him.

Abruptly, it’s over and I don’t know if I want to laugh, cry, or orgasm. He lifts me, and as quickly as he’d put me over his lap, my cuffed hands are pressed between his chest and mine, and his fingers are in my hair and he’s kissing me. Hot, wild, crazy kissing me. I whimper, actually whimper with the taste of him that is dominant, hot, and impossibly right and wrong at once.

Then I’m flat on my back on the bed, and he’s licking my clit and I’m coming unglued with the sensations ricocheting around my body. I need more and more, but I’m not sure my heart can take one more second. Still I arch my hips, reaching for it, and him, and yes, more, and he’s sliding his hands beneath my sore backside, lifting me, licking me.

My orgasm comes over me like a rainbow of sensations, the build to bliss and the shattering ride over the other side overwhelming my body. I reach for his head but my fingers only find his hair. I jerk with the impact of my release, shaking before it finally begins to ease.

I hear him unzip his pants and feel him push them away. I’ll finally have what I need most. He drives into me, hard and deep, and I spasm again around him. He begins to pump into me, our harsh breathing filling the room, and it’s as wild as the kiss after the spanking, as intense as he promised. I meet his thrusts with my own, feeling the edge of that rainbow again.

I spasm, oh how I spasm, deeply, almost painfully, and he lets out a guttural groan that’s so fierce and hot, it makes me moan. He drives into me one last time and I feel his release as I shatter into my own.

As I slowly come back to reality, Mark rolls to his side, pulling my back to his front. His powerful leg twines between mine, and my cuffed arms come to my chest. He strokes my hair. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say, my lashes fluttering, limbs heavy. “Just so very tired.”

“An adrenaline spike will do that.”

“Yes,” I whisper, unable to open my eyes. I think the bed shifts, but I’m too relaxed to check. So . . . relaxed. I feel Mark pull out of me, then open my eyes to watch him stride into the bathroom in all his naked, masculine perfection. I bet he really looked good in baseball pants.

He returns, his eyes meeting mine, and I suddenly realize that I’m cuffed, and he spanked me. I also told him that I belong to him. That’s the part that really gets me, and makes me look away. The mattress sinks in with his weight and he presses the towel between my legs and embarrassingly, but sort of sweetly, cleans me up.

He stares down at me. “How are you?”

“You already asked me that.”

“Actually, I asked if you were okay. How are you?”

In love,
I think, but instead I say, “Good.”

“Just . . . good?”

“Yes.” I lift my arms and show him the cuffs.

He reaches down and frees one of my arms, his eyes darkening. “Leave the other on, in case we get the urge to play again.”

“Again?”

He grabs a pillow and spoons me again, wrapping his arm around me and twining my legs with one of his once more. “That’s right,” he says near my ear. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

I smile, pleased with this answer. “I guess it’s mutual.”

“It had better be. And just for the record, you taste like honey, but you smell like jasmine and rum.”

“Vanilla,” I whisper.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “There is
nothing
vanilla about you, or us.”

I’m smiling all over again, letting my lashes lower, and feeling the weight of the cuff on my wrist. He’s right. We are not vanilla. And I do believe I like it.

Mark . . .

I absently caress Crystal’s naked hip, inhaling her sweet scent and listening to her steady breathing. She’s exhausted, and while adrenaline has something to do with it, I also suspect the insane hours she’s been working to run Riptide and support my mother are the real culprit. And me. This woman is a part of our lives in every possible way, and I don’t deserve her. I want to, though. God, how I want to.