On His Terms (23 page)

“Planning ahead, Sir?”

He knelt between her legs, cockhead pressing against her cunt. “Chelsea, at some point you’ll understand. You’re mine.”

He drove into her with a single, hard, fast stroke.

“I’d do anything, take as long as needed, keep you hogtied, but I wasn’t going to let you go.”

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist.

“You know,” he said. “You’re not always a naughty sub.”

“No?”

“Sometimes you’re very naughty.”

“It sounds as if you might need to train that out of me, Sir?”

“Every day, if necessary,” he said, reaching between them to press his thumb against her clit.

He kept her gaze ensnared. She loved watching him watch her.

With a raised eyebrow, he increased the force of his thrusts, pistoning his hips as he fucked her hard. Then he pressed harder on her sensitive nub.

She arched and screamed out her orgasm.

Only when she was satisfied did he come.

He collapsed on top of her, somehow also managing to hold her tight. “I love you, Chelsea.”

“And I love you, Sir.” She exhaled as much as she could with such a large man bearing down possessively on her.

“I need to get some arnica on your stripes.”

“I’m okay if they stay red for a while,” she confessed. Seeing them in the mirror for a few days would be a delicious reminder of the evening together.

He lifted onto one shoulder. “I want you healed so I can tawse you in a few days.”

She ran her fingers through his combed-back hair.

“But first…” he began.

“Yes?”

“To continue your hoedown theme, you get to be a cowgirl and ride me.”

“I thought men weren’t good for a second time so quickly.”

“Girl, it’s going to be a while before I’ve had enough of you.”

She giggled as he moved quickly, rolling them over. He made short work of disposing of the condom in the trash and donning another. She straddled him, taking his cock deep.

“Sit up straight. Show me those beautiful titties.”

She drew her shoulder blades together.

“That’s it.”

He grabbed her breasts, then pinched and twisted her nipples viciously. She orgasmed on a loud scream. “Master!”

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He took her head between his palms and pulled her down until her face was within inches of his. “My sub,” he said.

“Yours, Sir.”

He kissed her passionately, sealing the deal.

Coming soon from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

Mastered: Over the Line

Sierra Cartwright

Excerpt

Chapter One

Michael Dayton caught a whiff of spiced vanilla, and he turned his head to find the source.

The view of the woman passing by walloped him. He only caught a brief look at her face, not enough to make out her eye colour, but on a primal level, he noted the softness of her mouth and the sexy red colour that accented her lips.

She kept moving in the direction of the fire pit. And like the male he was, he didn’t look away. How could he? She was tiny, compact, with blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, the strands an untamed riotous mass. She walked with determination, her hips swaying seductively as she navigated the uneven flagstone patio. Her grace was even more remarkable, given the unyielding leather dress and her crazy-high stilettos. Even though the shoes added extra height, she didn’t look tall. In fact, he doubted she’d reach his chin.

A need to protect flared in him. The sensation was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

On occasion, he played with women at Damien’s home, known as the Den. Michael had been sexually attracted to many of them. But he’d only had this kind of visceral reaction one other time in his thirty years. He’d ignored his intuition and the warnings of others and ended up married within three months.

A few years later, he and his bride had been in court, and he’d spent most of his inheritance to hold onto the Eagle’s Bend Ranch. The two thousand acres had been in his family for over eighty years, and if he had lost it, he was certain his father would haunt him from the grave. The lessons Michael had learnt in rebuilding his life and fortune had made him harder, smarter and more wary.

He adjusted his cowboy hat and continued to look at the blonde. She had joined a group of people near the fire. Her figure-hugging dress did as much to arouse him as nudity would have.

Until this moment, he hadn’t missed having a woman in his bedroom, tied to his rustic four-poster bed, arms and legs spread wide as she lay there for him, willing and waiting. Last night, he’d gone to bed alone after masturbating to ease the day’s tension. Tonight, he hoped things would be different. He was glad he hadn’t simply tossed away the invitation to the Den’s solstice party. Although, he admitted, if he took this woman home, he’d wish for a longer night rather than a longer day.

As if sensing his perusal, she glanced over her shoulder. They made eye contact for less than five seconds, but it was enough, more than enough for him.

He heard someone say, “She’s trouble.”

Michael blinked and reluctantly turned towards the newcomer, Gregorio, the Den’s caretaker.

“Don’t go there,” Gregorio advised, coming to a stop in front of him.

But Michael was already thinking about her, despite the fact she didn’t resemble the women who generally caught his eye. He preferred a more rounded, feminine form—a woman that could withstand the rigors of ranch life.

“Her name’s Sydney Wallace,” Gregorio said.

Michael was aware of Gregorio’s voice, but his focus was elsewhere. Sydney. Unusual name. He let it roll around in his mind, imagined how it might sound when he said it aloud as he told her what to do.

“She used to dance nude in a cabaret in Vegas and has a boa constrictor as a pet. It killed her last Dom and dragged him out to the backyard. She’s on the run from the law. We heard she’s wanted in ten states and two Canadian provinces.” Gregorio snapped his fingers near Michael’s face, jarring him from his reverie. “You listening to me, Mike?”

“Huh?” He shook his head and looked at Gregorio.

“I figured you weren’t listening, otherwise you’d have decked me for calling you Mike.” Gregorio chuckled. “Seriously, if you want to play, there are a number of subs here tonight—they’re wearing the house’s purple wristband. That means they’re available for a scene, they know the rules, and they follow them. Any one of them would be much better for you than Sydney.”

Gregorio, as Damien Lowell’s right-hand man, knew things. Gregorio understood human nature and, since he tracked all the membership applications, he had insider knowledge of everyone at the Den. He served as a house monitor, and sometimes participated in scenes. Because he was so well respected, Doms and subs alike listened to him. Those who didn’t often rued their decision.

For the first time, Michael wanted to ignore Gregorio’s unsolicited advice. “I didn’t see a collar around her neck.” He took in the people she was standing with. “And she doesn’t seem to be here with anyone.”

“She doesn’t have a Dom.”

“I’ll bite. What’s wrong with Ms Wallace?”

“Other than the snake and the problems with the law?”

“What?” he asked, taking a drink of the light beer from his cup and looking back at her. A waiter approached with a tray full of sparkling water, and she snagged a flute. Her back was to him, and he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her shapely derrière. “Is she a Domme?”

“She’s a sub,” Gregorio said, giving the answer Michael wanted. “But one with no real interest in a relationship with a man.”

He blinked. “She’s gay?” Please God, no, not now that he was imagining her legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into her wet pussy.

“She likes men just fine. What I mean is, she’ll start playing, if a guy interests her. If he bores her, she bails.”

“She’ll leave in the middle of a scene?”

“It’s happened a handful of times.” Gregorio folded his arms across his chest. “She’s earned the name the Brat around here.”

“She sounds like a challenge,” Michael said.

Gregorio laughed. The sound was both ominous and sympathetic. “A few other Doms have felt that way,” Gregorio said. “Even though she hasn’t been here in a while, Sydney has a history of battering hearts and egos.”

Water in hand, she walked around to the far side of the fire pit and stood there alone. He responded to the unspoken cue. After finishing his beer in a single gulp, he handed the empty glass to Gregorio. “Wish me luck.”

Gregorio grinned. “You’ll need more than luck, my friend.”

Michael moved towards the fire pit.

Perhaps hearing his approach, she looked up and waited for him.

“Evening, ma’am,” he said as he stopped near her.

“I was hoping you would be brave enough to come and talk to me,” she said with a smile that could roll his socks down. “I saw you talking with Gregorio. No doubt he tried to frighten you away with tales of how terrible I am.”

“And are you?”

“I suppose there could be some truth to it.” She shrugged easily. “But there’s not. A good story is always better than the truth.”

Up close she smelt potently dangerous. The vanilla was mixed with unadulterated pheromones, and it was a cocktail he couldn’t get enough of. “Either way, not much scares me.”

“A man among men.”

“Michael Dayton. Master Michael.” Although the June sun hadn’t completely vanished behind the distant mountain peaks, torches were being lit, adding to the ambience and catching streaks of red in her hair. He wanted to touch those strands, to curl them around his fist as he held her down and made her scream.

“Sydney Wallace,” she said, returning the formality.

“May I call you Sydney?”

She rolled her glass between her palms. With a tease in her voice, she said, “I’m hoping you can be considerably more creative than that.”

He tipped back the brim of his hat to get a better look at her. She intrigued him. “So name calling is not on your limits list.”

A server, this one a woman in a French maid’s outfit that left nothing to the imagination, walked nearby. Though she was curvy with luscious bare breasts, he only had eyes for the woman he was with.

Sydney placed her glass on the tray, even though it was still mostly full. He appreciated the fact she didn’t need something to toy with.

When they were alone again, she said, “I understand you’re divorced, Mr Dayton. No kids. You have a ranch you’d like to protect from gold diggers. You scene every once in a while, and you’re not looking for a serious commitment.”

“Do you know my blood type?”

She gave a quick grin. “No. I only asked about the important stuff.”

“You found out a lot quickly.”

“I like being prepared. If I’m going to spend an hour with a man, I want to make sure the time is worth it. I don’t think it’s fair to either of us if there are false expectations.”

“You’re mistaken, Sydney.”

“About which part?”

“We’ll be spending more than an hour together. I can’t get you properly warmed up in under sixty minutes, and I intend to keep you on the edge, writhing for an orgasm for much, much longer than that.”

Her eyes widened, and for the first time he noticed how blue they were, a shade of ice, a shocking contradiction to the heat she radiated.

“That’s a brash statement, Michael.”

He captured her chin gently. “Find out for yourself, Ms Wallace. Let’s have an experiment here at the Den to see if we have chemistry. After that, we can head out to my ranch. It’s about forty-five minutes from here. Or if you’d prefer, we can go to your place. Wherever you feel most comfortable.” He noticed her legs were alluringly bare. He’d always been a stockings man. Or at least he had been. Until now. “Are you wearing underwear?”

“I…”

With his index finger, her stroked her cheekbone. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

She hesitated a moment, and he wondered if she was going to answer or whether she was going to run. He held her lightly enough that her movements weren’t restricted.

“Boy shorts,” she said.

“Please remove them for me.”

“Now? Here?”

“Maybe you’re the one who should be afraid,” he said quietly, “rather than me. Gregorio says you often bail out of scenes. I wondered at first if it was because Doms asked too much from you. But I’m thinking they probably don’t ask enough. I’ve known you less than five minutes, but I’ve figured out you’re assertive. You know what you want, but I’m guessing you’re not always good at asking for it. Furthermore,” he added, leaning closer towards her, “I’m willing to bet you’re bored with anyone who isn’t as aggressive as you are. Am I wrong about that?”

She shivered. Since the Colorado evening was mild and they were standing near the fire, he knew she couldn’t be cold. So something he’d said had hit a nerve.