To Master and Defend (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 2) (7 page)

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was a quarter past ten—not really that late by his standards, especially with the time change Ophelia had experienced—but the longer he waited, the harder it would make this. Tobias was too keyed up to sleep knowing how near she finally was to his proximity. She was in the Queen Victoria room three doors down from him in the King James bedroom. It was time. He rolled his shoulders, like a boxer about to step into the ring.

He trod quickly between the two rooms, knocking on her door before he could retreat, fully committing to the path before him.

A sleepy, seductive Ophelia answered the door wearing a midnight satin robe, her chestnut hair slightly mussed. Her doe eyes widened as she spied him. If it weren't for his quick reflexes, she would have shut the door on him. He caught it with his hand.

Her eyes narrowed slightly before she hid her disquiet. She allowed every ounce of her annoyance to spill forth when she spoke. "It's late, what do you want, Tobias?"

Pleasure rumbled in his chest over hearing his name uttered from her lips.

"We need to talk." He pushed his way in, crowding her space, either forcing her to put her hands on him or retreat. She choose retreat, but not by much. She stood her ground a few feet inside the room, not allowing him near the couch or bed, crossing her arms in a defensive stance against her chest.

She was magnificent.

"So, talk." Her defiant attitude rippled off her.

"Why did you leave the club that night without even waking me?" It irked him that her actions had affected him so much. That he had bled a little every time he recollected that night. He'd never had an encounter quite like it, and it had left an indelible mark.

Shock mingled with confusion across her lovely face. "I don't understand. I thought it was just a one night thing. You didn't exactly introduce yourself to me, either."

Desire, almost imperceptible, flashed in her eyes, and then she hid behind a mask of indifference. His body responded in kind, almost as if awakening from a deep slumber, as he scented her arousal. She wanted him.

He stalked her, advancing into the room, making her backpedal until her body touched the lip of the sofa. Towering over her, he closed the distance.

"That's because I had your tongue in my mouth at the time, sweetness. Something I have wanted a repeat of since that night." His hands held her face, tilting her chin back so she was forced to stare in his eyes. He held her there, his face no more than an inch from hers, watching all the tiny changes at his nearness.

Her warm breath washed over him, still holding a hint of mint, her pupils dilated, and he noticed the pulse in her neck was racing at a frantic rate. It was all the encouragement he needed. Hungry for his little bird, he kissed her with all the pent-up frustration he had felt about her disappearing act. He wanted to brand her as his woman.

Her soft dainty hands curled against his chest. Her nails dug into his skin and he growled.

"Tell me you don't want this, Lia. Tell me now, and I'll go," he murmured against her cheek, rubbing his stubble beard across her skin. It didn't mean he wasn't going to do whatever he needed to in order to persuade her; on the slim chance she said she didn't. In an effort to lobby his case, and because he'd dreamt about having his hands on her again, he snaked them underneath her satin robe to cup her silky breasts. Gone was his normal candor at seduction; he wanted—no, needed—to find his release inside her again with a furor that stole all rational thought from him. He ran his thumbs against the tight peaks, marveling over the silk of her flesh. She was so soft against him. He felt his dick lengthen, hardening at such a simple touch.

When she didn't reply, he pulled back and peered at her, his hands playing with her nipples. Desire suffused her gaze. Never taking her eyes off his, she ran her hands down over his chest. His muscles quivered at her light touch.

"Don't go," she said, her breath hitching in her throat as he circled the pads of his thumb around her nipples.

On a groan he claimed her lips, pushing the lapels of her robe open, exposing her lush body beneath. The little fact that that she wore nothing underneath sparked the inferno blazing inside his veins and it spilled forth. He drank from her lips, re-learning all the contours, valleys and dips, sucking on her tongue.

He took his time, exploring her neck, inhaling her scent, nibbling along her collar bone. He was in heaven as he sucked one of the dusky rose peaks into his mouth, lapping at the pert bud with his tongue until it surged into a rigid point. Her mewling cries drove him wild and his cock strained against the confines of his pajama pants as he traded one firm breast for the other, giving its twin the same treatment.

Then he lowered himself to his knees, caressing his hands over her abdomen, loving the slight swell, and then he spread her lush thighs to display the glistening folds of her pussy. His dick jerked at the beautiful sight, urging him to ignore any foreplay and sink himself inside her tight sheath. Taking a deep breath, the scent of her arousal permeating his senses, he positioned her hands at her sides on the lip of the loveseat.

"Don't let go of the sofa arm, understood?" he said. They'd never even gone over the basics. That he was a Dom at heart. He wasn't firmly in the BDSM camp, nor was he a strict Dom. He didn't need obedience outside of the bedroom, finding a woman rather dull if they couldn't think for themselves, but, in the bedroom or where ever the hell he was with a woman physically, he needed the absolute control and the complete surrender. He found absolution when a sub willingly submitted and allowed him to bind her, to use whatever was at his disposal to bring her release, including a bit of sadism. But then again, from the beginning, Ophelia had seemed to sense his need and answer it unquestioningly, fitting him in a way no other woman ever had.

"Yes," she moaned as he placed his mouth over her pussy and tongued her with no further preamble. Her honey coated his tongue as he teased it over her clitoris until that little nub was swollen and engorged. He lapped at her hood, stroked over the delicate folds of her labia, and then thrust his tongue inside her sheath. All the while, he watched her responses, discovering what drove her crazy. He held her still, not allowing her to wriggle away as he slurped at her clit. He pressed two fingers inside her tight channel, thrusting his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm. Her sweet cries of ecstasy were driving him insane. He inserted a third digit, loving the slick feel of her muscles as she clutched around his fingers, sucking them into her warmth.

"Please," she begged.

"Please, what?" He released her clit, his fingers still buried inside her tight pussy but he'd ceased his driving rhythm.

She growled her frustration and he almost smiled.

"You're going to have to spell it out for me, sweetness. I'm not a mind reader. Tell me what you want."

His gaze was unwavering as she battled inside herself whether she would surrender to the thrilling passion sparking between them or walk away. She was fascinating, so carnal, so damn sexy it made him want to beg, and yet she tried to control her needs, to hide them away. He wouldn't permit that, pushing her boundaries and making her accept her own urges. There was a freedom in owning up to what got your rocks off. There would be no secrets between them, he wouldn't allow it. She was his, whether she knew it yet or not. Desire and need won, he felt the moment her body unclenched.

"I want to come. I want you to make me come." She whimpered her admission.

He rewarded her capitulation—taking her clit between his teeth, he bit down on the swollen bud, fucking her forcefully with his fingers. The walls of her pussy clenched as her orgasm hit her system. She was gorgeous as she came. Her eyes fluttered shut and she cried out her release, the plunging of his fingers never stopping until he felt her body relax.

They weren't done yet, not by any means. He withdrew his fingers, licking them clean, and stood. He positioned her arms around his neck.

"Hold onto me, sweetness," he commanded, lifting her up. He wrapped her legs around his waist and undid his pajamas, freeing his swollen erection. Positioning his thick cock at her drenched entrance, he rubbed the head back and forth. Then he pushed his member inside her warm heat like a battering ram breaching an enemy's gate. The walls of her pussy tightened, drawing him deeper, and he groaned. Feeling the tight fisted glove of her channel suctioning him deeper, the control that he normally held in check, snapped.

His fantasies were going to have to wait. She felt too good. He had dreamt of being inside her again for too damn long. With a groan, he stumbled over to the nearest wall, still seated to the hilt inside her. Using the wall for support, his fingers dug into her hips as he thrust his pelvis, pounding his length inside her greedy, welcoming flesh.

Claiming her lips, he shifted the angle, bringing one of her legs up so that he was stroking deeper. He grunted, shuttling his length in brutal, hammering strokes. Her cries drove him higher, he felt his balls tighten, his dick swelling. One hand snaked between them; he pinched her clitoris between his thumb and forefinger, sending her over the edge.

His entire system jerked as his orgasm hit and his seed shot from his cock into her clasping pussy.

He used the wall for support as Lia lay limply around him; her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder.

"Next round I'm going to restrain you, sweetness," he warned her, his breathing still shallow.

At his words, her body stiffened and she shoved at his chest. When he didn't oblige her any freedom of movement, she bucked against him. "Let me down."

"No." He gripped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his stare. He wouldn't let her back away from him. The bond, the fire between them was too potent to be denied. She made him lose control until all he could think of was sinking into her slick warmth.

"It was fun, but it's over. Put me down and then, if you don't mind, please leave." She dismissed him like a queen ordering her servant.

"Is that so? So you got your rocks off and think that's all this was?" Like hell, and she knew it. She'd have to dynamite him out of her room at this point.

"Isn't it? I don't know you, you don't know me. Now, if you don't mind…" She pushed at his chest for emphasis. Her protestations were like a butterfly trying to move an elephant.

"I will, on one condition: you convince me you don't want me," he commanded. Two could play whatever the hell game she was playing.

She didn't bat an eyelid. "I don't want you."

Her nipples were pointed tips against his chest, her pussy rippling around his semi-hard shaft still buried deep inside her, betraying her sharp words. He didn't know why she was denying the heat between them, why she wanted to shut him out of her life. Well, that was too damn bad on her account. He wasn't about to let her go.

"Liar." He hefted her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, walking to the couch. It was time they got their relationship in order. She screeched, struggling against his hold. He swatted her rear as his arm vised around her legs.

He went to the sofa, pushing his hand between the cushion and arm rest until he found what he was looking for. Thankfully, Declan was the type of Dom who prepared for anything, anywhere, at any time—like needing to discipline a misbehaving sub—and had retro fit every piece of furniture in his home with hidden leather restraints. You just had to know where to look.

"Put me down, you son of a bitch. This isn't funny anymore, you ass," she spat, squirming.

Still holding her, he sat with his wildcat on the couch, and looped the leather cuffs around her wrists, effectively cutting off her escape route. He was going to tan her hide for lying.

*****

"Let me go!" Ophelia uttered each word, punctuating it with force so there was no further misunderstanding between them. She should have slammed the door in his face when he first arrived. What the hell had she been thinking?

In her defense, her sleepy, jet lagged mind had only been able to focus on the beauty of his naked chest and the ripped muscles with a happy trail covering his abdomen. Staring at that tight 'V' of muscles as it disappeared beneath his midnight blue pajama bottoms; slung low around his hips, her brain had clicked off. In its place, the memories from their one night together had surged to the forefront, and the thought of feeling him inside her again had swept aside her common sense. What was it about that part of a man's anatomy that made smart girls dumb? Then he'd given her a kiss, a toe-curling, I-don't-remember-my-name type of kiss, one that shook her soul, making any thought or logical argument ineffective, and she had been lost in her desire, reveling in the feel of him.

And now, she wanted to leave and couldn't. She tested the leather cuffs, yanking on them as fury settled in her body. Why did it surprise her that she found herself restrained in the leather cuffs? It showed just how little she'd been firing on all cylinders of late. It had to be pregnancy brain or something, because normally she wasn't this dense—nor was she stupid, considering she'd graduated magna cum laude. Ophelia should have connected the dots sooner than this considering the forceful, demanding nature of his lovemaking. He overpowered her, made her surrender her will to his desires, and allow him to set the pace of their lovemaking.

He lived in a loft apartment above a BDSM club, for heaven's sake. He was a Dom, he had to be, there was no other explanation that fit him quite so perfectly. It also clarified so much about him. Why he moved with such confidence and ease throughout the world. The way his orders were followed unquestionably at the club that night. The reason she'd turned to him, needing his strength that night, wanting that attention focused on her.

She'd never had a one-night stand before. Ophelia had never craved a man's touch with a desire that bordered on desperation until he'd rescued her like a knight on horseback. It was only him, too, which made her all the more furious with herself. Why couldn't she be physically attracted to someone more suited, less volatile, like one of her fellow colleagues at the university? One heated glance from his hungry amber eyes, and she was willing to throw caution to the wind and submit to whatever he desired.