Dana (Elite Doms of Washington) Page 2

  “Then, we’re going to my bedroom for a second round. Slower and from behind.” Cooler air hit her skin as he split open the dress in the back and fabric flopped over each shoulder. She swiveled her head to look back at him as much as she could, barely holding on to the fabric … and her nerves. His eyes, still dark with intent, stayed trained on her ass.

  He looked up. “Yes, most definitely from behind. Maybe not so slow.” His fingertips traced her shoulder blade, and images of Jackson lording over her—inside her—rushed in. “Now tell me.” His palm landed on her bare back. “Why me, Dana?”

  Why him? A man like Jackson didn’t need to ask such a question. Any woman like her would want his fingertips to trail her spine as he was doing now, slowly, tenderly, and with an obvious sexual intent. This was the man who could fill all her neediest corners. They’d barely touched, yet she just knew he could, probably could for anyone.

  “I-I like you.” What a stupid answer. “I mean, I like what you do to me,” she amended.

  “To you?” The fingers that traced her lower spine destroyed her ability for brain’s ability to think.

  “For me. With me. Yes, to me. Pick your preposition.” She hadn’t meant to snap, but she teetered between dissolving into a mass of quivering need or running from the house in an oddly-timed attack of shyness. She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t follow through with tonight and told her inner critic to take a night off.

  “I’ll take them all,” he said smoothly and moved his hand up to her neck. He gave it a slight squeeze.

  Oh, please, harder.

  She gasped at the sudden release of pressure around her chest. He’d unhooked her bra, and freed of the restriction, her breasts hung too loose, too free. He banded his arm around her rib cage and his hand molded over her breast. It was then, with his large palm covering her breast, his broad chest against her back, his arm holding her up with such strength, that she became fully aware of his real size, and she suddenly felt petite … and calmer. She let her arms fall to hook on the forearm pressed against her ribs. Her nails dug into his skin, and she couldn’t stop little gasps from leaving her throat as he thumbed her nipple.

  “You’re trembling, pet. Remember, I’ve seen you.”

  “Not all of me, and a lot can happen to a woman in two years,” she breathed.

  He released her neck and breast, and wouldn’t you know, her dress slipped free to her feet.

  “Bend over. Now.”

  His stern tone put her into automatic pilot. She reached forward, the oriental carpet runner scratching at her palms. Her bra fell to her wrists, and her breasts definitely hung pendulous and heavy. The slap on her ass came so hard and so fast, a sharp grunt escaped from her throat. A crazy kind of hope blossomed where his hand had landed.

  “Remember rule one,” he said. “Don’t assume what I like.”

  “Rule two said to be honest,” she managed to pant.

  When he landed a second crack on her other cheek, a primal squeak shot out of her and bounced off the pitched ceiling above them. God help her, the subsequent sting travelled all the way to her clit.

  He huffed with amusement and helped her straighten. “Up two more steps and leave the dress, Dana.”

  “I’d rather—”

  “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll try not to be.”

  “I’m not sure you can help it. Good thing I like a challenge.” He turned her to face him, her feet twisting a little in the abandoned dress, her body now fully exposed. He held her fast by the shoulders. “But know I will punish you for topping.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  He let out a throaty laugh. “Fair enough. Up to the top, pet.”

  She did what he asked and stopped at the final step. His eyes narrowed as he took her in. She tried hard, so hard, not to cross her arms over her breasts. Her nipples ached to again be touched by him.

  “Sit and then lie back. All the way, Dana.”

  Her bare butt met the carpeting on the landing and she lay back. A soft flap of fabric caught her ear. He’d tossed her dress and bra over the railing?

  “That was brand new,” she said.

  “Expensive?” He tugged her forward so her butt hung over the edge of the step.

  “Very.”

  “You look better out of it.”

  He yanked open her legs, and when his mouth landed on her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t expected a full-on assault. Of course, his stated plans for her weren’t exactly an invitation to afternoon tea.

  His tongue curled around her clit, and she sucked in air through her teeth. Her fingers grasped the edge of the landing. When his tongue darted into her sex, she lost all control of her body. Oh, God. Her hand flew up and landed on a table leg to her left. Something rattled on its surface as she gripped the wood and gave in to the wave of pleasure his mouth provided. His lips and tongue settled into a wicked rhythm and her orgasm rose hard and fast and exploded into a waterfall of desperate euphoria. It was too much. She’d blow apart. Her body jerked uncontrollably, her thighs trying to close. He gripped her legs harder, holding her open and bruising her flesh, which only added strength to her release. How could she have gone for so many years without this?

  Panting, she freed her grip on the table as he climbed up between her legs until he lay on top of her. His weight pinned her to the rough floor as his lips crashed into hers. She tasted herself for the first time in her life.

  “More.” She panted into his mouth. “Please.”

  “You did need that,” he whispered back.

  Needing didn’t come close to the truth. She had no idea her body could produce such brutal intensity. Her two-hundred-dollar special edition vibrator shipped all the way from England? Officially relegated to the bargain bin after the orgasm he just gave her.

  He eased himself off and helped her to her feet. One of his shirttails hung loose, and a comma of hair flopped across his forehead. She gripped his biceps when he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the hallway. His willingness to carry her was a good thing because she wasn’t sure walking was possible. She humored her fantasies and pictured him as a pirate who’d conquered a competing marauder and was now rushing his prize to his quarters to ravish her. Reality was overrated anyway.

  Soft fabric met her back as he laid her on a massive king-sized bed. Of course, a man like Jackson required room. To accommodate his size? To sleep? To move women around? She didn’t get a chance to ruminate too much as he made quick work of shedding his clothes. In less than a minute, her question about her effect on him was answered. Standing near a pool of shirt, belt, trousers, socks, and shoes, he paused—as if to let her assess the thick shaft of swollen flesh lengthening toward her. Her hands longed to touch that part of him, and saliva pooled in her mouth.

  “Jackson?” she asked after long minutes passed. He was too far away and showed no signs of moving.

  “Hush, pet.”

  She swallowed and waited, not sure if she was to look at him. That was part of the protocol, right? A downcast gaze was a sign of submission. Yet her eyes, with a mind of their own, couldn’t stop sneaking in glances. He wasn’t a bodybuilder, but he was no slouch in the fitness department. Muscle cuts in legs and arms and a flat stomach dusted in dark hair did not disappoint her in the slightest.

  “Dana.” Her eyes rose to his. A half-smile played on his lips. “Stand. Put your hands flat on the bed. Show me all my options.”

  She knew what he wanted. She’d never been asked to present her female anatomy in such a raw and animalistic way, but given what they’d done at the top of the stairs, he’d already gotten an eyeful.

  “That’s a good girl,” he whispered when she positioned herself, feet on the floor, ass presented toward him, bent at the waist over the bed. Just like that, she immediately understood how something could be both unnerving and a turn-on all at the same time. Like so many things Jackson had me do.

 
When his hand came down on the back of her neck, she couldn’t suppress a sigh. Why did she love that so? Feeling his strength around one of the most vulnerable parts of her body stilled her raw nerve endings, her screaming mind, and her involuntary trembles.

  His hand palmed a butt cheek. “Your first orgasm was a gift. Any others you will have to earn.”

  “Of course I do.” She had meant to sound teasing, alluring, flirtatious—anything that would show she was meant to be here with him, that she could “hang” with all this charged-up sexuality. The slap across her ass told her he had not taken her words that way.

  “Bratty pet.” He trailed his fingertips down her back. “Stay there.”

  Through the curtain of her hair, she watched him stride to his clothes and pick up his belt. Without hesitation, he returned to the bed and whipped the tail end of the belt down on her behind with a sharp crack.

  “Jesus.” The word escaped her lips in a grunt, and she lurched forward a little. A fiery sting burned across her ass, and she had to curl her hands in the comforter to stay upright. “So much for slow, huh?”

  “You say, ‘I’m a brat,’ and I’ll stop at any time.”

  “No.”

  He slapped her again with the belt, the bite eating away at the earlier decorum and modesty she’d felt.

  “No, what?”

  “Don’t stop.” Feeling raw and lush, she pushed her ass back toward him, an invitation she hadn’t known she’d wanted to make—or even could. All she knew was she wanted him to continue. Was the turn-on the position she was in—bent over, legs spread—or the fact that she was being touched in any way? Or perhaps it was the insidious desire swelling in her clit in the aftermath of each lash of the belt.

  The strap came down on her again and again, heat flaring in her buttocks and her moans now rising in her throat as easily as breath.

  “How’s your gag reflex, Dana?” The slap of his belt continued, and the sharp sting flashed into a stripe of pain across her backside.

  “How’s yours?”

  “That just cost you five more minutes.”

  “Good.”

  He fisted her hair, the pulling sensation spreading across her scalp like wildfire, but the heat in no way matched the flames building between her legs. The ache there rose so quickly into a full-on, fuck-me-now intensity, her body no longer felt as if it belonged to her.

  He leaned close, his fingers finding a sore spot on her ass to pinch. She yelped.

  “I cannot wait to break you of this bratting habit, Dana. You’re giving me something new to live for.”

  “That makes both of us.”

  “I know what you’re doing. You want to be sure I’ll enforce my demand for your obedience. You feel the need to have me to prove my ability to handle you.” He dropped his hold on her hair and stepped back. “So, no, I won’t continue.” The belt buckle clanked to the floor.

  “I-I’m sorry.” Her voice strangled in her throat. She wasn’t sorry. She liked provoking him, and what did that say about her?

  “You know what happens to bad little pets who provoke the wolf?” His voice had dropped an octave.

  “They get eaten?”

  “You wish. Come over here. Show me how well you can work that mouth in other ways. On your knees, Dana.”

  Instinct kicked in. She slid down the side of the bed to all fours. Carpet roughened her knees as she crawled toward him a few feet away. When she reached him, she settled back on her heels and inhaled deeply. Surrounded by the scents of Jackson—linen, leather, and male musk—an overwhelming sense of being in his world took hold. She was here, but for how long? Could she ever not be here?

  He held out his erection. “Wet your lips.”

  He pressed the crown of his cock to her lips and pressed forward in a slow glide of hard male flesh. She took him in. He pulled out and pushed back in twice more.

  “Hands on my thighs. Now, deep breath, girl.” He gripped the sides of her head, and a jolt of fear shot up her spine. Her nostrils flared as she took in as much oxygen as she could before he thrust in deeper, his cockhead hitting the back of her throat. A long hiss broke between his teeth, and he held himself there.

  “Fuck you’ve got a tight mouth.”

  She gripped his strong quads, her fingernails digging in a little as tears leaked from her eyes and drool trickled down her chin. By instinct, her arms stiffened to push him back, to prevent him from filling her so completely, as her throat, invaded by his cock, fought against his penetration with gagging attempts to swallow. His hands tightened inexorably around her skull, negating her efforts to defend herself. Her contrary pussy wept from his violation.

  He pulled out when she grew desperate for more air, but only gave her enough time to suck in another breath before he surged forward to fill her throat with his flesh again. He moved in and out three times before she stopped trying to direct his motions, letting him set the pace. She simply gave in. Her grip relaxed and her hands lay on his thighs unresisting as his cock made long, slick slides that flattened her tongue and stretched her lips and jaw to capacity. Her inner thighs grew slicker, her clit needier.

  Her hand left his quad and snuck to between her legs, something she felt guilty about doing in the dead of night in her own bed. Now, in Jackson’s presence, touching herself seemed as natural as breathing.

  “Don’t you dare,” he shushed.

  If she could have grumbled a protest, she would have. Instead, she returned her hand to his muscled thigh. As soon as her palm felt that hard muscle, the hair dusting his leg, her throat opened up a bit more. Her nose dripped, and her cheeks grew wet with tears as he built up to a faster rhythm, going deeper. God, if she could have swallowed him whole, she would have. When she adjusted her jaw to let her teeth graze over his cock, he pulled out and released a long curse. She flicked her lashes up while she labored for oxygen.

  “Trying to make me come?” He stared down at her. He’d gripped the bedpost as if needing to steady himself. She liked that perhaps her actions had made him do that.

  “Yes, please let me—” Her words rasped from her raw throat.

  “When I say.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His chin inclined downward, and his eyes narrowed. She dropped her gaze. They hadn’t discussed titles or honorifics. Hell, they hadn’t discussed much of anything, but somehow the two words fell out of her mouth.

  He lifted her wet chin so she was forced to look up at him. “Those are two of my favorite words, pet.”

  “I’ll use them often then. If you’d like?”

  He released his hold. “I like.”

  “What else do you like?”

  He didn’t answer, instead helped her to stand. He led her back to the bed, bent her over and with no more chit-chat or questions or orders, he drove his cock into her in one long, hard glide. So much for going slow, and thank God because she hadn’t wanted slow. She wanted this—a full-on assault of her senses. Now able to do nothing but receive him, all lingering trepidations or raging anxieties extinguished as quickly and easily as a birthday candle.

  “I like this.” His voice rasped behind her. She understood he wasn’t seeking a response.

  His fingers dug into her hips, drew back and began thrusting over and over until she lost all sense of being anything more than a receptacle for his cock. She loved how he got off on using her body.

  He gathered handfuls of her hair again in one hand while keeping the other firmly gripping her hip. The obvious claim he staked on her body had her sex clenching around him. Her thighs quivered as she pushed up on her tiptoes so she could take him in deeper. In response, his thrusts grew harder, faster, and he hit farther and more fully than any man she’d taken inside her. So many sensations fed her animalistic oblivion—her nipples grazing the comforter, the burn on her scalp as he fisted her hair, the rawness on her ass as the hair around his cock scraped the welts from his belt—she could come from a breeze.

  “Did you … like me … taking my
belt … to you, pet?”

  His words were more like pants, and, again, the knowledge that her body had wound him so tightly nearly took her over the edge.

  “Yes … sir.” Her words were barely audible and she had to force them out. She was so close … Use me.

  He suddenly pulled out, and she groaned a plaintive “No,” at the loss of him. He slapped at her tanned ass, inciting another sharp yelp from her.

  “If you’re a good girl I might let you come again tonight.” He chuckled when she stiffened in response.

  He might?

  He pushed his cock into her pussy again, and she responded to the stunning pleasure with a litany of ohgodohgodohgods. Teetering on the cusp of a violent orgasm, she clutched spasmodically at the bed linens while her trembling legs threatened to fail her.

  He pulled out once more, and she swallowed down the “Fuck no!” in her throat.

  “Tell me, sweet pet Dana, how badly do you want to come?”

  “B-bad.”

  “Good girl.” Without fanfare, he methodically and despicably drove her mad. Starting and stopping a dozen times, he kept her on the edge of release until tears leaked down her cheeks, her vocabulary dwindled to whimpers of “sir,” and her hands scratched and clawed at the comforter. He tortured her until she no longer had any sense of existing without an excruciating need to come.

  At some point, he pulled out completely, his chest and belly pulsing in sharp breaths against her back. He trailed kisses along her neck and whispered little endearments to her. She’d rather have an orgasm. He’d built her up until she was a puddle of raw urges and primal longings. It was as if that first orgasm at the top of his stairs created an insatiable hunger for more, stronger, just … oh, god, please … more.

  When his breaths evened out, he growled in her ear. “Up on the bed, pet.”

  She didn’t know where she found the strength, but she managed to crawl into the center and lie on her back, hoping and praying he’d just fuck her already. Instead, the devil straddled her and reached to pull something out of his nightstand drawer.

  “Any aversion to being tied up or gagged?” he rasped.