Bite the Bullet (11 page)

“Ten strokes. Just like with the paddle.”

His big, lean body tensed once then settled into itself.

The first slap was a brief one, with a lot of wrist action, leaving a thin red stripe across the other marks on his thighs.

And as before, she varied the length of time between each one so he couldn’t prepare himself. Keeping him off balance was part of the satisfaction for both of them.

She counted aloud, varying the force of impact with the location—back, thighs, each cheek of his ass. By the time she reached ten, she was sure she needed him more than he needed her. Releasing the scarf, she urged him to his feet and removed the bullet gag. The heat in his eyes, mixed with the look of someone drunk on pleasure, was enough to burn her skin.

Definitely a pain addict.

“Kneel,” she commanded.

Obediently, he dropped to his knees before her.

“Hands behind your back. Lock your fingers together.”

She lowered the zipper on the short skirt, let it pool to the floor, and kicked it aside. Spreading her legs, she moved as close to him as she could get.

“Let me feel that tongue on my pussy, sub. Touch my clit.

Thrust inside me. Now.”

She fisted her hands, holding herself rigid as his very talented tongue lapped at her, probed her, licked her labia, and swallowed her cream. She’d thought to draw this out, to make him work for what he really wanted to do, but all the foreplay had stimulated her to the point where she was as aroused as he was.

“Enough.” She backed away.

Clint lifted his head, her liquid gleaming on his lips. “Have I displeased you in some way?”

Her laugh was shaky. “On the contrary. You’ve pleased me almost too much. So I’m going to give you the reward I promised.”

She lifted the condom from the bed, opened the foil, and urged Clint to his feet. She bent slightly to lick the fluid from the slit, then locked her gaze with his as she rolled the latex onto his cock. She felt the blood pulsing in the vein that wrapped around his shaft and an answering pulse throbbed in her cunt.

“Now,” she said. “Now you may fuck me senseless.”

She sat on the side of the bed while he removed her boots, licking the inside of each ankle and kissing the arch of each foot. He traced his lips up the inside of one thigh and down the other, carefully avoiding her pussy. When she lay back on the bed, he arranged her so her head rested on the pillows then straddled her.

She cupped her breasts, lifting them to him, and he paid careful attention to each nipple with his lips and tongue through the fabric of her halter. She had deliberately left the plug in his ass so that every time he moved it rubbed that hot spot where the prostate was.

Next, he untied the flimsy halter, dropping it to the floor and cupping her breasts with his big palms, thumbing the nipples until they were tight and stiff. Finally, he spread her legs wide, bent her knees back and positioned his shaft at her opening.

“This is the only time a Mistress may be lower than her sub,” she gasped. “Make good use of it.”

He took her at her word, slowly pushing inside her, stretching her walls to accommodate his length and girth. His breath was a warm stream fanning her skin, making every surface nerve snap and sizzle. When he was lodged to the hilt, he paused and pinned her with his gaze.

“It is my pleasure to fuck my Mistress,” he growled.

And then he began to move. Slow at first, then faster, then pulling almost all the way out before driving home again. As she had done with the cane and paddle, he varied his tempo so she had no opportunity to set a rhythm. She was totally at his mercy and it excited her beyond belief.

On and on he drove, his balls slapping against the curve of her ass, his gaze never leaving hers, until she was so ready she wanted to scream. She didn’t ever remember reaching this plane of arousal of…okay, real passion. And when Clint looked into her eyes, it was almost as if he could see right into her soul.

It’s sex! It’s sex! It’s sex!

She chanted in her head while the man rode her harder and harder, pulling everything from her she had to give. For a brief moment, she wondered who was actually in control here.

“Come now,” she demanded, barely recognizing her own voice and tugging on the chain between the nipple clamps.

“Now, sub.”

He drove into her hard, harder, faster, the headboard making slapping sounds against the wall. They came together in a blinding explosion that robbed her of everything except the sensation of the orgasm gripping her. She felt the hot spurts of semen through the thin latex sheath as her cunt clamped down on him and milked him over and over. They shuddered together, the raw sound of their breathing cutting through the air. Their bodies shook as if in the grip of some enormous fist.

And then at last, they lay exhausted, completely spent.

She wanted only to lay there a limp mass and never have to move again. He’d kept his word and fucked her senseless.

But something else had happened here, something she had to push as far away as possible. While their bodies had exploded in an incredible shared orgasm, that connection between them had morphed from thin threads to ribbons of steel, binding them tightly. And therein lay disaster. At least for her.

Clint caught his weight on his forearms so he didn’t crush her, waiting until her breathing had slowed and the pulse stopped hammering at the hollow of her throat before sliding free. He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her neck, even as his own ragged breathing cut the air.

Finally, Montana roused herself, knowing it was her responsibility to tend to her sub before she sent him off into the night. Remove the nipple clamps and ease the swollen tips with her mouth. Then a bath in her large tub, followed by a soothing cream to take the sting from the marks on his back and ass and thighs.

Be objective. Follow the process. Think of him merely as

“the sub.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”

She looked up at him, stunned. While she’d been lost in her mental wanderings, he had risen from the bed and was busy pulling his clothes on. “You’re leaving? But why? You were going to stay the night.”

His gaze slid away from hers. “I just…can’t. That’s all.”

What had happened? What was wrong? One minute they were completely in sync, the next he was treating her almost like a stranger. “Clint?”

He buckled his belt and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m truly sorry, Montana, but I can’t…I just…I’m sorry,” he repeated.

And then he was gone, as if his ass was on fire.

Montana sat on the bed, staring after him. What the hell was that all about?

Okay. This would have to be the end of it with Clint Chavez. She’d been very specific that this was a one-time thing, although against all odds and the dictates of common sense, she wanted more with him. Much more.

Obviously, even if she wanted to change the rules, Clint wasn’t going to agree to it. Whatever was buried inside him was preventing him from exploring a deeper relationship. Now she didn’t even know if she’d able to return to Rawhide, her one refuge. She just couldn’t risk seeing him again. She’d just have to find another club.

But at least she’d have this to remember when she lay aching and lonely in her bed at night.

Gravel spewed from under his tires as Clint barreled out of the driveway. His heart was racing and his palms sweating, and it had nothing to do with the spectacular sex he’d just enjoyed. No, it had everything to do with the fact that Montana Steele had made an unconscious all-out assault on another part of his body. His heart. Something he’d sworn never to have happen again.

One bad experience was enough for him. Wouldn’t he ever learn? He knew almost from the beginning he’d get burned, but still he played with fire. He hoped like hell Montana didn’t show up at Rawhide for a good long time. It wasn’t just the effect seeing her would have on him. No, it would be the pain of seeing her go into one of the private rooms with someone else.

He’d had to leave. Spending the full night with her would have finished him off. He’d be sunk. His heart, finally healed, would be damaged again when she moved on to someone else.

But what if you tell her how you feel, asshole?

And have my words thrown back at me? I don’t think so.

Montana Steele didn’t impress him as the type of Domme looking to settle down with one sub for the rest of her life.

And hard as it was to admit, that was exactly what Clint wanted. And obviously wasn’t destined to find. Better to get the hell out before she was the one to walk away.

“I hope you washed the scent of the bulls off you,” Katie Halliday said over the phone, “because you’re going to get a visitor tonight.”

Montana leaned against the kitchen counter, held the phone out to look at it a moment, and frowned.

“A visitor? Tonight? You’re coming over here? Where’s Reece?”

Katie’s musical laugh drifted over the connection. “Reece is locked up in the den with the latest market reports, and I’m about to curl up in bed and watch a movie. It’s not me.”

Montana absently rubbed her cheek. “Katie, what’s going on? Who’s coming over here? And when?”

“In about, oh, say, two hours I’d expect to see Clint Chavez on your front porch.”

Montana’s pulse rate stuttered, and something was doing a tap dance in her stomach. “Clint? Coming here?”

“Uh-huh. Reece said he’s been like a wounded bear all week. Holed up in his office, which Devyn told Reece is probably a good thing because everyone would have lined up to shoot him otherwise. When Reece drove in to see him earlier, he told Clint he’d kick his ass all the way to Dallas and back if he didn’t get his act together. And straighten out things between the two of you. I’m supposed to be sworn to secrecy, but if it was me I’d appreciate a heads up on something like this.”

“What? Wait. There is no
thing
between us. Period.”

“Try telling that to the man who’s been a wreck all week.

Devyn called Reece last night to tell him Clint was locked up in his office and barely came out, and when he did he looked like hell. And could he please do something about it. So Reece went to talk to Clint this afternoon.”

Montana didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d had a similar week herself, working from first light until it was too dark to see. Driving herself and the men until Faron threatened to get her drunk so she’d be laid up with a hangover. She’d been doing her damndest to work her way back to where she’d been emotionally when she met Clint Chavez—barricaded behind a high wall and determined never to make herself vulnerable again.

She still had no idea why he’d bolted so suddenly, bringing their night to an abrupt end.

The problem was, she missed him so damn much. Ached for him. Lay in bed at night remembering the sight of his naked body, unmarked and then with the red pattern on his bronze skin. The thickness of his cock. The sight of his ass clenching around the plug. Even masturbating had brought her little relief. It was the man she wanted, not a poor substitute. And for more than just a D/s session.

She wanted to explore the powerful link between them.

Maybe take it to the next level. Maybe…

She gave herself a mental shake. Bad road to follow. It wasn’t happening. He couldn’t have made it more obvious.

“Please. I hardly think it’s that extreme. And he can go to wherever he plays and ease his frustrations.”

“Montana.” All the humor left Katie’s voice. “That’s not it at all, and I think you know it.

“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with me?”

She hated the note of hope that crept into her tone.

“Honey, it’s very plain to Reece and me that he’s got his balls knotted up over you and he’s doing his best to deny it.”

There was a long pause while air hummed over the connection. “Clint has…demons that haunt him. It’s the reason he deliberately shies away from any Mistress who could reach him on an emotional level.”

“The wall he puts up is certainly obvious,” Montana told her. “It’s the last vestige of control he refuses to give up.”

“Well, my friend, you may just have found a way over it or through it. And that’s why he’s a wreck right now. You two need to have a face to face and get this thing between the two of you straightened out. That is,” she added, “if you feel the same way, which I’m assuming you do.” She laughed.

“Anyone within a mile of you two at dinner here could see the electricity zapping between you with enough force to light up downtown San Antonio. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“Oh, Katie. I don’t know if anyone can pierce that thick armor he hides behind.”

And I don’t want to be hurt again.

“Listen, both of you are my friends and I only want what’s best for you.” She paused. “I know Dusty hurt you badly, but not all men are like him. Just let Clint in when he shows up, listen to him. Then make your decision. Just give him a chance. I wouldn’t say that if I thought this would be a bad thing for you. Now go make yourself presentable.”

Montana stared at the cell phone long after the call had terminated. So Clint was coming here. Could she handle facing him? What if it meant putting herself out there in the emotional danger zone? If he was just going to show up and tell her logically it had all been a mistake, maybe even suggest she move her membership, what would she do with all these feelings she’d been unable to get a handle on?

Taming Rustler, one of their most ornery breeding bulls, might even be preferable.

But Katie was right. She certainly didn’t want Clint to find her looking like she’d just spent ten hours in a barn. Which she had. Sighing, she headed for her bedroom, stripping off her clothes as she went. No Domme attire tonight but not Rowdy the Ranch Hand, either.

When the doorbell rang two hours later, Montana smoothed a few loose strands back into her ponytail, checked her jeans and knit top in the mirror, took one last look at the light makeup she’d applied, and opened the door. Clint Chavez stood looking far from his usual arrogant in-control self. Her eyes widened as she let her gaze travel over him.