Bite the Bullet (7 page)

Finally, she filled two mugs, carried them to the table, and she and Clint sat facing each other. She wished she knew what kind of armor he had himself wrapped up in. It almost seemed as if admitting his nature to her somehow diminished his masculinity, but surely that wasn’t it. Clint Chavez was probably the most masculine man she’d ever met. Including Dusty.

Run with it, Montana.

“All right. Tell me what’s going on in your head. I’m all ears.”

He took a healthy swallow of the coffee.

“I argued with myself about this all day. I almost called the Hallidays and told them I couldn’t make it. But maybe I wanted to see if all that electricity that keeps passing between us is only in my imagination.”

Careful, careful.
“Electricity?”

One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “You feel it, too. I know you do. You’re the one who brought up the chemistry. You won’t deny that this is a little more than instant physical attraction because I don’t think you’re a liar, Montana Steele.”

“No. I’m not. A liar.” The words came out as a whisper.

What was she getting herself into here?

Nothing more than you expected when you invited him into
your home. You knew where this was heading.

“I’m probably out of my mind to do this,” he went on, “but here I am. And I’m taking a big step. I really want to make that clear.”

“Very clear.” Her voice was steady.

“But sometimes…” His gaze drifted, his eyes focusing on a spot beyond her head “Sometimes you do something you hope doesn’t turn out to be stupid.”

She studied him for a long moment that stretched out in elastic silence. All right. He was acknowledging in an oblique way his desire for her as a Domme, even though he made it plain he was fighting it. But if that was the situation, then that’s what she’d give him. And he could surrender to it…or walk away. She was tired of this dance they’d been doing.

There was quicksand beneath her feet, too. However, he was taking a chance. She would, too.

Immediately, she switched into Domme mode, determined to take charge of this once and for all. Maybe get it out of both of their systems.

“Take off your shirt, Clint. I want to see your chest.”

His eyes narrowed. He set down his mug carefully but made no move other than that.

“Now,” she snapped.
Let’s see if you can fight this.

Montana clenched her thighs, already feeling the flutters in her pussy and the first gush of liquid at the possibilities that stretched out before her.

His eyes still locked with her, Clint slowly unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over the back of the chair.

Her pulse beat jittered as she took in the broad expanse of tan chest with its thick matte of black hair and the wide nipples peeking out from its covering. He sat perfectly still, waiting for her next command, no visible sign of reaction except the pulse beating rapidly at the hollow of his throat and the tight sweep of his jaw.

Clint ran his tongue over his lower lip and swallowed hard as if about to push himself over an invisible line.

“Does my Mistress like what she sees?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

Montana had to bite her lip to hide a smile. One step forward. He was accepting her role, at least for tonight.

“Yes. You please me a great deal.” She lifted her mug and sipped from it, watching him carefully.

She had so many questions she wanted to ask. When did he first discover he was a sexual submissive? Who had trained him? How many Mistresses had he served? Did he serve one now? What did he do when he wasn’t at Rawhide?

“You should drink your coffee,” she said. “Before it gets cold. I like to watch the play of muscle in your throat when you swallow.”

Obediently, he picked up the mug and took another large swallow. He had obviously shaved before coming to dinner tonight. His skin showed no stubble but a darkening that said, without the late shave, a shadow of beard would have formed.

Unable to help herself, she rose from the table and went to stand beside him.

“Push your chair back,” she demanded.

Obediently, he used his booted feet to shove back from the table, giving her free access to him.

Her hand reached out, almost as if it had a mind of its own, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the column of his neck. Idly, they trailed over his shoulder and down to his chest.

“Put the mug down and link your fingers behind your head.

Keep them there.”

Wordlessly, he did as she said. Interestingly, he kept his eyes on her face, not lowering them as subs usually did unless permitted to do otherwise. So. A little bit of resistance to absolute control. That’s what she kept sensing. Seeing in his distant gaze. Heat sizzled through her veins as she thought about pushing him past that. Getting him to cede ultimate control to her. Breaking whatever it was she could see lurking in his eyes.

She brushed her fingers through the soft, springy curls on his chest, finding his hard male nipples. Taking one between two fingers, she pinched. Not hard, just enough to elicit a reaction.

“I have a pair of nipple clamps that would fit these just perfectly.” Her own nipples tingled at the thought of it.

“Would you like me to do that? You could wear them while we have another cup of coffee.”

She waited for his answer, knowing what he said would determine just how much he wanted to push through whatever had been holding him back.

“Well?” she prompted. “Have your other Mistresses clamped them? For their pleasure as well as yours?”

Again his tongue traveled over his lower lip, leaving just a think sheen of moisture.

I want to take that lip and suck it into my mouth.

Montana mentally shook herself, made herself wait for Clint to reply.

“I’m waiting for your answer,” she told him. “And my patience is wearing thin. Give me an answer or put your shirt on and go home. And forget about having coffee or anything else with me again.”

She saw the muscle twitch in his jaw and the ones in his arms bunch as he tightened the grip his fingers had on each other.

“Yes.” The word came out on an exhalation of breath.

“Yes, what? Yes, you want to leave? Yes, you want the clamps? Yes, other Mistresses have clamped you?”

“No, I don’t want to leave.” His eyes were so dark they looked like polished onyx. “Yes, I want the clamps. And other Mistresses have used them before.”

She relaxed inside herself. Okay then. “Stay exactly as you are. I’ll be right back.”

Montana made herself walk slowly into her bedroom, not to rush, and opened the drawer with her special toys. In a velvet-lined case were five sets of nipple clamps, each one carefully chosen for the amount of pressure it could exert and the degree of pain. She discarded the clover clamps as too extreme for this first time—she certainly hoped there would be a next—and the vibrating as too extreme for tonight, finally deciding on a pair of solid gold clamps with tiny teeth.

When she returned to the kitchen, Clint was sitting exactly as she’d left him, hands still clasped behind his head. A tiny thrill of satisfaction raced through her. Without saying a word, she wet two of her fingers and plucked at one of his nipples.

Although the muscles in his chest rippled, he gave no other reaction to her touch.

“I like these particular clamps,” she said in a conversational tone, “because they exert just the right amount of pain to produce pleasure.”

Very carefully, she placed the tiny teeth over one damp nipple. Clint jerked fractionally at the contact then went still.

She swallowed a smile. She’d get a reaction out of him yet.

She wet the other nipple and attached the second clamp then stood back to admire her handiwork.

Perfect.

The nipples were already darkening.

“How long have you and Reece been friends?” She let the tip of one finger drift through the hair down to his navel.

“A little more than six years.” His voice was even, but Montana could detect the tiny edge of arousal underscoring it.

“We met at a club where he had a guest membership. I was the manager.”

“Not locally, I’m sure.”

He shook his head. “No. Los Angeles. He was considering opening Rawhide so he didn’t have to travel so far to play. He needed someone experienced in the business. Someone who could reach out to the kind of people he wanted to attract.”

“He wanted to hire you?”

“At first. But after meeting back and forth for a few months, he offered me a partnership. He would put up the money, but he needed someone to do the work. He has the ranch to run.”

“It seems to have worked out well for both of you.”

“Yes. It has.”

“Tell me, Clint. Do you have a Mistress somewhere?” she asked, running her fingertip along the waistband of his jeans.

His body tensed. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here. When I’m in a relationship, it gets my entire focus.”

I’d love to be your entire focus, Clint Chavez.

“What about in the club scene?” she persisted.

“Same thing,” he insisted. “If I’m in a committed situation, I don’t troll the clubs.” He looked up at her, his eyes unreadable. “And I expect the same in return.” He paused again. “I haven’t been in a situation like that in a long time.”

A monogamous D/s situation. That’s what she thought she’d had with Dusty. She wasn’t sure she could ever chance it again. But something was happening between her and this man in her kitchen. Something she was almost powerless to stop, like a runaway train.

“I’m surprised that a highly desirable sub like you
isn’t
in a situation with one Mistress.”

His eyes took on that distant look again. “It works better this way. Fewer complications. That’s not what I’m looking for. At the risk of sounding disrespectful, I don’t think you are, either.”

She could have pursued the topic, but it would have completely broken the mood. She made a mental note, however. Another time.

She popped the snap on his jeans and slowly tugged the zipper down. “Your first Mistress. Do you think she trained you well?”

Her fingers insinuated themselves into the top of his boxers, and Clint’s breathing ratcheted up a tiny bit. Montana knew he was struggling to maintain his calm exterior as much as she was determined to pierce and shatter it.

“She trained me how to both give and receive pleasure.”

He swallowed. “Until I met her, I didn’t realize you had to be taught how to receive pleasure to get the most from it.”

“It’s an art form,” she told him, her finger moving back and forth between the waist of his boxers and his hot skin.

“For example, I learned a long time ago that men enjoy an orgasm far more if they are forced to hold off for some time.”

She gave him a lazy smile. “Have you found that also?”

“At…times.”

As her fingers moved slightly lower, Clint’s body tensed even more. She tugged on the thin chain between the nipple clamps, pleased to see the muscles in his stomach flex and a dark flush suffuse his cheeks. His shoulders tensed, but he kept his hands in place at the nape of his neck.

Montana leaned forward enough to take the lobe of his ear between her teeth and nip gently and watched a shudder race through Clint’s magnificent body. She drew in a deep breath, inhaling his fragrance, something very clean and woodsy mingled with the aroma of male and musk. Her pussy was soaked, and she wondered if he could smell the scent of her arousal. She was glad she was wearing jeans or her thighs would have been sliding together.

Playing at Rawhide took the edge off her need to command, but this…this was what it was really all about.

Having this kind of connection with a sub. She just had to make sure she held onto her own control here. Still, the pleasure of knowing this powerful man was completely at her mercy was an erotic rush that couldn’t be equaled.

She glanced at his nipples, now darkened even more, and tugged on the chain again. Clint sucked in a breath but held his pose, even when she slid her hand into his boxers again and found the hot, hard length of his cock. And it was hot.

And very, very hard. She squeezed gently, and he sucked in another breath.

“You may move your hands enough to slide your jeans and short lowers,” she told him. “Down to your knees, so I can touch and fondle and slide my hands over every bit of that wonderful package you’ve got.”

He lowered the zipper the rest of the way and lifted his ass from the chair just enough to slide everything down to his knees.

Montana’s mouth went suddenly dry. She’d felt that cock with her fingers but seeing it, in all its glory, with the heavy sac beneath, took her breath away. A tiny bead of pre-cum escaped the slit. Clenching the muscles in her cunt to still their quivering, she reached over and with the tip of a finger spread the fluid smoothly over the dark, velvety head.

There was nothing unusual in the gesture, not for either of them, but Montana looked in Clint’s dark eyes and something indefinable passed between them. At that moment, she knew they had crossed an invisible line and things between them would never be the same again.

Clint had his hands clasped behind his neck again, fingers tightly linked as excitement thrummed through his body. He’d argued with himself ever since Katie called with the invitation, knowing he was sticking his toe too close to the fire. The internal argument had continued all during drinks and dinner and coffee afterwards. And then he’d opened his fucking mouth and offered to drive Montana home and he knew he was burned. Not just singed but roasted.

She had his number, for sure. Ever since his one disastrous relationship, he’d kept the essence of himself locked tightly deep inside. As long as he kept that distance he could avoid losing himself in anyone again. That’s why the club in Austin worked so well. For an hour he could give physical control to a clever Mistress and satisfy his sexual needs while keeping his emotions locked tightly away.

So how to explain that he was sitting in Montana Steele’s kitchen with his pants down to his knees, feeling that somehow more was exposed than just his cock. And trying to hold absolutely still when the soft pad of her finger brushed the head of his shaft.