Over the Line (12 page)

She stilled.

“You haven’t been that bad, Sydney.” Her reaction was interesting, though. She’d just reaffirmed that she feared emotional consequences over physical ones. That knowledge was good, and he’d use it judiciously. The woman was as fierce as she was attractive. Honestly, he appreciated her sharp wit. He understood why others might not. But he was clearly the winner. He had the delectable Sydney ready to squirm beneath his hand. “I couldn’t be more pleased with you.”

He reached between her legs, and she grabbed onto his left ankle. “Your pussy is already damp.”

“It got wet while I was sucking you off, Sir.”

His dick thickened at her words. No other woman had ever said as much. “I’m glad I ignored Gregorio’s advice.”

“I appreciate a man who’s an independent thinker.”

Her ass cheeks were still slightly red in parts, and he delighted in the opportunity to make the rest match. He brought his hand down on her buttocks.

“Ouch.”

“More sarcasm?” He set his jaw. This woman calculated her words for maximum effect. He knew he’d need to call on all the reserves of patience he’d cultivated in his lifetime. She was probably hoping he’d lose control. He vowed he never would.

He aimed each of his next three rapid hits on the fleshiest part of her butt, taking care to avoid the parts that still bore welts. He paused to rub her vigorously, jostling her.

“Sir!”

“Hold on,” he suggested.

He grabbed her buttocks and squeezed until she exhaled in an unladylike grunt. He eased off, but barely, before resuming a vigorous massage.

“That’s… Shit!”

He slapped her hard, then fingered her. “Oh, you’re even wetter. You’re a perfect little sub.”

“I’m not a—”

“You are. Mine. Now.”

He tapped his foot, bouncing her around a bit. And he kept doing it as he resumed the spanking. He caught her a dozen times or more with his cupped hand, making her cry out. When she thrashed her legs, he teased her cunt again.

“Sir!”

He slapped her again and again. “Are you begging for mercy?” He could barely hear her response over her whimpers.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember your safe and slow words?”

“I’m begging for an orgasm, Sir, not ever for you to stop!”

He chuckled. He’d been pretty sure that’s what she’d meant.

Rapidly, he moved from hitting to squeezing, to teasing her swollen clit.

“Finger-fuck me, Sir.”

Had she already learnt he could deny her nothing? He slipped a finger into her then he pulled some of the moisture backwards to lubricate her back hole.

She held her breath and tightened her muscles.

“That will not be tolerated.” He placed two fingers in her pussy, gathering some more moisture. “Open up.” He stroked her, encouraging her to lose the tension.

When she complied, he said, “That’s a good girl.”

He kept up what he was doing until she trembled, then he worked a finger inside her ass.

“Argh!”

“That’s it.” He adjusted himself to trap her legs. He upended her a little more in the process, forcing her to put one hand on the ground.

He moved rhythmically inside her then moved his other hand to spank her thighs. As she started to cry, he pressed a thumb against her clit and continued his relentless pounding of her rectum.

“Oh, Sir…”

“Come for me.”

In an instant she did, clawing his pant leg, feverishly pumping her body. He encouraged her along until she went limp across him.

He offered soothing words, nonsensical words as he extracted his finger then helped her turn back over and sit up.

“That was… Christ, Sir. I feel scalded.”

She didn’t attempt to leave his knee. “That can only mean one thing. You need to cool off. In the river.”

“Are you serious? I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“It’s private.”

“It’s Colorado and the mountains. It’s going to be cold.”

“It will make your nipples stand up and beg for attention. That alone is reason enough for me. Don’t tell me you’ve never skinny-dipped?”

“In a pool.”

“But not in a river?”

She shook her head.

“You haven’t lived. Scared?”

“I guide white water rafting tours. I’ve ended up in the water more than once.”

“Then this should be nothing.”

“It isn’t.”

But he saw he’d won. She’d accepted his challenge.

“What about that mangy pygmy—”

“Dwarf. She’s a Nigerian dwarf goat,” he told her for the second time. “And she’s not mangy. She has regular baths, and she gets groomed often.”

“She takes baths?”

He liked their easy banter, along with the fact that she seemed in no hurry to leave him. “I give them to her.”

“You do?”

“My sister and the girls don’t make it up here often, so I get the honours.”

“You could braid her hair and tie it with ribbons and hang a blue ribbon around her neck and she’d still be a menace to society.”

“Some females are,” he agreed easily. “Present company excluded.”

“Are you coming in with me?”

“Someone needs to twist your nipples.”

“Ah…” She glanced around, looking at trees, and obviously checking to see if Chewie was around. “My clothes have to go somewhere. I can’t have your pampered pet eating anything else of mine.”

“So you’re going in the water?”

“Yeah. It looks irresistible.” She scampered off his lap and bent to pull off her hiking boots.

Obviously once she’d made up her mind, she didn’t entertain second thoughts.

She peeled off her socks, shoved them in the boots then she tied the shoelaces together and looped them over a branch.

“Chewie can climb that rock.” He pointed.

“She’s a pain in the ass,” Sydney said. She stood on tiptoe and selected a higher branch.

No matter how skilled or determined, the goat probably couldn’t have reached the first location. He was sure she would try, but he was convinced she’d never succeed. But he was a red-blooded male and he’d wanted to watch Sydney stretch and rise up.

It didn’t take her long to take off her remaining clothes, and she hung them on the tree, too.

Without waiting for him, she headed for the water’s edge, picking her way over tiny rocks. He liked that she paused before getting in the river. Here it was fairly safe, not more than two feet deep. Spring run-off had ended and the land was all but flat.

Still, she looked upstream before surveying the downstream flow. Sydney was cautious yet brave, and not as reckless as her carefully cultivated reputation suggested. “There’s a little pool area here where the water is almost still,” she said. She crouched to stick her hand in the water. “It’s not as cold as I expected.”

He picked up his coffee and took a sip. Hell of a way to start the day, looking at a beautiful woman—a beautiful,
naked
woman, he amended. One who’d given him a hell of a blow job and whose ass had been reddened appropriately. He could get accustomed to having her around.

She entered the water by slow measures. “Damn!”

“Not that warm after all?”

“It is still only June, and it’s early in the day,” she said.

As he’d suspected, it barely came up to her knees.

“The shallow areas are quite different in temperature.” She squatted, which was the only way to get herself wet up to the chest. Her nipples were tantalisingly erect when she stood and faced him. “Farther in, it’s a bit colder. I thought you were coming in, Sir?”

He put their coffees on a rock before getting undressed.

Just as he’d watched her, she shamelessly studied him. Like she had done, he hung his clothes from pine tree branches.

“Nice butt, Sir.”

Her voice held a seductive, feminine purr that turned him on.

He joined her, and before he adjusted to the shiver-inducing shock, the vixen splashed him. “You like to live dangerously.”

“It was an accident, Sir.”

“Uh-huh.” The twinkling in her eyes said she was lying.

He joined his hands together, making a large cup, and he dunked them under the water. He stood and took a step towards her, droplets falling from between his fingers.

“Ah… What are you doing, Sir?” She backed up and stumbled.

Swearing, he dumped the water and reached for her, grabbing her upper arms before she fell. “That’s better,” he said, hauling her against him

“It is. Thank you, Sir.”

Michael adjusted his hold, placing one hand above her buttocks, the other in the middle of her back.

“You saved me.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

He turned to slant his mouth over hers. Compliant, she yielded, responding by opening her mouth and meeting the thrust of his tongue.

She looped her arms around his neck, and when he ended the kiss, she was smiling. Her lips were swollen. “You look like a sub,” he said.

“Looks are deceiving.”

But she didn’t pull away.

He set her back from him, just a bit, and looked at her breasts, cradling them before capturing each nipple. He rolled each between a thumb and forefinger.

She closed her eyes and moaned.

“Are they tender?”

“Achingly so,” she said.

He lowered his head and drew one into his mouth.

“Oh, Sir…”

Holding on tightly to him, she spread her legs and pressed her crotch against his leg. “Only filthy girls hump like that.”

“Fine. I’m filthy.”

“Mine.” He flexed his knee so he could help her brace against his thigh.

“Yum. I like this,” she confessed.

He resumed pinching and pulling her nipples, mindful to use a much lighter touch than he had last night. She sighed, lowering herself onto him and rubbing back and forth.

“Do I have permission to come, Sir?”

“Since you asked so nice, yes.”

She looked up. A smile ghosted around her lips. Their gazes met for only a moment before she closed her eyes and let him take more of her weight. He couldn’t reach her breasts that way and keep her safe, so he reached behind her.

This would have been a much better idea on a firmer surface, preferably where he could lean against something. But it was more fun and much more challenging this way.

She moved faster. He responded by smacking one of her butt cheeks while he grabbed a handful of skin on her back.

“That hurts,” she said.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Are you crazy, Sir?”

He encouraged her as she ground out an orgasm, leaving his leg slightly damp. “You’re a hot little subbie,” he told her when the last aftershock had subsided and she’d straightened her body.

“Thank you.” Her words held no gratitude. She stiffened. “But I don’t like that word.”

“Deal with it. I’m a Dom. That makes you a sub.”

She scowled at him. “One plus one is always two?”

“Depends on your perspective.”

“Do you see all females as subs?”

He regarded her. It was an odd conversation to be having while standing in the river, both naked, her juices drying on his thigh. “No. Only ones I’m sexually attracted to and who have the same tastes I do.”

“I prefer to be a man’s equal.”

He frowned. “Who says you’re not?”

She raked an unkempt strand of hair back from her face. “Doesn’t the word sub imply someone’s beneath you?”

“It doesn’t have to. To me, it certainly does not. I don’t see you as less than me, Sydney.” He trod carefully. This discussion suddenly felt fraught with danger, and realisation dawned. If she believed those things, it was no wonder she behaved as a brat, in the BDSM meaning of the word. No wonder she had very carefully drawn lines to keep men at bay and to get her kinky needs met. “The word slave might mean that, to some, but to me, the words slave and sub add to a relationship’s dynamic. They don’t take away. Being a submissive, even twenty-four-seven, wouldn’t invalidate your opinions.” He took her shoulders in what he hoped was a reassuring grip. “It sure as hell doesn’t diminish you, your value or your contributions in any way.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not convinced, Sir.”

“It didn’t seem to bother you when you were riding my leg.”

“You’re right about that. It didn’t. But it’s because I see you, this, as a scene, nothing more. I get my kink on, get off then I go home.”

“You had a bad experience,” he guessed.

“I…” She sighed. “Do you ever give up?”

“When I win.” He smiled to take the sting out of the words.

“I gained valuable knowledge from my time with Lewis.”

“But it taught you, or reinforced the belief, that submission is on par with subservience.”

She shook her head. “I learnt what I like and what I don’t. I got out quick and unscathed. And now I spend more time doing what I do like.” She swept her hand wide. “It’s not any different from you owning half the state. We’ve made different choices. Mine are right for me. And I don’t have any hoofed pets.”

“How serious were the two of you?”

“He collared me. I was young enough to believe in love and happily ever after.”

“You don’t anymore?”

“I got tired of being a doormat, of making him dinner so he could come home whenever the hell he wanted while I waited on my knees. It seemed a collar meant I was a glorified servant without a single benefit of a wedding ring. I left with less money than I arrived with and a shit-pile less self-respect.”

Sydney’s blue eyes were wide, exposing the hurt she normally buried under her don’t-give-a-damn attitude. But he saw beneath it, and he appreciated the vulnerability she revealed. He was determined to show her she could trust him with the information.

“A friend found me a jeweller to cut the fucking thing off. I’ve worked hard to get back my independence. Satisfied now?”

“Thank you,” he said.

Her shoulders rolled forward.

He kept his voice modulated, slow and soft. “I’m sorry he was a jerk. Some people are. It’s unfair to compare me to him, though. I want you to communicate what you want, what you’re willing to do. A relationship, even a D/s—especially a D/s—requires constant nurturing and refinement. But I also think it’s more freeing. With fewer societal constraints, there are more opportunities to be authentic. You ask or state—we negotiate.”