Over the Line (9 page)

It wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d feared it would be. And within less than a minute, her normal thirst to experience something new had reasserted itself.

“What do you think, Sydney?” Instead of waiting for a response, he did her, hard.

Pain from the clamps combined with the forbidden thrill of the anal penetration and the pounding from his thick dick created a plethora of excitement she’d never felt before. He left her breathless.

She cried out an orgasm, but he kept going, never acknowledging it by slowing down. As a Dom, he overwhelmed her. She was grateful for his arm beneath her, supporting her since she wasn’t sure she could have held herself up.

She’d thought the orgasms up until now had been exquisite, but this was beyond anything she’d hoped for.

“Damn,” he muttered. “So, so good.”

Then he was at her rear again, forcing her sphincter wider as he added a second finger. “I can’t,” she protested.

“You can. You will.”

She did, and she was grateful for it. Going beyond her self-imposed limits was more incredible than she’d thought possible.

He continued his relentless onslaught, and she came again and again. She felt as if she were having an out of body experience.

It seemed an incredible amount of time later when she felt a change in his rhythm. A sense of feminine power crept over her when he gave a guttural moan. “Come, Sir,” she said. “Deep in me. Give it to me.”

With the arm he had beneath her, he powerfully lifted her lower body off the mattress, owning her as he gave a final few jerky motions before pulsing inside her.

“So hot, Sir.”

“Fuck,” he muttered.

She felt him convulse and she smiled, wondering who dominated whom.

He held her for several moments before easing his fingers from her. Her heartbeat started to return to normal. Eventually she exhaled a shaky breath. “Well, Sir…” She left the sentence unfinished as she had no words.

“Stay as you are,” he said, withdrawing by slow measures.

Before she had fully realised that he was gone, she heard water running in the en suite. He was back right away with a washcloth to cleanse her. Then he pressed the warm towel against her rear, soothing the ache there.

“Let’s get you untied.”

“How about the clamps, Sir?”

“We’ll do those last.”

She started to protest. Then, recognising it would do no good anyway, she shut her mouth.

His motions were deft as he loosened the scarves around her wrists. “I don’t know,” he said, pausing. “I like having you like this with your ass presented so prettily. Maybe I’ll keep you fastened like this.”

“Beast.”

“Excuse me?”

“Beast,
Sir.”

He chuckled, proving he’d taken no offence.

The scarves fell away as he moved her onto her back. “Now the clamps,” he said.

She met his gaze. The man was sinfully handsome, his face all hard angles, and he looked serious as he studied her.

He took hold of the chain and yanked.

The pain sizzled and she whimpered. He placed a hand on her cunt, gave her a hard slap, then masturbated her to another completion. “God, God, God!” she screamed.

“I like the unexpected as much as you do,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You can thank me at any time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she said. She even meant it. She had figured his climax had signalled the end of their encounter, so the additional orgasm left her dazed. She shuddered on her next breath.

He sat next to her to remove the clamps. She appreciated the paradox of him. Big and strong, but gentle and caring. He was devastatingly handsome with those bright green eyes that missed nothing.

Like he had earlier, he alleviated the anguish of the blood rushing back into her nipples by immediately putting his mouth on her flesh and gently sucking. “Thank you for your consideration, Sir.”

“I’ll always take care of you, Sydney.” He dropped the clamps on the nightstand. “Would you like a shower?”

She hesitated. This was the moment she’d dreaded. They both knew he wasn’t just asking if she wanted a shower. He was inviting her to stay. She wasn’t big on the morning after. Yet she was reluctant to leave him.

Patiently he waited, never pushing her.

Her answer surprised her. “Yes, I think I would. Thank you, Sir.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Before she could respond, he scooped her from the bed.

“I can walk,” she protested, but the words sounded weak, even to her.

“No doubt.”

Other than that, he didn’t acknowledge that she’d spoken. He carried her into the master bathroom. “Good grief,” she exclaimed when he placed her on the tiled floor. “This isn’t what I expected.”

“I took out a bedroom so I could have a little space.”

“A little space?” she repeated, looking around. “I’ve stayed in hotel rooms smaller than this. Recently, even.” Though it was huge, it was still in keeping with the rest of the house. Thin planks of aspen or pine—she wasn’t sure which—angled across the walls. A sandstone vanity had dual sinks with wall-mounted faucets. The room had several mirrors, one full-length. An oval-shaped princess-looking mirror above a sink actually tilted.

Wooden shelves held thick towels and even a few candles. A large shower unit was tiled in glass. The focal point of the room was a picture window that dominated the space above a soaker tub. “Do you bring a lot of women here?” she asked. It bothered her how much his answer suddenly mattered.

“The tub is for me. I work on the ranch. Nothing better for sore muscles.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He folded his arms across his chest.

It struck her how odd the situation was. This was precisely why she preferred to scene at the Den, then dress and go home. Saying goodbye right away avoided any awkwardness. She wasn’t looking for anything other than a thrilling ride.

This man, despite the fact that his behaviour was atypical, was still a Dom. If she were smart, she’d leave now. Instead, she stood there, looking at him, admiring his tattoo. In the bright light she noticed a number of scars on his body, including a jagged one that cut diagonally beneath his ribs.

He was handsome, and he’d given her more, much, much more than any man she’d been with, even the one who’d collared her. His cock, she noticed, was partially hard, and that made her wonder what else they could share sexually.

“I’m not very good at this submissive thing,” she said.

“I’m not very good at the vanilla thing,” he replied.

“Stalemate. I should go.” Her heart sped up.

He took a step to the side. “I won’t stop you. Ever.”

She reached for one of the huge white towels and wrapped herself in it. It was the size of a small sheet. “Damn it.” She didn’t want it to end on this note. How was she screwing it up so badly?

“It’s a long drive back.”

“Could I just stay as a guest?”

He didn’t give her a direct answer. That would have been too simple, and he was anything but.

“There’s a reason I rarely date,” he said. “After my divorce, I decided I would be blunt about my expectations. My woman, whoever she is, will know the rules and abide by them. I’ve been very clear with you.”

“You have.”

“But in answer to your question, Sydney, you’re the first one I’ve invited to spend the night.” He stayed where he was, continuing to give her space. “I’d like it if you accepted my invitation, but as I said, the choice is yours. If you want to leave but don’t want to drive alone, I can take you or one of my wranglers will. There’s also a guest room you’re welcome to use. But if you’re in my bedroom, you’re my sub.”

The fight went out of her. “I…” She faced the truth. She didn’t want to leave. But she didn’t want to be a sub, either. It hadn’t worked well for her with Lewis. Yet the two men couldn’t be any more different. Which wasn’t exactly a comfort. Master Michael was a far bigger threat to her individuality than Lewis could have ever been. And that was the conundrum.

“It’s not a lifetime commitment,” he said wryly. “It’s only a few hours.”

“You’re right. I suppose I could try it, for one night.”

“Generous of you.”

“There was no insult meant, Sir.”

“Would you like me to run you a bath or start the shower?”

She frowned at him. Although she was covered from chest to toe, his size and nakedness intimidated her. “How does that fit in with being a sub?”

“You could wash my back.”

She started to smile, but she wasn’t sure whether or not he was teasing.

“Look, Sydney, we don’t know each other that well. We can figure it out together, or not. Your choice. I would like you to stay. If you do, I expect you to behave submissively.”

When she started to argue, he lifted a large hand to stop her. “We can define what that means. I don’t anticipate you’ll stop being who you are. I demand respect, courtesy and communication. Lack of it will be discussed then dealt with swiftly.”

A chill enveloped her. Secretly, she wondered if she had been looking for something like this. She’d been young when she’d entered the relationship with Lewis. In his way, he’d been as young as her, and the relationship had been as quirky was it had been kinky. She hadn’t known much about lifestyle BDSM, and neither had he. Studded collars, dog leashes and tight latex for both of them had made up their weekend outings.

Master Michael was different, a rugged individual who seemed to have some rigid expectations. Being with him was unique. It might be a novelty that would wear off quickly, like having too much cotton candy at the fair. “I hate giving in,” she admitted.

“Then yield instead.”

“Sir?”

“Get your ass in the shower, Sydney, before I use that back scrubber as a paddle.”

The long piece of wood hung from a peg in the shower stall. The implement looked like an oversized hairbrush and it had definite potential for a harsh spanking.

“Right, then,” he said.

Her mouth fell open.

He opened the glass door and grabbed the scrubber. “Bend over the bathtub.”

“Are you serious?”

He smacked the back end of it against his left palm. She jumped.

“Bend over the bathtub,” he repeated. “Drop the towel.”

“My butt is already sore, Sir.”

“And the longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

She debated using a safe word, but she wanted it. And he knew it. Sydney took her time untucking the towel and letting it fall to the tiles. She turned away to move into place.

“Wait.”

“Sir?” She faced him.

His eyes had a gleam she didn’t recognise. A part of her was frightened. A bigger part of her made her stand her ground.

“Spread your legs.” He moved his hand much lower on the handle and turned over the scrubber so the bristles pointed up.

“Oh, no. No way.” She shook her head. “Absolutely not, Sir.”

“
Tur-tle
?” He broke the word into two syllables—on purpose, she was sure, returning her earlier goading. “Spread your legs and put your hands behind your neck.”

She looked at the pokey points then at his face.

She didn’t see anything malicious there. His eyes appeared a shade lighter than they had earlier. It could be because of the brilliant light. Or it could be because of his dare. Either way, she did as he demanded.

“Don’t hump it like a naughty little subbie.”

“As if, Sir.” She kept her head tipped back so she could look at him.

He dropped his gaze to her crotch.

She gulped as he touched the bristles to her tender pussy. For the first time, she wasn’t sure she could go through with something.

His touch was achingly gentle as he went back and forth.

“Oh,” she said. Despite her trepidation, she liked this. She rose up, giving him greater access.

“I hope you learn to trust me,” he said, his mouth near her ear.

He exerted a small amount of pressure but continued to move with exquisite slowness. An orgasm teased her, remaining just out of reach. “I think I could come,” she said.

“What do you need for that to happen?”

“Maybe a little more stimulation.”

“Before or after the strokes on your ass?”

“Sir! This isn’t instead of a spanking?”

“No,” he said. He reached his free hand between her legs and spread her labia. “This is in addition to the spanking. Like whipped cream with an Irish coffee.”

At his increased pressure, she slammed her heels onto the floor. “Yow, Sir!”

“Come any time.”

She leant forwards into him, and he adjusted his stance to support her. Lost, she closed her eyes. Everything tingled. She bent her knees and rocked.

“You are humping it, you naughty sub.”

She was gone. Trembling, she climaxed.

He moved without her realising it, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“You’re an insatiable wench.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Don’t ever apologise for that,” he said.

He pulled the brush away. Her skin seemed aflame, but in the most fabulous way. Before she was thinking straight, he walked her a few steps to the side of the bathtub. “Hold on,” he told her. “Keep your knees together. I’m going to start just above your knees and work my way up. If you need to flex, do so, but as soon as you can compose yourself, resume the position I specified.”

Fighting the delirium, she braced herself.

“Repeat what I said.”

She looked over her shoulder. He fingered back her hair, tucking the strands behind her ears. “You said, Sir, that I should keep my legs together.” How could he be so perfect? There was a tenderness in his tone that was at odds with his stance and the fact that he held the punishing wooden brush. “You’ll start at the bottom and work your way up. If I get out of position, I should get back in as soon as I can.”

“Close enough.” He lowered his hand.

The first spank seared. The second was a lot more powerful. The third, on a fleshier part of her leg, was higher and harder.

He knew…how to give her what she wanted. How to inflict pain with deliberate intensity. How to keep her guessing.

The one on the underneath of her buttocks forced her to lift up. She closed her eyes, waited for the pain to settle then re-gripped the tub. While he wasn’t letting her be in charge, he allowed her to set the pace.