Passion's Dream (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 1) (13 page)

Desperate for oxygen, Leah sucked in another huge breath, only to release it in another scream as another release catapulted through her, convulsing her pussy over and over until finally the spasms slowed to mere tremors that left her slumped against the door, dripping with sweat, sobbing, and gasping for air.  Good thing Clay was holding her up, because her bones had dissolved.

But Clay was having his own problems.  Both his arm and leg muscles were suddenly so weak they were shaking, and he feared he was in imminent danger of dropping her, so he hitched her up and turned to carry her over to the bed, his cock still buried in her cunt.  Except he’d forgotten his jeans were still pooled around his ankles and he tripped, nearly dropping her.

She shrieked and threw her arms around his head while he struggled to regain his balance.  “It’s okay, it’s okay, baby, just hang on.”  Blinded by the death grip she had on his head and the fact that she seemed to be trying to climb up him like a pole, he spread his legs to keep the fabric taut between them so he wouldn’t trip, and shuffled toward the bed in an awkward duck-walk, a task made even more difficult by the fact that by now she was laughing her head off.  Unable to see, he was unaware that one of Leah’s shoes had gotten caught up in the swath of his jeans, until he tried to change direction and stumbled over it.  In a desperate attempt to keep from falling to the floor, he flung himself sideways toward the bed.  But he wasn’t as close as he thought he was and nearly wound up sliding off the mattress onto the floor.  With a superhuman effort he rolled onto his back and, gave a powerful push with his legs, managing to scoot himself far enough onto the bed that he was no longer in any danger of falling off.  Another push sent his ass firmly onto the mattress and he stopped, panting like a long distance runner, one arm flung over his eyes, with Leah lying on top of him, straddling his hips.  By this time he was laughing, too, his chest heaving and bouncing her up and down. “Oh, my God!” he cried when he’d finally caught his breath enough to speak.  “Good thing none of my teammates were here to see that!  If they had been, I’d be kicked off of the Uber-Macho, Alpha-Male Commando Precision Drill Team for sure!”  Sliding his arms around her back, he pulled her down onto his chest and buried his face against her neck and inhaled deeply before pressing his lips to her sweat-damp skin.  By some miracle, they were still connected, his cock kept unbelievably hard by the contracting of her muscles around him with every laugh.

Finally she levered herself up to look down at him, her hair in wild disarray around her head, like a cloud of spun gold.  “Well, you could always sign up for the Uber-Macho, Alpha-Male Commando Gymnastics Team instead because that was certainly…acrobatic,” she teased, laughter lurking still in the corners of her eyes.

“Yes, I’m thinking of joining the circus,” he said snidely, “taking the act on the road.”

“I’d buy a ticket,” she said, her eyes widening as she felt him thicken and grow within her sheath.  “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he said, reaching one hand between them to secure the condom at the base of his twitching cock.  “I’ve got to take this thing off before it starts leaking,” he warned, struggling to sit up.  “C’mon, baby,” he said, patting the outside of her thigh.  “Let’s go get a shower.”  He lifted her off of him, bending forward to finally toe off his shoes and shuck off his jeans, kicking them across the floor out of his way.  Gloriously, unabashedly naked, he stood and held out his hand.

Placing her hand in his, she let him pull her up and lead her to the bathroom.  She stood while he turned on the shower and tested the water temperature.  Then he held the shower curtain aside to let her step in.  “Oh, my God,” she groaned, shivering in pleasure as the spray hit her body.  Moving closer, she lifted her face and let the hot water cascade down over her head.

Clay climbed in behind her, opening one of the little complimentary bottles of shampoo the motel provided.  Pulling her back toward him, he squeezed it over her head and began to work it into her hair.  She stood there, eyes closed, uttering little moans of pleasure as he massaged her scalp with his fingers.  Then he pushed her back under the water and thoroughly rinsed out the suds.  “Switch places with me.”

She let him maneuver them so that his back was being pummeled by the force of the spray and she was at the rear of the tub facing him.  She let her eyes roam over him in appreciation.  His chest was broad, with well-defined pecs, washboard abs, and a deep v-cut arrowing downward to his groin.  His cock was erect, curving up toward his belly, his pendulous balls dangling below it.  His skin was a uniform dark, coppery bronze, with no tan lines to mar the effect, and completely hairless.  His legs, thighs and deeply-veined arms were powerful, but he wasn’t muscle-bound, like a body builder.  Instead his musculature was sleek, lithe, like the coiled strength of a predatory cat.  Unconsciously, she licked her lips, eyes narrowing.  She watched as he lathered his hands with the tiny bar of hotel soap and proceeded to wash her, starting with her face and working down to her feet.  He lingered lovingly at her breasts, plumping them, kneading them, bending his head to take each nipple into his mouth and sucking them, before lathering them thoroughly.  When he got to her mound, he knelt in front of her, tapping the insides of her thighs to get her to spread her legs.  She sucked in her breath as he slid the edge of his soapy hand down the furrow of her slit.

“Sore?” he asked, stilling his movements.

“No, no, just…a little sensitive.”

He grinned.  “Good.  Sensitive I can work around.  Sore…” He clucked his tongue and shook his head.  “That might have forced a change in plans.”

“You have plans?” she teased. 

“Of course.  As soon as we dry off, we’re going to bed, whereupon I will eat your delectable pussy until you’ve had multiple orgasms, then I’m going to fuck you until we both pass out.”

Oh, yeah. 
She grinned.  “It’s good to have plans.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

As soon as he was done washing her, he pushed her under the spray to rinse off, while he quickly washed and rinsed himself.  Shutting off the water, he helped her out to stand on the bathmat.  He dried her first, then himself.  Then he patted the counter.  “Hop up.”

She jumped up and let out a small squeal as her heated flesh landed on the cold laminate of the bathroom counter, watching as he filled the basin with hot water.  Taking the wrapper off the safety razor provided by the motel, he dropped a washcloth in the basin.  Finally her curiosity got the better of her.  “What are you doing?”

He put out his hand, palming her mound.  “I’m shaving you here.  As lovely as your curls are, I like my pussies clean-shaven.  Have you ever waxed or shaved here before?”

She shook her head, uncertainty in her eyes.

Wringing out the cloth, he unfolded it and placed it over her mound, making her jump.  “You okay?”

“Hot.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

He reheated it and placed it on her three more times.  Then he took the washcloth and lathered it up with soap, using practically the entire bar to make lots of thick, rich suds.  “Lift your right leg, place your foot flat on top of the counter,” he ordered.

With a little shiver, she assumed the lascivious position, opening her entire slit to his admiring gaze.  Using his fingers, he spread the lather over her pussy, then swished the razor in the hot water.  “Stay very still, baby.  I wouldn’t want to nick this delicate skin.”  Using the first two fingers of his left hand, he started at the top of her mound, holding her skin taut.  With one clean swipe of the razor, a swath of clean, pink skin appeared.  Rinsing the razor in the basin he removed another swatch of hair, then another, until her entire pussy was hair free, including both sides of her labia as far back as her asshole.  For that little maneuver, he’d had her slump back against the mirror, holding her legs wide open, his face mere inches from her newly-bald skin.  But instead of being embarrassed or humiliated, she was aroused instead. 
What’s up with that?

When he was finished, he dabbed away any leftover lather with the washcloth.  Then he bent forward and licked over every inch of her newly-shorn skin with his tongue, making her squirm and squeal with delight.  Evidently satisfied that there were no stray hairs, he patted her dry with the towel.  “Sit up, baby.  Feel it.  Run your fingers over it.  I will expect you to maintain this level of smoothness by shaving every day,” he said in a cool, impersonal voice.  “Any hairs I find at any time will be tweezed out.”

Her breath hitched and she gulped. 
Holy crap! 
She couldn’t even imagine tweezing her
eyebrows,
much less
hairs
!  Especially…
down there! 
Unable to resist, she touched it with her fingertips, marveling at the smoothness of her skin and how sensitive it was.  But shaving every day? 
Ugh.

“And you will receive one spank for every one I find.”

Holy crap!

He lifted her off the counter, picked up something from the little basket of free toiletries, turned out the light and led her to the bed.  He pulled back the covers.  “Lie on your stomach in the middle of the bed, arms out to your sides.”

She positioned herself as ordered, feeling the bed dip as he crawled up onto the mattress beside her.  She heard a squirting sound, followed by the feeling of something cold touching her arm.  “Oh!”  Her arm jerked.

“Relax, baby, it’s just lotion.”  Clay began rubbing the creamy lotion into the skin of her right arm, massaging her tight muscles until they were relaxed and her skin was tingling from his touch.  Crawling over her legs to her other side, he repeated the same process with her left arm.  “Feel good?”

She just moaned, making him chuckle.  “I’ll take that as a yes.”  He crawled down the bed and threw his leg over her body, straddling her hips.  He sat down on her ass cheeks.  She could feel his cock and balls nestling against the base of her spine.  He squirted a couple of dollops of cold lotion in several places on her back, making her squeal with shock.  He watched, fascinated, as goose bumps rippled up and down the smooth skin of her back.  “Rest your head on your arms, baby.”  First he swirled the lotion all over her back and down onto her sides until it had been absorbed by her skin, then he began a deep-tissue massage, starting at her shoulder blades, going up across her shoulders, down either side of her spine to her lower back, up and down until she was not just relaxed, she was sound asleep.

So much for plans. 
He chuckled to himself as he capped the little plastic bottle and placed it on the nightstand.  Retrieving his cell phone from his jeans pocket, he padded barefoot into the bathroom, shut the door, lowered the toilet lid and sat down.  He scrolled through his call log, selected a number and hit Call.

“Burke Gallery.”

“Burke, just a heads up.  Leah no longer has a cell phone and she is no longer in Palm Beach.”

After a brief silence, the aristocratic English voice said, “I take it the call was a hoax?”

“I think it was someone trying to find out where Leah was.  So, I destroyed her phone and I’m taking her someplace safe.  Someplace that can be easily defended.”

“And I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where that someplace is,” was Burke’s sardonic reply.

“No, I’m not.  The fewer people who know, the safer she’ll be.  I’ll let her call you tomorrow night on a secure sat phone.  I’ll try to give you an update every couple of days or so, but otherwise, there will be limited contact.  Don’t worry, Burke.  I’ll keep her safe.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute, my boy.  I have every faith in you.”

“One more thing.  I want you to send a photo of Richard Gordon to this phone.  It’s a secure number and can’t be traced.”

“Will do, my boy.  Take good care of my girl.”

“My girl,” Clay corrected.  He hung up to Burke’s laughter and made another call, talking briefly before turning off the phone, then the light.  Making his way through the dark, he rounded the far side of the bed, lifted the covers and crawled beneath them.  Good thing it was a king size bed, because Leah was right smack dab in the middle.  Careful not to disturb her, he aligned his body alongside hers, and rolled her onto her side so that her back was to his front.  He adjusted her head onto the cushion made by his shoulder and upper arm, and pulled her hips against his, fitting his cock between her cheeks like a hot dog in a bun.

Without waking up, she let out a deep sigh of contentment, burrowed her ass deeper into the cradle of his groin and relaxed once again into sleep.

Clay nuzzled his face against her damp hair and shut his eyes, savoring the sweet bundle she made in his arms, trying to quash visions of her on his ranch.  But they kept coming.  Visions of her laughing with him, working beside him, riding horses out to his favorite meditation spot.  Visions of her tied to his bed, legs spread wide in invitation, her hair spread out across the pillows like a cloud of spun gold, burnished by the sun.  On her knees before him, worshipping his cock. 
Christ! 
He had to stop thinking that way.  But the thoughts kept coming and it was a long time before he fell asleep.

* * * *

Leah drifted up out of a deep sleep to the feel of moist, soft lips kissing their way across her shoulder, a large hand palming her breast, a human furnace warming her back and an unmistakable erection nestling into the cleft of her ass. 
Oh my. 
She let out a sigh and pressed back against the man caressing her awake.  Richard had never touched her like this, nor had anyone else in her life, as if she were beautiful.  As if she were desired.  As if she were…loved.  She could get used to this.

“Good morning,
ohpitsa.
”  Clay’s morning voice was a sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed rasp in her ear that made her belly clench, releasing a flood of moisture between her legs.

“Good morning yourself.”  She cleared her throat.
Her
morning voice was just a croak.

Clay slid his hand from her breast, down her belly, and around her waist.  As he pulled her body even closer to his, he brushed his lips across her nape, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs there.  “As much as I would love to spend the morning making love to you,” he murmured, regret heavy in his voice, “we really need to get going.  I’d like to be home by early afternoon so I can get all my safety measures into place.”

“You really think I’m in so much danger?” she asked, fighting the wave of apprehension that swept through her.  It was difficult to wrap her head around the fact that someone was actually trying to kill her. 
Someone. 
She snorted.  Not just someone.  Her ex-husband.  In spite of the heat pouring off of Clay, she shivered. 
How screwed up is that?  My ex-husband wants me dead!

Clay’s arm tightened around her.  “Don’t worry, baby.  He’s not gonna get anywhere near you.”

They dressed without showering.  After breakfast at the pancake house, they were back on the road by eight thirty a.m.  When they reached Richmond, Clay turned west on I-64, but eventually turned off of that to take several narrow two-lane highways through rolling foothills as he headed in the general direction of the Blue Ridge mountains.

“This is breathtaking,” Leah commented more than once as the top of each rise revealed more and more verdant or wooded vistas dotted with a riot of color from pink and white dogwoods and purple redbuds to wild azaleas and mountain laurels.  Wisteria vines, with their enormous, grape-like clusters of hanging purple blooms, draped casually over entire copses of trees.  “So different from San Francisco.”

“Yeah,” Clay agreed, “you couldn’t pay me to live in San Francisco—or any big city, for that matter.  It feels claustrophobic to me.”

“Actually,” she confessed, “it was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic to me, too.  Oh, look!” she exclaimed in excitement.  “There’s a sign for Passion Lake!”  The enormous billboard showed a photo of a couple of log cabins set amidst a stand of trees with azaleas and mountain laurels in full, glorious bloom.  There was a deep blue lake in the background with a fishing dock extending out into the water.  A smaller vignette showed a long shot of the picturesque Main Street with its large Victorian houses and boutique shops.  A second vignette showed children cannon-balling off the end of the dock into the lake.  The sign read “Seven Miles to Passion Lake, your fishing, camping, and boating paradise.  Fun for the entire family!

Elegant Victorian Bed & Breakfast                            Bars and restaurants

Camping                                                                      Specialty shops

Riding trails                                                                      Hiking Trails

White sand beach                                                        Open year ’round.  Just follow the signs.

“It looks so inviting,” Leah exclaimed.  ‘I can’t wait to see it for myself.”

“We’ll swing through town and eat lunch at Katie’s Barbecue.  She has the best pulled pork sandwich I’ve ever put in my mouth.  I didn’t tell anybody I was coming back, so there probably won’t be much to eat at the house.  We’ll get some groceries at the Mini-Mart on the way home.”

They passed two more billboards advertising Passion Lake, then turned left at the clearly marked sign onto a narrow, blacktop road that wound through a forest full of tall pines, flowering trees and bushes.  Mother Nature at her most resplendent, Leah thought.  Like she’d taken off her socks, let down her hair, and just frolicked about strewing color and beauty as far as the eye could see.  Leah leaned forward in her seat, enthralled.

The first house came into view, the three-story Victorian Clay had told her about, perched on its hill beneath three massive oak trees, looking regal and aloof.  And
big!
  Its Italianate features included a square, central tower with a steep, pitched roof, and a huge round tower at one end with a Turkish dome roof.  Balancing this, at the other end of the house, were rounded, second-story turrets at both the front and back corners. The entire house was festooned with ornate gingerbread trim.  The colors were a mixture of stone, brick, and sand, with dark rust accents.  A sign on the front lawn said it was the Passion Lake Bed and Breakfast. 

“Wow,” Leah said, “no wonder the owner didn’t want it demolished.  That would have been a serious crime.  So, this lady—” She paused, waiting for him to supply her name.

“Grace Porter, or Granny Grace as she likes to be called.”

“She runs the Bed and Breakfast as well as Granny Grace’s Tea Shoppe and Toy Emporium?  How old is she?”

“I believe she was ninety-three on her last birthday.  The entire town celebrated.”

“Goodness, that’s a lot of work for a ninety-three-year old,” Leah exclaimed.

“Well, most of the work at the B and B is done by her youngest daughter and son-in-law, Alicia and Ben Cobb.  She just drops in periodically to chat and socialize.  She spends most of her time in there,” he said, ducking his head to indicate a second, only slightly less grand Victorian house, painted slate blue with white gingerbread trim next door to the Bed and Breakfast.  A shady parking lot filled with cars occupied the space between the two buildings.  A wooden plank hanging over the steps leading up to a wide verandah and a grand entrance read Granny Grace’s Tea Shoppe and Toy Emporium.  “The stairs in the Victorian got to be a bit much for her,” Clay went on, “so she had an elevator installed in the back of the Tea Shoppe and now has an apartment on the second floor.  Dottie, her eldest daughter, lives there with her and looks after her.”