
Phaze www.phaze.com
Copyright ©2006 by Stephanie Vaughan
First published in 2006, 2007
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
Phaze
6470A Glenway Avenue, #109
Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 1-59426-947-5
Cruel to be Kind © 2006 by Stephanie Vaughan
Originally published in 2006
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover art © 2007 by Debi Lewis
Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.
He could feel her eyes on him. A prickle of awareness raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he knew he was being watched. That it was a woman doing the watching he had no doubt, although if pressed he couldn't have said how he knew. He just knew.
Steve Eriksson leaned an elbow on the bar in front of him and let his eyes scan the room.
Goldie's was nothing special as bars went. No sophisticated game room or huge selection of microbrews on tap the way Off Limits did across town. But then, Goldie's didn't cater to the tourist crowd, either. It was just a no-frills, working class watering hole where a good burger and a cold beer could be had for a decent price. A pool table in the back and a competition dart board had constituted all the value-added features the regulars needed to keep Goldie's in the black since it had opened.
The group of four women near the front door wasn't the source of his itch. They each wore a variation of the young professional's uniform and had their sights set on the group of equally upscale looking men in suits at the far end of the bar that presently supported his weight. The women looked like the type that Tivo'd Sex and the City and rated the quality of their lives by the size and content of their shoe closet.
No thanks.
His eyes moved on past Evan from the custom leather goods shop, looking like he was about to hook-up with the new teller from the savings and loan, to the room's only table of one.
In profile she didn't look old enough to be in a bar in the first place. A baseball cap on her head, a ponytail of shiny dark hair pulled through the opening in the back. Steve could tell only that she wasn't dressed to kill and she appeared intent on whatever it was she was doing. A small laptop computer in front of her, a stack of papers to one side, she slowly turned over sheets from the pile while she glanced at first one, then the other while she typed one-handed on the computer.
But what made the picture especially intriguing was the rest of the tableau: an arm's-length away, a full meal sat untouched. A flat tureen that had to contain Goldie's infamous shepherd's pie and a tall glass of foamy, dark beer stood silent watch on her labors. That both had been sitting for a while was obvious from the shrinking trail of foam at the top and the rivulets of condensation that trickled down the side, while the pie's crust of mashed potatoes remained smooth and unbroken.
Unable to reconcile the high-powered buzz he'd felt with the slight figure seated at the table, Steve was about to move on. Until she lifted her head and the previously downcast eyes moved from the computer screen and locked on his.
Direct and dark, they reached out and grabbed him by the balls. A jolt of electricity ran through his system, as though he'd forgotten to disconnect the power source before opening up an outlet to work on it. Those eyes snaked down into his soul as though to look around. Size him up. Think about moving in.
Then her eyes slipped over his shoulder and looked away, breaking the connection, and he could breathe again.
Holy shit!
A grin spread over his face and, before he could think twice about it, Steve found himself standing next to the small table. It could only be alien mind-control because he couldn't recall giving his feet the command to move. One minute he'd been lounging against the bar, the next he was here, at her table.
"I noticed you're not touching your food. Is there something wrong with it?" Not exactly original, but it was the first thing that popped into Steve's head. He wanted to see those eyes again like he wanted the Red Sox to win the World Series.
Between his height and the bill of the cap, she had to cock her head back to make eye contact. "My waitress go on a break?"
That wise-ass half smile on her face did something to his stomach. She was so perfect and wholesome looking Steve half expected her to hold up a tube of toothpaste and smile for the camera. He would have thought a blush and a stammered reply would be more her style, sweet young thing that she was. But she hadn't so much as missed a keystroke on her computer.
"My name's Steve and I'd be happy to get you anything you want."
He couldn't take his eyes off hers, but he still managed to get an impression of casual dress: white tank top, jeans shorts, 'Christy's Catering' stitched onto her cap. But those eyes. A dark, chocolaty brown gazed up at him with not a hint of coyness.
"Good to know. Thank you very much, Steve, but I'm almost done here. When I'm finished I get to eat my dinner and drink my beer. But thanks for the offer. If I need anything I'll be sure and look you up."
She turned back to her work and Steve felt the loss like a blow low in his gut.
No way.
This was too good to let go of and she had to be feeling it, too. He refused to be blown off without even getting his shot. He pulled out the empty chair opposite and sat down.
Seconds ticked by and she didn't so much as flick him a glance from those black-coffee eyes of hers. "You don't mind if I watch, do you?"
Permission or no, Steve watched as she scanned another document, found what she was looking for, and keyed in more information to the laptop.
"One of those, are you?" A small surge of triumph surged through him as he congratulated himself on drawing her out. She seemed incredibly self-contained. Self-sufficient. As though she didn't need anyone or anything to complete her. She was happy where she was and with what she had. "Do you like to watch, Steve?"
Caught flat-footed, he found those enigmatic eyes fixed on him like a laser beam. What were they talking about? While he'd been daydreaming the stakes had somehow gone way, way up. There was nothing to do but ante up and bluff like hell. At least he was still in the game.
"I'd rather be doing. But watching beats nothing every time."
Oh, he really was too amazing to be believed.
Didn't it just figure? Megan had spent the better part of the past four years looking for the right one. She'd even gone so far as to move to San Francisco---the Big City, to most people in her home town---figuring she'd have better odds fishing from a bigger pond.
Nothing.
Nada, zip, zilch, zero.
But take herself off the market, decide to head back home to lick her wounds and give her poor battered heart a rest, and what does Fate do? Dangle the sweetest hunk of prime male it had been her pleasure to see in many a long month in front of her, that's what.
And it was, very much, her pleasure.
Fate was a real cunt, Megan decided.
She knew Megan had a thing for long hair on men. That Megan had given up hope years ago of ever finding that particular combination of red and gold that made her palms itch to sink her hands into it. But here they both were in one man, standing in front of her.
She'd spotted him the minute he'd walked in, all easy grace and long, lean muscle, perfectly showcased in work shorts and soft old t-shirt, and greeted the bartender. Connoisseur of the male form that she was, she could have wished for that T-shirt to fit a little more snugly across his shoulders, but still ... Megan was a total sucker for beautiful male arms and she could see this man had them in spades.
He laughed at something the barkeep said and Megan thought that if there were a God in Heaven this fine example of His work would have an itch on his belly he would need to scratch right about now. She already knew there wasn't, but it only confirmed things for her when he hadn't, so Megan contented herself with imagining what it would be like.
He would reach those long fingers under his shirt, pull it up six inches or so, and show off the strong musculature she knew it hid. He would score those fingers lightly across those taut muscles ... Megan tried sending him the thought telepathically that he had an itch that demanded scratching, but it didn't work now any more than it ever had. Still, she told herself, it didn't hurt to try. She'd like to rake her own nails sharply across his belly while she squeezed his velvet-soft testicles gently---or not so gently---as he writhed in agonized pleasure.
Her instincts must be rustier than she'd thought because The Delicious One had nearly caught her in mid-fantasy, staring. Megan had no intention of starting anything, and it would be best all around if she just stuffed her tongue back into her mouth and paid attention to the task at hand. Namely, trying to figure out if she was running her sister's business into the ground.
Running Christa's catering truck didn't require any skills she couldn't perform in her sleep---except when it came to balancing the receipts. Her brief college career had taught her that math was not something that was ever likely to be integral to her livelihood. At least, not by choice. Today she had given herself the incentive of a meal cooked by someone else if she could get the month's receipts entered into the accounting program her sister used. Megan had thought she might finally be making some progress when she had become hopelessly distracted by the amazing-looking man who had walked in.
Too bad he wasn't her type.
Men who looked like he did never were.
But then, Fate had gotten really nasty by giving the beautiful man she had no business even talking to a hard shove in her direction. She'd seen his long legs with their light furring of hair in her peripheral vision. Megan had counted to ten and willed him to give up and walk away. She wasn't sure she had the strength to turn him down. Even if it was for his own good.
But the lamb had not only sat down with the lion, he had engaged her in play. And her old instincts had kicked in, God help him.
Megan made sure she made him pay for his interruption by taking a good twenty minutes longer to finish than the work required. At least, that's what she told herself. It wasn't that she was so mesmerized by the exotic beat of the blood in her veins, made thick and heavy by the man across from her, that inserting numbers into a spreadsheet was all but beyond her capability at that moment.
And it certainly shouldn't be necessary to wrest control back from her libido this early in the game. No, she was just setting the ground rules. Making him understand from the start what he was getting himself into. If, it turned out, that was what they were doing.
"So, Steve," she said at last, tucking away her computer. Megan drew the now room temperature meal in front of her and reached for the beer. "What can I do for you?"
She made sure her hand remained steady as she pierced the soft crust of the pie. Taking a bite before she caught his eye again, Megan was thankful for the food in her mouth. Anything audible that escaped might be interpreted as appreciation of the food, and not her own groan of helpless lust at getting her first real look at his eyes. Lashes darker than they had any right to be framed eyes as unusual as their owner's hair color---a rare blending of blue and green.
Megan thought she read uncertainty in them as he found his voice. Poor baby probably had no idea how to behave after being kept waiting, as he had. "Let me take you out to dinner."
Keeping any hint of a smile from her face, Megan replied, "I've got dinner already, thanks." A two-beat pause. "What else do you think you can do for me?"
It really wasn't fair of her, to tease the poor man like that. He obviously had no idea of the kind of woman he was trying to pick up. And it was a bad sign for her how much it touched her to watch him keep swimming when the current was clearly over his head.
"Whatever you need, babe, I can do for you." Someone please tell her that wasn't a catch she heard in his voice.
Megan sighed a little.
There would be no getting around it. Fate, life, pure dumb luck---whatever you chose to call it---was plainly insisting that this man was in her path for a reason. And Megan had learned the hard way that hiding from the inevitable never worked. It would only hunt you down make you pay double when it finally found you.
Megan folded her hands on the table and leaned forward a little. She wanted to read every gradation of feeling on his face when she rocked his world.
"Steve, I need to explain some things to you."
Steve tried to keep the wince from showing on his face.
That didn't sound good. In his experience, it was rarely a good sign when the woman told the man, "We need to talk." It usually turned out to be something like she was the last of her high school gal-pal group still not married and, gosh, wouldn't next month be perfect for a garden wedding. Or that her old college roommate, who was neater than you and an amazing cook, hadn't been 'strictly platonic' after all and, not only was he back in town, but she was moving in with him. Or she was finally ready to try a threesome---with another guy as the third.
"Here's the deal, Steve. I don't think you have any idea whose table you picked to sit down at." Her arms as she leaned on the table were slim but firm-looking and he wondered what she did to keep in shape. He let his eyes take a surreptitious flick downward, trying to make out the shape of her breasts. He was betting on smallish---barely a B cup---with pert little nipples. Looking back up, Steve realized she'd caught his every move.
Busted.
But instead of outrage, he would swear he read approval on her face.
"No, that's okay. Don't be embarrassed. In fact, I want to hear what you like. In bed."
Holy---He couldn't have heard that right. "You want to hear what?"
"I want to hear what you like. What you don't like. What your fantasies are. What you've never done but always wanted to ... if you found the right person." Her voice had gone soft. Almost hypnotic. Steve thought he could stare into those eyes and listen to that voice all night long. Ideally they would both be naked as part of the exercise.
"This is a pretty good fantasy right here. But I'd really like to be having this conversation somewhere quieter. Maybe without the audience," he said, gesturing toward the rest of the room.
She shook her head, her ponytail swaying with the motion, just grazing the tops of her shoulders. "Not yet. Soon, maybe. But we need to get some things out in the open first. Get some things straight."
Steve didn't believe conversations like this happened in real life. He'd always figured those letters in the backs of men's magazines were fake. Dear Penthouse, I never thought these letters were real until something happened to change my mind. Yeah, right. How many nymphomaniac blonde twins with fireman fantasies were there in real life? But here he was, on the verge of living one. He was afraid to open his mouth and screw things up.
"Like what? Your place or mine?" Jesus, talk about lame. This was where she got up and walked out, disgusted by his clumsy attempt at repartee.
Sliding her hands off the table, she placed them at the neckline of her tank before smoothing them lightly down the shirt. The effect was to bring those tiny but perfect tits into gorgeous relief. As he watched she brushed the tips of her fingers lightly back and forth until the nipples began to crest.
"No, more like, what does that make you want to do?"
Suddenly Steve was choking on his tongue. Heat washed over him. And his dick, already halfway to hard, completed the trip.
"Touch. Taste ... suck on them," he sputtered. His hands, he realized to his colossal embarrassment, were stroking the air, as though those tempting peaks were beneath them.
"That sounds nice." She nearly purred as she leaned back a little, sizing him up through slitted eyes. "I think I'd like that, too. But first, I need you to do something for me."
Steve stiffly nodded his agreement. "I need to hear the words, Steve. Say 'Yes, Megan.'"
He was a parrot, reduced to repeating whatever was necessary. Whatever she asked. But at least he knew her name now. "Yes, Megan."
Then she smiled at him, and he felt like he'd done something amazing. Steve realized he'd do a lot to earn that smile. "That's perfect. See how easy that was? Now put your hand in your pocket and stroke yourself. I want to see that pretty cock get hard."
Whoa.
"I can't. I'd be arrested. I can't just do that in public."
"Well, then I guess you'll just have to be careful, so that no one sees but you and me."
He wanted to look around, see who might be watching. This was his home turf. He knew people here, and people knew him. His arm shook a little with the force of holding back his hand that seemed to have a will of its own as it edged toward the pocket of his shorts.
"Steve. Do it now." The steel beneath the velvet of Megan's voice was close to the surface now and he gave up the fight, slipping his hand beneath the table and into the loose pocket of his carpenter's shorts.
The pants were just roomy enough for him to barely reach his dick, where it now stood at attention beneath the baggy drape of the material. He ran his fingers familiarly up its rigid length and saw her eyes flare.
"Mmm, that's nice. I like the way you do that," she murmured approvingly. "I think you need to do that for me without the clothes, though. I want to watch you stroke yourself 'til you get so hard a breeze would set you off. Until your balls tighten and you go off like a rocket for me. I'd like that a lot."
Her eyes felt like a physical touch. Everywhere her gaze moved, Steve felt the tingle and the heat.
"Do it again. I didn't tell you you could stop."
The table must be smaller than he realized if she could see that.
He drew a long, shuddering breath in through his nose as he let his hand go back to making slow sweeps up and down. The barrier of the material kept him from getting any kind of a real grip and the tantalizing barely-there touches were maddening. Steve knew how to touch himself. He'd jacked off hundreds of times. Knew to the exact degree how much sensation he needed. But this was different. Something about having her eyes on him while he did it made all the difference. And the thought of being naked in front of her, touching himself---for her---forced a groan out through his clenched teeth.
"Sssh. We don't want to draw a crowd," she chided softly. "In fact, I think you'd better stop now."
Like most men, he touched himself frequently. Pleasure, comfort, boredom---they were all good reasons. But touching himself had never felt a fraction as good as it had just now. "I want you to put both hands, that's right, up on the table where I can see them and keep them there. Don't move again until I tell you."
He wanted to rock his hips, push her down on top of his throbbing cock, savor the feel of her tight little pussy for the first time. The thought of forcing his way inside her, an inch at a time, danced at the edge of his consciousness.
Steve watched as Megan closed up her computer, shutting it down before carefully packing it away in a soft leather case. She gathered her papers, putting those neatly into a colored plastic folder. As she bent to place her belongings next to the wooden bar chair, her shorts pulled taut across her backside, revealing a heart-shaped ass he instantly coveted.
Megan looked over her shoulder at him and smiled a little at the look she intercepted.
"I have to go now," she said, standing.
"Go?" His tortured libido screamed in protest. He was on fire for her. "But what about---"
She turned back to him, as calm and collected as though this had been a business consultation and not a ... Steve didn't know what it had been. But to leave him in this condition was nothing short of cruel.
"I want you to do two things for me, Steve." Megan adjusted the cap on her head with one hand, smoothing her ponytail with the other. Again giving him that look that shot straight to his soul, she said, "I want you to think it over tonight. If you liked this, and you think you'd like more, then meet me back here tomorrow night. That's one. Two is, if you do decide to meet me tomorrow, you can't touch yourself between now and then. And don't think you can lie to me and fool me, because you can't. I'll know."
Picking up her possessions, Megan straightened. Seeing her standing for the first time, Steve was startled that she didn't rise any taller than she did. The top of her head wouldn't even clear his shoulder.
"Have a good night," she said, conversationally. And turned and walked out of the bar.
Megan didn't allow herself to look back. Not even a quick glance as she pulled the door to the street open and walked out into the crisp, evening air.
It had been dusk when she had stopped off at Goldie's for a working dinner before she headed home and it was now full dark as she walked to her truck. Although Christa had plans to buy a twenty-four-foot full-sized truck in a couple of years, Megan gave thanks that the current operation she had taken over consisted of a light duty truck loaded only with coolers. She didn't think she could handle an unfamiliar vehicle of that size in her current condition. While the law wouldn't recognize it, she might as well be drunk, her head was so full of the man she'd just left.
Megan hadn't touched the beer she'd ordered and she'd barely made a dent in the abomination Goldie's had the nerve to label shepherd's pie. The only shepherd that disaster had been fit for was the four-legged German variety. Not that she'd noticed much past the first couple of bites. As soon as Steve had sat down at her table, her appetite for anything other than the man had fled south. Just like the blood supply to her brain, she thought miserably.
Unlocking the cab of the truck, Megan unloaded the computer case from her shoulder and flung the rest of the articles weighing her down onto the seat beside her. She spared herself a moment to bang her head against the steering wheel as she contemplated what she had just done.
Stupid, stupid, Megan.
She had no business beginning anything, particularly with someone this close to home. She knew the risks that came with her lifestyle and she knew the rules for safe play. But she had gotten one look at those long legs and that pale copper hair, and she'd been a goner. And those eyes. Even as she'd nearly fallen headlong into them, she had known that they were going to break her heart. She could see it coming already and there was not a damn thing she could do about it.
Megan drove home on auto-pilot. She'd grown up in this town; learned to drive on these streets; gotten her first kiss behind the bleachers at the Fourth of July parade. And just like her friend Jaci had known from the time she was twelve that she loved women, Megan had known from an early age that there was something different about her. Even her Barbie and Ken dolls had had a relationship that, in today's parlance, would be called 'alternative.'
She was what she was and there was no changing that fact. Just like Steve was what he was. Although she'd bet her best ceramic knife he didn't realize it. There had been that slight hesitancy---that sweet hint of confusion she had seen in his eyes---that told Megan that he knew no more than the average Joe about the lifestyle.
Lifestyle.
God, she hated that word. Why couldn't it just be her life? Why couldn't it be different, but accepted, like being left-handed or having eyes of two different colors? Dammit, this was exactly why, before deciding to come back to Remington, Megan had also decided she wouldn't be dating any time soon. Dating. Another word she hated.
Why couldn't she just meet a nice man, fall in love, and settle down? More importantly, why was she beating herself up again over things she had realized a long time ago she couldn't change? Megan knew better. She knew why she was alone and likely to stay that way.
Because, like so many things in life, it was a numbers game.
Start with all the people in the world. And not that, if she were stuck on a desert island with just herself and Ashley Judd, she couldn't learn to go the other way---but she knew her core preference was for men. So take away the fifty-one percent that were women.
Then start factoring in things like age, geographic proximity, sports compatibility, and political beliefs. And before you knew it your choices for available sexual partners were getting slimmer than Lara Flynn Boyle on a hunger strike. Throw in one more little detail like the need to sexually dominate your partner and Megan was living testimony to a lot of lonely Friday nights.
Just fitting her key into the front door of her half of a duplex, the phone in Megan's purse chirped. Not that she needed Caller ID to tell her who was calling: it was the same person that called every night to make sure she got home okay.
Punching the talk button, Megan juggled her armload of paraphernalia to get the phone to her ear. "I'm home, Christa. You can go to sleep now."
"Har-di-har-har. Very funny---it's only seven o'clock, you ungrateful little butthead."
"Love you too, sis. And I'm fine. I appreciate the concern but you're supposed to be resting and thinking nothing but calm thoughts. Not worrying about your employees."
Having piled the load of gear she had hauled in from the truck on the coffee table nearest the door, Megan didn't bother to hide her grunt of relief as she lowered herself down to the sofa.
"You're working yourself too hard, Meg. All you have to do is keep things going for a little while. I'm not looking to put Martha Stewart out of business, okay? So relax a little and ease up."
Megan had never been particularly close to her older sister. Born seven years earlier and the center of their parents' universe, Christa had been content in her role of princess. Megan's arrival had come as a complete shock to everyone, but even more so to the pampered Christa. It hadn't helped that throughout her teen years Christa had persisted in referring to her younger sister as "Oops." But their mutual hostility had gradually softened over the years, until lately Megan had even begun thinking of her former nemesis as something of a friend.
"I'm fine. Really. Although, would it have killed you to throw down the extra hundred-and-fifty bucks it would have cost for power steering on that pig you call a truck? I'm going to have shoulders like a trucker here, soon," Megan cheerfully groused.
"I mean it, Meg. Your day is over after lunch. Hear me? You shouldn't be getting home this late. What, were you shopping for shallots to add to the tuna salad again?"
"Would you believe me if I said I was having drinks in a bar and flirting like mad with the cutest thing in pants I've seen in a long time?" A picture of Steve as he'd looked sitting across from her, stroking his cock at her command floated into Megan's head. She could almost feel the liquid silk of his glorious hair under her hands as she thrust her fingers into it and drew his head down to her soaked pussy. She closed her eyes and sighed at the picture in her mind. Her still unsatisfied cunt began to throb again.
"You lying little bitch, you did not." Her sister paused, no doubt waiting for Megan to laugh and confess she'd been working on new recipes for the business. When she didn't, Christa began to grill her in earnest. "Did you really? Oh, good for you. You go! Who is it? Do I know him? I do, don't I? So tell me, tell me. Come on, I'm dying here. And you even said---I'm supposed to stay calm. Tell me before I hyperventilate."
"No way am I telling you anything. It's too early. I don't want to jinx it. Besides, it probably won't turn into anything. You know my luck with men."
Megan heard the concern in her sister's tone as she replied, "Meggie, I know how you are with advice. But, can I just say, be a little less picky? You've thrown back some keepers over the years. And try being a little more ... feminine. No offense, honey, but not too many guys want to fuck an Amazon. You know?"
"Hey there, big guy. We don't usually see you in here two nights in a row. What's the occasion?"
"Hey, Jace," Steve called, smiling, as he brushed through the swinging doors and into the familiar darkened interior of Goldie's. "Heard you got a new cook. Word is four people ate here last night and not one trip to the E.R."
Smiling at Jaci Ralston, general manager of Goldie's, was no hardship. A few years younger than Steve, Jaci was blonde and gorgeous. Nearly as tall as he was, he'd watched her break hearts from the time she'd gotten out of grade school.
"Yeah? You know what you can kiss, pal," the attractive blonde smiled back from behind the bar. Giving her perfect behind a smack, she added, "A big wet one, right here."
"I'm tempted, Ralston. But I've seen that right hook of yours in action." He grinned at her mock indignant look as he turned to scan the main floor of Goldie's. "Besides, I'm meeting someone." Jaci said something about letting her know when he was ready but his attention was already elsewhere, his eyes taking in the various groupings of tables, chairs, and patrons.
Four twenty-something men about his own age, eyes glued to the game on the big screen over the bar. Three couples. Evan again, looking as though he hadn't hooked up with the cute little bank teller after all. There had to be a story to that one. A big group of assorted ages and types---probably coworkers blowing off steam on a Friday night.
Shit.
No petite brunettes looking dangerously underage.
So Megan wasn't here yet. He'd have a beer and sit down to wait. That she was coming he knew in his gut. The Kings game looked close, he could kill some time watching the boys tank another one.
Steve signaled the waitress and sat down at a table with a view of both the TV and the door. He was just sliding his hand around the frosty glass of amber pilsner when the hair rose on his arms and he felt the crackle of electricity across his skin.
"Can non-basketball fans sit here, too?"
Looking over his shoulder in the direction of that soft alto voice, Steve's eyes caught and tangled with Megan's.
She looked so serious. He wondered what would it take to get her to smile again. Whatever it was, he knew he would do it. He wanted it. Needed it.
"I don't know," he replied. "I take my roundball pretty seriously. You'd have to promise to at least give it a chance."
As she pursed her lips, thinking it over, Steve took the opportunity to covertly study her. Tonight she'd worn a skirt and the tight denim hugged her subtle curves, while a good ten inches of smooth thigh showed under its brief length. A snug red t-shirt showed off her slender arms and trim waist. Megan turned her head to gaze up at the television in consideration, her ponytail swinging in counterpoint. When she looked back she seemed to have made up her mind about something.
"I like a man with dedication. And loyalty. But I don't think basketball will ever win me over. No consideration for the female fan."
Momentarily puzzled before realization struck, Steve said, "Oh. Cheerleaders?"
"Worse. Baggy pants," she deadpanned. "Now, football, on the other hand, has a lot to offer."
The glint in her eye said 'Gotcha' as clearly as if she'd spoken the word.
"That," Steve responded, acknowledging the hit, "is why I never talk sports with a woman. Sit. I can see we have a lot to clear up."
He stood, pulling out a chair with a guilty twinge over not doing it sooner. He could almost feel the imprint of his mother's hand on the back of his head for his bad manners.
As he stood behind Megan, holding her chair, he noticed again how much taller her bearing made her seem. Standing close to her Steve could easily see the top of her head, the way the way the subdued glow of Goldie's elderly light fixtures brought out gleams of red and mahogany in her hair.
She sat, her manner almost regal, the way she seemed to take his service as her due.
When Steve had seated himself again opposite Megan at the small circular table he raised a hand to call the waitress again, asking, "Something to drink?"
"Just a Coke, thanks. Make it diet." The waitress left and they were alone again. "I'm glad you came," Megan said. "I didn't know if you would."
"Hey, that's supposed to be my line. Besides, I can't believe you get turned down very often."
Steve slid his fingers along the sides of his beer glass, beads of condensation allowing them to slip easily over its curves. It didn't take much imagination to imagine his hands sliding just as easily over Megan's. He knew already that they would be understated. Elegant. Her skin firm and resilient under his hands. Raising his eyes from where they followed the path his fingers were making on the moist glass, he let her see the heat he knew was there.
He wasn't surprised when Megan didn't respond immediately, instead, letting the tension build.
"You might be surprised. It happens," she answered finally. Her gaze continued to hold his, steady and dark---so direct it was like a touch. His dick responded.
The waitress returned with Megan's soft drink, taking her time placing it just so. Steve wasn't sure why tonight was different, but he couldn't recall the staff at Goldie's ever putting so much emphasis on presentation. She left finally and the tension, momentarily forestalled, began to build again.
"So, did you have a chance to think about it last night, Steve?" Megan asked, watching him even as she lowered her head to take a sip of her Coke. Her tongue lingered on the straw just long enough to make him wonder if it was deliberate.
"Yeah, I did," he acknowledged with a smile. "Once or twice."
"That's good. And since you're here, I hope that means you're interested in exploring a little more tonight."
It was all too fucking unbelievably good to be real. His cock was rising to full attention and he could barely think to form words. "Oh yeah. Definitely. More." Steve reached for her hand, but she drew back, only slightly out of reach.
"Good."
Wordlessly Megan stood and Steve stood up with her. Picking up a small backpack purse he hadn't noticed, she brushed past him, heading toward Goldie's back door. So casually it might have been accidental her hand brushed his fly, where his burgeoning erection tented the front of his shorts and a bolt of lust so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees blasted through him.
Momentarily stunned, by the time he could piece together a coherent thought Megan was halfway to the door. As he caught up to her, she gave him that smile that made him feel like he could stop a speeding train or leap tall buildings in a single bound. "Ready?"
Down, girl.
Megan reminded herself for what felt like the tenth time that night to slow down. If it was meant to be, it would happen. But it might happen a week from now, or even a month. There was no need to inhale him like a rich dessert that might be whisked away before she'd had a chance to indulge. She needed to get a better grip on herself before the evening spun completely out of control.
But he was so completely incredible.
Taking the last turn before the back door that led to Goldie's overflow parking area, Megan paused to unhook the chain guarding a small, inconspicuous staircase. She barely glanced at the metal sign hanging from it announcing to the public that it was for staff use only. Megan palmed the key she'd pulled from her pocket and took the opportunity to glance back at the man following her, careful to keep her inspection casual.
Two steps below her on the stairs put Steve's head just slightly below hers. A flash of upraised eyebrows told her he'd never been up here before. Good. Megan didn't like the twinge of something uncomfortably like jealousy that flashed through her at the thought.
This might be something or it might be nothing---it was too soon to tell.
The early signs were good, though. His energy had called to her from the first second she'd spotted him across the room last night. He made her heart beat faster and her blood pound in her veins. Something in the way he moved and talked and looked roused the Domina in her. Like a tree in spring, she could feel the Dom energy in her rising. She was flooded with an energy that had been dormant so long she had begun to question herself.
"I didn't know this was up here. What is it?" Steve asked.
"The old manager's office," Megan replied. "Jaci doesn't use it much---too far away from the floor. She said we could borrow it."
"How long have you known Jaci?"
Megan stepped into the room and felt for the light switch. Jaci had given her the key and shown her the room earlier that day. The room was small, measuring probably twelve feet by twelve, and, like the bar below it, had been built in the 1800's. Unlike the public sections of the building, though, the little manager's office had been allowed to age naturally, if ungracefully.
The desk alone occupied close to twelve square feet, its large surface area unadorned save for a banker's lamp and a desk calendar three years out of date. A bookcase containing old ledgers, as well as a motley collection of paperback books, two mismatched chairs, and a black Naugahyde sofa so old it was the last word in retro cool were the extent of the room's furnishings.
"A while. Since high school." Pulling her backpack off her shoulder, Megan shoved a hand inside it, fishing for her phone. After calling up its phone book, she handed it to Steve, saying, "Would you mind ordering the pizza? Number four on the pre-sets. I'll eat anything except bell peppers. Tell them to have it here in exactly one hour."
When Megan looked up Steve was just standing there, phone in hand, looking at her. This could be it---where he told her what he thought and where she could get off. Before slamming the door on his way out.
Uh oh.
She hadn't expected the moment of truth so soon.
Megan stilled. Blue-green eyes searched hers for ... what? What did he see when he looked at her? An unnatural freak? Or a strong woman who could do things for him no one else could?
"Sounds like you know what you want."
"You're right. I do," she said, straightening. Deciding it was best to get everything out in the open, Megan let what she was feeling show on her face. She let her eyes roam over him, from that glorious fall of bad boy hair, down strong shoulders and muscular torso, all balanced on long, tanned runner's legs. "And if you do, too," she concluded, eyes back on his, "you'll take off your shirt and sit in one of those chairs. After you've ordered our pizza."
Eyes kindled and nostrils flared, as though he were trying to catch the scent of her. Steve looked away long enough to find the number on the unfamiliar telephone and press the appropriate numbers. After ordering a large anchovy and onion, he ended the call and handed the telephone back to her. Except for the time necessary to dial the phone, he hadn't taken his eyes off hers for the call.
"Anchovies? That's taking a little bit of a chance, don't you think?" Megan tested.
It was a ballsy move and she was inwardly thrilled. A lot of men would have opted for something plain and non-offensive, and the fact that he'd taken a risk kicked her pulse up a notch. She fought to keep her face neutral as he pulled a chair away from the wall with one hand and reached for the top button of his shirt with the other.
His fingers slid the buttons from their fastenings quickly and efficiently. Not a lot of show, just taking care of business, which was fine for a first time. If things went the way Megan hoped, there would be plenty of time for slow, teasing strips and leisurely bindings later.
Completely unbuttoned, Steve parted the material with both hands and shrugged out of it. As he did so, his back arched slightly with the movement, thrusting his well-defined pecs forward, displaying two flat male nipples pierced with small horizontal barbells.
Megan allowed a small tilt of her lips to signal her approval. He was beautiful to look at, with a light dusting of red-gold hair tapering down to a small trail that arrowed toward a taut belly lightly cobbled with muscle.
"Nice," she encouraged. "Now lose the shirt and sit."
Hesitating a little first, Steve tossed the shirt on the sofa and sat down slowly in wooden chair he'd selected. He sank down, his legs widening naturally to give himself room, watching her as he went.
"Not bad. We can work on speed later. I want you to reach your hands through the back of the chair and clasp them behind you. And hook your feet on the outsides of the legs. Do it now, Steve."
She kept her tone calm and even, but with the ring of authority. Megan could tell he was doing things he'd never done before. Intellect warred with instinct and the battle showed clearly on his face. His body recognized the call and wanted to comply. But a lifetime of conditioning fought his natural impulse to obey.
The chair looked like a forties era office chair, heavy and armless, with slats evenly spaced across the back. The openings looked just wide enough for a man of Steve's size to be able to slip his hands through. Megan watched the play of muscle across his chest as he did, the small movements of his metal-pierced nipples drawing her eye like a magnet and making her teeth and lips itch in anticipation.
Reaching once again into her backpack, Megan retrieved an envelope. She pulled the remaining chair the office contained in front of Steve, just out of reach were he to change his mind and pull his arms from where they rested behind him. Megan removed the contents of the envelope and sat down opposite Steve.
"Before we get started, we need to go over a few rules first."
Rules?
What the hell was that all about?
Steve was puzzled as hell. And more turned on than he could ever remember being before. Turned on. Shit. He was practically panting with anticipation. He'd been stiff as a lead pipe since Megan's hand had 'accidentally' brushed his fly. And like the mercury on a hot day, he'd risen with the heat.
She was sitting just out of reach, holding a business-sized envelope; the way it bulged told him it held more than just a single sheet of paper. The hands that held the packet were neat with short, unpolished nails. The eyes that looked down momentarily were equally free of enhancements. Her clothes were nothing special, either. So why did he find her the most attractive woman he'd ever met?
The whole package that Megan presented looked wholesome and clean. Good enough to eat. Steve moved his hands to grip the chair to keep himself from reaching for her. He wanted to dive into her. Bury his head between her legs and eat her sweet little pussy until she came, screaming his name.
And he could do it, too. If only she'd let him.
A grin breaking through at the thought, Steve was momentarily distracted from the matter of the envelope and the papers they held. It took the dry flick of Megan opening the envelope to draw him back.
Unfolding the mass, she said, "I want you to have these. They're copies of my driver's license, my work information..." She peeled pages off the stack, coolly efficient as she ticked them off. "And a summary of my last physical. Here, go ahead and take them. You should look them over."
Steve unwound his hands from the back of the chair to take what Megan was holding out to him.
The driver's license told him she was older than she looked. Twenty-five to his own twenty-eight. He'd bet that baby face got her carded any place they didn't know her, though. The W-2 form was dated less than six months ago and showed her to be an employee of Bonner Food Service, d.b.a. "Christy's Catering." The health summary was printed on letterhead from a major health plan in San Francisco, declaring Megan Mussina to be healthy and free of sexually transmitted diseases.
"We won't do much tonight. I'd like to see the same information from you first."
He might have thought it was a joke---something Megan had been put up to by his older brother Rick. But one look in her burnt chocolate eyes told him she was stone cold serious.
"What the fuck is this?" Steve asked, finally. "You've got me hot as hell, lady. But I've gotta tell you, this is the weirdest fu---first date I've ever had."
God knew he'd done a lot in the name of getting laid. Steve had been shoe shopping. Been grilled by suspicious fathers. And he'd been dragged to more chick films than he could come close to remembering, let alone name. Be he'd never---ever---been stripped half-naked and asked to submit paperwork.
"What is this? A date or a job interview?"
"Mmm. How about a little of both?" She didn't fidget or drum her fingers. The woman who looked back at him had the kind of calm he associated with surgeons and fighter pilots.
"It's also about safety.
And trust.
And maybe the most intense sexual experience of your life.
But you've got to trust your partner. And know that, no matter what, you're safe. There are a lot of nutballs out there and bad things can happen. So I want you to know who you're dealing with. Just like I want to know who I'm dealing with. Anyone who isn't willing to give you that should make you walk away in a heartbeat."
Steve couldn't help the shout of laughter that erupted at that last bit.
"Ha! About the worst thing that I can imagine happening would be not getting to fuck you blind. If that's what we're talking about, show me where to sign, sweet thing. I am more than ready."
"I'm serious about this, Steve. And you'd better be, too. If you don't feel what I feel---and I'm talking some pretty incredible chemistry here---that's okay. No harm, no foul. We walk away right now. Because nothing is more important than safety. If you can't live with that, we'll just say good night and goodbye."
A knee-jerk rejection of the idea arose in him, and Steve opened his mouth to protest. But whatever he was going to say was squelched in an instant with one look from Megan.
"Stop," she silenced him. "Before you say anything, stop. And think. Think about what you want." He felt the weight of her words press down on them both. The seconds of silence spun out between them as Steve did as she directed. He wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to be thinking about, though. He knew he wanted her. Wanted her with a fierceness he couldn't recall feeling with any other woman and didn't pretend to understand. He wanted to drive himself into her, over and over. Take her. Make her his.
A series of pictures of the two of them sprang fully-formed into his head. One after another, like a series of stop-action photos, they flashed across his mind.
Both naked. Sweaty. Limbs tangled. Two bodies so hot you could feel the steam rise off of them. Droplets of moisture run down her torso. One hand gripped her pussy, thumb on her clit. Another hand held her ass, driving her down on his rampant cock. Her head thrown back as she comes, screaming his name. Back arched, frozen in time, her hands clutch his chest. She slumps forward along his body, limp and satisfied from something only he could give her. A contented---okay, smug---grin breaks across his face.
Steve pulled himself back mentally from the scene playing out in his mind. He wasn't sure exactly what Megan was asking him. What she expected from him. But he knew he couldn't live with himself as a man if he backed away from her challenge. And that's exactly what it had been.
He looked that unflinching gaze square in the eye. "Okay. We'll do it your way. Because babe, you haven't got what I can't take. Where do I sign?"
Megan watched the struggle resolve itself inside the man in the chair and savored the thrill that rolled over her. She'd won and she knew it.
A lot of men would have flipped her off---verbally, if not physically---on their way out the door by now. She knew because it had happened more than once. It happened sometimes that a man responded to the particular energy Megan knew she projected. Only to find that when it came right down to it, he couldn't give up the control.
Megan didn't blame them. She knew what she was asking ran counter to every bit of cultural training they'd ever learned in their lives. Even the ones she could sense had a powerful need to. Sometimes the fear was greater. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what it meant to their image of themselves as a man. Fear of what their friends would think if they found out.
"Good." A smile broke slowly over her face as, at last, she let herself enjoy the moment. It was always a little like the first dance with a new partner and Megan luxuriated in the feeling. As powerful, as erotic, as a first kiss, the first time a new partner submitted was a special rush no roller coaster could duplicate.
Although it was doubtful Steve realized it, he had just placed himself completely in her hands.
"Tonight we'll play a little. But mostly we'll just talk. We'll get to know each other a little bit. I want you to sit in the chair and tell me what you like. And what you don't like."
Blue-green eyes looked back at her while her fingers itched to run themselves through that incredible hair that drew her like an irresistible magnet. To keep herself from reaching for him, Megan leaned forward in her chair and sat on her hands.
"Unzip your pants for me. I want to see that pretty cock I know you've got in there." A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine at the thought. Megan had imagined it, and she was ready to reward herself with her first good look at him. Steve's hands moved slowly to his fly---too slow for her taste. Besides, it was time to begin. "Now, Steve!"
Both hands reached for the snap; the left popping the button free while the right lowered the zipper in one smooth tug.
"Now show me." No underwear impeded his progress as Steve shoved aside the now open fly of his shorts. The cock that sprang free was thick and long, its head already flushing purple with lust. So beautiful. Megan wanted to fall to her knees and worship its silken perfection. "Nice. Wrap your hands through the back of the chair again and let's have that talk."
"Lady," he rumbled, "you are definitely something else." But he did as she said, inserting his arms through the chair's wide slats and gripping the seat behind.
"Thank you."
"I'm not so sure that was a compliment."
"I am." She couldn't sit still another second. She had to move before the energy building inside her exploded. Controlling her movements through sheer steely resolve, Megan stood slowly. Making sure Steve's eyes were on her, she crossed her hands and gripped the hem of her shirt, pulling it slowly over her head. When his shoulders bunched, as though preparing to release his grip on the chair and launch himself at her, Megan stopped him with a shake of her head. "Ah-ah."
Bracing her legs, Megan reached around behind her back to release the catch of her bra. She wasn't overly-endowed on top and didn't really need to wear one, but the ceremony was important. Men loved that sort of thing and it was important to keep his attention focused, so she drew the moment out.
The red lace she'd chosen especially for the occasion came off without a hitch. Not that her modest curves were anything to worry about.
Except for the rasp of their breathing it was so quiet in the room that, for the first time, Megan was aware of sounds from the bar filtering up through the floor. It was a Friday and it sounded like Goldie's had a full house, the whiskey-rough voice of Melissa Etheridge belting one out a signal that Jaci was in charge downstairs.
"You like doing that. Don't you?" His voice raw with desire, in that moment Steve was any woman's wet-dream. Big, half-naked and waiting for her.
"Taking my bra off? Yeah, I do. I hate 'em. I only wore it as a courtesy. You should feel honored."
"No. Controlling the action. Making me sweat."
"Don't worry, baby. I'll make sure you have a good time. Just trust me to take good care of you." Megan smiled as she dropped the scrap of lace and stepped in close to him. She moved in close between his widespread legs, his breath gusting warmly over her bare breasts. Megan reached around behind his head to find the elastic band that held his ponytail and quickly pulled it free. She dropped it without another thought, impatient to finally---finally---touch that amazing hair.
Thrusting both hands greedily into the silky depths, Megan used it as a grip, tugging Steve's head forward to her breast. The contrasting sensations of cool silk in her hands and hot mouth on her breast wrenched a groan from her. Steve didn't waste any time, easily drawing her nipple deep into the moist paradise of his mouth.
His tongue laved the soft underside of her breast, while his teeth grated lightly over her skin. Unleashed from its confinement, his hair slid like heavy satin through her hands, the citrus-y scent of his shampoo underlain by his own unique scent invading her nostrils. Irresistibly drawn, Megan lowered her nose to Steve's head, drawing the intoxicating scent deeper into her lungs.
Surrounded by him on all sides, the heat of his big body, the strength in his long runner's legs, the power of his broad shoulders---all at her command---thrilled her. The mouth drawing hard on her flesh was making her toes curl. She wanted all of him and she wanted him now.
"Easy there, big fella." Using that sinfully seductive hair as a control again, Megan tugged firmly on it, pulling his mouth away before she lost her mind. It half killed her, but she made herself release the handfuls of hair she'd been gripping like a drowning woman. His lips were slick with the same moisture that clung to her nipple and Megan had a sudden, powerful urge to see them bruised and full from her kisses.
Without breaking his gaze, she reached down between them for his neglected cock. Wrapping a hand around as much of it as she could, Megan gave it a preliminary stroke.
"Tell me a fantasy, Steve. What's the hottest thing you've never done?"
It was heaven.
It was pure fucking torture.
It was the hottest thing he'd ever done.
And neither one of them was even naked yet. It took a few seconds for the meaning of her words to work their way through the fog of lust that shrouded his brain. She'd asked a question. And she expected an answer.
"You. I want to fuck you."
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Steve wanted to call them back. He could read the disappointment on Megan's face. Shit. He needed to get this right.
Usually he was the smooth one with women. Ever since he was a kid he'd been next in line behind his brother. Taller, stronger, bigger---Rick had attracted women by just existing. Steve had had to learn to compete, and he'd done it with charm. By the time he'd reached high school he could talk a girl into his car and out of her panties. But just when it mattered most his entire lifetime's supply of smooth had deserted him. It probably had something to do with the one small hand wrapped around his cock.
"We'll get to that." His pulse skyrocketed at her words, spoken so matter-of-factly. "But I want to find out more about you first. You must have some fantasies. Tell me a fantasy," she coaxed.
As she talked Megan had resumed stroking him, one hand on his dick, the other tracing circles on his chest. The hand holding his cock slid authoritatively toward the end and a thumb pressed sharply into the tip. His moan of pleasure was strangled at birth as Megan's other hand pinched a nipple. Ever since he'd had them pierced they'd been extra sensitive---almost an electric connection to his cock---and the twin sensations brought him up off the chair.
Or would have if Megan hadn't countered his movement by bracing a hand against his chest and squeezing harder on his cock.
"Easy there, big fella. Here..." Releasing her grip on his rigid flesh, Megan stepped back. "I'll stop distracting you and let you concentrate. How's that?"
Letting her hand trail over his arm and shoulder, she moved around him. Never completely out of contact, Megan now stood directly behind him. His hands still pushed through the back of the chair, Steve stretched his fingers, instinctively seeking her flesh. Whether by accident or design, he could just nearly skim the smooth skin of her thigh with his fingertips.
Megan's hands moved to his head again, fingers grazing his scalp, and began sifting rhythmically through his hair, tugging with an erotically firm touch. A shiver raced up his spine, reached across his shoulders and circled his head, as her hands again and again combed from crown to shoulders.
"I have no intention of repeating myself, Steve. I'm waiting."
It might have been accidental, but Megan's use of his name was accompanied by a tug so sharp his eyes watered. As another shiver swept his body his cock gave a corresponding twitch. How could he be expected to answer questions when he burned so hot for her he wasn't sure he could still form words?
"I'll just go sit over there and give you a minute to think."
"God, no!" He amazed himself that he was able to squeeze out that much. "Don't stop."
As fingers slowly raked his scalp again, Steve's eyes closed in pleasure and the floor tilted. Or maybe he was the one leaning. Either way it felt so damn good he'd say just about anything to keep her hands on him. Waves of sensation washed over him as magic hands alternately tugged and soothed. A thought nagged at the edge of his consciousness and he tried to focus. But the sense of well-being that flooded all the empty places inside him effectively shut down everything else.
He could no more form words than he could fly. Except he was flying. Steve floated on the wash of sensation. Until his nagging conscience overtook him with the awareness that the sizzle of warmth that had surrounded him was gone. He was floating in his bubble alone now.
And with his next breath the bubble was gone.
Reluctantly, Steve opened his eyes to see Megan standing over him, her expression unreadable. As he mentally searched for the cause of her displeasure, he had a moment's panic when he realized she was no longer touching him. How to get her back?
He held his breath and blurted the next thought that popped into his head. "Two women. At once."
He began to breathe again when she responded ... "And?"
"And they're both really into it. Really want it. They want it bad---from me." The words began slowly, but picked up momentum as Steve described the half-formed idea taking shape in his head. "I take care of them both. One with my mouth. One with my dick. It's so fucking good. The best they've ever had. They can't believe it."
He stumbled a bit over the last word, half-expecting to be whacked upside the head for letting her see what pig he was deep down.
"Mmm, yeah. That's a classic." Megan didn't seem upset, though. Or disgusted. Just the opposite, in fact. "And you probably wouldn't fight too hard if one of them was a bi-racial underwear model, either. Would you?"
"I'd tough it out."
"You're so brave. I'm in awe." The lightest touch, so light Steve couldn't be sure it was there, brushed his forehead. "So, what else?"
"What else? You want more?"
"Oh yeah." Coming close again, Megan hiked up her skirt with one hand, using the other for balance. Then slowly, heart-stoppingly slowly, she lowered herself across his knees. "I want to hear what else you fantasize about." Releasing her skirt, she once again wrapped her hand around his cock.
"Shit. Like I can think about anything but your hand on my dick right now."
"Really? So this is working for you?" Using both hands now, Megan began to slowly pump him, fingers rolling over his flesh like a constricting python. So fucking good! She was killing him. But what a way to go. "Has anyone ever tied you down?"
Sitting on his lap the way she was, their eyes were about even. Hers were such a dark brown, almost black, that her pupils were nearly swallowed up by them.
"No."
"Ever thought about it?" Another double pump of his cock had him groaning his denial.
"Huh-uh."
"You can't lie to me, Steve. I've got the ultimate lie-detector in my hands and it says you have thought about it."
Sure enough, his dick gave an involuntary twitch. His gut clenched and he could see himself tied down. At her mercy as she took her pleasure from his body. His cock.
Someone moaned and her mouth slammed down on his in wet, devouring kiss. Steve opened to her, tried to inhale her, their tongues tangling wildly. The hot mouth that meshed with his took no prisoners. The hands working his helpless dick were merciless. He couldn't fight the feelings as he was lashed between the brutal pleasures of her fingers and mouth.
Megan's body shifted and the burning moist heat of her pussy brushed the base of his shaft. God, he wanted inside of her! It would finish him off, but wanted it. Needed it.
He wasn't going to get it. The irresistible rhythm of his cock inside the prison of her fingers pushed him to the edge of a towering cliff. And then over.
This is not love.
You are not in love. It's way too soon. What you're feeing is the result of hormones and chemistry. And the fact that you haven't gotten off with anything that wasn't powered by a pair of C batteries in over a year.
Still hadn't, for that matter.
Megan looked again at the face before her and pondered the unknown. What were the odds that someone so responsive, so intense, so perfect for her had been placed in her path? What were the odds that someone like him even existed? And living in her own little podunk town. She wouldn't have believed it herself if she hadn't just experienced the unexplainable. Steve was every Domme's most un-secret dream brought to life in every exquisite detail.
No, that wasn't true. Not every Domme's.
But definitely this one's.
Megan was ready to swear that he'd slipped into sub-space for a few minutes there. And she doubted he even realized it. Probably didn't even know what it was. Which made what an incredible natural he was that much more amazing.
"Are you alright?" Her voice sounded husky and awkward to her own ears. What had passed between them was powerful and she wasn't ashamed to admit she was a little shaken. And more than little touched.
Opening his eyes slowly, it took Steve a few moments to focus on her. His gaze had the dazed look of someone who'd had too much to drink.
"Yeah. I'm good." His eyes closed again briefly until he roused himself with a noticeable jerk. "Wrecked, but good."
Reaching into her back pocket, Megan removed a clean handkerchief she had placed there while dressing for her date. Her plan for the evening had been a loose one and she hadn't been certain whether or not she would need it. But what might as easily have served as a blindfold became not just a matter of good manners, but an expression of caretaking. And even tenderness.
She took the square of soft, white cloth with its edging of old lace and gently wiped away the sticky semen that covered her fingers and Steve's cock. She couldn't resist a last, fond caress as she returned it to its resting place behind the placket of his carpenter's shorts. Her aching cunt clenched in regret, as though it knew it wouldn't be making the acquaintance of that magnificent specimen tonight. Her clit throbbed in time to the blood that still sang in her veins. Her head told her she wouldn't die from frustration. But the hollow core of her that continued to pulse in readiness wasn't so sure.
"You were ... amazing." Steve looked back at her and it tugged at Megan's heart to see the doubt in them. "I can see you've never had anyone who appreciated how special you are. You're incredible."
As if of their own accord, her lips had eased closer to his, her breath whispering across Steve's. It was the most natural thing in the world to close the distance and press her lips to his in a tender kiss.
It felt like a first kiss.
Whereas before their mouths had clashed in a ritual of passion and claiming, this was a breathtakingly gentle meeting. Megan's tongue stroked the seam of Steve's lips in feather-light brushes like the staccato beat of hummingbird wings. But something was missing.
"Put your arms around me. I want to feel you holding me, Steve."
Faster than she would have thought possible, considering he first had to untangle his hands from the back of the chair, strong arms clamped around her waist and back. Megan responded in kind, wrapping her own arms around Steve's neck. His kiss somehow caught her by surprise, but it felt completely right to angle her head to meet him and take the kiss deeper.
The kiss went on, tongues stroking, lips tasting, until Megan realized she had begun to rock her hips against him. The white-hot encounter just ended might have brought Steve some relief, but it had created quite the opposite condition in Megan. And clamor though her body might for a long, hard ride, her mind understood that she had stick to her plan. She needed to cool things down, not heat them back up again.
Breaking away, Megan drew a long, steadying breath. "We'd better stop there for now."
"Stop? I don't think so. I finally got my hands on you and I've got a whole laundry list of things I want to do with you."
Steve's hair was still mussed from Megan's fingers. The light glinted off the golden barbells through his nipples and drew her eye. But the slow, thorough exploration of his body that she had planned would have to wait. Rules and cautions existed for a reason. They were there for everyone's protection. No matter how she might ache to roll those flat, male nipples through her teeth while she tormented his luscious cock---moving too fast would only endanger them both.
"Good. We can compare lists, then, because I have plans for you, too. Later. After you get me those papers. Besides," she paused as she climbed slowly off the large lap where she'd been so comfortable, "looks like our pizza is right on time."
"You did what?!"
"Jeez, Jaci. You could call dogs with that shriek." Megan glanced around the Jim Dandy Diner, trying to judge how many of the morning's customers were reacting to her friend's cackle. It was hard to tell how many were looking because of the volume and pitch of Jaci's yell and how many were staring because that's what people always did when Jaci was around.
Wondering for the two-thousandth time what life must be like for the six-foot-tall, blonde, model-gorgeous ones in life, Megan realized the description could just as well describe the man she'd been with last night. She realized she liked the phrase 'been with' in relation to Steve and let it roll around her mind. There was something a little bit illicit and a whole lot thrilling about it. It had been a long time since she'd been with anyone for anything more than a casually social evening.
She'd had dinner with Evan Coughlin once, but they'd been more passionate about their respective businesses than each other. She loved ice skating and she'd gone out for drinks with an ex-pro hockey player she'd met at the rink. He was a nice enough guy, and Megan had enjoyed skating with him and listening to his stories of his playing days with the Vancouver Canucks. But there'd been no spark on her side and she'd let him down as gently as she knew how when he'd pressed for more.
"Girl, you did not. Tell me you did not stick your fingers up your pussy and paint his cheeks with your ... your 'dew.'"
"Okay. Have it your way. I didn't." Megan toyed with her coffee cup, spinning it in place inside its saucer, to give her hands something to do. What she had done last night with Steve in the office above Goldie's had felt as natural as breathing. Like hearing music you hadn't heard in years and remembering the steps of a dance you had once known by heart, being with Steve had felt effortless. After the first couple of stilted steps, they had danced together like they'd done it a hundred times before.
But from the minute she had closed the door to her little Honda hybrid, leaving Steve to watch her pull away, Megan had begun second-guessing herself. What if she'd gone too fast and freaked him out? He'd never been dommed before, she could tell. His actions were too awkward and hesitant. She'd bet any amount of currency that he knew nothing about Dominant/submissive relationships.
"Oh my God, did you really? You actually striped his cheeks like a bad sixties TV Indian? You are something else, girl. You know that?"
Megan looked up in time to see her friend's eyes stray toward the door. The bells above it tinkled as an elderly couple left. Looking from Jaci to the door and back again, Megan responded.
"Yeah, I get that a lot." From the corner of her eye Megan saw her old friend Evan walk in and take a seat at the counter and Jaci's million-dollar smile dimmed by a few thousand megawatts. Curiouser and curiouser. "Maybe I wanted him to have something to remember me by. So sue me."
"So. You and Steve Eriksson." Her friend picked up the thread of the conversation again. "I never would have predicted that. You're so big city and he's so ... so Remington."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning ... I don't know what it means, Megan. Okay, I guess what I'm saying is, I don't see what the attraction is. I see what your attraction is for him. You're my friend and you're beautiful and smart and interesting. But Steve? Oh, sure he's got the long hair and the great bod and he's a partner in his own company but---hey, when I put it like that I might even be interested." Jaci's grin was back full-power now.
"Forget it. He's taken. Besides, you play for the other team. Remember?"
Steve stepped out of the shower and glanced at the clock on the bathroom sink. The little clock with large numbers, easy to read without his contact lenses in, showed 5:10. He had twenty minutes before Megan was due to arrive. Toweling himself off, he stepped into the bedroom, giving it another visual inspection. He had finally convinced her to come to his place for the evening and he had high hopes for the bedroom later.
Pulling on a clean pair of shorts, Steve glanced around the room. While he didn't figure he'd get tapped for any magazine spreads, he liked to think it was a step above the usual bachelor dump. He'd spent enough years bunking with Rick before Dad's construction business had taken off to appreciate his own space and he'd put some time and money into it.
The bed was a pine California King and Steve liked being able to lie in the middle of it and not be able to feel an edge. He'd had to ask the sales girl to help pick out the colors for the bedding, though. Being color-blind, he didn't trust himself not to pick something that would make the first woman he brought over run screaming. And asking his mom just seemed too pathetic.
He wasn't a pig, but he wasn't anal about cleaning, either. He'd been around enough women in his life, though, to know that most of them put a higher priority on things like an absence of dirty underwear on the floor than most men did. Maybe it came from working in the construction industry, but Steve figured he was at least partially responsible for Oro County's perpetual water shortage. He was addicted to showers. He had to take one when he got home from a job---the dirt and the grime on his skin that came with working in, under, and around, old houses made his skin crawl. He'd been known to take another one in the morning, as well.
Cutting his hair would probably be a time saver, but hadn't been able to bring himself to do it for a couple of years at least. Chalking it up to laziness and a distaste for change, Steve had realized that it had all been for a reason the instant Megan had slid her hands into it, though. He closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him, like he had at least a dozen times a day since. The prickle of awareness, the way the tiny hairs on the back of his neck lifted, the blood that rushed to his cock. It all felt so freaking good it was almost better than sex. Almost.
From thinking about her hands in his hair it was only a small jump to think about Megan's hands on his cock.
Shit. He'd never get things ready on time at this rate. Steve could just imagine Megan walking in on him fisting his cock. And explaining that he was fantasizing about her sounded even worse.
He combed his hair quickly, leaving it to dry in the still-warm evening air while he pulled on his favorite blue and gold Hawaiian shirt. Besides liking the colors, it had the advantage of not fitting too tightly. The piercings that felt so amazing during sex could be a dead give-away in a snug knit shirt. He figured Megan would have enough clues to how turned on he was. But there was no need to spell it out for her.
Involved in pulling the take out containers from the oven where they'd been keeping warm, Steve nearly didn't hear the knock on the door. Trying not to look too eager, the anticipation he'd had building in his system all week nearly boiled over when he pulled the door open and saw her.
Megan, while technically still on his doorstep, was leaning over the railing---peering into his living room window. The short sundress she wore rode up the backs of her toned thighs, a scant few inches of flowered material blocked his view of heaven, while what he now recognized as her favorite blue backpack hung from one tanned shoulder.
"Hey, there. If you want the tour, come on in."
She turned, smiling her rare smile that never failed to turn him inside-out. "Hey, yourself. I was about to give up. If you didn't want me to come over, all you had to do was say so."
"Fu---, uh, hell, uh, I mean..." Suddenly his tongue wanted to do anything but form words. "No. Absolutely I wanted you to come over. Come on. I'll show you around." He stood to one side, motioning Megan inside.
She walked in and something primitive turned over in Steve's chest. She was in his home. He'd had women over before, of course. But this felt different. He wanted her to like where he lived. He wanted her to be comfortable here. He knew instantly that he would be taking mental note of her reactions to everything. What she liked and didn't like. He'd never much cared one way or the other, before, what a woman thought about his place. But he sure as hell cared this time.
"Mmm. Smells good. What's cooking?"
"I picked up dinner from Mama Rosa's. Lasagna and Fettuccini Alfredo. Everybody loves lasagna. And fettuccini in case you don't eat meat."
They were standing close. It would take only the smallest hint from Megan and he would fold himself around her. He'd always been partial to tall, leggy girls before Megan. But he thought he might have permanently changed his preference now. He liked the feeling of being physically larger. Her protector.
"You're talking to a chef. The only thing chefs like more than cooking is eating. There's not much I don't eat. Hey, this is nice. Did you have help decorating?" Megan did a slow turn and Steve tried not to beam. It was stupid. All she'd done was compliment him on his furniture and he felt like he'd just won a major award.
They were in the hallway, with a good view of the living room and dining area. The entertainment center dominated the living room, with the big flat-screen TV and kick ass stereo. He'd might have gone a little overboard on it but, hey, he liked sports. He liked being able to see the droplets of sweat flying off the athletes in high-definition. So what? He didn't have to answer to anyone. If he wanted to spend big bucks on state-of-the-art electronics, he would.
"You mocking my he-man club house?"
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Good. You'd better not be playing with me. A man doesn't appreciate having his big-screen mocked."
Megan's eyelashes made a slow sweep downward before eyes like bittersweet chocolate flicked him with a sidelong glance. "Oh, I'll play with you, alright..."
Time shifted into slow motion. The measured beat of his heart echoed in Steve's ears, while the breath he'd been drawing skidded to a halt at the back of his throat. He had the eerie sensation of his blood halting its flow through his veins.
Only his eyes moved, and they locked on Megan's---
"...later. Let's eat first, though. I'm Starvin' Marvin."
Megan had purposely kept things light while they'd eaten their food. Although they had met twice since their evening at Goldie's, this was their first real 'date.'
The two times she had seen Steve since that night had both been at the restoration project his company had going. It hadn't been hard to rearrange the lunch truck's route to end up in the neighborhood of the old Swann mansion, with its large white and green sign proclaiming it "Another Quality Restoration by Eriksson and Sons" boldly planted out front.
Megan had never understood other women's fascination with construction workers. Never understood the appeal. But after walking in on Steve stripped to the waist, a fine sheen of sweat highlighting the ridges and valleys of his sleek musculature, she was learning. He had been stretching for some wires just barely within reach and then pulling them through a hole in the plaster wall. Watching him standing up on his toes, arms outstretched, Megan had spent a delightful thirty seconds imagining the rest of his clothing gone, his arms tied. She decided later that he could leave the boots on.
The meetings had served a purpose, though, giving them both an opportunity think and evaluate. Strong as the attraction was, it was important to find out if they liked each other aside from their obvious physical compatibility. Did they like each other for who they were? Was the other someone they would like to spend time with in the outside world? Megan often thought that dating in the D/s community was a lot like dating in the so-called vanilla world. The characteristics desired, like honesty and integrity, were the same. There were just a few bonus questions at the end of the questionnaire.
While she couldn't speak for what Steve felt, Megan was positively smitten. Not only was he so close to her physical ideal that the differences didn't matter, but he was a good guy. He held down a responsible job, spoke of his family with obvious affection, and probably even helped little old ladies across the street.
Like right now, for instance. He was picking up the plates they'd eaten their dinner off of.
Megan called his name and he looked up.
"Yeah?
"Steve, you're scaring me. I'll tell you right now---if you rinse off those plates and put them in the dishwasher I'm walking out of here."
"What?" He actually stopped what he was doing. "Why?"
"Because it's unnatural and it's freaking me out, that's why."
He grinned. "But is it impressing you? I'll go back to burping and scratching my nuts as soon as I'm sure of you."
Rising from the beautiful oak table Steve had confessed over dinner to having made, Megan moved around it until she stood in front of him, inches away. Reaching out, she gripped him through the denim of his shorts, squeezing a handful of his cock and balls.
When she knew she had his attention she told him softly, "You'll do exactly what you're told, Steven. You'll start by licking my pussy until I tell you to stop." His eyes widened and his breathing hitched erratically, whether from excitement or pain Megan couldn't be sure. "And if you're very good, I might---and I stress 'might'---allow you to come, too."
Let the games begin.
Thankfully it was a big table and Steve had already cleared most of the debris of their dinner, because Megan had plans for it. Made of hundred-year-old oak salvaged from one of his jobs, it bore marks of use and the unmistakable patina of age. But, more importantly, the legs looked sturdy enough for what she had in mind. After taking the plates from his now paralyzed hands and ditching them in the kitchen, Megan had returned to the dining room where Steve still stood, frozen to the spot. Hoisting herself up onto the table, she spread her legs and took the hem of her dress in her hands.
"Here's what we're going to do. You start by taking off your clothes. For every item you take off, I raise my skirt. That was a wonderful meal and I'm feeling generous, so we'll say I raise it two inches for every piece of clothing. Does that sound fair?"
His Adam's apple did a double-clutch as Steve swallowed, then nodded. Megan shushed him when his lips parted as though to speak. "Ah ah. You speak only to say 'no' or 'I don't understand.' You don't need to say 'yes'. Just do as you're told. Say 'no' at any time and the game stops. Do you understand, Steve?"
He nearly forgot himself immediately, and Megan realized she hadn't made enough allowance for Steve being new at the game. When the first 'ye---' sound came out of his mouth, she reminded him. "Just do as you're told."
Fingers reaching for the top button of his shirt, Steve fumbled the first one, working it free only with difficulty. Having the same problem with the second, he huffed a snort of impatience, grabbed the shirt by its hem and pulled it off over his head. A beautiful pattern of gold hibiscus on a blue background that did wonderful things for his eyes, the second he had it off and Megan could feast on the sight of his naked torso, she was nevertheless delighted it was gone.
"You are so beautiful. It's a crime for you to wear clothes. If I could, I would take you to a desert island and you would never wear them again." Her voice was choked---constricted with emotion. The words came from her heart, but she struggled to get them out. Clearing her throat, Megan nodded to his shorts. "Keep going."
Steve didn't speak---good boy!---but his eyes darted to the edge of her skirt.
He was right, she needed to keep her part of the game going. But she needed to reinforce who issued the commands and who was the willingly commanded.
"For that little piece of insolence you'll be punished later. Now you'll be begging twice as long before you'll be allowed to come. And for being slow to respond to an order you forfeit half the distance I raise my skirt. One inch instead of two, this time. Now, do you want to risk any more or are you going to take off those shorts?"
Megan thought she detected a faint hint of movement, as though he wanted to shake his head. But Steve obviously had a feel for the game and stopped himself, instead stripping off his shorts and underwear, until he stood in just his socks and running shoes.
Long and flushed with a deep rose tint to its head, Steve's erection curved a little to stand tall against his belly, nearly reaching his navel. Beautiful in its arousal, it bobbed teasingly, as though calling to her. Megan wanted to kiss it like a shy boy's first experience. She lusted to suck on it and treat it like her favorite ice cream cone, swirling her tongue around it until the sweet syrup trickled down her throat. She wanted to hold herself above it, her juicy slit poised for the long, slow glide down it.
The anticipation was killing her.
Raising her skirt well past the two inches the game called for, Megan could feel the heat of Steve's gaze on her barely covered pussy. She'd begun creaming the moment she'd grabbed his jewels and hadn't stopped since. The thought of that delicious mouth glued to her swollen clit had her hotter than a firecracker and it took a major effort on her part not to squirm.
Instead she rewarded him with a small smile. "Too bad you're not wearing your work boots. I seem to have developed quite a fantasy of you in them and nothing else." She heaved a little sigh. "Go ahead and take your shoes off."
Steve obeyed faster than Megan could remember seeing a man move before and it was finally time to give the nice man his reward.
Hiking her skirt the final two inches revealed a pair of Megan's tiniest thong panties. So small they barely qualified as a garment, the miniscule scrap of daffodil yellow eyelet was held to her body by delicate filaments no thicker than the floss that gave them their irreverent nickname.
"Come here, baby." Megan called softly as she indicated the chair in front of her. "Help me off with these. It's time for dessert."
Yes, ma'am!
As though released from a spell, Steve practically dove for the chair Megan indicated. Holy Mary, mother of God, was she trying to kill him?
He hoped so.
Like a lighthouse calling to a lost ship, the scrap of yellow that shielded her sweet flesh from his view beckoned.
"Sit down and make yourself comfortable. You're going to be there a while." Her voice was a velvet whisper, like fine old scotch. Her thighs were beautiful. Long and toned. And, like the gates of heaven, Steve knew paradise lay just beyond them. His hands slipped along their smooth length, reverential lest he be expelled before he'd even entered. When he reached the tiny strings holding the material in place, he slipped his thumbs under them and tore his gaze away to find hers.
Steve watched as her eyelids drooped low, then lower still, before she gave a brief nod and lifted her bottom to allow him to slide the material away. But before discarding them, Steve took a moment to raise them to his nose and draw the exotic perfume deep into his lungs. Like a connoisseur appreciated the first hint of a fine wine by its cork, so Steve's own eyes closed briefly as he savored the unique medley of scents that was Megan.
Placing the panties safely aside, Steve reached for that sweet bottom, intent on sinking his fingers into its satin flesh and losing himself in her.
"Since when do you eat with your hands? I'm going to have words with whoever trained you. Hands behind your back, Steve. Grip your forearms."
Megan issued orders like an old-school drill sergeant. How she managed it without raising her voice, though, escaped him. She never spoke above a soft conversational tone and always sounded like such a lady. But the authority in her voice was unmistakable.
Steve hadn't figured it out yet, but something about it got him so fucking hot.
He didn't know what kind of sick fuck that made him, but with that plump little kitty---all nicely shaved with only a neat little ruff showing, thank you, Jesus---staring him the face, Steve didn't much care. He'd drown in her flesh tonight and sort out the details tomorrow.
Leaning forward about to make contact, Steve was leading with his tongue when hands gripped the back of his head. Threading her fingers into his hair, Megan let him know that this would be done at her pace. Her way.
She guided him the final few inches until, at last, his mouth was on her. Hot and spicy, a little salty, Steve let the flavors roll around on his tongue. Tasting. Savoring.
Truth was, he loved going down on a woman. Everything from the throaty sounds of passion, to the unique flavor every woman had, to the texture of their skin in their most secret place, Steve loved it all. His own aching cock faded into the background noise of his consciousness and he was alone with his awareness of her. Aware only of how natural, how incredibly good, it felt to be filled with the taste of her---to be surrounded by the scent and feel of her---something deep inside him was satisfied. He wanted to freeze the moment in time and never lose it
He slid along the slick channels to either side of her pussy, circling her clit before drawing that tender flesh into this mouth. Eyes closed, mouth working, drinking her juices like a man dying of thirst, Steve realized that was exactly what he was. A man dying of thirst and he had finally found a woman who could quench his craving. Why the realization settled on him with such ease, he didn't know.
Steve didn't have enough brain cells left active to figure out why, so he gave up the fight and lost himself in the moment.
So fucking good! Her hips were pumping steadily now and the only thought Steve could identify, repeated itself over and over inside him. So fucking good! He licked and sucked, first circling around Megan's hard little clit, then sucking her labia into this mouth where he worked them gently with his teeth. Using suction, he drew on her clit, then thrust hard with his tongue into her slick pussy. Back and forth, clit then pussy, over and over.
The hands that had been tugging rhythmically on his hair suddenly grabbed hold and pulled hard, mashing his face and nose into her slippery flesh. Megan gasped and drew in a series of short panting breaths, each deeper than the last. Just as Steve thought he might smother, the hands in his hair went slack. The table reverberated with the thump of Megan falling backward in a boneless heap.
Steve couldn't hide the grin that spread over his face.
He was a god!
He had slayed her with just his tongue.
Now, if only someone would tell it to his aching cock and balls.
"Not bad. You lick pussy pretty well, in fact."
Megan had recovered quickly. Steve had given half a thought to picking her up---she was just a little thing, really---and carrying her to bed. He'd been mulling his options, with every second that ticked by punctuated by the pulsing of his neglected dick. He hadn't checked, but he was pretty sure if he did his balls would be turning a lovely shade of blue by now.
Megan had shoved herself up until she rested on her elbows, though, and awarded him the equivalent of a C+ in pussy licking. He didn't think so. That had been an A performance in anybody's book. His outraged ego wouldn't stand for it.
"Not bad? That must be one hell of a curve you grade on. That was---"
"Steve." Megan interrupted what was shaping up to be a pretty good rant. Fueled, as it was, by one-third bruised ego and two-thirds frustrated lust. "Unless you want this game to stop right now, your options are still 'I don't understand,' or do as you're told. Now, which is it going to be?"
Her dark mahogany hair, usually so shiny and neat, was mussed. Probably from when she'd hit the table after her climax. Other than that one tell-tale sign, though, Megan looked no different than she had when she'd been working on her spreadsheet that first night in Goldie's. Her eyes should have been sleepy with that just-got-laid look every man liked to see and know he was responsible for. Her lips should have been puffy and wet from his kisses. But they hadn't kissed.
Her eyes looked direct. One hundred percent pure business.
What the hell was this they were doing?
He didn't know. Megan fucked with his head until he didn't know up from down. He only knew he hadn't gotten laid yet and no way was he ready for it to end. And he didn't doubt for a minute that if he said the wrong thing, she'd turn on that heel barely half the length of his size elevens and walk out of there.
Jesus, could he be any more frustrated?
"I. Don't. Understand."
The only visible sign Steve could read off of Megan was a slightly deeper than usual intake of breath as she pushed herself the rest of the way up. Hopping off the table, she picked up her backpack from the empty chair where she'd tossed it earlier. He consoled himself that her first few steps hadn't been completely steady; what on any other woman he would have called a wobble in her walk.
Reaching into the bag, Megan retrieved a fistful of nylon rope.
"I want to tie your hands. May I?" A shiver skated up his spine at her matter-of-fact announcement. He looked back at her a long time before speaking, a million thoughts tumbling through his head.
"I don't understand."
"I want to finish what we started. To do that, I need to bind your hands." Megan looked back at him, eyes steady, breathing even. "And I think you want me to."
Megan knew she was rushing things but, damn, it was hard to control the want. Instinct told her that she had what he needed. That he needed to go to the next level and she was the only person in his life who could take him there. Her gut told her that if he backed down now he would retreat back to his safe vanilla existence and never challenge himself again. What kind of life would that be?
Deep inside her, Megan knew with everything she was that Steve was a sexual submissive.
Whether it was due to DNA, birth order, or the result of being breast-fed too long, the truth was nobody knew the why of it. And at the end of the day, what difference did it make anyway? It just was.
He was.
He could either face it and choose to accept it. Or he could turn his back on it and deny it even existed. That doing so would mean turning his back on her was only part of it. Ask any gay man still in the closet what giving up a basic part of your identity meant.
She could have wept in frustration that he was so close. So close to trusting. He needed to trust not only her, but his own instincts, as well.
Megan understood the fear that kept him from accepting her challenge. All his life he'd been taught that what he was feeling right now was wrong. That a real man didn't let anyone tell him what to do. Real men called the shots. In everything from what he did for a living to where and what he ate for dinner. But most especially in the bedroom.
She knew the kind of names men gave to anyone who was different. Faggot. Ball-less. Pussy-whipped. And those were the nice ones.
Clutching the rope in her hands to keep from reaching for him, she fought to keep the emotion from her face. It had to be his choice. Like coaxing a wild animal, Megan knew that the key was to project a calm exterior. If he sensed even a fraction of how tense she was ... how much his answer meant to her, she would lose him.
"Okay. We'll do it your way. Let's keep going."
"Lie down on the bed. Face up. Hands over your head."
Now that Megan knew Steve wasn't going to walk out---or worse---a calm had settled over her.
The play of muscle sliding under skin drew her eye irresistibly as Steve lowered himself to the big bed. The navy coverlet repeated the clean lines evident in the rest of the house. A wing chair sat in the corner, covered in an improbable plaid combining maroon, dark green and navy. Either Steve had surprisingly sophisticated taste in decorating or he'd had help. An unwelcome clench in her gut at the thought of the source of the presumed help reminded Megan that no matter how much she might want to own him, body and soul, in the present, he would always have a past. A past that existed without her.
Steve lay back on the bed, the dark comforter making a fine contrast, like an artist's drape, behind the graduated shades of his skin. He obviously worked outdoors fairly often, because the skin of his torso and arms was darker than that of his lean flanks. His Scandinavian heritage showed plainly in the fair skin there, while the sun-bleached hair of his legs and forearms was several shades lighter than the red-gold of his head and groin.
Having separated the bundle of rope into the three smaller lengths that made it up, Megan now drew the longest of the three through her hands as she circled the bed. Never taking her eyes off Steve's, she moved slowly, enjoying the slightly nervous, obviously excited sight of him---displayed as he was on the bed.
Not displayed quite enough, though.
"Spread your legs for me. I want to see every inch of you."
Eyes on her face, Steve cautiously did as he was told. Although she stood behind him, Megan knew that while his cock continued to strain upward toward his belly, his balls would now be visible when she eventually moved back between his legs.
"Now put your wrists together. Mmm, yeah, that's it. Oh, that's perfect."
The soft nylon rope slid between her fingers as she took a doubled length of it and laid it across his wrists. While she could feel his eyes on her, Megan kept her movements calm and deliberate. Wrapping the rope around his forearms a second and then third time, she drew the tail portion between his wrists and tied it off.
"Is it comfortable? Not binding anywhere?" She knew it wasn't, but Megan nevertheless ran her fingers between the rope and Steve's skin to confirm it.
"It's okay."
"You don't sound too sure." Megan leaned on the bed, bending low to caress his face with her lips. She kissed his broad forehead first, then the upward slope of one cheek.
"It's ... different." His lips skimmed her ear as she continued to drop small kisses on his upturned face, his breath carrying the scent of her own excitement back to her.
"It's perfect. You look wonderful." Megan only needed to turn her face slightly to bring her mouth in contact his. She tasted herself on his lips as their tongues began to explore and the memory of his mouth on her pussy shot a fresh bolt of lust through her. When Steve tried to deepen the kiss, Megan let him for just an instant before breaking it off. "I'm going to put the end of the rope down here, between the mattress and the box spring. Unless you really pull, it should stay put."
Matching actions to words, she tucked the lengths of nylon under the mattress before returning to his feet and shaking out the two remaining sections of rope.
Before things in San Francisco had gone so disastrously wrong with Damian, she had developed an interest in Shibari, the Japanese art of rope bondage. With its emphasis on visual presentation and the comfort of the one being bound, it was as beautiful as it was effective. Steve's height and coloring would make him a dream to work on. But that would have to wait for another time. One step at a time.
After securing Steve's feet in the same manner as she had his hands, Megan climbed up beside him on the bed.
"How do you feel?"
As turned on as she was, her voice came out low and husky. She couldn't explain it, but when she was truly excited her voice took on traces of a southern accent. Holly Hunter meets Kathleen Turner at her sultry, sexy wildest.
"Exposed."
"Poor baby." He sounded worried. She'd have to do something to put him at ease.
Taking his lovely long cock in one hand, she used her other hand to catch the pearls of fluid that had been collecting at its tip. Megan trailed two fingers through the salty liquid and brought them to her mouth as she ever so gently began pumping him. Letting him see her tongue as she swiped at the tips, Megan closed her eyes as she drew them into her mouth to suck them clean.
"Oh, God. You're killing me here. You know that, don't you?"
The strain in his voice would have told her he was on the edge, even if she hadn't been holding his cock in her hand, a visible throb pulsing through it.
Kneeling at his side, Megan continued stroking him with firm, easy sweeps of one hand. She brushed a few hairs off his face, where they had caught when he had begun tossing his head from side to side, and caught his chin in her hand.
"Look at me, Steve." He forced his eyes open with a visible effort. Megan stared at him hard. "Don't come until I tell you to. Got it?"
"What---?" Megan continued pumping ruthlessly on his captive cock. Unable to hold her gaze while she worked him, Steve's head dropped from her grasp.
"Don't come until I give you permission."
With that Megan turned her back on him as she regripped his gorgeous fat cock, lowered her head, and deep-throated him.
Shit. Oh, fuck! So good. Fuck. Dammit. Shit. Oh, fuck, no.
Steve tried, but there was no way he was holding this back. No way to keep his mind off the mind-blowing hotness of her mouth on him. Sweet and dark, swallowing him down. God, so fucking good!
One cool hand on his balls squeezed pressure down on him, but it was like holding back the sea with a child's sandcastle. It couldn't hope to stand before the crashing pleasure that swept over him. The heat and pleasure retreated for a moment, but the second time her mouth covered him and he felt her lips part to accept him, he was lost.
He tried to grip the sheets, but his hands were held uselessly over his head. He was powerless in the face of it and he cursed himself as he shot helplessly into her mouth.
Fully expecting Megan to pull off him in disgust, his sanity exploded as she stayed on him, riding out his orgasm. His brains were sucked out his dick as Megan swallowed him down, the tight constrictions of her throat triggering him again and again. Aftershocks were wrung out of him as she continued to draw him down, tongue wrapping languorously around the underside of his sensitive flesh, mouth suckling gently.
Megan released him at last, the furnace of her hot little mouth pulling away with a little pop, leaving him bereft.
"That's some mouth you've got on you there, sailor."
She sounded downright smug. As though she knew she'd ripped the soul right out of his body, taken it apart and rearranged it. He'd have to do something about that. Later.
"Mpfh."
Seconds ticked by. Steve tried to form words, but nothing came. He floated in a perfect place. Content. Fulfilled. Complete.
The bed shifted and warmth pressed in on him along one side. A welcome weight came to rest on his chest. Puffs of moist air gusted intermittently over his sensitized skin. He drifted.
Time was relative. He had no idea how long he lay there, Megan's head pillowed between his chest and shoulder. Until the weight shifted and moist heat closed over his nipple.
"Fucking a---"
"There you go again. Does your mother know you talk like that?"
"Dunno. Maybe you should ask her."
"I just might, at that. That would be some conversation. 'Mrs. Eriksson, your son Steve has an appalling lack of self-control. The absolute second I began going down on him ... Well! You simply wouldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. And not a one of them polite, let me tell you.'"
Megan laughed at her own joke, her chuckles vibrating along the wall of his bare chest.
Steve pried his eyes open as realization dawned and he became aware of her movements drawing her away from him. When had she taken the rest of her clothes off?
"Where you going? Get back over here and untie me, woman."
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. I am far from done with you. You'll just have to stay right where you are for a little while longer. You came before I gave you permission. It's time for a little lesson in control."
Jesus, is she joking?
"What, are you fucking kidding me? You were going down on me. Lady, I was so damn hot for you..."
The peace and contentment of moments before was gone. The injustice of it all---pissed him off? You betcha. It was fucking insane.
"Steve. Calm down. I know you were excited. But that's not the point."
"Yeah? Then what is?"
He felt like an idiot. Tied up like a chicken on a spit. Teased out of his mind and then beat up for doing what any man would do. He might have to listen, but he didn't have to like it. It didn't help that she just sat there, resting on her heels, looking back at him. Why was it the more pissed the man got, the calmer the woman became?
"This is all new to you, I know, what I'm asking of you. But for it to be as good as it can be, I need you to try. Do you think you can?"
"Try what? Do what?" Frustration boiled up and poured out of him, but he couldn't help it. "Megan, what the hell is it we're doing here, exactly? Tell me, because I'm not getting it."
What was going through her head? Steve laughed at himself when he caught that thought flickering through his head. What man ever knew what a woman was thinking? Supposing that they were. Megan looked so calm, just watching him from behind those inscrutable eyes of hers.
She was so different from any other woman he'd ever been with. So calm and controlled. She was the only woman he could think of that wouldn't be cuddling right now, planning their next date and picking out a color scheme for the wedding. If he hadn't seen her swallow his cock like a wet dream and drink his cum without missing a drop, he wouldn't have believed it of her. She looked like she was more ready to talk about mutual funds than mutual orgasms.
"Steve, let me ask you something. Haven't you always felt different? Like you needed something you weren't getting? That you weren't getting the same thing that everyone else was? Maybe the sex wasn't all that, either? Did you ever feel like that?"
"No. Shit, no." Although ... He wondered sometimes what was different between him and his brother. If he tried half the things he'd seen Rick pull ... He'd tried copying Rick's style when he was younger, but he hadn't liked the feeling of going down in flames. So he'd adapted. But, still. "I don't know. Maybe."
Megan seemed to decide something, because she sat up. Dropping to hands and knees, she crawled over him, straddling his chest. She ran her hands up his sides, beginning with his torso. Not tickling. Just gently running her hands from his chest and belly, stretching up to reach his arms, her small pert breasts almost within range of his mouth.
A shiver ran through Steve and his nipples stood up, almost painful where the barbells touched nerve endings. His cock began to stir.
Letting her fingers trail down the inside of his outstretched arms, Megan left a trail of fire in their wake. Her hands traced circles around the pierced flesh; trapped the sensitive skin between thumbs and forefingers and pinched. Steve was nearly erect now, the head of his dick reaching for the warm flesh of her tender backside. She took a nipple in her mouth and sucked hard. Never quite releasing him, her teeth slid down to the barbell, gripped the metal and tugged.
Steve's body bowed up off the bed, taking Megan with him, as a bolt of sensation shot through him in a direct line from her mouth to his cock.
"Ah, God! Oh!"
"I don't think you've ever truly gotten what you needed." Megan blew a small stream of air over the skin her mouth had just covered and another jolt of lust rocked him. "You're special. Different. And I don't think anyone has ever known quite what to do with you."
She was licking his other nipple now, giving it the same attention she had treated the first to. She worried the tip with her teeth, rolling the metal back and forth. Bit down slightly harder on it than she had the first. Her eyes swept from watching the effect of her clever tongue up to his face. "But I think I do. I know what you need. The question is, will you let me give it to you?"
Hoo, boy.
She hadn't meant to go there.
Not at all.
Megan's plan had been to tease Steve. To play with him---keep him teetering on the knife-edge of wanting but never quite getting. Until he admitted the truth. About himself. And her.
But she had looked in his eyes and seen the frustration. More than that, she'd seen the pain and the memories it masked. And in that moment she hadn't been able to domme Steve. Instead of being strong and putting his well-being first, she had stepped completely out of role and poured her heart out to him.
She was such a dope. Maybe that was why she always came up short. When push came to shove she never seemed to quite have what it took. Damian had shown her that. No, that wasn't true. He'd only confirmed it for her.
"I know exactly what I need. My dick in your cunt."
Okay. So maybe he wasn't quite as down as she'd thought. Or maybe he'd learned to take what he could get since he never got what he really needed.
"Relax. We'll get there eventually. I think."
"You 'think'?"
"Sorry, sweetpea, but your dick in my cunt, as you so delicately put it, is a privilege---not a right. You'll have to earn that."
"Let me guess. More pussy licking."
"I like to think I'm not quite that predictable. Not to mention repetitious. No, this will be something a little harder for you, I think." Megan narrowed her eyes a little. "I want to know your secrets."
"Secrets? Like, what did you have in mind?"
The wary look was back in Steve's eyes now. To counteract it, Megan resumed the stroking she had momentarily forgotten.
"Do you remember that first night when I asked you about your fantasies? I want to hear more about that." Crouching low over Steve's outstretched body, Megan let the tips of her breasts brush Steve's. Already tightened in anticipation, when they touched his they beaded even more tightly into aching little points. To see his skin, that she knew to be so tender and sensitive, penetrated by hard metal did something primitive to her. Shaking off a shiver, she went on. "And about what you've never done, but always wanted to."
"I want to fuck your pussy. Hard. I've never done that."
"So noted. We'll put that on our list of things to do." Grabbing a pillow, Megan lifted Steve's head and shoved the pillow behind it. "There. That should give you a better view." It raised his head just enough for him to be able to see what she had planned next. After taking a quick tug on the ropes again, she moved on.
Megan turned, taking a slow deliberate visual tour of the man stretched out before her. His color was good. His breathing was a little quicker than normal, a little more shallow, but that was to be expected. Eye contact was good.
"And your ass, too. That'd be sweet."
She adored the way those chiseled lips curled up at one corner in a bad boy grin of anticipation. It only added to his appeal. Steve had so many sides to him. The last thing she wanted was a one-dimensional relationship based solely on a man's need to be dominated. Sure, it made her hot as hell that he was turning out to be the most natural sub it had ever been her pleasure to know. It lit her up like Founders' Square at Christmas time to be able to give him an order and see him submit---to see the pleasure he took in being controlled. To know that his need coincided with hers and that, together, they could find a rapturous pleasure they could never hope to find separately.
But it wasn't enough.
Megan wanted more than that. She wanted something she wasn't even sure existed. Something the lack of which had destroyed her last relationship, surely, and probably every one before it, too.
"Oh, really?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "Hmm. I'll have to think about that one. You'd have to be an awfully good boy to earn something like that."
Slithering backwards, Megan kneeled between Steve's knees and, pushing her breasts together with her hands, used them to press on his straining cock. The tang of sweat on his belly calling to her, Megan took a swipe with her tongue and tasted saltiness as she rocked back and forth, using her own flesh to stroke his.
Megan accepted the tribute of the low growl that rumbled up from Steve's chest without comment. It meant her plan was working. She wanted him mindless with wanting.
"How about it, Steve? You a breast man?" She loved teasing him. "Would you like me to keep this up for a while? You could fuck my tits---give me a pearl necklace. What do you think, babe?"
"Fuck, yeah."
Giving him a few last strokes for good measure, Megan sat back a little and took his shaft in both hands. The big plum head of it was stretched tight and beaded with fluid again. Her self-control went down without a fight to temptation. Another few swipes of her tongue took care of the pre-cum and had Steve flexing his hips, trying to drive for the solace of her mouth.
Megan pursed her lips and let the satiny skin push past the entrance of her mouth. But only a little. Using her double-fisted grip on his cock, she made sure only the tip entered, and that just barely. She swirled her tongue around and around, using it to stimulate the sensitive spot just below the bulging mushroom-shaped head.
As Steve groaned, Megan dropped one hand to his scrotum, and beneath it to massage the area behind. Slipping lower still, she held his cock in the firm grip of one hand and let the fingers of the other drift into the crease below. She kept her strokes short and light until she reached the small, puckered opening of his anus.
"What about this, Steve? How do you feel about ass play? Have you ever explored how good it feels to have your P-spot stimulated?"
If his vehement "No! No way." hadn't been enough for her, the way his ass cheeks tensed up and his whole body jerked away from her hand confirmed it. His eyes that had been squeezed shut, lost in his own pleasure, popped open.
Although she didn't take time to pout, a little frown of disappointment still found its way to her lips. But she backed off immediately.
"That's okay, babe. Maybe some other time."
Still working his cock with one hand, Megan tore open a condom with her teeth. Sheathing him quickly, she drew herself up until she kneeled over Steve, her slick opening poised above him, and stared hard into his eyes.
Aiming him, Megan lowered herself until she could feel his warm flesh begin to nudge her drenched channel. She'd been wet and ready for this moment for what seemed like her whole life. As slowly as she could, she pushed gently down over him, her murmured "Easy, babe" the only sound in the suddenly deafening silence. Like a bull rider settling onto the back of a particularly unruly bull, she eased cautiously downward. Her inner muscles parted as Steve's meaty cock forced its way in, inch by inch. Until at last he was in to the balls and Megan would swear she could feel him kissing her womb.
Finally.
Belly to belly, gazes riveted, time ground to a halt.
Hands outstretched above him, mouth pulled back in a grimace, muscles straining to keep from thrusting---Megan's heart turned over in her chest at the picture of wild masculine beauty before her. He was perfection.
She wanted to hold the moment in her hand forever, never leaving, eternally caught in this intricate dance.
"Now fuck me, nasty boy."
Holy Mary, Mother of God and all his cousins. So good. So good. Tight and hot. She gripped him like a closed fist that clamped from all sides and somehow managed to touch every single nerve ending he had. Just being inside her was fucking incredible. She was so damn hot. She knew what she wanted and she wasn't afraid to take it.
Take him.
Hands and legs tied like a pagan sacrifice. Teased until he thought he would explode. Then used for her sexual pleasure. Shit, yeah! Woman-on-top had always been his favorite position. But it had never been like that before. She was sexier than any woman he'd ever been with. Riding him like it was her right. Like he was her sex slave, born to serve her.
"Hey, numb-nuts! How much longer is it going to take you to wire that chingazzi? Yeah, Steve-o, I'm talking to you."
Steve shook his head and the job at hand faded in as the vision of Megan faded out. That had been happening to him a lot the past couple of days. Since that night at his house, he'd relived that moment a hundred times. In one night he had set three new personal-bests with her. The table. The blow-job. The ... he didn't know what to call it.
"Yeah, yeah. I've got it, Robert. Go back to playing with yourself for a few. I've got a couple more connectors to tie off."
Pulling his face back from the hole in the floor he'd shouted through, Steve wiped the sweat from his face. It was hot as hell on the second floor of the Swann Mansion where he was finishing up the wiring for an elaborate chandelier the crew was ready to hang. The restoration on the old house was a long way from complete and the fixture wouldn't stay up long. But a mixed group of baby-kissers from City Hall and history wonks from the historical society were coming through tomorrow for a look-see and Catherine wanted as many of the big pieces in place as they could make happen on short notice.
Ms. Catherine Thompson of the Oro County Historical Society was one hard-assed bitch when it came to getting things right on the resto'. That she was also his brother's fiancée as of last week made it hard to say no to her. That he could still remember what her lips felt like wrapped around his dick made it just that much trickier.
Man, had that only been six months ago?
His brother Rick had met Catherine in this very house. They had come together like fire and gasoline and on one memorable afternoon Steve had very nearly gotten caught in the inferno. Funny how the memory of the day, that had been so vivid in his mind until recently, was fading fast. His sense memory had been rewired like he was rewiring the old bordello. Something had yanked out the old and replaced it with new.
The last of the wires capped off, Steve headed down to the first floor, using the bandana he had tied over his hair to wipe the sweat from his face and neck as he went. Descending the staircase, he twisted the square of colored cloth to wring the moisture from it as he went. But just the action of stretching the handkerchief between his hands brought to mind Megan's hands as she had used a similar motion when she had bound his hands and feet. That quickly, the tingle of blood rushed to his groin, reminding him that he was working and hardly in a position to do anything about it.
Steve rounded the corner into the foyer area where his brother Rick stood talking to a smaller, dark-haired man. In his early twenties, slim and wiry, Robert Karabedian had done the cleaning and refitting on the chandelier Eriksson and Sons Construction had pulled down from the rotting ceiling. Steve's theory on Robert's success could be boiled down to 'sink or swim.' Smaller than either Rick or Steve, Robert had the personality of a wolverine coming down off a crack binge and the people skills of a burnt out DMV clerk. Steve maintained that the little man knew he could never hold down a job that depended on anyone actually liking him and threw himself into his one-man lighting restoration business body and soul.
Rick and Robert had had enough go-'rounds that Steve had lost count of the number of times Rick had sworn never to use him again. So it shocked the hell out of Steve to see the two men talking and laughing like old buddies.
"Dude, so I'm telling you, she goes into the other room to get her coat and I'm, like, standing by the door waiting. And I, you know, I look over at the DVD's and tapes all piled up by the TV. I'm, like---she had the stuff laying out, okay? It's not like I went pawing through her wallet or anything."
"And? What? You found out she has a secret addiction to Lord of the Rings videos? So you dress up like an elf while you're banging her. It's a win-win." Catherine must not have shown up yet, Steve decided, if Rick was using his full adult vocabulary. Steve had noticed a tendency in his brother to tone things down a little when his now-fiancée was in the room.
Robert gave a nod, acknowledging Steve's presence, and went on with his story.
"So, she didn't have any fucking Lord of the Rings videos, okay? She can call me Legolamb all night as long as she follows it up with 'Can I swallow now?' No, I coulda' handled that. She has a little something called 'Babes Ballin' Boys' on hand for her viewing pleasure. And right next to it on the shelf is another gem called 'Bend Over, Boyfriend.' Dude, if I want to get poked up the ass I'll do something illegal and get sent to prison. At least there I'll get three hots and a cot."
Rick was laughing his butt off. "Oh, that's beautiful. 'Babes Ballin' Boys,' huh? So did you search her purse for any strap-ons? Make sure she wasn't carrying?" His brother could hardly get the words out, he was laughing too hard.
"Fuck that!" Robert didn't have much of a sense of humor when it came to his manhood. Sensitive and with a hair-trigger, both brothers knew it and weren't above needling him. "If anybody's getting fucked up the ass, it ain't gonna be me."
Winking at Rick behind Robert's back, Steve couldn't resist getting in on the ragging. "Well, I don't know there, Robert. Maybe you'd like it. I hear that after you get used to it, it feels pretty good. You know. 'It's only weird the first time.'"
"Yeah, I guess if anyone would know it would be you, Steve-o."
"What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Robert?" He wasn't pissed. But his arms unfolded from their formerly relaxed position across his chest. He was just flexing his fingers, that was all. He wasn't going to hit the little cocksucker.
"Nothin', man. Just, if it's got hair like a chick, and tit jewelry like a chick..." The little shit was enjoying himself way too much. The smirk on his face made Steve itch to put his hands around ol' Bobby's greasy little neck and squeeze. "No shame in being a catcher in a world full of pitchers, man."
Rick's face was suddenly in Steve's and his brother was holding him back. "Don't do it, Steve. It's not worth it. C'mon, you shit bigger than he is."
When had he moved? Steve didn't remember reaching for Robert, but the piece of cloth in his hand corresponded with the dark patch indicating a pocket missing from the other man's shirt.
Without turning away, Rick dismissed Robert. "Robert, I think we can handle things from here. Why don't you take off?"
"Hey, I'm sorry if your brother doesn't like looking in the mirror. I'm just surprised it took him and Manly Megan this long to hook up."
"So how's the romance going?"
Megan looked up from the yellow summer squash she was slicing into half-inch pieces. Her sister watched from a chair nearby as she cut the last of the vegetables she was chopping to make a Ratatouille.
"What romance?" Trying hard for an innocent look, Megan concentrated on slicing the various vegetables into bite-sized pieces.
Christa had called as Megan was finishing clean-up from the day's rounds with the catering truck, claiming an uncontrollable craving for the spicy vegetable stew that was a summer favorite in the Mussina house. Megan had stopped at her favorite produce market for the ingredients she didn't have on hand and headed to Christa's. Besides wanting to go over the week's receipts, Megan was looking forward to the chance to prepare something more challenging than tuna salad.
"Don't play coy with me, girlie. I may be under house arrest but I still have contacts in the outside world. I made a few calls. I know what you've been doing."
Megan's stomach turned over at her sister's comment and she nearly blurted out the truth. The off-hand tone gave Christa away, though. It was a little too relaxed. A hair too studiedly casual. It was an old trick of her sister's, Megan remembered, to pretend more knowledge than she actually had and wait for the victim to spill.
Catching herself just in time, Megan parried. "Oh. Well, there's no use denying it, then."
"Nope. None at all."
Years ago she might have fallen for it. When they were both still kids living in their parents' house she had. Many times. But she'd been around the block once or twice since then and, this time, used some of her hard-won calm. She picked up the last zucchini and sliced it lengthwise first, then into quarters. "Well, then."
Christa was a seasoned campaigner, though. She only gazed back at Megan and rubbed her charmingly round belly. "Indeed."
Adding oil to the big pan on the stove, Megan scooped up the vegetable mixture and dropped it in by handfuls. She adjusted the heat slightly and watched her sister stew. "You don't have squat, sis. Nice try, though. By the way, I'm using turkey ham instead of Tasso in this. You don't need the extra salt."
"Megan!" The pitiful wail would have never passed Christa's lips in the old days. Marrying Doug, having babies to look forward to---it had softened her sister to a degree Megan never would have believed. "I'm stuck here in this house. I don't see anyone but Doug, you, and sometimes Mom or Dad. And the mailman. And he only comes by because he's forced to. Give me some details. I need to live a little, even if it's only vicariously. Please?"
It was the last plaintive request that cracked the armor of Megan's reserve.
"It's too soon, Christa. I ... It's only been a couple of weeks. Just a few dates, really. But---" Her mind flashed back to another kitchen. Steve's face across the table from her. His expressions as they'd eaten and talked. "I really like him. He's different. Special."
"Wow. It's serious then."
Self-conscious at how much her sister had divined, Megan could feel the weight of Christa's gaze on her as she stirred the vegetables sautéing in the pan. "I didn't say that."
"You don't have to. I can see it on your face. You are gone, girl. I don't think I've ever seen you like this. What about him? Is he serious?"
Megan opened her mouth, but no words formed. She tried again with the same result. On the third try she got it. "I don't know, Chris. How do you know what a man is thinking?"
Her sister laughed. "That's easy---they're usually not. As a veteran of nearly five years of marriage, I can say this much about what's on a man's mind: sex, cars or sports. In that order. Or nothing. If you ever make the mistake of asking and he says 'nothing,' believe him."
You've reached Steve Eriksson's phone. I'm not available to take your call right now. Leave a message and I'll call you back.
The tone signaling that it was time to leave a message jarred Megan out of her trance. She'd been busy going over her last conversation with Steve in her head while she listened to the business-like tone of his voice on the machine. Not at all like she remembered him in her head. In her favorite mental image he was swearing and begging. "Please, baby. Please."
But what to say?
"Hi, Steve. It's Megan. We must have gotten our signals crossed---I thought we were meeting at my place. I'll try you at the restaurant. Talk to you soon. Bye." She didn't bother to leave her call back number. She knew he had it.
Twenty minutes later, driving down Sutter Street---Remington's version of Main Street, USA---Megan searched for a parking space. Not as bad as in high summer when their sleepy little town in the Sierras was packed with tourists. A Tuesday night this time of year shouldn't have been a problem. She puzzled over her bad luck until she spotted the hand-painted A-frame sign in front of the Elks Lodge. "Tuesday Night Bingo! 7:00PM until ???" That would explain the heavier than usual accumulation of cars.
As she circled the block for the third time a spot opened up near the new Ph restaurant Steve had agreed to try with her. Megan had been introduced to the Vietnamese noodle soup while she'd been attending culinary school in San Francisco. Delicious, healthy and---best of all---cheap, she had become a near addict to the stuff. Coming back to Remington, with it's abundance of diners catering to the tourist trade and featuring 'down home cookin',' had meant going cold turkey on her passion for ph. Until she had seen the sign go up for Phat Phuc's, as she had discovered it was called. Megan was still cringing at the unfortunate name even as her mouth had watered.
Pulling in to the parking spot, Megan grabbed her backpack and headed for the restaurant. Although the business was new, the building it inhabited wasn't. Most of the three blocks that made up the main drag were filled with authentic original architecture dating to the 1800s. It was what gave Remington its historical feel and what drew the vacationers. The big picture windows of the building revealed that two of the six tables the little eatery contained were filled. It took all of two seconds for Megan to see that Steve wasn't there.
She stood, mulling her options and absently scanning the street when something caught her eye. It wasn't the ratty ol' sign on top of Goldie's, with its ugly yellow light bulbs. Lately driving by and seeing its familiar red door, or even just thinking about it, made her smile. But the black Dodge truck parked two doors down from it was familiar.
It was Steve's truck.
Oh, yeah---definitely his. She knew, even from this distance, that the antenna ball perched atop it advertised his beloved Kings basketball team.
Without conscious thought Megan's feet began moving in the direction of Goldie's. Either she'd gotten her signals crossed or ... she couldn't think of what else it could possibly be. Steve must have arrived early and stopped in to wait for her there. Was there a game on? She had no idea.
Pushing through the door, Megan smelled the familiar mix of odors that seemed uniquely Goldie's. Equal parts beer, popcorn, and kitchen smells, it never failed to put a smile on her face. Not like the smile she got when she thought about the old manager's office upstairs, though. Her smile held as she spotted a familiar back, bisected by a ponytail of a particularly fetching shade of red-gold.
The music from the jukebox---the Rolling Stones. Jaci must not be on duty---made calling Steve's name pointless. Megan crossed the floor, running a finger down his arm when she reached him to alert him to her presence. "Hey, there." Butterflies flitted in her stomach, like this was her first high school dance.
Steve turned on his stool and Megan's hand fell away. He looked down at her.
"Oh. Hi."
"I must have gotten things backward. I thought we were meeting at my place. I hope you haven't been waiting long?"
The man on the seat next to Steve turned to look. Too similar physically to be anything other than Steve's brother, he looked her up and down before casting an equally assessing eye on Steve.
Things were getting stranger by the minute. Why would the brother be checking her out? And why was Steve looking at her with all the enthusiasm of a man greeting an IRS auditor? Megan didn't necessarily expect a kiss in public, but would it kill him to smile?
"Sorry. I should have called. I can't make it tonight."
"But---"
She looked from one face to the other, and then back again, while a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. There was no mistaking the coldness in his tone and it felt all too horribly like déjà vu.
Eerily similar to another time and place.
"Steve, could I talk to you outside for a minute?"
"No. Sorry. No can do, babe. You can talk in front of my brother."
Her mind raced, running through their last conversation. Their last three conversations. What could she possibly have said? What signs had she missed? Why was he doing this? He looked like the same man who had trusted his most vulnerable feelings to her. But he didn't talk like him. And he certainly didn't act like him.
Experienced in the art of the public kiss-off, Megan knew one when it was handed to her.
"All right." Things were most certainly not all right. "Some other time, then." She searched his eyes, tried to read his thoughts on his expressive face. But it was no use. He had closed himself off from her.
Well, then. If this was going to be it, Megan decided, then she wanted her kiss after all. She wanted to leave knowing her taste was in his mouth. Let the other women watching know he bore her mark. The barstool Steve sat on brought him low enough that she didn't have to reach as far as she would have had he been standing. Taking his chin in her hand, Megan leaned in close and spoke softly in one ear. "Be well." She slid down to press one last kiss on his tempting mouth.
At the last second, though, he turned away. Her kiss fell on empty air.
Steve didn't think he could handle watching her walk away so he kept his eyes fixed on his beer as he drank it down. That didn't mean that he couldn't still see Megan with his peripheral vision. He concentrated on breathing through his nose as he drained the heavy glass schooner with steady swallows. He told himself it was drinking too fast that made his stomach knot up and twist like pythons mating. It had nothing to do with Megan stopping at Evan Coughlin's table, exchanging a few words, and Evan leaving with her.
How could she even think of going anywhere with that slimy fuckwad?
Everyone knew that Evan was a player. Evan changed women like most men changed their shirts. Steve was sliding off the barstool in pursuit when he remembered. He didn't care. Megan was free to do whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted.
His stomach rolled over again.
Glancing over to see if Rick had caught his move, he realized his brother was no longer seated on the next barstool. There were now two empty seats between them and Rick was frowning into his beer.
"What's with you?"
Rick looked away, out the big picture window to Sutter Street where Evan could be seen dropping an arm across Megan's shoulders as they disappeared from view.
"I'm getting out of the way. Just in case."
Jaci came out of the back room and Steve caught her eye. Nodding in the direction of his empty glass, he held up one finger before turning back to face Rick. "In case what?"
"In case 'dumbass' is contagious."
"Shut the fuck up. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not. You've obviously got it all under control."
"Thanks. I do."
He concentrated on the big screen showing the Kings game until Jaci appeared with his beer. The jukebox thumped along with a k.d. lang tune now, drowning out the television. "Here ya go, babe. Hey, Rick. Long time, no see."
Steve took a long pull off his beer and watched Jaci make small talk with his brother while the Kings tried to come from behind. Why couldn't he fall for someone nice and normal, like her? She smiled that cover girl smile and reached across the bar to ruffle Rick's hair. She was so pretty, with her big blue eyes and her perfect features. Why couldn't he be turning himself inside out for Jaci?
He drank more of his beer, trying to drown the sick feeling he got when he thought of Megan's face. Steve had wondered if he would twist the handle off the mug as he held it, trying to keep from reaching for her. It tore him up inside when he thought about how he felt when he was with her. How much he wanted her. What a sick fuck he must be for needing her the way he did. And wanting the things she did to him.
"So what do you say, Steve?"
While he'd been off in his own little world---little fucked up world, he corrected---he'd completely tuned out the conversation going on around him.
"Sorry. What was the question?"
Jaci smiled as though she knew the nature of his thoughts. "Another beer there? How about something to go with it?" Steve started to protest, only to find that his mug was empty. Not a good sign. When had he pounded the last of it? "How about some nachos? Or, have you tried the potato skins yet? They come covered with cheese, sour cream, bacon pieces ... You'll love 'em."
Steve's stomach roiled at the thought.
He thought of Megan's face. "Steve, could I talk to you outside for a minute?" "No can do. Talk in front of my brother." The voices picked up speed in his head, until they ran together. "I want to fuck your pussy. How do you feel about ass play? If anyone would know, it would be you, Steve-o. Fuck me, nasty boy."
"What's it going to be? Potato skins?" Jaci looked first at Rick and then back to Steve. "Or nachos?"
His guts heaving, Steve bolted for the bathroom.
He lasted three more days.
Rick had driven him home after he'd puked his guts out in the toilet at Goldie's that night. Just to torture himself, he'd insisted they go by way of Megan's place. He'd told Rick he just wanted to make sure she got home all right. But they both knew he was looking for that fucker Evan's convertible in her driveway.
It had been there, alright.
Fuck, he was an idiot. Full of drunken self-pity, he'd said as much aloud as his brother drove him home. Rick had cheerfully agreed.
"If you're looking for an argument, you came to the wrong place. She looked at you like you were better than shoes and chocolate rolled into one. And you kicked her to the curb. Way to go, asshole."
Steve had stopped asking for advice at that point.
For the next two days he had thrown himself into his work, the first to arrive every morning and staying after everyone else had gone home. Steve had hung sheetrock, spackled joints, taped over them, then spackled some more. He had had some half-baked idea that hard physical labor would keep him from thinking. That was a joke. He'd had nothing but time to think.
With every nail he pounded or seam he sanded, Steve had thought about other women. He had tried to remember every female he'd ever been intimate with. From Sophia Santisi, the foreign exchange student and older woman who'd helped him lose his virginity in his fourteenth year, to Rachelle Billingsly, his first steady girlfriend, to Martha Cho, whom he'd dated off and on for a couple of years before she'd moved to Oregon. And all the ones in between.
What had Megan asked him? Something about feeling different? Like he wasn't getting what he needed. And maybe the sex wasn't all that?
Not that it had been bad. It was fine. He'd never had a bad orgasm. Every single one of them had been right on the money.
But they'd been nothing compared to what he'd found with Megan. It was like a shoe dropped. Like a normal orgasm multiplied exponentially. An 'a-ha' moment when suddenly everything had changed. And suddenly everything was right in a way it had never been right before. When he had been with her, nothing had ever felt so perfectly natural, so fulfilling, so fucking hot. It still gave him a shiver to remember how it had felt to be stripped down to nothing but his most basic, elemental self. To live completely in the moment, nothing but a sexual creature.
Steve had been working in one of the second story bathrooms, cutting tile when it had come him. He had repeatedly measured the piece he needed to replace. His old man had drilled into him 'Measure three times, cut once' from the time he could hold a hammer. After measuring and cutting, particles of tile dust floating in a shaft of afternoon sunlight, he had shifted back to place the new piece. In turning, the irregular triangular shape that was part of the black and white star design had been rotated by ninety degrees. As Steve rotated the sliver of tile and dropped it into place something clicked.
The piece dropped into the hole like it had been specially made for it---because it had. Steve sat back on his heels and stared at it. And stared.
It was a perfect analogy for his life. Something was missing from him and not just any piece would fill the empty space. It required something very special. Something unique.
Megan.
He was different and so was she. But together they fit.
Too bad he told her to take a hike.
She'd done it.
She had made it through the week.
Except for the gaping hole where her heart used to be, Megan felt pretty okay. Normal, almost.
Too bad her overdeveloped sense of responsibility wouldn't let her pull the covers over her head and sleep until the hurt was gone like she'd like to. There was still Christa's business to tend and customers who relied on it.
Besides, she should know by now that some things just weren't going to happen for her. It shouldn't come as such a shocked surprise that she was dispensable in the lives of the people she most cared about. Maybe it was connected to whatever broken thing inside her it was that needed something different that most women needed to be happy. It made sense. It seemed reasonable that the two were connected.
But she kept hoping. Was it so hard to believe that somewhere out there a man existed who could love her the way she was?
She was in a maudlin mood, Megan realized, and the music she'd chosen didn't help. She knew she had a tendency when things got her down to give in to her sentimental side and this definitely qualified as one of those times. Megan had loaded up her CD changer with her favorite heartbreak singers and planned to wallow in her misery all the way to San Francisco.
It was a measure of her pain that she had called Patrice. She hadn't talked to her old mentor since she'd come home to Remington, tail between her legs. Megan knew the fault was hers that they hadn't stayed in touch. Patrice had never been anything other than an utterly calm eye in the storm of her life.
A small, delicate woman in her forties, Patrice came from one of the city's oldest Chinese families. The oldest of five girls, she had traveled with her businessman father from an early age. Raised on two continents and educated in Paris, her speech still contained a hint of both the French she'd spoken in school and her family's native Chinese accents. A tiny woman weighing barely one hundred pounds, Megan had seen her bring down the strongest men, taking them apart piece by piece until she owned their very souls.
While Megan had attended culinary school in San Francisco, her nights and weekends had belonged to another type of education altogether. Patrice had served as her mentor and guide into San Francisco's dominant/submissive lifestyle and Megan had spent over a year learning the submissive role under her tutelage. She had barely graduated to the dominant role when she had met Damian Ruiz.
Although close to Megan in terms of age, in every way that counted he had proven to be much older. Active in the D/s community for years, Patrice had known him, of course, and had done her best to warn her pupil away from him. But Megan had been sure she knew better and wouldn't be persuaded. She had been eager to stretch her Domina wings and fly. And a willing, eager submissive with a little more experience had seemed perfect.
But what had appeared just right had proven to be too much over time. What had looked at first like an eagerness to please had begun to feel like overwhelming neediness. No amount of mental and sexual dominance had been enough for Damian. And when Megan had introduced limits to the relationship, Damian had reacted by becoming more clingy and submissive. Flowers and gifts had begun to appear, both at home and at school. What her classmates had seen as wildly romantic was, in fact, mentally and emotionally exhausting. Bombarded by emails and phone messages, Megan began to avoid him. Until the night she had gone to a D/s club and found Damian tied to a St. Andrew's cross, his body covered with welts, being caned by one of the scene's most physically punishing Dominas.
If you can't give me what I need, then I'll find someone who will. I want a real Domme, not a little girl playing dress-up.
And he had been right. Megan didn't have that in her. Barely six months into her debut and she was a failure already.
She hadn't been able to face Patrice in the wake of her catastrophe with Damian. She had left school without a word to anyone, packed up a U-haul full of her belongings and come home to Remington. Megan hadn't had the courage since to check into her status at the school. She had been less than four months from finishing her certificate when she left. Her roommate Michelle had probably made Megan's picture the bullseye on her dartboard for taking off and sticking her with a hundred percent of the rent. She had trashed every relationship she'd had with her immature behavior. You could span a continent with the bridges she'd burned.
And here she was again, running away from disaster. Maybe that should be her motto: When the going gets tough, the tough leave town.
Megan had her weekend all planned out. Friday night would be spent at her favorite hotel near Union Square, where Patrice had agreed to meet her for dinner. Saturday she would spend the entire day at a spa she knew in Burlingame, being massaged, mud packed, and steamed. Sunday would include visits to all the stores small town Remington couldn't support, from the chain department stores to the big name designer boutiques. Megan would blow some of the money she'd been saving to open her own restaurant. She squelched the pragmatic voice in her head that squawked at spending a dime of her nest egg by telling herself there was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy. Sunday night was soon enough to start putting herself back together.
Her only chore still left undone was to stop by Goldie's on her way out of town. Jaci wanted to borrow Christa's truck to move some furniture and, since Christa have given her permission, Megan had agreed to drop off the keys. Fully expecting to have to pull around back and use the employee parking, Megan was pleasantly surprised to find a parking spot directly in front of the pub. 'Charlie's Angels' parking, Jaci called it---her term for any time she found an unusually lucky close parking spot. 'Because they never had to look for a place to park. Get it?' she'd explained when Megan had to ask what it meant.
Palming the truck keys, Megan pushed her way through the heavy red door of Goldie's. Welcomed, as always, by the sound of the jukebox and the smell of popcorn and cooking, she carefully made her mind a blank, blocking out the memories of her last time she'd visited her friend's business. It was still early for the Friday night happy hour crowd and the place was relatively quiet. Just Joe, one of the back up bartenders, Natalia, who would make two-hundred dollars in tips tonight with her amazing memory and even more amazing body, and a middle-aged couple enjoying a late lunch kept the place from being deserted.
"Hey, Joe. Where's the boss?" Megan had to raise her voice to be heard over Tony Bennett singing about San Francisco. Huh. What were the odds of that? Momentarily distracted by the music, Megan had to ask Joe to repeat his response.
"Which one? Everybody's my boss, right Stretch?" He directed the last comment to Natalia who, at six-one was taller than even Jaci.
"You bet. Now do my bidding and get me two glasses of Chardonnay for my customers, eh?"
Nat's Russian accent was a big part of her success. The fact that she could bend over backwards and press herself into a handstand was another.
"I'm looking for Jaci, Joe. I'm supposed to meet her here to give her some keys."
"Sorry, doll. Don't know nothin' about it. Nat?" He turned to the waitress who only shrugged before loading the two glasses of wine the bartender had produced onto her tray and heading back to take care of the couple at the window table.
"Jaci's not here, Megan."
The voice came from behind her. Megan turned to see Steve emerge from the game room in the rear.
Dressed in work clothes, hair tied back, a fine layer of sawdust covering most of him, he must have just come from the job site. The region in her chest that had been numb for days turned over and thumped to life. The dirt on his face only made his blue eyes stand out that much more. He looked wonderful.
But he didn't love her, Megan reminded herself. He didn't want anything to do with her. So what was he doing here, then?
Whatever it was, it didn't matter. She had to get out before she did or said something really stupid. Like, 'Are you absolutely sure you don't want to come home with me?' The thought of those words slipping out and his probable response kicked her into action.
Megan turned on her heel and walked out.
"Megan wait!"
Dammit! She was getting away. Leaving before he'd even had a chance to apologize---okay, crawl.
She was already out on the sidewalk when he caught up to her. Keys in her hand, she was repeatedly pressing a button on the electronic fob. She didn't even look up when he came closer.
He pressed closer still, caging her with his arms, surrounding her small body with his. "Megan wait. Talk to me. Please?"
Still trying futilely to get the automatic door lock to work and allow her escape, she finally looked up at him from over her shoulder. The cold, blazing fury in her eyes made him back off a half-step. But, only for a second. Then he was right back at her. Maybe he could bypass her intellect and appeal directly to her body. He knew her body liked him just fine. The hurt he'd seen behind the anger made his gut twist, reminding Steve of the last time they'd seen each other. Please, God, give him the right words to make it up to her.
"What's the preferred greeting here, again? Give me a second---it'll come to me. Right. 'Oh. Hi.'" Steve winced to hear his own words thrown back at him. "I've got to go, Steve. Don't worry, I got your message. You were more than clear the other night. You don't have to worry about me showing up places and embarrassing you. Jaci can come to my place if she wants to see me."
Standing this close to her, he caught tantalizing whiffs of her hair, the shampoo she used, she underlying scent that he knew belonged only to her. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss onto the top of her head. Steve realized that in her present frame of mind she might not appreciate the gesture and braced for an elbow to the ribs and when it didn't come he relaxed a little. But, only a little. Standing this close to her, feeling the way he did, it was all he could do not to press himself into her tempting backside. Now that really would earn him a body blow. And to something more vulnerable than the ribcage.
"Megan, please."
"Trust is a funny thing, Steve. Easy to lose." Her voice trailed off so that he had to strain to catch her words. "Hard to win back." When he heard it break a little on the last word a wave of tenderness swept over him. He gave up the fight and wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders, pulling her close against him.
"Oh, baby..." She felt so good in his arms, cradled gently against his body. He gave himself strict orders that this was about comforting her, not copping a feel. "I am an ass."
As close as he was, Steve didn't hear a sound. But after a few moments her head nodded unmistakably in the affirmative.
Huh? She was agreeing with him? That was a good sign. Right? It was progress. Sort of.
"What can I do to make it up to you? Please. You've got to talk to me, Megan."
She shook her head slightly. "No."
"No?! Baby, you've got to talk to me. What do I have to do?" His spirits plummeted. God, if he'd jacked this up beyond repair ... Steve didn't want to think of the possibilities. He had to be able to fix this. Where was his famous charm when he really needed it?
Another slow shake of her head struck another blow to his hopes.
Looking away as Megan was, her graceful neck was left vulnerable. Steve was a desperate man---he couldn't afford to overlook an opening. He pressed another kiss on the spot where her pulse was visible. Open-mouthed, his tongue rested against her soft skin, tasting her flesh as he moved slowly to the tender area behind her ear. He listened to the instinct urging him to bite down and was rewarded by the low moan he coaxed from her.
By barely-perceptible degrees Megan softened. The stiffness gradually gave way until her body rested fully against his, without so much as a millimeter of space between them.
"Megan, please. Baby, please talk to me. Tell me what you want me to do." Plastered up against him the way she was, she had to be able to feel his erection pressing eagerly against her backside. The promise of satisfaction made by the tempting crease of that beautiful bottom was more than a man with his tenuous grip on his libido ought to be faced with. Regardless of whatever she told him, he knew what he wanted to do.
When she pulled away to turn in his arms Steve had to choose between crying in relief or frustration. Relief because temptation had moved out of reach---frustration because relief had moved out of reach. But one look into her tortured eyes and his own problems were forgotten. He would do anything to wipe that stricken look from her face.
"I want your total honesty. I want to know what's different now. What's changed between now and Tuesday night? You couldn't get away from me fast enough then. Why the change?"
"I ... I..." Steve looked down into her earnest, almost solemn, face. He could drown in the depths of her eyes. The freckles over the bridge of her nose gave her a waif-like quality and made her look years younger than he knew her to be. She must use some kind of hypnotism, because he knew in that moment he could never lie to her again. Tuesday night in Goldie's had been a lie. He had let her think he didn't want her and that wasn't true. It wasn't true then and it would never be true. "Okay. Total honesty? I'm scared of what you make me feel. I guess I thought that if you were gone I could go back to the way things were before I met you."
She gave him a searching look. She looked deep into his eyes and he thought of the first night they'd met, when he'd thought she could see into his soul.
"Is that what you want? To go back to the way things were before we met?" She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, as though she needed to brace herself for his answer.
A motorcycle rumbled by, the distinctive sound of its punched out baffles violating city sound ordinances and momentarily pulling him back from the emotional brink he teetered on. Self-awareness flooded back and Steve was suddenly conscious of being in a very public place. To his surprise, not only didn't he care, he was actually glad. He wanted the world to know that she was his and he was hers.
"No. Not at all. Lady, you scare the hell out of me. And I can't wait to see what you'll do next."
Oh, sister, were you ever right. Whatever her sister had seen in her face that night, Megan couldn't deny that Christa had called it. She was a total goner. She didn't like to think of herself as shallow, but looking up into those eyes, not quite blue, not quite green, the sun turning his hair the most incredible shade of red-gold, all she could think was, He is so beautiful.
"Next? I'm going to get into my car and drive to San Francisco."
She saw his grin, which had been tilting ever so slightly into the cocky right up until the moment the words 'San Francisco' had come out of her mouth, slide right off his face. Disbelief sparred with frustration, with disbelief the eventual winner.
"You can't."
"Actually, yeah, I think I have to."
Frustration got up off the mat and made a feverish comeback. Steve braced himself against the roof of her car and watched her closely. "What's so important in San Francisco, all of a sudden?"
"I'm meeting an old friend for dinner.
"Is this old friend a him or a her?"
Megan could tell that Steve was working to maintain an even tone. But she could also see that jealousy was whispering in his other ear and sought to reassure him. "It's a her. An old teacher of mine from when I lived in the city."
The two vertical lines between his brows relaxed immediately. "Oh. Okay." Steve moved closer, straddling her legs as he dropped his hands from the car to her shoulders. "Can you call and reschedule?" The rasp of his calloused fingertips against her bare skin made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Steve smoothed his hands down her arms, from shoulders to hands and back up again, a sensual promise made with every stroke. Despite her resolve not to weaken, Megan couldn't keep her eyes from drooping in pleasure. Or from closing momentarily when Steve allowed his thumbs to graze the underside of her breasts on his upstroke.
"I made a promise, Steve, and it's important to me to keep it." Her hormones protested, but Megan held firm.
Taking her hand in his larger one, Steve brought it down to press against the fly of his jeans. The feel of his erection through the well worn cloth made her smile. "What about a promise made a little closer to home?"
Deciding two could play that game, Megan pressed against him before raking her nails across the sensitive tip. "I'm sure you're mistaken. I don't remember any promises being made." She tried for her sunniest, most innocent smile.
Steve's hips flexed, as though trying to follow the movement of her hand. "Maybe not in so many words, but those present---" He drew her hand back down to his straining erection, in case she was having trouble deciphering his meaning. "---definitely heard something."
Smiling up into his face, desire sharpening those already impressive cheekbones, Megan hooked her thumbs in his belt loops and pulled him closer. "I won't change my dinner plans, but I wouldn't say no to some company on the drive. If you don't mind finding something to do while I meet Patrice for dinner." While his hips drove her backward until she pressed against the warm metal of her car, Megan used her grip on his pants to pull herself up and whisper in his ear. "I have a hotel room. With a queen size bed."
"When do we leave?"
After stopping by Steve's place long enough for him to throw some clothes in a bag, Megan pointed her little Toyota south and headed out of town. It didn't take long for the twisting four-lane road to give way to the interstate that would take them west to San Francisco. Never a bad drive, with Steve keeping her company Megan found the time passed even more quickly than usual. The green hills of the Sierras were left behind and they passed through the flatland of the Sacramento basin before reaching the immaculately manicured, vine-covered hillsides of Napa. The stress and sadness of the previous two days was slipping away with every mile that passed under the wheels of her car. Relaxed---lighthearted, even---Megan's head was beginning to fill with thoughts and plans for the weekend ahead.
Trading stories of their college careers, Megan laughed repeatedly as Steve kept her entertained with stories of his time spent in San Diego. Even his choice of colleges had shocked her. She would have figured him for a local boy, and was surprised he had chosen far away to the south. While she could easily picture him in the laid-back atmospheres of Chico or Santa Barbara, San Diego would have been far down her list of guesses. His grades just good enough to keep from being thrown out, Steve had confessed that he had spent nine of every ten waking hours not in class learning to surf. The thought of how he must have looked, throwing back his long hair as he emerged from the surf, board tucked under his arm, snug half-wetsuit hugging his lean muscles, nearly caused her to drift into the next lane. It took the noisy thumping of the lane demarcation buttons to startle her from her vision.
Much sooner than she expected, the skyline of San Francisco was looming ahead of them. Megan had fallen in love with the city on her first visit, a family vacation when she was probably nine or ten. The smell of the ocean, the diversity of the people, the colors of the city lights at night, all thrilled her. As a child she had loved all the things her class mates at the cooking academy had dismissed as clichéd and hopelessly touristy: eating clam chowder from a sourdough bowl, feeding the raucous and messy seagulls that inhabited every corner of the city---even visiting Alcatraz had thrilled her. And the food. It was probably her exposure to the diverse cuisines San Francisco offered that had begun her fascination with food and cooking.
Making her way around Union Square to her favorite old hotel, Megan pulled the car to a stop in front. A twenty dollar bill and her keys to one of the doormen took care of parking. They probably wouldn't need the car again all weekend. If they wanted to go anywhere it was usually easier to take public transportation or walk than deal with the traffic and the hills. Although Megan really couldn't imagine where they might want to go that would be more entertaining than their hotel room.
"Do you mind if we take a little walk and stretch our legs before we head up to the room? I have a place in mind I'd like to take you to, if you're game."
"Can I go like this?" Steve frowned doubtfully at his soiled work clothes. "I didn't even shower."
Megan took her time taking visual inventory. From his battered Wolverine work boots to a frayed and obviously favorite gold DeWalt T-shirt ("Real men do it with 18 volts") he was a picture to make any red-blooded woman's heart flutter. And something told Megan it wouldn't be just the women looking. "You'll be fine. The only question is will I be able to fend off all the competition?"
Turning to head out the hotel's double doors to the street, Megan was spun around on her heels as Steve's hand snaked out to pull her back. Using his free arm to pull her close, he hauled her up on her toes and stuck his face close to hers. "No competition. Just you and me," he told her before kissing her breathless.
Oh, my. Well, wasn't that interesting?
"Okay." Megan saw from the corner of her eye that the concierge was studying his computer screen with more diligence than she ever remembered seeing before. Tilting her head the other direction, she noted that the doorman was staring fixedly at ceiling moldings he saw every day of his working life. "Ready, then?"
The area she had chosen was the heart of downtown, thick with historic old hotels and first class shopping. They wove their way between the late afternoon pedestrian traffic; a predictable mix of business people, shoppers and tourists, occasionally enlivened by the kind of exuberant individuality that alternately chagrined and delighted the natives.
A short walk past Nordstrom's, a left turn at Starbucks and up two more blocks, Megan smiled to see one of her favorite old haunts was still in business. The window display of lingerie was surprisingly tasteful---until the viewer's eye was drawn to the shoes on the mannequins' plastic feet. Three-inch clear Lucite platforms with seven-inch spike heels began to tell the real story. The discerning watcher might notice the not-quite feminine bulge behind one mannequin's thong panties. But it was the tail made from authentic horsehair dangling artistically from the rear of another's that really put it over the top, Megan decided.
There had been a time when she had known all the staff at Too, Too Sullied Flesh---better known to regulars as Sullie's---by name. Too many times she had subsisted on nothing but Ramen noodles and classroom projects from the culinary academy because she had spent her week's pay on some toy or other from Sullie's. Although Patrice had a play room full of equipment that cost more than Megan could ever hope to make as a chef, Megan still hadn't been able to resist the lure of buying as many of her own as she could afford. Or not afford, as the case might be.
The bells over the door announced their arrival and as she stepped through the door, one hand still firmly clasped in Steve's, Megan was awash in memories. The sultry sound of a Rosemary Clooney CD and the smell of expensive leather brought back the times she and her mentor had capped off an evening out with a trip to Sullie's to expand Megan's toy box. The exotic looking African-American woman behind the counter looked up from the magazine she had been flicking through to greet them. Her perfunctory 'Good afternoon, darlings' ended in a high pitched shriek when she recognized Megan.
"Girlie girl! Oh my God, where have you been?!"
Megan always enjoyed first-timers' reactions to Raven, and Steve didn't let her down. Taking in her friend's low-slung hip huggers---painted on, of course---waist length hair and extreme make up, Steve's mouth gaped open. But only for a second. When he got a look at a pair of 34DDs few people ever forgot encased in a low-cut pink T-shirt, he recovered enough to smile appreciatively.
"Hey, babe." Megan was swept into a hug, Raven bending low to greet her height-challenged friend.
Releasing Megan as quickly as she'd embraced her, the other woman immediately launched into her rant. "Don't you 'hey, babe' me, miss thing. I want to know why you didn't leave a number where anyone could reach you. Some of us were worried about you, you selfish little wench." Pink lipstick that was a perfect match to the t-shirt was expertly painted on full lips that now formed a pout bordering on ostentatious. Perfectly manicured brows arched over equally perfectly made up eyes that narrowed accusingly in Megan's direction. The hands on the hips were the ultimate punctuation to her friend's snit.
"Don't make the scrunchy face at me, please? I'm in town. I'll leave you my number and e-mail, I promise." Knowing the hurt feelings were ninety percent show, Megan added what she hoped would be the peace offering that would soothe the last of the ruffled feathers. "I've come to spend money."
Looking Megan up and down, Raven turned her attention to Steve. "All right. And are you going to introduce me to this tall drink of water, or will a girl shrivel up and die an old maid first? Hmmm?"
"See anything that looks interesting?"
Megan spoke softly, approaching from the side so quietly Steve hadn't realized she was there until he heard her question at the same time a hand caressed his ass. A slow, open palmed massage of his butt wasn't something that happened to him every day. Especially not in public. But the hypnotic feel of her hand moving in circles over his flesh was making the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. He wanted to feel more of that, but without clothes and somewhere he could so something about it.
"Huh? Uh, yeah. Everything."
"Anything in particular catch your eye?"
After the introductions had been made he had wandered off to look around the store while Megan and Raven had spent a few minutes catching up. While he had been in the Adults Only back room of Remington's video store, Steve had to admit this was the first store he'd ever seen with a six-foot section devoted to butt plugs.
"Does that---" He'd spoken without thinking. Just said the first thing that had come into this head. But he cut off what he'd been about to say. He wasn't sure he could handle the answer.
Megan looked from the display that stood before them to his face, nothing but curiosity showing on her face. "Does what?"
Trying for casual, Steve looked around to make sure they weren't overheard. Seeing that Megan's friend had returned to her magazine, only occasionally looking their way, he finished his thought. Since there was no one else in the shop at the time he wasn't sure who he was afraid would listen in. "Does that feel good?" He followed Megan's eyes as they glanced at the display and back to him.
"If you do it right, sure. Start small. Use plenty of lubricant. And it helps to be really turned on first. It can be amazing." Steve didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Megan took his hand and led him away. "Any time you want to experiment let me know."
At a side counter was a collection of bottles. "Are you fussy about scents?"
Steve picked up the one closest to him. It smelled like roses. "For who?" He reached for another. More woodsy, like juniper.
"Me. You. Whoever. It's massage oil."
That didn't sound bad at all. It sounded slippery. Slippery could be nice. "Yeah, okay. Just don't make me smell like a girl."
Adding the last one to a small pile at the register, Megan gave him a smile before turning back to Raven, who had begun totaling the sale. Since he hadn't seen her pick out anything but the oil Steve took note of what went into the bag. When, in the midst of the oils and small sample-sized tubes a box was slipped in, it caught his attention. Judging from the price on the digital display, it wasn't something small.
"What's in the box?"
"Just a little something for my hope chest." He wasn't sure exactly what one of those was, let alone what went into one, but it sounded like a chick thing. His curiosity quotient about tripled when Megan gave him a wicked grin and said, "I hope I get to see you in it someday."
Steve lay on the bed, mindlessly clicking through channels with the TV remote. The Kings weren't playing and nothing was holding his attention. How could it?
The walk back to the hotel had been uneventful. Megan had slipped an arm around his waist and it had felt completely natural to drop one of his across her shoulders. Besides making it easier to protect her from the bumps and jostles of a crowded sidewalk, it gave him an excuse to hold her.
And a good thing he'd taken the opportunity because as soon as they'd gotten to the room Megan had disappeared into the bathroom. Sounds of a shower were making him nuts. He could picture the water sluicing over her lithe body, running in streams from her tits, her mound, her ass. Did she want him to join her? In his imagination he did and she welcomed him into not only the over-sized shower stall, but her body as well. But he could also imagine her glaring at him, ordering him out of the bathroom. So he did nothing.
When she emerged a short time later, she was so transformed Steve had been shocked into silence.
Gone was the casual girl he was used to seeing. In her place was a stranger. A black suit replaced the denim and sundresses he was familiar with. A blindingly white shirt was buttoned up to her chin with some kind of black pin holding it closed. She'd put her hair up into a twist, pulling it off her face, accenting her cheekbones and adding about ten years to her look. Even her shoes were different. Some kind of wicked stepsister jobs with pointy toes and vicious-looking spiked heels took the place of her usual sandals or sneakers. Most shocking of all, though, was her mouth. She had painted it scarlet.
"How do I look?"
Oh, mama. Fuckable. Do me now. Totally fuckable.
"Uh, great ... Different. But great." He was babbling. Steve knew he sounded idiotic, but what did she expect?
"Good. Why don't you have room service send up some dinner? Take a shower. Relax." Stepping between his legs as he'd sat sprawled in a chair, unable to move or speak, Megan had leaned over to brace her arms on the chair next to his. "Think about what you'd like to do when I get back."
Then she had kissed him.
A self-assured kiss, as powerful as the image she projected in her severe black, it was a kiss of ownership.
And then, before Steve could react and kiss her back, Megan was walking away. Opening the door. Stepping through. "I was going to say don't touch yourself while I'm gone. But I changed my mind. In fact, I think you probably should. When I come back I want this to last more than thirty seconds. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
But he'd been talking to the door. She was gone.
That was nearly three hours ago. He'd done as she suggested, ordering a burger with everything from room service. A salad, too. Extra fries with Thousand Island dressing. Steve was hoping he'd need the extra carbs and fat for energy.
He'd done the other thing she'd suggested, too. In the shower, after scrubbing away the dirt and grime from the day's work, he had washed his hair with the hotel's shampoo. Then, while the pulsating waves of water had pounded his back, Steve had soaped his hand and thought of Megan.
What would she do when she came back? Tie him up again? A jolt of excitement shot through him as he remembered what it had felt like. So what if he was a sick puppy? He'd never felt anything like it, before or since, and he wanted that feeling again. He shoved himself into his hand over and over, pretending it was Megan's sweet pussy that was clasping him so tightly. "Fuck me," she'd said and it hadn't been a request. Steve closed his eyes and remembered what it had felt like---imagined what it would feel like tonight. It was nothing like the real thing, but it would have to do until Megan got back.
Thank God that was over.
Megan shocked herself with her uncharitable thought. She loved Patrice. Patrice knew her in ways probably no other person on the planet did. And cared for her the same way. Megan didn't like this side of herself. She should be able to put other things aside and have dinner with an old friend.
But the siren call of what was waiting for her upstairs had her ear and wouldn't stop whispering in it. It was exquisite torture and Megan drew it out as long as she could, even asking Patrice if she would like to order dessert. Her old friend had graciously declined, though.
"No, I'll let you go. As wonderful as it is to see you again I can tell you have other things on your mind."
She had started to object, but Patrice only looked at her with those patient, worldly eyes.
"I never could hide anything from you," Megan gave in, at last.
"It is no great trick, my dear. I think even the waiter, he knows you have somewhere to go. You glow, Megan."
After that Megan had waited with Patrice while the valet brought her car. The twenty-year-old Mercedes was like everything belonging to her mentor, top quality and redolent of quiet, old money. They embraced and Patrice brought tears to Megan's eyes with her farewell.
"Take care, my dear. Listen to your heart---it is wiser than your head."
"Thank you. I will."
"And if it is more than one month before I hear from you again, be warned. I will take a crop to your backside the next time I see you. Don't think I won't." Patrice might have been laughing when she said it, but Megan believed her.
"No, ma'am."
The walk back to her room gave Megan time to reflect. Seeing Patrice had helped Megan turn a corner in her mind, she realized. Seeing her old friend, being in the city of her biggest disappointment, and knowing she had not only survived but moved on, was freeing somehow.
So that when the aged elevator finally deposited Megan on her floor and she found herself in front of her door, all the old energy that had been locked up inside her with nowhere to go came flooding back. When she opened the door, it felt like the start of something important.
He was on the bed, naked save for a pair of boxers, one hand on the clicker, one hand in the shorts. Maybe it was her imagination, but Megan liked the idea that she could still see the stain of her lipstick on him from their last kiss.
"Ready?"
His eyes had been on her the second she'd stepped into the room. He nodded.
"Really?" She let her voice infuse just a hint of skepticism---disapproval, even. She had to remember, though, that he was new to role playing. She would have to watch him carefully for any sign that it had stopped being fun. "You don't look ready. Why are you wearing those shorts? Why are you dressed at all, for that matter? Take them off. Then come over here and serve me."
Steve hustled off the bed with an enthusiasm that was most pleasing. Stripping off the offending garment, he tossed it at a nearby chair, not noticing when it missed and landed on the floor. His erection jutted forward eagerly as he came to stand in front of her. "Yes, ma'am. I'm ready."
"I'll be the judge of that. And for future reference, the next time I tell you to wait for me, I expect to find you naked. Is that clear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Megan loved the twinkle in his eye even as he uttered the subservient words. He thought he was playing. But she could tell it was turning him on just the same.
"We'll have to teach you a proper greeting, including a decent bow." Let him stew on that for a few seconds. "But that can wait. Help me off with my clothes, slave."
A little pent-up breath was expelled when Steve moved to obey. Megan could tell, like most men, he was at a loss when it came to women's clothing, so she held her arms away from her body, indicating she wanted help with the jacket. He unbuttoned the single closure the suit owned, easing it cautiously from her shoulders. The title had been a risk---he would either love it or hate it. Since he hadn't walked out in a huff she concluded he liked the little buzz it gave him and moved on to her skirt and blouse.
Removing her skirt had taken several long minutes, with each miniscule tug downward on one side matched by another on the opposite side. All the while he had breathed hot, moist air across her dripping pussy, as he had dropped easily to his knees for the task.
By the time they got to her blouse, Megan had concluded she had an impudent slave on her hands. No one could possibly fumble that badly with buttons, taking so long she had had to grit her teeth to keep from keening in frustration. Each attempt at the buttons---particularly the ones near her breasts---was accompanied by maneuvering that somehow managed to brush the tips of her nipples, teasing them into taut little nubs.
Finally down to nothing but her bra, panties, and shoes, Megan led the way to the bed. "I think I'm ready for a backrub now."
With more energy than technique, Steve went to work on her naked backside. He had drawn a gasp from her when, instead of warming the oil in his hands first, he poured it directly onto her back. Her bra was removed next, strictly for safety reasons, he assured her, not wanting to risk getting oil on the delicate lace. The rosemary and lavender undertones came out gradually as he worked it in to Megan's skin, his hands sliding wonderfully across her back and shoulders. The bed shifted and squeaked as he moved from side to side, using his thumbs and fingers in short, circular sweeps.
Straddling her backwards, Steve went to work next on butt and legs. Megan was feeling wonderfully relaxed as he continued to rub the aromatic stuff into the long muscles of her thighs, so it took her a few moments to realize he had stopped rubbing. Stretching out on top of her, warm, oil-slick fingers slid the T-strap of her thong aside and a warm tongue began to explore her pussy. Her senses lulled by the drugging effect of the oil and hands stimulating her skin, her face mashed into the coverlet, there was nothing she could do. Nothing she wanted to do. She could only lie there and take it.
As that skillful, wicked mouth went to work on her, Megan wanted to grind her hips, but the weight of his body above her gave her no leverage. She was helpless. Steve used his lips and tongue to woo her, with little bites and licks, until she was arching and shifting and chasing an orgasm that remained stubbornly just out of reach.
Fingers entered her soaked channel, pressing on her clit it seemed from the inside out.
Then suddenly the fingers were gone and the weight was lifting off her back. Strong arms lifted her limp body and tucked a pillow under her hips.
"I know what mistress needs now." A low masculine voice rumbled in her ear.
"Mmfph?" She would never get anywhere with a protest that wimpy. Not that she was altogether sure she wanted to.
"Mistress needs a good, hard fucking from her slave." A hot, hard cock slid into her and proceeded to do just that.
Oh, yeah.
Just like coming home. Only home had never felt like a hot, tight fist squeezing his cock before. It could, though. Steve thought he could get used to it in a hurry.
It seemed like forever since he'd been here, instead of just days. God, he wanted it to be good for her. Steve wanted it to last forever, but he was afraid he wouldn't last five minutes.
Arched over her, hands holding hers to the mattress, Steve realized how small she was. Without her gaze on him, the power of her personality wasn't as obvious and he could appreciate the lightness of her frame. How much shorter her legs were than his. Because when she turned those magical dark eyes on him he couldn't see anything else. The world narrowed until it was just her and him.
Steve wanted to go slow, but it felt too damned good. The vise-tight grip of her pussy. The visual, still burned into his brain, of her ass in the air ready to take him.
He pulled out as slowly as he could force himself to go, the firm grip of her sheath giving up its hold reluctantly. When he was nearly free, only the tip of him remaining inside her, Steve reversed direction and began to slide back in one agonizingly slow inch at a time.
"Am I going too fast for Mistress?" It gave him a charge to call her that. He wasn't sure why. But it made him feel strong. Powerful. At her service.
The oil he had so lovingly worked into the skin of her back made the sensation of slipping across her a completely new sensory experience. His nipples, sensitized by the metal that pierced them, were electrified by the merest graze across her slick skin.
"Mmm. No. Just right." Her voice was a barely recognizable mumble. Like she was dazed with pleasure. He slowed down. In and even more slowly back out.
"Like that, you mean?"
"No!" A shake of the head for emphasis. "Faster. Like before."
Good thing she couldn't see his face. He was probably grinning like a fool. But he'd never been more aroused. Or more in tune with a partner. He knew what she needed. And he had never felt more uniquely equipped to be the one to give it to her.
He grabbed another pillow and added it to the one already supporting her upper body. Fat and with plenty of loft, they raised Megan's body into near perfect alignment.
His cock now able to slide even deeper, Steve took one of Megan's hands and brought it back to her plump little clit---let her fingers show him the rhythm and direction she needed. As he let the momentum of his thrusts push her forward into their joined hands, Megan began making urgent, frustrated noises as she rocked her hips along with him. God, but it turned his crank in a big way to know he could do that to her. When her rhythm began to pick up speed he used his superior strength to pull her hand away and back down to the mattress.
"Dammit! Let go."
Her tone was lethal. If he knew women---and he was beginning to think he did this particular one---Steve recognized the sound of thwarted lust when it spoke. It took everything he had not to obey the authority in her voice.
The regret wasn't totally faked when he had to deny her. "I'm sorry, Mistress, but I can't. You're not ready yet."
Her language took a turn toward the gutter, but Steve didn't relent. He just continued working himself in and out of her tight, creamy pussy. The only problem was it felt too freaking good. He'd have to start thinking of roundball. The critical three-pointer Bibby missed in the '02 conference finals. They'd need a good outside shooter this year if they wanted---
Megan slammed her hips back into him, trying to find the angle she needed to put her over the edge. The slap of skin on skin, the sight of her slender neck, bared by the angry toss of her head as he thrust in and out, triggered something primitive in him. Feeling the intensity already, the sight of her bare vulnerable neck seemed to call for another kind of possession. Already pinned under his weight, held in position by his hands and cock, Steve didn't question the need that rose in him to secure her further. To mark her. Taking aim on the graceful transition of neck to shoulder, he reached down and bit her neck. Gripped gently, but firmly, and held on.
Her sweet moans and little grunts morphed into one long wail of need. Longing and lust melded into one. Steve couldn't hold back any longer. Megan needed what only he could give her as much as he needed to give it to her.
Her body shook as he slammed into her, their skin slick from oil and sweat. The feel of her slender hips as his cock drove deep taunted him. He wanted it all and part of it remained elusively out of reach. Megan pushed back on him with his every thrust, her hands clenched tightly in the coverlet. Steve was lost in the wonder of their two merged bodies and the urgency that drove him. The overpowering need to be as close as humanly possible. No, closer than that, even. Inside her. Surrounding her. Part of her.
Jesus God, but he needed her. Wanted her. Loved her.
Teetering on the jagged edge of his own release, Steve took Megan's hand in his again and guided it back to her clit. "Now. Come on." He wanted to be the one to give her everything, including her orgasm, but instinct was in control. He dropped his hands and focused on rocking her world. "Give it up. Come on."
"Oh. You bastard. Fuck me. Harder. Fuck me. Now!"
She was yelling now and they were both out of control, bodies colliding. Two elemental creatures, wild things, stripped bare by instinct and passion. "Oh. OhmyGod!" Her cries were the only warning he had before the ecstatic ripples of her cunt gripped him and dragged him with her headlong into oblivion.
The time on the clock read five-thirteen, its red digital display subtly anachronistic in the otherwise charmingly decorated old hotel room. Where the furnishings weren't authentic reproductions of the art deco that had been the probable choice of the original management, they were at least old looking. So the glowing red numbers of the clock on the nightstand were disturbing, jarring to Megan's already restless frame of mind. She stretched in the dark, her foot brushing a hairy, masculine leg.
The room's curtains, typical hotel issue, completely blocked all light. At this time of the morning Megan knew the lights of Union Square would be winking off, one by one, as the man-made glamour of San Francisco after dark gave way to the soft grays and blues of the morning. Her body was exhausted but, perversely, Megan was unable to turn off the thoughts running through her head. Like random particles bouncing around in a super-collider, they could still all fit under the Jeopardy! heading 'What to do next?' She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to keep him. Any way she could, whatever it took.
After the mind-blowingly hot turnabout of the evening's first encounter when Steve had so effectively turned the tables on her, they had made love twice more.
Her desire for a shower hadn't worked out when the stall shower had proved to be prohibitively narrow. Not that it absolutely couldn't have been done, but Megan had been feeling mellow and replete and totally unwilling to leave Steve, even long enough to shower. The bathtub, though, with its deep draw and wide old fashioned sides had fit the bill. The tub had been filled and the lights turned out, leaving the room lit only by lamplight from the adjoining room. It had been heaven to lie in each others' arms, alternately soaping and rinsing one another.
Megan had to admit that sex in the bathtub had definitely been her fault.
Running her hands down his neck and shoulders, she hadn't been able resist planting a kiss on Steve's chiseled jaw. Just one kiss couldn't hurt. But one kiss had led to another, the next on his strong neck. Which then called for a small bite. Her fingers had found his nipples, given them a pinch and it had snowballed from there.
Although the water was deep, she hadn't needed her eyes to guide her. Every feminine instinct she possessed told her his cock would be rising and they hadn't failed her. One hand stroked his awakening flesh while the other played with his balls. Steve had remained still, letting her arouse him, slowly teasing him to the breaking point. Until finally, his eyes asking and her eyes answering, he had lifted her onto his erect cock. Only to halt, his hands frozen as they had been about to lower her body, his lips stopping in mid-kiss.
"Shit."
"What?" Megan closed the distance for him and completed the kiss. He tasted delicious, his skin slightly raspy beneath her tongue.
Water rippled as Steve pulled back, banging his head lightly against the wall. "I forgot the condom. I didn't use one the last time, either."
"Don't worry about it." She linked her fingers with his and let her friend gravity force his lovely fat cock fill her up. Closing her eyes, Megan held onto Steve's hands for balance and slowly rotated her hips, savoring the sensation.
Lost in her own pleasure, she was startled when he effectively stopped her movement by grasping her around the waist. "Do you want to get pregnant?"
She stopped and blinked at him. "No. I only meant I use the patch. Birth control. It's okay." Megan began to move again, still a little spooked by what she'd read on Steve's face and in his eyes. She didn't take believe in taking chances with anything that might require a college fund some day. But she would swear that had been a hopeful spark she'd seen light his eyes, if only for a moment. If she was going to be honest with herself she would have to ask herself why that thought thrilled her so.
After falling asleep still damp from the bath wrapped in each others' arms, Megan had awakened to the sensation of her legs being parted and a hard penis nudging persistently at her opening. Steve must have been stroking her as she slept, because she had already been wet and ready for him. Their loving that time had been slow and tender, filled with long pauses for nothing but kisses and gentle caresses.
Megan stared hard into the darkness, straining to pick out the smallest hint of Steve's elegant profile. She scooted closer and wrapped herself around his back, slipping an arm around his waist to hug him close. She knew what was keeping her awake.
Somewhere along the way she had fallen in love.
Probably early on, maybe even that very first night when he had presented himself at her table in Goldie's. But what about him? What did he feel? She knew he liked what she could do for him. To him. He was infatuated with the buzz he got when she controlled the moves and made him serve her. But was that enough? Was she enough? Or would he need more?
Leaning in close to breathe in his clean manly smell, Megan held him a little tighter and pressed a kiss to his muscular back. "I love you." She was a coward and only whispered the words softly. So softly that, even were he awake, he wouldn't be able to hear. The power of the words terrified her, but she wanted to speak them so that maybe, on some level, his subconscious would get the message.
A long arm reached around behind him and gripped her ass, Steve's big hand able to palm it neatly, and pulled her closer. "Me too, babe. Just don't expect me to do anything about it until I've gotten some sleep, though."
Two weeks later
"What is it?"
"It's a present, genius. Open it."
Steve looked at the box, a little bigger than a deck of cards, that Megan had left on the now-made bed. It was Sunday afternoon and they were expected at his parents' house for dinner where they were meeting Megan for the first time. Having spent most of the day apart, when they had come back together at her place they had left a trail of clothes that led from the front door to the bedroom. "If I have to share you with my family, I'll need a little something to get me through until tonight. A fond memory to tide me over," he had told her. The afternoon's lesson in obedience had wrecked the bed, but left a smile on his face.
And now this.
"What's in it?" He was pretty sure he recognized it. It looked suspiciously like the same box he'd last seen disappearing into the purple bag with gold lettering that was Sullie's trademark.
The box for Megan's hope chest. What had she said? Something about hoping to see him in it? Which made it sound like apparel. It was an awfully tiny box for something a man his size would wear.
Her voice was low and silky when she told him, "Something I plan on seeing you wearing in approximately two minutes. Open it."
Still a little reluctant, Steve picked up the box. He held it to his ear and shook it. The rattling noise told him it was small. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to unwrap itself. But there was no arguing and very little negotiating when Megan wore what he'd come to think of as 'the face.' He checked. Yup. Very definitely had 'the face' on. Steve ripped the paper off and pulled off the lid.
Sitting on a bed of white cotton was a ... he didn't know what it was. Black leather straps attached to a stainless steel ring and ... a lock? What the---?
Genuinely puzzled, he had to ask. "I'm challenged. How am I supposed to wear---Oh, no. In your dreams, doll. In your dreams."
How the hell had she gotten from naked to that so fast? Dressed all in gray, Megan looked like a candidate for the young Republicans club. She wore tailored pants and a sweater set in a lighter shade, topped off with a pearl necklace that would have done the First Lady proud. And she was bearing down on him with what could only be a cock harness in her petite hands.
"No fucking way." He felt the need for additional emphasis.
"Oh yeah, way." She had it unlocked and unsnapped now, but there was no adjusting the stainless steel ring that was held by two straps of riveted black leather. And the strap that joined at a ninety-degree angle could only be meant to torture his poor balls. "You are going to look so freaking hot in this. Do you have any idea what it will do to me, to know you're wearing this while we're having dinner with your folks?" Her half smile was truly wicked and her eyes were slitted in what looked very much like ecstatic pleasure. "I don't know how I'll stand it all night."
All night?
His cock, which had been milked dry just minutes before, showed traitorous signs of going along with the perverted plan. Steve was appalled at the tingle of interest that shot through him at the thought. Disgusted though he was with himself, the devil on his shoulder was whispering, "Yeah. Hell, yeah. You know you want it, you sick fuck."
Where was the wall when you needed to bang your head against it? He sighed. "Okay. So, how did you say this thing goes on?"
Stephanie Vaughan is a multi-published author of erotic romance in eBook and print format. Cruel to Be Kind is her first title with Phaze, to be followed by Dead Man's Party. Readers interested in her works may learn more at her website at www.stephanievaughan.com.
An Acquired Taste, by Jude Mason
ISBN 1-59426-945-9, $5.50, available in eBook format
After losing her husband to a drunk driver, Cynthia Lyon thought she'd begun to get a handle on living alone, until she found a leak in her roof. Remembering how a dishonest contractor had swindled them, she creates a contract that would have most men running for the hills.
After a disappointing response from a recommended construction outfit, Cynthia gives Jenkins and Sons a call. Enter, Caleb Jenkins, a young, good looking fellow who seems more than willing to take on her and her contract. A third generation building contractor, he agrees to fix the roof, plus add a room, all according to an agreed upon schedule. There's just one tiny clause that worries him, if he doesn't keep to this schedule, he'll be punished. What begins as a simple construction job quickly turns into much, much more.
Speed Dating by Yvette Hines
ISBN 1-59426-903-3, $2.50, available in eBook format
Jenna Taylor is a legal secretary in love with her deliveryman. Apprehensive about how to go about getting him to notice her, she orders packages daily in an attempt to force his hand. But, three months into the delivery scheme she discovers Malcolm has not caught on and only sees her as a frequent customer with a home business. Dejected, she follows the advice of her friend, a Dominatrix, who convinces her to attend a Valentine's Day speed dating event and embarks on a clandestine adventure she'll never forget. When she meets L'entraîneur (The Trainer), he shows her a whole new side of herself.
Visit www.phaze.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

