Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

He wanted her; he didn't want anyone else touching her, tasting her. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. Having a woman, any woman, get under your skin was a bad move. The danger increased when the woman was your partner.

“Master!”

He heard her breaths, little gasps of air. He could feel her fighting her orgasm like a good little sub. “You may come,” he told her.

“Torin!”

He drove into her, hard, impaling her with his thrusts. There was nothing gentle or soft about this. It was raw, animalistic, filled with lust. For the moment she was his, and he'd leave her no doubt about it.

She screamed.

Then her body squeezed him tight.

Her climax pushed him over the top. In a hot stream, he ejaculated, the orgasm feeling as if it had been ripped from his testicles.

It was brutal. It was satisfying. It wasn't even close to fulfilling his need to take her.

He withdrew from her. He looked at her for a moment, her midnight dark hair escaping its confines to curl against her neck, her shoulders. She was still pressed against the table. He'd never see oak the same way again.

She remained in place, her hands curled around the edge of the table. The marks of his punishment striped her thighs and buttocks, and her pussy glistened with her moisture.

Oh. Yeah. He wanted her again. And again.

His cock began resurging to life, even though he would have sworn she'd already drained every drop of semen from his body. “Shower?”

“Is water sex involved?”

“Insatiable wench.” He helped her to stand, giving her a moment to regain her equilibrium before once again exerting his dominance by saying, “For your impertinence, you can get your lovely tush back on that table.”

“Master?”

“This time I want you to lie on your back, Mira. Spread your legs. I want to watch you masturbate.”

Mira's breath was shaky.

Her partner, and now lover-slash-dom, demanded more than she'd ever given to another man.

She turned to face him, and it was her first view of him completely naked. Her mouth dried. The sight of him nude didn't disappoint.

She'd known he was lean and muscular—she'd seen him workout in a T-shirt and shorts, but the flatness of his stomach and the definition of his biceps were incredible. She imagined those muscles flexing as he beat her, and she intuitively realized he'd held back a lot when he'd punished her. Torin was a raw, powerful man. He had harnessed that energy when dealing with her. She wanted, recklessly, to know what it was like when he didn't hold back, when he allowed emotion to affect him.

Dark hair arrowed down the center of his chiseled chest, stopping just above the thatch of pubic hair. His cock, even half-flaccid, was impressive. She hungered, suddenly, for him to take her again.

Already the experience with Torin Carter had exceeded any expectation she'd had. She'd used her vibrator several times and fantasized about him, and even those wild imaginations hadn't even come close to the reality of the way he touched her, tasted her, mastered her.

Through the years she'd played with any number of men. Now she realized they'd all had one thing in common. She could manipulate them.

This tall, dark Irishman wouldn't tolerate subterfuge, and that thrilled her as much as it frightened her.

“Now,” he said, his voice was roughened, like a diamond sliding across sandpaper.

“Uh…”

“Problem, sub?”

She was always bold, and it sometimes got her into trouble. “I haven't yet seen Master's hot ass.”

He laughed. Slowly, he turned around.

Oh, dear. God.

His ass was as tight as the rest of him. His thighs were muscular; his calves were well defined.

He was beyond dangerous to her, mentally as well as physically.

He finished the rotation, then nodded toward the table.

Following orders wasn't easy. She wanted to touch him, kneel before him, take his cock in her mouth, and suck it until he was hard enough to fuck her again.

She climbed onto the table and lay on her back.

Wordlessly, he repositioned her, putting her feet on the table and tapping her knees so she spread her legs wide.

This was a much more revealing position, leaving her exposed.

“Do you fuck your ass when you masturbate?”

She raised her eyebrows “Not usually. No.”

“Fuck your ass with your fingers, Mira.”

A frisson of excitement danced through her. No man had ever pushed her boundaries the way he did.

“Show me how you like to be pleasured,” he said.

Feeling oddly self-conscious, she reached between her legs and stroked her fingertips across her pussy. She was damp. Her heart was racing.

Her eyes closed as she searched for a rhythm to take her to release. Then she remembered he hadn't given her permission to orgasm, he'd just instructed her to masturbate. She opened her eyes to find him intently watching her, his arms folded across his chest. His blue eyes were like chips of a glacier. In that moment he looked truly masterful. She felt weak inside, wanting to be dominated completely by him.

“May I come?” she asked quietly.

“I'll let you know when I decide.”

She continued stroking her pussy, feeling it growing damper and damper. She moistened her forefinger and began to push it against her anal whorl.

“It's a total turn-on to watch you, Mira. My cock's getting hard again.”

Using her heels on the table as leverage, she lifted her hips slightly, realizing she was presenting an even more obscene image.

“Nice,” he said.

She inserted a second finger into her rear and began to move them in and out.

She closed her eyes again, and self-consciousness was lost in the sensation of pleasuring herself while he watched her.

An orgasm, and its delicious tension, spread through her.

Her breathing changed, becoming more labored.

She fought to hold off the climax, grinding her bare heels onto the oak table.

But then he was there, painfully squeezing her nipples between each thumb and forefinger.

She was so needy, so close…

Still keeping the pressure on her nipples and squeezing her breasts, he leaned over to eat her pussy.

Mira came with a scream.

Mira woke up the next morning, tired, sore, well used, with a smile, facedown on the mattress and… Unable to move?

She pulled on her wrists slightly, realizing she was tied in place.

She pulled against her ankles, realizing they too were secured.

A bit frantic, she opened her eyes.

The room was dark, but at least she recognized where she was: Torin's bedroom in the Hawkeye safe house. She was completely alone.

She heard the sound of running water and inhaled the spice of hot, fresh coffee.

She was safe, but there was no way she was getting out of her bondage.

It was a testament to how hard she'd slept and to his skill that he'd managed to truss her up without her being aware of it.

She barely remembered anything after the scene last night on the kitchen table. He'd carried her to his room over her protests. She preferred to sleep alone, always had. Even when she was in a fairly serious relationship, she rarely had sleepovers, telling the men in her life that she could be called away at any time, day or night, and she hated to disturb them. She'd lied. Truth was, spending the night and having breakfast together were intimacies she didn't want. She enjoyed having a nice, orderly life. Men—relationships—mucked that up completely.

She liked bondage on her terms. She enjoyed being punished when she wanted to be punished, relished being the one to dream up the scenes. For one dom, she'd gone as far as to script what she wanted and send him an e-mail in advance.

Torin Carter, damn him, had his own ideas. Like leaving her spread eagle, facedown on the bed while he had coffee and a shower—after promising her water sex that had never materialized.

So while she'd fantasized about having a man who would push past her boundaries, Torin's actually annihilating them annoyed the hell out of her.

She wanted a cup of that strong, bold coffee with a dollop of heavy cream.

Breakfast would be good too. Control over the situation would be the bow on the present.

And since she couldn't control the situation until he got his ass back in the room, Mira schooled her thoughts, trying to rein in her annoyance. She measured her breaths, deeply in, slowly out, focusing on one thing: control of her mind, if not her body.

Unbelievably, she heard him singing in the shower. Singing while she was left alone with her thoughts and memories.

Against her intentions, she thought about the way he'd stormed into Dark Haven last night and nearly broken Master Blake's wrist. Torin's temper would be hot, if she went for that kind of thing, which she was suddenly realizing she might.

To have a man she desired so intently go after her…

And then the way he'd shackled her to the wall, beaten her, fucked her…

Horny, Mira began to move her crotch against the sheets.

She thought of his hands, the way he'd touched her… His mouth, the way he'd eaten her pussy…

“Naughty sub, humping the mattress just like you tried to get off against the wall in the dungeon.”

She froze.

How had she not noticed he'd stopped singing and turned off the water? The room seemed to echo with the silence.

“You didn't come, did you?”

“No,” she whispered, turning her head to the side to look at him. Oh. God.

He wore a white towel around his hips and nothing more.

Droplets of water clung to his bare chest, and his hair was slicked back, making his cheekbones all the more prominent. His eyes seemed more frosty than they ever had before, and his lips were set in a firm, nonteasing line.

The man who'd been singing a few moments ago had been replaced by a stern dom.

She hadn't thought it was possible to be more turned on than she had been earlier, but clearly she'd been wrong. He didn't have to touch her for her to become aroused; he only had to speak with that toe-curling brogue.

“Don't mind if I check? Subs aren't allowed orgasms without permission from their masters. I assume you were aware of that?”

When she didn't answer, he asked, “Mira?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” he said, keeping her gaze ensnared.

Softly, her voice roughened by sleep, she said, “My orgasms belong to you.”

“Good girl.” He crossed the room, the towel riding lower on his hips. He sat on the bed and stroked the insides of her thighs.

This was totally different for her.

She'd never had a scene that carried over from the night before. She'd never considered herself a true submissive, just a woman who enjoyed a taste of kink and knew how to play the game. That he'd tied her up while she slept and left her there while he showered bothered her a bit. That he was still exerting dominance this morning left her scrambling. He was taking this thing too far, past where she wanted to go—past the point where she was in control.

When he touched her pussy, she gasped.

“You're wet,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Lift your hips.”

Her restraints made it difficult to comply.

He teased her clit mercilessly, and she pulled against her bonds. When she was on the verge, he grabbed a pillow and pushed it beneath her stomach.

“I was thinking about you while I was in the shower,” he said. “How much I want you again and again. And how hard I'm going to fuck your ass.”

Her heart missed its next few beats and then slammed them all into a sudden surge of adrenaline.

As best she could, being tied facedown to the bedposts, she watched him. He opened a nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom.

He dropped the towel.

His cock was hard, thrusting toward her. For a few seconds she forgot to breathe as she watched him roll the condom down the length of his erection. He squirted a dollop of lube onto his fingers, then knelt beside her on the bed.

He slowly inserted one slick finger into her anus, allowing her time to accommodate his touch. “Relax,” he said, sweeping her hair from her neck, tangling his fingers in it.