He squeezed her ass cheeks, letting her feel his strength and her helplessness. Her muscles quivered under his hands, and when he slid his fingers over her clit, she moaned. Needy and wet.

And now, as a Dom, he would take her for his own pleasure.

He started slow, letting her pussy stretch to fit him, and then he took her just as hard as he'd said, drawing out the pleasure for them both.

Something about this position brought out the beast, and he growled as his balls contracted and the need to release increased. He picked up the Hitachi and flipped it on. The loud hum almost drowned out her moan, which sounded equally of excitement and desperation. The vibrator was so strong, he could feel it inside her pussy as he pressed it, gently this time, to her clit. Gripping her hip with one hand, he drove in deeper, his balls slapping against her pussy. He thrust, then pressed the vibrator against her briefly, thrust, pressed—again, and she came so powerfully, the spasms almost pushed him out of her. With a laugh, he tossed the wand aside.

Her pussy clenched around his cock as he secured her hips and plunged into her, letting himself go. His balls tightened, squeezing painfully as if someone had grabbed them, and then his cock erupted in forceful jerks that sent pleasure searing through every nerve in his body.

He stayed in her as his heart rate decreased, enjoying the intermittent contractions that rippled through her vagina. Eventually he took a slow breath and straightened up. He forced his fingers open and winced; she'd have bruises on her hips tomorrow.

Removing the anal plug caused a moan. Withdrawing his cock made her whimper. One by one, he removed the straps and chains, then the blindfold and gag. She blinked at him, her big brown eyes dazed.

“My little sub,” he murmured as he picked her up. In the corner chair, he settled down, pulling the blanket from the end table over her. Both of them reeked of sweat, sex, and satisfaction. Her muscles were limp, although an aftershudder would jerk through her now and then. But she snuggled into his embrace in a way that told him his hopes had been justified. Her trust in him had grown.

Had it grown enough?


“Did you like being restrained?”

Mac rubbed her cheek against Alex's chest. Her muscles, her whole body, felt wilted like aged lettuce. If the house started on fire, she'd probably burn before she made it out of the chair.

“MacKensie, answer me.”

Restrained.Right. Her wrists and legs hadn't forgotten the feel of the straps, of the bindings holding her in place and how he touched her whenever and wherever he'd wanted. She'd let him do that to her. “I… It was different.”

“That isn't an answer.” His hand gripped her hair, tilting her head back so she had to meet his intense gaze. “Try again,” he suggested. Ordered.

She wet her lips, her mouth dry.

He glanced away, moved his arm from around her to reach the end table, and grabbed a bottled water. She fumbled her arms free of the blanket to remove the top and then drank half the bottle. “I didn't realize I was so thirsty. We hadn't been…uh…messing around that long.”

“All that panting.” His cheek creased as he smiled, his eyes still slightly heavy from satisfaction, and she felt an answering satisfaction, both from her own orgasms and that she'd obviously pleased him.

When he didn't speak further and just waited, she realized he still expected an answer to his question. Damn the man. “I…I feel funny about it,” she finally said. Honesty sucked. She turned her face into his chest and added, “It makes me hot.”

“And that bothers you?”

She nodded. He stroked her hair. How could he smack her bottom, pound into her, and then be so comforting right afterward?

“Because you're an independent woman who shouldn't enjoy giving over control to a man. Ever.”

“That's it.”

“Our society says being dominated is a bad thing even if you enjoy it. But it's not a solely female need, sweetheart. There are a lot of men who enjoy handing over control in exactly the same way.”

True. She'd seen men in the submissive positions in the BDSM clubs, with both men and women as Doms. She peeked up at Alex. “You?”

He chuckled and ran a finger down her cheek. “What do you think?”

She considered the power he virtually radiated, the authority in his eyes and voice, and the way he took charge without even thinking. “Never. You'd never give up control.”

“Very good.” His thumb ran over her lips and rubbed a sore spot the gag had left. “Although I can play nicely with other people most of the time, I am very much a sexual dominant.” His lips curved. “And you are a sexual submissive, little cat. Do you realize that?”

Sexual submissive. He'd put a boundary on it. The right boundary. She didn't and wouldn't want to cave in to him or anyone else during the day. Definitely not at work. But other times… When his voice deepened and he said, Strip, everything in her wanted to do exactly that—and anything else he ordered. She had wanted him to take her hard, to tie her down, to tease her, and make her beg. Not having to think left her with only the feel of his hands on her, his voice, and the sensations he gave her.

A sexual submissive. “Yes. I see that.” The acknowledgment gave her the same paranoid feeling as if she'd left her car unlocked in Pioneer Square. Like she was defenseless, and now he could take what he wanted.

His arms tightened around her. “It works two ways. A submissive gives up her power, yes, and some people consider that a submissive's gift.”

“You don't?”

“Not particularly. No more than any trade.” He kissed the top of her head. “You have a need to submit, to surrender control, and to give of yourself and body, and being controlled fulfills something inside you.” He paused. “I need to dominate, but part of domination is the need to cherish and protect. Everyone in the world has these desires to some extent; we're further to one end of the scale.”

That felt right. What she'd done and he'd done. It sure beat thinking that suddenly she'd turned wussy.

“Okay.” She could feel her muscles that had knotted with his first question ease. There was more give-and-take in this than she'd acknowledged. And more equality in its own way.

BDSM. All right. She was submissive—and maybe even that way without Alex. But the thought of being without Alex sent a chill through her. She needed to face that too, as long as she was dealing with tough issues. How long was this little interlude going to last?

She licked her lips and forced the words out. “I have a job now.”

“Yes.”

“Cynthia's in Europe.”

“Yes.”

And wasn't he just being a world of help in this conversation? “Then aren't the reasons for my being here—living here—gone?”

“Ah.” Firm fingers pushed her hair away from her face, raised her chin. “Do you want to leave?”

Just looking at his hard cheekbones, the sun lines beside his eyes, his lips, which held no smile, made her heart quiver, made her want to plaster herself against him. Instead she gave him a nasty look. “My question came first.”

He laughed, and then his gaze turned serious. “Stay, little vet.”

The words made her heart turn over.

He finished. “Let's see where this goes.”

It wouldn't go too far; she knew that. He was rich; she was poor. High society: ex-whore. Stable: neurotic. But for now, there was no place in the entire world that she'd rather be than here in his arms.

* * *

Late the next afternoon, Mac edged in the door, juggling her bundles, only to have everything drop except the one thing that might have survived a spill. “Frak, frak, frak.” A bark came from the back of the house and then scrabbling sounds as Butler charged toward the foyer to greet her.

To top off the wreck of her day, she heard footsteps. Alex was home.

And this wasn't her home. What was I thinking?

Her stomach sank. He'd probably order her right out of his house. The clawing worry in her stomach duplicated the tiny claws digging into her forearm. The kitten had seen Butler.

“Easy, kitling,” she murmured. “I don't think he eats cats.” But she didn't know, now did she? “Butler,” she said firmly. “Behave.” She turned so the cat was out of the dog's sight and vice versa.

Alex walked around the corner with that easy grace and power, and her heart did that funny dip like it did every time she saw him. Maybe she had a heart condition.

“How did the day go?” he asked; then his eyes narrowed, and he moved forward. “What's wrong, little vet?”

Caught.Caught dead to rights. When she was a kid, she'd rescued a half-starved puppy and brought it to the foster home. Arlene had thrown it out. “This is my home, not yours.” That night, Mac had sneaked out and found the puppy still in the front yard. So little. All bones and big eyes. She'd carried him across town to the animal rescue and cried all the way back. You would think she'd have learned.

Of course, Alex liked animals. Maybe… Her stomach tightened, and she looked down. Anything to avoid his eyes. This was Alex's home. Not hers. If he liked cats, he'd have one.

He huffed a laugh, and she looked up in time to get a firm kiss on her lips. “I'm not sure which of you is shaking harder,” he murmured, disengaging the kitten's claws with an easy competence. “Butler, lie down,” he ordered absently when the dog's approach triggered a tiny hiss.

“I'm sorry,” Mac whispered, looking at the antique furnishings. “It's just for tonight, and then I'll try to find him a home. He was in the middle of Mercer Street, and I couldn't leave him. If you don't want him in the house, then…” Maybe she could sneak him into a motel.