Her fingers stroked the spot where she’d gashed him with her nails. “It’s like another world. It’s the place where I can remind myself who I was before life happened. I can just be, without having to worry about any expectations or obligations or prying eyes. This house is falling apart and old, but it’s mine. My memories linger here. My name is carved in the railing outside. This is my happy place. It’s my safe place.”
His throat went tight. She was going to kick him out now. She’d tried over and over, but this time he’d have to listen. He didn’t want to be the one to mess up her safe place.
But she didn’t step away. She moved closer. “And you know what’s magical about this place?”
“What?” His voice was raw against his throat.
She lifted her hand and pressed it over his eyes, encouraging him to close them. Her voice was soft and soothing when she spoke again. “It could be yours, too.”
He tensed.
The hand on his shoulder tracked down, raking nails lightly down his chest over his nipples, his abdomen, and then lower. When her hand closed over his erection through his jeans, he couldn’t stop the groan from escaping. “Sam . . .”
She gripped him firmly, sending lightning up his spine. “You can stay, Gib. But if I let you into this place, you have to leave all that outside stuff on the other side of the door. We’re both safe here. I’ll give up my alone time, my privacy, as I deal with what happened last night. I’ll let you see me the way no one else is ever allowed to. But in return, you have to give me the same.”
Gibson tipped his head back against the wall as she gave him a stroke. His body was completely on board with any plan she wanted to offer right now, but his head wasn’t far gone enough to not hear the alarm bells sounding. “What does that mean?”
“You know what it means,” she said, a siren song in her voice. “While you’re here, you’re mine. There’s no one here to judge you for it, and no one ever has to know. While you’re here, I want what I suspect you’re more than capable of, Gibson. I want your submission.”
The rush of anxiety that went through him braided in with the arousal. He wanted Sam so much it kept him up at night, fantasies of those glittering eyes and wicked smiles as she made him do her bidding. He’d woven fantasies about her that he’d never admit aloud. And she was right. It wasn’t just about the pain. He knew what got him off when he let his fantasies charge off the reservation—the lack of control, the shame, the humiliation. He’d jerked off to stuff that made him feel sick inside afterward.
He didn’t want to be that person in front of anyone, much less Sam. What if there was no coming back from that? He liked how she looked at him. He liked that she saw him as strong and cocky and hardheaded. He’d worked hard to mold that shy, quiet kid who’d have an anxiety attack every time he heard his father drop ice cubes into a lowball glass into the person he was now. He could take Sam giving him pain, enjoy it even. That would only make him look tougher because he never broke. But that wasn’t what she was asking for.
She was asking for it all.
His mouth was dry, his body on fire. “Sam . . .”
She moved her hand away from his face and his cock. Her eyes were serious when he met her gaze. Serious and beguiling. “It’d only be for a week, Gib. I know you want me. This. Every part of you is screaming that right now. And in case you have any doubts, seeing you like this is doing it for me, too. If it’s fucked up that you got hard from me slapping your face, I guess it’s equally fucked up that I’m wet from seeing your reaction, that I wanted to hit you again.”
A breath whooshed out of him. Fuck. She was going to kill him. His hands itched to reach out for her, to feel that slick arousal against his fingers, to be inside her. He kept his hands at his sides.
“I need your trust, Gibson. We’ll have safe words. And at the end of the week or at whatever point you don’t want this anymore, you can walk away and I’ll never speak of it again. But don’t you think it’s time we both scratch this itch?” She pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips against his ear. “Because until then, I’m never going to be able to be friends with you without thinking what it’d be like to make you hurt, to make you come at my command, to make you fucking beg for me.”
He bit his tongue, the wave of need so forceful he almost grabbed her and took over.
Her voice was low and dark against his ear. “And I know you’re scared to show me this side of yourself. I know you think I’m too sweet or innocent or something to handle you. But you have no idea, Gib. No idea where my mind goes. So you better put limits on me, because I can be one scary-ass bitch.”
He closed his eyes and a shudder went through him, her words like an electrical surge inside him. All systems go.
She pressed her nose to the curve of his neck. “Tell me yes, Gib.”
The need moving through him was too strong, too potent. He’d avoided Sam after that night in the training room, but since then he hadn’t been able to touch another woman. She’d ruined him. She was in his head, stalking him. There was no way out, only through. He had to go there with her. She was right. They couldn’t be friends with this thing, this unfinished business, hovering between them. If he did this, he might never be able to face her again, but maybe he’d at least appease the obsession. They could both move on. Stop this painful dance. This torture with no end.
So though his heart was beating too fast, fear a thousand beating wings in his chest, he opened his mouth and said the only thing he could. “Yes.”
Sam’s breath coasted against his neck as she released one she’d apparently been holding. He realized then that she needed this as badly as he did. Somehow that made it easier. “Tell me your safe word.”
“I don’t need one.”
She pinched his side—hard, catching him off guard and making him swear. “Don’t insult me, Andrews. You don’t think I can hurt you? Rethink that. Safe word.”
He’d never need it. He didn’t doubt she could hurt him. But he knew he wouldn’t break. So he just spit out the Ranch standard. “Red.”
She reached out for his belt buckle, unfastened it, and then pulled. The sound of leather sliding against denim was loud in his ears, and every ounce of his blood rushed south.
Sam stepped back, eyes twinkling with something fierce as she looped the belt around her fist. “Your cock looks like it’s about to tear through your pants. Must hurt pressing against that zipper.”
He rubbed his lips together, the pressure in his dick near unbearable. But that only made his blood pump harder. “I’m managing.”
“You a pain slut, Gib?”
The fact that she kept using his name instead of one of the standard submissive terms—pet, sub, boy—made the whole thing feel more intense. In his sessions with dommes, he could slip into a role, be nameless, faceless. Sam wasn’t going to let him get away with that. She was going to make him own it. Admit what he never said aloud to anyone. “Yes, mistress.”
“Yes, what?”
He swallowed past his tight throat, the shame that tried to steal the words. “I’m a pain slut.”
“Take off your shirt.”
He’d done this for her before. He’d gone shirtless in trainings, had taken the kiss of her whip. But this somehow felt altogether different. He grabbed the back of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. When he tossed it aside, he found Sam’s gaze hot on him. The obvious appreciation in her eyes was its own reward.
“Very nice.” Her gaze fell to his waistband. “Unzip your pants and take out your cock. I want to see what you’ve been keeping from me all this time.”
Gibson had never had a problem shedding his clothes in front of a woman, but the way Sam was looking at him had adrenaline coursing through him. He unzipped his fly and moved to shove his pants and underwear down.
But before he could, the belt swung out and hit his thigh through
his jeans with a thwack. He stilled, the sting of it like sweet fire.
“I didn’t say take them off. I said take your cock out,” Sam said, that cool impatience like an aphrodisiac.
“I’m sorry, mistress.”
She huffed a beleaguered sigh and flicked her hand at him. “Link your hands behind your head and stay still. I can’t trust you to do it right.”
Slowly, he lifted his arms and laced his hands behind his head. Sam didn’t take her eyes off him. She was gauging his reaction, pushing at borders and seeing what she got. A little sting here. A little shaming thrown around. The girl was relatively new to dominance, but she was a natural at reading people. And he had no doubt what she saw in his face.
Sam reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulled it back, and dipped her hand inside. Her soft skin against his cock made the arches of his feet bow up. But she didn’t offer any more relief than a brief squeeze. Instead she cupped him, dipped his waistband low, and tucked it beneath his scrotum, putting all of him on lewd display within the open fly of his jeans. The head of his cock was glossy with arousal, the skin flushed and ruddy. He was dying for her to touch him, to put her mouth on him, something to alleviate the ache. But she left him in the cold.
She stepped back as if to examine her work, but he was preoccupied with drinking in the view. Sam’s nipples were pressing hard against her T-shirt, her breath quick, and her pupils dilated. She was turned the hell on and liking what she saw. He imagined he could scent her arousal in the air, which only made his cock harder. She wanted him. It was all over her.
But all she offered him was a shrug. “Yep. You’ll do.”
That earned her a choked laugh from him, made something loosen inside of him, made him want to play. “Don’t lie, beautiful. You like what you see. You’re imagining my cock in you right now, how good it’s going to feel.”
“Back talk will get you nowhere good.” Her grin was wicked as she raised her arm to wield the belt, her fierce beauty absolute. And he knew he was fucking done.
He’d agreed to a week.
He may not survive it.
But he’d die with a smile on his face.
Chapter 5
Sam was going to lose her ever-loving mind. She was usually a pro at keeping her cool, but the man before her was so beautifully built, so blindingly sexy, that she could barely keep her arm steady as she striped his chest with the belt.
She’d seen Gibson shirtless, had admired the broad shoulders, the light dusting of fur on his chest, the hard body. The man kept himself in shape. But seeing him on display like he was now—hands locked behind his head, pants open, and all that maleness out and proud—goddamn. She wanted to kiss that trail of dark hair that tracked down his abdomen to that beautiful, thick cock, wanted to lick that fluid from the tip, to hear him moan for her. She wanted to cup his balls and tug, see what edge of pain he liked, because she sensed he’d like more than she usually had leave to give. But more than that, she wanted this right now. The man she’d fantasized about for so long giving all to her—submitting. Begging for the sting of the pain she was giving him.
But she had to be careful. Gibson had agreed to this, but he was a proud man, one who’d instinctively try to hold on to some of the control. She’d seen how he looked at her. He knew she was just as turned on as he was, just as desperate for release. He’d be expecting her to let him fall on top of her after his little session, satisfy them both.
She wouldn’t give him what he expected.
“Turn around. Shove your pants and underwear down and then brace your hands on the wall.”
Gibson blinked, his gaze clouded with the haze of arousal and the adrenaline of the pain, but after a second, he did as he was told. Seeing him bend over and expose that muscled backside was just too much. Since he wasn’t looking, she cupped herself through her jeans, pressing her hand against her clit, trying to stave off some of the ache. It’d been too long since she’d given herself any relief, and this was like putting a three-layer cake in front of a girl on a juice fast.
And when he widened his stance and pressed his palms against the wall, putting all that nakedness on display, she couldn’t resist. Abandoning her original plan, she tossed the belt aside and closed the distance between them. Her hand coasted over the muscled curve of his ass, and then she bent down and bit the flesh.
“Fuck.” Gibson groaned, his thighs tensing and his stance shifting.
The sound was like a drug in her blood. She knew the difference between fuck, that hurt and fuck yes, do that again. “I want to bite you everywhere. See my marks all over you. This ass is like a work of art.”
A drop of pre-come hit the bare wood. She smiled. That was one stain on the floor she wouldn’t mind. She raised her hand and smacked the spot she’d bitten. It would burn like a motherfucker, but it earned the reaction she wanted from Gibson when he cursed again. Plus, feeling his heated flesh beneath her palm made her sex pulse with need. She’d never spanked a man with her bare hand. She always used a flogger or whip. Now she knew why people liked this. This felt more intimate. More sexual. The shape of her hand standing out in red on his skin.
She hit him again and channeled that part of herself that had no shame, no fear, that part that craved the kink. “You can’t imagine how wet I am right now, Gib. I’m smooth down there and can feel how slippery I’m getting. My panties are ruined.”
Gib groaned. “You’re killing me, Sam.”
Sam, not mistress. Normally, she’d punish for that. But she liked the sound of her name on his lips.
She stood behind him and unzipped her jeans. Gibson automatically turned his head, but she gave him a hard slap on the butt. “Unh-unh. Keep your eyes closed or stare at the wall. No peeking.”
“Please,” he said, his voice gritty. “Please let me look at you.”
She toed off her shoes and tugged off her pants, leaving her in just her T-shirt and panties. “I like the sound of you begging, but no. You haven’t earned a look yet.”
“Then why are you undressing?”
She slid her hand into her panties and gave herself a stroke, the touch torture since she wasn’t going to finish it, but the deprivation would be worth it. She eased her fingers from between her legs and then rubbed her slick fingertips along his inner thigh.
“Oh, fuck.” Gibson tapped his forehead against the wall. “Let me help you, Sam. Let me touch you. Taste you.”
She cupped his balls from behind and gave them a squeeze. He hissed out a breath. “You know, I love this part of a man. Seeing your legs spread, all that maleness taking up space between them, every part of you exposed and vulnerable. I could get off to that image every time.” She traced the base of his cock with her fingertips. “All of this would look so pretty trussed up with a cock ring.”
He shuddered and she wanted to bury herself in that reaction. Oh, he had no idea how sexy he was, what his responses did to her.
She dragged her fingers back, along the tender skin of his scrotum, over the sensitive spot behind it and then trailed farther, teasing the rim of his taint with a light fingernail scrape. “I like other things on a man, too.”
Gibson’s muscles clenched at that. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Didn’t sputter about limits. She smiled, something light and fizzy filling her. The day had certainly taken a turn. She’d been pissed when Gibson had grabbed her. Scared. But now she realized how much she’d needed this. Him. Last night was a nightmare in the faded background right now. She hadn’t needed to lash out to feel better. She’d needed to get lost.
In him.
She hit him with her palm again, feeling the thrill of power rushing through her and letting the high of topping take her away. Her hand stung and her arm was tired, but the way Gibson’s muscles flexed and clenched at every hit, the way his cock continued to leak onto the floor—all of it was the best balm for her soul
she could imagine.
She wanted to do things to him, with him. She wanted to take him away like he was doing for her. If he’d trust her, maybe she could. Maybe this week could be amazing.
When she finally had reddened his entire ass and thighs with her palms, she was burning up from the inside out with her need for him. She wanted to drag him to the couch and climb him like a jungle gym. But she had a feeling if she did that, it would make it too easy for Gibson to talk himself out of this, for whatever fears he had about submission to resurface. They’d have sex and he’d call it quits. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. Gibson needed to know the price of admission, and he needed to pay today.
She grabbed his hips. “Turn around.”
Gibson let out a breath and spun around. His expression was primal, ravenous, color high on his cheeks. His gaze raked over her like roving hands, lingering on her hardened nipples and her wet, clinging panties. “Christ.”
He reached for her, but she batted his hand away. “I didn’t say you could touch.”
Rebellion flared in his eyes, fists curling at his side. “Please, Sam.”
She stepped close to him, putting a hand to his chest, but careful not to let his erection brush against her. She’d lose it if she felt his heat on her. “You grabbed me when you weren’t supposed to earlier. You’ve barged in on my vacation. You’ve pretty much been a pain in my ass since you walked in. Do you think that’s acceptable behavior?”
His jaw clenched. “I’m sorry for grabbing you. Not sorry for the other things.”
She arched a brow and put a hand to her hip. “A consequence, then.”
His nostrils flared. “You’re going to punish me for trying to keep you safe.”
“Not a punishment, per se. A choice.” She tilted her head. “Only one of us gets to come.”
She braced herself for the response, for the pushback, for a curse. Instead, without a second of hesitation, the man in front of her grabbed her by the waist, spun her to the wall, and dropped to his knees.