Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories (17 page)

“I forgot how big it was,” she said, slightly breathless.

“It’ll fit. I promise.” He brushed that stubborn lock of her hair back from her face. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

“Your cock filling me, Sir. Master Logan.”

Anything she wanted. Anytime.

He moved behind her.

Since she was so much shorter than him, he had to bend his knees while she lifted herself onto her tiptoes.

He guided his cockhead to her pussy, then slowly stroked himself in. “I waited,” he told her. “Since I asked you not to come, I chose not to as well.”

She tried to angle herself so she could look at him, then gave an annoyed hiss when he and the bondage held her tight. “Are you serious?”

“I am.” As her body accommodated him, he made his thrusts longer and slower, pinning her hips in place against the floorboard. “This—
you
are worth any wait.”

“Damn.”

He had no idea whether she was referring to the sex or the fact he’d denied himself. “Come when you’re ready,” he told her. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold off. Last night after he’d arrived home, adrenaline had still thrummed inside him, keeping him awake. It wasn’t simply the remnants of the case, but the fact he’d been unable to reach her. Jerking off would have helped him unwind and get to sleep, but he’d known that being with her would make every sleepless minute worthwhile. “I’m at least halfway to being in love with you,” he said.

“Good. Because I’m not going there alone,” she said, her words ringing with conviction despite how breathless they were.

“Then we’re agreed.” He rode her hard, reaching out to hold her hair. By the time he was done with her, Jennifer would know she was his.

She didn’t have to tell him she was ready to come. He felt her go rigid, heard her desperate gasps.

His balls drew up, and he thrust deep inside her, burying himself to his hilt.

Her internal muscles clenched, milking an ejaculation from him.

With a guttural, primal grunt, he came, deep, hot, claiming.

“
Fuck.
Master Logan!”

For a moment or two, long enough to be freaky, he had an absence of thought, of contentment. He wondered how long it had been since he’d felt this relaxed.

Eventually he became aware of his cock softening and her shifting to get more comfortable. “You’re a magnificent sub,” he said.

He took his time removing the alligators, gently squeezing her nipples until she stopped groaning and they returned to their normal size.

“I don’t know whether I love them or hate those evil little clamps,” she admitted.

“You had them on when I arrived.”

Her next comment was spoken into the bedspread.

“Repeat that.”

“I couldn’t climax without them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Along with every other detail about her.

He unfastened her wrists, then helped her stand before turning her to face him.

She threaded her arms around his neck and buried herself against his chest. There was nothing that could have been more perfect or a bigger symbol of her trust. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he warned like he had last week.

Jennifer looked up and gave him a bratty smile. “Bring it. Sir.”

About Sierra Cartwright

Called "Even racier than Fifty Shades" by the UK's Mail Online, #1 Best Selling author Sierra Cartwright is the winner of the 2015 Reader's Choice Best Erotic Romance for Bind, 2015’s Golden Flogger for Crave, the 2014 LASR Book of the Year award for In The Den, and 2013’s Best BDSM Book of the Year award for Over The Line.

Sierra was born in Manchester, England where she spent her early years traipsing through castles and dreaming of marrying a prince. After living in Denver for a number of years, the internationally acclaimed author now resides in Galveston, Texas home. She loves the way history blends with Southern manners. Being called "sugar" is an experience unto itself­—almost as good as marrying a prince.

She invites you to join her on a sensual journey where the limits are explored and expanded and sometimes shattered.

Please socialize with her at:

www.facebook.com/SierraCartwrightOfficial

instagram and twitter: @SierraWrites

www.sierracartwright.com

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Chapter One

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I
t had to be a trap. Skye’s raw elbows scraped on the cold, dirty metal as she slid on her belly through the air duct above the penthouse suite of Casino Magnifico.

This was crazy. She should have stolen her stepmother’s necklace first then hit the other Hollywood stars and socialites’ rooms. Her plan had been to distract any particular attention from Savannah Duke as a target—and therefore herself as a suspect—by burgling a few other rooms.

Now, though, after her first two successful heists, the Jamison twins, owners of the Magnifico, had taken precautions, offering to store any valuables brought for their grand Valentine’s Ball in Joe Jamison’s personal safe. The fact that they didn’t choose to put them in the hotel/casino safe, which would’ve been impossible for her to crack, meant they wanted her to show up. And that should’ve made her run for the hills.

But she had no need for the other loot she’d stolen—she didn’t have the billions her stepmother inherited, but she did have millions left in the trust from her father. The sole purpose of the Casino Magnifico heist had been to get the necklace back from Savannah, her stepmonster. So she crawled onward, toward her probable demise.

She reached the vent in what she guessed would be the main living area and backed the screws out. The room appeared dark and no sound came from below. She eased the vent out and caught it before it went clattering to the plush-carpeted floor. Counting to five with her breath held, she listened.

Nothing.

She lowered her bag of equipment with a rope, not that it would’ve made much sound if she’d simply dropped it. Her watch showed thirty seconds until the video surveillance feed would freeze. Despite that precaution, she pulled a black ski mask over her face.

Ten seconds after the freeze, she slid her legs through the opening and eased her body down. A piece of metal scraped the length of her side, catching her thin black nylon shirt and hiking it up to her armpit.
Oww...fuck.
Good thing she’d had her tetanus shot. She gritted her teeth against the pain and tried to swing her weight to one hand to free the other to unhook the shirt. Instead, she lost her balance and her full weight dangled by the fabric for two seconds before it ripped and she plummeted through the air.

She twisted in the air and softened her ankle and knee joints, managing to land in a crouch. She had her judo masters to thank for that feat. Now, to find the safe. The suite was luxuriously appointed, like every room in the Magnifico, but with more unique touches. The honey-colored carpet sprawled out, thick and plush, art by genuine masters—Degas and Picasso—hung on the walls, and the couches were brick-red suede. While it looked as though an interior decorator had designed it, the place seemed lived in and comfortable. She wondered if both brothers lived here or just Joe.

She scanned the place, looking for likely locations of a safe. Usually they were hidden behind paintings or in the floor of a closet. The metal detector flicked to life and she lifted it to the walls to scan. Nothing in the living room, nor in the hallway.

She pushed open the door to a bedroom. A large king-size bed dominated in the center with a beautiful silk print bedspread. The closet doors were mirrored and eye hooks were drilled into the ceiling.

Kinky much?

At twenty-four, she was technically still a virgin, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know about all the strange sex fetishes people engaged in. She pictured Joe whipping a naked woman strung up and dangling from hooks. Okay, that actually was sort of hot.

Not that she would know.

The metal detector beeped when she reached a large Warhol painting.

Bingo.

The painting had a trip alarm set, which took her a few minutes to disable. She pulled the canvas down and leaned it against the wall by her feet. Her safe-cracking equipment tumbled out of her bag and she unwound and attached the earpieces. The dial whirred and clicked. It took four tries to open—not bad, considering she’d only been studying safe-cracking for a year. Burglary and judo—two ninja skills every billionaire’s daughter should have. At least those set on revenge.

She pulled open the heavy door and scanned the contents, looking for only one item: the sapphire and diamond necklace that had belonged to her mother. Her biological mother, not her Hollywood bimbo stepmom.

She spotted the velvet case and opened it, satisfaction surging. The familiar gems glittered, even in the dark room. She remembered the night her father had placed them around her mother’s neck before they’d gone to a charity ball. Skye had been little—only five or six, and it seemed to her that her mother looked like a fairytale princess. It was one of her last memories of her mother. She brought the jewels to her lips and kissed them, then slid them into a pouch in her bag. “At last, back where you belong.”

“Do they belong to you?” The deep, masculine voice rumbled directly behind her.

Yep, a trap.
She whirled and kicked in one smooth motion, aiming at chest level, assuming the speaker would be pointing a gun. Surprisingly, he wasn’t. The smartly-dressed man ducked and launched his body forward and up. His back connected with her crotch to throw her off her feet and toss her onto the bed. She rolled and sprang back up, her heart pounding.

Okay, so he knew martial arts.
In addition to being a fine piece of eye candy.
She watched him, side-stepping away from the bed to have enough room for an attack.

“I need you to put that necklace back,” he said casually, obviously not exerted by their tussle.

She swallowed. This must be one of the Jamison twins—either Joe or Alex. Somehow she hadn’t expected him to be so...
capable
. Or sexy. Piercing blue eyes followed her, set off by dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow on a square jaw. He seemed amused or invigorated rather than angry to find her there.

She bolted for the living room, launching into the air to catch the rope still dangling from the ducts above.

“Uh uh, ninja girl.” Before her hand had swung up to climb, his body connected with hers. Legs wrapped around her waist, his weight forcing her down. Without her gloves, the rope would’ve burned her hands as they slid down.

Jamison ripped the mask off and her pale blonde hair spilled out. She ducked her head even though she doubted he would recognize her from the tabloids. Her name was famous, but not her face. If he didn’t, she might still have some small chance of getting out of this unscathed.

Although that chance seemed to be slimming by the minute.

She let go of the rope. Her weight pulled her out of his grasp as she dropped first to the floor. Doubting she could outrun him to the door, she crouched, prepared to fight. As soon as he dropped, she caught him in the gut with her right elbow. Then sent the left knuckles flying for his throat. He barely reacted to the first blow and deflected the second. She swept a foot behind his legs. He caught it and tossed her to her back. The wind left her in a whoosh before she made her body round and back somersaulted away.

As she sprang to her feet, she had to work to slow her breath. The inside of her elbow was sticky with blood from the scrape on her side.

Jamison feinted to the left then came under her again. He flipped her in the air, and she landed on her ass, one leg bent. Using a capoeira back handspring, she vaulted back to her feet. He had yet to throw a punch or a kick. All he’d done was disable her. Probably he held back because she was a woman. Either that or he was toying with her.

Size and strength didn’t matter so much in martial arts, but his skill also outmatched hers. She suspected, if he’d wanted to end the sparring, he could have done so three moves ago. Which meant, if she didn’t want to go to jail, or, worse, have her famous name splattered across every tabloid in the country, she’d have to go in heavy. But inflicting serious or mortal injury wasn’t part of her repertoire. And even if it had been, she doubted her ability to take this man down.

He advanced, and she kicked, aiming to destroy his knee by popping it from the side. The target moved before she connected with bone, and, apparently, he’d had enough because he abandoned martial arts and threw her to the ground in an old-fashioned tackle. His weight knocked the wind out of her, but the back of her head landed on something soft—the cradle of his palm.

She wanted to sneer about his gentlemanly instincts, but before she had a chance to counter-move, he rolled her to her belly and fastened zip ties around her wrists.

*****

A
lex watched the beautiful burglar wrench her hands against the zip ties.

“Easy, love. Those will dig into your flesh if you struggle.”

He would switch to bondage tape when he had a chance, but for the moment, he didn’t trust the little tigress until he had her immobilized. He flipped her to her back where her bound hands lifted her pelvis.

Damn, that turned him on.
She
turned him on. Dressed in a skintight black catsuit, her long lean body just wouldn’t quit. Funny how when he’d thought the burglar was male he’d been ready to throttle him. Discovering this beautiful waif breaking into his brother’s safe, though... Well, he still wanted to punish her, but only in the most erotic way.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his brother Joe. “I caught her.”

“
Her
?”

His lips stretched into a wolfish smile. His brother would enjoy this one as much as he did. “Mmm hmm. Cutest little cat burglar I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks colored in an enchanting blush, and she brought her knees up to kick.

Still holding the phone, he moved swiftly to straddle her, squeezing her legs together between his thighs. Her scent filled his nostrils—sweet, sensual, earthy. Delicious.