Dominion Trust Series - Vol.1 (80 page)

Tom grinned, waving him over with the racket. “I think she’s on to something. Come on.”

“I’ll get some water. Hang on.”

He grabbed two bottles from his bag, slanting a glance toward the corner as he zipped it up. Sharon was kneeling, her back to the fence.

Oh shit, here we go.

Keihl wondered how the fuck he was going to hide his hard-on in his shorts.

He pressed one of the bottles into Tom’s hand, his friend standing over his wife. She peered up at him, her hands on her thighs. Keihl was struck by the pose, her knees together, her tennis shoes neatly tucked under her buttocks, her braids blowing in the breeze as her blue eyes watched her husband.

“You’re soaked,” Tom said, running a finger along the low neckline of her shirt, the cotton sticking to her sweaty skin. Her nipples were hard points, clearly delineated by the wet fabric. Keihl noted that she hadn’t worn a bra, shocked at how sanguine he was at the sight, arousing though it was. Considering what he’d seen this week, such things were becoming less and less surprising to him.

You need to go home, Keihl.

“Take off that shirt, girl. You look like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest.”

The flush at her cheeks deepened and she lowered her eyes, her hands grasping the hem of her shirt.

“Wait!” Keihl stepped forward, looking to either side. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shirt, silly.” She beamed at Keihl, pulling the wet clothing up, her heavy breasts bouncing as they dropped from the clutch of the fabric.

Tom glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s okay, Keihl.”

“Dude, we’re in
public
. There are fucking buildings all around this place.”

“Not really public, actually.”

“The hell it—”

Keihl looked around, then back at Tom, trying desperately not to look at his friend’s bare breasted wife kneeling three feet away. “The... Trust?”

Tom nodded, giving him a wink again.

“Someone — someone could walk up though.”

“Someone won’t.” Tom turned back to his wife. “Reach up and grab the fence, girl. Higher. Stretch. There you go.”

Her limbs raised skyward, fingers entwined in the steel chain links, the long muscles of her arms leading down to the generous breasts, the bright pink nipples standing up, her blush darkening her chest and throat. She dropped her head, one braid falling down over her breast. Tom knelt, flicking it away.

“You could’ve run faster today, don’t you think?”

“I ran as fast as I could.”

She raised her eyes, looking at her husband through long lashes.

“Tell me the truth,” Tom said, grasping one of her nipples, stroking the very tip with the pad of his thumb.

“I-I could’ve run faster.”

She sighed, the movement of her breasts making Keihl’s cock begin to harden.

Stop, Keihl. Stop now.

“See?” Tom looked back at him, a mock frown on his face. “She’s being lazy today.”

“Tom, it’s like eighty degrees out here. Give her a break.”

“She knows better though.” He raised her chin with a hand, his thumb stroking her jaw. “What do you think should be done about this, Sharon?”

“I don’t know.” She swallowed. “Sir.”

Tom tilted his head. “She knows all right.”

He stared at his wife a moment, then slapped her breast. She drew a sharp breath. Then he slapped the other one, sending both breasts swaying.

“She wanted to get them done after the third child,” Tom murmured, slapping her other breast again. “I told her no way. Breast implants don’t have the movement I like.”

Jesus Christ.

But what was he protesting? The fact that Tom was slapping his wife’s tits around in broad daylight? Or was it the fact that Keihl’s cock was a hard as a steel bar at the sight of it?

Tom slapped her right breast, harder, and Sharon yelped, a dark blush deepening across its slope. Her nipples looked painfully hard now.

This was wrong, somehow, but Keihl couldn’t isolate why. He took a step backward.

“When I get her home, I think I’ll flog them for her. She screams when the cords hit those nipples, but her cunt drips afterward.”

Tom smacked her left breast from the underside, the heavy globe bounding upward. Sharon closed her eyes, a tear tracking down her cheek.

Go, Keihl. Go now.

Keihl watched Sharon as she knelt there, Tom punishing her breasts, her nostrils flared, a moan escaping her tight lips as her husband sent her breasts swinging under his blows.

Now Keihl saw Kirsten kneeling there, looking up at him, her dark eyes wide with hurt and lust, her belly hugely swollen, milk leaking from her nipples, a fine white spray as his hand struck their vulnerable curves.

No, Keihl. NO.

He couldn’t do this, no matter how turned on he was, no matter how much the animal inside him wanted it. All he could think about was her, and what he needed to do, what she needed from him. Yes, it had to be this way. This was the right way.

The Game would have to end.

“Keihl. Keihl, you okay?” Tom was standing once more, wiping off the handle of his racket with a white towel, his brows raised. “Where are you going? We haven’t even finished the first set.”

Sharon, still holding the fence, peered at him from behind her husband, concern in her eyes, even as tears shone on her cheeks. Her breasts were flushed a deep mottled red, a distinct pattern of hand prints just visible on her inflamed skin.

“I can’t do this, Tom. Any of it. I need to be with her.
She
needs me to be with her.” Keihl picked up his bag, shoving the racket in and zipping it closed with shaking hands. “I’m sorry.”

Tom just watched him though, not saying anything, a bemused slant to his mouth.

Keihl opened the gate, taking one last look across the court. Incredibly, Sharon stood, clutching herself to Tom’s side, watching Keihl go, her naked, swollen breasts pressed to Tom’s shirt as he stroked her hair.

Tom raised a hand, warmth, even understanding, in his eyes, as he called out to Keihl.

“Make her yours. We’ll be here when you’re ready for this, ready to talk. Me, Sharon, the Trust, all of it. We’ll be here. Don’t be afraid.”

Chapter Thirteen

I
n the sea of expectant humanity at the security cordon, Keihl waited for her. She didn’t know he’d come to meet her. He liked it that way, for it gave him a chance to watch her. The people around him pressed forward as the steady stream of passengers began rounding the corner, coming into view of their waiting loved ones. Keihl watched their tired faces, the relieved eyes, the matted, tousled hair from snoozes rudely interrupted by the jar and bounce of touchdown. In every direction the people moved, seeking out their families. A young soldier in the mottled tans and greens of his desert BDUs, strong jaw shadowed with stubble, stopped, searching the crowd, grinning as his pregnant wife rushed forward to embrace him. The rapid-fire, excited cadence of the family in front of him erupted as they hugged a tall teenager sporting a shock of shaggy black hair, his mother and father peppering the boy with questions in Mandarin.

Then he saw Kirsten.

She stood tall in her heels, her striking dark hair pulled up with the sticks she knew he loved. Perhaps she suspected he might meet her?

Keihl backed up, slipping behind a round pillar, just enough to stay out of view should those beautiful, ever alert eyes of hers turn his way.

She weaved through the reunions taking place all around the concourse, her long coat across her arm, the sleeveless white button down blouse as crisp as if she’d just put it on, the flattering fit of the fabric tastefully showcasing the jut of her generous breasts.

He followed her at a distance, watching the way her curvy little ass moved in the snug navy skirt she often favored for conferences. They’d joked it was part of her “sexual power suit”, and as he watched her stride, he couldn’t think of a better way to put it. The way the skirt hugged her hips, showing off the long muscles of her thighs, the tight calves. She was pure temptation to any man with a pulse — a subtle advantage at a conference where any females were a decided minority. She wasn’t afraid of using her sexuality when she needed to — and he knew she enjoyed doing so, even if she’d never admit it.

She walked downstairs, toward baggage claim, and he stayed far enough behind on the escalator to stay safely out of sight, his eyes never leaving the beautiful, bewitching figure of his wife.

Home.

The crowd at baggage claim was big, packed ten deep around the whole perimeter of the carousel. She dropped her leather carry-on at her feet, then stooped to adjust something on one of her heels, the round perfection of her bottom pointed directly at him. His cock stirred at the sight, already imagining what that ass would look like as he tore her clothing from her body, feverishly staking claim to her soon as she was safely back under his roof once more.

It had been like this more and more of late. This new possessiveness that seemed to well from within her, this renewed need to protect, cosset her, keep her from even the possibility of any harm, no matter how small the chance. He pictured her chained up inside their house, not permitted outside without him.

Easy, caveman.

Absurd, of course, but he really
was
starting to think of her in that way. His woman, the mother of their future child. And he didn’t want her to leave his sight anymore, even though he knew he needed to give her space, let her live her life. There’d be a time though, when that would change, when he’d insist — and that time filled him with a nervous anticipation. For there were so many urges, so many primitive, even dark instincts tangled up with his need to protect her, to cherish her.

To make her even more his, in every way.

Keihl pulled out his phone, thumbs whirring, looking at her, waiting to see if she’d hear the incoming text chime.

She crouched down, digging through her purse, pulling the phone out. For a moment she stared at the screen, then she looked around, nervous fingers brushing a lock of hair from her eyes.

He was pleased to see that she kept her eyes on her phone, despite the question. He knew she desperately wanted to look behind her, to find him now that she knew he was here. But where was the fun in that?

For a moment, he thought she’d balk at it. Then, oh so slowly, her hand crept to her neckline, working at the buttons. The flush he could see even at the nape of her neck made him smile with glee, and he had to discretely adjust his now blatantly obvious erection.

He grinned as his thumbs typed it out.

He ducked behind a newsstand kiosk, just in case she tried to sneak a peek around her while he typed. There was the loud buzz of a grinder, and the rich smell of fresh ground coffee assailed his nostrils as he stood there, typing out his lust for his wife.

Her hand went to her cheek, her blush bright against the paleness at the roots of her hair.

He’d never have thought he’d be the kind of guy to enjoy the verbal side of things, the psychological thrill at issuing her orders, and watching her obey them, but as they’d explored further he’d found it just as satisfying as the physical. That selfish, evil joy to be had at dominating much more than her body, at bending her will to his, had its own unique appeal. It was something he intended to explore much more in the days ahead.

Me too, sweet girl.

She snaked her way through the crowd gathered near the baggage claim, and he used that opportunity to close the ground between them, unable to stand one more minute apart from her.

He found her right at the edge of the baggage carousel, the metal plates worn bright as they moved slowly in their endless track, one of them squealing in its carriage every time it turned the far corner. She bent over reaching for her black suitcase, her fingers examining the white tag fluttering at the handle. He bent over her, closing his hand over hers.