Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (29 page)

And they were ready to oblige her. Who said quickies were only for morning time? Nobody, that’s who!

Jay lay on the big cushiony oval and Mac assumed her favorite position—on her knees, ass up, head down…right over his face.

Jay lapped at her tender folds, while Landon wasted no time feeding his generous cock deep into her ready channel. In not time, she needed to come badly, yet her men pushed her up, up and up only to let her hang there to contemplate life or some shit.

Just as she was about to threaten castration, Jay suckled her clit with a fierce rhythm. Landon pistoned into her sex and slipped just the tip of a single digit into her rear passage.

“Oh my god!” Mac fell from the precipice, tumbled head over heels with an orgasm so powerful, she didn’t think she would ever touch bottom.

Breathing like a winded racehorse, Mac stilled to let her heart and lungs catch up to her endorphin-laced brain.

God bless sex hormones, husbands and mates
, she thought happily.

“Don’t leave him in agony, Mac. Help Jay come.” Landon’s words reached her from far, far away. When they finally registered, she instantly obeyed as Jay got to his knees in front of her. Still in a haze of completion, she heard herself moan as the tang of his unique flavor registered in her brain seconds after it touched her tongue.

The scent of their skin, sweat, and the remnants of expensive cologne, filled her nostrils and settled deep inside.

She swirled her tongue around the tip, then let Landon’s rhythm move her back and forth to take Jay deeper down her throat. The man’s head was thrown back, teeth bared like some wild thing racing for release.

The next time she looked up, her lovers’ gazes were locked on one another, as if some secret understanding passed between then.

And as one, they flew apart at the seams, called her name as one released down her throat, and the other deep in her womb.

Spent and satisfied then fell over together. Mac leaned down, grabbed the light cotton throw laid across the bottom of the bed and settled it over them all. With a satisfied sigh, they lay in a sweaty cuddle puddle on the huge oval cushion.

Mac yawned and snuggled in, so relaxed and happy, even a new pair of kick ass suede stilettos with the red soles couldn’t compare. Landon’s hard muscular thighs, slick with sweat, pressed against hers. Perfectly formed pecs were heavenly against her upper spine. Strong arms encompassed her body, held her close. Safe. Secure.

She reached out, pulled a languid Jay into her body and curled herself around him.

Was there anything more decadent than laying spoon fashion with a strong man at her back, while another equally strong male trusted her enough to expose himself completely and let her cover
his
back as his dominant?

Not likely.

After several moments of companionable silence, questions began to tumble through Mac’s mind.

“Jay, when will we see you again? Have you considered moving back here?” Mac asked on a sleepy yawn as she snuggled in.

“Actually, I have. I never sold my house here. Always held out hope that one day I’d make it back to Seattle. But now I can’t think of a better reason to move back to town than the woman laying right here in my arms.

Mac ducked her head and blinked back tears, grateful to her men who’d made all of this possible.

Then she bolted upright, dragging the throw with her to cover her bare breasts.

“But what about your client in Montana? What about your work? I don’t expect you to…”

Jay sat up, smoothed an errant loc behind her ear and rocked her world. Again.

“I can work anywhere, Mac. As for Montana, I’ll see that project through, wrap it up and then skip town. So, yes, I’m moving back here.”

Landon laughed as Mac squealed, then threw her arms, legs and everything in between against Jay as she took him back down to the sheets.

After round two, she lay there between two luscious men. MacKenzie Ivers considered all that she’d been through over the last two years, even the rough cut of the last few days, and wondered at how things had worked out in the end.

She decided on a simple truth—she was, indeed, one hell of a lucky woman.

# # #

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About the T.J. Michaels

TJ is an award-winning author of several romance genres, including paranormal, fantasy, sci-fi and urban fantasy romance. Writing like a madman, TJ hasn’t lost steam. Her mind? Yep, that’s gone, but steam there is a-plenty. A true Taurus, TJ isn’t slowing down and she’s definitely too stubborn to stop when she sees the fence! No matter the genre TJ is penning, her favorite thing to do is build worlds. To take you somewhere extraordinary. To transport you to a place where you can close your eyes and slip into your fantasy…

Other Books  by Author TJ Michaels

Carinian’s Seeker, Vampire Council of Ethics Book One

Serati’s Flame, Vampire Council of Ethics Book Two

Hatsept Heat, Vampire Council of Ethics Book Three

Seeker's Solace, Vampire Council of Ethics Book Four

Silk Road, Seals of Destiny

Spirit of the Pryde, Pryde Ranch Shifters

Niah's Pride, Pryde Ranch Shifters

Pursuit of Pride and Pleasure, Pryde Ranch Shifters

Jaguar’s Rule

Forever December

Egyptian Voyage

On the Prowl

Entwined Hearts

Shards of Ecstasy

Caramel Kisses

Hide No More

Juicy, Twilight Teahouse Book One

Luscious, Twilight Teahouse Book Two

Succulent, Twilight Teahouse Book Three

One Night With My Billionaire Master

Cynthia Sax

One night. No one must know.

This is the text I sent Logan Ross this morning. The billionaire financier is my father’s number one nemesis and has been pursuing me for months. He wants to own me, completely, promising exquisite pleasure balanced by equally intense pain, vowing to dominate me, to show me wicked things a virgin like myself shouldn’t be interested in.

But I am extremely interested, and I’ll risk everything—my job, my family, my future—to experience one night of total submission with this powerful Dom.

Will one night be enough for both of us?

Copyright 2015 Cynthia Sax

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About The Author

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Chapter One

One night. No one must know.

This is the text I sent Logan Ross, billionaire investor and my father’s most hated adversary, eleven hours ago. Fucking Logan is inevitable, I tell myself, as I stand in the crowded ballroom. He won’t stop pursuing me until he has me, and I’m tired, so damn tired, of resisting him, delaying what we both want, what we both need.

I half-heartedly listen to Benoit, my flamboyant French second-in-command, grumble about broken champagne flutes and incompetent waitstaff. Normally I’d care about these details, taking my job seriously, but I’m too wired to work tonight. All I can think about is sex and Logan, his rough hands, stern voice, intense no-bullshit gaze.

He’s been as subtle as a sledgehammer over the past seven months, standing guard over me at every event, every dinner, glaring at any man who dares to approach me, making his claim on the St. James slut, thrillingly obvious.

Logan must be aware of my reputation, everyone in our business circles knows of my mom, how I’m expected to follow in her notorious footsteps, yet he treats me with respect. Sure, he whispers scorching hot sexual fantasies into my ear, brushes his calloused fingers against my neck, shoulders, and arms, every chance he gets, but he’s never crossed the line, never made me feel like anything other than his woman.

And, sweet mother, I love it. I shiver. It’s a miracle I’ve withstood his single-minded seduction this long.

No one believes I have resisted him. Everyone thinks we’re already fucking.

I can tolerate the speculation as long as there’s doubt. My father won’t disown me without concrete proof, my half-siblings reminded of this during their last attempt to usurp my minor role in our dysfunctional family. I trust Logan to be discreet, to handle the details, to protect me.

Tonight.

Tomorrow, he’ll turn his attention to another woman. I smooth the full skirt of my black sleeveless gown, the garment chosen for its ease of access, bra and panties not required.

The thought of my billionaire standing by someone else’s side shouldn’t sadden me. I know who I am, whom everyone believes I resemble. I have my absentee mom’s blonde hair, big breasts, and long legs, and my appeal will be as fleeting, as empty. He’ll get me out of his system and move on.

At least my night with Logan shouldn’t have any deadly and long-lasting consequences, unlike my media tycoon father’s fateful night with my opportunistic mom.

My father had been so lust-struck with my free-with-her-favors mom, that he cheated on his critically ill wife. I was conceived. My birth and the subsequent highly-contested paternity test revealed my father’s secret to the world, forcing him to give me his last name and a place in the family. That humiliation killed his wife, the woman he claims to have adored, leaving their three children without a mother.

My aggressive billionaire, in contrast, isn’t married, doesn’t have any children who would make a possible ‘oops’ baby feel unwelcome, unworthy, hated. I’m on birth control, and I suspect, with my inherited slutty reputation, he’ll use condoms.

My gaze drifts once more over the buzzing ballroom. Ladies wear long gowns in a variety of rich colors, offsetting the stark black of the men’s tuxedos. Precious gemstones glitter around the women’s necks, in their ears and hair.

My fingers close around my plain gold pendant, my sole adornment, and I’m filled with satisfaction over an event well-organized. The crème de la crème of Toronto society is attending my family’s charity gala. I recognize politicians, movie stars, the business elite. Everyone I expect to see is here.

Except Logan. I don’t spot his tall, muscular physique and distinctive ink-black hair in the crowd.

“He hasn’t yet arrived, Ari,” Benoit observes. A small smile curls his lips, illuminating his handsome face. “Believe me, I’ve been looking. That delicious man of yours fills out a tuxedo jacket nicely, and his ass?” My friend flicks his gaze toward the heavens. “Like a gift from God.”

My face heats. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I lie, knowing exactly whom he’s referring to. Logan does have a great ass and beautifully wide shoulders. “Esteban won’t appreciate you scooping other men out,” I warn. Benoit is in a committed relationship with the venue’s top-ranked chef.

“Esteban doesn’t care where I get my appetite as long as I eat at home,” he jauntily replies, as though having someone to love who returns that love is a casual accomplishment.

I don’t say anything, suppressing my envy, hiding my loneliness, my need for company.

“Are you finally banging your billionaire tonight?” Benoit returns to this embarrassing topic. “Is that why you’ve put me in charge of this fiasco?”

“Keep your voice down.” I hush my friend, aware that I’m being watched by my half-siblings. They report every infraction, imagined or real, to my father, hoping he’ll finally withdraw his support and his love. “You’re in charge because I need, no, I
deserve
one evening to relax.” This isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the full truth either, as I
will
be banging my billionaire tonight. “I don’t know why I must be the one to make all of the decisions.”

“Because you have a keen brain in that pretty little head of yours.” Benoit winks. “Which is why I chose to work for you, and why your Mr. Ross guards you closely. Your man doesn’t want stupid children.”

“He’s not my man.”  Logan doesn’t think of me as marriage material.

“Tell that to him.” My friend shrugs. “Speaking of decisions we must make, we’re running low on the eighty-two. We only have three bottles left.”

“Then serve the eighty-three.” He opens his mouth, a refusal written all over his pretty face, and I hastily add, “I realize that vintage of champagne isn’t as rich as the eighty-two, but it’s late in the evening, and very few guests are as discerning as we are.”

“They’re ignorant buffoons,” the Frenchman grumbles.

“Who are generously supporting our educational programs.” I pat his tuxedo-clad arm, trying to pacify him. “That was my last decision of the night, my friend.”

He frowns.

“You agreed to this,” I remind him. “And I trust you to handle any minor problems.” He knows I consider almost every problem to be minor. “If there’s an emergency situation, speak with Cindra.”

“Not Cindra, anyone but her.” Benoit glances over his shoulder at my half-sister and shudders dramatically. “I’d rather drink the seventy-eight.” Seventy-eight was one of the worst years for champagne in recent memory.

“There’s no one else.” Frederick, my half-brother, flat out refused to help. Kayla, the youngest half-sister, couldn’t make a decision to save her life. “I doubt there will be any emergency situations.”

My friend mutters under his breath.

“You’ll manage, Benoit. I have faith in your abilities.” I walk away, ignoring my guilt. He knows the routine, having shadowed me at dozens of similar events. He can handle this responsibility.

I approach my half-siblings, my dread carefully hidden behind a polite mask. Frederick, Kayla, and Cindra watch me with a disturbing level of interest, as though they expect me to embarrass myself, to shame our father.

I won’t be their entertainment tonight. I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I’m no longer a child they can tease and torment.

“Your boy toy looks unhappy.” Cindra throws the opening verbal punch, her blue eyes glittering with malice. “Are you having a lover’s tiff?”

Guests, hovering nearby, twitter behind their hands. Her words will be embellished and repeated, tarnishing my reputation even more.

“Benoit was consulting with me on a gala issue.” And he prefers men. I keep this information to myself, his personal life being no one’s concern but his.

“He was
consulting
with you?” Kayla supports Cindra as she always does. “Is that what you’re calling your activities now?” She looks down her perfect nose at me, a glass of champagne clasped by her well-manicured fingers.

I wish it was the seventy-eight.

“His unhappiness is to be expected.” Frederick joins the fray. “According to rumors, you’re having nightly private
consultations
with Logan Ross.”  His lip curls.

“Daddy won’t like that,” Cindra sings.

“Our father knows those rumors aren’t true.” Tomorrow I won’t be able to use this defense. The gossip
will
reflect reality.

My half-siblings laugh, causing a wave of whispers to roll through our audience. I don’t know why I respond to their jibes. No one believes a word I say. They all think I’m fucking Logan.

“You’re just like your mother.” Cindra, the eldest and the meanest, is the first to bring up my ethically-challenged parent. “When Daddy finally sees that, you’ll be cut off.”

That’s their goal, to drive a permanent wedge between our father and me, his unwelcome slut-spawn. It isn’t enough that they have the bulk of his affections. They want it all, begrudging me the gold teardrop-shaped pendant I wear while our father drapes them in diamonds, complaining about my economy vehicle even as they stand in front of their luxury cars, contesting my five percent share in St. James Communications using income earned from their ten percent ownerships.

I stifle a sigh. I’m weary of being attacked, weary of being alone, untouched and isolated, starved for affection. A movement catches my eye and I glance upward, hope and longing coloring my soul.

It isn’t Logan. My burst of happiness fades. Benoit lurks in an alcove, signaling that he wishes to talk to me. I shake my head, refusing his request. My workday is done. I told him I’d made my last decision.

He frowns and beckons again, his movements more exaggerated and frantic. I’m not in charge, I silently scream. For once in my life, I don’t want to be responsible for anything other than my own pleasure.

The Frenchman waves his hands in the air, almost clipping a passing waiter with his elbow. His mouth is moving. I can’t hear his words, he’s too far away, but I see his desperation. He needs my help. I take a step toward.

“Oh my God,” Cindra gasps. The mood in the ballroom shifts, the air thickening with expectation. “He did dare to show his face.” She sounds almost giddy. “Daddy’s going to blow a gasket.”

Only one man can cause our father to lose his temper. I mouth a clear no to Benoit, adding a hand chop for emphasis. If the newcomer is who I think he is, my friend will have to deal with his problems on his own.

“He has some gall,” Kayla chimes in. “He might have been able to sneak into the other events, but this is our gala. Everyone knows he has no business being here.”

It must be him. I look over my shoulder and my breath hitches. It is.

Logan Ross, billionaire investor, thirty-five percent shareholder in St. James Communications, and my father’s sworn enemy, has arrived.

My heart races and my senses tingle, my body awakening as though from a long sleep. The man I’ve chosen to be my first, perhaps my last, lover, stands in the ballroom’s doorway. He draws every gaze, his shoulders barely contained in his black form-fitting tuxedo, his stance deliciously dominant, his feet braced apart like he’s preparing for battle. The lights from the crystal chandelier shine a spotlight on his thick mane of black hair.

He suits the venue, a man as darkly elegant as the gothic revival-style mansion he’s entered. I shiver with feminine appreciation. Several lifetimes ago, Logan Ross might have been a warrior, standing on the battlements with his hands clenched behind his back, watching over his domain. The woman he defended would have been safe, protected, cherished. No enemy would have dared to storm his gates.

Tonight, those gates will surround me. I’ll be the woman he defends and he’ll expect my total submission in return for his protection. He hasn’t been shy about his sexual preferences, sending me links to websites, murmuring his plans for us against my cheek. This won’t be a vanilla first taste of sex. He’ll restrain me, spank me, force me to service him.

My pussy moistens, the possibilities exciting me. He’ll tell me what to do, his commands supplanting my inexperience, ensuring we both leave his bedroom, his dungeon, as I privately think of it, satisfied. It will be glorious. I won’t disappoint him and I won’t be required to make any decisions.

“I know he wasn’t on Father’s guest list.” Frederick interrupts my fantasies. “Arianna must have invited him.”

“No one invited him.”

Logan does whatever he desires, fuck guest lists, fuck getting permission. Father refused to grant him security clearance for St. James Communications properties. Logan had his own passcard made. Father wouldn’t allow him to access the database. Logan instructed his team to hack into the system.

The billionaire takes what he wants, and tonight, he wants me, the family-run charity event be damned. My toes curl.

“Father is in a private room, negotiating a deal.” Kayla stares at me. “If Ross leaves now, Father won’t realize you invited him.”

I didn’t invite him. Knowing they won’t listen to me, I remain silent, my gaze drifting to Logan. He searches the crowded space. Beautiful women flip their hair and smile enticingly, trying to attract his attention. He doesn’t notice them, his focus on finding me.