Restrained and Willing (2 page)

Maybe, if she were very, very lucky she’d watch it with
Pierce one day. Entice him into a remake, with her as his leading lady.

A delighted shiver rushed through her.

The fact that she was invading the men’s privacy never
entered her curious, unrepentant mind.

Raised in a household of men after her mother’s accidental
death in a car crash, there was a decided lack of feminine counseling. Sitting
through one bumbling male attempt to explain a woman’s bodily functions
convinced her to take matters into her own hands. Never one to tiptoe to a
goal, she’d decided to take the fast track to sexual education. Snooping.

A habitual pastime that had netted her the the mother of all
prizes a few days before she’d been packed off to Yale.

Three membership contracts to a place called simply Freedom
Club.

After a couple of frustrating hours and an inept sleuthing
gift for following obscure threads of internet information, she’d found the
site for the exclusive, membership-by-invitation-only sex club. Complete with
pictures.

Her breath quickened at the memory.

She reached down, slid her jeans and thong off in one quick
shove, tossed them to the floor and spread her legs.

One foot on the floor, the other hooked onto the back of the
butter-soft sofa, she sucked her fingers into her mouth to moisten them and
without hesitation, drew her hand down and plunged her fingers deep inside her
wet, aching pussy.

Played out in her mind innumerable times, the vivid picture
was easy to replicate.

Pierce. Sophisticated. Half-naked. Leather spanking paddle
in hand. Muscular chest, gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat from his
exertions. In total control. Of her.

The slightly longer hair on the top of his dark head
smoothed back. His permanent five o’clock shadow giving a slightly sinister look
to the delineated angles of his handsome face, his green eyes lit with a
sensual fire that ignited a roaring heat between her legs.

Heather picked up the rhythm of her plunging fingers. Moaned
as the envisioned scenario played out.

Bent over a padded bench. Completely open. Helpless, unable
to deny… No, not unable. Eagerly willing to do whatever Pierce demanded.
Anything to please him.

Her pussy…ass…tits belonged to him. Forever. All he needed
to do was claim them.

“Pierce!” Her orgasm broke over her. Her pussy pulsed,
tightened. Flooded with thick creamy heat.

She sighed, clamped her trembling thighs together as the
last flutters of pleasure shuddered through her.

Always overly sensitive after she came, she gingerly drew
her fingers out, careful not to touch her clit. For the time being, she
controlled the situation.

She had a deep-down gut feeling an easy descent back to
reality after an orgasm wouldn’t always be the case when Pierce was in control.
An assertive teen, he’d grown into a demanding man. Not the no-doubt-about-it
kind like her brothers. More the quiet, self-assured, don’t-have-to
prove-anything kind.

Replete for the moment, Heather curled her legs, closed her
eyes and sighed.

Pierce was a man of strong convictions. Stubborn.

She smiled as she began drifting off. The central
air-conditioning slowly dissipating the heated effects of her self-pleasure.

It would take him a few days to come to terms with the fact
she was a woman now. In full charge of her life. Her sexual wants and needs.

Co-owner of QPJ Construction with her brothers, he’d need to
give his full attention to the business during the week. But come the weekend…

Diary in one hand, his iron-hard cock in the other, Pierce
let the massive black walnut headboard at his back take his weight as he
groaned.

“Fuck!”

Five nights.

He’d been reading, or rather rereading, Heather’s neatly
penned musings. And he’d jacked off as many times.

He could have found someone to extinguish the wildfire she’d
built with each and every word, but on some level, the idea seemed
sacrilegious. Too eerily close to a betrayal. Something he’d never felt before.

The little witch had stoked this raging inferno within him,
she would damn well be the one to put it out.

But before he confronted her, he’d have to deal with her
brothers.

The thought almost took the edge off his lust.

Almost.

Thoughts of anyone except Heather doused from his mind, he
continued reading.

~~~~~

New Fantasy—April 18

I knew I’d been a very, very bad girl. Was it deliberate? I
knew better. It was too late to analyze my actions now.

Pierce was home.

I heard the click of the deadbolt. Saw the knob turn and
watched as the door cracked open.

I lowered my gaze.

Naked, head bowed, back straight, legs folded beneath me, I
waited silently with thighs spread wide, hands resting on them, palms up and
open. I took a steadying breath.

I saw the glassy toes of his black dress boots first, his
thighs filled my vision next as he hunkered down in front of me. The crisp
dark-blue denim of his jeans stretched taut over thick solid muscle.

“Pretty.” He cupped my chin and I raised my gaze. “The
proper submissive pose.” Dropping his hand, he skimmed the back of his knuckles
ever so lightly down and over my left breast. Clasping my nipple between his
fingers, he pinched. “Unfortunately, too little, too late.”

I sucked in a breath at the contrasting sensations. Pierce
was a master at extreme contrasts. He knew they drove me mad with yearning,
used them to his advantage to both discipline and pleasure.

I bit my bottom lip. I knew better than to voice a protest.
If I did, he would only withhold any intended pleasure he’d decided to give.
And he would pleasure me—after a prolonged, tortuous discipline.

“On your feet.”

He stood and I followed.

I tilted my face up to look into eyes as green as lush grass
after a fertile rain and infused with displeasure.

Between one blink and the next, he grasped my chin and his
lips descended.

The kiss was possessive, scorching, branding me with an
ownership I’d come to crave. My body immediately responded, became pliant
against his inflexible frame. My nipples rasped against the soft cotton of his
shirt, making them tingle, yearn for attention. To be sucked, licked,
deliciously tortured. Would he decide to use the nipple clamps tonight? With
every fiber of my being, I hoped so.

I mewled and pressed my breasts against the solid wall of
his chest, seeking a modicum of relief.

He broke the kiss. Placed his hands on my shoulders and
pushed me back.

“To the table. Present your ass for discipline.”

Head held high, I moved to the far side of the room, bent
over the table in the dining area and stretched over to grasp the other side. I
sucked in a soft breath as heated flesh met cold glass. Pressed flat against
the inflexible surface, my nipples turned diamond hard.

Through the company business, Pierce had access to master
craftsmen in every part of the building and design trade. Every piece of
furniture in our home had been built to his exacting specifications. Customized
to fit my body’s dimensions, the exact heights allowed him easy maximal access
to whatever part of my body he desired. Whether standing, bending, or lying
flat. The majority of pieces were outfitted with extra, hidden features. Like
the thick plate glass table top my upper body was plastered to.

Fashioned from shatterproof commercial window glass, with a
press of a button, the gas sandwiched between the two octagon-shaped pieces
dissipated, turning the privacy glass from smoke to clear, revealing the round
mirror beneath where the table’s legs attached to the heavy bronzed frame. A
press of another button and the mirror dipped to a slight angle. Enough to give
us both an excellent front view of my body. Nothing would be concealed. Not the
tiniest twitch, the slightest change in expression. Not even the silky wetness
that would soon be dripping down my thighs.

“Spread your legs farther apart. Until only your toes touch
the floor.”

When I was spread and open to his satisfaction, he
rearranged my hair, fluffing it out on either side of my face to leave my back
bare.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Excellent.” He ran both hands firmly over every inch of my
shoulders and back. Paused at the base of my spine. “Your sweet ass was made
for discipline.” He splayed his large hands over the firm smooth globes. “Lush,
plump and pale.” He squeezed. “The perfect size to take the full brunt of my
palm.”

I shivered at his words, what they implied.
Knowing…anticipating what was to come.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

“Not to worry. You won’t be for long.”

His sensual warning caused a ripple of need to skitter along
my flesh. His hands roamed over my hips, down both legs. Outside. Inside. He
caressed the soft, sensitive skin of my inner thighs. A tease away from my
aching pussy. Not that I expected him to touch me there. He would deny me any
pleasure until he reduced me to a pleading, weeping mass of surrender. Until I
begged for release. Promised to obey his every command.

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror.” His tone brooked no
argument.

“Understood, Sir.” I braced for the crack of his hand over
my vulnerable flesh.

He placed a soft kiss in the indentation at the base of my
spine.

Bastard! I should’ve known he’d toy with me first.

He licked his way up the middle of my back. I caught a whiff
of his earthy cologne, felt his masculine heat, the gentle press of his hard
chest against my back.

When had he removed his shirt?

I desperately wanted him. To absorb the weight of his
muscular body as it pressed onto mine. Rejoice in the feel of his thick cock,
plunging deep inside my welcoming flesh.

He was a master at reading my body. Never did what I
expected, what I coveted. There was no second-guessing him.

He smoothed his hand over the right cheek of my ass. I
tensed.

He lightly tapped my clit.

A soft needy gasp parted my lips.

He bit my shoulder. Drug his finger through the juices
gathering at my throbbing entrance.

I whimpered.

He sunk his finger deep inside me and despite my best
efforts to stifle the sound, a loud moan filled the air.

“God, you’re so wet. And we’ve barely started.” The words
flowed past my ear in a heated whisper.

I focused on the mirror beneath me, his face appeared next
to mine. But even with his jaw set with displeasure and determination, there
was no hiding the affection or the desire in his blazing green eyes.

“But just wet won’t do tonight. You disobeyed me. Not once
this week, but twice. Tonight, I intend to work you until you’re sopping. Your
sweet cum blazing a creamy trail down your long, beautiful legs.”

With no pause or warning, he withdrew his finger and filled
me with two.

His fingers were thick, long and oh so talented. I love it
when he fingers me. Twisting, burrowing deep, only for him to retreat slightly
and repeat the maddening process.

I angled my hips for deeper penetration.

He withdrew entirely.

“No! Don’t quit. I need—”

Crack!

I bit back a scream. The buck of my body against the glass,
sweet torture to my sensitive nipples. I focused on my own reflection. Not the
face of a woman in pain. The face of a woman in the first throes of pleasure.
Cheeks flushed a deep rose, eyes sparkling, mouth partially open. I
concentrated on breathing past the pain until it diffused into a sensually
arousing burn, fanning out in a heated rush.

“Don’t presume to tell me what you need, sweetheart. Your
only ‘need’ at the moment is to obey me.”

“I’m sorry. Please, Pierce. I promise—”

Crack!

I knew the vow would fall on deaf ears. He wouldn’t stop. I
would be disappointed if he did. He was unsurpassed in the art of agonizing
pleasure. No other man would ever measure up, be worthy of my total submission.
Because, God help me, I loved this man with every drop of blood that surged
through my tortured…longing heart. Always had. Always would.

~~~~~

Fuck!

The expletive ripped past Pierce’s lips as his climax ripped
through his taut body, his semen puddling warmly over his heaving stomach.

He let the diary slip to the floor. Remained motionless,
staring up at his domed bedroom ceiling, waiting for his breathing to level
out. His labored breaths not the sole result of his self-pleasure.

Heather loved him?

Were the words she’d written a figment of her erotic,
romantic imagination?

He sure as hell hoped so, because in his version of
Webster
’s
the happily ever after, until-death-do-us-part kind of love was nonexistent.
According to his father, his mother had tossed the
L
word around with
the enthusiasm of a drunk throwing confetti at midnight on New Year’s Eve, yet
she’d still taken on a multitude of lovers until his dad ran out of forgiveness
and divorced her.

But what if what Heather had written was true? What the hell
was he going to do then? He’d have to make her understand how he felt from the
get-go.

He’d always felt a bond with her. A platonic love. Like that
between a brother and sister. Hell, the four of them had grown up together.
Then came the day her baggy clothes couldn’t hide the fact she was growing up.
Filling out nicely in all the right places. Once she’d hit junior high, she’d
traded in those tomboy-ish clothes for skirts and shorts. Clothes that barely
covered her shapely ass. Small, tit-hugging tops made to ramp up every teenage
boy’s lust within a five-state radius. Especially when draped over the healthy
set of Cs that seemed to develop practically overnight.

Back then, he’d stood shoulder to shoulder with Quinn and
Justin, fending off any boy dumb enough to think they could get an
up-close-and-personal view of her awesome new assets. By the time she hit her
senior year, he and her brothers seemed to spend more time keeping guys out of
her
pants than trying to get into their own women’s.

When she’d gone to college, the three of them had breathed a
sigh of relief. Once again able to pursue their own pleasures, they’d done it
with a determined vengeance to make up for lost time.

Those were the easy times.

When Heather had gotten engaged to good old upstanding
Dr.
Joel
, Pierce had halfway convinced himself it was for the best, the
distance between New York City and Cleveland lending a little muscle to the
lie.

But she wasn’t engaged any longer. She wasn’t in New York.
And if what she’d written was true…

* * * * *

Pierce strode into the office of QPJ Construction, neat,
decidedly masculine, but comfortably inviting for prospective clientele. He
straightened his shoulders and hoped to hell the choice he’d made last night
wasn’t going to destroy a lifelong friendship. But he’d thought long and hard
about his decision and knew it was the right one.

Quinn and Justin looked up from the blueprint on the
drafting table set off in one corner.

“Just in time, bud.” Quinn smiled. “We’re considering moving
a weight-bearing wall on the Wallace project and could use your opinion.”

“Yeah, and grab yourself a cup of coffee.” Justin gave
Pierce a once-over. “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet. Hook
up with Jessica at Freedom Club last night?”

Both men chuckled.

The heels of his work boots hitting the scarred oak floor at
a steady clop, Pierce shook his head. No sense beating around the bush.

“I’m claiming Heather.”

The tomblike silence in the spacious, triple-desk room was
tangible.

“Is that so?” Quinn raised a brow and glanced at Justin who
remained silent, but watchful.

“I’m not asking your permission.” Since no curses or fists
were flying, Pierce took that as a good sign. “I’m informing you as a courtesy.
Because of our friendship. And because it could affect our business
partnership.”

“And if we object?”

Unfazed by Quinn’s unyielding stare, Pierce shrugged. “To be
blunt, it’s not your objection that concerns me.”

“What if our sister objects to being dominated?” Justin
folded his arms, revealing his large biceps to their best advantage.

“Then I’ll immediately back off. But I’ve recently
discovered something that makes me fairly sure she won’t.”

“What about your commitment issues? You’ve been pretty
adamant in that regard.” Justin leaned back in his chair.

“I haven’t changed my mind. I intend to be upfront with
Heather. Make sure she realizes I’m not looking for anything permanent.”

The brothers shared a dubious look.

Quinn wiped a hand over his face.

Justin blew a deep breath.

“Okay,” they said in unison.

“That’s it?” Pierce couldn’t keep the skepticism from his
voice.

“Look, dude. Heather’s no longer a kid. She hasn’t needed
our permission to do anything in a very long time.” Justin looked resigned.

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “And if she wants that kind of a
lifestyle, we’d rather it be with someone we trust. Someone who’d be totally
honest with her and who’d never hurt her.”

“Not to say the whole concept of the two of you together in
that way won’t take some getting used to.” Justin winced. “So if you don’t
mind, I’d appreciate a heads-up if you’re going to take her to Freedom Club.”