Sweet Sinclair (Masters of the Castle) (9 page)

“Is that the one you want to bring to me?” he countered. If she expected him to let her off the hook regarding the anal plugs, she had a surprise coming. He rested his hands on his thighs, his cock giving a slight jump at the thought of taking Sinclair across his knees, baring her pretty little bottom and opening up that package of anal plugs. It came with a disposable one-use package of lubricant tucked inside. He’d checked last night.

“Not particularly.” Biting her bottom lip, she went to the table and pulled the paper sack out from underneath. Glancing back at him, she unrolled the top. “I just…
you know, maybe we can just forget about that one.”

“Paddle or plugs, sweetness. Hurry up, because if I have to pick, I’m going to choose both.” She’d be over his knee either way tonight; his hard-on was straining against the seams of his pants, demanding hungry feminine stroking followed by hard-fucking friction. Sadly, he was determined to go to bed disappointed on that front yet again tonight. The siren’s song of her body was pulling at him, and the fight to resist would make his eventual surrender that much sweeter, but he had to restrain his passion just a little while longer. This was still only her second experience. He wanted her to know, when he took her to his bed, that this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing for him. And he wanted to know that she intended to stay in his bed, not for a night or a week, but for a long, long time. He didn’t have that certainty yet. So although he wanted her so badly that it might actually kill him, Parker was determined to go slowly.

She stared into the bag for the long time, refusing to choose. “I-I haven’t ever done either of these before…”

“What did I say you were selecting tonight?”

Staring down into that bag, she rubbed her hands against her jean-clad thighs. “My pleasure,” she stammered, shooting him an embarrassed glance.

“Can you trust me to do that?” he coaxed. “Can you trust me to make whatever you bring me feel so good that you writhe for me, just as you did last night? Your toes curling, your back arching, and your sweet little pussy weeping for me as you cum again, and again, and again. Some parts might sting at first, but even if it does, trust that I know how to make even those feel just incredible before I’m done.”

Even from here, halfway across a shadow-dominated room, he could see her shiver. Temptation truly was the spice of life, he decided. She reached into the bag and withdrew the nipple clamps, palming them in her other hand before quickly grabbing for one of the remaining items. She hesitated, changed her mind, then quickly changed it back again. Biting and chewing fitfully at her lower lip, she snatched up the paddle, wadded up the nearly empty bag and quickly tucked it back under the table as if it were something extremely shameful that she had to hide.

She came back to him, flushed as hot and as red as he couldn’t wait to make her sexy bottom, and staring straight at the floor because she couldn’t even meet his eyes.

He stood up, reaching for her just as soon as she drew near enough. She held out the paddle, but he made no move to take it. Instead, he combed his fingers back through her hair and told her with his smile just how proud he was that she had found the courage to make such a difficult choice. Some of the stiffness melted from her shoulders when he stroked his hand down to cup the back of her neck. He pulled her closer and her chin automatically lifted, her gaze skimming down his features to fix on his mouth. She wanted him to kiss her. Her eyes dilated and that traitorous little pulse beating at the side of her slim neck quickened.

He stroked her skin just above the thick leather of the collar. “Unbutton your shirt.”

She started to do it with both the paddle and the nipple clamps in her hands. He took them to free her hands, dropping them onto the table behind her, well within reach. Then he cupped the back of her neck again, keeping her attention focused right where he wanted it most. On him. On what she was doing for him, and on what was going to happen just as soon as she obeyed.

Her hands began to tremble, fumbling from one button to the next. She tugged her shirt tails out of her jeans and then let her shirt slide backwards off her shoulders and down her arms. She made only a half-hearted effort to toss it on the table too, but missed. It dropped to the floor behind her. She tried to drop after it—scoop it up, put it on the table like she’d meant to in the first place—but she got halfway down before his unyielding grip on her collar stopped her.

“I’m not interested in tidy floors.” He used her collar to drag her back up again. Her hands fluttered up, touching her own breasts, trying to hide the pert thrust of her nipples as they reached for him. She ended up folding her arms over as if she could hide, but he didn’t allow her that luxury for very long. “Remove your shoes and socks.”

Her breath quickened all over again, but she bent as far as his hold on her collar would allow and quietly did as she was told. He watched as she unlaced each white sneaker and then pulled them off. She set them under the corner of the table they’d been working at, with her socks stuffed deep inside each one. When she stood, she quickly folded her arms over her chest again. Tiny goosebumps peppered her skin, but not because the room was too cold.

“Remove your bra.”

She bowed her head, looking down at herself. “Second night in a row; still not pretty,” she quipped, pulling the sports bra up over her head.

For the second night in a row, he still didn’t care. She was trying so hard to retain her composure in front of him, finding it awkward to be so exposed when he was fully dressed. He caught only peek-a-boo glimpses of one pale nipple as the cloth abandoned her, but then she managed to clap a hand over the soft flesh of her breast.

“Put your arms down.” His tone was gentle, soft, but it was a command nonetheless.

Those bright green eyes of hers were awash with uncertainty and naked need, and it nearly unmanned him. He had to take a step back. If he hadn’t, he would have picked her up by the curves of her luscious ass, kissed every last trace of fear from her body and, determination be damned, made love to her right here on the cold stone floor. He doubted if the portable tables could have stood up to the vigor of those first moments when he finally got to bury his body inside hers.

“Put your arms down,” he said again, sounding so patient, but feeling anything but.

Her arms hesitantly unfolded. She revealed herself in tiny fits and starts, pleasure when he boldly looked at her flooding pink from her face all the way down onto her chest.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” He lightly traced the backs of two fingers along the heavy under curve of her left breast.

“Yes,” she whispered honestly. “I can see it on your face.”

He didn’t think he could hide it if he tried. “Then you know how much I want you?”

He laid his hand flat on her chest, nestling his palm between the valley of her breasts so he could feel the wild patter of her heart pounding back at him.

“Yes,” she admitted, her soft voice turning husky with a desire all her own. “I can see that, too.”

He was killing her. He was absolutely killing her. Did he even know he was doing it? Sinclair couldn't tell. His face was too hard to read, but she herself, she knew, had to be an open book. She felt consumed in raw flame, so intense in places it felt like licks of real fire tickling up between her clenching thighs, all the way to the very pit of her belly. Her nipples were throbbing, but then, peacock nipple clamps would do that to a girl.

“Take off your jeans.” Parker sat back in the same metal folding chair he’d occupied while they’d been working side by side. He’d pushed it back from the table and now sat simply watching while she undressed herself for him. Her breasts were swollen, pulsing and aching, her nipples shone wet with the saliva of his
suckling kisses—he was such a breast man; it felt like he’d spent hours on them before firmly attaching each clamp. She dreaded that moment when she, inevitably, had to obey. She was so wet already, as dark as this room was, he couldn’t help but see exactly what he did to her. Not that she was being discrete about her responses.

Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her fly, peeled the zipper down and pushed the stiff denim over her hips, bottom and thighs. She wished she’d been a little more awake this morning when she had dressed. How funny, that she should be so unbelievably preoccupied with all he’d done to her last night that she hadn’t even considered dressing accordingly for tonight’s repeat performance. But no, she’d put on her customary sports bra and blue panties and rushed off to work. Just once she wanted him to see her in something sexy, or lacy, or that matched.

Picking her discarded jeans up off the floor, she folded them—more a nervous gesture than fastidious tidiness—and put them on top of her shoes under the table. With nothing else to do, she quietly stood before him, fiddling with her fingers and waiting to be commanded again.

She liked this. Something was seriously wrong with her, but she did. She liked the feel of his collar—his—and she liked being naked—well, almost naked—while he remained fully clothed. She felt vulnerable just standing here. And yet, she also felt safe, because this was Parker. He wouldn’t hurt her, and he wanted her too. She wasn’t lying; she really could see that on his face. So why, oh why, did he feel such a need to tell her he wouldn’t make love to her?

“Panties,” Parker said, having looked his fill. “Take them down.”

Sinclair tried to focus on her breathing. Slow in, slow out. Don’t panic. Don’t shake. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear, skimming them down to the floor. She folded those neatly too, looking everywhere but at him until she had nothing else to do but place them upon her jeans and stand up straight again.

“Hands on your head,” he said when she tried to cup her mons and hide at least a little bit.

The peacock feathers of each clip stroked her breasts as she folded her hands behind her head. She tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t help it. The longer he spent, silently watching her, arms folded across his chest, one finger lightly stroking back and forth across his lower lip as he appraised every naked inch of her, the more unbearable the silence became. He had the paddle lying across his lap. He hadn’t touched it except to put it there and every time her eyes were drawn down to it, she couldn’t help but look at the bulge of his erection, boldly filling out the
front of those dark leather breeches.

She shivered. This was torturous, but it was also okay because his eyes were heated, lust-filled, burning as they caressed her, following all the shadowed, curving paths that she wished his hands would do. Why wasn’t he touching her? How long could she stand to do this before she just cracked?

He beckoned her to him.

Oh, wait a minute, he wasn’t going to touch her right now, was he? She wasn’t ready!

Sinclair managed a single forward step. Her knees dipped, wobbling unsteadily as she locked her legs again.

“Closer.”

Another step brought her near enough that he could have touched her if only he reached.

His slate grey gaze rose to meet her eyes. “Closer,” he said again, his voice dipping both in warning and arousal.

One last step. If he tipped his leg slightly, his knee could easily have touched hers. He wouldn’t even need to stretch to reach her. All he had to do was lift his arm, and oh God, but that’s exactly what he did.

Her knees dipped all over again as his fingers wandered up the outside slope of her thigh to her hip, following the dip of her waist across the flinching plain to her navel. He circled once, his eyes flicking up to hers with a lazy blink, before he angled his head and returned to his lazy exploration. When his gaze dropped back down, his fingers dropped too. And dropped and dropped straight down from her bellybutton right to the reddish line of neatly trimmed hair that guarded her mons.

He played in curls barely long enough for him to pinch and then tug, and then his fingers dropped further still.

Sinclair caught her breath. Her eyes closed as he traced the folds of her labia back between her thighs, but they just couldn’t stay that way. Particularly not when he said, “Look at me.”

Trembling, she obeyed.

Sliding his finger back and forth along the seam, he invade
d, sliding first one, then two, and then—filling her so full she lost her composure to a breathy moan—three. Three thick fingers that instantly began to move, short in and out thrusts that made her fight to hold her hips still. She almost lost that fight, except that he stopped and withdrew his hand. His fingers glistened, so mortifyingly wet.

“Touch your pussy for me,” he said, stealing a taste of her from his own fingertip. She hadn’t known until right then that such a sight could be so arousing.

Sinclair placed her hand over her mons, not touching so much as hiding behind her hand.

Parker noticed and cocked his eyebrow at her in warning. It was the kind of look that made her stomach clench in and quiver, like a tuning fork being struck.

Spreading her fingers, Sinclair stroked herself.

“Show me,” was all he said, but his gentle tones were growing thicker. She didn’t know how it could be possible, but that tent in
the front of his pants seemed to grow thicker too.

She could still feel everywhere he’d touched her burning as if his hand was still there. Sinclair let her fingers become his. She opened herself, showing him all the hot pinkness where she ached for him to touch. Her clit felt a thousand times more sensitive than it should have. With his gaze closely following the silken glide of her circling caresses, she peeled back her flesh with one hand and began to pet and stroke, tiny circling motions that made it so hard to stay standing and still. She’d never done anything so sinful or seductive in all her life. Masturbating was something one should only do when alone and in the dark, and it was never, ever admitted to because it was a shameful act.

Except that, she wasn’t alone now, and it was nowhere near dark enough to hide her trembling, and there were a lot of things she was feeling at this moment, and shame just wasn’t one of them.

“Good girl. Very, very good.” No longer willing to be just an observer, Parker pushed her hands aside. He caught her clit between two fingers, holding her captive while his thumb continued the same circular gliding motion she had started.

“Oh.” Breathe. She struggled to stand still and not to let her legs buckle or her hands catch at his to stop this tender assault too soon. Her breaths became tight little pants. “Mm!” She locked her lips, turning the soft cry into little more than mews, but she couldn’t be quiet any more than she could be still.

He stopped, pushing in, pinching her clit between his fingers and holding on while her hips twitched. She had to fight not to buck or grind against him, or push his hand out of the way and fall to her knees right there and find her own completion. How could he take her so far, right to the edge of it like this,
then just stop? Didn’t he know what he was doing to her?

Except that it was right there in the laughing grey depths of his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was doing it on purpose.

For the first time, he picked the paddle up off his knees. “Lay over my lap.”

Was he actually going to do that now, spank her? Just like the bad little girl he’d once playfully called her. Just like in the pictures she’d seen on the internet, some of them taken right here at this very Castle. And not just that, but with the paddle she had bought herself, and handed right to him because of all those picture
s she had seen and because she so badly wanted him to like her. She was crazy. Insane! Completely out of her mind and yet she laid her hands upon his thighs and bent right over his lap. Settling awkwardly into place, she braced her hands against the floor and stretched her legs out behind her. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She stared wide-eyed at the hard stone floor while her stomach flipped into knot after knot and her clit pulsed and throbbed and her nipples thrilled at the back and forth sway of the dangling clamps, and Parker’s naked hand came to rest on the equally naked swell of her right bottom cheek.

He wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her, the heat of that hand skimming under her belly, straining to reach down between her legs, past the curls in search of her clit again.

“Ha!” It was the most unladylike sound, somewhere between a laugh, a gasp and a caw, but she just wasn’t capable of anything else. Not when he gripped her like that, capturing her in a much rougher hold and yet one that felt indescribably good. Possessive. Like her clit belonged to him and he’d only just loaned it to her for the evening.

He adjusted her legs, pushing the right one completely off his lap and hooking it between his in a way that had her hips balanced only on his left thigh. She could kick, but only with one leg, and no matter how she moved, she couldn’t close them at all. He could see everything right now, every hidden inch of her.

“P-Parker?”

“First names are for friends, and you are not my friend tonight.” She jumped when the soft padded side of the paddle fondly brushed her bottom. “You will call me Master Parker, Master or Sir, is that understood?”

Not really, but she was having a hard time concentrating just now. “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

He caressed her with the paddle, rubbing the faux fur down the back of one thigh and up as much as he could reach of the other. “Hold your bottom still for me, sweetness. You’ve been a very good girl and have made me very happy, so this is going to be a fun reward for us both.”

His fingers massaged her clit when he said that, making her bottom first jump and then hump. She tried to stop it, her hands flying up off the floor to grab onto his thigh again.

“Get back in position,” he told her.

Flustered, she obeyed, feeling the brush of coolness on her bottom when he flipped the paddle over and instead of fake fur, the caress of stiff leather moved over her. It followed the same caressing pattern, covering first the surface of her bottom before moving down, skimming the backs of each leg in turn before returning to her tensing nether cheeks.

“I don’t like this paddle,” he said, giving her the first gentle slap. The impact was barely more than a tap, but she still jumped. “Not that there’s anything at all wrong with the paddle you selected.” He spanked one side of her bottom and then the other, catching the lowest part of the curve and rolling with his fingers upon her captured clit. “I simply don’t think this paddle is right for you.”

She grabbed his leg again. “Oh! Ooooh! W-wait…”

He flipped the paddle again. “You’ve got a gorgeous ass, Sinclair.”

He gave her a series of padded swats. It was nothing but sensation, pressure on the lowest curve of her bottom that set every nerve ending sparking wildly to life. Each smack raced from the place of impact straight to the rolling caress of his fingers; her hips refused to hold still. They rolled too, trying to ride his fingers.

“Beautiful well-behaved young ladies, like yourself—” He flipped the paddle yet again, bring the cool leather back to her skin. “—deserve to be spanked by hand.”

That wasn’t what she felt, though, in the next crisp slap—not hard, not really. Just enough to make her catch her breath—or was that his fingers that did that, caressing in those endless circles that made her hips rock in endless circles right along with him? Her skin prickled a little, until he spanked again and then it prickled a lot.

“Paddles are cold.” Another spank, harder this time; she jumped, tossing her head, her hair falling down in a cascade of red curls upon her back. “Stern.” Two more, firecracker fast now, bouncing off each juddering cheek in turn, and Sinclair kicked, trying to tuck both feet up high enough to protect her now stinging bottom. It felt like nothing she was prepared for, and although that sting certainly held the recognizable possibility of pain, his rolling, massaging, caressing fingers stole the bite right out of it.

“Oh my God.” She grabbed his leg fiercely now, unable not to touch him, needing to be anchored somehow because she just didn’t know how to anchor herself.

“Put your foot down.” He moved around it easily enough, as she could only get one leg up high enough to truly hinder him, and gave her bottom the briskest slap yet. “You don’t want me to have to spank you for real, do you?”