Switch Master: 6 (Ink and Kink) (10 page)

“I’m serious. Keep talking, we’re pulling off and you’re the
first to get naked.”

“I’m that distracting?”

“Yes,” he gritted out. She had to know that her voice, a
sexy combination of Kathleen Turner and New Englander, was driving him nuts
already. He was getting hornier by the second.

“Truth be told, I’d be honored to share a motel room with
you, but it is best if we go home. We’ll be more comfortable.”

Damn, Taran’s cock slumped in defeat. Driving on to Boston,
he realized Samantha referred to the brownstone as home.

After they arrived in South Boston and parked in the lot
across the street from the Maddox brownstone, Sam waited in the truck while
Taran walked around to the passenger side to help her out.

His house was at the end of the row, with a side and
backyard and a kitchen entrance. It was gorgeous, had been remodeled a few
times and had a big red front door. The brownstone was also larger than outside
appearances told, boasting several floors, an attic, a basement and numerous
rooms.

Not wanting him to perceive her nervousness, and not sure
how long she could contain it, she breathed in and out. She was a
thirty-eight-year-old consenting adult about to embark on a sexual relationship
with Taran Maddox.

He would turn thirty in August, but she’d never thought of
herself as a cougar. Despite his age, Taran had a wisdom about him that belied
his years. He took pride in his family and friends, established himself as a
successful lawyer and business owner and was the kind of man any woman could
count on.

And if she stayed the current course, he could be hers, yet
she was scared out of her mind. Not because she thought Taran was going to turn
into a monster, she was afraid because her heart was already his.

While she’d been daydreaming, he reached her door, opening
it and offering a hand. “Are you ready to go inside, doll?”

“Yes,” she answered, her heart racing as though she’d run
from Framingham to Boston.

“Make sure you are. Once we’re inside the house, there’s no
going back.”

“I’m ready,” she insisted, unbuckling her seatbelt and
accepting his hand.

He held her steady as she descended. Her heavy combat boots
protected her feet from the three inches of snow that’d fallen so far. Relieved
to know Luke was home with his aunt, she sighed and squeezed Taran’s hand in a
silent thank you.

“Wow, the snow’s cranking up fast,” she observed, as snow
flew into her face.

“Saw there was a chance of a storm when I was watching the
news before my morning run. Guess the weather guy was right,” Taran said. “You know
what they say about New England weather?”

“If you don’t like it, wait a minute and it’ll change,” she
answered, totally not thinking about snowstorms. She was wondering how long
it’d be before they hit the sheets…or if they’d make it to a bed at all the
first time. “Do you run every day?”

“As often as I can,” he answered, bringing her up close and
personal to his body to keep her warm and protect her from the driving snow.

“Ah oh, I should warn you, I’m not a morning person by
nature. If you’d like, we could run in the afternoons when we’re off work.”

“That sounds like a plan. I’ve been running less often
lately, mainly because of kung fu with Alex. That’ll whip anyone’s ass into
shape.”

They made their way across the street, crushing snow as they
headed to the kitchen entrance.

“Ever make snow angels when you were a kid, Taran?” she
asked, unable to recall the last time she’d simply played in the snow.

“Sure, primarily I made forts and snowballs to clobber
Ethan, why?”

“I’m trying to find out what you were like as a kid,” she
answered. “You didn’t try to beat Phalen?”

“Phalen had ways of turning us into snow-covered chumps.”

What she wanted to say was that she’d never been great with
intimacy or relationships and she was trying to understand the art of small
talk. Her innocence was torn to pieces after Mark, more so after his uncle
caused her to lose so much more than her virginity.

“Samantha, stay focused on me,” Taran whispered when they
were at the kitchen door.

“I am,” she said.

“Don’t be afraid. From here on out, I’ve got your back,” he
promised.

“Not afraid,” she murmured, shivering a little. Fortunately
Taran radiated sex appeal and warmth.

Taran brought her around to face him. An overhang above the
door shielded them from the biting snow. Snuggling closer to his side, she
breathed him in. He smelled so good she’d gladly spend hours with him just like
this. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his mouth.

“You are everything to me, Samantha. That’s why I’m doing
this out here…because once we’re inside the house, I don’t know how long it’s
going to be before we’re naked and I’m inside you.”

“What do you mean by
this
?” Stunned to learn he was
trembling and seemed as nervous as she was, she leaned in closer, enjoying the
intimacy they shared.

He kissed her fingers, turning her palm over to press his
mouth there. His tongue, hot and warm, swiped her skin, tasting her. Snow
coated his hair and hers. Flakes melted on their leather jackets.

Lowering her hand, he placed it over his groin. He was hard.
She could feel his cock throb, regardless of his thick jeans and boxers being
in the way.

“Marking you,” he explained, leaning down and kissing her
softly on the lips.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Can we do that again?”

“Yeah, we’ll do it a lot,” he reassured, capturing her lips
again, only instead of being gentle he thrust his tongue between her lips,
ravaging her mouth.

Raising his hand, he caught the back of her hair in his
fingers, pulling enough to demand control. It didn’t hurt, but a spark of
intense heat spread through her due to his roughness.

Taran grunted and used his grip on her hair to turn her head
in a way that would be more comfortable for both of them. The change allowed
his tongue to forge deeper into her mouth.

He tasted like pizza. She probably did too. They shared a
likeness for pepperoni. She liked that a lot.

His cock jumped beneath her hand, distracting her. Brushing
her palm up and down his fly, she enjoyed knowing she wielded so much power
right then. All she had to do to touch his bare flesh was open the fly and
navigate his boxer shorts.

A tug of his hand on her hair separated them slightly.
Feeling as if she were a heroine on the cover of a bodice-ripper romance novel,
she loved how he used both hands to snag more of her hair.

“You’re mine, Samantha. Say it before we walk through that
door.”

“We covered that at the truck,” she uttered, wishing he’d
kiss her again. She tried to fight for it, but Taran had two fistfuls of hair.

“Say it. And mean it.”

“I’m yours.”

Without missing a beat, he kissed her with near savage
intent. His hands pulled on her hair just a little bit more, forcing her to
rely on him. It was exciting beyond her understanding.

“Are you mine, pretty boy?” she asked when he let up.

“Yes, yours,” he declared, kissing his way from her chin to
her throat, found her pulse and bit down.

“Taran!” she gasped, shocked he bit so hard, yet more so by
the tingling heat sizzling outward from the point of the bite, seeming to arrow
straight to the heart of her pussy.

“First mark’s always the deepest,” he warned, biting her a
second time before sucking so strongly against her vein she thought he’d pierce
the skin.

Going up on the tips of her toes, she sought to get closer,
sought more, she wasn’t sure. Her throat was aflame from his love bite, her
skin tingled all over, her clit pulsing and he’d not even touched her there
yet.

When he was satisfied, he drew back, let go of her hair and
hugged her. “No regrets, doll. No more sleeping alone for either of us.”

“It’s been a long, lonely wait, Taran. I’m glad I waited for
you.” He hugged her for a second longer then pulled back. Reaching into his
pocket, he grabbed his keys, reached around her and opened the door.

“In. Now.” Gone from him was the family-friendly lawyer he’d
been with Luke. Now he was the Dom who pushed her sexual buttons as no one else
could.

Turned-on, Sam backpedaled into the house, with a lot of
help and momentum from Taran. The kitchen door slammed closed. The smell of
spices and home greeted her.

She’d always imagined Abigael Maddox decorated the kitchen
with heartfelt love of her family. It was big, open, with yellow splashed with
dainty flowers and a gigantic booth where the family likely had countless meals
together.

Growing up, the Maddox boys probably used the kitchen door
to bring home dates, sneak in late or sneak out when needed. It’d likely been
here that they gathered and did things with their mother and father that Sam
never had a chance to do with her mother.

Oddly enough, she’d always felt at home in Taran’s house.
Now maybe she truly belonged. No, maybe she’d always belonged. Maybe it was
safe enough to think of the Maddox brothers and their wives as family.

“Samantha, pick a safe word,” Taran told her, standing in
front of the door to block any chance of escape.

“Now?” she gasped. Had she made that sound?

“Yes.” Uh-oh, he’d gone into some kind of zone that might
have scared normal mortals. His gray eyes were molten hot, intense. His body
was incredibly still, reminding her of a big cat ready to spring.

“I…umm…I’ve no idea how to do this.”

Taran pushed off the door, advancing even as he shed his
coat and tossed it aside. Something crashed to the floor, startling her.

“You broke something,” she said, looking over to see that
his coat struck a coffee mug that’d been on butcher-block island recently added
to the kitchen.

“Pick something unromantic and can’t be interpreted as a
maybe.”

“Thought I could just say yay or nay,” she uttered.

“You can. Samantha…” He kept coming forward. He cast off his
shirt, opened his fly and was damn close to pushing those jeans down to his
knees.

“Okay, okay!” Thinking she had enough time before the pants
went that far because he’d not be able to walk, she found herself backing right
up to the counter. “Beach!”

Taran paused for a second. “You’re sure about that one?”

“Yes. You said it should be unromantic. To me, beach is it.”

“It’s your call, doll.” Taran reached boldly between his fly
and rubbed at his cock through his boxers. “When you’re ready, tell me why the
beach bothers you, all right?”

“I can tell you now. It has to do with Mark and the night I
lost my virginity,” she admitted, surprising herself.

“I thought that might be why. Okay, beach is your safe word.
If you wish to change it, say so.”

He started walking again, moving up to her so quickly and
silently, all she could do was push back against the countertop. A handle on a
drawer dug into her butt.

She wiggled to the right. To the left was a new
state-of-the-art stainless refrigerator. Farther over on the right was a Viking
stove. It was big, with six burners and a griddle in the center. She hadn’t
been to the brownstone in a few weeks, but she knew Ethan and Taran had
arranged to update the appliances.

“Do you think I could borrow a toothbrush?” she asked,
trying to slow Taran down a bit. He was all serious. His eyes were boring into
her, the color reminding her of melted steel.

“Not right now, later, sure.”

“I smell like pizza.”

“Me too,” he replied, reaching out to grab her jacket. “This
comes off now.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I mind. Off.”

“I meant tasting like pizza.”

He growled low, tugging more insistently on the jacket. Sam
swore her heartbeat was going to slam right out of her chest, she was so
turned-on and a whole lot nervous.

Despite the nervousness, she wasn’t afraid, not of Taran.
She was very aware that he’d given her an out, a safe word, and she could use
it whenever she wanted. Then again, she was tired of playing it safe.

“Can you help me, Taran?” She was a little bunched up
against the counter. It was impossible to escape the hardness of the counter
against her butt and Taran’s big cock pressing against her belly.

It didn’t matter that she was fully dressed and he was
nearly naked. She was very aware of his size and strength. He was a living,
breathing work of art, a sex fantasy made real.

Carefully as he could, he brushed the jacket from her
shoulders. It flopped to the floor. No damage done to it or their cell phones.
She’d tucked his into her left pocket when he’d given it to her in the truck
and hers was in the right.

“Maybe we should clean up the cup?”

She tried to look away from him to cast attention on the
shattered coffee mug. He wasn’t having it.

“Eyes on me, Samantha.”

“The cup!”

“Can wait, I can’t. You can’t.”

“Sure we can. It’ll take all of a minute to get a broom.”

Taran shook his head and caught her around the middle,
hoisting her up and onto the counter. His hands were at her zipper, it went
down without preamble and he stripped the jeans right down to her booted feet.

“Ah ha, you’ve been thwarted by combat boots, pretty boy.”
She couldn’t help it, she smiled at him.

Taran had this endearing habit of tilting his head when he
had to approach a problem and solve it. His long hair, which was always soft
and well-kept, fell across his handsome-as-sin face.

Grabbing one of her feet, he untied the boot and shucked it.
He repeated the process with the second boot. It clunked to the floor. Her
jeans were jerked from her.

“Naked, Samantha, you need to be naked.”

“You need to be naked too.”

Taran backed up long enough to remove his boots while she
shed herself of panties she hoped he’d not be turned off by. They were the most
basic kind a woman could wear. Her tee shirt went to the pile of clothing on
the kitchen floor.

His jeans, socks and boxers had been added. Sam couldn’t
believe they were doing this in the kitchen. She didn’t know how much longer
it’d be before they were joined.

She was in the process of removing her utilitarian underwire
bra when his hands caught her wrists and pushed her hands away. She tried to
wrest control back from him, but he shook his head, baring his teeth.