He kissed her soft lips, thrusting his tongue in and out to illustrate what he planned to do with his cock in the next minute. She shuddered.
Bracing his hands on the lounge frame, he started to move, pulling out a tad, moving forward, until he could pull almost all the way out and push all the way in. Her body eased and grew even more slick and hot. God help him.
Her eyes had closed, and her flushed face showed only the strain of increasing desire.
His fingers clamped around the frame, and he tried a hard thrust.
Her eyes shot open, and she gasped.
Two more thrusts and she moaned, a satisfyingly carnal sound. Looked like his little sub was primed and ready. And fuck, so was he. He set up a steady rhythm, one that would satisfy them both. Not that he could keep it up all night. He'd been erect all evening, and she was exquisitely tight.
He reached down and slid one finger over her slick tiny nub; she gave a choked cry. A few rubs and her clit hardened again and jutted out, begging him for more.
A plea that a Dom loved to satisfy. He caught her clit gently between two fingers. Thrusting his cock deep, he lifted the sensitive nub slightly as he withdrew. Her hips tried to follow, and he drove in hard. As he continued, her legs quivered beneath him, and her head tilted back. Almost there.
He changed to a hammering rhythm, and her vagina closed around him like a hot fist. Her body tightened into a rigid line, bowing upward.
He definitely heard when she hit the peak. Her high scream broke into the quiet night—the finest music in the world, and the milking convulsions of her pussy—the finest sensation.
As he released his own control, the pressure exploded from the base of his spine, rammed into his balls, and jetted out in God-I-may-die jerks of his cock. He roared, the sound drowning out her cries and the hammering of blood in his ears.
When his eyes eventually uncrossed, he rested on his forearms. The soft body under his shuddered every few seconds, her pussy clenching with each tiny tremor. He hauled in a couple deep breaths and smiled down at her. “You're beautiful, sweetheart,” he murmured.
She looked up with dazed eyes, her lips swollen and so compelling he took them again for a long, slow kiss. He could feel her heart thudding in her chest.
With one hand, he unsnapped her wrists.
She wrapped her arms around him with a sigh of happiness. Strong arms and a strong woman. He moved inside her, just to please himself, and her vagina spasmed, buffeting him with aftershocks of pleasure. Very nice.
He bit her chin and smiled into golden eyes. “I wouldn't mind staying here, inside you, for a long, long time.”
Her lips curved. “Okay.”
The answer squeezed his chest, and her mouth softened under his as he took another kiss. How could this little Amazon punch through his defenses with a single word?
After a minute, he withdrew, smiling at her unhappy moan. He disposed of the condom, refastened his shorts, then picked her up and settled back on the lounge chair with her sprawled on top. The burn on his shoulder ached like a son of a bitch from the exercise, but he didn't give a damn. He'd waited to have her here in his arms, and he intended to savor every moment.
She wiggled until her full curves fit over him like a fluffy blanket. Her skin was still damp from their exercise, and her breath puffed warm against his chest.
With both hands, he cupped her ass cheeks, enjoying the combination of soft female skin and firm muscle. Much like her personality—determined and strong, yet so vulnerable.
And if he was thinking like this, then he was in a fucking lot of trouble.
She set her forearms against his chest and propped herself up so she could look down at him. Still slightly damp, her hair bounced around her face, curling wildly in the humid air. “Um, didn't you…? I thought…”
He caressed her cheek, smiling at her confusion. He hadn't felt this content in years. “Go on, sweetie.”
“Uh, never mind.”
Uh-huh. He studied her face, the averted eyes. All right, what worries had that twisty brain fastened on now?
As he ran his hand up and down her back, he mulled it over. After sex, most females wanted to establish a connection, which was one reason he indulged in sex only during scene play in the club or with women uninterested in a serious relationship. He'd broken that rule tonight. How many more would fall?
“Ask, Andrea.”
Chapter Thirteen
Master Cullen had given the order in his deeper voice, the one that didn't let her evade an answer. Why had she asked such a stupid question? How could she ask this without sounding as if she wanted something? Well, okay she did. Oh, she really, really did, but not if he—
He snorted in exasperation. “Stop thinking, pet, and just spit it out.”
“They said you never take trainees out of the club. Or date them.”
“Looks like I broke my rule, doesn't it?” He had a faint smile on his face, but in the dim light, she couldn't read his eyes. Apparently he wasn't going to help her out here.
She sighed and laid her head back down, enjoying the even rhythm of his heart. Really, she didn't want to pursue this line of questioning anyway. She had him now, and that was enough. Her arms wrapped around him, and she hugged him, holding him tightly, not wanting to let go. Ever.
Change the subject. “Weren't you supposed to collect a favor from me since you guys won?”
Under her ear, his laugh rumbled through his chest. “True. Don't worry, love. I'll collect.”
He undoubtedly meant it to sound like a threat. Instead it sent heat swirling through her until her toes curled.
And he laughed again.
Just then a woman's voice rose in a series of high wails, and Andrea grimaced, burying her head deeper into Cullen's shoulder. She didn't remember, but surely she hadn't sounded that noisy…had she?
With a low chuckle, he stroked her hair and answered the question she hadn't asked. “I enjoy hearing you scream, little tiger. Next time you'll be even louder.”
Dios help her. She shivered.
“We should head in.” Cullen pushed her up and off, then rose. “That was Jessica; Z must have ungagged her.”
By the time they'd threaded their way back to the house, Nolan and Beth had also returned. Jessica, swathed in a long terrycloth robe the color of her eyes, handed out more robes.
Señor bundled Andrea into one as if she were a baby, refused one for himself, and unselfconsciously switched his wet shorts for his leathers.
When he turned his back, she saw the white bandages against his tanned skin, and her eyes widened. How could she have forgotten?
“Andrea”—Master Z paused beside her—“there's a first-aid box on the table over there for your master.”
Andrea nodded then froze. Master? When she looked up at Cullen, she saw Nolan had asked him about building a dungeon in the beach house, and he hadn't heard Z.
She clasped her hands in front of her, Z's comment swirling through her head. “Your master.” Tilting her head to one side, she tried to think of him that way and kept getting diverted by his looks. Definitely not a gorgeous master. Way not a boy-toy, but so dangerously masculine that she could almost see the testosterone radiating from him. Big nose, strong jaw. His eyebrows were thick, darker than his brown hair, and the beginnings of a beard darkened his jawline. Boromir in the wilderness. All he needed was a sword and a few orcs to kill.
He glanced down at her then, caught her staring, and rather than making her feel dumb, simply put an arm around her and pulled her against his side. Like she belonged there. And why that felt so wonderful, she didn't even want to know.
As his conversation slowed, she patted his arm. “Señor. I'm supposed to change your bandage.”
“It's fine, sweetie.” Cullen smiled at her and turned back to Nolan. “But if we don't—”
“No, it's not,” Andrea interrupted. “The gauze is wet and needs to be changed.”
Yes, his dark eyebrows appeared even darker as they drew together. “Little sub…”
Her chin went up, and she stood her ground although everything inside her shivered.
To her surprise, he shook his head and grinned. “My sweet Amazon.” He held his hand out, waited until she placed her hand in his. She heard Nolan's barked laugh as her Señor hauled her over to the first-aid kit.
She started to peel the tape off, but when he moved, his muscles rippled under his skin like waves, and it took her a second to focus on her task. The dressing finally came off, revealing that the skin underneath had been seared raw; bright red alternated with ugly blackness.
“Madre de Dios, what did you do?”
“Something hot fell on me,” he said as if burning objects dropped on people every day.
“Doesn't it hurt?” Each time he moved his arm or shoulder, the skin tightened. “You carried me. Played volleyball. Estúpido baboso, what were you thinking?”
He turned far enough to tug her hair and growl, “I'm thinking that I am quite capable of yanking you over my knee and spanking your ass. Change the dressing, sub.”
Ooops.
She heard a chuckle from behind her, and Z dropped a jar beside the kit. “Use this on it.”
She dabbed on the white, creamy ointment, covered the burn with a nonstick pad, and taped everything in place. Cullen moved his arm and nodded. “Nice job, love. It does feel better. Thank you.”
The glow warmed her as she slipped away to join the other subs.
