Without A Trace: Inside The Lines Part 8

"f.u.c.k me," I say and shove my tongue in his mouth, eliminating any further argument.

Our breaths collide as our pa.s.sions rise, and I rub against the harsh texture of his jeans, enjoying his trapped erection.

"I must have ye on my c.o.c.k." He sets me on my feet so he can lock the door, then he unfastens his belt and jeans. He pulls me to him again, mouth hot on my neck and collarbone. His naked c.o.c.k caught between us, I shift my stomach against it, earning a groan from him. I unb.u.t.ton my shirt, slipping out of it as he reaches for my bra. I'm left only in my boots and plaid skirt. The dim room is cool, but I don't feel it as I bend down to take him in my mouth. He grips my arms, though, lifting me to my feet and turning me so my back presses against his chest.

"I'm going to take ye hard, love, as hard as ye took me that night ye tied me down."

His hand grips my breast, squeezing so hard I nearly cry out, but the pain fuels my pa.s.sion, and when he bends me over the desk, I want to object, but the feel of his hand on my hip, his c.o.c.k throbbing against me, is too much, and all I want is Fin. Inside me. Now.

He fills me with one thrust, and I feel as though I'm being torn in two. His thick c.o.c.k spreads me so wide, I can barely gasp. When he pulls out, I suck air, but then he surges back into me, one hand holding me still, the other pinching my nipple with a vise-like grip. And I love it. Even as he f.u.c.ks me hard and I'm nearly senseless with desire, I realize that I've never been quite like this-so out of control, and so desperate for someone else to give me what I need. He slaps my a.s.s, first lightly, then harder, and the snap of pain sends my o.r.g.a.s.m soaring. I want to scream as I explode inside, but he covers my mouth, slipping a finger between my lips as I fight to avoid making noise.

He leans over me, my body pinioned on his c.o.c.k, his arms holding me against his body. "Did I hurt ye? Are ye okay?"

I nod. "Don't stop," I whisper hoa.r.s.ely.

So he doesn't. Pressing me to the desk, he reaches even deeper inside me, his c.o.c.k seeming to grow larger with each thrust, and as he f.u.c.ks me, he spares no mercy. Another climax threatens me, even as my legs grow weak, and when I can take no more intensity, it ruptures through me anyway, decimating any defenses I might have built, and lands with a ferocity that leaves me nearly unconscious in its wake.

Chapter 14.

Switch "Oh my G.o.d. This is probably the best barbecue I've ever had." Juice drips down my hands from the sandwich, and I ignore it in favor of the bliss a.s.saulting my taste buds. "I may never eat anything else."

We're at, quite literally, a "stand" that sits on the side of the road. With the exception of a few small plastic tables and chairs, the food is meant to be taken to go.

I'm also delighted to discover that Fin drives an old truck, one he borrows from the farm. While I've never had any cowboy fantasies, there is something incredibly s.e.xy about a guy in a roughed-up pickup. So we drop the tailgate, spread an old, horsey blanket we found behind the seats, and nosh homemade pulled-pork sandwiches and fresh-cut french fries.

Fin smiles. "I've been quite fond of this place since I discovered it, but then, I dinna know much about barbecue to begin with. Glad you like it." He takes a bite of his own sandwich, which requires a certain amount of strategy so the soft bun doesn't fall apart around the meat. We sit in companionable silence until we're finished, then we start on the fries.

"Any more word from yer investors?"

"It's happening. I just got the call to set up a time with their liaison to sign the papers. I guess they have some kind of rule from the CEO that all deals are signed in person with one of their people. They're coming to me, so I can't complain." I swipe a fry through ketchup.

"Are ye excited?"

I realize that I'm frowning, so I grin. "Yes. I am. But a bit nervous. This is a huge change for me. And while I love what I do...this could get in the way of it."

"Being a Dominatrix, ye mean?"

I nod, munching. It occurs to me that I have no idea how he feels about my career. "Does it bother you? What I do for a living?"

He leans back against the truck, moving his leg so he's still touching me. "No. Why should it?"

I rake my gaze over him, enjoying the way his chest fills out his t-shirt. "Well, it's something that could bother a partner. I'm intimate with the fantasies of my clients, and while I don't sleep with them," anymore, I say to myself, "it's still pretty s.e.xual at its core." I meet his squinting eyes. "That doesn't bother you even a little?"

He ponders for a moment, his lips pressed together. "I wasna bothered..." He flashes me a smile, his dimple in full effect. "I'd be a bit more concerned if ye were sleeping with a bunch of other people, I suppose. But I'm not particularly jealous of the person ye're beating with yer wee whips." He snorts and mocks a shiver. "Rather them than me."

I can't help but chuckle. "Point taken."

Despite the warm day, when he leans forward to run a hand over my arm, I get gooseb.u.mps at the contact. "I want ye to be happy, Lux. I'm not looking for a relationship with multiple people, mind ye. That's not who I am. I care about ye, and what ye do is part of what makes ye who ye are. After all, I thought ye had s.e.x with clients when I asked ye out." He pauses for a moment, an embarra.s.sed smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He chuckles softly when I give him a c.o.c.ked eyebrow. "Aye, well, I dinna say I was particularly brilliant about the way I did it. But I shouldna have asked ye out if I dinna accept what ye did."

"Wow." I whistle in admiration. "Where did you get so open-minded?"

He ponders for a moment, then says with a furrowed brow. "I dinna know, honestly. My parents are very traditional in their beliefs, but they're progressive enough. I was raised with a mind of my own, if ye will."

"Are your siblings like you?" I know he's from a relatively large family-compared to my own, anyway-but while he's mentioned them a few times, we haven't gotten around to the big "family tree" exchange, particularly because I avoid it so deftly.

"Aye, more or less." He collects our trash, then rejoins me on the tailgate. "Ye're an only child?"

I fiddle with my sungla.s.ses. "I almost forgot to ask-how are your applications with the colleges going?"

"I called yesterday, as a matter of fact. I haven't heard anything from Cornell, and since my application for next term was barely in under the deadline, I dinna ken if they'll let me start."

"So if you do, you'll start in January."

"That's my hope." He reaches for my hand, his fingers linking with mine. "Ye dinna like to talk about yer family much."

I trace the outline of our fingers with my other hand. "It's a good day. Let's not go there."

He squints against the sun but doesn't look away. "Fair enough. But I'm not going to run away if ye're related to the Sasquatch, love."

I chuckle. "Thanks, I think." The mood is broken, so we head back. Fin drops me off at my car, and for the first time in my life, I make out in a pickup. There's definitely something to be said for it.

On the way home, though, unwelcome thoughts come to roost. I'm not exactly sure what Fin and I are doing. Due to my reticence, we haven't had any "are we dating" discussions, and as a result, I feel a bit adrift. Which is ridiculous, because I'm the one who'd avoid "labeling" it anyway. But the intensity of my emotions when I'm in his s.p.a.ce troubles me. I'm not one apt to fall in love, and this feels dangerously close to it. The cons of getting involved with him mount in my head, and I feel gloomier with each mile.

One: He's not here permanently. If he doesn't get into college, he'll have to go home. Two: He's just starting college and considering his career. While there may only be five-five!-years difference between us, where we are at in life is vastly different. 3: ...

I rack my brain to think of another con. Being shockingly good-looking and ridiculously nice and open-minded aren't flaws. And when I think of him inside me earlier in the barn...I've had a lot of fun s.e.x over the years-it comes with the territory. But there's a pa.s.sion to s.e.x with Fin that I haven't experienced in a long time. Perhaps ever. He submits easily, but he likes taking over as well. I don't know how I feel about that. I've spent a long time in the driver's seat in most of my romantic and s.e.xual relationships. I don't know if I'm cut out for a relationship where I'm not the one in control 100% of the time.

And that thought makes me really uncomfortable. What kind of partner am I if I can't share the reins? Who am I if I do?

The shower turns on, and I gather my equipment, returning each piece-crop, rubber whip, paddle-to its place. I pack up my restraints and gag, all of which will be washed when I get home. Then I perch on the edge of the bed, still in my corset and thigh-high boots, though I've pulled my trench coat over my ensemble.

When Charles walks back into the bedroom of the hotel suite, he looks refreshed, lighter in step, and he smiles widely. "Once again, Mistress Hathaway, I can't thank you enough."

Charles's desire for conversation after his sessions continues, and I've come to genuinely like him. He's intelligent, and though I don't know much about him, he seems polite and well-read. I can't quite guess what he does for a living, but I've no doubt it's something impressive. It must be, given the cost of this room and my services.

"My pleasure as always," I say on rote, though I truly do mean it. I'm not completely present in the moment, and I can't quite figure out why.

He looks at me. "You seem a bit distracted. Not that I didn't enjoy myself, of course," he's quick to add. "But I did notice a bit of shadow behind your eyes."

His intuitive comment shakes my facade. "I apologize. I didn't mean that to affect your-"

"No, no, it didn't. But I've been seeing you twice a week for...oh, about a month or so now? And today, you seem...not quite yourself. May I be so bold as to ask if I can be of any help? Perhaps just to talk about whatever is bothering you?"

I take a deep breath. I do not get personal with my clients. Often they tell me dark secrets because I give them a safe place in which to do so, but I do not share my issues in exchange. I hold myself to these professional standards. But in this moment, I want to ask him something so badly that I can't stop the words when they spring to my lips. "I've met someone. And I don't..." I trail off, desperately wishing I could take the words back. What am I doing? My mouth, though, seems to have a mind of its own. "How did you know you were submissive?"

The question surprises him-and me-and he takes a seat on the edge of the settee across from the bed. "That's a good question. I think I've always known. I knew when I was a child, and I would imagine my teachers putting me in a corner, tying me down, spanking me; unfortunately, by then, spanking in schools had been forbidden." His eyes glint in humor. "But I think I've always been this way. How about you? How did you know you were dominant?"

I ponder his query. "When I started having hormones, probably. I knew I liked to be on top, to have that say in my own pleasure."

"Have you ever tried bottoming? Or being submissive at all?"

I think uncomfortably of last week, at the barn. While I wasn't submissive, per se, the power had definitely shifted between Fin and me, and rather than being turned off by it, I felt unbelievably turned on. I'd wanted him to force me to his will. When he spanked me, I'd exploded with desire. What did that make me? That certainly wasn't the behavior of a Dominant. "No, I haven't," I say, not sure that it's still the truth, but not having another answer I'm willing to give. "It's never appealed to me."

Charles's full lips turn up, his dark eyes not missing a thing. "You might be surprised. Not meaning any disrespect, Mistress, but there is something delightful about experiencing both sides. I a.s.sure you, being out of control, letting someone else carry that burden for a while, and simply experiencing pleasure that is all your own...there's nothing like it."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you saying you're a switch, Charles?"

He chuckles. "No, I'm most certainly not. But I am saying that if you've never at least tried both sides, how can you know if you don't like it? And while switches may not be common, they aren't exactly rare, either." He stands then, as I do.

I gather my bag and tie my coat around me. He walks me to the door and takes my hands. "You won't be less of a Dom if you decide to play on the sub-side, Mistress. Quite the opposite. Perhaps only one who has enjoyed the pleasure of both can truly understand the fullness of their preferences."

I don't want to know how he's reading my fears and doubts, so I paste a smile on my face. "Interesting observations, Charles."

He squeezes my fingers gently and bows his head. "Thank you for my punishment, Mistress Hathaway. I will endeavor to be less naughty for you."

When I'm in the Town Car, headed to Brooklyn, his words turn over in my mind. Am I less of a Dom because I've never submitted before? Is there something else driving me to always be in control? These questions make me uncomfortable. They make me question everything that I am, and none of it gives me any peace. As the car whisks me home, I put on earbuds, the Ramones blaring in my ears, visions of Nellie's fear edging the perimeter of my thoughts.

Chapter 15.

Reflection Halloween is always fun in the BDSM world. Given that there are whole fetishes dedicated to dressing up as just about anything-squirrels, horses, monsters-having an excuse to publicly take the show on the road ensures that Paddled is packed the whole week. Usually, I make an event of it, choosing s.e.xy costumes for a couple different evenings, and head to the club to embrace the crazed fun of the week.

This year, I don't. Whether it's related to the confusing thoughts I've been struggling with or perhaps just a phase, I hide out at home.

Elementary has gotten even busier, so Noah's barely home, and when he is, he's glued to his computer. We haven't gone out for a good time in ages, and I haven't the heart to interrupt him most days, but for once, I notice the strain in his posture, so I make a bit of noise in the kitchen to avoid startling him.

"Did you eat dinner yet?"

"Hm?" He looks up at me, a bit dazed.

"Dinner. The meal that often comes after lunch and before your midnight snack. Did you have it yet?"

He leans back in his chair, his handsome face bracketed with lines of stress. "I don't think I had breakfast, so no, I'm pretty sure I haven't had dinner yet."

"You want to order in?"

He considers, then shakes his head. "Let's go out. We haven't done that in a long time."

"Should we call Ella? See if she can put Ian on nanny patrol?"

"No point. Mia's been running a low-grade fever, and it's probably nothing. But Ella won't leave her until she's-"

"Eighteen, I know." I smile.

He nods. "Probably. But let's you and I go. We'll make a night of it."

Thirty minutes later, we're on the street, hoofing it towards our favorite bar that's not too far from the house. We order drinks and dinners, then settle back into the thick wooden chairs and size each other up.

"You're in love."

His words surprise me so much, I'm stunned into silence. I stare down at my napkin and silverware, running my fingertip over the tines of my fork, again and again.

"And you haven't told him yet, have you?"

"What are you, the love psychic?" Why can't I just have a nice dinner without my personal life coming up to slap me in the face? Oh, right, because Noah's one half of my duo of best friends, and they are also possibly empaths.

"I don't know about psychic, but I recognize the signs. Plus, you have that strange glow women get when they're in love."

"I don't have a glow," I snap, but it loses heat when I can't help chuckling.

"Yes, you do." He eyes me closely. "And it looks good on you."

I roll my eyes. "How about you? Made a love connection with online dating yet?"

Now it's his turn to examine the utensils. "Love would be a strong word."

I drop the napkin I've been unfolding onto my lap. "What? You met someone?"

He wags his head noncommittally. "I might have found a few women intriguing."

"A few? As in, more f.u.c.k aem and dump aem dates? Or actual first dates with possibilities for seconds?"

With a small smile, he changes the subject. "So is the ink dry on the official partnership with Divine, Inc.?"

"G.o.d. What a mess. Nance, the woman I was supposed to meet with to do the deed, got injured while skiing in Colorado, so the meeting was postponed until next week. Of course, they won't pay for anything until the paperwork is completed." I trail off, wishing we'd ordered in and watched The Matrix trilogy.

"Lulu, it's all going to work out. Divine is in this. It's all over but the dancing." He smiles encouragingly.

"I know. Nance a.s.sured me the delay is no big deal. The CEO is really funny about their investment agreements being made in person, as she feels it builds relationships within their company and network. And I totally agree. But still. The waiting is making me jumpy." I shift the subject, and we spend the rest of night talking about movies and friends.

In bed that night, I can't sleep. In my core, I know that I need to do something new and different; Kinked is that something. Reviewing the bids and ideas of the contractors not only excites me, but it's the first time I've felt alive in a long time.

I love being a Dominatrix. At least, I used to love it. And I still do...some days. But I want something that uses more of my skills as a business woman, rather than just my skills in the bedroom. Not to mention, I'm not sure if this is the best place for me right now, given my broken rules and guilt. I haven't slept with anyone but Fin since we've been together. h.e.l.l, I haven't wanted to sleep with anyone else.

There's also the part where it's hard to have a relationship with someone when you're in a sensual trade. Stripper, escort, Dominatrix, etc....we all have complications that make even the most open-minded lover question on occasion. Despite Fin's insistence that he's fine with it, I don't know if I am. I know-weird, right? I should be totally cool with everything. But I'm not.

I punch my pillow, then shove it back into position, but my bed is lonely. Fin traveled to another farm today for a consultation, so I won't see him until tomorrow night. And that I'm even missing him this much...it feels so out of character. Yet just thinking about his warm skin and luscious mouth has my stomach doing flip-flops of excitement. More than that, I wish he was beside me, even just to sleep.