He was fucked.
Totally fucked.
As he lay on his stomach in her huge-ass frilly bed in her frilly bedroom, naked, his plugged ass pointed toward the stairs, his rock-hard cock in agony trapped under him, his balls hanging so heavy, they didn’t need a weight tied to them to bring the pain, he knew without a doubt he was fucked.
She was good.
With a lot of things.
Damn, with everything.
This included with a whip.
Christ, watching her wield one, it was a wonder he didn’t get instantly hard and come in his pants.
And she was good with the boss.
At first it was cute, that little thing with her bouncing curly hair dragging him around by his belt, rapping out orders.
But it wasn’t cute.
She had a grip of steel.
It was fucking hot.
But Jesus, when she got down to business, she was hands right the fuck on.
And fingers.
He should have pulled away, cut her verbally like the first time, dug his own keys out of those sweet, tight, leather pants, swung into his truck and left her standing there.
But did he do that?
Fuck no.
He’d slid her plug inside his own damned self.
And he’d loved taking every inch.
That bitch was heavy up his ass, tight, cool, fucking amazing. He had no idea what it was made of but he’d never felt anything like it.
Nor anything quite as good.
Even better with his ass still hot from her spanking.
The woman had magic hands. He didn’t know a single Domme who could withstand delivering a tanning that thorough without needing to stop it to end her own pain.
Evangeline did, though. She kept at him until the sting of each crack felt like a detonation in his balls.
It was a miracle he didn’t blow.
Hell, sitting in the passenger seat of his own truck, cock and balls out, ass hot from his punishment, full of whatever she’d given him, trying not to fidget or wrap his fist around his dick and take care of business, he got even harder just watching her standing at the hood, head bent to her phone, texting then talking—she was so easy to look at. To watch.
All this before she swung in his seat, pulled that fucker all the way forward so her legs could reach the pedals (seeing as she’d kicked off her shoes) and she’d started his baby up, reversed out and headed them to Phoenix.
But her torture wasn’t over.
He should never have called her lame-ass.
He should have just walked out of Aryas’s red room.
She was on a mission.
And he was fucked.
He knew this because he didn’t sit beside her, exposed to her, and she ignored him like many Dommes would do to lengthen his punishment.
Oh no.
Fuck no.
The woman played with him nearly the entire way. Stroking him. Circling the tip. Cupping his balls. Squeezing gently. Whispering, “Lord, my cock is so very pretty,” in that voice of hers.
And once, at a stoplight, she’d opened her purse, used the rearview mirror to put on that deep red, sexy fucking lipstick of hers.
Then she’d dropped the lipstick in her purse, tossed it in the backseat, turned to him and declared, “Something’s missing, handsome.”
And with that, she undid her seatbelt, bent right over him and took him inside, tightening her lips around his dick.
As soon as she was there, she was gone, leaving a red ring of lipstick just under his cock head.
Marking him.
That move might not have been inspired.
But the way she did it, where he was, how he was positioned for her, his ass heated and full … Christ.
The woman was genius.
And he was fucked.
He had no idea how he held himself from blowing all the way to Phoenix.
What he did know was that she was good to her word.
She drove them to her house, parked under her carport, reached to the backseat and grabbed her purse, put on her shoes, jumped out and rounded the hood. When she got to his side, she pulled him out by his dick, led him in with his dick, and then let him go before she lightly smacked his ass and declared, “You know what I want, baby.”
She’d then thrown her purse on the near-minuscule island of her kitchen and gone to the fridge.
He should have walked out the door.
Instead, because he was fucked in a number of ways, including, it would seem, the head, he walked through her house, up her stairs, found she’d left a light on by the bed, got naked and got in position for her.
He needed to come.
He needed to come and then go.
Then he needed to get his head screwed on straight and find someone other than Whitney to take care of business.
Not through Aryas.
Yeah, he needed to make that happen however that had to happen.
But never again through Aryas.
And he needed to make sure Evangeline Brooks didn’t cross his path again.
What the fuck she was doing at a Pound, he couldn’t believe.
But he knew.
She was out for him.
He didn’t know how to take that and with his cock throbbing, his balls aching and his whole focus centered on hearing her come up the stairs so she could make him blow, he didn’t have it in him to consider it.
He needed to come.
And then go.
He felt her before he heard the soft footfalls of her feet on carpet.
His head to the side, he saw her enter his vision, come right to him and sit down on the bed by his hip.
As he was becoming accustomed, she didn’t fuck around being hands-on.
She reached between his legs, gently cupped his balls and ordered softly, “Scooch over to the middle a little, handsome.”
With her still having a hold on him, he did as told.
When he did, she slid into the bed further, but only to stay seated at his side.
However, her hand slid up and he felt her cover his plug in his ass.
“Do you know how pretty this is?”
He just looked up at her, arms crossed under him on the pillow, cheek to them.
“It’s got a blue jewel at the hilt,” she shared.
He thought of seeing her sweet ass plugged with something like that and his hard-on raged harder.
But a talented Domme with her sub plugged like that?
A sub who’d slid her inside himself?
Fuck.
He was fucked.
Her attention moved to his ass as she stroked along the cleft, murmuring to herself like he wasn’t there, “God, baby, I want to eat you all around that, feel it against my tongue.”
Branch closed his eyes so he wouldn’t thrust into the mattress or open his mouth and beg her to do just that.
Her little mouth shoved up his ass?
Fuck.
Her hand moved, tenderly caressing his ass cheeks, he opened his eyes and she kept murmuring toward his backside.
“You’re all red, Branch. So unbelievably pretty.” Her attention came back to his face. “I’m afraid I like it so much, I might spank you even if you haven’t earned it.”
Before he could react to that (thankfully), she bent toward him suddenly, her hand going between his legs to cup his balls again.
“But you’ll be bad, won’t you?” she asked close to his face.
“Probably,” he answered.
She grinned.
Cute and hot.
Damn.
“I’m sure you will. But be very bad, Branch. I like the way you take your punishments, but more, I have a feeling you can take a lot and I want to see how far that will go.”
He wanted that too.
So much, he felt his balls tighten at the thought.
Something she undoubtedly could feel too.
He decided not to speak again.
“Open your l
egs wide for me,” she ordered.
He slid his legs open wide.
She massaged his balls and his eyes slid closed at the feel but he snapped them back open.
“You can like that, baby,” she cooed.
Branch remained silent.
“Now he’s being bad,” she whispered, still massaging him.
Christ, he needed to thrust.
“Do you like what you’re feeling, Branch?” she pushed.
“Yes,” he bit out.
“Lift up a little bit at your knees, I want your cock.”
Goddamn it.
He wanted her to want his cock.
And he wanted her to have it.
He did as told.
She went right in.
He couldn’t stop his eyes closing at the beauty of her firm, strong, little hand gently jacking him and he decided to keep them that way even if in his mind’s eye he could see those long, red-tipped fingernails on her small hand wrapped around his dick.
Still, it was better if he couldn’t see the real her.
Just feeling her was bad enough.
“I’m going to fuck you like this, handsome. Take your ass and stroke your cock. No, make you fuck yourself while you fuck my hand. Actually, both.”
Right, she also needed to quit talking.
“Do you want that, Branch?”
With a goodly amount of effort, he held onto his control and opened his eyes. “Right now?”
Another small smile. “Not right now, baby. You haven’t earned a good fucking.”
“Too bad,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to her tits, which was a bad place to put it, so he closed his eyes again as she kept at his dick.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She knew what she was doing, telling him what she was going to do … later.
Making him want a later.
And he had to keep his shit so he wouldn’t lose the strength to get his head together and end this.
He’d take tonight.
And that was it.
“You can settle back down, Branch,” she said, her hand drifting away, over his balls, through his ass, along his right cheek and over, down his other, and soothing the back of his thigh as he regained the agony of lying on his raging hard dick.
Then she slid off the bed.
He watched her walk to the bathroom—eyes trained on her ass in those pants—before he lost sight of her.
She came back with the lace shirt off and a wet washcloth in her hand.
She sat back on the bed and put the warm cloth to his back.
“Get this cleaned and get ointment on it,” she said quietly.
“You don’t need to—”
“Shut up, Branch.”
He shut up.
She cleaned the marks that he knew didn’t need it. He’d had worse. A lot worse. They weren’t deep or long. They wouldn’t heal great, but he didn’t give a shit.
When she’d done that, she went back to the bathroom and returned with a tube of ointment. She sat again beside him and carefully oozed it on, spreading it along his cuts.
He closed his eyes and tried to force his mind to a variety of things.
All he felt was her touch.
Not sexual.
Nurturing.
Goddamn her.
And, likely because of the feel of it, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, for the first time in years, he thought about Tara. His first real Mistress, and she would have been his last if he hadn’t fucked it up.
They fell into it so easy. The life and then their lives.
So he wasn’t equipped to handle it when it got hard.
And then she was just … gone.
He opened his eyes.
Evangeline finished, and without a word, slid off the bed.
He watched her walk away, focusing on her now, Evangeline.
His one-night-only, seriously talented Mistress.
He’d give himself this.
Come and gone.
He didn’t deserve it but fuck it.
Too many shit scenes with Whitney and the like of her. Aryas playing his games thinking Branch wouldn’t cotton on, every once in a while taking what they could give and getting the fuck gone.
Yeah.
Just like that.
He’d let himself have Evangeline.
One night only.
Then he’d get the fuck gone.
She came back and he blinked.
No leather pants or silk bustier.
No makeup.
She was in a dark-blue, satin nightie that barely covered her pubis.
His cock might have been calming down but it pulsed at the sight of her.
She went right to the nightstand and turned out the light.
The room blackened then opened up slightly when he became accustomed to the moonlight streaming through the windows in the ceiling.
He heard the nightstand drawer open and close and watched her shadow move into the bed on her knees.
She got between his legs.
He stiffened.
But he went solid when he felt her lips brush his ass cheek. The small of his back.
Up.
Along a scar.
Another one.
Up.
She kissed his shoulder.
Up.
Her lips slid along the side of his neck. Her thighs now pressed into his ass, he could smell her.
Her perfume was faint, but, damn, it was pretty.
Shit, she was unraveling him.
“You’re being so good, just a little fucking, baby,” she whispered in his ear. “Like before, slide your knees up a bit.”
Damn, she wasn’t unraveling him.
She was going to kill him.
And the shit of it was, he wanted to go at her hands.
He slid his knees up.
He felt the curls of her hair glide along his skin as she moved back down.
She took hold of his plug and with the other hand reached under and cupped his balls.
“Want this?” she asked.
Goddamn her.
“Branch, do you want this?”
“Yes,” he ground out.
And fuck him, he didn’t.
He needed it.
“Ask for it.”
Goddamn her.
“Fuck me, ma’am.”
“As you like it, baby,” she whispered, her hand moving to his dick, the plug gliding out, and Christ, beautiful, so goddamned sweet, she glided it back in.
So.
Goddamned.
Sweet.
She stroked his dick and she fucked him rhythmically, gentle but deep, doing it in an outstanding way Whitney couldn’t dream of offering, but she didn’t do it long.
Not nearly long enough.
She filled him, her hand left his dick and then he heard her vibrator turn on and felt her fingers curl into his still raw ass, her nails digging in.
She was making herself come between his legs so he could hear, he could sense, but he couldn’t see or feel.
“Stay in position, handsome, I want my jewel winking at me.”
God.
Damn.
Her.
He needed to thrust.
He needed her to take his ass.
He needed to drive his cock inside her—mouth, pussy, hole, he didn’t give a fuck. He needed to move, not lay there slightly up on his knees, listening to the hot noises she made as she took herself there, undoubtedly staring at the plug she’d planted up his ass.
And he was entirely, thoroughly, totally fucked because he needed something else more.
And she knew what that was.
She knew he got off on every fucking second of staying in position for her, helping her take herself there.
Lame-ass?
Christ, he was a moron.
Her nails scored through the sensitized flesh of his ass cheek when he listened to her slip over the edge and he had no fucking clue how he found the con
trol not to roll over just to watch, it sounded that damned gorgeous.
She fell forward when she was done, her forehead to his back, side rib cage, her hair tumbling all around, obviously not giving a shit about the ointment in her curls. The vibrator went off but her hand slid around his hip, to his dick, and closed firm.
“Relax, baby,” she whispered against his skin, her low voice wispy, sexy.
Beautiful.
He lowered his hips and she lazily stroked him against the mattress as he felt her breath even against his skin.
When she’d recovered, gently, she released him, moved. He felt her on all fours over him and he braced, waiting, even fucking hoping.
But all he heard was her putting her vibrator on the nightstand.
Then she shifted to his opposite side, the bed moving slightly with her, and she curled a thigh over the top of his ass, pressed herself against his side. He turned his head her way and looked down to see her arms up, neck bent, her face resting on her hands that were resting at his lat.
And he heard her mouth murmur, “Sleep now, Branch.”
Was she fucking kidding?
“Ma’am.”
She hooked her calf around the side of his hip and rubbed her pussy against the other side. He could feel the wet silk of her panties and he almost didn’t swallow his groan.
“You didn’t think I’d let you come tonight, did you?”
Goddamn her.
He didn’t reply.
“Sleep, handsome,” she said on a leg squeeze of his hips.
With his cock that hard, his still-stinging ass full, his legs spread, aching balls hanging in the breeze, and her wrapped around him, she wanted him to sleep?
“Do you need covers?” she asked.
“That’d be good,” he grunted.
“Don’t move,” she ordered.
Terrific.
He learned his mistake when she did move, disengaging to get on her knees beside him.
She yanked the covers out from under him, this scoring through his dick like a hot poker traced along it, and once she’d freed them, she pulled them out from under her knees, settled in just as she was and flicked the covers high over both of them.
Wrapping them in her frilly covers in her frilly bedroom with her little, warm, sweet body tucked tight to his side.
He should have let them sleep on the covers.
It took her seconds to melt into him in sleep.
He liked her feel.
Her smell.
Her weight.
His body trapped by her thigh.
And there it was.
Yup.
He was fucked.