What's a Dom to do when the submissive he wants runs from the feelings between them? From the moment he met Lyssa Lawrence, Mike knew what he felt was love -- not lust. Convincing her has been an uphill battle even after the two steamy hours they'd shared at the Diablo Blanco Club four years earlier.
Lyssa Lawrence wished the man who claimed to love her wasn't so damned appealing. Twelve years of denying the pull of her submissive nature almost went up in smoke four years ago, but she'd gathered the nerve to tell him 'no' when he asked for more. She'd have stayed away for good if her biological clock hadn't hiccupped, threatening her dreams of motherhood.
In the same way she'd strategized her success in fashion design, Lyssa worked out a plan to get the baby she wanted. The Diablo Blanco Club's annual Midnight Masquerade would provide a number of potential donors to choose from. What she hadn't bargained on was Mike's interference through an arcane Club rule.
When Mike invoked Rite of First Claim, Lyssa finally became his. Now, he had one month to prove that the role of his submissive was one she was born to play.
Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: BDSM theme and elements.
“You are insane,” Lyssa snapped, tugging at the restraints and twisting against the sheets.
“But,” Mike continued as if she hadn’t even spoken, “I’m willing to let it go because you’ve been a good sub and kept yourself waxed for me.”
At the heat in his fingertips and the rasp of callused pads over her sensitive flesh, Lyssa arched involuntarily into his touch. She couldn’t deny the sensations running through her. She’d be lying if she said her fast, shallow breaths weren’t a result of the slow stroke of his fingers over her nude mound. It was harder still to fight the moan welling in her chest when her reactions brought a wicked smile to his lips.
Wanting to wipe the smug, self-satisfied look from his face, Lyssa snorted. “I did no such thing!” The lie fell smoothly from her lips. It had pleased her to indulge in trips to the spa with Mattie. The fact that the command he’d whispered in her ear that night in the closet prompted the first visit was a moot point.
“We’ll work on your honesty another time, honey.” Two thick fingers spread her nether lips, opening her to his view. “Right now, I’m going to set the ground rules.” Two digits on his other hand slipped into her wet channel, pressing against the taut muscles, searching for the sweet spots he’d instinctively found the last time he’d touched her. “Rule number one: I don’t share. Ever. So no other men.”
The heat in his gaze matched the heat his fingers were building between her thighs. Crying out as he pulled free, then returned, this time using three fingers to stretch her delicate flesh, Lyssa made note of every word he said, locking them away so she could somehow use them as a cudgel to beat away the temptation Mike represented. This couldn’t last. The heat, the passion would burn itself out, and he’d go back to his life, his career. Just like last time. He’d never want what she wanted. A baby. A family.
“Rule number two: I tell you when you’ve had enough. If I think you need to be fucked every hour on the hour for a week, then that’s what you’ll get.”
“What about a safe word?” Her voice was shaky and breathless. Lyssa cringed inside at the hint of excitement in her tone. She should be fighting this, not savoring the sting and heat coiling inside her as his thumb coasted over the tender knot of nerves peeking from beneath its hood.
Lyssa trembled at the sight of his body poised over hers, her paler legs bound open as he knelt between them. His fingers pushed into her body, then pulled out, her cream coating his skin. She jerked her gaze from the erotic reflection in the mirror above the bed.
“Now that we’ve established you understand who’s in charge, yes, I’ll select a safe word.” Mike never lifted his gaze from the movements of his fingers as he caressed her sensitive flesh.
“I choose ass,” Lyssa snapped, unable to keep her gaze from drifting back to the view above her.
Mike shook his head. “Not a democracy, darlin’. I make the rules. You follow them. I’ll choose the safe word. Something you wouldn’t normally blurt out.”
“I know the purpose of a safe word,” Lyssa grumbled, her senses on edge as his fingers teased a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her and his head lowered over her breasts. At the sharp nip of his teeth against a tightly beaded nipple, she arched closer to him, driving his fingers deeper within her. Her head swam with the sensations, her eyes fixed on the mirror overhead, adding visual stimuli to the damp heat of his mouth on her breast, the sting of his fingers stretching muscles that had been empty for too long. Again Lyssa forced her attention from the mirror to Mike. In a ragged voice, she suggested, “How about worm?”
Mike simply looked at her. His gaze drifted from her flushed cheeks to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts and finally to the curve of her belly. “Dragon,” he said. “Our safe word is ‘dragon.’”
Her heart slammed against her ribs as he leaned back on his haunches. He wrapped one hand around his straining penis and lifted his other hand away from her pussy. Her juices glistened on three of his fingers. He opened his mouth and sucked the moisture free. The gleam in his eyes and the way his dark chocolate irises deepened to black sent a shiver skidding along her spine. Involuntarily she tugged at her restraints. The condom packages slid off her stomach onto the bedding next to her. “O-okay,” she stammered.
“Now, there’s one more rule for you to remember,” Mike intoned softly.
Lyssa dipped her head in a small nod and waited. God, she needed to fight this. There was no way she could allow him to know how much she lov—wanted him to take control. She breathed deep and slow, trying to calm the fire in her blood.
Mike grinned down at her and picked up one of the black wrappers. “Appreciate the reminder, love,” he teased, tearing the package open and rolling the latex tube into place. He crouched over her, arms braced on the bed beside her shoulders, and the heated length of his cock slid through the wet lips of her sex before finding her entrance and pressing in. He continued. “Rule number three: this body is mine. Pussy, ass, breasts, lips”—his fingers slipped over each body part as he listed it—“everything belongs to me. To use as I see fit. In any way I want.”
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