The Gentleman Dom Page 2

  "Oh, please, Alt – I'm so sorry – truly I am – I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted –"

  "You were being a greedy girl, weren't you? Trying to take what you wanted rather than submitting yourself to me and accepting what I gave you as your due, weren't you?" Alt leaned back from her kitty a bit, so that he could watch her as his words – powerful and potent as they were to the both of them – sank into her mind, seeing her face fall, and actually watching her submission wash physically over her.

  "Yes, Sir," she answered dutifully, honest contrition plain in her tone. Her body remained taut but still, as if awaiting his judgment about her errant behavior.

  This – this right here – was what he loved the most about what they had together. The sex was phenomenal and he loved her to distraction, and he knew that she felt the same way about him, but this right here – that proud head bent, her breathing slowed from the ferocity of before, her entire demeanor concentrated and focused completely on him – where it belonged – and patiently, complacently awaiting his direction.

  Her submission to him – and her love of him – was of equal weight to him; he could no longer do without either of them.

  "Put your hands behind you," he ordered softly, and she obeyed immediately, although there was no answer for her in it.

  Her slender wrists were trapped, held in place by his free hand and yanked down just a bit more than she would have naturally, giving her no choice but to arch her back to alleviate the slight discomfort the awkward position created. "There's my good girl," he complimented, his tone deliberately deep and firm, watching her entire body flush with the almost childish compliment, seeing her trying to bow her head even further, turning right and left, but there was nowhere – no way – to go to hide the embarrassment he so effortlessly conjured within her.

  He spoke to her as a father spoke to a cherished but spoiled child, but with his mouth pressed against her clit and his fingers again hammering into her. "Now, I'm not going to tell you whether I'm going to let you come or not because you misbehaved. But you must tell me when you're close, Elle. Do you understand me?"

  "Yesss, Sirrr!" she cried, her head already thrown back, hair pooling on the bed behind her, her body immediately brought back to where it had been, as if the punishment interlude had never been. "Oh, Sir, I –"

  "So soon?" he asked, almost scolding, making her tug futilely at her wrists as he left off her just a bit, removing his fingers from her dripping cunny and replacing them with his tongue instead, those already moistened fingers finding their way to knock at that little pucker of hers.

  "No – Sir – please!"

  Why she protested every time about something he knew she adored he would never know, but he'd never allowed it to stop him, and he wasn't about to start now.

  He didn't prepare her in any way. She was grateful that he had crossed one finger over the other, which he didn't always do. But he wanted to occupy her bottom. And there was nothing she could do to stop him. And that helplessness, he knew, only added to her already unbearable excitement.

  She mewled, begged, panted, and moaned, but those fingers ended up knuckle deep within her – and then began to fuck her there at least as vigorously as they had her quim.

  Elle couldn't help it. It might have been how she'd always wanted to be treated, but it was unbearably embarrassing to her that she even wanted such a thing. And her body absolutely did, so much so that she could have an anal climax much more readily than a vaginal one.

  And he knew that, as he plunged and twisted those fingers in an alternating rhythm that drove her out of her mind.

  "Alt – Alt – I-I'm – ahhhnn…"

  To her great surprise, he didn't stop. Instead, he suckled her clit even further into his mouth and had his way with it as surely as his fingers were having their way with her, feeling the strength of her muscles gathering around him. "That's it, baby. Be a good girl and come for me. I'm not going to stop until you do – until you obey me."

  If her hands had been loose, she might have bitten her fist to keep herself from being as loud as she was, but she wasn't given the nicety of that option.

  The combination of everything he was doing – to and for her – not the least of which were his carefully chose words – made her throw back her head, pressing her slit into his face while his fingers followed her movements. He brought her to dual climax as she screamed uncontrollably and followed every animalistic, uncontrolled, uncoordinated movement, never easing up, never allowing her a second's respite until she could do nothing but collapse – completely spent – in his arms.

  As much as he knew she wanted to burrow into the warmth and safety of them, Alton excused himself apologetically to go see to himself, reappearing as quickly as he could to gather her into his arms and lift her off their bed. He settled with her on his lap into the big overstuffed rocker that was tucked into one corner of the room by the window to simply hold her. She was often quite fragile afterwards and holding her close – holding her very tightly to him and whispering reassuring things – could often belay a storm of emotions that made her feel uncomfortable, thinking it annoyed him no matter how many times he reassured her to the contrary.

  And he would quite happily spend the rest of his life doing just that, if she would let him.

  CHAPTER 2

  Y ou look like you could use a refill."

  Dear Gawd, if the man fit the dripping with sex voice when she opened her eyes, she knew she was going to be in for a real treat!

  And she was – just not one she was really ready for when she sat up a bit, opened her eyes and lifted her sunglasses to stare up into those fathomless blue eyes of his as they stared back at her.

  "Gin? Two olives?" the impressively tall, decidedly gorgeous, and entirely too young for her man asked.

  How had he known what she was drinking? "Do you work here?" she asked, wrinkling her nose up at him, realizing it was hardly her best look – adding more wrinkles to go along with the ones she already had, all of which she was feeling quite acutely in the face of the perfect Adonis who was staring intently down at her.

  The smile that literally melted over that beautiful face of his took her breath away – and she was much too old for that shit. What in the hell was he doing over here talking to her when there were bevies of gorgeous girls standing in the ocean – or the pool – or, hell, anywhere else in the state, for that matter?

  He shook his head slowly. "Refill?" he asked again, without a trace of irony or surprise that she hadn't answered him, although he did seem to look as if he was perpetually going to break into a grin.

  Elle wasn't at all sure any more just what there was in the world to be so all fired happy about, but she kept her cynicism to herself. "No, thank you, though." She had been thinking about getting up and getting herself one, but he was quite intoxicating enough. Figuring his query was some kind of aberration, she reclaimed her former position, doing her best to ignore the fact that she could hear him taking possession of the lounge chair next to her.

  "Do you mind if I share the table?"

  "No, knock yourself out," she answered without moving otherwise, forcing herself not to look at him again, not at all sure she'd survive it.

  A few moments passed with just the din of the other vacationers around them. "May I ask if you're here with someone?"

  "No, you may not ask."

  She was prepared for him to be angry, to stalk off in a huff, considering the tremendous honor he was paying her by even acknowledging her decrepit existence, but instead, he guffawed lightly.

  "Okay…how about if I put it this way instead: would you like to go out to dinner with me this evening?"

  She didn't care if he heard her aggravated sigh as she sat up again, fixing him – who looked to be barely legal if that – not that she was the best judge of age since she had no children and neither did the large majority of her friends – with her best pseudo-parental glare. "Look, I don't know what you think you're selling, but I'm
not buying. Feel free to skip back to your parents before you miss out on your trip to Chucky Cheese."

  Again, all he did was laugh rather than be insulted. "How old do you think I am?"

  "It's not how old I think you are, it's how young – like, nine or so? Ten at the outside?"

  "I'm twenty-six, I'll have you know," he replied, not even particularly indignantly. He handed her a driver's license, which he apparently always kept at the ready. It errantly made her think that he needed a holster for it – but then her eyes accidentally wandered where they didn't usually on any man, and – to her great embarrassment – she realized that his license was not at all what needed to be holstered on this young man…

  He was definitely armed and dangerous.

  "Congratulations," she replied dryly.

  "And my parents didn't bring me down here and I'm not headed for Disney World or Epcot, either; I'm here for the tech conference at the resort across the street, which is why I'm staying here."

  That got him a smile. "Ah. Of course you are. Then shouldn't you be simultaneously Facetiming, texting, emailing, and Skyping while posting your nerdy impressions of the latest innovations to the Facebook-slash-Tumblr-slash-Twitter-verses?"

  He snorted. "Nah. That's so last year!"

  Against her will, she had to chuckle.

  She had a nice laugh. Alt had seen her from his vantage point across the way, his gaze going past groups of women, some of whom were younger, some older than her. Some of whom he recognized as prostitutes, who carefully timed their "conventions" to coincide with the nerdish ones, knowing there'd be a plethora of HNGs who were sick and tired of typing with one hand and – nowadays – had more than enough money to blow on them.

  And he'd gone that way – he had to admit – once or twice, in the beginning, when he had gotten his first taste of real money.

  But it had soured quickly.

  Girls his own age didn't hold much interest for him, either. He'd like to say that he didn't really knew why, but he'd taken Psych 101 in college and had a pretty good idea that it was because he lacked a strong mother figure in his life, but then, considering the type of relationship he wanted to indulge in with an older female, perhaps that wasn't right, after all.

  Or maybe it was more right than he wanted it to be and, thus, he always quit examining his motives at this point.

  He just knew that he liked how she looked – trim but not skeletal like a lot of women his age, and he'd seen her interacting with the waitresses and pool boys as she'd hung around the pool/beach area this afternoon. She was unfailingly polite, complimentary, and she tipped extremely well, which kept them all returning to her eagerly. Almost all of them struck up friendly conversations with her, and she seemed to have a ready smile and got most of them laughing along with her before they left her.

  The fact that she had a beautiful head of long, wavy read hair – for which he'd always had a pronounced weakness – and a very nice rack didn't hurt much, either, of course, even if it was encased in a bathing suit that hid more than it revealed.

  He didn't think he'd seen her with anyone else, but he could have been wrong, which was why he'd asked.

  As much as he didn't like admitting defeat – at all – he also knew when to beat a strategic retreat. "Well, I don't mean to impose, so I think I'll take my leave." But not before he introduced himself, sticking an enormous hand out to her. "My name's Alt – Alton, but no one calls me that – Camden."

  She could hardly refuse to shake his hand, could she? That necessitated sitting up. Her smaller hand was enveloped by his, and something inside her melted in a way she'd never felt before, and that she instantly recognized as dangerous.

  Very, very dangerous.

  That pretty much described everything about this young man, especially as might pertain to her.

  He looked at her expectantly for a moment, but she was lost in the sensual nature of just his handshake!

  "And you are?" he prompted, watching her blush and realizing that he wanted to see more of her doing just that – in different ways and for different reasons.

  "Elle Marden."

  He put his other hand over where he was still holding hers. Doubly clasping her but very gently, he said gravely, in a voice that was much too powerful, much too mature for one so young – such that she doubted very much that he knew the extent of the power he could wield with it and the right woman, if he so chose – "I'm very glad to know you, Elle Marden. For how long are you here?"

  "Another ten days," she answered automatically, her usual defense mechanisms completely discombobulated in the face of him and his natural charm.

  "Excellent. I'm here for at least the rest of the week, perhaps later, if I can find the right reason to extend my stay. My dinner offer stands, by the way. Perhaps we'll run into each other again and you'll feel more comfortable taking me up on it."

  He stood, kissed the back of her hand like an old-fashioned gentleman, as if it was something he did every day, to every woman whose hand he shook, and left, without looking back.

  She knew this because she watched him depart, every long, lean inch of him in cargo shorts that clung to a behind that was so exquisitely round that it made her palms itch and a tank top that revealed much more than it concealed. The way his muscles rippled across his back, long, strong arms, to say nothing of those thick runner's calves. Elle leaned back in her chair again, on her side, still watching after him even when he'd disappeared into the building, heaving a long-suffering sigh of deep yearning mixed with no small measure of fear, relief and regret.

  THE NEXT MORNING, she was up early, as was her habit, sitting out on the patio right by the water and enjoying the selections she'd made from the extensive breakfast buffet.

  She'd deliberately chosen the seat that faced the water, living landlocked as she did, she really wanted to spend as much time in and around it – or, at the very least, looking at it – as she could.

  "Would you mind some company?"

  The question was issued from behind her, but she'd know that voice anywhere, anytime, for the rest of her life, she was quite sure. "Alton." It was neither an invitation nor a condemnation; in fact, she was quite proud at just how neutral it sounded, considering how her heart was fluttering.

  He didn't wait for her to issue the no that was on the tip of her tongue but skirted around her and took the seat directly opposite her.

  How could he possibly look so good so early in the morning? He had to have gone out carousing – or whatever the nerd equivalent was – last night, and yet he showed absolutely no negative effects of having done so.

  She, on the other hand, had fallen asleep on her balcony, overlooking the ocean, at eight or so – or some such other senior-citizenish hour – and yet she knew for a fact that she looked like shit in comparison.

  Elle looked at her plate – sparsely decorated as it was with a half a bran muffin, three wedges of cantaloupe and a small spoonful of cottage cheese. Then she glanced at his, which was laden with what appeared to be at least one of everything the buffet offered. Blueberry muffin, waffle with butter and syrup, a pancake, a half slice of French toast, at least a half a pound of bacon and sausage, hash browns, scrambled eggs and even a side plate with biscuits and gravy.

  Hate was definitely beginning to creep in on the sides of her impression of him, especially as he began to dig into his mountain of food with a downright lustful gusto and she could do nothing but play with what she'd chosen.

  "Fuck it," she said, and his head came up as he laughed and nearly choked on a mouthful of food. "Sorry, not sorry," she confessed. She was on vacation, dammit. "I'm going to go get some real food." She moved to head back into the restaurant, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

  "Are you getting better food like this?" he asked. Elle nodded. "Then stay right here. I'll share mine with you. I took more than I should have, because, you know, vacation. Have some."

  Again, he didn't wait for her to say yes. He had already scraped her
healthy stuff to one side and was adding a blueberry muffin, the slice of French toast, a couple of strips of bacon and one sausage patty onto her plate, debating about adding a hash brown, then retracting it, saying, "I wouldn't want you to lose your girlish figure."

  It was her turn to snort since that battle was long since lost.

  Then he stole her bran muffin and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

  "Yeah, I know I'm weird, but I love bran muffins, especially the ones with raisins."

  Breakfast was surprisingly companionable. He talked a bit about himself and the conference and relayed a few hair-raising stories about happenings at previous conferences that had her alternately terrified for him and laughing at – and with – him, which kept her from having to volunteer much about herself.

  "What are your plans for the day?" he asked casually, having deliberately steered the conversation towards himself up to that point rather than to her, because she seemed so inherently distrustful of him.

  Elle shrugged. "I don't know. Lounge by the water. Swim a little, maybe, eat too much, nap…"

  Alt sighed. "Sounds lovely. I would impose on you and join you, but I have a speech to give at ten."

  "A speech? Wow! I'm suitably impressed!"

  He chuckled. "Don't be, really. They'll let anyone speak at these things." He desperately wanted to reissue his dinner invite but decided against it, not wanting to push her. He had an instinct that she wouldn't respond well if she thought she was being coerced.

  Eventually, though, he had to go. "I think I'm going to have to leave you, Elle, as much as I regret doing so." Alt rose and kissed her hand again, then looked at her with a rakish wink. "Eventually, your hand is going to get chapped and I'm going to have to move on from there, you know…"

  She had to give it to him – he made her laugh. "Good luck on your speech," she called after him. With those long strides, he was already halfway to the elevator.