Hidden Desires Read online

  When I didn't answer him—not because I was trying to be defiant but because I was too absolutely mindless from what he was doing to me—his lips and tongue found their way back to me, to flick, fondle, explore and then stop, again, abruptly.

  "Tawna."

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

  "I can do this all night."

  As he moved to reclaim territory that was literally screaming within me for more of his attentions—for the culmination it was sure was going to arrive this time—I almost shouted, "Stop!"

  His head jerked up and he looked at me expectantly.

  With a sigh and what I knew was a horrifically ugly blush, I said as quietly as I dared, "I said it was a first for me."

  Both eyebrows rose at that revelation. "Really?"

  I nodded. "I'm not one for bars, much. I went out with the girls 'cause it was Friday. I don't usually go but, you know, peer pressure. I hadn't had much to eat and I got very drunk very quickly and…I've never fucked a stranger before. I've never fucked a man I didn't love or, at least, have some sort of emotional connection to. It's…I make no judgments about how anyone else runs their life, but I always knew one night stands weren't right for me."

  Tears began to well in my eyes for no good reason, and he immediately cuddled me to him. But I knew he was listening with rapt attention, too.

  "I almost wish it had been a horrible experience—you know, as a deterrent from doing it again. But…what I remember of it, which is mostly…the sexual stuff…was unbelievably amazing."

  I felt his chest puff out a bit, but he didn't crow about it.

  "You said…and did…all the right things. For a while afterwards, when I got home and slept it off, I wondered if it all wasn't just a masturbatory fantasy. And then my friends started calling and texting me, asking me what had happened between me and that black-haired god, and I knew it was real, that it had happened." I shook my head, as I had at the time. "I just couldn't believe it. Things like that don't happen to me. I don't sleep with men I don't know really well and feel really safe with, and even then, I most certainly do not tell them my sexual fantasies."

  Quint frowned down at her. "Have you ever told anyone about them besides me?"

  "Oh, the girls, when we've been talking about stuff like that, yes. But no men. Ever."

  He wore a small smile. "Well, I have to say I'm glad about that. You were being safe and responsible, as you should be."

  I gestured towards him. "Until you."

  "Well, my dear," he said, taking my hand in his and kissing, first, the back then the palm. "If you're going to break that kind of a rule and reveal such things, I think you picked the right person to do it with, however egotistical that sounds, and I know it does." Quint kept possession of my hand and added the other to it, then repositioned himself the way he had been before, looking up at me with his mouth on me as he spoke, occasionally poking his tongue out to lap or flick me. "I have three sisters. I am predisposed to be gentlemanly and protective of any female around me. They beat it into me when I was still a ninety-eight-pound weakling, which, by the way, I was until I was about twenty or so and I got my last growth spurt."

  His head moved back a bit and the index and middle fingers of his free hand were dragged down my slit from the very top, over my wet clit then down to where I was dribbling onto the mattress by now, then he slowly—watching my eyes the entire time—twisted them up inside me, until I could feel his remaining fingers just outside the entrance to my body, pressed hard against my lips.

  "I admit that I probably should have used better judgment, since we were both so drunk, but I wanted you badly. There was something about you that I couldn't put my finger on, until I got you home and talking about what you liked in bed. You say that I'm perfect, honey, well, then, so are you, for me."

  Even though he'd just gotten back there, I knew I couldn't take much more of his mouth on me or his fingers in me. Still, he backed off when I got too close and I practically screamed in frustration, trying to take matters into my own hands and attempting to move them down to where he was.

  The way he'd threaded his fingers around my wrists stopped me, of course, as did the fact that he quickly reached beneath me to pinch each cheek several times while I tried—unsuccessfully—to squirm away.

  When they had again found their home within me, he cautioned, "You are not to come without permission, ever, Tawna."

  He paused to look at her.

  "Everything you were saying was everything I wanted to do to you. I haven't had many partners with whom I could share this desire, and none of them had ever said it—and meant it—to the degree that I could tell you did. Everything I did seemed to light you up, and the more I did, the more I wanted to do, which was, admittedly, probably more than I should have on such short acquaintance." He lowered his head again and I thought I was going to die if he didn't finally allow me to find Heaven beneath those eager lips and tongue of his.

  "You were magnificent. And when I awoke and you were gone, I was—well, I was, frankly, annoyed, at first, but that quickly turned into a deep concern for you. All I had was your phone number. I couldn't bear the idea that you might find another man—or even already have another man, although I noticed in the bar that you weren't wearing any rings. I went absolutely crazy until I finally found you.

  "And now, all I want is to keep doing variations of this to you. I want to take my belt to your bottom like I'm going to in a few minutes," I had to protest at that, even if it did just look like I was writhing in the grasp of passion. "I want to fuck you senseless and explore all the things you said you liked that we didn't get a chance to that night."

  If I hadn't been so far gone, I might have been alarmed at that statement, but it was an impossibility right then. All I could feel was what he brought to me.

  Finally, after what I was sure was decades of teasing, he dipped his thumb into my juices, getting it thoroughly slickened, then pressed it against my bottom flower, making me try to arch away from it, but there was nowhere to go but further into his mouth and his arms.

  And he didn't push it, either. He simply held it there, so that, when I got tired enough from trying to hold my hips away from his inevitable invasion, I had no choice but to sink down onto its thick hardness, murmuring soft noes the entire time, until it was completely within me.

  As he caught my eye, he nodded. "You may come, Tawna. Come hard, baby."

  I found myself being fucked by his fingers and his thumb as he suckled and kissed and lapped my clit, settling into a circular motion, swirling his tongue over me relentlessly until I flew apart, tugging at the hold he maintained on my wrists, head back, spasming violently around him and within the hot, wet confines of his lips.

  And this time, one was nowhere near enough. He drove me to five other climaxes, some coming in quick succession, others taking a bit longer, but he never let up, not until he could see that I was well on my way to complete exhaustion.

  He didn't even take me for himself, as I had fully expected he would. He was rock hard against me as he brought me into his arms again and settled me against his chest. "Sleep. You're going to need it for what I have planned next for you."

  CHAPTER 3

  "He did what?" Carla looked stunned, but then I'd always thought she was about as vanilla as one person could probably get.

  "He spanked me. With his hand and with his belt." I took a big wedge of blooming onion and plopped it onto my plate.

  She looked dumbstruck, which surprised me, since she was well aware of my predilections, although, granted, I hadn't indulged them and she knew that, too.

  There were people all around us—it was a busy Friday night—and I didn't want to say it again. "You heard me."

  She actually took a gulp of her drink. "But he's—he's so big! And you're so small!"

  "Another reason I find him abominably sexy."

  "And you didn't know him—I still can't get over the idea that you had a one-night stand—and wi
th a guy who looks like he could have killed you with a look. If you were going to do that, why didn't you start with a ninety-eight-pound weakling you at least had some chance of getting away from if it went sour?"

  I frowned and shrugged. "I know. It was entirely my fault for getting so shitfaced. I guess I wanted him, and in my inebriated state, that trumped all safety concerns." I munched on a piece of battered onion. "Not good. Not good at all. Never again."

  "And didn't it hurt?" She whispered the last word as if it was vulgar.

  It took me a minute to follow where she'd gone conversationally. "Oh, fuck, yes, of course. Didn't it hurt when you were a kid, or were your parents of the 'time out' variety?"

  "Yeah, but you're not a kid."

  "I should hope not, considering what that man has done to me and I have done to him."

  "There's more?"

  I had to think about that. "Not that would probably get your panties into too much of a twist—although he did get me into an agreement with him."

  She leaned forward, practically into the special sauce they served with the appetizer. "What kind of agreement?"

  I sat back and played with my napkin, blatant evidence that I knew she wouldn't pick up on that I wasn't necessarily as cool with what I'd done as I appeared, but it was done and I wouldn't back out.

  WHEN I AWOKE, later that day, he knew immediately, and I found myself full of him, wondering fleetingly if he had been this excruciatingly hard the entire time I'd been napping, to say nothing of what kind of dom would deny himself the use of his sub to his own detriment.

  I had no idea that I was about to be introduced to just what kind of dom he was going to be—one who liked to keep his sub healthy and happy but, also, at a distinct disadvantage.

  My legs were brought up and held in place by his arms, leaving them outstretched and leaving me, for all intents and purposes, helpless beneath him. I tried to move a bit, just to test out my theory, and it was proven to be absolutely correct.

  "I want to talk to you."

  "Now?" I blinked almost absently, certain I'd heard him wrong but, also, more than somewhat distracted by my position.

  His answer was pure dom. "Definitely." He snapped his hips forward and I lost the ability to speak or process language for a long moment—forced to stretch even more widely around him, gasping with the effort of coming to grips with him, in more ways than one.

  Quint threaded his arms under my shoulders, his hands cupping my shoulders from the back, fingers hooked over them, holding me tightly in place for what he intended to do to me.

  As he spoke, he rocked almost gently against me, each movement reminding me of my submissive position as he dragged himself over my clit each time. "Tawna, I want to see you socially."

  I couldn't think, and that, of course, was exactly what he intended. The only thing I could come up with was, "Mmmmm."

  "Mmmmm, yes, or mmmmm, no?"

  Trying to catch my breath, I forced myself to ask, "You mean—you—want—to date—me?"

  "Yes."

  I tried, I really did, but it wasn't working. "Quint, I can't—I can't possibly think—"

  "Good," he answered fervently on another feral grin as he ratcheted up his game, beginning to piston his cock in and out of me. I could plainly see the way he was enjoying my distress, the fact that I couldn't avoid his powerful thrusts, how my head was whipping back and forth, the tiny cries I couldn't quell that leaked steadily out of my mouth, my breasts bouncing against his chest, nipples abraded against his light chest hair. "I don't want you to think. I want you to feel—to remember what it's like to be beneath me, to be filled with me, to submit yourself to me."

  My hands weren't bound, but they might as well have been. I didn't know where to put them until he growled, "Reach up and grab your headboard, girl, you're going to need something to hold on to before I'm done with you."

  Oh, God. Why did he have to say things like that to me?

  And then he stopped. Dead still.

  "Answer me, Tawna."

  "I-I don't—know."

  Snap—his hips careened forward into mine, knocking a groan out of me as well as aggressive banging of the headboard in frustration.

  And then—nothing. Stillness, and I knew he wanted me to answer him.

  Snap, snap—before I even had a chance to gather my thoughts—he knew exactly what he was doing.

  I was so close, and I knew I wasn't going to get permission from him to come any time soon—probably even if I did agree to date him.

  He brought his hips back and I cried out, "Quint, no. Fine! I-I'll date you—I'll date you."

  "Good girl."

  I didn't like to think how his praise suffused my body with a warmth I hadn't felt in a long time that had nothing to do with sex, somehow. I had an instinctive feeling that I wouldn't be hearing very much of that from him.

  And then, having gotten what he wanted, he proceeded to fuck me—completely without regard to me and my pleasure except that he warned me once—when I was quite loudly enjoying it—that I was not allowed to come.

  "But—"

  "No. Buts." He emphasized each word with a violent plunge and continued to take me like that until he arched over me and I could feel his cock twitching within me.

  When he collapsed on top of me, he rolled the both of us over until he was spooning me, one hard arm across my chest, squishing my breasts tightly and the other cupping my privates.

  Although my usual bent was not to want to talk about such things—the exact opposite of the majority of my sisterhood, I decided that, with this kind of relationship, it was probably better to get things out in the open as much as possible. "I want to talk about what I just agreed to—under extreme duress."

  I wasn't sure that I wanted to try to back out of it, really. I mean, where else was I going to find a man who seemed so extraordinarily compatible with me? Although, who was to say that we were compatible in any other area but this? What if I couldn't stand him except when we were in bed?

  I had to exert some sort of control over this situation. I had to.

  I could feel him smiling against my neck, just beneath my ear, and knew he felt no remorse whatsoever about my duress. "What would you like to say?"

  "That I don't want us to have sex while we're dating."

  The smile that had rung through loud and clear in his voice vanished completely. "I don't agree to that, Tawna. You need me. And God knows, I need you."

  Surprised at the vehemence—and the raw honesty of his last sentence—I asked, "You do?"

  "Oh, yes. I've been looking for a woman like you all my life. I can't believe I finally found you. I was less able to control myself that first night than I would have preferred—you should have been wooed and spoiled and made love to by my actions and my words, showing you that I care about you, long before I ever touched you. Not that I regret a moment of it—I don't. But I can assure you that I value your submission to me—both because of its unusual beginning and because of how rare it is, overall—more than you can probably understand."

  I didn't really know what to say to that, although I was very glad that he was obviously taking this discussion seriously and being very open, too.

  Fucking man was even more perfect than I'd originally thought.

  Sigh. He wasn't giving me any good reasons to try to get out of what I'd just agreed to… And I wanted to get out of it, didn't I?

  I didn't want to consider that thought any too carefully, so I seized on something else I wanted to clarify. "That's the next thing I want to talk about."

  We finally—with severe reluctance on his part—agreed that we would date conventionally during the week—to my amazement, without having sex—but one day a week, I would submit to him and he could do with me as he pleased.

  He deigned that I was to report to him every Saturday morning by eight. I tried to get him to agree to a later time in deference to the fact that I sometimes went out with my girlfriends on Friday night and then I realiz
ed that that was exactly why he'd chosen Saturday.

  With that settled, I put my hand over his where it still cupped me and started to move my hips as I pressed his fingers over an anxious, aching little nub that always seemed to be in that desperate condition around him.

  "No, Tawna, that's not going to happen."

  "But aren't we dating?" I suggested hopefully, only to have my hopes cruelly dashed.

  "Today is Saturday. Your ass is mine."

  And with that, I found myself helped up by an iron grip on my upper arm and then turned and draped over the back of the peach rose upholstered, very feminine chair of my also extremely feminine antique vanity—which was one of the nicest things I owned, and now I could no longer look at it without seeing what he'd done to me in the tri-fold mirrors.

  "Take firm hold of the seat—and if you let go, Tawna, my love, I will begin again, at the beginning, no matter if I'm but one stroke from ending it."

  I swallowed hard at his pronouncement, but there was something else that bothered me—almost—more.

  "Don't call me that."

  He rose up behind me and I could see him in the mirrors. His gaze was piercing, his eyes somewhat narrowed. I don't think he liked hearing me tell him not to do something.

  "Don't call you what?"

  "'My love'. I'm not your love. You couldn't possibly love me yet and it makes me uncomfortable to hear it, in that case."

  He caught my eyes, asking a cryptic question that surprised the hell out of me.

  "How could you possibly know what's in my heart?"

  Nevertheless, I noticed that he didn't say it—nor use any other variation of that word—again.

  "I want you to watch what's happening to you in the mirrors. It's a very powerful thing to watch one's self being punished, and I'm going to thoroughly enjoy watching you watch yourself…" his hand ran possessively down over my butt "…from every possible angle."

  And it most certainly was, especially when the man who was doing the correcting filled your entire field of vision behind you.

  I saw him reach for his belt and it felt quite surreal to be in this position—knowing he was going to use that horrible, huge thing—it was at least a thousand inches wide, I swear—on my backside shortly. But this was also what I had always wanted, or so I thought. It was definitely what had been getting me off since I could remember. Perhaps the reality was going to be a little too real for me, but I wasn't being given a choice about whether or not I found out.