Leah Braemel - Personal Protection

His cock exploded at her command, his hips bucking as his brains fled along with his come.

“What’s the matter, not sleeping well?” Chad asked. “I only ask since that’s the fourth time you’ve yawned in-” he checked his watch, “-oh, a whole twenty minutes.”

Sam held up three fingers pressed closely together. “Read between the lines, buddy.”

“I take it things are going well between you and Rosie?” Chad leaned back, lifting his leg so one ankle rested on the opposite knee. Why was he looking so smug?

“Oh, yeah.” When she was around, he found himself unable to take his eyes off her, his hands off her. His cock out of her. He still hadn’t figured out how she’d managed to turn the tables on him and make him come on command like a goddamned sub. For the first time in his life, he realized how little control he had in a relationship. Rosie held the power. She would forever be his mistress, with him the submissive. The slave desperate to be allowed entry to his mistress’s glorious realm.

He’d never been so terrified. Or so aroused.

“Earth to Sam. Come i-i-in, Sam.”

He opened his eyes-when had he closed them?-and saw Chad watching him, smirking.

“Why are you here buggin’ me anyway?” he grumbled, pushing his chair further under his desk to hide his erection. Damned thing was jutting so high his pants looked like a circus tent.

“Thalia phoned me-she’s worried about you.”

“What’s she worried about this time?”

“She’s worried because she sent you the final list of initiates two weeks ago and since you’re supposed to have returned them a couple days ago, she’s worried the Gala may have to be cancelled if you don’t get your ass in gear.”

“Oh, shit.” He grabbed his mouse and scrolled through his emails. Yup, there it was. His brains were so scrambled from this affair with Rosie that he wondered what else he’d missed. He opened the document she’d attached and scanned the short list of names. “Only five initiates this year?”

“Hey, times are tough-besides, there are only so many people who can afford the initiation fee.”

“True.” He tapped his finger on the mouse again.

Joseph Loudon was sponsoring some woman from England as a casual member. Didn’t matter how often they used the damned place, they still had to fork over the full million. He just hoped the woman wasn’t a gossip or a looky-loo. He made a note to check out the security report his people had done.

Plastic surgeon Peter Harrison was sponsoring his latest mistress, and had received his wife’s blessing. Considering he’d agreed to let her sponsor her lover at last year’s Gala, it wasn’t as if she could object.

Congresswoman Janssen’s husband, the host of a reality television show that had past its peak a half dozen seasons ago, was forking over his million to ensure unlimited access to his wife’s publicity assistant. Why Janssen didn’t just come out of the closet and admit he was gay, no one could figure out. Lord knew, it would probably help his ratings these days. Then again, maybe the good congresswoman knew her husband preferred men and preferred to open her reportedly tight fist on her pocket book to keep it quiet. Especially considering her platform during the last election had targeted alternative lifestyles. Hmm, maybe her husband’s preferences had fueled that fire. It didn’t matter one way or another to Sam-his share of the money would help the women’s shelter open another house in Alexandria.

Ms. Kinson was sponsoring her latest boy toy, some faded rock star she’d met in Bermuda. This was her fourth initiate, wasn’t it? Nope, her fifth-he’d forgotten the half-her-age actor she’d brought in two years before. You’d think she’d caned him from the way he’d burst into tears the first time she’d used a deer skin flogger on his pasty white ass in the grotto during his initiation. She’d retracted her sponsorship immediately, to all the other club members’ relief.

And lastly, Lee-Anne Bennett was sponsoring Greg Tompkins. Who, if Sam’s suspicions were correct, might also find himself tempted by the congresswoman’s assistant, with or without Lee-Anne’s blessing.

Would he be sponsoring Rosie at the next Gala? She’d enjoyed the bondage he’d used on her the night before, but she still thought it was a game, not realizing it was his lifestyle. And considering the end result, if he took her to his private suite, who would ultimately end up shackled to the St. Andrew’s cross? Her? Or him?

“By the way,” Chad interrupted, “Thalia’s still under the impression you’re going to be at the initiation Gala. You forget to cancel?”

“Aw, crap!” He picked up the phone and stabbed the speed dial for the club.

Warm water pounded Rosie from four sides as she stood in the shower. As her aching muscles attested, living with Sam Watson for the last couple of weeks was better than any exercise in a gym.

The threats had slowed down, they’d only received two more the week she’d moved in with Sam, and a single photograph the previous week. She’d started to wonder if Sam would disband the team since it had been so quiet. But then another photo had arrived the week before, and there’d been two more phone calls, threatening Sam if he showed up on several events he’d planned on attending. Luckily enough, he’d listened to her recommendations that he cancel and had spent the evenings hanging out with her in his apartment. Until tonight’s party, which he refused to cancel. But it was in a security-controlled building and Chad said he’d been through the guest list and there’d be no security risks amongst the guests.

Still, she’d have to remind the team to stay vigilant.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back under one of the sprays, luxuriating in the heat of the water. In her own apartment, the water would have long since cooled. Reaching blindly for the shelf where she’d balanced her bottle of shampoo, she encountered a wall of flesh.

With a gasp, she opened her eyes and saw Sam.

He reached over and changed the angle of one of the showerheads so it was no longer spraying directly at his hips. Then he captured her hand and wrapped her fingers around his already hard cock. “On your knees, Rosebud.”

Without hesitation, she slid to her knees like a supplicant.

His cock jutted proud and straight from a thick nest of black curls. Tipping her head back so she could watch his reaction, she licked the very end, then swirled her tongue around the bulbous head. Dark heat flared at the back of his eyes as he buried his fingers in her hair and tightened his grip.

She took hold of his hips and closed her lips around his shaft, using her teeth to lightly scrape down its length, while her tongue alternately compressed and caressed his foreskin. When she sucked lightly, he exhaled in a hiss. Wrapping her hand around his base, she took his entire cock in her mouth.

God, she loved sucking him off, loved the power she felt when his cock pulsed beneath her tongue. Loved the taste of his come as it leaked from his tip. Her free hand drifted between her legs, played with the swollen bud of her clitoris until she neared orgasm herself.

She sucked harder, letting his hips drive his cock over her lips. With a hoarse cry he tried to pull out but she tightened her grip on his hip and let a raw sound at the back of her throat vibrate him until he erupted in her mouth. She swallowed repeatedly until he finished, then delicately licked off the last drops of come from his shaft and sat back on her heels.

“I love doing that for you,” she murmured.

Sam reached down and lifted her to her feet, pulling her to rest against him. “I love you doing it for me.” His voice was husky, as if he’d been shouting for hours.