Sierra Cartwright - Doms of Dark Haven

One hand in her hair, her leash wrapped around his wrist, he moved her toward the club's exit, past Destiny.

“Hey, Master Torin?”

He stopped and looked at Destiny, keeping his hand firm against Mira's skull.

“Next time you break our rules and come storming in here in street clothes, Xavier said I get to punish you.”

He laughed. The idea of the woman with purple-tinted, spiky, Goth-style blonde hair and a sparkling lip piercing being able to kick his ass was intriguing.

“You're a domme?”

“If it means beating your ass, I am.”

“I promise I'll follow the rules in future, Destiny.”

“Or I get to punish you?”

“Yeah.”

Beside him, Mira gave a rude hoot of appreciation. He'd take that out of her hide later too.

Destiny gave a cheery wave. The move jiggled her breasts, which were barely covered by flimsy pink netting. He bundled Mira outside and into his illegally parked car. He'd gotten a ticket for his aggravation, but fortunately, San Francisco's finest hadn't towed his vehicle.

With his cock throbbing, the drive back across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Marin County safe house would seem interminable. But once he had her there…

The Hawkeye house was remote and private. He'd be able to fuck her as hard as he wanted; she'd be free to scream as long and as hard as she needed.

He parked the car in the garage, then held open the door into the house. She preceded him, then stopped and turned back toward him when she reached the kitchen. She stood there alluringly, her head tipped back slightly, her lips parted.

There were few thoughts in his head, and every one of them had to do with him penetrating her. “Turn around.”

He closed the distance and plucked the jacket from her shoulders and tossed it in the general direction of one of the kitchen chairs before unfastening her confounded dress for the final time. When the voluminous amounts of fabric pooled to the tiled floor, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently spun her back to face him. “Kneel.”

She didn't hesitate. Part of him wondered how much longer he could stand it before he pounded out his release and ejaculated.

He left her there while he went into the living room to light a fire. As flames licked the logs, taking the chill out of the evening air, he resisted the temptation to stroke himself to satisfaction. When he came, soon, he wanted to be deep in her body.

He returned to the kitchen to find her in the exact position where he'd left her.

Her obedience undid him. “On all fours,” he told her. “I want to see how red your ass is.”

She complied instantly.

“Nice,” he said. “The ones on your thighs will make it difficult to sit down tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master.”

He abraded his thumbnail across the small welts.

She gasped and pulled away. Before he could correct her, she pushed herself back into position.

“The others, on your butt, are almost completely gone.” He crossed to a high-backed chair and pulled it back from the table. “Crawl over here, mo shearc.” He'd never used the endearment with anyone else. Somehow the “my love” worked with her, for her. “I want you over my lap for a proper spanking.”

“Sir?”

“Do I need to repeat my command?”

“No!”

She crawled, her breasts and ass cheeks seducing him. She looked up at him only momentarily before positioning herself artfully across his lap.

“I'm spanking you,” he said, “because I want to. No other reason than that.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She braced her hands on the floor. Without instruction, she parted her legs slightly.

He saw the slight glisten of her moisture on her pussy, and he smelled her arousal. He wanted this woman.

Torin parted her lips and played with her clit, watching her squirm, enjoying the sounds she struggled to suppress.

Without giving her any warning, he slapped her cunt hard, his hand open.

She gasped, surged away from his hand, then made another softer sigh and wiggled back into position.

He spanked her hard, on her buttocks, on her pussy, on her thighs. He timed his spanks to arouse, not punish.

A minute and a half later she was begging.

“I need…”

“You need…?”

“Will you fuck me? Fuck me, Master.” Her words were breathless. “Fuck me.

Please?”

He helped her from his lap. “Lean over the table. Grasp the far end.”

She followed his directions, and she even turned her toes slightly inward so that her pussy was presented even more attractively. It would take all his control not to come before he'd even entered her.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it near his jacket. He toed off his boots, and he noticed that she moved slightly. “Cold? Impatient?”

“Sorry, Master,” she said. “Just…”

“Yes?”

“I'm impatient; the sub is impatient. I want you inside me.”

“I?”

“She,” Mira said with a sigh. “She. The sub. You know, the woman on the table, waiting to be fucked. Dying here.”

He laughed. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she was into a scene, she couldn't hide her natural personality. And to tell the truth, he didn't want her to.

He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. All thumbs, he pulled a condom from one of the compartments. Seemed the beautiful Mira wasn't the only one who was impatient.

He dropped his wallet, pulled off his jeans, and stripped down, throwing everything onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

His cock was hard, throbbing when he rolled the condom into place. Fighting to restrain himself, he stroked the outsides of her thighs. She sighed. “Do you have any idea how red your ass is?”

“If it looks like it feels, yes, I have an idea.”

“It's lovely.” He traced a couple of the welts before placing a hand between her legs, feeling her dampness.

“Take me,” she said, moving her hips back.

As if he could wait any longer.

Torin bent his knees slightly and pressed his cockhead against her opening.

“Yes,” she whispered.

She was amazingly damp and ready for him.

He took her in a single stroke. He filled her, felt her internal pussy muscles clench around his cock.

This woman could be the death of him.

He reached across her, grasping her wrists.

“Ride me, hard.” Belatedly, she added, “Master.”

He held back his orgasm, making sure she came first. It was more difficult than it should have been.

Torin was known as a generous lover, but with Mira—it was about possession.

He wanted her; he didn't want anyone else touching her, tasting her. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling. Having a woman, any woman, get under your skin was a bad move. The danger increased when the woman was your partner.

“Master!”

He heard her breaths, little gasps of air. He could feel her fighting her orgasm like a good little sub. “You may come,” he told her.

“Torin!”

He drove into her, hard, impaling her with his thrusts. There was nothing gentle or soft about this. It was raw, animalistic, filled with lust. For the moment she was his, and he'd leave her no doubt about it.

She screamed.

Then her body squeezed him tight.

Her climax pushed him over the top. In a hot stream, he ejaculated, the orgasm feeling as if it had been ripped from his testicles.

It was brutal. It was satisfying. It wasn't even close to fulfilling his need to take her.

He withdrew from her. He looked at her for a moment, her midnight dark hair escaping its confines to curl against her neck, her shoulders. She was still pressed against the table. He'd never see oak the same way again.

She remained in place, her hands curled around the edge of the table. The marks of his punishment striped her thighs and buttocks, and her pussy glistened with her moisture.