Mr. Sir

Chapter One



“I like that color on you, O.”

Owen looked at Sanders standing at the next urinal.

“It works well with your skin tone,” Sanders added with a wink.

Owen fixed him with a look that might have given another man a moment’s pause. “Eyes on your own dick for a change.”

Sanders chuckled, tucked and zipped. “Nothing like a humdinger to put a little sunshine in the ol’ workday, is there?” he asked, clapping him on the shoulder before he went to wash his hands.

Owen looked down and sure enough, there was a ring of vivid, cherry-red lipstick smudged around his cock.

How many times that day had someone walked by the desk stationed outside his office to comment on her lipstick? He’d been hearing things like, “Wow, Grace. Hot color. What’s the occasion?” and “I love that color on you. You should wear it more often,” all morning.

Sanders himself had even stopped to tell her she looked especially pretty on his way into Owen’s office earlier. The bastard.

Not that Owen blamed him. She did look finer than usual in the thin sweater and knee-length skirt she was wearing, both hugging her curvy body without showing too much. And the heels…

Christ, he was going to start pissing up the wall if he didn’t stop thinking about her.



She’d sent him a text just as the junior partner meeting was wrapping up.

Coming in to suck your cock in 5. Be ready.

It had beens the longest five minutes of his life followed by five of the most exquisite.

He’d been sure the clock had stopped several times, but then, at exactly the five-minute mark, he’d watched from his desk while she’d put her computer to sleep, wound that long dark-red hair of hers into a knot and secured it with two yellow No. 2 pencils.

She’d stepped into his office, closed the door and locked it silently while his dick, already rock hard and ready to go, had strained against his zipper in anticipation.

“You weren’t kidding,” he’d said, transfixed by the sway of her hips as she came around the desk like a woman on a mission.

“That would be a cruel joke, now, wouldn’t it?” She’d gone down on her knees and pantsed him as though she’d done it hundreds of times instead of just that once.

His heart had hammered in his throat as she’d slid her fingers up the insides of his thighs, her nails—also cherry-red—skimming across his skin. She’d cradled his dick with one hand and tucked the other into the crease where thigh met groin. Her thumb had stroked the ultrasensitive spot behind his balls, fraying the already-tenuous grasp he had on his self-control.

She’d given him a long, slow lick from root to tip, her hot, wet tongue undulating over his shaft. Blue eyes had raised to his, she licked the already-leaking slit, smiled up at him sweetly and gave it a loud, smacking kiss. She’d taken her sweet time circling the hard, sensitive head, had driven him full-steam ahead while also drawing out the anticipation.

He’d been ready to burst by the time she’d drawn him into her mouth, teasing him by sliding her lips over the ridged crown one, two, three times before sucking hard and taking him so far into her mouth he’d nudged the soft flesh at the back of her throat.

And then she’d gone in for the kill, moving in quick, short strokes followed by a long, hard suck, repeating the rhythm until he was panting hard. He’d gripped the arms of his chair, hands white-knuckled and fingers digging into the leather.

His head had slammed against the head rest when she’d added a little humming noise that sent shock waves through every single nerve ending in his body. Only her hands holding him steady had kept him from fucking upward into her mouth as he’d come in long, glorious, hip-jerking pulses, choking back a growl the entire floor would have heard if he’d let it loose.

She was already getting to her feet by the time he’d been able to pry his eyes open and unclench his jaw. He’d watched as though he was deep in a dream as she’d wriggled her skirt up, peeled one of his hands from the arm of his chair and slid it up the inside of her thigh. She’d been so aroused, she’d soaked through the thin lace of her panties.

“I cleared your schedule,” she’d said, sighing as he moved the fabric aside and started to work her. She’d opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a slip of paper and a garage door opener, of all things. “You have a late lunch reservation,” she’d added, tapping the paper with her fingernail before she’d eased away, pushed her skirt back down and composed herself.

The address she’d written was for a motel near the highway that was popular with certain people around the office. Each room had its own private entrance through a garage, ensuring the utmost discretion, should it be needed.

“How long is this lunch reservation?” He’d taken her hands when she offered them and let her pull him to his feet.

“We have two hours as long as you get there on time,” she’d answered mildly, crouching to pull his pants up his legs.

“Two hours?” He’d arched an eyebrow at her as he’d adjusted his cock—already looking forward to round two—back into his underpants. “I’m not going to make it two minutes I’m going to be so jacked up by the time I get there.”

The heavy fringe of her carefully mascaraed lashes had lifted and she’d given him a coy look.

“You and I both know that isn’t true,” she’d purred, straightening his skewed tie.

He’d let out a heavy breath and pressed his lips where her long neck curved into her shoulder. “I’m not going to make it to the motel at this rate,” he’d murmured against her skin, making her shiver.

She’d touched a fingertip to the center of his chest and he straightened. She’d been outwardly calm, cool and collected even though he could see the tight peaks of her nipples beneath her sweater and she was rosy-cheeked with arousal.

“You’re killing me, Gracie,” he’d breathed.

“Focus, Owen.” She’d helped him tuck his shirttails into his pants and had buttoned the button for him. “It’s only a few hours away.”

He’d zipped and buckled his belt. “What about the meeting with Ziegelski?”

She’d smoothed her hands over his chest to straighten the fabric of his shirt.

“Sanders will be sitting in for you.”

His eyebrows had shot up. “And how did you convince him to do that? He just told me this morning he had a ton of work to do before he went on vacation next week.”

She’d given him a wicked little smirk. “I have my ways.”

He’d dropped his eyebrows into a scowl and she laughed. “Not those kind of ways.” She’d given him the lightest of kisses and turned. “Let’s just say I know a little too much about the last time he took Stacy with him on that business trip to Vegas.”

“So clichéd,” he’d muttered, shaking his head.

She’d turned, one hand on the doorknob. “What’s that?”

He’d made sure all of his clothes were back in place, looked up.

“Having an affair with your secretary,” he’d said straight-faced.

She’d rolled her eyes, then jumped as the doorknob moved in her hand. They both had heard someone mutter something from the outside. Very carefully, she’d turned the lock without making even the smallest sound and pulled the door open.

Tim Greenburg had stood on the other side of the door, looking annoyed and confused.

“The handle wouldn’t turn,” he’d said. His eyes skimmed Grace and Owen had felt an unexpected urge to slap them out of his head.

Grace had smiled easily. “It sticks every once in a while. I’ll go call maintenance.”

Owen hadn’t heard a word Greenburg said for a minute. He’d watched Grace over his shoulder as she turned those huge eyes of hers his way, gave him a mischievous little smile, and pulled the pencils out of her hair.



“Sanders,” Owen said, going to the sink just as the hand dryer shut off.

Sanders gave him a look over his shoulder, tugging his shirt cuffs in place.

“This stays between you and me.”

Sanders looked offended. “Like you even had to mention it,” he said, and left.





Chapter Two



She was going to kill him. Dead.

Owen pulled into the motel garage and killed the engine. He seriously considered not going into the room for a moment, but decided getting it over with sooner rather than later would be better. There was no getting around it. He was close to an hour and a half late. She was going to have his balls.

He climbed out of the car with the garage door closing ominously behind him, making a quick escape virtually impossible, and steeled himself for the onslaught that was surely waiting for him on the other side of the door.

He opened the door with an apology hanging off the tip of his tongue and stopped.

Maybe he’d get to keep his balls a little longer.

Grace was sound asleep in the middle of the room’s enormous bed. Her long, gorgeous red hair spread over the pillow, a sharp contrast to the black of the sheets he recognized as theirs—she had a thing about motel sheets—and the creamy white of her fair, redhead complexion.

He and his cock forgot all about the late hour as he took in the sight of her, barely covered in lacy black bra and panties, a black silk scarf tied around her neck like a man’s necktie, the ends lying between her breasts.

He knew then more than ever he was the luckiest asshole on the planet to have landed a woman like her, and not just because she was stop-traffic gorgeous. She made his entire universe run like clockwork. She was his best friend and his life partner. Together they’d created a home he couldn’t wait to return to at the end of the workday. She’d given him two beautiful, wildly rambunctious sons that filled that home to overflowing with messy, noisy, glorious love—a far cry from his own childhood home.

And she’d loved him with that body in ways that surpassed even his wildest dreams. She’d looked deep into his soul and embraced his darkest fantasies, taken him by the hand and taught him that he wasn’t sick or perverted. Not even a little.

He ground his teeth together and propped his hands on his hips as he considered. He could let her sleep, because God knew she needed it, but there was also still plenty of time to wake her up and properly thank her for the surprise she’d given him earlier. There was, he rationalized, no reason to waste the room and the opportunity to have a little noisy fun without the risk of being overheard by impressionable young ears.

His cock, hard and pushing against the confines of his suit pants, agreed.

He started to loosen his tie, turned to find a place to lay his clothes and nearly stumbled over a chair he hadn’t noticed standing in the middle of the room.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, unable to believe what he was seeing.

On the chair, centered perfectly in the middle of the seat cushion, sat the duffle bag.

He hadn’t seen it in too long. It had disappeared from the bedroom closet shortly after they’d moved into the new house a year earlier. They’d thought they’d kept it hidden well enough until the afternoon the boys went screaming through the house, Ian wearing Grace’s collar with Liam hot on his heels, wielding the riding crop.

Owen reached a tentative hand into the bag and pulled out the crop. The folded leather on the business end was a little stiff and bent at a funny angle from being stored and unused for the past year, but it was still in pretty good condition. He gripped it in his fist and it softened almost instantly, a sharp contrast to his cock, stiff to the point of aching with the longing simmering inside him.

He couldn’t bring himself to reach in the bag for anything else. He could see it—the lengths of rope still tied in neat loops, the leather cuffs and locking collar. He didn’t want to touch any of it. The disappointment of what he’d missed by not being able to get to the motel on time would crush him if he gave it too much thought.

He set the crop aside and checked his watch. The afternoon wasn’t a complete waste, but he’d have to get moving if he was going to make it up to her even a little. He undressed quickly, took the riding crop to the bed and knelt beside her legs.

She was sleeping so soundly that her breathing didn’t even change as he bent her legs at the knee and moved them to the side, rolling her from the waist so she was still on her back with her bottom exposed to him. He shook her and called her name once but she didn’t flinch.

Holding the crop in his teeth, he leaned his weight on her legs with one hand, raised the other high and brought it down with an ear-splitting crack to her ass. She started to thrash immediately, but he held tight. He caught her wrist with one hand as she took her first swing and angled his body so the ball of his shoulder took the blow of the second. She stopped flailing just as quickly as she came awake.

“Sorry,” she panted, opening her hands and showing him her palms.

He released her wrist, took his weight off her and the crop out of his mouth.

“No, baby,” he said, leaning over her, hands on either side of her head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Ziegelski came into my office right before the meeting. I’m really late.”

“What?” She moved to sit up but touched her shoulder and she lay back. “What time is it?”

“There’s still time,” he told her, stroking her cheek with the end of the crop. “Just not enough time for this.”

“God damn it, Owen,” she said, turning her face away from the touch.

“I know. I’m sorry, love.” He trailed the leather down her neck and through the valley between her breasts. “That’s not to say the afternoon is completely lost,” he added quietly, circling one hardening nipple through the lace of her bra with the crop. “You know I can get a lot done in half an hour.”

She slid him a withering look. “That’s not what I wanted. I had to practically move heaven and earth to make this anniversary special.” Her nostrils flared. “It’s our tenth.”

“I know,” he assured her, using his calming voice.

“And it’s been so fucking long.” Her voice trembled on the last word.

He felt just as whiny as she sounded.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want just half an hour.”

He could see how badly she needed it. He’d been feeling prickly lately as well. They hadn’t had any real playtime in too long—not since her parents had moved away right before he’d been transferred. Months earlier, when his parents had come to visit for a week and took the boys to the movies, he’d laid her out on the dining table with her wrists tethered to her ankles and had his way with her, but that hardly counted. The excitement of a few stolen moments combined with having her tied up that way turned out to be too much. They’d both come faster than a couple of eager teenagers.

He nipped at her bottom lip, kissed it, tasted it with his tongue. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He sat back on his haunches and swung one of her legs over his lap so he was seated between them.

“When?” she demanded, gripping his hair when he went up on all fours over her.

“Soon,” he promised, biting and kissing at her upper lip in turn.

“I wanted it—”

He cut her off by taking her mouth, sinking his tongue in deep and making her groan. He knew exactly what she was going to say now. She could be demanding for a woman who knew her place well, but there wasn’t time to let her get away with any behavior he couldn’t properly punish her for right then.

She started to drag her right heel up his calf as she raised her leg, but he put his hand on her knee and very gently pushed it back down. He straightened above her. Her eyelids drifted open most of the way, her eyes met his as he continued to trail the crop down the length of her body.

“What did you think I was going to do with this?” he asked with a smirk, sliding the fingers of his free hand under the scarf.

The color in her cheeks brightened. “I couldn’t find the blindfold.”

He lowered his brows into a fierce look and shook his head slowly. “As though you get to decide whether you get to wear the blindfold or not.” He’d wound the silk, warm from lying on her body, around his fist and pulled gently. She rose toward him and he gave her another possessive kiss. God, he wanted to devour her.

He let her go suddenly and rose to standing on his knees, making small circles around her bellybutton, trailing lower to stroke the mound of her sex through the nearly transparent fabric of her panties. The sight of her lying there spread open for him had his cock straining, standing straight up, aching.

She flinched, her lush mouth fell open and she gasped when he tapped the end of the crop against the sweet flesh over her clit. He tapped her very gently at first, slowly increasing the pressure until he gave her one sharp flick that had her back arching off the bed. His dick jerked in response to the long moan that slid out of her throat when he did it a second time.

“Take off your bra,” he told her, stroking the leather down the inside of her thigh.

She made no move to obey. He struck the inside of her thigh.

“What did I say?” he asked, more sternly.

“Sorry, Sir.” She gave him a smirk that earned her another solid swat. “Yes Sir. Ow.” She giggled and reached behind her back when he smacked her again harder.

She popped the hook on her bra and slid the straps down her arms and he ignored the self-satisfied look on her face as the sight of her tits distracted him. Twelve years total together and they never failed to distract him. They were amazing and she knew it.

For good measure, he flicked each of her tightly peaked nipples with the crop, back and forth a couple of times each. She clutched the sheet beneath her in her fists and groaned out a lusty “Yes” that made his balls pull tight.

Owen stepped off the foot of the bed, tossed the crop aside and ordered her to take off her underpants. Her hips came up as she wriggled them over her ass, then her legs went straight up in the air, giving him a tantalizing peek at her pussy. She maneuvered her panties over the heels, dropped them from a fingertip over the side of the bed and spread her legs wide.

Between her pussy spread open waiting for him and the three red marks on the inside of her thigh, he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to hold out. The blinding need to bury himself to the hilt inside her and fuck was coming up fast and about to overtake his control.

There wasn’t much time left, he knew, which meant there wasn’t really any reason not to let need win this race.

He gripped her legs behind the knees and pulled, flipped her onto her stomach fast enough she let out a little “eep” of surprise and put her knees on the floor so she was bent over the foot of the bed.

“Hands above your head,” he ordered quietly, standing directly behind her, gathering her hair and brushing it to one side so he could see her face.

She did as he told her, her breath coming quick and fast as she turned her head, eyes closed, and lay on the bed to wait.

The bright red handprint marking the pure white skin of her ass about sent him straight out of his head. He stood with his legs on either side of hers, knees braced on the edge of the mattress for support, and bent over her. She wriggled and sighed as he nipped gently at her earlobe, neck and shoulder, while the hand not holding his weight stroked that warm handprint on her ass.

“Let’s see how ready you are,” he whispered, sliding his fingers between her legs.

She moaned as he stroked her soaking-wet slit. “I’m ready, Sir.”

“I can tell.” He found the swollen nub of her clit and circled her slowly.

Her mouth, still stained bright red even though she was no longer wearing lipstick, opened and her breath came in shorter, panting gasps.

“How close are you, baby?” he asked, deepening the pressure slightly.

Her whole body shuddered with the change and she whispered, “So close.” in a shaky breath. He slipped his hand under her head for support as he lifted and took a long, deep pull from her mouth.

She broke the kiss first. “Please, Owen. Fuck me now. I need it.”

“Yes, Gracie.” He kissed her lightly, electricity singing along his spine, pooling at the base and humming through his balls. “Legs together,” he told her, his knees on either side of her legs as he knelt behind her.

“Oh god yes,” she moaned as he slipped the head of his cock inside her.

She was so tight with her legs together and the muscles of her pussy contracting around him. He gripped her hips and pushed inside her in short pulsing strokes, heat rolling through his entire body from where they were finally connected and sweat prickling over his skin. His teeth ground together at the strangled sound she made when he dug his fingers into her hipbones and buried himself to the root.

He fucked blindly, wild and out of control, their bodies slapping together as she pushed back against him just as hard as he was shoving into her. She bit the sheet and a long, lusty moan rolled out of her as she came, throbbing around him. He kept pounding against her until his vision went dark and his own orgasm ripped from his body, his hips snapping until his whole body seized with it.

And then he was lying over her back, desperately trying to catch his breath. He knew full well he was making it hard for her to catch her own with his weight on her, but he couldn’t to move. When he regained control of himself, he lifted his head and raised his body slightly.

Still mostly hard and buried inside her, he kissed her shoulder and looked down at her. “I know that wasn’t quite what you were hoping for,” he teased, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

Her lips twitched and she shrugged. “It’ll do, I suppose,” she said, opening her eyes and sliding him a look.

He sank his teeth into her and gave her a gentle swat on the thigh.

Her body shook them both when she giggled and said, “Thank you, Sir, may I have another?”





Chapter Three



Grace watched her husband dress. He never stopped amazing her. Two hours of play reduced to a quick fuck in under ten minutes and he’d still managed to leave her feeling loose-jointed and more than a little buzzed.

It was hard to stay angry with him when she knew he’d have been there on time if something hadn’t come up at work. Unfortunately something was always coming up at work, especially since he’d been transferred to this new company. If Ziegelski had gotten word that Sanders was going to sit in on the meeting in Owen’s place he would definitely have done something to sabotage Owen leaving early. She wished the old geezer would retire and put everyone out of their misery already.

She sighed, enjoying the view as he pulled on the jeans she’d brought for him to change into, his strong back and fine, fine ass toward her. He was unbelievably beautiful naked—not especially broad-shouldered but deep-chested with long, strong arms and legs and a very tight stomach. That body, hidden from the rest of the world in business suits or jeans and t-shirts, was her very private, very erotic secret. A secret that gave her an incredible amount of joy to have all to herself.

He was a walking contradiction on so many levels, with his plain, brown business haircut, clear blue eyes and kind, unassuming face. He came across as an average, everyday kind of guy at a glance, and for the most part he was. In most of his daily life—with the boys, their families and friends—he was relaxed and easygoing. In the boardroom and the bedroom, he was a powerful force to be reckoned with.

She was almost ashamed to admit she’d overlooked him several times when they first worked together. She’d been hired as a receptionist directly out of the vocational high school she’d attended, and hadn’t been there more than a year when he was hired as an intern his senior year of college.

She’d seen him. It was her job to know who was coming in the door and for what reason. She’d thought he was cute in an all-American kind of way, but hadn’t really given him a second thought until a coworker pointed out that he looked at her differently than he looked at any of the other office girls.

So she’d started to flirt with him for fun. He’d been adorably shy at first. Morning hellos eventually led to him introducing himself, which in turn led to him occasionally stopping by her desk to make small talk.

Then, at the company Christmas party that year, she’d found herself alone with him in a quiet corner. With a couple of glasses of wine in him, he’d been charming and easy to talk to. And when she’d looked into his eyes, really looked into their depths for the first time, she’d nearly been knocked off her feet by what she’d seen.

Beneath his sweet-faced exterior was pure, unadulterated, untapped power.

He’d taken her out for a drink when the party ended. They’d closed the bar and gone for breakfast at an all-night greasy spoon near her apartment after that. She’d taken him home with her that morning and let him tie her up with the belt on her bathrobe by the light of the rising sun shining through her bedroom window.

Oh, how far they’d come since that first night.

“We’re going to be late getting the boys from the Y if you don’t get dressed,” he observed, shaking the creases out of the clean t-shirt she’d brought for him.

“I’d give my right arm to have someone we could call to pick them up for us right now,” she said, standing to run her hands over his still-bare chest.

He groaned a little and bent to kiss her. “We’d miss soccer practice.”

“Aren’t we allowed to miss just once?” she asked, sliding her arms around his neck. She leaned her still mostly undressed body into his and went up on her toes for a kiss.

Her head went fuzzy as his tongue slid into her mouth, seeking hers. He wrapped his arms tight around her and pulled her in so close she could hardly breathe.

“And this conversation just came full circle,” he said when he broke the kiss, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry we can’t just call your parents anymore.”

Her parents had moved to a green retirement community in Arizona shortly before Owen was transferred a little more than a year earlier. They actually lived closer to his parents now, but they’d had him rather late in life and weren’t able to keep up with their wild grandsons for more than an hour or so, and never at the drop of a hat.

He brushed her hair back, exposing her shoulder to another kiss. She dug her fingers into his hair and pressed her cheek to the side of his head.

“We promised each other we wouldn’t get lost in parenthood,” she said.

He sighed against her skin. “Yes, we did.” He kissed her neck, her lips. “And until recently, we hadn’t.”

An unexpected surge of annoyance rippled through her.

“So what are we going to do about it?” she asked.

He straightened and gave her a cool look.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he asked, his tone weary.

“I didn’t say you.” She dropped her arms and took a step backward. “I said we. Owen, we have lost ourselves since we moved here.”

“Gracie, we knew things weren’t going to fall back into place instantly.” He moved around her and picked up his shirt from where he’d dropped it on the foot of the bed. “We don’t know anyone but my parents and the Millers yet. The house is taking up all of our time and energy, and you know it.”

Knowing it didn’t help. She loved the old farmhouse they’d bought just beyond the suburbs of the city they now worked in. It was out of the way, safe and private but within driving distance of everything. It was huge and rambling and she could see the boys bringing their own families home for the holidays there. That didn’t mean it needed to be sucking up every single second of their free time.

She snatched the trailing ends of her patience and reined in her temper.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what did you mean?” He spun, just his head through the shirt, and threw her a look that chilled her. “Am I supposed to wake you up out of a dead sleep after you’ve worked, taken care of the boys and then spent hours working on the house so we can play at the old slap and tickle?” He jammed his arms into the sleeves. “I’m just as tired as you are at the end of the day.”

Her foot snagged on the discarded black silk scarf as she turned to finish dressing. She picked it up and stuffed it into the gym bag now holding their work clothes, snatched her own jeans off the bed, sat heavily and shoved her legs into them. He was an amazing husband and hands-on father. He’d never brought it up when they argued before, and there was no need for it now.

“That’s not what I’m talking about either.”

He jammed his fists on his hips. “Then what is it? If you need me to feel worse than I already do for getting here late, I’m not sure I can manage that.”

The argument was getting out of control fast and she didn’t know how to stop it. She pulled her shirt on and tried to get her thoughts to stop spinning. He already had one running shoe on and was tying the other by the time she looked back at him.

“Owen,” she said when he stood and grabbed his keys and the bags with their clothes and still-unused toys.

He stopped to give her an impatient look.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”

He took a deep breath and looked down at his feet.

She went to him and tentatively put her hands on his waist. “I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. It’s been so long, and I had my hopes up that we were going to get to play a little this afternoon.” When he merely looked at her, she added, “You know damn well what just happened was amazing.”

His eyes closed briefly. She could feel a little of the tension leave him when he kissed her, but it didn’t all go away. “I’ll get the boys if you want to swing through someplace for food. We can eat in the parking lot at the practice field.”

And then he left.



By all outward appearances, he was his usual easy self by the time she caught up with him and the boys at the soccer park. They sat on a blanket in the grass eating chicken sandwiches while Liam devoured a burger and Ian inhaled chicken nuggets and fries. They didn’t speak to each other as much as they listened to the boys talk about what happened at school that day.

It wasn’t long before the parking lot was full of other families, all chatting with each other as they wrestled their children into soccer cleats and shin guards. Owen didn’t look her way as he took Ian to the practice field across the park, laughing with Ian’s friend Adam’s father as the boys ran ahead of them. She spent the next hour and a half catching up with other parents and cheering Liam through practice, but the unsettled feeling she’d left the motel with wouldn’t leave her alone.

After the boys went to bed that night, Owen opened a bottle of her favorite wine.

“These don’t seem like much compared to what you tried to make happen at the motel this afternoon,” he said, handing her a small box as he sat on the floor next to her in front of the fireplace, lit with a dozen tall candles in lieu of a fire.

Guilt over how the afternoon had ended zipped through her as she pulled the bow free. Lying on a bed of red satin were a pair of long, delicate silver earrings she’d fallen in love with months ago. She’d never been able to justify buying them for herself, and she could hardly believe he remembered looking at them with her so long ago.

“I’m really sorry about today,” she whispered, feeling a little overwhelmed.

He shook his head and lifted one of the earrings out of the box. “It’s life, Grace.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder, removed the earring she was wearing and replaced it with the new one. “We both know better than to expect things to work out the way we want them to. Spontaneity went out the window years ago.”

“I booked that motel room and dug the duffle out of hiding months ago.”

“And the boss messed it up for us.” He shrugged and leaned across her body as he changed her other earring.

She loved his smell, a clean mixture of soap, aftershave still left from that morning and something else that was inherently all Owen. The heat and close proximity of his body, his face, his mouth, were starting to work their magic on her. It was astounding that he could turn the simple act of putting earrings on her into an erotic event.

She shivered when his fingers brushed her neck as he touched the earrings and made them swing from her ears.

“Beautiful,” he said, his gaze on hers, not her ears.

“Take me upstairs,” she whispered, the need for him sudden and urgent.

He shook his head. “I think you and I are overdue for a good rug burn.”

Her eyes went big. “The boys.”

He dipped his head and touched his lips to her neck. “Do you remember when we lived in that little one-bedroom when we were first married?” he asked, his breath warm on her skin.

Her body came instantly to life under his touch. “I do,” she sighed, her arm coming up around his neck as she turned her body toward him.

“Liam used to sleep right in the same room with us.” He trailed his fingers down her throat and touched the hollow at the base. “Remember the first time he pulled himself to standing?”

Grace wriggled her hips at the feel of him smiling against the underside of her jaw.

“We’d just finished making love.” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of finding him standing in his crib across the room, wide awake. He’d been standing there with the most clinically curious look on his face, and then he’d burst into peals of laughter. “They’re not babies anymore, husband. They’d be devastated if they came downstairs and found us rutting like animals in the living room.”

He snorted and straightened. “All right,” he said, groaning as he stood.

Together they put out the candles and cleaned up the wineglasses. He held her hand as he led her upstairs and made sure their bedroom door was locked tight against unwanted intruders. He made love to her twice more, first with his mouth and then with his whole body, the old-fashioned way—slowly, face-to-face.

As she came down from that second orgasm with her sweaty, spent husband collapsed and gasping on top of her, she could feel something in him was still unnerved by the argument they’d had that afternoon.

And she still didn’t have the foggiest idea about how to fix it.





Chapter Four



Ziegelski was leaning on her desk when they got to work Monday morning.

“I need to speak to you,” he said, stalking into Owen’s office.

Grace looked at Owen, who shrugged.

“Shut the door,” the older man barked as they stepped into the room. His face was bright red and a vein was bulging dangerously in his forehead. “How dare you carry on like hormone-riddled teenagers in my office,” he growled, clearly trying not to shout.

“Hold on.” Owen stepped forward, hands raised. “What are you talking about?”

Heat flooded Grace’s face.

“You know goddamn well what I mean.” Ziegelski poked a bony finger in Owen’s chest. “Having your wife pleasure you here at the office. Leaving work early to go do God only knows what.” He hissed the last of the sentence.

Grace looked at Owen, her eyes wide with disbelief. Bragging to his coworkers about what happened wasn’t like him at all, but their boss clearly knew all about their rendezvous Friday afternoon.

“I requested that time off and arranged for someone to cover both Owen and myself weeks ago,” she said. “We had plans for our anniversary. It wasn’t a secret.”

Okay, maybe she’d misled human resources by leaving out the part about wanting a couple hours of really dirty sex with her husband, but she’d been up front about the fact that it was their tenth anniversary when she’d requested the time off.

Ziegelski turned his beady eyes on her, acknowledging she was in the room for the first time. “I wasn’t talking to you, now, was I?” he asked, lips pulled back, teeth bared.

She watched her husband pale and his mouth press into a tight line.

“Let it be known that you’re both walking on thin ice as of this moment,” Ziegelski said, looking her over with disgust. “One more slip-up from either of you and you’ll both be gone.” He looked back at Owen. “Do you understand?”

“Got it,” Owen told him through clenched teeth.

“I’ll be looking into getting you a new secretary,” he added to Owen.

“I’m fired?” Grace asked, incredulous.

“Not fired. Not yet.” He was talking to Owen as though she wasn’t in the room again. “She’s being moved to another office where you’ll both be less tempted to participate in any more inappropriate behavior.”

“There’s no need for that.” Owen was using that calm, assertive voice that always made her want to drop to her knees before him no matter where she heard it.

She watched Ziegelski blink and wondered if he knew what he was seeing in her husband’s eyes that made him pause and back down the barest fraction of an inch. Wet heat pooled between her legs and her nipples tingled despite the highly inappropriate circumstances. She loved seeing the effect that voice had on others almost as much as she loved it directed it at her. Almost, but not quite.

“We both fully understand that we made a mistake,” Owen continued, taking another step toward his boss as he pulled himself up to his full, impressive height. “It was a one-time lapse in judgment. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

She could have sworn the boss’s eyes widened with something that looked a whole lot like fear for just a moment.

“You get one more chance.” Ziegelski’s eyes flickered to her. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”

“We won’t, Sir,” Owen said, faking every passive syllable.

Ziegelski left the door open when he stalked out.

“Fucking Sanders,” Owen muttered, nostrils flared and eyes bright with anger.

“What does Dean have to do with this?” Grace asked, thoroughly confused.

He sighed, deflating a little. “He was at the urinal next to me when I went to the bathroom after your surprise anniversary gift.” He looked at her pointedly and added, “I was still wearing your lipstick.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.

Dean Sanders was infamous for putting his considerable assets on display in the men’s locker room of the executive gym. He was also notorious among a select few of his peers for sneaking a peek while at the urinal to see if anyone else’s dick measured up. It was strange but harmless. And Owen, who was entitled to a whole lot of bragging rights himself, had just sort of gotten used to it.

Owen gave her a smile that vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

“I know he’s gunning for Lantz’s partner spot when he retires, but I had no idea he would stoop to something like this to make sure he knocked me out of the running.” He looked out the open door, thinking.

Grace shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Maybe I’ve underestimated him.” He shrugged casually but she could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes. He considered Sanders a friend. “Maybe it wasn’t beneath him to throw me under the bus the first chance he got.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s pretty risky. I know all about him and Stacy.”

“Yeah, but if you go to Ziegelski about it now it’s just going to look like retaliation,” he said, nodding to Tim Greenburg as he came in the office. “And you’re not like that.”

She gave him a look that made his eyebrows go up.

“Grace,” he warned, clearly seeing she was already hashing out a plan.

“You know, seeing the old man go all red in the face over a blowjob just makes me want to do it again,” she said, quietly so Tim wouldn’t hear, then added, “right now.”

Owen’s cool, controlled look didn’t change one iota with Tim in the room, but she very clearly saw the effect her words had on him in the dilation of his pupils.

“I’ll be right back with the coffee,” she told him sweetly and peered around him. “You still on your tea kick, Tim?”

“God, no.” He smiled. “I’ll take the good stuff today. The stronger the better.”

“You got it.” She straightened out of his line of sight and gave her husband a private wink. “Be right back, Sir,” she whispered.

He looked mildly amused—a huge improvement over the surly mood he’d been in most of the weekend—and touched his fingertip to her mouth in lieu of a kiss.

* * * * *



“I don’t think it was Sanders,” Grace said, settling onto the couch.

Owen stopped rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands and looked at her. He was so tired he hadn’t bothered to turn the television on and it was fifteen minutes into one of his favorite shows. After soccer practice, he and the kids had worked on cleaning some more of the previous owner’s junk out of the barn. Part of it was being converted into an indoor play area so the boys could get out of the house when they were wound up during rain or snowy weather.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, taking the cold beer she offered him.

“I asked Stacy to lunch today.” She shifted sideways and tucked her toes under his thigh. “Sanders was in his office with the door open, and he was his usual, flirty self.” She shook her head, thinking. “I don’t know, Owen. I’d think if he was the one who’d gone to Ziegelski he’d be acting differently.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Flirty?”

She gave him an impatient look. “You know how he is.”

The eyebrow dropped and he nodded before taking a long pull from his beer. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed.

“He’s just not acting any differently,” she continued.

“He’s a great showman. Have you ever seen him with clients? Each and every one of them is his best friend in the world while he’s talking to them. He pulls it off like no one I’ve ever seen.” His head dropped onto the back of the couch and he closed his eyes. “I’m sure he’s no different with his real friends.”

She watched him silently for a moment. The idea of Sanders going to the boss was clearly eating at him. He’d thought they’d become friends, despite the fact that they were both teammates and direct competitors for that partner position at the office.

Owen didn’t trust easily. In his mind, being betrayed by someone he considered a friend was one of the worst offenses one person could commit against another, and a blow he would not take lightly or get over any time soon. The man could hold a grudge.

“I wouldn’t write him off so quickly,” she warned, setting her glass of wine on the coffee table as she slid down far enough to rest her head on the high arm of the couch. “There may have been pillow talk, and someone else’s loose lips might have slipped.”

He opened his eyes a crack and slid her a sideways look.

“Stacy is definitely up to something,” she added. “She couldn’t look me in the eye when I was talking to her today. And she wouldn’t go to lunch with me, even after I shot down her no money excuse by offering to pay.”

One corner of his mouth curled, amused. “Did you think she was just going to rat out her boyfriend over salads?”

“Of course not.” She pulled one foot free and poked him in the thigh with her big toe. “I don’t know what I was hoping to find out. I guess I thought she might slip up and tell me something, even if she didn’t really know what she was telling me, if she’s really that close to Sanders.”

He sighed. “I think we’re thinking about this way too much.” He covered her foot with his hand, squeezed and started massaging the arch with his thumb.

“It was a shitty thing to do, even if it was minor in the grand scheme of things.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “It happens. I guess I was wrong to think small-city corporate was going to be any different than big city.” His fingers slipped around the inside of her ankle and up her calf. “I don’t want to think about it any more today.”

She had to admit she was pretty tired of thinking about it as well. Her body started to tingle despite the long day as his fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh.

“Don’t you dare start anything you’re too tired to finish, mister,” she warned as they moved higher. Even as she said the words, she could see his cock growing long and hard within his jeans.

Both eyebrows went up this time. “When have I ever?”

She gave him a dry look. “Do you really want a detailed account?”

The eyebrows slammed together. “Do you really remember actual occasions?”

She giggled, then gasped, then moaned as he found her without underwear beneath the short leg of the cutoff sweatpants she’d stolen from him and turned into pajamas.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” he asked, lightly sliding his fingertips up the crease on the inside of her thigh.

Her pussy instantly filled with heat and wet, opening for him.

“Owen, the boys,” she whispered.

He shook his head and put the beer on the end table. “They’re dead asleep.”

She rolled her leg to the side as he parted the lips of her sex and slipped just the tip of his middle finger inside her, circling her opening.

“Take those off and come here,” he said quietly, easily slipping into assertive mode as he used the slick tip of his finger to circle her clit.

Her back arched as she angled herself into the touch and her nipples pulled tighter.

He used his free hand to unbutton his pants and pull his zipper down. She watched, heat flushing her chest, neck and face at the sight of him stroking his thick length as he freed his cock from his underwear.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, the tip of his middle finger fluttering over her clit.

Grace stood and shucked her shorts while he pushed his jeans and underwear down over his hips. She was more than ready for him as she straddled his hips and angled herself over his cock, still clutched tightly in his own hand.

The moan that poured out of him as she sank fully to the hilt ripped through her entire body. Exhaustion was instantly replaced by the adrenaline rush of being filled to more than capacity. She rose up and came back down, her own back arching and her self-control snapped, gone.

“Yes, baby,” he growled through clenched teeth as she rolled her hips in a tight circle, grinding her aching clit against him where the root of his cock met his pelvis.

He shifted his ass toward the edge of the couch, bringing her arms to rest on the back and her ass up in the air. He fucked upward into her fast and furious, the angle of his cock hitting all the right spots and his body slamming into her clit on each thrust.

She had no idea how long it lasted, all she knew was that she was wild with it in an instant. When it was over, her entire body was tingling with the aftereffects of the orgasm that had gone screaming through her and she was collapsed on top of him, smothering his face with her tits.

“Don’t go,” he breathed, holding her in place so she could only shift backward when she moved to get off him. “Not yet,” he said, lifting the hem of her t-shirt high enough to kiss her still-peaked nipple.

She shivered and they both groaned as the movement caused an aftershock. She braced herself, her hands on either side of his head, as he kissed her other nipple. Her hips rocked reflexively as he flicked it with his tongue and sucked it into his mouth.

“It’s late and we have another long day tomorrow,” she told him, her body already recovering and getting ready for more. “We should go to bed.”

He hummed deliciously against her skin. His cock, still inside her and not completely soft, stirred. “In a minute,” he murmured against her skin. He pulled the t-shirt off over her head and gripped the breast he wasn’t lavishing with his mouth.

“Jesus, Owen,” she gasped, overcome. “What’s gotten into you lately?”

They had a healthy sex life, even when they went awhile without playing out a scene. Except for the times she’d been recovering from giving birth to the boys or if one of them was down sick, they rarely went a week without making love. He’d been after her like a man possessed since their anniversary.

“Legs around my waist,” he ordered, helping her get them around him without breaking their connection.

With her holding tightly to him, he shifted until they were lying on the couch together, him buried inside her as he took her mouth, his tongue plunging deep, making her breathless again in a heartbeat.

She shoved at his jeans as far as she could with her hands, then used her feet to push them off his legs, then held on tight as he fucked her out of her mind. Again.





Chapter Five



Owen was in the barn when he heard the pickup truck pull into the driveway.

He checked his watch. One of the things he liked about Brad Miller, aside from being a low-key, easygoing guy and a good soccer coach to Ian, was the fact that he was always on time.

He was there to pick up the old shelving Owen and Grace had pulled out of the old pantry. During one of the many conversations they’d had about the renovations Owen wanted to make to their old house, it came out that one of Brad’s hobbies was refurbishing old wood into things like rustic picture frames, tables and bookcases.

Brad’s son Adam, who’d quickly become Ian’s best friend when they first moved to the area, practically tumbled out of the passenger door the instant the truck came to a stop. Owen waved to Brad as he got out of his truck, the boys flying past him so Ian could show Adam the play area they were working on in the barn.

“We’re converting a couple of the old horse stalls and the pigpen into places where they can play,” Owen explained as Brad approached.

Brad nodded. “No plans for a horse?” he asked with a half-smile.

Brad and his wife Laura were farmers. They grew wheat, corn and soy as their main source of income. They were also almost completely independent of having to shop at the grocery store. They raised a cow and chickens for slaughter and froze the meat that sustained them all year, and Laura grew and canned all of their own vegetables in her garden. They’d also recently adopted a second retired racehorse.

Grace had become friends with Laura, who was in charge of the grade school soccer program, through signing the boys up for sports. He loved that she’d been inspired to plant a garden and was going to learn to preserve what they grew, but he had to admit he was relieved she wasn’t remotely interested in raising meat or adopting horses.

“I suppose if I had a daughter there might be a pony in my future,” he answered with a laugh. “I’m just going to have to worry about dirt bikes and snowmobiles.”

Brad shifted and tucked his hands into his pockets, looking oddly uneasy.

“Those boards are still in the basement,” Owen said, changing the subject.

Brad looked at him as though he’d forgotten why he was there.

“Right,” he said, and looked down at his feet a moment.

“Come on in.” Owen headed for the house. “Grace is down there putting primer on the pantry walls now.”

“How’s the floor look?” Brad asked, following.

He’d suggested a contractor he knew and trusted when Owen told him he wanted to reinforce the old foundation and drop the floor in one of the low-ceilinged rooms.

“Mike was a great recommendation. I’m sure I’ll use him again.”

Brad nodded and looked pleased, albeit distracted.

Owen led him through the kitchen to the basement. The pantry—or rather what Grace thought was going to be a pantry—was just to the left of the staircase. She had the short, wide basement window open with a stand-up fan on a table to blow the fumes outside. She was facing away from them, singing along with Led Zeppelin’s Going to California playing on the classic rock station.

She let out a little whoop of surprise when she noticed them in the doorway.

“Hey, Brad,” she said, laughing a little as she set the paint roller in the tray and turned the radio off. Owen watched a little crease flicker then disappear between her eyebrows. He looked at Brad, who was looking at her with an expression he didn’t much care for. “What do you think?” she asked, gesturing to the walls.

It took Brad a moment to look around.

What the hell was going on? They’d known the Millers almost as long as they’d lived there and he’d never once caught him looking at Grace that way before.

Although, in the black tank top and jean shorts she was wearing, her feet bare and bright hair in a ponytail, he’d been doing a lot of looking at her that way himself.

“It certainly doesn’t look like it’s going to be your usual dingy pantry,” Brad said after a heartbeat, looking down at the two steps that led into the room and around the perimeter of the floor. “What color are the walls going to be?” he asked Grace.

She looked at Owen. “I think we’re just going to stick with white?” She nodded when Owen agreed then looked back at Brad, smiling. “We’re going with white.”

They weren’t going with white, but she’d find that out in time.

“Those boards are stacked over here,” Owen said.

When all the old pantry shelves were loaded into the back of Brad’s truck, Brad closed the tailgate and gave Owen another strange look.

“Listen,” Brad said, going around the bed and opening the back door of the cab. All the blood rushed from Owen’s head when he came back around with the duffle bag. “You accidentally gave me this when I picked up the kids’ soccer equipment from you the other day.”

Owen had filled in as substitute coach for Brad earlier in the week. He felt a little sick to his stomach as he took the bag from Brad. By the look on Brad’s face, he could tell he’d opened it and had seen what was inside.

“Are you and Grace members at a club?” Brad asked.

For a long moment there was nothing but the washing machine sloshing of his pulse through his ears as his heart started beating again.

His eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a club about an hour and a half from here,” Brad said, hands tucked into pockets. “I figured you weren’t members since Laura and I haven’t seen you there.”

Owen had been wrong about the look he’d just seen Brad giving Grace. It wasn’t just the look of a red-blooded man looking at a beautiful woman—it was the look of a fellow Dom assessing a potential submissive. Man, he’d been away from his own kind for too long if he couldn’t recognize that look any longer.

“Grace and I haven’t played with others since we had the boys,” Owen said as calmly as he could manage while still trying to recover from the shock of thinking he’d been found out.

Brad looked at him steadily for a long moment.

“That’s a shame,” was all he said.

Owen crossed his arms and Brad added, “I went through that for a long time after the kids were born. She was mine. She’d had my children,” he added, punctuating his sentences by jabbing his finger into his chest. “I didn’t want anyone else to touch her.”

Owen nodded in agreement. He’d gone through the exact thing when Grace had the boys. They’d just never gone back to their old ways afterward.

Owen snorted a quiet laugh. “I should have known,” he said, shaking his head.

A smile spread over Brad’s face. “I thought the same damn thing when I opened that bag and realized what I was looking at.”

“If you want to come out with us one night, just let me know,” Brad said when Owen was quiet for a moment. “I can get your name on the guest list.”

The idea of being part of the scene again was enticing. They didn’t have to open their marriage back up to belong to a club where they could mingle with others like them. And the thought of playing with her in public again where everyone could watch caused a rush of power that nearly made him sway where he stood.

Regretfully he said, “We’re short on babysitters since we moved here, and Grace will absolutely not let just anyone watch the boys. Although, we’re going to have to come up with a solution soon. The walls in this old house are a little thin.”

Brad raised his eyebrows. “So…nothing since you moved here?”

Owen shook his head and the other man whistled low.

“I bet we could work something out,” Brad said, and offered his hand.

Owen shook it. “I’ll let you know.”

They talked about soccer practice and summer vacation plans for a few more minutes before they broke up the boys’ play so Brad could get home.

Owen stood in the driveway looking at the back of his house for a long while, wondering if he was denying Grace something she needed. Something beyond the fact that they hadn’t played out a good, long scene in such a long time. Something more than what he could give her.

When she’d first brought him into the scene all those years ago, he’d been a wide-eyed young man who couldn’t believe there were others like him. He’d spent his entire life thinking the things he wanted to do to women were perverted. She’d introduced him to her Dominant, a woman who made what she did to bound, gagged and moaning submissives look like a beautifully choreographed dance. And she’d happily taken him under her wing and showed him everything she knew.

In the early days of their relationship, Grace had been a much sought-after professional submissive. She’d loved being on stage with her body as well as her pain and humiliation on display for sometimes dozens of people to see.

She could take and take and take. There was never a limp dick or a dry pussy in the house when she was tied to the cross, crying out with each whiplash, makeup beautifully wrecked and tears quietly streaming from her innocent blue eyes. And when they’d started doing public performances together, they were often the talk of the scene for months afterward.

They’d both played safely with others, up to and including having protected sex with their play partners, even into the early years of their marriage. But when they decided to bring children into their life, they decided together that it would be just the two of them in play and in bed from that moment forward.

She’d given up her longtime relationship with her first Dominant for him. She’d stepped away from her position in the community as a popular submissive because he’d asked her to, and she’d never once complained about it. He owed it to her to ask if she needed more. It might kill him to share, but he owed it to both of them to know if she needed that interaction with someone other than him.

He took a deep breath to stretch his constricting chest and went back into the house. He could hear the water running in the master bathroom. He checked in with the boys, who were in the family room at the front of the house playing a game that would consume them until either he or Grace pulled them away. Then he went upstairs to see if his wife was in the mood for company in the shower.





Chapter Six



Grace headed into work on a Friday morning, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. She had a date with her husband that night.

He’d refused to give her any details. He’d promised that he’d found someone reliable to watch the boys, and assured her they were going to have a great time. After the gloomy cloud that had been hovering over them since their failed anniversary celebration, she hadn’t had the strength to fight for more information. She was simply going to let go and have fun. It was going to be just the two of them. She couldn’t wait.

She stepped off the elevator, got ten feet away and stopped dead in her tracks. Someone was sitting at her desk, already busy working on her computer.

And it wasn’t just any someone. It was Stacy.

“What’s going on?”

“I have no idea,” Stacy gushed nervously. “I got here this morning and Mary from HR told me I was being assigned to Owen’s desk. I tried to ask what was going on, but she told me it was none of my business.”

Grace turned and nearly ran directly into Mary, who dealt directly with all of the administrative staff. Grace opened her mouth to protest but Mary’s hand snapped up, stopping her from saying anything.

“In my office now,” the older woman said, and turned on her heel.

“You’ve been moved to Dean Sanders’ office,” Mary said when they were in her office with the door closed. “I have been asked to notify you that you’re officially on probation for ninety days.”

Grace’s eyes bugged. “For taking two minutes out of my day to give my husband a blowjob?” she asked, her voice high pitched and incredulous. “Almost a month ago?”

Mary’s cheeks bloomed pink.

“I understand what I did was wrong. I do. Seriously, dock my check for the time if you need to, but I think much more is being made of this than needs to be.”

“Grace,” Mary started patiently, sitting at one of the chairs in front of her desk. She motioned for Grace to take the other. “First of all, you have to understand that Mr. Ziegelski has zero tolerance for anyone who takes liberties of that kind in his office.”

“I got that,” she answered dryly, sitting.

“You were moved because there was a second complaint made regarding possible insubordination toward Mr. Ziegelski.”

Grace’s mind reeled as she tried to come up with something, anything, she could have said that would be misinterpreted as insubordinate toward Ziegelski.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who made the complaint?”

Mary gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

She shook her head, confusion and the lack of information causing her temper to rise. “Then what did I supposedly say?”

“I don’t have all the details, Grace. This went over my head and straight to the boss. He asked me to give you a verbal warning and separate you and your husband. As far as I know I’ll be able to reassign you to Owen’s office at the end of the ninety-day probation period unless Mr. Ziegelski tells me otherwise.”

Grace deflated all at once. Nothing made sense.

In every office she’d ever worked in, much more than just a blowjob happened between coworkers all the time. And no one was ever punished or put on probation before. The first time she’d pleasured her husband at the office—ever, in the entire time she’d known him—and she was ratted out and put on probation.

Worse than that, something she may or may not have said was now in question. She rarely made snide remarks about her coworkers, even to Owen. Even then she only bitched or gossiped to him when they were absolutely, without a doubt alone.

“So I’m not fired?” she asked.

“No. Grace, you’re a terrific worker. We’d hate to lose you.”

Grace snorted. “Except for Ziegelski.”

“Just lay low and let this blow over,” Mary advised.

“Nothing like having to work with my accuser,” Grace muttered.

The little head shake Mary gave Grace was nearly imperceptible.

“It wasn’t Sanders?” Grace asked.

“I really can’t say,” Mary told her, shaking her head very slowly, very obviously confirming Grace’s question.

Grace looked at her for a long moment, then gave her boss a small smile. She mouthed a silent thanks and headed toward her new station. She felt a huge amount of relief that she’d been right about Sanders not being involved. But if Sanders hadn’t gone to Ziegelski about her and Owen, who had? And why?

* * * * *



“What the fuck is your problem, Sanders?”

Before Owen could stop himself, he had Sanders pinned to the narrow strip of wall between the automatic hand dryers. Sanders registered a moment of shock, which quickly rolled into confusion. And then he was clearly pissed.

“What are you talking about?” He jerked his arms in an attempt to free himself from Owen’s grip, but Owen held tight. “Get the hell off me.”

“I thought we were friends,” Owen said quietly, teeth clenched, the tip of his nose almost touching Sander’s nose. “I had no idea you’d stoop so low as to go to Ziegelski about Grace and I. Nice show you put on, acting all insulted when I asked you not to say anything to anyone about seeing Grace’s lipstick on my cock.”

Sanders looked at him as if he’d spoken in tongues.

“Have you lost your mind? I never went to the old man about that.” He stopped struggling and put his arms down on the dryers. “Do you really think I’m the kind of guy who’d tattle about you getting a blowjob from your wife at work?” He looked at Owen with disgust.

Owen’s conviction faltered, which pissed him off further.

“Sure, we’re friends on the basketball court or in the bar on Friday night, but with a senior partner retiring next month and you and I in the running for the promotion, why wouldn’t you do something to make sure you got it over me?” Owen shrugged. “Happens all the time between friends in the corporate world, doesn’t it?”

“You really are a cocksucker.” Sanders shook his head.

“Someone went to him.” Owen was practically shouting in his face now. “Grace was removed from my office this morning.”

Sanders’ head reared back and hit the wall.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing his skull. “What do you mean she was moved?”

“Moved,” he repeated, biting out the word. “As in someone came by and took her things to a different office. Your office. How the fuck do you not know that yet?”

Sanders threw his hands up. “I just got here,” he yelled.

“I’ve got that dipshit you’re banging who doesn’t know her ass from her ear now.”

Owen could tell he was genuinely surprised by the news.

Sanders got his hands on Owen’s chest and pushed, freeing himself.

“Exactly which dipshit are you referring to?”

“You know who I mean.” Owen crossed his arms and didn’t move out of Sanders’ way, leaving him trapped between the dryers without holding him down.

“I really don’t.” A muscle in Sanders’ jaw ticked. “You know goddamn well I’m not fucking anyone lately, so please, enlighten me to which office slut I’m supposedly shtupping so I know exactly what I’m missing.” He yelled the last words.

Owen blinked as the flame of his fury blew out.

He did know Sanders was holding out with his fiancée—a twenty-five-year-old virgin who was saving herself for marriage. He also knew how frustrating it was for the former hustler to be abstinent for as long as he had been. The guy could be an arrogant smartass, but Owen had witnessed him turning down more than one tempting intern interested in seeing his legendary cock in person. He knew the guy was in love.

“You’re not sleeping with Stacy?” he asked, feeling a little ashamed of himself for believing the rumor he was having an affair.

“God no.” Sanders looked repulsed. “I’d rather hang my dick in a pit of fire ants.”

Owen couldn’t help himself. He laughed. Sanders watched him for a second, then relented and smiled as well.

“Well, she’s telling the whole office otherwise,” Owen informed him.

They both straightened and gave each other a wide-eyed look when a toilet flushed. Neither one of them had known anyone else was in the room.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a minute,” Tim Greenburg said as he came out of the stall. “The two of you can go back to comparing dicks after I’m out of here.”

Owen looked at Sanders, who said nothing. He didn’t need to.

They turned toward Tim at the same time.





Chapter Seven



Grace checked her hair and makeup one last time, turned and gave her backside another glance to make sure it looked all right in the dress she was wearing and headed downstairs. Her husband was not in the living room waiting for her with a bottle of wine like he said he’d be. She passed through the dining room to the kitchen, but he wasn’t there either.

“Owen?”

From the basement she heard, “Down here.”

She huffed a sigh and went to the top of the stairs. “What on earth are you doing down there? We’re going to be late for our dinner reservation.”

“Come here,” he called, his voice playful. Tempting. “You need to see this.”

She touched her forehead to the doorframe, summoning a little patience. “Can it wait until after dinner? I have no idea whether this place will give our table away if we’re late or not.”

He called her down again in a singsong voice that made her shake her head and smile. She had to take the narrow stairs sideways in her heels. At the bottom she looked around the laundry room, but he was still nowhere to be found.

“In here,” he called through the open pantry door.

“What on earth,” she muttered, her heels clicking on the bare concrete.

She hadn’t been able to get in the room for three weeks because he wanted to surprise her once the room was finished. She’d thought it was strange he was making such a big deal out of a pantry, but she’d gone along with it. Letting him finish it himself meant she hadn’t had to do any more painting after all.

She stopped just outside the door.

Her first thought was that the walls were not painted the white they’d agreed on. They were a deep, royal purple instead. Electric lights in scrolled wall sconces flickered like candles. There was lush, dark carpet on the floor and medieval-looking wrought iron rings bolted to the walls both near the ceiling and close to the floor. Chopin was playing from the iPod dock on top of the wardrobe in the corner.

And her husband was sitting on the corner of a sheet-draped, sturdy-legged table the length and width of a wide massage table with one foot on the floor and his other leg draped casually over the corner.

He was barefoot and shirtless in an old pair of jeans.

“Happy belated anniversary, baby doll,” he said. The thrill of hearing his scene name for her, in that cool, deep voice, nearly caused her knees to buckle.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” she asked dryly.

He calmly folded his hands over his thigh as he looked her over from head to toe. She shivered at the look of pure desire on his face.

“Goddamn, you look good,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

She was wearing a new dress, bought especially for their night out. It was that deep emerald green he always said was his favorite color on her. The low, square neckline showed quite a bit of the tops of her breasts, the skirt hung to her knee and the whole thing hugged her in all the right places, as though it had been designed just for her.

“You made me scrub and primer this room for this?” she asked.

She ventured a step into the room and looked around. There was a wide, thickly upholstered chair big enough for both of them just to her left. A padded sawhorse with not one, but two padded rails to kneel on and several D-rings bolted to the frame stood in the back opposite the wardrobe—which was surely full of all their toys.

“Now where the hell am I supposed to keep food when I learn to can this fall?” she asked, hands on hips. There would be no paddle if she didn’t misbehave a little. In truth, she wanted to weep with gratitude at the sight of their gorgeous new playroom.

“Because you helped in here as I asked, you’ll be rewarded.” Owen stood, pulling himself up tall and straight, looking at her down the length of his nose. “Unless you keep running that mouth of yours,” he warned.

She shivered. It had been so long. It had been way too freaking long since she’d seen the look on his face, and she wanted it more than anything else in the entire world.

He ran his fingers through the hair draped over her shoulder, letting the strands slide between them. “How long did it take you to get all dolled up like this?” he asked wrapping the end of a curl around his finger.

“I don’t know,” she told him, adding the slightest bit of annoyance into her voice.

“Take a guess,” he said, trailing the end of the curl across her jaw and down her neck. “Pretty please.” The smile he gave her was ice cold.

It made her blood burn hot. “An hour,” she answered, crossing her arms.

“All that work for nothing.” He shook his head, his expression sympathetic. His hand dipped into his pocket. “Put your hair up and strip,” he ordered, a hair elastic between his fingers when his hand reemerged.

“Owen, the Millers only have the boys for a couple of hours,” she started, then stopped at the look on his face.

“The boys are at the Millers’ until morning.” He took her jaw firmly in his hand and leaned in so his face was close to hers. “Now I suggest you do as I say.”

Her heart skipped several beats. Electric heat zipped throughout her entire nervous system. Her stomach filled suddenly with skittish butterflies even as her nipples drew up tight and her pussy heated in anticipation.

She stared up into those cool blue eyes of his just long enough to make his nostrils flare at her challenge, then she dropped her lids and lowered her gaze. She could see the quick expand and contract of his breath in his chest as the rush of beginning play, real play, washed through him.

She felt it too, the frightening thrill of not knowing what the hell was going to happen, but eager for whatever it was he had in mind.

Grace let her fingers brush over his as she took the rubber band from him and he slapped her hand down. She smiled inwardly at both the sting and getting a reaction from touching him when he hadn’t yet allowed her.

“Sorry, Sir,” she whispered, letting her gaze drift lower down his body, knowing he couldn’t see where she was looking from his vantage point high above her.

She stopped just sort of moaning at the sight of his cock, already hard and straining to be free of his jeans. She wanted to drop to her knees, rip open his fly and take him in her mouth. She loved the feel, the taste of him. She loved the way he moaned, low and deep in his chest, when she got it just right.

“Hair,” he snapped, and turned away from her.

Grace gathered her hair high on her head and twisted it into a messy knot to get it out of the way. She quickly reached back and unzipped the dress she’d just put on. As she stepped out of it and draped it over the arm of the chair on her left, Owen turned with her collar in his hand.

A jolt of pure desire ripped through her. She lifted her eyes to his to show him how much the appearance of her collar was affecting her, and he arched an eyebrow at her.

“Out of practice, aren’t we?” he asked, darkly playful. He snapped his fingers and she dropped her gaze once more. “I think someone needs to be reminded of the rules.”

He moved around behind her, reaching in front of her to fasten her collar around her neck. A sliver of panic shoved its way under her ribs, causing her breath to come in short gasps as the lock clicked in place. Owen gave the wide leather a quick, painless jerk backward, fully getting her attention.

“You do not look at me until I give you permission.” His voice was ominous, his breath hot on her ear. “You do not touch me until I say you can touch me, and only the way I tell you. You do not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand me?”

Her nipples pushed against the inside of her bra. “Yes Sir,” she whispered.

“Good answer.” He bit down on her earlobe hard enough to make her gasp, then released her with the smallest of shoves. “Now why aren’t you naked yet?”

“Sorry,” she breathed, drifting easily into her role as she hurriedly unhooked her bra and laid it aside. She stepped out of her shoes as she removed her panties and stood, hands at her sides.

Owen paced a slow circle around her, sizing her up, unnerving her simply by looking at her. She wanted to throw herself on him, back him up to the table, free his cock, test exactly how sturdy that table was by riding him until they were both screaming wildly. She waited for her next instruction instead.

He moved out of her line of sight once more, came back with her wrist cuffs. Her arms prickled with goose bumps the second the thinly padded lining touched the delicate skin of her wrist. She shivered with each snap of their locks, first one then the other. Her nipples reached toward him, eager for his attention. Her pussy swelled with heat and wet, readying for him, dampening the insides of her thighs.

She did moan when his fingers brushed her ankles as he locked her leg cuffs in place. On his knees behind her, he slid his hands up the backs of her thighs, spread them out over the flesh of her ass, stroking her. He touched his lips to her skin, grazed her gently with his teeth, kissed the raised scar on the upper part of her right hip.

His hands slid around the front of her thighs. He pulled her back against him, bit down solidly into her hip as he dipped his fingers between her legs and stroked her.

“Jesus, Owen,” she sighed, as she swayed back against him, then startled upright as he cracked her loud and hard on the ass.

He stood, clutched her tits roughly and pulled her back to his chest.

“You are really have forgotten your place, haven’t you?” He chuckled wickedly, using the wet tip of the finger he’d been using on her pussy to stroke her peaked nipple. She resisted letting her head fall on his shoulder. “I asked you a direct question,” he said, pinching the taut nub for emphasis.

She squeaked and flinched with the pain. “Yes Sir,” she said, and winced at the giggle in her voice. “Ow, fuck,” she gasped when he pinched her other nipple harder.

“Such a dirty mouth.” He clutched her jaw and turned her face toward him, taking her mouth hard, possessively. She leaned against the rigid line of his cock as it pressed into the small of her back. And then it was gone. “On the table, on your back.”

She wanted to clap her hands together and squeal with glee. It was ridiculous and she knew it, but she could hardly contain herself she was so happy they were playing. In a sexy-as-fuck room he’d designed just for the two of them, no less. She lay back on the table and found it wasn’t quite long enough to hold her full height. Her legs hung off the end from mid-calf down.

“I have a present for you,” he said softly, stringing a thin line of rope between the D-rings on her wrist cuffs before tying it to something she couldn’t see on the underside of the table.

“You do?” she asked, then jumped when he snapped his fingers in front of her face, reminding her she’d spoken out of turn.

“I do,” he answered anyway, giving the line a tug to make sure it was secure. Standing at her head, he ran his hands down the length of her arms, smoothed them over her breasts then gave them a rough squeeze. He gave her nipples another unforgiving pinch. “I had it custom made for you,” he added.

He trailed his fingertips down the middle of her stomach as he moved around the table. Her back arched and she had to choke down a groan when he tickled her along the seam of where her thigh met her hip, and then along the sensitive inside of her thigh. He shifted her leg so it hung off the side at the knee, bent it backward until it was partly folded around the edge of the table and hooked the D-ring on her ankle cuff to a hook on a strap underneath.

“I’m not really sure how much you’re going to like it.” He bent and nipped at the inside of her thigh before moving around the end of the table to secure her other leg. “But I can’t wait for you to see it,” he said, smiling wickedly as the last lock snicked in place, effectively immobilizing her.

She went ahead and met his gaze. Whatever he was talking about, he seemed pleased with himself. He ignored the direct eye contact as he stepped back and took her in, letting his eyes wander over her body, linger between her legs for a long moment.

“Look at what you do to me,” he told her, rubbing his hand over his cock through his jeans. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream yourself raw.”

The sight of him touching himself combined with the low, even tone of his voice sent a shock wave rolling through her pussy. Her clit throbbed with it.

“First things first,” he said, moving past her to the cabinet in the corner.

She stole the unguarded moment to take in the sight of him, his strong back and beautiful ass, and then he turned around with her “gift” in his hands.

And her mouth went completely and utterly dry.





Chapter Eight



Oh, it had been way too long since he’d freaked her the fuck out.

And, son of a bitch, it felt amazing to do it again.

She’d thought she was going to get away with sassing him about the room, but he was going to make her earn every stroke of the paddling he knew she wanted.

“No,” she yelled, struggling wildly against her restraints. “God damn it, Owen. Let me go right this fucking second.”

“You do remember you get ten extra hits every time you say fuck, right?” he asked, the way he might ask a misbehaving child.

There was genuine fear in her eyes. His cock hardened more even as he fought the urge to drop the coiled single-tail whip in his hands and soothe her until she settled.

The permanent, raised scar on her ass she’d gotten from an inexperienced Dom-in-training was an everyday reminder of what could go wrong when playing with them. She was rightfully afraid of them, but once he’d gotten the idea to have a short one made to add to their toy box, one he’d be able to use in the limited space of their new room, he hadn’t been able to resist.

“What’s your safeword, baby doll?”

She stilled and gave him a venomous look. “It’s cricket.”

“Correct.” He smiled indulgently. “Are you ready to call it now?”

She glared up at him but said nothing.

He set his expression to stern, his blood racing hot, eager for her to fight.

“I asked you a direct question,” he reminded her.

“No. Sir.” She bit out both words through clenched teeth, arms straining against the rope tied to her wrists.

“Good girl.” He stepped closer to the table and let one end of the deep-blue ribbon he’d tied around it dangle against her mouth. “Unwrap your present now.”

Her lips clamped together.

“With your teeth, of course,” he said smoothly, as though she had another choice.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, her eyes bright with anger.

He threw his head back and laughed. “We’re up to thirty.” He twitched the whip so the ribbon danced against her face. “Pull.” His expression went dark. “Now.”

Her nostrils flared as though she was about to cry, but she bit down on the end of the ribbon. Owen pulled so the bow came free and drifted onto her face and neck.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He released the tail end of the whip, letting it fall open across her chest.

She tried to spit the end of the ribbon to the side but most of it stayed pooled around her neck. Inspired, he laid the handle of the custom-made, four-foot-long toy between her breasts.

“This is my second favorite color on you,” he told her, reaching behind her neck and bringing the dark-blue satin around. “You know that, don’t you?”

She continued to glare silently as he tied a bow just below her black collar.

He shrugged. “No matter if you don’t.” He placed a gentle kiss on her still lips and picked up the handle again. “Oh wait,” he said, as if he’d forgotten something. He went to the cabinet and brought out a blindfold.

“No.” She shook her head, clearly becoming more panicked. “No.”

“Five for every time you tell me no,” he told her sternly, his face close to hers. “That puts us up to forty strokes.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Shall we go for fifty?”

“That’s a trick question, you—” She snapped her mouth shut.

“Me what?” he asked, truly wanting to know what name she had poised on the tip of her tongue. He chuckled softly when she didn’t answer. “Head up.”

She raised her head so he could slide the blindfold over her eyes. When he was finished, he kissed her ruthlessly until she was open wide and moaning into his mouth, neck arched and hips angling off the table. He skimmed his hand over her belly, wet his fingers deep inside her soaking-wet cunt and toyed with her clit just to the point her hips started to rock in response. Then he stopped.

She was gasping for air when he righted himself. It took everything in him not to free his cock and plunge deep inside her right then.

Her whole body jerked when he took up the handle of the short whip and let the soft braided tail slide along the underside of her tits. He flicked his arm to the side, far away from where it might actually strike her, and the fine, braided leather split the air with a mighty crack. The muscles in her arms and thighs strained as she pulled hard on her ties and screamed long and loud.

The sound rushed straight to his cock.

He swung the whip in a wide, slow arc over her body and let it fall over her now-trembling stomach. He stroked it across her skin with the same gentle touch he’d used under her breasts and then snapped it again, making her scream, only less enthusiastically this time.

Using the first six inches of the tip, Owen flicked it against her breasts, making her gasp. Her tits quivered beautifully with the force of her body trembling combined with the leather flicking against her hard, peaked flesh. He snapped it against her lightly at first, gradually increasing the intensity of the snap until her back arched up high off the table and she moaned, a hairsbreadth away from genuine pain.

He grabbed one breast in his hand and squeezed as he covered her nipple with his mouth and plunged two fingers into her pussy. She was fever hot.

“I’m thinking you don’t hate the whip so much,” he observed, his lips touching hers. He dipped his tongue into her mouth for a brief moment, watched hers chase his touch as he retreated, and snapped the whip in the air behind him.

She called out a highly blasphemous curse and he laughed. “There we have it,” he whispered against her mouth. “Fifty.”

He alternated stroking her with the tail—over her stomach, in her ticklish armpits, between her legs—and cracking the whip in the air until she screamed every time its ear-splitting sound broke the mellow flow of the music playing in the room. After a few moments, he added sharps snaps of just the tail against her thighs, making beautiful red welts rise on her pure white skin.

When she was writhing out of control, he threw it aside, gripped the insides of her thighs high up near her pussy and covered her hot, swollen clit with his mouth. She cried out a lusty, desperate sound as he sucked and licked and kissed until he heard the unmistakable sound of her getting ready to scream out her orgasm.

Then he stopped.

“No, no, no, no,” she chanted, over and over as he completely stepped away from her. Her legs strained against the restraints hard enough to make the leather straps creak as she tried to pull them together to give herself some relief.

“I’m pretty sure I just counted ten more nos,” he said, and kissed her so she could taste herself on his mouth.

“God, Owen, please,” she panted, reaching for him with as much of herself as she could when he pulled away again.

He moved around to the head of the table and planted his hands on either side of her head. “Who?” he asked.

“Fuck.” She winced. “Sorry. Sir.”

He hummed an appreciative sound as he unzipped his jeans.

“I love how your dirty mouth gets you into so much trouble. It’s almost too easy, really,” he said, sighing as his cock came free of his clothes. “Let’s put your dirty mouth to good use, shall we?” He hooked his hands under her shoulders and moved her until her head was resting against the end of the table, angled back slightly.

“Yes,” she breathed, opening for him when he pushed his cock down and touched the already-wet tip to her lips. He spread the fluid over her mouth and nearly lost his mind when she sucked him deep inside the moment he positioned himself to enter her.

It was almost too much to take, the hot feel of her mouth pulling hard on his cock combined with the sight of her naked, bound and spread open for him. The little red marks from the whip dotted her pure, white skin and her sweet, pink pussy gleamed in the glow coming from the wall lights.

His teeth ground together as he pulled back and fucked into her mouth, careful not to go too deep in spite of the urgent desire to plunge to the hilt. The rush of it made his entire body burn hot. He could hear the ragged sound of his own breath and the moan that rose up from deep within him.

His balls pulled up tight, priming to go off any moment, but he held back, needing the feel of his wife’s unbelievably erotic mouth on his cock for as long as he could possibly hold out. When he knew he was getting too close to the edge, he gripped her jaw so it opened and pulled out very slowly.

“No, please,” she begged, her fingernails scraping against the fabric of his jeans as her bound hands grasped for him. “More. I want more.”

He tsked at her. “Greedy girl,” he taunted, reluctantly tucking himself back into his pants. He’d let himself get so close to coming, his hands were shaking “I owe you for that sassy mouth of yours. What do you say we get to it?”

She moaned. “Not with the whip.”

He clutched her jaw again. “I’ll use whatever I like, and don’t you forget it,” he told her, using the mild, ominous tone of voice she’d once admitted to secretly loving.

“Please, not with the whip,” she whimpered, and her breath hitched on the intake.

She swung her leg up as though she was going to attempt to get herself free when he unhooked the first ankle cuff to turn her over. He brought his hand down with a loud crack against her thigh and she stilled with a surprised squeak.

“Unless you’re going to call your safeword, I suggest you hold still until I tell you to move,” he barked impatiently. “Otherwise it’s going to be a very, very long time before you’re going to be able to sit on that beautiful ass of yours.”

When she made no effort to move or respond, he lifted her freed leg onto the table and moved to disconnect the other. He loosened the rope binding her wrists without completely untying it, pulled the edge of the sheet until her body was perilously close to the edge, and rolled her onto her stomach.

He couldn’t help but laugh to himself at the surprised sound she made as she flipped over and landed solidly on the padded table, facedown. He quickly got the rest of the sheet out from under her and gave her bare bottom a little pat.

“Up,” he ordered. “Ass only.”

She went up on her knees as he secured the rope holding her arms again. He removed the blindfold and tossed it aside, got two pillows from the cabinet and put them both under her hips, raising her ass to him without leaving her neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. While she was still blinking, trying to regain focus of her eyes, he got the crop out of the cabinet, stuck it in his back pocket where she couldn’t see it, and picked the whip up from the floor.

“You with me, baby doll?” he asked, touching the soft, split end to her cheek.

Her deep-blue eyes, all the bluer for the dark makeup that was now beautifully smudged by the mask, gave her a silent but unmistakable eat-shit-and-die look. He bit down on the handle and moved around to the head of the table again, letting the tail of the whip fall where it may.

He stroked her back, digging his fingers into the long muscles, kneading some of the tension out of them until she was practically purring and arching into his touch. He let the bulge of his cock rest against her bound hands, pretended he didn’t notice so he wouldn’t have to add to her punishment as her hand turned, cupped and stroked him. He rocked his hips, grinding into her touch as he leaned over her, hands splayed over the satiny-smooth skin of her gorgeous round ass.

He took the whip out of his mouth. “That feels good,” he told her approvingly, “but you’re not going to get out of it that easily,” he added, as though she’d initiated fondling him, and cracked the whip in the air very close to her hip.

She jumped and screamed, then screamed again, raw fear ripping the sound from her lungs as he snatched the crop out of his back pocket and struck her directly next to the scar on her hip with it.

“You fucker,” she screamed, instantly realizing he hadn’t hit her with the dreaded whip. “You fucking cocksucker.”

He chuckled. “I love you too, pet,” he cooed, and struck her again as he moved around to the foot of the table, his cock aching from the sight of the small welts as they raised on her clear skin.

Owen smacked her with the crop a dozen times in rapid succession, alternating sides and hesitating half a beat between hits. He smoothed his hands over her quickly reddening flesh, and got her another dozen times while she gasped and flinched with every stroke. She moaned and rocked back against him when he pulled her up higher on her knees and buried his face in her pussy, licking her slick folds and flicking his tongue over her clit.

She muttered something he didn’t quite understand when he backed off suddenly. Her arms pulled tight as she looked over her shoulder and stretched back, reaching for him with her ass, wanting more. He moved to the head of the table and took a long, rough pull from her mouth.

He threw both the whip and the crop to the floor impatiently and stalked to the cabinet for the paddle. She moaned and her eyes rolled closed for a moment. She loved the paddle even more than she hated the whip.

“All right, baby doll,” he said, using his this-is-going-to-hurt-you-much-more-than-it’s-going-to-hurt-me voice. “Twenty-four down and about another hundred to go. Let’s start with another twenty. Count down with me. And you’d better say it like you mean it,” he said brightly, and swung the paddle, landing it solidly on her ass.





Chapter Nine



At number thirteen on the next round, Grace’s head came up and she screamed, “God damn it, Owen. You keep hitting me in the same fucking spot and it hurts.”

His hand froze in midair, the leather-covered paddle shaking in his grip. He ground his teeth together to keep from laughing. Of course it fucking hurt.

“Well, well, well,” he said, laying the paddle carefully across the small of her back.

He knew damn well his aim was better than that. Although he had been in the same, sweet, fleshy area of her bottom just above the back of her thigh for a little while. His bare hand came down with a thunderous crack just above the spot in question.

Grace cried out and gave him a murderous look over her shoulder.

He cracked her again, slightly higher still. She dropped her forehead to the leather tabletop and screamed through clenched teeth. He smoothed his hand over her fiery-red flesh and swallowed a groan at the feel, the sight of it. Then slammed his open palm down again just above the last spot, but close enough she felt it.

Her entire body tensed and released. A long, guttural groan poured out of her throat as she crossed the threshold between fight and submission.

Owen climbed onto the table behind her with his knees between hers, pressed his cock into the seam of her ass and stretched out over her back. The heat radiating from her firm, round bottom through his pants onto his dick about sent him rocketing out of the stratosphere. The fine sheen of sweat covering her back mixed with the sweat on his chest. He shifted his hips and ground against her, took her earlobe between his teeth.

“Let’s try that again,” he told her. “What did you really mean to say?”

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.

“That’s more like it.” He sucked on her earlobe, making her ass wriggle against him deliciously, bit her neck, took his sweet time trailing nips and kisses along the sensitive curves of her back until she was quivering, begging for him to please fuck her, she needed it so bad.

“Not yet,” he said, picking up his paddle. “All right,” he told her cheerfully as he hopped off the table. “Since I lost count, let’s take this from the top, shall we?”

She moaned.

“From twenty,” he said, making sure the paddle landed as hard as he knew she could take it just above the spot that caused her to curse at him. Owen glanced stinging blows over the back of her thighs as she counted, her voice becoming more strained as the numbers grew smaller. He got no response at ten.

“What number was that?” he asked, his paddle positioned should she answer.

She didn’t answer.

He set the paddle aside and smoothed his hands over her fever-hot flesh.

“Are you still with me?” he asked gently.

She had her face turned almost completely into the padded tabletop and her breath was coming in short little pants. A single tear, inky from her mascara, rolled across the bridge of her nose.

“Please, Sir,” she whispered, the sound barely audible. She was so far under, her voice sounded otherworldly. “Please fuck me.”

Goddamn, he could come. A year or more out of practice and he could still push her this far. The power rush made him want to beat his chest with his fists and roar.

And to fuck her while she was in this state, when she may or may not know what was really happening, would have been nothing more than masturbation.

“What’s your safeword?” he asked, keeping his tone calm.

She let out a deep, unsteady breath. “Please.”

“Grace,” he barked, giving her the barest of slaps on the outside of her thigh.

“Yes,” she half hissed, half moaned. “More please, Sir.”

She was too far out of her head and he knew it. He very gently grazed his teeth over the tip of her spine and made her giggle in a deliciously distracted way. He touched his cheek lovingly to her red-hot bottom, reveling in the heat he’d caused, stroked her back and rallied himself to wait until she came back from wherever it was she’d gone.

When he felt her relax completely onto the table, he untied her hands and laid her arms at her sides to let her circulation come back on its own. He got the pillows out from under her hips and turned her onto her side, took her hair down and used the corner of the sheet to wipe her damp eyes, cleaning some of her ruined makeup off in the process.

He smiled at her when her eyes eventually drifted open.

“Hi,” he said, his heart swelling with the unbelievably huge love he had for her.

She smiled and blinked slowly. “I missed you, Sir,” she whispered, weakly lifting her hands one at a time so he could unlock her cuffs.

He paused long enough to kiss her softly. “I missed you too, baby doll.”

Her eyes closed again and she was still while he unlocked her ankle cuffs. He removed her collar and let it fall open, picked her up in his arms and carried her to the chair in the corner. He sat, draping her legs over one arm while resting her upper body on the other.

“The room is tits,” she told him, shifting her hips as she settled in his lap without sitting directly on her tender bottom.

“You are tits,” he said with a laugh, kissing her gently when she angled her face toward his.

He let one hand rest gently on her ass while the other cradled her head. Her arms came up around his neck and gripped him tight. He could tell she was going to come back with a vengeance when she returned from whatever realm she went to when she went deep. He braced himself.



A fireball burst through her entire body as her head dropped back into reality. She could feel his long, thick cock against her side. That combined with the dreamy way he was kissing her was the equivalent of pouring gasoline into a bonfire. She wasn’t going to be able to get him inside her fast enough.

He practically lifted her in the air himself when she started to shift so she was straddling him, her unsteady hands fumbling with the zipper of his unbuttoned jeans. He sucked in a sharp breath as she clutched his incredibly hard cock and angled herself over him while he attempted to wriggle his jeans down his hips.

The sound of the groan that rumbled up out of his chest tore through her as she touched his hot, swollen head to her cunt and sat down hard. The first jolt of her orgasm caused her back to arch and her hips to grind down on him. She braced her hands on his shoulders, raised herself up on wobbly legs, and lost her fucking mind.

She could hear herself calling out his name as she rode him wildly, crest after teeth-jarring crest crashing through her from where he filled her to impossibly full outward. His grunts and gasps, equally as desperate as hers, filled her ears, electrifying the tips of her fingers and burning through her nipples, her clit.

And when she didn’t think she could take any more, he gripped her hips and fucked wildly up into her, pushing her farther over the edge of bliss than she ever thought possible as he came with a gloriously primal growl.

She collapsed against his chest even as he continued to pulse and throb inside her. She pressed her lips to his sweaty neck, touched her tongue to his salty skin, breathed in the heady smell their bodies made together. Eventually he went completely slack beneath her, panting for breath, their bodies still connected.

“Fucking hell, Grace,” he said after a very long time. “I hate to say we should wait a year again, but maybe we should wait a year again.”

She smiled into the curve of his shoulder.

“I still can’t feel my toes,” he added, stroking her bottom lightly.

She winced. Then she thumped his shoulder with her fist and sat up.

“The whip was a dirty trick,” she scolded, and thumped him again.

He laughed, then dropped into his stern face. “The whip was long overdue.” He touched his fingers, still full of the unmistakable smell of her arousal, to her lip just under her nose.

Remarkably, her body sprang to life instantly.

“Tell me not to use it again and I won’t.” He slipped two fingers into her mouth.

She sucked and his eyes flashed dark.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, smirking as his cock, which hadn’t yet gone soft, jerked within her. “You want to take this upstairs like normal people?”

She angled her head back until his fingers almost slipped free, then sucked them back in and shook her head.

“Did I tell you the builder who custom-made that table asked for my specific leg measurements?” he asked conversationally, taking his fingers out of her mouth.

“You didn’t,” she answered, wrapping her arms around his neck as he shifted toward the edge of the chair.

“Well, I did. And do you know what that means?” he asked, getting his arms under her as he stood with her clinging to him.

“I really don’t.” She knew full well where he was going with that.

“That means,” he set her carefully on the edge of the table, “that your sweet pussy should be at exactly the right height for me when I’m standing here, comfortably.” He gasped as though he was surprised when she lay back without him slipping out of her. “Well, would you look at that.”

“Best anniversary present ever,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist as she reached for him. She needed his mouth, his body pressed to hers. She needed to be touching as much of him as possible. “How are you going to top this next year?”

Mercy, he was rock hard again as he sank deeper.

“I’ll think of something,” he promised.





Chapter Ten



“You’ll be back at your desk on Monday,” Owen said, bringing Grace out of a doze.

She opened her eyes and looked up from where her head rested on his shoulder. He lifted his head from the edge of the deep, claw-foot bathtub and smiled.

“Turns out it was Tim, not Sanders, who went to Ziegelski.”

She frowned. “Tim?”

“He was in the bathroom the day Sanders was giving me a hard time about the lipstick.” His smile widened when she giggled. “We had no idea he was in the room.”

She gasped and her eyes went wide. “He overheard us talking the day he came in after Ziegelski reamed us,” she said. “He’s the reason I was moved from my desk.”

Owen nodded.

“Why would Tim go to the boss about something like that? It’s not like he’d be considered for partner even if he had something more than a little office indiscretion to use against you.”

He shrugged one gorgeous shoulder, stirring up the fragrant scent of the milk and honey bath when the water rippled.

“Apparently he thought if he could come up with some dirt on Sanders and I, he’d have a chance.” He rolled his eyes. “And Stacy isn’t sleeping with Sanders. She’s been telling everyone she is so he looks bad to Ziegelski.”

“Let me guess. She’s really having an affair with Tim.”

He simply smiled in response. He took the washcloth draped over the side of the tub, soaked it and squeezed the water over her chest where it was exposed over the surface of the opaque water.

“Tim knows what a puritan Ziegelski is,” he said. “He’s been playing into the boss’s high moral standards to try to get on his good side.”

“If he’d put as much effort into doing his job well as he did trying to mess things up for everyone else, he might actually be in the running.”

“Right?” He gently stroked the washcloth over her neck.

She practically purred at the feel of his touch. “Poor Stacy.”

He snorted. “Poor Stacy knew exactly what she was getting into.”

She shook her head. “I really don’t think she did. She’s a good worker, but she’s not that bright. He probably fed her enough bullshit she thought she’d attached her star to the right comet tail.”

He was quiet for so long she looked up at him again.

“Don’t worry about Stacy,” he told her, his tone serious. “She’s not the innocent little rube you might think she is.”

She sat straight up and looked at him over her shoulder. “What does that mean?”

He sighed, clearly realizing he should have kept his mouth shut.

“I think Stacy had her own reasons for wanting to get you away from your desk.”

“I’ll kill that little bitch,” she muttered.

His eyebrows shot up and he laughed. The warm, quiet sound immediately squashed the flash of anger that threatened to ruin the bliss of the moment.

She would have bet everything she held dear that her husband had given the little slut the same amused look he was wearing right then when she made her pass at him.

“What did she do?” she asked, settling back against his chest again.

“It doesn’t matter.” The washcloth disappeared under the water as he ran it down her chest between her breasts. She could feel his cock stir against her back.

“I want to know,” she told him, sighing as the cloth stroked her beneath the swell of her breasts, then brushed ever so lightly across one then the other of her nipples.

“She attempted to do the same thing you did for our anniversary.”

“Suck your cock?” She rolled her eyes. “How original.”

“For the record,” he added, “she landed ass up with her face in the carpet when I rolled my chair away from her as fast as I could. I warned her she got one free fuckup, but if she did it again I was going to tell my wife.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “And I made it very clear she did not want me to tell my wife.”

“Damn straight she doesn’t,” she muttered, shifting her hips between his legs as the cloth trailed down her stomach. The water rippled again as he laughed silently.

Grace draped one leg over the side of the tub when he abandoned the cloth and slipped his fingers between the folds of her sex.

He hummed near her ear. “Maybe I should tell you every time one of the girls at the office hits on me,” he murmured, stroking her clit gently. “Look what it does to you,” he observed, toying with her.

“I’m clearly still not thinking straight,” she responded, bringing her arms around his neck from behind to pull him down for a kiss.

She could feel his cock swelling further, pressing against the small of her back, and marveled at how easy he still was, even all these years later.

“Wait.” She pulled back. “Do girls at work hit on you often?”

Owen laughed, tucked his hands under into her armpits and lifted. She stood and turned to face him as he pulled the drain plug and stood as well.

“Owen? How often?” she repeated, her hands making a slapping sound as she clapped them on her hips.

He stepped out of the tub and held her hand to help her out as well.

And said nothing.

She snatched the towel away from him when he tried to dry her off and he laughed harder. When she turned her back to him, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. She couldn’t help herself—she pressed her sore bottom against his erection and shivered. Goose bumps rippled over her skin and her nipples peaked to aching when he sank his teeth into the curve between her shoulder and neck.

“I love you feisty,” he growled.

“No one really hits on you, do they?” she asked, turning to face him. “You just said that to get a rise out of me.”

He said nothing.

“Owen,” she warned.

He bent suddenly and hoisted her over his shoulder.

“Mmm, look at this beautiful red ass,” he said, running his hand over her bottom as he carried her out of the bathroom. “What do you say we go do it in bed like normal people for a little while.”

“If we must,” she sighed.

“So, what exactly did you say to Sanders to convince him to take the meeting for me the day of our anniversary?” he asked, carrying her down the hall. “He was pretty surprised to hear there were rumors about him and Stacy. You couldn’t have used that to threaten him or he would have known.”

“I like the view from up here,” she told him, watching the flex of his ass and the long, strong lines of his legs, his feet leaving wet footprints on the wood floor as he closed the distance between the bathroom and bedroom in long strides.

“It’s not so bad from where I am either,” he answered, kissing her hip.

“I didn’t exactly come right out and say I knew about him and Stacy,” she said, falling onto her back with a sigh when he laid her on the bed and stretched out over her. “That would be indiscreet, wouldn’t it?”

A delicious thrill vibrated through her at the smirk on his face.

“I just told him I knew about his little indiscretion in Vegas,” she added, stroking her hands over his back. His skin was just as soft as hers from the bath.

“Yes, well.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “He thought you were referring to the insane amount of money he lost at the blackjack tables while he was there, and he was pissed at me for telling you about it.”

She frowned. “You didn’t tell me he lost a lot of money on that trip.”

He nodded. “Exactly.” And then his expression was suddenly very serious. “Am I enough for you?” he asked.

She wrapped her legs around his and dug her fingers into his ass, trying to coax him inside her. “If there was any more of you I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

One corner of his mouth lifted then dropped again.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said, resisting. “Do you ever feel like you want to be more involved in the scene again? And not just with me all the time.”

She got what he was asking.

“Would I like to find a club and be part of the community again? Yes,” she answered, trailing her fingertips up his spine. “Do I need to play with another Dom?” She shrugged ambiguously. “Do I need to go back to being fucked by other Doms?” She shook her head slowly. “It never crosses my mind.”

He looked skeptical. “Never?”

She smacked him on the ass and was rewarded with the head of his cock pressing against her eager sex. She moaned and her hips came off the bed to take all of him in.

“Never,” she promised.

* * * * *



“I had a feeling about the two of you,” Laura said, handing Grace a cup of coffee.

Grace blushed. She sat at the table in Laura’s open, farmhouse kitchen, settling her tender bottom carefully onto the cushioned chair.

“It’s not exactly something you can bring up at soccer practice or the school play, is it?” she asked with a laugh.

“No, it’s really not.” Laura shook her head, bringing a sugar and creamer set to the table. “Still,” she continued, taking the chair across from Grace. “How long have we known each other? You’d think it might have come up before now.”

“It’s been so long since I talked about it with anyone but Owen.” Grace watched the kids playing in the Millers’ backyard.

Ian and Adam were playing on an elaborate wood-framed swing set. They were racing to see who could get from one end of the monkey bars to the other faster. Adam’s older sister Emma cheered them on from the end they were racing toward while Liam stood staring at his watch, looking every bit like his father as he timed them.

“For that matter, it’s been forever since Owen and I talked about it,” Grace added, turning to Laura. “Have you and Brad ever gone a long time without, you know?”

Relief over finding out she and Owen had friends in the scene didn’t immediately squelch the initial awkwardness she always felt talking about it.

“We didn’t play while I was pregnant and then for three months after each of the kids was born, but no longer than that.” She raised a hand before Grace could respond. “But we’ve always lived here, and my sister and I swap babysitting hours all the time. I heard you and Owen haven’t really found anyone since you moved here.”

“Not before last night.” Grace sighed wistfully and sipped her coffee. “Owen and I are both only children. His parents are great with the kids in small doses, and my parents live far away. It has to be nice to have family so close by.”

“As it is with any family, it has its pitfalls,” Laura said with a smirk. “But the babysitting thing seems to work for everyone. Brad and I get the time to do our thing, my sister gets a break from her three when it’s our turn to take them, and the kids are growing up with their cousins as some of their first friends.”

Grace noted the look that came over Laura’s face.

“You know,” she said, her smile turning impish, “I bet my sister would be willing to watch your kids occasionally if you wanted to expand the sitting pool.”

Grace blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if we were childfree on the same nights, we could swap. Or play together.” She tipped her head toward the window facing the yard. “The four of us.”

As if on cue, Brad Miller appeared out of one of the barns beyond the fenced-in yard. Grace had to admit she’d admired him on more than several occasions. It was hard not to. He was stunning—dark hair and gray eyes, skin that turned a deep tan in the summer, arms a girl could hang from and thighs like tree trunks.

She looked back at Laura, whose smile widened in response.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Grace. Even before Brad came home and told me he’d talked to Owen, I used to catch myself thinking about what it would be like to be tied up and tortured by your husband every once in a while.”

A bubble of jealously swelled and then immediately burst into a wave of pride.

“I love my husband and his crazy-mad cat whip skills to no end,” Laura continued, “but variety is indeed the spice of life, darling.”

Grace could do nothing but smile as she looked back out the window, and at Brad as he strode toward the house, sweat around the collar and under the arms of his t-shirt. She could see the muscles of his thighs through his jeans as he took long strides toward the house. She caught sight of the size of his large, work-dirty hands and shivered at the thought of the impact they would make as they came down on her.

He seemed to be looking directly at her, as though he knew they were talking about him and understood exactly what they were talking about. And then her heart melted as he turned abruptly, summoned by his daughter, and joined the kids at their game.

Laura tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Her gaze dropped to Grace’s mouth for a lingering moment, then she lifted her dark-brown eyes and said, “I’d love it if we could play as a foursome some time.”

Grace squirmed in her seat as her head flooded with images of Owen standing shirtless and sweating over a bound Laura. She could see the muscles of his chest and arms straining as he wielded the cat whip he loved but she herself hated. She shivered a little when that thought immediately turned to her being at dark-and-dangerous Brad’s mercy. And she could very clearly imagine the dirty things Owen and Brad would surely make her and Laura do to each other while they watched.

“We’re having a cookout for my family next weekend,” Laura said. “You and Owen should bring the kids by. Meet my sister and her family.”

Grace drew in a deep breath and considered her answer very carefully.

“I’d love to come to a cookout, but I’m not sure Owen will go for the other.”

Or would he? Was that what he’d been getting at the night before?

Her gaze passed between Laura and Brad, then returned.

She smiled. “I’ll talk to him.”