Page 19 of Take Me, Sir

Dean

I was fairlycertain I'd gone about this whole thing in the wrong way. I'd assumed that my inability to forget my night with Kyndall needed to be processed like some sort of hunger. Once I'd had my fill, I'd be satisfied and able to move on. When she told me that Dalton was her brother, I tried to walk away, telling myself that I didn't need to be with her. I could find another woman to satiate my appetite.

Then I'd seen the hunger in her eyes when she said that she wanted me. How was I supposed to resist that? It would've taken a stronger man than me to have turned down a woman like Kyndall, no matter how complicated my friendship with her brother may have made things.

Besides, once I had her again, I'd be able to walk away. One more night, and I wouldn't want her anymore. We'd part as two consenting adults who'd enjoyed each other's company. We were clear about where we stood. As long as Dalton didn't find out, things would continue on as if nothing had happened.

I'd managed to keep that train of thought the entire way up to her apartment. Then, my mouth had been on her, and I hadn't thought of anything else until we were lying in her bed together and I hadn't wanted to leave.

By the time I said goodbye, I'd known that I'd been wrong about comparing my desire for her to a hunger. That implied a point at which satisfaction was achieved and a period of time before the need reappeared. The moment I'd left Kyndall's apartment, I'd wanted her again. She was an addiction, something my body craved. Having her again had only made me want her more.

I couldn't give in though. It was bad enough that I'd had sex with Kyndall twice now – well, technically more than that, but it'd taken place on only two days, so I was going to only count it as twice – but I knew that if Dalton found out, he'd be pissed. The first time, I could claim that I hadn't known who she was, but the other night, I hadn't had the same excuse.

I muttered a curse under my breath as I accepted a glass of Highland Park from the scantily-clad waitress. Club employees were off-limits when they were working, but that didn't stop her from trying to catch my eye. The tall brunette had been overly attentive the last few times I'd been here, and I knew she was hoping I'd want to see her during her off hours, but I wasn't interested. She was trying too hard, which told me the sort of Sub she would be. I preferred women who knew who they were and what they wanted, and that was why they chose to submit.

I sipped at the alcohol as I considered my problem. I wanted to see Kyndall again, but I didn't want to risk my friendship with Dalton to do it. I'd known Cross longer, but I considered both men to be friends, and I didn't have that many here. I tended to keep people at arm's length, not wanting to risk their rejection if they discovered the sort of lifestyle I preferred, but those two, and their wives, were already a part of that world.

Kyndall wasn't. I was almost positive of that. She owned her sexuality, but she wasn't like the women here. If I could've written her off for that, though, things wouldn't have been so complicated. The way she'd obeyed me when I told her to grab onto the headboard told me that she could have submissive tendencies, the kind that could allow her to be molded into the type of Sub I'd always dreamed of. One who wasn't one hundred percent submissive by nature, but chose to submit to please me.

The thought was enough to send blood straight to my cock. I knew I should stop right there, but it was too late. It would haunt me until I allowed it to play out. I closed my eyes and let the fantasy take over.

I walked into the room and took a moment to admire her. She knelt in the center of the room, hands behind her back, knees shoulder-width apart, head up, but eyes down. Her sun-kissed skin was flawless, and the lack of tan lines would've pissed me off if I hadn't already known that she went to a private spa where no man would get to see her gorgeous body.

That was for me alone, and she knew it. She was mine.

Mine.

I'd always thought of myself as an enlightened sort of guy. Some people thought the whole Dom / Sub relationship was a caveman kind of thing. Bossing the woman around and all that. But there were plenty of women who were the Dominants in their relationships. And I'd never had that sort of primal, visceral reaction...until her.

She was mine, and I didn't care how caveman that made me sound.

“Are you ready for me, love?” I brushed my hand over her hair, loving how she automatically leaned into my touch. Some Doms would've scolded a Sub for even that slight movement, but I never did. I loved that she craved my touch so much.

“Always.”

I moved around to stand in front of her, unzipping my pants as I went. “I want your mouth first, love. And then I'm going to fuck your ass, so make sure you get me nice and wet.”

I shifted in my seat, reaching down to adjust myself. I hadn't had the pleasure of having her mouth around my cock, but I'd felt the wet heat with my tongue, and I could imagine how amazing it would feel. I let myself drift back into the fantasy, preferring it even to the two women doing a scene on stage.

Her tongue moved around and over my shaft, teased across the tip of my cock. She was a natural, quickly learning the things that I liked, including some that I hadn't even known until she'd done them.

I let her take me to the edge, then tugged her hair to signal to her to pull back. Her lips were swollen, glistening, eyes glazed. I reached down to cup her breast, ran my thumb over her hard nipple. She moaned.

“Hands and knees,” I instructed. “Ass in the air.”

She turned immediately, positioning herself exactly how I wanted, leaning forward on her elbows, her nipples brushing the plush carpet. Her bare lips were damp, inviting, but it wasn't her pussy I wanted right now. I'd have that later. Right now, I wanted that tight ring of muscle wrapped around my cock.

I drained my drink and swapped out my empty glass for the new one the waitress brought. I could still feel what it'd been like to have my finger in her ass, and I knew my imagination couldn't do justice to how it would feel to be the first one to fuck her there.

I wanted to be the first. I wanted to see all the different ways I could make her come, explore her body, watch her come apart in my arms.

And that was the problem. I could see plenty of women around here that I would've been fine fucking a couple weeks ago. One word and we'd be in one of the private rooms, or back at her place. With a woman from the club, all we'd need was an established safe word, and we'd be good to go. Handcuffs, crops, ball gags, clamps – without a safe word, they'd all be on the table. And if I wanted someone's ass, I knew at least half the women here wouldn't just be okay with it, but enjoy it. Prefer it, even.

I didn't want any of those women, though, and it was pissing me off. I'd worked hard to get where I was, and while I'd had some advantages, nothing had been handed to me. Female attention, however, had always come easily. I wasn't used to wanting a woman I couldn't have.

As I worked my way through my second drink, I wondered if things would be going down a different path if Kyndall wasn't Dalton's sister. From my side of things, I was already feeling guilty about having slept with my friend's little sister, but if I didn't have that guilt, I would've tried to see her again. I just didn't know if that was what she would want.

“Dean!”

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