Take the Heat

Cassandra had no idea what to do next. She was winging it. Her sexual experience heretofore came nowhere close to this. What the hell did a man like Aston Moore want? Or need? Slowly and deliberately she unbuttoned his shirt, sliding her fingers under the cool cotton and scraping her nails over his taut abs. She heard his breath catch in his throat as she eased the fabric out from the waistband of his pants. As she pushed his shirt collar back over his shoulders, she pressed her lips against his ear.

“Bitter or sweet?” she whispered.

“Bitter?” he said, sounding unsure.

“Light or dark?” she whispered.

“Dark.” She could hear the smile in his voice. He was intrigued.

“Obey or be obeyed?” she whispered.

“Obey.” He seemed to falter, but he left it at obey.

“Dangerous or safe?” she whispered.

“Dangerous,” he said, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her head back so he could see her face. “But I think you’re playing with fire, Cassandra.”

“Undoubtedly,” she said.

“And someone could get burnt.”

“I hope so.”

Then she took possession of his mouth, a rough, savage kiss with no concessions to his position as the man, the john, the paying customer, the pimp. She needed to take control and stay in control if she was going to make it through. Their lips collided as she pushed her tongue in deep, and the taste of him unexpectedly turned her on. She held the back of his neck with both hands and took her time over his mouth. His hands dropped to small of her back, and he pressed her against his body. Against the hard outline of his cock.

So she was doing something right.

She pulled back from him, stumbling slightly as they broke apart. Without his shirt, the veneer of sophistication had gone. Underneath lay a powerful landscape of sinew, bone and muscle. No to mention scar tissue. A long red welt ran diagonally across his left pec, dropping down to cut right across his nipple before curving away under his arm. On the other side, below his ribs, a starburst of raised, white skin told of a wound of a different kind. Aston Moore had won his power the hard way, the old-fashioned way. Violence was as commonplace in his world as it was rare in her own. The scars made Cassandra wonder how short his fuse was.

“Undress,” she snapped at him. “All the way.”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“You chose to obey, didn’t you?” she said.

“I did.” He let his trousers drop to the floor. His legs were strong and his hips narrow, but Cassandra’s attention was most caught by the bounce of his cock as it sprang free of restraint and stood out proud from him. “Do I need a safe word?”

“You wanted it dangerous,” said Cassandra.

He nodded, watching her. Waiting for her next move.

Cassandra swept the tablecloth from the table, letting candlesticks and cruet crash to the floor.

“Get up,” she said, indicating the gleaming mahogany surface with a touch of her palm. The wood felt cold and hard against it. “On your back.”

She didn’t really expect Moore to do as she said, but he did, sitting on the edge of the table and then swinging his legs up so he was lying on his back in the center of the board. He was well over six feet tall, but the table was large enough to accommodate his full height. Cassandra quickly gathered what she needed from around the room. She would have to climb on the table and straddle him for what she had planned, so she lifted the tight shift dress over her head and let it drop to the floor. She revealed the black lace matching underwear she’d found at the back of her drawer, where she’d stashed it along with the memories of the only time she’d worn it. Wearing a matching set was a rarity for her, but putting it on had actually made her feel sexy—and Moore’s appreciative grunt reinforced what she’d felt earlier.

“Don’t speak,” she said.

Moore remain

ed silent as she blindfolded him with a discarded napkin.

Now she was ready to take the biggest gamble of her life. She struck a match and lit one of the candles that had rolled onto the floor the moment before. The sound of the strike was a giveaway, and she saw Moore’s chest inflate as he caught his breath. But he didn’t speak. Just lay there waiting with, if anything, an even harder erection. Cassandra climbed onto the table and straddled his hips. She held the candle in one hand. With the other she gently explored the scar tissue on his chest and abdomen. His cock jolted up at her touch, pressing against the soft silk gusset of her panties. She bent forward to kiss him on the mouth, and his hands went to her hips.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, “or you won’t get what you need.” She forced a tone of menace into her voice, and his hands dropped away.

“Good boy,” she said and bit his earlobe as hard as she dared. He writhed underneath her, and his hips pushed against hers.