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Authors: Maren Smith

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BOOK: Holding Hannah
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He caught the back of her neck, pull
ing her fiercely back again, and punished her with his kiss. It was a mistake. Right from the first trembling instant when her soft lips yielded to the crush of his, he knew he was in trouble. He could taste first her shame and then her capitulating sigh, and the dominant in him came awake in ways he hadn’t known he wasn’t feeling all along. Suddenly, just knowing her secret wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know her. To know how hot he could make her burn. To know the sound of her whimpers, her moans, her yielding cries as he stripped away first her defenses and then her clothes, laying her vulnerable and bare beneath him. He wanted to conquer her, and not just because no one had yet done that before him, but because nothing in immediate memory felt as good or as right as she did here in his arms.

So much for
patience.

He felt her
startle when his hands caught her ass, gripping each shapely cheek in his big hands and squeezing, lifting her straight onto her toes as he pulled her hot little core into blazing contact with his straining cock. She caught his shoulders in turn. Had she made any effort to shove him back, he would have tried his best to let her go, but again, she didn’t. She made the softest mewling sound in the back of her throat instead, and that, coupled with all her beautiful rampant trembling, had him fighting himself to not to simply drag her into the stall with him. It made him wish there were drapes that he could snap shut. For the first time, he wished he could block out the ever-present observers—he didn’t want to share the details of her first submission with anyone. But there weren’t any drapes. No one came to the Sanctuary for privacy.

It was a struggle to
breathe slow and even; it was even harder to break the kiss.

Mine
, that dark part of him growled.

For the night
, Sam agreed. Just for the night. Then his curiosity and hunger would be sated. One night, and then, like so many play partners before her, he would let her go.

Hannah
touched her flushed and swollen lips. Her eyes, so wide and wondering—what the hell was she doing looking at a sexual dominant like that?—followed as he backed into the old horse stall. He had to get that thin distance between them, or he would have stripped her out of her clothes right there, bent her over the first thing capable of supporting it, and just pound into the tight wet heat he knew waited for him in the crux of her jeans.

R
aising two fingers, Sam beckoned to her.

“Step into
the lion’s den, little Daniel,” he warned, giving her every chance to resist, to withdraw, to run away. Because if she didn’t, if she chose instead to succumb, then he wasn’t just going to show her everything her body now trembled for, he was going to fucking devour her.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

What was she doing?

Panic rattled at her insides, knocked in her knees, tangled in
the jumbles of knotted rope that lust had suddenly just dumped in her wildly twisting stomach, and the next thing Hannah knew—oh God, oh God, he was looking at her as if he wanted to consume her—she had taken that last step over the threshold. And there they were, standing practically toe-to-toe. She trembled; he smiled. When he reached for her, for a moment, she thought he was going to caress her face, but he didn’t. His fingers combed up into her hair and then fisted, capturing close to her scalp, a secure hold that locked them face-to-face as he drew her out of the doorway and deeper into the center of the stall.

“Raise your
arms,” he commanded, releasing her.

Not at all sure what he was planning, she held her hands up. She both looked and felt as
if she were being mugged at gunpoint.

Sam gave her a look, but then he stepped up to gather the bottom hem of her shirt between his hands. The second she realized he was going to strip her, she dropped her arms, hugging them over her shirt and over her stomach. That stab of shame hit her all over again. He had already seen some of her cuts, but he hadn’
t seen them all and she dreaded not just that he might look at her differently—with pity, or worse, revulsion—once he had, but also all the people she could hear around them, gathering in the shadows around the low stall walls and in the doorway. She twisted to glance back over her shoulder, but Sam caught her chin between rough fingers and quickly redirected her gaze back to his.

He turned her, moving with her until he was between her and the open doorway. Between her and all those people, silently
watching as the scene unfolded. Now it was Sam’s turn to glance over his shoulder, but if he gave a signal, she didn’t see it. All she heard was the click and two bright lights winked on, bathing her in the yellow-white glow of their naked bulbs, bathing him, and turning everything beyond him to blinded blackness. The whole world fell away, leaving the illusion that it was just the two of them in this barn.

“Raise your hands,” he told her.

“I’m not pretty,” she tried to say, but his eyes darkened and his whole countenance took on a severity and intensity so strong that it cut off her air.

“Say that again and I’m going to
punish you. From this point on, unless I ask you a question, the only things I want to hear you say are ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’, and ‘please, Master Sam, may I cum?’ Now, raise your hands.”

Punish?
Her legs held all the solidity of weak rubber. Her knees dipped and wobbled. Her hands rose, haltingly climbing higher even as she closed her eyes, turning her face away when he took the hem of her shirt and stripped it from her.

“No,” he said,
leaving her shirt draped over the top of a stall wall. He caught her chin, bringing her sharply back to him. “Look at me.”

She coul
dn’t see anything or anyone but him, not past the brightness of the lights, and both were beginning to swim as her tears and panic rose. Then he touched her. The warm rasp of his open palm came to rest on her chest, lightly stroking the shallow valley between her breasts as he felt the frantic beating of her heart.

“It’s all right.” H
e soothed and caressed her, following her bare skin from shoulder to shoulder, down across her rising breasts as she struggled to keep her breathing slow and even, then up to her throat. His thumb on one side, his fingers on the other, he paused there. With the slightest pressure, he could have choked her, but he only held her. She couldn’t seem to breathe right anyway. His touch, his eyes, his very nearness was doing things to her. Awful things. Wonderful things. Strange, strange things she didn’t know how to process.

“It’s all right,” he said again, and how stupid was it
of her that she believed him?

Hannah
tried to look away, just long enough to regain some of her balance back again, but with little more than a shift of his fingers, he trapped her chin and forced her eyes once more to his.

“That’s one,” he warned, and her stomach knotted up so tightly that she
feared she might be sick. “Look at me and don’t look away again.”

His hand descended down her throat, curving around until it came to gentle rest on her shoulder again. His other hand rose, caressing up her side, from the dip of her waist, over her ribs and past the band of her bra, until it came to a stop opposite of its twin. She trembled while he anchored her before him with nothing more than the burning touch of both hands on her shoulders.

“Would you like me to tell you what is going to happen here between us?” With a slow rasp, his hands began to move again, a slow fall all the way down her arms, past her elbows, her scars, her wrists. His fingers wove themselves with hers. He lifted, mating their palms as he guided her arms back up into the air.

Panic—stark and unrelenting—broke her, sending a soft cascade of tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t make me…don’t let them see—”

Sam turned her around, moving with her, keeping himself always full in her eyes, until her back was to the doorway and all she could see now beyond him was the rough barn wall rising up to the rafters. His hands never let go of hers. Her arms continued to rise, with only the briefest pause when he brought her scars even with his lips and kissed them—once…twice…again, moving gradually down the long ladder of them.

Her whole body shuddered, feeling as if
each were delivered as nips and bites.

When her arms were fully extended above her head, he released her fingers and let his rasping hands slide back down her. “Don’t move.”

He took her bra off the same way he had removed her shirt, not bothering with the clasps, simply pulling the elastic out far enough to free her small breasts and pulling it over her head. He cast it up on top of the wall with her shirt and returned the heat of his hands to her bare skin. His gaze burned into hers while his palms molded to her breasts and his fingers claimed her nipples. They were already taut, drawn into tense little peaks that he teased, rolled, stroked with his thumbs and lightly pinched—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make her catch her breath.

“You have very beautiful breasts,” he told her, fondling them until it was all she could do not to close her eyes and moan. “
You have agreed to give yourself to me tonight. To submit to whatever I desire. I’m very proud of you, Hannah. That took courage. I want to reward that, but first I want to explain to you what I expect from you.”

Expect? Explain? Hannah had to really concentrate on his moving mouth. It was so very hard to think beyond the magic of his hands upon her breasts. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Is that how a submissive speaks to her Dom?” His fingers pinched just a little harder than was pleasurable and yet it didn’t hurt. Not completely.

Hannah stiffened,
an electric jolt—raw lust, static charged—shooting from the tips of his fingers straight to her womb, and straight on from her womb to her clit. Her breath caught, faltered. Her hands dipped, but she caught herself and raised them high again. “N-no…um…” The power of that word stuck, feeling awkward in her mouth. “Sir.”

“Good girl.” He relaxed his hold on her nipples, soothing the
hurt with the rasp of his calloused hands and the heat of his kneading palms. “Tonight, Hannah, I expect your total and complete submission. I want you to do what I ask of you, promptly, without argument or defiance. I want you to trust me; I know that’s going to be hard because you’ve never done this before and we don’t know one another well. I’m willing to be as patient with you as I can be and I’m going to begin by giving you two very important words. They’re called safewords. One is to be used only in the case of emergencies. An emergency would be, for instance, if I take you somewhere you just cannot go, if it becomes too overwhelming, if it hurts more than you can take, then you use the house safeword: Red.”

She nodded to show she understood, bu
t his expression turned severe.


Red means everything stops,” he cautioned, his eyes boring into hers. “I’m trusting you not to use that word for anything other than what it’s intended. I warn you now, I intend to push you into some very uncomfortable places. I am going to search for them, seek them out, make you feel them and follow me into places you wish you didn’t have to go. You’re going to want to use your emergency word, Hannah, and so I’m going to give you a second one: Pepper. If you use that one, I promise I will stop long enough for us to discuss whatever you fear, and then I will decide whether or not to continue to put you through it. This is where you must trust me. I am going to strip you naked before me. I am going to tie your hands and suspend you from this hook. I am going to spank you. I am going to kiss you. I am going to touch and taste every part of your body. I am going to put clamps on your pretty nipples and your clitoris. I am going to press a knife against your skin and I’m going to let you feel it there while I put my cock inside you, and I am going to fuck you. Do you have an objection to being fucked by me, Hannah?”

Hannah stared at him, her eyes huge, her mouth rounded. It took almost three perfect seconds before she realized all her panic was centered almost completely on the thought of having to be naked before him. He was going to spank her? And…and fuck her? He was going to
put a knife…

S
he felt another low pulse of lust thump, just once, low down between her legs. His knife…lust and heat unfurled inside her, coiling in her womb, flowing down, a sensation like molten liquid, until she could feel the dampness soaking into her panties. “No, sir.”

Her voice came out sound
ing very hoarse.


How many lovers have you had, Hannah?” He asked, rolling her nipples between his fingers, back and forth, plucking, kneading. Her breath shivered out of her. Unconsciously, she arched her back, offering her breasts up into his touch.

“One,” she whispered
, squirming when he took full advantage of her needy pose. “It was a…mistake.”

“Why?”

She tried to make her involuntary wiggle look as offhand as she wished the answer could be. “It was prom night. It was kind of expected. I thought he was charming, he thought I was easy, and it turns out we were both a little right.”

She’d hoped
humor might diffuse some of the intensity of the moment, but he didn’t laugh.

“Did you enjoy it?”

If she wasn’t blushing before, she did now. “Sure.” She dropped her gaze to his shoulder. “Of course I did, why…why wouldn’t…”

His fingers on her nipples tightened and twist
ed, bringing her gasping right up onto her tiptoes.

“That’s two,” he growled. “Keep your eyes on mine and don’t you dare lie to me again. Did you enjoy it?”

The urge to retreat was strong, but the pain of his pinching hold only brought her dancing up higher. “Parts of it,” she winced, holding his narrow stare but uncomfortably and coming down off her toes only when her honesty won a reprieve of gentleness from his once more caressing hands.

“How did he fuck you?”

“Are you looking for pointers?” She snapped back, nipples aching, not at all liking this public airing of her very private personal life.

Releasing her breasts, he grabbed a fistful of her hair with one hand and the other shot straight down the front of her pants as
easily as if she weren’t wearing any at all. Hannah yelped, twisting her hips back reflexively, but he was already between her legs and his pinching fingers fastened around a much more sensitive nubbin than either of her nipples had been.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod!” she blurted, not only launching right back onto her tiptoes but coming just as close to him as he cared to bring her. Her whole body tensed, her thighs locking in the fight not to move, even the slightest wiggle turning the pressure of his hold into pain.

He cocked his head, gazing down into her eyes, his own cool, his mouth unsmiling. “Do you really think I require sex advice from some fumbling, high school senior?”

She shook her head.

“Say, ‘no, Master Sam’,” he coaxed, backing her one slow step at a time toward the padded sawhorse.

“No, Master Sam,” she moaned, wincing with every movement.

“How did he fuck you?”

She trembled in his hands. “In his truck,” she admitted, and when his fingers tightened sharply, hastily added, “M-Master Sam. Oh!”

“Cheap bastard didn’t even rent a limo? I’d have at least fumbled you in style.”

She was insane; Hannah had to fight not to find that touching. She almost wanted to thank him.

“Tell me,” Sam said, his tone once more easing into something gentle, coaxing. Seductive. “When he touched you here—” His fingers relaxed their uncompromising hold and began to caress; Hannah gasped, arching even higher than when it had hurt. “—did he touch you like a lover or like he was carrying a football across the finish line?”

He? He who? Her hips suddenly developed a life all their own. They rode his circling, circling—oh God!—fingers
, every muscle in her belly and legs tightening until they shook from the strain. She moaned. “I-I can’t—”

BOOK: Holding Hannah
6.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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