Smoking Holt (9 page)

Oh. God. He had the baize brush.

A whimper escaped.

“Hold still.” A murmur.

She held her breath as he tormented her with that brush, scraping it over one swollen nipple and then the other. She didn’t wrench away, but it took everything in her to hold still. Her clench on the egg, thrumming away deep inside her, tightened though. It nearly made her crazy.

Oddly enough, the abrasion of the brush didn’t hurt. Not really. But it sent a scalding heat along every nerve.
Though when he skated it down and around her breasts, it tickled. She nearly wrenched away then. Even when he traced her tender underarms, up to her elbow and down again, she was able to maintain control, but it cost her.

It wasn’t until he teased the brush down her leg, to the bottom of her foot, that she had her next accident. It was a knee jerk reaction. Literally. When those soft bristles danced over her a
rch, she couldn’t—just couldn’t—stop herself.

The cue ball, between her knees hit the floor.

He stopped immediately and picked it up.

Tsked again.

She glowered at him, even though she was still supposed to have her eyes closed.

“Five lashes.”

Yeah. That horrified her, but not as much as his next move. He spread her knees and stepped between her legs and slid his fingers through the folds of her labia, holding her open. “Here, I think.”

She sucked in a breath. Let go a little
mewl. But said nothing. She lifted her head and watched, stared, as he lifted the little crop. The first one was gentle, almost tender. He looked up at her, waiting.

She licked her lips. “One.” A croak.

The second was a little harder. It landed directly on her clit. She winced. The 8-ball wobbled. “T-two.”

The third
actually echoed around the room, in concert with her wail. “Three!”

The 8-ball fell with the forth. And she lost all the balls with the fifth.

That was a total of five balls.

He’d upped the ante with each drop.

Dear God. How many would it be this time?

He let her stew, massaging the sting from her aching clit.

“H-Holt?” Her voice was small. Way too small.

He stilled. Their gazes l
ocked. “You’ve earned a pretty big punishment, Bella. Do you-do you want to continue?”

She swallowed. God, he was giving her an out. She could take it. She should…

“Yes Sir. I want to continue.”

A muscle
bunched in his cheek. His tongue peeped out. His lips trembled.

And then he regained himself. His persona. His role.

“All right then. I think it’s time to get serious.”

She nearly
howled.

“Turn over.”

He helped her stand—her knees were wobbly—and draped her over the edge of the table. Her breasts, still in the constricting harness, ached and the baize scraped her nipples as she positioned herself. Her mound brushed against the edge of the table.

He adjusted her.
“Hips up a bit. There.” Something cold touched her clit. Shit. The damn 8-ball. He set it between her body and the table. If she released any pressure on it at all, it would fall to the floor. And then what would he do?

“Got it?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Hold it steady.”

“Yes Sir.”

He stepped to the other side of the table and stretched out her arms, again, placing balls in her hand. “Hold on tight.”

“Yes Sir.” Her voice cracked because she saw what he picked up while he was down there. The flogger.

Shit!

She tensed as he returned to the foot of the table. His palm skated over her ass. She shivered, trying not to move, but when she did, the 8-ball rolled against her clit.

Oh God.

“Are you ready?” She could tell from his tone, he usually didn’t bother to ask. But he was going easy on her.

“Y-yes Sir.”

The lash fell. The sting was excruciating. Also excruciating, the roll of the ball over her clit. She hissed in a breath.

“Count for me Bella.”

“One.”

The vibrator in her cunt, which had been keeping up a nice steady rhythm, slowly but surely driving her close
r and closer to orgasm, suddenly stopped. Then started. Then stopped again.

Then it set up an agonizing uneven cadence. She nearly went out of her mind.

But there was no time to focus on that. Because the next lash fell.

“Bella?”

His voice was sharp, but from far, far away.

“Two.”

And another.

“Three.”

And another.

“Four.”

How many? How many could she take? With each lash the heat grew. The tantalizing roll against her clit, the agonizing uneven throb in her dripping pussy—

And then, all of a sudden, she realized a new danger.

The cream in her cunt, her frantic clenches on that egg—it was starting to slip out.

God, no!

“Holt! Holt!”

“Say the word, Bella.”

“No. It’s not that. The egg. It’s slipping out!”

“Don’t drop it, Bella. If you drop it, you will earn another punishment.”

She nearly snarled at him. God damn it. She couldn’t hold it in. She couldn’t…

The lash fell again and she forgot to count. He had to prompt her. “Five.” And then, “Six!”

The pattern of vibrations deep inside changed again. And again. Her pulse pounded against that damn 8-ball. Lash after lash fell, heating her ass, urging her forward, scraping her nipples against the felt. It was too much… It was too much… She couldn’t… She…

She came. Exploded. With a
feral bellow, with the rumble of balls as they tumbled from her hands, with the dull thud of the egg as it hit the floor.

The 8-ball, however, she managed to save.

God was she
incredible.

For a first-
timer, she’d done so incredibly well. He suspected she might be a natural sub under that prickly exterior.

No. He knew it. And he’d known it for a while.

After she came, he soothed her, rubbing her red ass and stroking his fingers into her sopping cunt.

God, he wanted in here.

In a minute. He needed to give her a moment to recuperate.

When she was ready, he turned her over on the table and drew her swollen nipples into his mouth and sucked gently. “You were wonderful, Bella,” he murmured. “Just wonderful.”

“Was I?”

He thu
mbed the tears from her cheeks. “Yes. You did very well.” He kissed her cheek. Her nose. Her lids. Peppered her with devotion as he continued to stroke her slit. She was so ready.

He was so ready.

So needy.

“Are you ready to continue?”

Her eyes widened. “C-continue?”

“I need you, Bella.”

“Hmm.” She murmured. “Am I still your slave?”

“If you want to be.”

“Maybe a bit longer.”

He chuckled. “I do have a powerful need.” He nudged his erection against her thigh. She attac
ked the snap of his jeans with alacrity and then, when his cock sprang free, she licked her lips.

God help him.

But as much as he wanted a blow job from her at some point, this was not that point. What he wanted now, what he needed now, was to be in her.

He kissed her and eased her back on the table. She responded with a
groan, but it was a groan of arousal. He eased himself between her legs and fisted his cock, pointing it in the direction it desperately wanted to go.

He nearly lost consciousness as he brushed her damp heat. His pulse pounded, his head ached, his body
howled for release.

And then, just
when he was about to plunge into heaven, she stiffened and pushed at him. “No Holt. Wait.”

“Umm hmm.” He thrust his hips, reveling in the tight grip of her creamy walls.

“Holt. Stop.”

“That’s it, baby. Yeah.”
He loved the way she wriggled against him.

“Holt! Kristi!”

He froze. Jerked back. Stared down at her in shock.

Seriously?

Right now?

Right. Fucking. Now?

He yanked out—he had to. Like a bandage, one quick rip was the only way. But God, it stung. His pulse pounded painfully in his temple. Acid churned in his gut.

“I…what… What did I do wrong?
”

Her brow wrinkled. “Wrong?”

“Why did you say ‘Kristi?’”

“Because dumbass,” she hissed. “I just heard her voice. Cam and Kristi are upstairs.”

And just then, the back door slammed.

It was nearly comical, the way they both leapt up and yanked their clothes on. Holt took all the “toys” and shoved them under a sofa cushion. Except one. He tucked the egg in his pocket. Yeah, it made him look like he had an enormous bulge on one side of his pants, but it kind of evened things out.

Bella yanked her t-shirt on over the halter and wriggled into her jeans without taking off the belt. That sent a bolt of arousal through him, knowing what she was wearing under a thin layer of clothing.

But what was a little more arousal? He hardly noticed. His body was still teeming with it.

Before they headed upstairs he made a little adjustment, lifting her shirt and loosening the straps of the halter so her boobs were in a more normal configuration. He kissed the red marks on her sweet flesh, because he just couldn’t resist before he dragged the cotton back down.

She winced.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay,” she said. My nipples are just…tender.”

He nibbled his lip to hold back a smile. Because he’d been the one tenderizing them.
“Are you ready to face the music?” She shot him a glare and smacked his shoulder— although this glare, unlike her other previous and numerous glares, held little heat.

Her words changed his temperature though. They sent a
cold wind screaming through him. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Don’t tell anyone?”

“About us. This.”

He nodded.

Because his lips wouldn’t work.

Don’t tell anyone.

Fuck.

They made their way up the stairs, Holt first. He opened the door to the great room and froze. Cam and Kristi. In a clinch. Great.

He cleared his throat and they sprang apart. Kristi turned away and quickly adjusted her blouse.

“Hey guys,” he said.

“Oh, hey Holt.” Cam dipped his head to hide his blush and shoved his fists in his pockets. Holt bit back a snort. At least he wasn’t the only man in the house sporting wood. “We were wondering whose suitcase this was.

He glanced back at Bella, still on the stairs behind him. Her eyes widened and in them he read relief that they hadn’t
opened
that suitcase.  It was full of seriously kinky shit.

“Yeah
. It’s Bella’s.” He stepped aside to let her pass.

Kristi blanched. “Bella’s here?”

“Right here.” Bella’s typical mask fell into place and she flounced into the room. “I should probably take this upstairs.” She picked up the bag and toted it to the staircase. He should have helped her, but that would have given them away.

And
she didn’t want anyone to know about this. Not just yet. It was far too new. Too fragile, maybe.

Instead, h
e headed for the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, though he didn’t really want it. He just wanted something to do. He took a sip and grimaced. It was cold.

“Have you been here long?” Cam asked, throwing himself into the recliner.

Holt grunted, noncommittally.

“It’s a beautiful
day.” Kristi leaned against Cam’s chair.

Holt remained where he was, behind
the counter in the kitchen, willing his raging hard on to wane.

“I thought maybe I’d take the
boat out,” Cam said.

“That’d be nice.”
Again, Holt didn’t give a shit.

When
Kristi wandered into the kitchen, Holt turned away so she wouldn’t notice his deformity. His still-raging hard on. For her sister. She poured a cup of coffee and then, after she tasted it, muttered, “Yuck.” She put it in the microwave and punched some buttons. And as the microwave hummed away, she came to stand beside him.

He glanced down at her.

She smiled.

His cock throbbed.

It was awkward.