The Dom With the Perfect Brats (15 page)

“So why is
it surprising that I serve you coffee? Especially when I need your energy up for later.” He winked then bit off half a cookie and crunched on it.

Gemma laughed.

“That’s what it’s really about,” Izzy said, chuckling. “A dramatic speech about your selflessness as a Dom but the truth comes out in the end.”

“Clever girls,” he said while sipping his coffee.

When the chuckles died down, Gemma asked, “How did it go at the signing?”

Cross answered first.
“Apparently I’m secretly a cover model and several women fainted at the sight of my biceps.” He chomped down on the rest of the cookie like it was some poor innocent creature he’d hunted.

“
You’ll have to keep those dangerous weapons covered up then.” She picked up a cookie, took a bite then turned to Izzy. “Did anything...interesting happen?”

It was obvious she was itching for a story, which made
Izzy’s cheeks heat and she knew she’d reddened.

“Nothing,” she choked out.
She sipped some coffee to hide the raspiness of her voice.

“I d
on’t believe you. I am
so
interrogating you later.”

“Bitch,” Izzy muttered, mock-scowling and trying not to laugh while swallowing.

“I am a bitch, just not yours.” She winked.

For the next few minutes they talked about odds and ends, including Gemma’s bubbly flat-mate who had apparently shooed her out of the apartment early when a boyfriend arrived.
This was why she’d been waiting at the door. When they’d finished drinking, Cross hopped down and gathered the cups.

“Gemma, you need dry clothes. Go into my bedroom and take
everything off. There’s a chest of drawers. Second top drawer find yourself a shirt of mine, put it on and nothing else then come back.”

He lifted her down from the counter. For a second
, Gemma paused, fingertip in mouth, tapping, like she was thinking.

“No underwear?” Her eyebrows rose.

That sounded good. Izzy watched, curious to see what she’d say. The woman had a way of smart-mouthing Cross that had to be heard to be believed.

“No. None.
Hang up your wet stuff in the en suite.”

“What if I
keep my underwear on anyway?”

Izzy
tensed and wriggled on the counter. The man could check a charging rhino and Gemma was challenging him?

“Then I’d take them off and spank you.”

“Spoilsport. Maybe I’d prefer you to just take them off without the spanking?” To Izzy, Gemma’s cheeky grin and the finger she raised toward Cross’s chin looked on par with an enemy launching a missile.

But he merely gripped her wrist, turned her and swatted her
ass. “Go. I’m not sparring with you when you’re drenched. For this one, it’s a rain check, which seems especially appropriate. Izzy, you go with her. You can dress the same. But your own t-shirt will do. It’s long enough...barely.” Though his mouth stayed straight, his eyes showed amusement.

“This?” She looked down at the
navy edge of her top, played with it. The man must have figured out her butt would be showing if she bent over wearing only that. He aimed to have them both...accessible. She inhaled, feeling her nostrils widen, and her groin warm. Thinking of what he might do after
that
had made her horny in a half-second flat.

Then he grabbed her waist, stood her on her feet, and s
macked her ass too. After one yelp, she said nothing. The heat from that whack had gone interesting places. So odd – pain, heat, then always that swell of arousal followed. Her imagination got busy being naughty. Her clit throbbed. The pressure of the seam of the pants made her hyperaware of her sexuality. And of him standing behind her.

What was he planning to do with them? From having a
completely boring sex life that had sometimes made her wonder if she’d remember what to do if she ever did
it
again, she’d landed in the middle of the sexual friggin’ Cross vortex.

“Go,” he growled.

“Okay! Going.”

Gemma grabbed her hand and tugged. “Come on. You can help me. Getting wet clothes off is a pain.”

An invitation? Her heart tapped a frantic thumping beat as she let Gemma lead her to the bedroom. Hold it in. Do not show
anything
.

“Five minutes, girls! No making each other come
, either. I’ll order pizza.”

His matter-of-fact instructions
about coming thrummed through her brain as she watched Gemma drop the towel to the floor, slip off her jacket, wriggle off her shorts and panties, then go over to rummage through Cross’s drawer. The bottom of her ass showed all firm and round and slightly shiny from the rain. The flex of her muscles down there left Izzy cemented to the spot on the rug. He hadn’t said no touching.

God and frick and... Tempting as a fresh apple. She licked her lips nervously.

When Gemma turned, she hadn’t even
begun
to get out of her clothes.

“
Hurry up.” Gemma strode toward her. Only the steadfast way she stared at nothing except Izzy’s face betrayed a hint of nerves. “Are you embarrassed about getting naked with me? We’ve seen each other. Come on, we don’t want to get the big, bad Dom all riled up.” Then she tossed a dry t-shirt on the bed and took hold of the bottom of her tight little shirt. Halfway up the cling of the wet material got it stuck under her breasts.

“Shit
!” she exclaimed with a laugh from inside the shirt. “Help? I told you this would happen.”

Gingerly, sucking her bottom lip in, Izzy reached, took a deep breath and pulled enough on the sides of the shirt to ease it over Gemma’s breasts. Each breast wobbled as the shirt unstuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck.
She stared a second too long at the lacy red bra then swung her gaze upward. Gemma was staring at her. Pretty liquid green eyes.

She swallowed and stepped backward at the same time as she swept her own shirt up over her head. Despite the temptation to stay hidden in there forever, she yanked it off and fluffed out her hair.
Be bold and brassy and she won’t notice my goof-up.

A few seconds later she’d whipped everything off and was naked.

“Umm.” Gemma cleared her throat. “He said to keep your own shirt on. Remember?”

Oh.
He had. She fumbled. “I had to take my bra off though.” Well, she did have to. It was a good, fast excuse.

“
Mmhmm.” Gemma grinned, and this time she examined Izzy, but fast, in a top-to-bottom sweep, as if she was programmed to scan the female body and it was nothing more than what she had to do.

Izzy giggled.

“What?” Gemma frowned.

“We were both avoiding looking at each other.”

“Yeah.” Gemma smiled. “Guess I’m not as blasé about this as Cross would like. You’re, umm, pretty.”

Saying thank you seemed
idiotic so she just nodded. The question was dying to be asked. “Why are we doing this?”

“Obeying Cross?”

“Yes. You keep teasing him but...” She stared. “You still end up obeying.” She waved vaguely toward Gemma. Her scrumptious naked body had been covered by one giant Cross-sized black t-shirt.

“I am, aren’t I?” Gemma sniffed. “
I guess I’m curious.”

But was she curious about being bi? “That’s all?” She pulled her shirt back on while Gemma sorted out her answer.

“No. It’s not.” She held up her hand, palm outward. “Do not tell him this...but when he gets all commanding and mean, I fucking melt.”

Her too.
“Wow.”

“What?
I mean, I’m a total feminist – I have to be with my job, but...” Gemma speared Izzy with her gaze and shrugged. “It gets me hot, so I don’t care. Hormones maybe?”

Izzy smirked. “Yeah. Those. I have those. The man has us figured out.”

“Maybe. But if we have fun doing it, it’s all good.”

Was that true? Easy to say, but still. The man had said he’d tie up Gemma so she could, do things to her. “Yeah, guess so.” Had her morality gone south for the winter?

They returned to the kitchen to find Cross had poured glasses of juice. “Just ordered the pizza so it’ll be a little while but hopefully the cookies will hold you over.” He leaned against the counter, shamelessly ogling their bare legs.

The man
himself was a wonderful sight. Though Izzy had never drooled over guys with muscles and tattoos, or guys with scars and a look that said, diss me and I’ll flatten you, Cross just did something fucking amazing to her lady bits every single time. Everything down there warmed. She exhaled slow and stopped a few feet away with Gemma a bit ahead of her.

“I’ve turned up the heating. You look much better, Gemma.” Briefly he touched her cheekbone with the back of his hand. “And since you do, and the food’s going to be a while, I want both of you to stand up against the counter, hands on it, palms down, and looking out over the living room.”

Like it was a done deal, he stepped sideways to give them room and waited, his arms at his sides, fists curled loosely – a man expecting obedience.

“What?” Gemma’s protest sounded lame after what she’d just admitted.

“Now, or there will be consequences.”

Cross
’s way or the highway? Gemma seemed to get that vibe too. Her shoulders lowered.

There was absolutely nothing in Izzy that said no. Horniness had a lot to answer for. So she did as he asked, put her hands on the cool counter top, and was surprised that Gemma, after fidgeting for a second, did the same. They stood, bumping hips, and waited. The coolness of the air
drifting between her legs reminded Izzy of her nudity, and of Cross standing behind them, observing.

“Very nice.” She heard the subtle rasp on the floor as he stepped nearer. Then the caress of his large hand moved her shirt up to the small of her back, baring her to him. Abruptly aware she had her legs apart, Izzy
started to close them, but Cross’s hand between her thighs stopped her.

Another inch or two and the side of his hand would touch her pussy. She tensed.

“Stay. There.” His harsh growl raised the hairs on her neck. He pushed her upper body to the counter.

Izzy shivered, held her breath for a mind-freezing second then relaxed. She waited, her cheek on the cold
granite, her eyes half-shut, as his fingers traced a magical route, leaving tingles, his fingers combing circles here and there, but slowly with singular purpose, going downward. From the soft moans coming from her left, she was distantly aware that he was doing something similar to Gemma.

“
Pain works differently for each person. I thought we’d experiment a little to see how pain works for you. This isn’t meant as punishment. Just lie there and take it in.”

Pain? From anyone else, she might have protested, but from Cross, with his hand on her
...damn...he’d slid his hand down onto her butt, his thumb in her cleft, cruising downward and deeper, riding along in the moisture her traitorous body had already made, rubbing just a little, up, down...
Mmm.

When he took
away his hand she couldn’t help seeking that mesmerizing touch.

“Relax.” He pushed
on her ass and she came down off her toes, flatfooted, waiting, a blush scorching her face because she’d been so obvious. “Try not to tense, Izzy,” he added softly, “I’m not ambidextrous so you take turns. Red is your safeword.”

The first smack on her ass burned, but nothing much. He smacked her again and again, building in force, changing his aim sometimes, rocking her a little. When his palm hit the underside of ass cheeks, it did wonderful things to her inside. The burn sizzled higher, spreading
smooth as molten honey into her pussy. Then he stopped and she heard him hit Gemma. After ten or so hits, the small grunts she made and the hard sound made Izzy wonder if he was using more power.

He stopped again and she heard the tinkle and soft slide as he removed his belt from the loops on his jeans. “Don’t move too much. I don’t want to miss.”

A belt? She nearly tensed, but managed not to.
This
might hurt.

Again he began with her, the belt lightly hitting her from lower thighs to
her ass. The strikes painted her, made her sigh, and demanded she concentrate on nothing in the world except what he did to her. A strange buzz swarmed over her skin, and the stripes of biting pain merged. When she hissed and moved sideways he laid his hand on her lower lips and stroked her there, played with her, fractions of an inch from her clit.

“Fuck,” she muttered. Pleasure rose and mingled with the lines of fire, with the
buzz,
and it was as if her skin grew a fine new layer of sensation. His fingers slipped over her labia, over all her wetness, and he slipped one inside her, delving deep, fucking her for several long bliss-laden strokes.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, enthralled.