Wild One: 3 (Caden Kink) (5 page)

When the flow of semen finally stopped he felt drained yet not satisfied. Les knew why. While coming had relieved the physical part of his sexual tension, it had left him wanting more.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Even playing at the Neon Lasso was just that, playing. What if Deidre could become more than that? For just a moment, he entertained the idea of wanting Deidre, not just any warm cunt, her laughing eyes and silky blonde hair becoming the only female distraction that could hold his interest…and his heart. That vaguely dissatisfied feeling stayed with him as he cleansed and sterilized the sound and washed away the evidence of his self-gratification.

Les yearned for something more than the clinical reality of self-induced orgasm. Something he had a hunch that Deidre Caden could provide. It was true, he’d felt a strong connection with her the moment she had looked up at him from that booth at The Corral. She’d managed to fire his libido with one bold touch and a few provocative words spoken in a husky, mesmerizing tone. But she’d connected with him on an emotional level as well.

Les could hardly wait for Saturday to come.

* * * * *

It was hell being the odd one out.

Deidre didn’t like her own company all that well, but she hadn’t been able to take one more minute of watching Four charm Mavis Wolfe after dinner and listening to Mavis gush about how much she liked her new son-in-law, Jack Duval. She’d almost begged Bye to let her tag along with him and Karen to the Neon Lasso after dinner, giving her the chance to try out her nascent fantasies on an unsuspecting Dom. But then she’d pictured her brother mopping the floor with any guy he saw trying to make it with her. She wasn’t up to causing any major bloodletting so she’d opted to stay home.

Fuck. Bye wouldn’t have taken her if she’d gone down on her knees and begged. He still thought of her as though she were five years old, not twenty-three.

I’ll take myself over there to play on a night when I know I won’t have a chaperone. Soon. Not that anybody who knows who I am is likely to invite me to play, knowing what my father will do to them if he finds out.

Maybe Les will take me there.

That’s wishful thinking, Deidre. The man’s hot as hell and nice to boot, but he’s a doctor. A nice guy who probably doesn’t even know BDSM clubs exist.

She spent a few minutes imagining how she could disguise herself so she could sample the kink she’d only observed one time at the exclusive Club Rio Brava outside San Antonio. Damn it, half the fun of playing would be lost if she had to hide behind an ugly black hood and wear something to conceal the distinctive-looking scar on her left thigh that she’d gotten years ago, the first time she’d participated in a Bar C roundup.

Later. She’d figure that out when she got to a fetish shop to pick out a costume. A cowgirl outfit, maybe, or a latex bodysuit like ones she’d seen when she’d observed at Club Rio Brava. All the women’s costumes she’d seen there had been wild things, with straps and cutouts that displayed them proudly for their masters. She had only a vague sense of how she’d feel in a public playroom as a participant, not an observer.

Meanwhile she’d soak in the hot tub, then curl up between the silky Egyptian cotton sheets on her comfy bed. She’d finish reading that hot erotic romance she’d begun last night. In this suite of rooms where she’d lived for her whole life, except for the four years she’d spent in college out East and the recent months when she’d tried to run away and find herself, she felt surrounded by her family’s protection. Secure…sometimes too secure for her liking.

But she felt safer here than anywhere else. Safety was what she’d needed after having to face the shock of learning she’d been fucking around with a married man. She still needed her security blanket. This morning at The Corral, she’d sensed right away that Les Fourchet could be another safe harbor for her.

What would it be like when they had sex? Deidre didn’t doubt that they would, probably this Saturday following a dinner that would undoubtedly pale in comparison with what Maria, their longtime housekeeper, prepared every night for the Bar C’s table.

It wasn’t the food she was anticipating. The moment the young doctor had smiled at her, she’d been hooked by those soft brown eyes that seemed to promise a sort of gentleness she’d never looked for but which she found fascinating.

Les was handsome—devastatingly so, with a hard, lanky body and the look of a dark angel. Jet-black hair that could do with a haircut framed olive-toned skin and chiseled features that could sell ice to Eskimos. But it had been Les’ gentle touch, his obvious interest in her, that had persuaded her to accept a date she was pretty sure would end up in bed. He didn’t seem the type for furtive fucks in public parks or in the women’s room of whatever restaurant he might pick for them to dine at, no matter how titillating she might find the prospect of sex with a strong risk of discovery.

Deidre stared critically at her naked body in the mirror as she tossed aside the clothes she’d just shed, figuring Les wouldn’t find anything to complain about. As one of the college boys she’d played with last summer had told her, she was hot enough that she’d have turned him on even if her daddy hadn’t owned the biggest spread in northwest Texas.

When fragrant steam began to rise off the bubbling hot tub, she stepped in and settled on a molded chaise longue surrounded by strategically placed Jacuzzi jets. Closing her eyes, she imagined what Les would be doing if he were here with her now. Whatever… She was pretty sure it would be vanilla—fun but nothing that would blow her mind.

Deidre knew how easily she got bored, so she wasn’t counting on finding anything permanent with the new doc. As much as Four would like it if she settled down within easy reach of the Bar C, Deidre doubted that would happen any time soon, if ever.

There was something about Les, though…

Whether it was his deep, sexy voice with just a hint of a Cajun lilt that reminded her of Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras, his gentle touch or just the latent heat she’d sensed every time he met her gaze, Les had made an impression.

When she curled up in bed with her book she found herself putting his face onto the fictional Dom who was feeding all her hottest fantasies.

“Feel them looking at us, wanting what only I can have.” She followed her master’s gaze to the gallery above this private dungeon, felt all eyes on the thick silver collar around her neck. An unmistakable sign of Master’s possession, she wore it proudly 24/7. It was her only adornment until he took her hands and restrained them behind her back with shiny silver cuffs. Cops’ handcuffs, secure enough for a felon. They didn’t alarm her because she trusted that her master would do nothing to cause her harm. That his only goal was to force her to ever-increasing sexual pleasure.

Tonight this small dungeon was sparsely furnished, unlike other nights when it had held various devices intended for hardcore torture—a spider web, a fucking bench, once even an electric fucking machine Master had used in her cunt and ass while he had made her suck his massive cock. Tonight one small table held all the tools he would use, not that he needed tools to stimulate her libido. One hot look and she was ready for whatever form of sexual torture he might have in mind.

Usually the music he chose for scenes was loud, driving. Tonight, though, he had selected something soft and classical—a mix of Gershwin tunes, she thought, as the mellow sounds of reeds and string instruments surrounded them. He pulled a single perfect rose from a crystal vase on the door and brushed its petals over her cheek, her throat, her nipples.

How could such a simple touch make her practically explode with lust? She dared a glance into his dark eyes and saw satisfaction—he’d wanted, even expected to affect her so. “Kneel,” he ordered, dropping a plump silk pillow in jewel tones of ruby, gold and teal blue off the table onto the floor in front of her.

She loved the timbre of his voice—strong and certain, as he was in the light of day as well as here, where they indulged their sexual fantasies after dark.

He fed her his cock as she knelt before him. She focused on the silvery metal tips at the ends of the leather strands of a flogger he held loosely in his other hand, anticipating yet fearing its sting on her bare flesh as she licked the salty, slick lubrication off his cock head.

Unlike vanilla lovers who treated her as though she were made of fine porcelain, her master robbed her of her free will, imposing his desires on her and making them her own. She strained against the cuffs that confined her hands behind her back, her fingers itching to stroke his smooth, velvety scrotum and feel his balls shift against her palms.

“Suck my cock now. Swallow me.” He accompanied that order, which he issued in a voice hoarse with lust, with a harsh, one-handed grip on the back of her head. His fingers tangled almost painfully in her hair, ensuring her obedience.

Not that she’d ever disobey his order. She wanted to feel him tickling her throat, to swallow his essence when he came in fiery bursts that almost overwhelmed her. His hands. She wanted all that almost as much as she needed him to pound into her cunt, her ass. When he took her, however he took her, he made her feel whole—cared for in a way no vanilla lover had ever managed.

Deidre set her book aside and lay there in the dark, nowhere near ready to go to sleep but unable to keep on reading someone else’s fantasy, a fantasy that she’d love to share with Les. Silent strains of
Summertime
drifted through her brain, a remnant of her imagination and her dreams. Soft, wet snowflakes drifted past her bedroom window, almost like a sheer curtain closing over a fantasy that had as little chance of coming true with Les as that snow had of sticking on the ground when it was several degrees above freezing.

Les Fourchet was one hot Cajun but she couldn’t picture him being a Dom. With him she’d be settling for vanilla sex, when what she thought she needed was a master who would take her out of herself and into his own lusty, sensual world.

Chapter Three

He couldn’t remember another time when he’d had as much good clean fun. After they’d checked in at the SpringHill Suites, Deidre had proceeded to show him parts of Dallas’ West End Historical District that he’d never have discovered without a real Texas native at his side.

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Les found himself relaxing as they explored nooks and crannies in and around the weathered brick buildings, sampling hot cocoa and snack foods that reflected the many ethnic groups he’d noticed populated the huge Texas land mass.

“I’m glad we came today. We can’t always count on blue skies and a cool breeze around here, at least this time of year.” Her smile lit up her whole face—no shadows today to mar the sparkle in her eyes. Wearing snug jeans, a turtleneck sweater and a dark-blue fringed suede jacket, she was his finest fantasy come to life. He loved her shoulder-length blonde hair. Tousled by a gentle breeze, it formed a perfect frame for her creamy cheeks and full, kissable lips. He couldn’t help imagining how those lips would feel surrounding his dick.

Later. Probably a whole lot later.

That was okay, though. Right now all Les wanted to do was soak up her enthusiasm for sights that reminded him a little of a tamer, younger Bourbon Street—not that he’d spent all that much time soaking up the atmosphere in the French Quarter while attending undergraduate college at Tulane. When Deidre paused in front of a display window outside a quaint-looking jewelry and antique store, he wished for a moment that he hadn’t walked away from his heritage. If he hadn’t, he’d have been able to buy her one of the baubles that had caught her attention.

He didn’t need to strain his eyes reading the discreetly placed price tags to figure the least-expensive item there would gobble up his disposable income for the next few months. For the first time since they’d left the Bar C’s twin-engine Cessna at Love Field, Les let the differences between him and Deidre when it came to wealth and position cast a shadow over the pleasure he felt just being near her.

“See something you like?” he asked, hoping to God she wouldn’t take that as an invitation to go inside and pick out a souvenir for him to buy her.

“I like it all, but that doesn’t mean I want to buy anything today. That silver-and-turquoise pendant I was looking at reminds me of one Mom used to wear.” She gestured toward a small silver pendant practically hidden among the gaudier, more impressive pieces. Shaped like a flower, it had a modest turquoise centered among the carefully crafted petals.

“I’m sure you must miss her.” He wondered what Deidre’s mother had been like. The simple pendant didn’t fit the mental picture he’d drawn of the late Mae Caden after meeting Deidre’s big, self-important father. He had imagined a woman as gorgeous as Deidre only older, swathed in mink and flashing headlight-sized diamonds that could blind an onlooker. Stereotypical big Texas money, flaunted to the max.

That mental picture grew fuzzy, replaced by one of an unassuming woman who had apparently treasured a bauble as inconspicuous as the little flower pendant.

When Deidre spoke he heard sorrow in her voice. “I’ll always miss her. I wish you could have met her. She’d have liked you a lot.”

“You think so?” Maybe Deidre’s mother actually would have approved of him dating her daughter. While Four had been polite enough when Deidre had introduced them, Les had sensed a certain coolness emanating from the older man. He imagined the lack of enthusiasm was because he hadn’t arrived at the Bar C to pick Deidre up in his own plane.

“Yes. In fact I know so.” Deidre took his hand and laced their fingers together. “Mom always wanted me to get with a nice guy, one with a brain as well as a body. I’m sure she always worried that I’d end up with a rough, tough cowboy or two.”

Les laughed. “I don’t know if I should take that as a put-down or a compliment, beautiful.”

She brought his hand up to her lips. “A compliment, Doc. Shall we head on over to Gator’s? The karaoke should be starting soon.”

“Sure.” Deidre had suggested Gator’s Croc & Roc, probably because she thought he’d be missing Cajun cooking after several months of surviving on The Corral’s fare. Les had been there several years ago with a couple of his med school classmates whose homes were in Dallas.

He looked forward to watching Deidre sing, “watching” being the operative word. Les couldn’t carry a tune if his life depended on it but he liked the party atmosphere and the menu of casual dishes that ranged from alligator in various guises to Tex-Mex to plain, classic burgers. “I expect you to sing for me,” he said as they crossed the street and headed for the club.

From the flick of her lashes at him after he said it, he sensed a hint of surprise and realized he’d put a hint of intentional command in his tone. The flush of her cheeks told him she responded to that light command.

* * * * *

Deidre couldn’t remember when she’d had as much fun as she’d had with Les tonight. Unlike some of her past dates, he had drunk responsibly, nursing a craft beer while she’d put down three of the frozen, lightly spiked concoctions that Gator’s was famous for. He’d clapped when she’d sung karaoke and shown her that while he might come across as quiet and serious, he was a hellishly good dancer.

They’d held hands and walked all the way back to the hotel suite, bumping hips together occasionally. Just that light contact had heated her libido as much as some of her past boyfriends’ hardcore foreplay. Now as she stood in the bathroom washing off her makeup, brushing her teeth and slipping on an oversize T-shirt with SpongeBob stenciled on the front, she could barely wait to take her relationship with Les to that next level.

Just one thing worried her. She was pretty sure she needed a Dom—somebody who would control her reckless impulses. Les wasn’t one—at least she hadn’t seen any signs that he’d be inclined to command her obedience. He was as hot as hell, though, and it wasn’t just his looks, which she’d noticed made other women turn their heads and practically drool. The man was everything she looked for in a companion—attentive, well-mannered, even protective.

What else could she ask for?

Nothing, except that aura of command she’d observed in Doms at Club Rio Brava. They’d made her tremble with the need to submit, much like the way she used to feel about Jack Duval even though she’d never experienced his mastery except in her fantasies.

“Deidre?”

Shit. She’d stayed here in the bathroom for too long, her head in the clouds and her imagination running wild. “Be right there.” She took one last look at herself and opened the door.

Omigod.
Les had looked good in clothes, but stripped down to nothing but a pair of navy-blue boxer briefs he took her breath away. She hadn’t imagined he’d be so buff, but he was. Well-defined muscles rippled in his arms and chest, and his legs looked as though he ran miles every day. The distinct bulge in the crotch of his briefs held the promise of a fun evening to come, even more than the turned-down covers on the king-size bed behind him.

His gaze settled on her bare legs. His dark eyes turned almost black. He looked at her as though she were one of those Lady Godivas she’d seen laid on the pillows and he was starving for a chocolate fix. “Come here.”

That sounded more like a command than a request, but Deidre had no impulse other than to obey. She made a beeline for the bed. When he reached out and drew her close, tingles of anticipation ran down her spine where he was using his splayed fingers to work out the kinks in her muscles. His touch made her pussy grow hot and wet.

Needy. She wanted nothing more than for him to claim her. To fuck her until she dissolved into a quivering mass of sensation.

Oh yeah. The doc knew how to kiss—hot and wet and deep, his tongue tangling with hers, claiming her mouth. Devouring it. Her nipples grew hard and swollen and he hadn’t even touched them yet—except that he was holding her so close that his heartbeat pounded against her flesh through her thin nightshirt.

He tasted like hops and honey. His breathing became more ragged with each moment that passed and his rising arousal fed hers. His hard, thick biceps muscles felt warm and strong beneath her fingers, as though he could protect her from life’s hard knocks.

I’m trying to see in this man all the traits I want my master to have.

Deidre knew she’d fantasized a lot about what a Dom was and wasn’t, and having fun with a hot one, but she hadn’t imagined anything permanent. That was the thing—she’d never really imagined anything permanent, she’d been running for so long, reacting to Four’s betrayal of their family, dealing with her own pain and anger. Standing inside the aura of Les’ calm strength today, she had found herself thinking of other things. What she wanted for herself, not in just a temporary, one-night-at-the-Neon-Lasso way, but in a life partner. Could she change midstream, turn away from her interest in a Dom and enjoy the vanilla sex he’d deliver with obvious skill?

She’d pulled away for a moment because she wasn’t sure, but she knew she wanted Les tonight even if he wasn’t the hard-edged, take-charge lover of her late-night fantasies. She snuggled up to him again, loving the heat and hardness of him. “God yes, fuck me.”

When Les held her, his touch firm and hot but not demanding, she craved not just his body but something more. That scared the shit out of her.

“Let’s get this nightshirt off you,
chéri
.” Stepping back a little, he lifted the shirt off her and took a long, hot look at her naked body. “God, but you’re gorgeous. Smokin’ hot, too, with your taut nipples, and that cunt just asking for my tongue. The SpongeBob nightie is cute, but not nearly as arousing as you. Let’s go to bed.”

His deep, lilting speech pattern, which had become more pronounced with his arousal, reminded her of New Orleans, of beignets and steaming sweet
café au lait
on a lazy morning in the French Quarter. Maybe he’d take her there one day.

Her mind was going too fast. She was losing resolve, fantasizing about forever when this was nothing more than a night’s diversion. Telling herself to get real, she sat on the edge of the bed, watching him hook his thumbs into his briefs and slide them slowly down and off. She could hardly wait to touch all of him, up close and personal.

He had a beautiful cock, long and thick with prominent veins and a deep-rose color that contrasted with his olive-toned skin. Fully aroused, it stood high and proud against his belly, giving her a good view of heavy testicles nearly bursting out of a smooth pink scrotum. She liked seeing a smooth groin like his on a man, yes she did.

Especially when it took her by surprise, and it had surprised her to see that Les shaved his pubic hair. She licked her lips, wishing she were exploring him with her tongue instead. “Oh yeah. I want some of that.”

“You’re gonna get it, sweetheart.” Stretching out on the bed, he took her in his arms. His hard-on pressed against her thigh and he stroked her throat, her breasts, her belly, before slipping a hand between her legs and tweaking her clit. Then he laid his palm over her mound. “You’re soft as a baby. I like it.”

She’d had her pubes permanently removed after her first sexual encounter back in college when the boyfriend of the hour had teased her because they were a lot darker than the hair on her head. She’d kept her light-brown hair highlighted since her mom had finally let her have it done as part of her sixteenth birthday present. “Hair down there doesn’t bleach very well,” she commented against his throat as she savored the sensation of his beard stubble brushing her cheek.

When he chuckled, the rumbling vibration tickled her face. “I’ve never experimented with hair color there or anyplace else. I kind of imagine black hair like mine would be difficult to bleach even if I wanted to do it. I just shave it off for special occasions.”

“I’m a special occasion?”

“Very.” Deliberately he lowered his face to her breasts and caught one nipple between his teeth. He tortured it until it swelled in his mouth and went rigid against his tongue, before giving the same delightful treatment to its mate.

She played with his small, flat nipples, tweaking them with her fingertips, eliciting a small sigh from him—nothing more.

“My nipples aren’t sensitive like yours. The only foreplay I need is to look at your incredibly sexy body, but if you’d like to explore a little lower, feel free.” He resumed sucking her nipples, first one and then the other, driving her half mad because she couldn’t reach…

“Is this what you want?” He shifted, lowering his head between her legs but positioning his body so she could explore him to her heart’s content.

The wet heat of his mouth and tongue on her clit practically pushed her over the edge. She fondled his balls, loving the silky texture of the skin and the way they shifted against her hands. “God yes. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t. Love to taste you, know that you’re wet for me.”

His words, spoken so close to her aroused flesh, sent shivers of anticipation through her body. When he inserted two moistened fingers into her pussy, she practically came at that first delicious touch while he kept on sucking her clit.

His long thick cock was hot. It felt as velvety as his balls, she realized when she took it between her palms and gave a tentative caress. Impossibly, the taut flesh grew even bigger and harder as she played. Finally she leaned over and took his thick, heart-shaped cock head in her mouth. When she lapped up a drop of the lubrication from the deep slit in its tip, she loved the clean, slightly salty taste of him and the feel of the slick wet fluid on her tongue.