Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

focusing on Peter’s reassuring grip on her hand. While Surreal was not as upscale as The Zone, Peter had said it was still one of Louisiana’s best fetish clubs, doing its best to emulate The Zone’s example on the more limited budget it had. As the others got out, she was hit by a wave of loud voices and white noise. Heat and a flicker at the corners of her dark vision suggested a lot of flashing light. “It’s busy tonight,” Jon mentioned, as he exited the limo last.

She hadn’t moved, both hands clutched around Peter’s one large one, resting in her lap.

His fingers bracketed her thigh, squeezed. “You trust me, sweetheart?”

“I want to. I’m scared, though. And I hate it. I don’t think I can do this. Please don’t make me do this.” Her breath was starting to come faster. Fuck being calm. That wasn’t going to work. She’d been crazy to agree to this.

For months, being blind and mostly deaf had made her unsure of herself, frightened by new things in a way she’d never been. It was easier and safer to stay within her comfort zone, with people she knew, places that were familiar. People could call it a crutch, but they didn’t fucking know what it was like. What had she been thinking? Her good sense had been fogged by sex—that was what it was. Hell, she’d hardly known she still had a libido until Peter came to find her. Okay, yeah, she’d fantasized about him all the time, but like a dream, not a reality. This was reality, big-time, up close and way too freaking personal.

“Hey, hey.” He cupped her face. “Focus on me, sweetheart. Breathe. Breathe slow and deep. There is nothing to be scared of here. You remember why?”

She swallowed. “No, no, I don’t. Peter, please—”

“Because I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Say it.”

His fingers were stroking her face and she could feel how close he was. Hell, he’d pulled her into his lap, was cradling her, holding her . . . Well, she’d say like a child, except his fingers had slipped between her legs, and she was amazed as he used her earlier arousal to simply slide the tips of his fingers partway into her, past the thong. It centered everything there, throbbing, anxiety and lust tangled into a ball. “Say it, Dana.”

“You’re not going to let anything happen to me,” she whispered, and gasped as his fingers twitched, sending pleasure spiraling hard and tight through her clit.

“Damn straight.” Snapping the leash on, he gave her a tug, a sensual reminder of their afternoon. “Ten feet, remember?”

“It’s a club, Peter. There will be people I don’t know all around. . . .” He’d said she should feel comfortable touching, but what about being touched? And strangers? His friends were okay; she’d met them, but—

“You’ve known you were a sub since you were a teen. Remember telling me that? Trust in that, Dana. Trust your Master.”

When he brushed his lips over her temple, she pressed into that touch, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’ve got you.” He said it against her ear, a habit she was beginning to like, particularly when he took a little nip at the earpiece of her hearing aid, an unexpected sexy caress. “Let’s get you out of this.” Moving slow and easy, his fingers drifted down her sternum, molding over her left breast before he dipped down to the tie of the dress, loosened it and slid it off her shoulders. She’d be leaving it in the car, wearing only the corset, thong panties, stockings and low pair of heels he’d given her.

She’d worn as little the night she’d met him, less even, but she’d felt nowhere near as vulnerable as she did this night. Despite that, though, strangely, the removal of the outer garment almost seemed to help, because it truly left no doubt whose and what she was here. His slave. His submissive, under his guidance and protection.

“Here you go.” When he bracketed her face, a mask slid down over it, one that fit her nose and around her eyes, but stopped there, leaving her mouth and chin free of

encumbrance. Lifting her hands to it, she realized it was a remarkable likeness to the mask she’d worn for him that night.

“Now”—he found her right nipple beneath the corset, began to do a slow pinch and roll that had her mouth dry—“be whatever you want to be tonight, sweetheart, as long as you remember you’re mine. This is your fairy tale, however you want it told. Anything that worries you, you tell me and I’ll fix it. You hear?”

Tears threatened as she touched the mask, smoothed it under her fingers. “Peter, we can’t live in a fairy tale.”

Easing his touch up under her jaw, he cradled her face, and then she was close in his arms again. They wrapped around her back, her hands settling on his chest, curling into the cotton oxford he was wearing, the silk of his tie. “I’m giving you one tonight, Dana. I’m going to convince you that you are my happily ever after. I want to be yours, if you’ll give me the chance.”

She wasn’t sure if he was teasing, and if she was crazy for wanting him not to be. So she summoned an indifferent smile, struggling for their earlier banter. “I don’t know. I’ll have to compare your portfolio to Ben’s. You know I’m a gold digger.”

“Hmm. Then let me give you something else to think about.”

Catching her lips in an unexpectedly aggressive kiss, he put his hand back between her legs, massaging her clit, delving deep inside with devilishly clever and aggressive fingers that demanded nothing less than full surrender. The ambush caught her off guard. In less than five seconds, the climax took her like a fast rush of machine-gun fire, jerking her back against the cushions, her hands clutching at him for an anchor as he continued to kiss her senseless, her ass