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

with the whiskey he’d been drinking. When he’d asked her what drink she’d like, he’d taken her hand in an easy motion, pressed her knuckles to his chest, so she recognized the texture of the jacket. He passed his own knuckles over her cheek now, below the mask, and grazed her lips with . . . chocolate?

Chocolate and brandy, a cordial. When she parted her lips, he placed it on her tongue, caressing her throat as she took it. While she was occupied with savoring the unique, rich taste, he let her feel that he was holding something soft, almost like a clay, in his other hand. It had a form to it, as though there were wires beneath the malleable substance. He leaned in, his mouth against her ear.

“Peter’s demand. I’m going to put these two things on you, dearest. Draw a breath in, so I have a little room. He’s got you laced quite tight, the sadist.”

That voice was pitched exactly as she’d suspected. Despite his tone of gentle amusement, Jon was quite capable of issuing a command as a Master. Whatever bound these men together, it made it impossible for her to feel threatened by him now.

Peter had reminded her in the car that she’d been a submissive for as long as she could remember. The relief that could come from obedience to a man she knew could handle her, that she could trust and test by turns, was an elusive but familiar shadow she wanted to chase down, pull into herself and leave fear behind. Peter’s demand . . .

Holding still, she took a breath, the chocolate melting on her tongue. Jon’s long, clever fingers slid into the corset, worked across to her nipples and then pinched that disk of clay over each. He had a sensual touch, functional and caressing at once, so that the pressure made her catch his sleeves, steadying herself at the rocket of sensation. Then his hands slid free, resting on her shoulders. It was like Play-Doh. Her lips curved at the ridiculous thought; then something began to happen that drove away any thought of a child’s toy.

It was warming. Warming, and something else. It penetrated her nerve endings and . . .

Holy God, her nipples were getting terribly aroused, as if Peter were suckling them, tugging, creating a liquid pool in her lower belly that had her off balance.

While her body shuddered with arousal, Jon turned her, sending her from him with a gentle nudge. With fear being supplanted by physical desire, she dared a few more steps, wondering if he’d sent her toward Peter.

Instead, she stumbled over her shoes, but someone caught her from behind as she gasped.

Ben. He was easy, so larger-than-life sexy, his aftershave a rich, teasing scent.

“Need to get you back in those shoes to protect your feet, darling.”

. . . you can touch or explore anything within your range . . . It was too much to resist.

Rather than complying, she reached back, found the knot of his silky tie, and threaded it through her fingers. His hands closed on her hips, steadying her. She arched, her tongue teasing her own lips at the additional stimulation to her nipples. The movement brought her ass fully against his groin, and holy God. Talk about a portfolio. Ben had gotten extra blessings from the cock fairy. She couldn’t help it, not with that stimulation happening to her nipples. Thinking about Peter watching, remembering their lap dance, she made a slow, sensual circle, her lips curving at an expulsion of air on her nape that suggested she’d inspired a half chuckle, or a muttered curse. Ben tightened his fingers, made her step into those shoes.

“You’re trouble, darling. That’s for sure. Go on with you, now.”

Since she’d let Ben’s tie drape over her shoulder, the silk passed over the high top of her breast as she moved away. This time she attempted that pendulum saunter, biting her lips at the sensations that sparked through her nipples like electricity. Straight ahead she went, not at all surprised to come up against Lucas. This was why she could move ten feet however she wanted. Peter’s friends had formed a loose circle around her.

How they were doing it in a crowded club environment, she had no idea, but she was learning not to question the miracles Peter could pull off. She wouldn’t run into anything, touch anything Peter knew she shouldn’t. Of course, he might have something to say about that little tease she’d given Ben, but if he reacted the way he had in the car, she’d go back and give Ben a full lap dance to experience that punishment again.

But now there was Lucas. Broad shoulders, tight, athletic body. An amateur cyclist, according to the earlier small talk. Intriguing choice, all of them wearing suits or more formal attire. His shirt was probably some impressive brand like Armani, with that soft, feel-me texture, though the chest beneath had its own appeal. His hands were holding her firmly under her elbows, a Master’s hands. His knee brushed against her bare leg, making her hyperaware of how easy it would be for him to shift, widen her stance so he could press a bicycle-hard thigh between her legs. His lips were against her ear now, though, feeding her eagerness to have more pleasures woven into her lust-fogged mind.

“We all have our specialties, sweet Dana. If Ben had his way with you, he’d take you in the ass, keep you screaming and climaxing at once. Jon has his many clever devices, and my specialty . . .”

He took her hand to his mouth, and enclosed two fingers there, making her gasp at the artful way his tongue swept between the knuckles, such an obvious representation of the way he might penetrate a woman’s pussy that her pulse sped up when he let them slide slowly out and then took them down to her panties. He pressed her fingers over her soaked