And just insane.
“Is it your goal to leave me waiting all weekend?” Stellan’s question jerked her out of her amazed, inferiority-complex-steeped stupor.
She said nothing.
He came to a stop in order to lean one broad shoulder against a blond column, one of two that flanked the steps up to the bed area.
He also crossed his arms on his wide chest.
Man of the house.
Dear Lord.
“Bendel is nice, but we’ll be getting you LV. Or perhaps more you, Bottega Veneta,” he carried on.
What did she say to that?
Apparently nothing as he continued.
“The others will be using the pool house, or the guest bedrooms. But you change up here. You also shower up here before dinner. And you’ll be sleeping in here too.”
She stopped looking at him and started staring at him.
She also found her voice.
“Is this a sleepover?”
He started down the steps. “For you it is.”
He halted in front of her as she asked, “I thought after the party we were having a conversation.”
“We are,” he confirmed. “Then we’re going to fuck, and after that, we’re going to sleep.”
She locked her legs so they wouldn’t visibly tremble.
“Stellan, I’ve had a lot of time to think…”
She didn’t finish that because she had, she’d just come to no conclusions.
However, slapped right in the face with his immense … everything … conclusions were coming to her.
He didn’t need her to finish.
“I hope so. And we’ll discuss that after the others leave. Now, is your suit under that,” he dipped his head to her dress, “or do you need to change?”
“It is, but I need to lose the dress and grab my sarong.”
“Do that. I’ve got something to give you before we join the others.”
Oh man.
His last gift was an entire auditorium and a human being.
Considering the fact he lived in the Saint Basil’s of adobe mansions in Phoenix, who knew what would come next?
“Maybe we should take a—”
“Lose the dress, Sixx, and grab your wrap,” he ordered.
“I—”
His hand snaked out, caught her at the back of her head, and she heard her Valentino thump on the floor when she found herself molded to his body with his gorgeous face inches from hers, his other hand clamped at the side of her neck, and his voice had gone low.
“Lose the fucking dress, Simone, and grab your wrap,” he commanded.
Her hand had landed on his abs, and she’d seen them when he was working a sub.
But feeling them …
“Okay,” she whispered.
He let her go.
She immediately missed his abs.
Lord God.
He bent to retrieve her clutch and put it on his French count desk.
She moved up to the bed quickly in order to hide she did it unsteadily, unzipped her bag, and yanked out her wrap. She pulled her sunglasses off her head, dropped them to the bed, and tugged her dress off, leaving all her jewelry where it was, acutely aware that Stellan was on the lower level, watching.
This should not concern her considering the fact he’d watched her work in a playroom in a sex club with some frequency.
However, for a variety of reasons, when in a playroom, she wore her leather, and except on occasion when she left her arms or legs bare, she was always covered. Usually, she wore full-body catsuits or jumpsuits.
But again, she’d been here before, at one of his parties, even been to one wearing a bathing suit.
So why did she feel weird?
Maybe it’s those gunshot-wound scars you didn’t have before when you could wear a bikini, which meant you also had to buy a one-piece when you were shopping? her mind suggested.
There was that.
There was also the fact he’d said they were going to fuck, and she doubted if that happened he’d let her keep her one-piece on to hide her bullet wounds.
Her mind was scrambling for answers to the question when the question got a different answer.
It got this answer at the same time her mistake was made plain.
She’d turned her back on him.
Thus when she was standing in nothing but her swimming suit, earrings, necklace, bangles and slides, she suddenly found herself caged in his arms, one at her chest, one at her ribs, her back pressed to his front, his lips at her neck.
God, he smelled really good.
His body felt a whole lot better.
“My mark is fading,” he said there.
It was.
She’d been right. She’d had a bite mark that was angry the first day but started fading the next.
She knew she’d miss it the minute it was gone.
She didn’t reply to his comment.
She was too busy deep breathing and trying very hard to keep hold on a variety of different bodily reactions.
Though he wouldn’t be able to miss what was happening at her nipples.
Damn.
“I told you to call me,” he reminded her.
It was far more bluster than confidence that made her reply, “You’re not the only one who gets to make the rules to this game.”
“I’m not?” he asked.
She was beginning to wonder if she had the right answer to that.
“We’ll talk about it later,” she evaded.
“You’re right, we will. Now, however, we’ll be talking about how you not only didn’t call, you arrived late.”
“I had some thinking to do that was important to do before I showed,” she explained.
“You also have my number to share that this was something you needed and therefore also share you’d be late.”
This was true.
“In truth,” he went on, “I’d wanted you to arrive earlier so you could meet Margarita and I could show you what I’ve arranged for you before the others arrived. The problem with that is you didn’t call so I could share this with you. So actually, you’re not twenty minutes late. You’re an hour and twenty minutes late.”
Even for a pool party, that was not good.
“The good news is, I met Margarita before I came upstairs,” she informed him.
“Yes, while she was leaving.”
Hmm …
His nose slid up her neck.
Nice.
She bit her lip.
“What would you do to one of your subs if they kept you waiting for over an hour?” he whispered in her ear.
“Stellan, I’m not…” she swallowed and started again. “I’m not one of your subs.”
“No, you’re correct. You’re not. You’re my Simone.”
She had a feeling she knew precisely what that meant and loved the idea with every little piece of her heart.
At the same time it scared her senseless.
She closed her eyes. “Stellan.”
“I’m not a man who’s kept waiting.”
“Just let’s get through—”
She didn’t finish.
She was cheek to the bed, ass in the air, his hand firm at the back of her neck.
She was also trembling and close to orgasming.
Damn, damn, damn it all to hell.
She was a goddamned Domme, for Christ’s sake.
She should see this shit coming.
She bent her arms and put her hands to the bed to push up and attempt to get some control of the situation.
But she went completely still when he pulled the material of her suit covering her ass up tight so it was bunched between her cheeks.
Okay, no.
No pushing up.
She was just going to stay very, very still and hope whatever he did left her able to sit.
Her breaths came fast and shallow as her pussy saturated, which told her whatever he was going to do, the effects of it were not going to go unnoticed by Stellan.
“Feel free to come, darling,” he murmured.
She was right.
It had not gone unnoticed.
Then he spanked her, five sharp smacks on one cheek, all precisely aimed to land one on top of the other to increase the heat through blood flow, as well as the pain, five of the same to the other.
Each blow was impeccable, elegant.
Delicious.
And then she was up, turned, pulled to his long, hard body and held with one arm across her shoulder blades and the other hand cradling the bunched material at her behind, which was good. If his arms weren’t around her, her legs would buckle and she’d go down.
She stared dazedly up at him.