Pleasure Point Read online

  Roan’s mouth, full and lush for a man’s. Kissable.

  Yes, please kiss me.

  His hands holding her down, using his thumbs to hit the pressure points beneath her breasts, around her nipples.

  “Ah, God!”

  She came once more, her body shaking with the force of her climax.

  Finally she pulled the toy from her body, rolled onto her side and watched the shifting moon and clouds outside her window, trying to catch her breath. As her body heated once more, she knew she was going to be breathless for a very long time because of Roan Abrams.

  By the following evening, after a day placing orders and overseeing the activity in her pastry kitchen she thought she’d have worked him out of her system. But the moment she got home all she could think of was Roan—and her purple rabbit that seemed to be calling her name the moment she closed her door behind her.

  She tried to sift through her mail, but she couldn’t even see the lettering on the envelopes. It was as if his face was branded into her mind. And only one thing would calm her down enough to function.

  Her sex began a low, insistent buzz that had her squeezing her thighs together.

  “Okay,” she said to herself. “I guess there’s no other way out of this. Damn it.”

  She unbuttoned her blouse, anxious to get out of it, to tear her bra off, to pinch and tease her aching nipples—

  Oh, yes!

  –and froze in her tracks when her doorbell rang. What the hell?

  She huffed as she turned around.

  “What timing,” she muttered, making her way back through the living room, quickly re-buttoning her blouse. She paused to turn on the track lighting. “I really do not need this right now.”

  She yanked the door open, not knowing who she’d been expecting. But it certainly hadn’t been him.

  Her whole body tensed with a strange yearning to fall into his arms and let him... let him do anything he wanted to her. Anything.

  No.

  “I can’t believe you tracked me down.”

  “Miranda, you live in the staff apartments. It wasn’t as if I hired a private investigator.”

  “Still…” She bit her lip. “What are you doing here, Roan?” she asked again.

  He leaned his elbow against the doorframe, drawing closer as his gaze caught and held hers. “May I come inside?”

  Why did those words make her shiver, as if he’d touched her skin? As if he’d said them to her with a different intent?

  God, the man was gorgeous. So damn sexy. Commanding even when he was asking a question, asking her permission. But was he really asking? She was pretty sure he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And given the shape she was in when he rang the bell, she wasn’t sure she could turn him away.

  He raised one dark brow, waiting for an answer, and it was hot and just cocky enough, and damn it she was going to ask him in.

  “Okay.”

  She stepped back and as he slipped by her, she had some sense of the power of his large frame, the breadth of his shoulders. She wanted to shake her head at her own weakness, but refrained, closing the door instead. As she was turning he laid his hand on the small of her back. Oh, yes, the mere touch of his palm skating across the hollow of her back sent delicious shivers right through her.

  “Miranda, come and sit down,” he said.

  She let him guide her to the sofa and sat down next to him, folding her trembling hands in her lap.

  “Why did you come after me?” she asked.

  He watched her for a moment, his green gaze hard on hers. “Because I’ve had a day to think about it—why we’ve both received an invitation—and although I’m no closer to understanding it, I’ve come to the conclusion Vardalos doesn’t issue these invitations without reason. That perhaps sometimes he knows something we don’t.”

  “Do you really believe that?” She’d heard the rumors, of course. Anyone who worked at the Eden Resort knew its reputation—that people had life-altering experiences on the island. But so far the only part of her life that had been altered was her fairly neat, clean escape from the remnants of her former life, a life that had haunted her.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But does it even matter? I’m here. And you’re here. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the attraction. Even if that was all he knew, he was right, wasn’t he?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “But you do. This isn’t about me being cocky, although I’ve been accused of worse.” He leaned in closer and once more she caught that spicy scent—what she had already come to think of as Roan. “It doesn’t have to be anything more than this. Does it bother you that the invitation brought you to the dungeon?”

  “I wouldn’t have shown up there if it did.” When he raised an eyebrow she admitted, “Okay. Yes, it bothers me, but not for the reasons you think it does.”

  “You can tell me later. For now I’m glad we’re on the same page. Or we will be once we go through negotiations.”

  “You’re making a pretty big assumption,” she protested, even though every nerve in her body was strung tight, needing exactly the release he offered. Kink. Power exchange. Domination.

  “Am I?” He leaned in even further, taking her chin in his fingertips and forcing her gaze to meet his. “Is that why your pupils are widening? Why you ran your tongue across those gorgeous pink lips? I’m a Dominant, Miranda, and once more at the risk of sounding cocky—which I don’t much mind—I’m a good one. It’s my job to read a bottom’s response. And you are responding beautifully.”

  “God dammit, Roan.” Her pulse was hot, racing. She wanted to pull her chin away but found she couldn’t. Instead she lowered her lashes, focusing on the buttons of his shirt. And the hard planes of his chest beneath the fabric. The man had a beautiful body under there. Broad shoulders. A narrow waist. All of it hinted at so enticingly beneath his finely tailored shirt.

  He chuckled. “God dammit what? God dammit don’t make assumptions? Or God dammit, I’m right?”

  “Maybe both,” she admitted. Then she looked back up at him, “Okay. Okay.” She drew in a deep breath, let it out on a shaky exhale. She could do this. Have this. As long as there were boundaries to keep her safe. “This invitation was for one week. Seven days to play.”

  “One week,” he agreed. “That should be plenty of time.”

  “For what?”

  “For us to explore. To get to know each other. To see if we want more than a week.”

  “One week,” she repeated. “Starting when we met last night.”

  He smiled. “As you wish, beautiful Miranda. As long as you understand that within the bounds of the terms we negotiate, you will be mine for those seven days. Well, now six days. And nights,” he added, making her squirm in her seat.

  Heat pooled between her thighs.

  His. Oh my…

  She hadn’t thought she could belong to anyone again, after Daryn. It was the limit of the week that made it possible. Maybe Vardalos knew what he was talking about after all. Maybe the island really did always know what you needed. This week could be exactly what she needed to help her transition, to finally get on with her life.

  She licked her lips. “When do we begin?”

  Roan pulled back and glanced at his watch—a sleek silver Rolex. “I’ll give you an hour.”

  “I… What?”

  He smiled, lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across the knuckles, his lips soft against her skin. “One hour. Then we meet back at Club Sin. We negotiate. And then we play.”

  Chapter Two

  Though Roan had been certain Miranda would meet him as agreed upon, he still had to draw in a relieved breath when she walked through the doors of Club Sin. He’d wanted her there too damn badly. But there was no time for those thoughts now. She was standing in the doorway in that little black lace dress from the night before that showed off her endless, tanned legs and just enough of her succulent cleavage to make his mouth water. Her breasts were full, almost a bit too l
arge for her lithe frame. Spectacular. She had one of those lean, athletic bodies with just enough curves for a man to get his hands around, and he damn well intended to.

  First things first.

  “Very good, Miranda,” he said, letting his mouth quirk up into a small smile.

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “On the contrary. You showed up as instructed.”

  “I…” she started, faltering. The rise of her breasts rose beneath the black lace as she pulled in a deep breath, as she bit her plush pink lower lip. Lips to be kissed. To be mauled. “Negotiations?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.” He held out a hand to her, and she paused before she took it, letting him lead her back to the low red sofa. “Sit.”

  “I’m not a dog,” she protested.

  “No, of course not. But this is a kink dynamic we’re about to negotiate—a D/s dynamic, among other things—and you will get used to me issuing commands. That is non-negotiable.”

  Color rose in her cheeks as she sat down and unnecessarily smoothed a hand over her hair, which was a light brown streaked with gold, pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her graceful neck. He caught the nervous flutter in her fingertips, the way she pulled in a shallow breath.

  “Okay,” she said. “But before we get into these negotiations, the first thing you should know is that I will never go for any sort of humiliation stuff.”

  “Did you find that humiliating?” he asked as he sat next to her, laying an arm across the back of the couch. He noticed she didn’t try to move away from the near contact with her shoulders. Excellent.

  “Not necessarily. It all depends on how it’s used.”

  “Fair enough. Let us begin, then.”

  He caught her gaze and held it. Lovely blue eyes—almost turquoise. And the long lashes lent her an air of innocence—that and her smooth, golden skin. Skin like that could only be natural. But he had to focus on the task at hand. Responsibility first, lust later. He nearly groaned imagining the lust part. Oh yes, he wanted this woman. But control in all things was his ever-present mantra.

  “Tell me about your experience in kink. I gather you’re not new to this.”

  “I’m not new, although it’s been a while. It’s been five years since I’ve played.”

  “Why?”

  She shifted, looked away for several long moments while he waited, noting the catch in her breath, the way her shoulders tensed, how she was making an effort to calm herself.

  “My husband died,” she said very quietly, her gaze locking on his, almost as if she were daring him to…what? Pity her?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He leaned closer, trying to distract himself by breathing in her scent, like a light dusting of citrus and jasmine on her skin. “I will tell you something, and perhaps it will make you feel more comfortable with me. I’m a widower, as well.” There was a small twist in his gut at the admission. This wasn’t something he ever discussed with anyone. Why now? Why her? Maybe because she was one of the few people he’d ever spoken with who had shared a similar experience? Or was it because he was so strangely—insanely—drawn to her?

  “Oh...” Sadness on her face but not the pity he’d gotten too often after his wife died—one reason why he kept that bit of information to himself these days.

  He smiled despite that still-empty place in his chest left there after all these years. “I imagine we’re both sorry, aren’t we? I don’t mean to make light of it.”

  She laughed, a small, raw sound. “It’s sort of a relief, actually. I hate those sad stares. People going into these rambling speeches, trying to find the right thing to say.”

  “There is no right thing to say.”

  “No.” She stared at him for several long moments, and something inside him felt as if there was a loosening. A tumbling. An opening up he wasn’t sure he liked much. But he couldn’t deny it—that they understood each other on this level. That it made him want to open himself to her.

  Don’t do it. Pull yourself together man.

  He reached for her hand and she didn’t resist as he folded it in his. “Shall we move on?”

  “Yes, please.” Her shoulders dropped, and the lines of her lush lips went soft again.

  He grinned. “Oh, I do like the way you say that. As if you’re asking my permission.”

  “I do have my submissive side. Or we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

  “I’m glad to see you’ve accepted that. So. Moving on. Tell me how many years you’ve been playing. Was it public or private? Were you a part of the kink community?”

  She nodded. “I got into it when I was young—I was nineteen. I got involved with a man from San Francisco, where I went to culinary school.”

  “And did you seek it out? Or did you fall into it?”

  “Oh, I sought it out. It’s easy enough in a city like that. Well, it’s easy enough in any city. I’ve been to clubs all over the world. All over the world,” she repeated quietly, her gaze losing focus, as though lost in memory. After taking in a breath, then blowing it out, she continued. “I’ve played in public and in private. Never a 24/7 relationship, but I was involved pretty regularly. I was part of the community in San Francisco for a while before I met my husband.”

  “Were you? I’ve been part of the scene there for the last ten years. If our paths had crossed I would have remembered you.”

  “It would’ve been before your time. Roan? Do you mind if we move on from the history part? I can’t…I need to think beyond that or I can’t do this.”

  He understood. He’d spent years getting through his days by not thinking about what he’d lost.

  He nodded. “Of course. Let’s talk about your limits.”

  The tension in her shoulders eased just a bit, and though she didn’t smile, her expression loosened, grew more open. “I’m not a hard player. I could never take anything like a single-tail whip. Actually, it’s been so long I’m not exactly certain what I am now, or what I can take.”

  “We’ll try to find out this week. Go on.”

  While they went over what were the standard limits for the people he came into contact with most often—no scat play, no blood, no impact to the face—he watched her relax. And he understood she really was familiar with the negotiations process.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “As I said, I’m not into humiliation. No age play. And God, please no baby talk, and so help me, I am not calling you daddy!”

  He laughed. “I like that you keep your sense of humor when talking about kink.”

  “I don’t think it needs to be so serious all the time. I like to laugh when I play. In fact, when I’m really flying—full of endorphins and down in subspace—I tend to…I giggle a lot. It won’t mean you’re not hurting me. And it doesn’t mean I find it funny.” She smiled. Beautiful. “Well, sometimes it does mean that, but only because I’m flying. So don’t take it personally.”

  “I like that you expect me to take you to that place. Into subspace.”

  She licked her lips. It wasn’t a coy move—it was simply her nerves surfacing again. “I do expect you to. You wear your dominance like a piece of clothing, Roan. Anyone with even the slightest subbie tendencies would recognize it.”

  He reached out, stroking her cheek before he reached behind her and found one of the pins holding her hair. He had to take it down. To feel its softness. He pulled another pin loose, then another and her hair fell into his hand like a pile of gold and brown silk.

  “Your hair is lovely,” he murmured, caressing the strands, twisting them around his fingers.

  “Thank you,” she said. She didn’t move.

  Interesting how she switched from nerves to calm. Except that when he looked more closely he saw her pupils dilating, the slight quickening of her breath that told him she was going down already.

  Perfect.

  “And now on to the more technical details,” he said. “Do you have any health issues I should know about?”

 
; “No—well, I sprained my right ankle last year, but it’s fine most of the time.”

  “I’ll be careful with it. Nothing else health related?”

  “No.”

  “Emotional triggers?”

  “No.” She stopped, shook her head, let out another short laugh. “Yes. Probably. I’m sure there are, but I don’t even know where to begin. I haven’t played since…I lost him. I just don’t know.”

  “Alright. Something to watch for then. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me now?”

  “No. Nothing else.”

  She was holding something back—he could tell from the tight set of her shoulders, the way her gaze darted away. But he’d let it sit for now. Everyone had a right to a few secrets. “Very good. Then I’ll talk about my limits. The same basics as yours. I’ll do some verbal humiliation, use someone as a footstool, if that’s what they need, but it’s not my preference. I suppose some might call me a service Top. What I’m into is, for the most part, what pulls a response from you. I’m very detail-oriented. I will watch you closely.”

  “You already do.”

  “Yes. It begins the moment there is an agreement to play—even the possibility of it. What I’m looking for is that response. Overt. Subtle. The subtle is maybe even more important. The other thing you need to know is that I won’t play with anyone who refuses to use a safe word—I don’t care how hard a player they consider themselves to be. Communication is key. I like a great many things—floggers, paddles, electrical play—but bare-handed spanking and pressure point play are my favorites.”

  “Oh!”

  “Which? The spanking or the pressure points?” he asked.

  “Both. But the pressure point play…”

  He smiled, felt the smile spread into a grin. “I think we will enjoy our time together, Miranda. What about breath play?”

  “Only with someone I trust completely.”

  “Then I shall have to work very hard to gain your trust.”

  She smiled then—maybe the first full smile he’d seen from her—and it lit up the room. This woman was beautiful. Even the air of sadness about her made her more enticing. And smiling through the sadness…well, that just made his cock go hard. Lord, if he could make her cry… He did have a thing for a woman’s pretty tears if they were brought on by pain he inflicted.