[Siren Classic: Erotic Contemporary Romance, light bondage, spanking, paddling, sex toys, HEA]
Dace Reynolds was conned by a beautiful woman and longs for retribution. Spying Sophie Price again, he confronts her, only the woman isn't his personal nightmare, but her sister, Stephanie. Trading on Stephanie’s obvious attraction to him, Dace decides to seduce and use her until she leads him to Sophie.
Despite Stephanie’s best efforts to resist him, she gives in to Dace’s overwhelming appeal, believing he isn’t the cold man he portrays. While longing for more, she will take the physical relationship and settle for Sophie’s leavings once again. Dace retreats in the face of Stephanie's honesty and strives to create a relationship with her based on something more than physical attraction. He is intensely sexual but denies himself until they can embark on an exploration of both their emotional and sexual needs.
Can Dace let go of his thirst for revenge? Can Stephanie stand up to her sister for the first time ever to secure the man of her dreams?
A Siren Erotic Romance
Dace Reynolds stared at the woman across the room, absolute and total disbelief roiling his guts, kicking up his heartbeat. Few things shocked him or took him aback, but the unmitigated gall, the balls… He got himself back under control with Herculean effort. No one appeared to have noticed his lapse into a cacophony of emotions better suited to a callow youth laying eyes on a beautiful, desirable woman for the first time. Or a bitter, dark man lusting for revenge. He’d have the latter tonight. Sophie was going to regret ever setting foot back in his city, let alone in a venue she had to know he would frequent. Dace was a patron for God’s sake! His fury boiled forth again, and he used its energy to carry him forward, surging to mow down the slight figure with the perfectly sized breasts and curved ass, lovingly swathed in gossamer, golden fabric. Her mass of titian hair was piled high on her regal head, giving the false promise of height.
Sophie was maybe five foot two in her bare feet and affected the highest of heels to offset that perceived disadvantage. Dace preferred her barefoot and naked, kneeling at his feet, with that marvellous hair down around her shoulders, the better to thrust his hands into, to hold her head steady while he shoved his cock past those pillowy lips into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. Shit. He was aroused, and not just with rage, although the two were hard to separate. The sexual attraction wasn’t going to distract him from his purpose. Dace was going to shake Sophie until her emerald-green eyes rolled in her scheming little head, then wrap his hands around her slender throat and choke her until she was blue in the face. Nice imagery and it suited his darkest, furious fantasy.
He was on her in seconds, noting her graceful stance, the way she engaged in conversation with the gallery’s owner and one of the other patrons, old man Gilles. She focused on them, but gave them distance, her stance respectful, unlike the Sophie of old who expected the focus only on herself and demanded it be so. The slight disparity registered as his hand clamped on one delicate, silky shoulder and spun her to face him, nearly knocking her right off those fuck-me heels. Indeed, she staggered and stayed upright only because he grasped her forearm and yanked her steady. She winced, her sherry-colored eyes widening in shock and not a little fear as she stared up at him. Her lips parted, and he was nearly undone. Nearly.
“Dace! What on earth?” Reginald Coulter swept forward like the diva he could affect, his slender, straight physique in its Armani suit bristling with indignation. “Stephanie? Are you all right?”
Stephanie. Not Sophie. Stephanie. As physically near identical to Sophie as any woman could be, except for the eye color, and the obviously genuine breasts. The warm sherry hue of her eyes was now deepening to gold, her luscious mouth snapping shut and setting in a straight line. Those lovely eyes narrowed, and she pulled her arm from his loosening grasp, wincing again as she did so. Dace realized he’d hurt her, probably bruised her tender, porcelain skin. His cock muttered an imprecation, something about fixing this immediately so it could make her acquaintance. Dace ignored his little brain in part, but set about the apology.
“I am very sorry, uh, Stephanie. I’m Dace Reynolds. I thought you were someone else.”
Stephanie took a small, careful step back, and then another, increasing the distance between them. Dace could only imagine what he’d looked like, looming over her with such dastardly intent, predator after prey. He tamped his reaction, and his cock, down.
Reg interrupted their staring contest. “This is Stephanie Price, Dace.”
Dace’s rage flared again. He didn’t believe in fucking coincidences. The urge to shake her resurfaced, although he’d forgo choking her until he found out what her game was.
“Price,” he murmured. His tone had her backing up a little more and his accompanying smile brought the sherry back. She should fucking well be afraid of him. She and Sophie set this up. Were they twins? Sisters?
Reg was still blithering on. “—has just started with us. She holds a degree in art history from Northwestern and will be managing the gallery when I’m away. My second-in-command as it were.”
What the fuck? Working? An actual job? A degree? Not using her beauty, her remarkable body, and those well-honed con artist talents to steal and destroy? Dace sucked in a breath, tearing his eyes from Stephanie’s now-pale visage to stare at Reg. The other man quirked a brow, the puzzled frown still on his face. He’d been overseas last year during Dace’s personal debacle. He’d never met Sophie, and Dace had worked hard at suppressing gossip. Reg probably had a con artist right under his nose.
Dace decided. “Might I have a private word with your second-in-command, Reg?” He instantly amended his address. “Reginald?” The gallery owner might answer to the diminutive in private, but he insisted on his full name in public, believing it fit with his profession and held a certain panache.
Reginald’s frown deepened. Dace cast around in his head for something to assuage the other man’s concern and curiosity. “I would like to make a private apology, and, seeing as one of my protégés is making a debut here next month, I should get on the right footing with Ms. Price.”
“Of course.” The mention of making money distracted Reginald from any reservations he might have held, as usual. “Stephanie? Will you take Dace to my office, please? He obviously wants to apologize for being so out of line, and he’ll bring you up to date about the bronzes being displayed next month.”
Dace could tell Stephanie wanted to refuse. She blinked and cut her eyes to her boss, then returned her gaze to study him cautiously, catching her full bottom lip with her little white teeth. Fuck. No matter who she was related to, she so did it for him.
The apartment door shut with a definite slam, and Dace threw the lock. “Out of those clothes, minx.”
Stephanie pretended to consider his request. When he took a step toward her, she lifted a hand to the side zipper on her dress and gently pulled it down, taking as long as she dared, testing him. She shrugged, and the silky fabric slipped from first one shoulder, then the other, and down the length of her body, hesitating at her breasts, dragging over the beaded tips of her nipples, swirling around her hips to pool at her feet. She slipped a fingertip beneath the front closure of her nearly transparent bra and popped it open, the cups falling back obligingly to frame her now heavy mounds. Another shrug and the straps slithered down either arm to drop free to the floor.
Dace’s features were strained, his eyes hot pools of cerulean. He gestured at her panties. “The rest.”
It was a simple matter to insert her fingers behind the waistband, then shimmy the lace over her hips.
“Stop.” She froze at his command. “Turn around.”
Stephanie turned, her hands at her hips, still behind the fabric. She awaited his next order.
“Take them off.”
She complied, bending at the waist to push them lower, to her knees and down her calves, hearing his sharp intake of breath as the plug came into view. Ah, the visual. She stepped out and straightened, clenching her buttocks in an attempt to hide the plug.
“Go to the bed, strip the covers back, then get on it. Hands and knees. Face the headboard. Spread your legs, Stephanie, and don’t hide from me. You won’t like it if you do.”
Her pussy swelled and her cream gushed, just like that. She wondered what Dace would do if she disobeyed even as her feet carried her to the bed to do his bidding. She was viscerally aware of him behind her, watching, making her wait. Her entire being prickled in erotic anticipation. She was a total sex-greedy wench and marvelled at how wonderful it made her feel.
Dace took the same position behind her as he had done earlier, the naked heat of him encompassing her frame, and her body memory caused her to drop her shoulders to the mattress to his rumble of pleasure. “Good girl. Now relax.”
Dace eased the plug out, and she hitched after it, feeling suddenly bereft, empty. It clunked on the nightstand, muffled by fabric. A towel, she decided, alert to every sound. “Sweetheart, you’re stretched and open. Now breathe with me.”
Stephanie closed her eyes behind the spill of her hair and concentrated on matching her breaths to his until the only sound in the room was the synchronized echo. She drifted, trusting and relaxed, as he squeezed lube into her anus in quantity, the cooling sensation in such contrast to how hot she felt everywhere else. What could only be his cock was then set right there, and he gripped her hips.
“Steady, sweetheart. Breathe. Relax and take me.”
He was so much bigger than the plug, and he had to press hard to pop past the initial resistance of the ring of muscles around her back entrance. Stephanie struggled to breathe and tensed. Dace immediately stilled and waited patiently for her to adjust, leaning over her to feather his lips over her shoulders. “Okay?”
Managing to answer in the affirmative, feeling some kind of dark, deviant pleasure furling up from deep within. Dace pushed in deeper to meet that curl of pleasure, and she felt the drag and pull of him over every nerve ending, sensations she couldn’t begin to describe. She sucked in more air and involuntarily clenched. Dace groaned loudly above her, and his balls slapped against her pussy as he thrust in to the root. She whimpered at the full feeling, much fuller than the plug, and swore she could feel him in her chest. She needed him to do something.
“Ask, Stephanie. Beg me.”
It was so hot, so sexy. She was at his tender mercy, and begging seemed such a fine idea. “Please, Dace. Please do something.”
“Tell me.” His voice was hoarse with strain, and she tightened her pelvic muscles. A slap to her right buttock reminded her who was boss.
“Move, please! Fuck my ass!”
Her crude request unleashed the beast, for Dace pulled back and thrust forward, pulling further out with every stroke, then shoving in harder, harder. It bordered on splintering pain but for that dark curl that unfurled and beat against her insides. Dace powered in and out with controlled strokes, and the pleasure built. Stephanie could only take, pinned by his weight and his grip on her hips, so she took him. His cock dragged and tormented, and she whimpered and pleaded for something beyond her ken.
“Touch yourself, sweetheart. Bring yourself off. Now.” She barely recognized Dace’s voice, hoarse with effort and lust. She managed to push her hand under her mound, a finger finding her engorged clit with minimal effort, her pussy slick with her juices. She rubbed and pressed, and her release blew up over her, her toes curling, pussy clenching on emptiness, flooding hot moisture, as she clamped hard enough on Dace’s hard, unyielding cock to make her teeth grind and her eyes water. He bellowed, and a hot surge of fluid bathed her colon, his balls jerking against her. She sagged under his weight, and he immediately rose off of her. She moaned when his cock pulled out, and her back entrance quivered. Dace collapsed beside her and pulled her to spoon against his chest, their sweaty bodies sealing their connection. She felt the press of his lips against her hair and dropped into oblivion.