Sunday Snog

Welcome to Sunday Snog Smut for Good. Here's a sexy moment from In Expert Hands...

She stood still for a moment, wondering if she’d hear him moving about, but she didn’t. There was no noise coming from anywhere in the apartment, it was totally silent.

The piano stood grandly in its glass alcove. Imogen pulled out the burgundy-colored velvet stool and twisted it to face the city. She sat and took in the panoramic view. The Chrysler building loomed large, the Empire State larger, and all around were interesting rooftops to study. It was a sight she’d never thought she’d get to sit and admire from somewhere so sumptuous and exclusive.

“Imogen.”

She started slightly at the sound of Kane’s deep voice right behind her.

“I didn’t hear you come back,” she said, forcing herself not to turn. She continued to stare outside, chin tipped. 

“I did.” He rested his hand on her left shoulder. “Come back, that is.”

The heat from his palm seeped onto her skin and seemed to slide up her neck. The hairs at her nape tingled.

His wrist was in her peripheral vision. He appeared to be wearing a black jacket and the cuff of a white shirt peeked from beneath it.

He slipped his hand down her chest, not indecently low, his fingers just past her collarbone. It sent tingles of arousal around her body and her breasts shifted upward as she breathed deep.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

She continued to stare at the window. She could make out his reflection. He was looking down at her, head bent, and she’d been right, he was wearing a suit—a tuxedo complete with a bow tie.

He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

“Thank you,” she managed. “This style dress isn’t something I’d usually wear.”

“I know, which is why I had it made for you.”

“Made for me?”

“Yes. Made. Exactly to order. And the boots too.”

Imogen crossed and uncrossed her legs. The dress shifted, showing an extra inch of thigh. There was nothing she could do about it short of tugging, which she knew would be to no avail.

He pulled in a breath, blew it out. The breeze of air tickled over her head.

“The boots are…” she said.

“Wonderfully kinky,” he finished for her.

“Yes. Kinky.”

There, it was out in the open.

“And look exquisite on you.” He slipped his hand a little lower, until his fingertips rested on the first inch of material of her dress.

The moment was electric yet delicate. As though they were encased in glass that might shatter if either moved too fast or spoke too loud.

“We’re going to a kinky club, aren’t we?” she asked in barely a whisper. “That’s the kind of club you’re setting up, isn’t it?”

“Is that a problem?”

Was that a problem? No, she guessed it wasn’t. She was curious, that’s why it wasn’t a problem. And it certainly put a new spin on their trip. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I just…”

“You’re just worried about being seen in this stunning outfit.”

“Well, it’s not likely I’d see anyone I know, but still, I’d rather my seniors…”

“You worry too much. I have it all organized.” He slipped his other hand around her neck, swept up the column of her throat and cupped her chin. “I’ll take care of you. When you’re with me, I’ll always take care of you. You don’t need to concern yourself with anything.”

Imogen closed her eyes. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She believed him, she really did. Kane was the most competent man she’d ever met. If he said he’d look after her, then he would.

And his hands, hands that he could use as weapons, hands that ruled a business empire, hands that now skimmed her flesh, held her face. She didn’t want him to ever stop touching her.

“You have to believe that,” he went on in a low murmur. “That while you’re mine you will only ever feel good, only ever be treated with the utmost respect and consideration.”

“Yes,” she managed.

His?

He slid his hand lower over her dress to the rise of her breast. “Imogen.” He tilted her head farther up, his fingers pressing gently on her throat. “Do you trust me?”

“I think so.”

For a moment he was quiet, then, “That’s a good start.” He stroked his thumb across her cheek and placed his lips by her ear. “But before we do anything else I need you to wear one more thing.”

Imogen breathed in his cologne, spicy and sexy. Her breasts ached with desire, her abdomen clenched, and her clitoris tingled with need. What else could she possibly wear?

He lifted his touch from her face and chest and carefully released the clasp on her necklace.

She opened her eyes and again studied his reflection as he set it aside, atop the piano.

“In order for us to truly blend in tonight,” he said, “I need you to wear a different adornment on your neck.” He stood directly behind her and plucked something from his pocket.

Imogen couldn’t see what.

But she didn’t wonder for long. He circled her head with his arms and held a thin strip of leather in front of her with a small red metal buckle and several holes. It appeared to be a collar.

“What is it?” she asked, her attention fixated on it.

“It’s a symbol that you belong to me,” he said. “So at the club you won’t get pestered by other Doms.”

She opened her mouth to speak. Questions were piling up on her tongue. A collar? Belong to him? Other Doms?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure you have a million things you want to ask me, and yes, I’m probably moving too fast. But this is all quite necessary and we have all night for you to ask me whatever you want to.”

Imogen closed her mouth. 

“So may I?” he asked, “Put my collar on you?”

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