Excerpt – Their Discovery

Their Discovery © 2019 Rebecca Grace Allen


“I don’t mind telling you what to do, you know,” she added. “Being your wife is like training an excitable puppy.”

Brady went rigid, his muscles tensing beneath his T-shirt as color rose on his cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d seen him react like that, even longer since she’d seen his brow wrinkle and his head sink down more, a surefire sign that he was turned on. It was what he’d do back in the day, when she’d taunt him for wanting her so badly. What he’d done every time she’d ordered him to her dorm room and teased that he must’ve sprinted across campus to have gotten to her so fast.

When she’d ordered him over.

Was that it?

She stared at him. He was waiting, barely moving.

“Maybe that’s all you need,” she said. “To be given a little—” she paused, testing out the effect of her words, “—discipline.”

A noticeable shudder went through him.

Holy shit. She’d read moments like this in her books. Scenes when the Dominant would give his submissive a command, and everything would change. Was that happening now?

She wanted to push Brady harder. To see if she was right.

Sam stood and padded slowly over to him, but he remained frozen, as if he were a helpless animal and she was a lioness stalking her prey.

“You want to see me happy?” she asked, and even she was surprised at how soft and seductive her voice sounded.

Brady didn’t look up from the sink. “You know I do.”

Moving in behind him, she put her hands on him. His T-shirt was soft beneath her palms. His breathing went shallow as she caressed all those bunched muscles in his lower back. God, he still was a specimen, his torso thick, a dip at the base of his spine leading to the ass she’d once loved to grab and squeeze.

She pressed herself against him. Her chin barely cleared his shoulder blades, but she rubbed her upper body back and forth, testing to see if he could feel her tightened nipples through her tank top and robe. There was the slightest buck of his hips.

Humming softly in approval, Sam went up on her toes, got her lips as close to his ear as she could and whispered, “Then you go back to washing while I have a little fun.”

Sam lowered her hands until her palms met the hem of his tee. She raised the fabric up with her fingers. Brady let out an unsteady breath when she found warm, bare skin.

“I’m going to play,” she said. “And you’re not gonna miss a speck of food on those plates, understand?”

He swallowed audibly. “Yes.”

The word came out strained. Like he was trying not to beg.

“And you’ll have to be quiet so the girls don’t hear. Can you do that?”

Another swallow, with a quick nod of his head tacked on after it. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t them. Or maybe it was them, some ghostly past version coming back for one repeat performance. Mentioning it seemed dangerous though, as if it could break the spell, so Sam waited until Brady reached for a plate. He began scrubbing, and there was a slight tremor in his limbs as Sam moved her hands around to his belly. She had no idea if this was anything more than Brady being turned on, but the idea of making him her plaything sent heat rushing through her, made her skin tingle and her heart pound.

She caressed that spot for a moment, enjoying the sensation beneath her fingertips. Brady’s skin had always been smooth, baby soft under the hair that ran a trail into his boxers.

And what was at the end of that trail was a goddamn pot of gold.

She etched a nail along the cotton waistband of his sweats. Brady’s breathing hitched, his belly rising and falling. Why he was suddenly so responsive when they’d had months of nothing sexual at all was beyond her, but she wasn’t going to ask now. What she was going to do was dip her hands beneath the elastic, beyond that patch of curls and to the prize beneath it.

“Stay quiet,” she reminded, and slid her hand downward until she found rigid flesh.

Brady held himself still. Body poised. Waiting. Obedient. Silent. The muffled shudder that came out of him was almost as rewarding as the feel of him in her fist.

“Look what I found,” she teased, singsong, and gave him a long, languid stroke.

He was hard. Harder than she could ever remember him being, and that was saying something. She’d been shocked at the size of his erection the first time she’d seen it. He was thick enough for her fingertips to barely meet when she wrapped a hand around him. He always got bigger the closer he got to coming, too.

Sam grinned, a faded memory coming back—a night years ago, after a winter-break separation. Their reunion had been all hands and very few words, and she’d worked him until he was on the brink of orgasm, then stopped to marvel at his size. He hadn’t complained. He’d just grunted and stared at her. At her mercy, he’d waited for her to take the lead, obedient and silent.

Sam blinked. Was she reading this right?

“You want that again?” she asked, her voice low.

He nodded—a quick, desperate move.

“Say please.”

His shoulders shook. “Please.”

She blinked again. Was Brady a submissive? Could he always have been? He’d behaved like one in college, but somehow she’d never connected the dots. She’d never entertained the idea that she was a Domme either, for all that she’d been turned on reading about BDSM, but here she was, her own breathing sharp and short as she watched Brady shake with need. She could be imagining all this, pretending that some inherent, unspoken need in him was answering some unrealized, intrinsic need of hers.

She needed to find out.

Experimenting, she slowly stroked that gloriously rigid flesh, fingers slippery with pre-come as she skated a thumb over his tip. She found a rhythm, and his breathing quickened. He put down the plate he’d been rinsing and gripped the sides of the sink with shaking arms. Sam immediately stopped stroking.

“I thought I told you to finish those dishes,” she said, somehow pulling off harsh and playful in the same breath.

His head bowed, and his cock pulsed in her grip. “You did,” he gritted out.

“Well if you want more of this—” Sam stroked him again. His head sank back. “—then you’d better do what I say.”

“God.” Brady’s voice broke on the word. Hands trembling, he retrieved the plate, rinsed it, and placed it in the dishwasher. As he reached for another one, Sam felt an insane, giddy rush. Power crackled through her like a snapping set of fireworks. It was electrifying, seeing him weak like this.

She wasn’t imagining a damn thing—not his reaction, nor her own.

She waited until he’d rinsed off another dish before sliding her other hand into his boxers. As she resumed stroking him with one hand, she reached the other one lower, cupping his balls and tugging gently.

He huffed out a breath. Struggling to keep quiet. But he was behaving.

“Good boy,” she whispered.

Brady’s entire body went taut. “Oh, fuck. Sammy.”