3.
She’d been to Jonathan’s apartment before, but not with so much tension in the air. Not when it was just the two of them, and he was in his kitchen, pouring her some wine.
He was sexy like this, outside their rehearsal space. The way he walked, the way he crossed to the living room, holding two glasses while he held her gaze. His auburn hair, normally flawless, was slightly mussed from running his hand through it. He’d done that several times on the car ride over here, telling her this was too much of a risk, that they’d mess up their dynamic together. He’d told her he ought to just take her home.
But here they were.
He sat beside her on the couch, close enough for their knees to touch, although they didn’t touch. The wine he handed her was deep red. She turned to face him, bringing the glass beneath her nose.
“Hmm,” she said. “Notes of woodland breezes, overripe berries, and fairy wings.”
“You got it. That’s exactly what it said on the label.”
She smiled at him over the rim. “I actually know nothing about wine.”
“I know.”
He watched as she took a sip of the crimson vintage, appreciating the smooth, rich flavor. Jonathan would never give a guest cheap stuff. He probably had a closet full of excellent bottles, although she wasn’t sure. She’d never been beyond his living room, not once during their long acquaintance. She looked out of his oversized windows at the dark city.
“It’s a beautiful night,” she mused. “It makes me think of Debussy. Of Clair de Lune.”
“Why?”
She thought a moment. “Because it’s calm and pretty, but there’s a tension, too. Chicago is like those rolling glissades, isn’t it? You don’t know where you are, or where you’ll end up, but it’s…” She flushed. She always talked too much. “But it’s okay, I guess, to not know.”
He looked down into his wine a moment, then back at her. “I like the way you talk about music. It’s not just a piece for you, or a song. It’s an entire experience. Sometimes, when I’m looking for music for the quartet, I imagine in my head what you’ll say about it. It helps me think things through.”
“Really?” She could feel her blush deepening. Why was his gaze always so intense, so direct? It didn’t bother her during a rehearsal or a performance. She was used to his scrutiny as a musician, but now, on his couch with a glass of wine…
“I like the way you play.” She had to pay him a compliment, didn’t she? Because he’d just complimented her? “I like the intensity of it. Your virtuosity. In my opinion, you play with the same sort of fire as Paganini. I imagine that, anyway.”
“God, Ruby, please.”
“They called him the Devil’s Violinist, but for intensity, I’ll bet on Jonathan Gold every time.”
“How drunk are you? I’m taking that away.” He reached for her mostly full glass, joking, but she let him take it. She didn’t want him to blame the wine for what she said next.
“Jonathan…” She paused, gathering her nerve. “Can you tell me more about your sex thing? Your kink?”
“My kink? More like kinks, plural.” He turned and put the wine on the side table. “What do you want to know?”
“How scary do you get?”
He shrugged. “As scary as my partner wants it. That’s how this works, right? That’s how BDSM relationships go. But if you want specifics, I can tell you some things I really like.”
“Bondage?” she asked.
“Always. And sex. I like being in control, but I especially like having sex while I’m in control. I like to hurt my partners while they’re bound and helpless, and crying, if they can manage that.” He paused and studied her. “Freaked out yet?”
She wished she was, but she wasn’t. She was getting wet as hell. “That actually sounds pretty hot. Do you use a lot of gear?”
“I’m not a rope guy, like Ethan, but I like my gear. Cuffs and straps, bondage furniture, spreaders and chains.” He noticed her glance around the room, and chuckled. “I don’t keep it out here, but I have it. It’s in a special room.”
“A dungeon?”
“If you like to use that word. There’s no black velvet wallpaper or iron sconces on the walls, but I can do the things I want to do to the women who put themselves under my control.” He looked away from her, let out a sigh she barely heard. “I’ve thought about doing things to you.”
“You have?”
He nodded, then frowned. “I’ve tried not to. Professionalism and all that, but ever since you and Ethan… Well, he said you were a ‘crazy little pain freak’ once, just threw it into the conversation. Ever since he mentioned that, I’ve been thinking about hurting you.”
He didn’t hesitate over the words or try to soften them. He said it right out: I’ve been thinking about hurting you. As she stared at him, his frown deepened.
“I’ve thought about some pretty hardcore things as far as you’re concerned, Ruby. Bondage, punishment, sex, all of it rude and uncalled for. All of it far too intense. That’s why you shouldn’t be here.”
She took in his words and realized that was exactly why she should be here. She gestured to their glasses. “Um, I think I need the wine again.”
He handed it to her. She promptly handed it back.
“On second thought, that’s not what I need.”
He set the glasses down, his handsome features still more serious than sexed-up. “I know what you need, Ruby, and I want it too, but I’m worried—”
“Don’t worry. It’s not going to change things.”
“No, I’m worried about taking things too far, hurting you too much.”
“Can’t you give me a safe word?”
“I can, but in the quartet, you always push things. You don’t want to give in to me, not when we’re playing music. What if this is the same? If I give you a safe word, will you use it?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t even think about it before she said it. She’d agree to anything right now, and he knew it. He knew she wasn’t thinking, that she was just feeling, the way she did when they played a really wonderful piece. She put a hand on his knee. She never touched him like that, but now she did.
“I’ve thought about some pretty hardcore things, too. I want you to hurt me. I’m sure I want that. I want you to play me hard, like Paganini with his violin. Just once, if that’s all you’re okay with. But I’d like to work out this energy with you.”
“Sado-masochistic energy,” he murmured. “That’s what it is. I felt it for you even before I knew…”
She thought back to the way he’d held her at the party in L.A., the way he’d kissed her. “So…” She had to control her voice so it didn’t tremble. “How do we start?”
“Come here,” he said.
He started with a kiss. It was perfect and hard and fast as he slid his palm over the back of her neck. He tasted like wine when he gave her his tongue. She opened for it and melted against him when he pulled her closer. When she needed air, he nipped at her upper lip, not hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to give her some pain. She moaned, wishing she could hump against him. Yes, this is what I want. This intensity. Yes.
He pulled back at last and stood, holding out a hand. “Come on.”
Come here. Come on. She was into his bossy energy. She needed it so she didn’t lose her courage. Where was he taking her? What would his dungeon look like?
As promised, there was no cheesy decor. He’d converted a large guest suite into a multifunctional room. There was traditional furniture—a bed, a chair—but also some tables, ottomans, and racks that were definitely “convertible.” It was all smooth blond wood and burnished iron, classy but utilitarian, and definitely perverse.
He kissed her again now that he’d dragged her in here, even more roughly than before.
“You’re in for it,” he said, brushing fingers down her cheek. “I’m warning you, I like giving orders. I’ll ask you to take some pain, and I’m going to want to fuck
you, probably in multiple ways. Fucking, pain, and bondage go together for me. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” she said. Yes, rip my clothes off. Make me hurt.
As if he’d read her mind, he started taking off her clothes, pulling off her shirt, pushing down her pants, exposing the skimpy lingerie Ethan had gotten her into wearing. He plucked the side of her black velvet thong.
“This is nice,” he said, before he tugged it down her hips. “I appreciate it, but I want you naked. It always starts with you completely naked, completely exposed.”
Oh, she felt exposed. And excited as hell.
“Jesus, Ruby. You’re beautiful.”
He stood back and gave her an appreciative once-over that shored up her bravery. Now that she was nude, he started undressing. No black vest, no pleather chaps. He got as naked as she was, and in his powerful, hard body, she saw the courage she lacked. He was so bold, so virile, so damn hard all over that it took her breath away.
He lowered the lights, giving her some time to breathe, and picked up a condom from a bowl beside the bed. The bondage bed. Would they start there? What would he do to her first?
“Get on your knees,” he said, and it wasn’t his usual voice. It was something deeper and harsher, and sexier. He went from the bed to a chest of drawers closer to the door, and started pulling out sexy looking shit. Cuffs, straps, something that looked like nipple jewelry. She sank to her knees, fighting the urge to cower. Within a minute, he had set the dynamic between them, and he was undeniably in charge.
He returned to her, throwing everything down in front of her, including the condom. His cock was inches from her face.
“Your safe word is Stravinsky,” he said. “Got it? Say it back to me.”
“Stravinsky,” she repeated, stifling the urge to smile. She knew Stravinsky was Jonathan’s least favorite composer.
“You don’t have to only use it to end things.” He tipped up her chin to look into her eyes. “You can use parts of it to tell me if you need me to slow down, or hold back. You can start with ‘Stra’ as a caution word and move to ‘Stravin’ if things start to feel too bad, like if you need a temporary break. ‘Stravinsky’ will stop everything, okay? The whole name stops whatever I’m doing to you. Do you understand?”
She nodded. It was a more musical system than the traditional green, yellow, and red. She wouldn’t forget.
“Don’t be afraid to use it, girl.”
Girl. Just like that, she was his sub, his kneeling object. It was exciting and scary and crazy.
“Listen to me. I’m in charge now.” He tapped her on the cheek, a firm touch, a warning. “I want you to open your mouth. Keep it open.”
She obeyed, knowing she was about to get fucked, and wanting it really, really bad. But first he needed to bind her. He’d told her that—fucking, pain, and bondage, and the items were right in front of her. The condom, cuffs, O-ring collar, a thin whip, and a thicker strap.
“Hands behind your back,” he ordered. She saw the leather cuffs, then felt them as he stood behind her to tighten them around her wrists. They weren’t play cuffs. They were substantial, real leather cuffs lined with a softer fabric. Not fur. There was nothing furry and “novelty” about his bondage. Once he hooked them together behind her, her mouth was open for real. This was different than Ethan’s rope. Less artistic, more strenuous.
He came in front of her again, and played with her outthrust breasts, pinching the nipples, lifting them with a growl of appreciation. “I love your tits,” he said. “When you wear those low-cut concert gowns, they’re a terrible distraction.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Shh. Open your damn mouth like I told you.”
It was sort of embarrassing to kneel there with her mouth open while he trussed her up for his pleasure. Of course, she was only waiting for one thing, and it was thick, hard, and right in front of her.
He put the collar on next. It had a ring in the front and one in the back. He tested both of them once he’d buckled it on her, giving the rings a little jerk so she swayed on her knees. It was hot, so fucking hot, the way he was taking over her, taking control.
The nipple jewelry came next. Ethan had put clamps on her, and they hurt, but these weren’t the same. She stared down at them as he played with her nipples again. Oh God, his touch felt so good, so skilled. But man, she was scared.
“You’re not a good listener, are you?”
His sharp voice drew her from her thoughts.
“I’ve told you three or four fucking times now to keep your mouth open.”
She’d forgotten. She’d been so interested in what he was doing to her nipples, she’d forgotten to do the most important thing he wanted, which was to obey.
“Down,” he said, hooking a finger in her collar’s ring to bend her over. “Ass up, forehead on the floor.”
The punishment started so quickly, she couldn’t prepare herself. She wouldn’t have been able to anyway. He was using the strap, wielding it on her exposed ass. “I need you to do what I tell you,” he said, in time with the stinging strokes.
“Ow. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Are you listening to me or not?”
She opened her mouth wide, even though he couldn’t see her. At the same time, she cried out, garbled whining for mercy because he was setting her ass on fire.
He gave her ten hard strokes, punishment strokes, not the fun kind, holding her clenched fists behind her back to keep them out of the way. Otherwise she would have tried to shield herself, which she’d already learned was a no-no. If Ethan didn’t put up with that, she knew Jonathan wouldn’t.
She couldn’t beg him to stop and also keep her mouth open as he wished, so she cried and whined instead until he thought she’d been punished enough. Her ass burned. She felt so exposed. Still, the safe word hadn’t even come to her mind. God, no, she was as hot as her punished butt cheeks.
He dropped the strap and came to stand in front of her, and she opened her mouth like the most submissive slave.
“That’s better,” he said.
He picked up the nipple jewelry and showed it to her. There were two round, silver disks with open centers. “These slide onto your nipples without pinching as hard as clamps. You’ll know they’re there, but I can leave them on longer.” He touched her lips, thrust a finger in her open mouth, against her tongue. “That way I can play with you longer. I plan to play with you a long, long time.”
She moaned, trembling. Her bottom throbbed, and soon her nipples throbbed too. The disks didn’t pinch her sensitive nipples, but stimulated them with contact, so her breasts felt as sexualized and vulnerable as her punished ass. As she knelt there, waiting, Jonathan put on a pink, flavored condom. She wondered what flavor it was but didn’t dare ask him. It would be Jonathan flavored.
She started salivating. They’d played music together for years, talked, argued, slept against each other’s shoulders on long plane or bus rides, but now he was going to fuck her, and God if it didn’t seem long, long overdue.
“What a sexy girl,” he said, tracing her lips again, then touching his cock’s tip to them. “Stick out your tongue. Show me you want it.”
She obeyed, feeling slutty as hell and loving it. He hooked a finger in the back of her collar again and pulled her forward, sliding his thick cock into her mouth. She was in such a submissive headspace by then, from the bondage, the strapping, the collar, that she took him deeper than she thought she could. She choked a moment later. As soon as she caught her breath, he shoved in again, making her cough.
“You can suck dick better than that,” he taunted. “Look at me.”
She stared up at him through the tears gathered in her eyes. She wasn’t crying from pain, or even the embarrassment of gagging on him. They were submissive tears, maybe even grateful tears. Take me. Use me. We’ve both wanted this for so long.
“Wait a minute.” To her dismay, he stepped away from her. “I have something that helps girls suck dick better
. Something that’ll get you moaning and open up that little throat. No, don’t close your mouth. I’ll be right back.”
He went to a different cabinet this time. As he opened it, she saw a neat display of sex toys. So many dildos and vibrators.
Oh Lord. Oh no.
He returned with a small Hitachi-style wand and a black vinyl harness. He placed the tip of the wand against her clit, and smoothed the wide harness around her hips, holding it there. Once he buckled the harness in the back, he attached her hands to that also.
It was more bondage, more catering to his whims.
“Now,” he said, switching on the wand, “you can come as many times as you want, but don’t stop sucking my cock. Understand?”
She nodded, mouth open, hips already twitching. The vibration was euphorically great, not too hard, not too soft, and the harness held it right against her clit. She couldn’t concentrate on that, though.
His cock was shoved against her lips a second time. It was funny, how much more enthusiastically she licked and sucked him with the vibrator going between her legs. She was in heaven. Fuck me, fuck me. She moaned, jerking her hips as she fellated him. If not for his hand on the back of her neck, holding the collar tight, she’d keel right over, fall sideways, or start humping the floor. Instead she humped against the air, gagging herself on his cock until a gargantuan orgasm washed over her.
“Don’t stop,” he said, as her groans peaked in a muffled cry. “Keep sucking. You’re going to make me come just as hard.”
She kept going, and the vibrator kept buzzing, and at first it was too much, and she had to force herself to keep blowing him, but then arousal took over again. Hips jerking, lips sucking, she came a second time. He laughed, apparently enjoying watching her fall to pieces.
After that, he put his hands on either side of her face and fucked her mouth in earnest. Half the time she gagged, the other half she groaned for him to fuck her deeper. The lingering pain of her strapping battled with the vibrator’s ongoing buzz. I can’t come again, she thought. It’s too much, I can’t come again.
But Jonathan started making growling noises, animalistic sounds that she couldn’t have imagined might ever come from him. Cool, strict, commanding Jonathan was going to pieces from fucking her mouth, and even though her whole body trembled from all the stimulation she was receiving, she tightened her mouth and throat around him and put all her efforts into getting him off just as hard as she’d gotten off…twice now…working on a third…
A Quartet of Pleasures Page 7