He growled again, that growl she’d never heard from him until now. It was pure animal, pure sex. He gripped her waist, half inside her, and held her down as he pushed the rest of the way into her tight ass. She cried like it was killing her, but the tears weren’t pain-tears anymore. They were sex-tears, as hot and searing as the strap marks on her ass.
The toy in her pussy made it a tight fit, but the lube got him inside her, until she was so full and fucked and penetrated that she couldn’t move. He started to move instead, first grasping her waist, then holding her ass cheeks apart so he could push himself inside again.
The acute pain was over, the pain of him stretching her asshole open. It was replaced now by the dull, stretching pain of too much cock in too small a place.
“Oww,” she continued to moan, squeezing her hands into fists.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? Poor baby.”
Now that he was in her, comfortably in her, he started to move in a rhythm, fucking her slow and steady, curving his long, hard torso over her back and pressing his thighs to the sore backs of her legs. He’d said he’d go slow and make it last forever, and he did. Each firm, deep stroke was an assertion of dominance. Sometimes he drove so deep he lifted her toes from the floor. Other times he rocked in her, fucking her gently, yanking her hair back and kissing her while she sobbed into his mouth.
She was dying of pain and pleasure. He was killing her. Each time he bumped against her ass, shoving his cock inside, he pushed her clit against the bed. She wanted to come so bad but she couldn’t quite get there, no matter how she squirmed. She thought he probably enjoyed watching her struggle and pull at her bound wrists. When she moved her hips too wildly, he held them still and fucked her deeper, keeping the upper hand.
“Please,” she begged. “Please!”
After that, he started to tease her on purpose, tapping her clit as she struggled to come, rubbing it in sensual circles once or twice. Her wrists strained at the cuffs in desperation. She pushed her nipples against the bed, trying for any kind of stimulation besides the huge shafts lodged in her pussy and ass.
“I have to come,” she said. “Please, I have to.”
“You’ll come when I come.” He gave a chuckle. “Because I’m really enjoying seeing you like this.”
Even when you try to make things last forever, they eventually have to end. Especially anal. When he reached to stroke her pussy, urging her to come with him, she surged against his fingers.
Oh God, oh God, don’t move them. Fuck me. Stroke me.
When she finally achieved climax, it wasn’t a peaceful orgasm. It wasn’t a relief, or even enjoyment. It was insanity racing along all her nerve endings. She gasped, Jonathan swore. She opened her fingers and he seized her hands, squeezing hard as she trembled through the earthquake.
Now she was done. Now she couldn’t come anymore. Yep, that was it, possibly forever.
She was absolutely done.
5.
Ruby worked to catch her breath post-orgasm, lying very still with Jonathan inside her.
“Just a minute,” he said. “I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
That was fine. She wasn’t ready to be without him yet. When he finally moved again, and pulled out of her to take off his condom, she barely stirred because she’d fallen into a kind of lethargy. After every nerve in her body had fired for that orgasm, they’d all decided to go lifeless and limp.
“I can’t move,” she said.
“Don’t move yet. Let me help you.”
He took the toy out of her pussy, gently, pulling each tier out, leaving her squeezing on emptiness.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Are you sore?”
“I hurt everywhere, but it’s a good hurt.”
“Awesome.” He patted her tangled hair for a moment. “That’s what I like to hear.”
He undid her ankles and took off the cuffs, took off the wrist cuffs and collar and the shiny jewelry tormenting her nipples. Goodbye, kinky stuff. Now she was a regular girl again, rumpled and tired and satiated beyond belief.
Jonathan pulled her beside him on the bed, then tucked her under him, and kissed her and kissed her.
And kissed her.
Between kisses he said sweet, sexy things. I loved that. Thanks for giving so much to me. You’re amazing. You look pretty when you cry. When he finally let her come up for air, she clung to his shoulders and looked into his familiar, amber-brown eyes. No one else had eyes that color, no one else she knew. There was something different in his gaze now, an appreciation for her sexually.
She liked it. She liked the feel of his body against her, and the way he stroked her cheek with his fingertips, like she was something fascinating and valuable.
She liked that she felt more connected to him than she’d ever felt before.
They kissed for a long time, naked and exhausted, too tired to fuck again, but too emotionally connected to each other to let go. She’d never known him like this, never imagined this Jonathan existed, this passionate, creative, generous lover. Of course, he was a passionate, creative, generous musician, so she should have connected the dots.
Now came the temptation to want more, but he’d given her enough. They had to make sure they could still be Jonathan and Ruby, first and second violinists of the Gold Quartet. She thought he’d probably need some space now, so when his kisses flagged, she sat up a little, pushing her hair back from her eyes.
“I should probably get up soon,” she told him. “Or I’ll fall asleep here.”
He brushed her hair back down over her eyes, a teasing gesture. “I want you to fall asleep here. After everything we just did, I think you’d better stay with me tonight.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She hadn’t expected him to sound so sure about it, but she was glad he did.
“You can shower here,” he went on, “and I can loan you a toothbrush.” He modulated his voice, trying to sound casual. “You can keep it here in case you need it some other night. You know, if you want to do something like this again.”
Would she want to do this again? Holy hell, yes. But there was a professional relationship to think about…
“Should I sleep in your guest bed?” she asked. “In here?”
His eyes softened a little, moving over her like a caress. “I think we’ve played together a little too long for that.”
With those words, he led her to his clean, comfortable bedroom. Ruby felt clumsy in her freedom to move. It had been easier when Jonathan had her bound. She’d felt less gawky, less nervous. She’d felt at peace, even when she was in pain. You are a maso bunny. You always have been.
Before they got into his shower together, they looked over her marks, reminiscing. “I’ve fantasized about beating your ass for so long now,” he said. “And fucking it, obviously. God, Ruby, it was so hot to do it for real.”
While they dried off, she thought about what he’d said to her, about sleeping in the guest room: I think we’ve played together a little too long for that. Did he mean playing together in the quartet, or playing through three salacious acts as a sadist Dom and masochist sub? How would this wild night affect their performing relationship? With Ethan, things had been fine, but her and Jonathan’s relationship as first and second violin was a lot more fraught.
She crawled under his covers not expecting a lot of pillow talk, since he was usually a pretty terse guy. She imagined him saying “Good night, go to sleep now,” in his Dom voice as soon as he joined her, but no, he wanted to talk. He pulled her close and studied her with a thoughtful expression.
“That was good, huh? You and me?”
She nodded. “It was really good. Amazing, even. I feel like I know you a lot better now.”
He half-smiled, half-snorted. “Better than you want to, I bet.”
“No. I know you just enough to want to know more. It’s always been that way with you.”
“I didn’t go too hard, did I? When you started crying, it worried me a little, but
it turned me on a lot more.”
She laughed. “You’re a miscreant. God, I’ve never cried like that during sex, or kink, or anything. Why did I cry so much?”
His expression sobered. He reached and touched one of her cheeks, as if remembering the tears that had trailed down it.
“Maybe it was relief. Or release. Whatever it was, it felt special. I felt really close to you.”
“I felt that way too.”
He thought a moment longer. That was Jonathan, always thinking. Always analyzing, working, leading. Out of habit, she waited to hear what he’d say next.
“Men are vile.”
Wow, she hadn’t expected him to say that. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“If you could see inside my head, Ruby, inside any guy’s head, you’d be disgusted.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She glanced away with a grin. “Lately I’m learning that I’m kind of a creep myself.”
“You’re a sweet, sexy creep, though. Guys are predatory creeps, most of them. We have disgusting, sexist, degrading fantasies. I’ve had so many fantasies about you…” He didn’t elaborate on them, but she got the idea there were quite a few in his mental masturbation file. “But I want you to know this, Rube, after everything we did together, after everything I did to you tonight, that I respect you as much as I ever have—”
“Which is not very much,” she joked.
“I’m not kidding.” His imperious, quartet-leader voice was back. “Let me say this, it’s important. No matter how I treat you, no matter what I say to you in practice, you have to know that I respect and admire you, both as a musician and a person. That’s not going to change, even after what went on between us.”
“Same here,” she said, matching his gravity. “You drive me crazy sometimes, but I wouldn’t want to play second violin to anyone else.”
“You’re my first, best, second violin.”
They joined their pinky fingers together, their legs touching, his other arm cushioning her head.
“I do hate you sometimes though,” she said in the afterglow. “Like really hate you. That’s just the truth.”
“I know. I deserve it.”
They both laughed. Truth was truth.
“Are we going to tell the other guys about this?” he asked a moment later.
“We won’t have to. They’re going to know. Ethan will know the second he sees me. Steve will figure it out within a day or two at most, if Ethan doesn’t tell him.”
Poor Steve. He was the only member of their quartet who hadn’t been inside her yet.
Yet?
Her mind had added the yet, but she couldn’t picture her and Steve, not really. Steve was the sweet, cuddly bear, the big brother. Of course, she hadn’t pictured her and Jonathan having wild, kinky sex either.
Well, maybe someday. For now, though, she felt heavy and drowsy in Jonathan’s arms, in his bed. Sex, pain, obedience, and sleepy snuggles, a quartet of pleasures. She felt like a very lucky girl.
And tomorrow, she’d practice the hell out of that Rachmaninoff, just to show Jonathan how much this had meant to her. How much he meant to her. She’d practice it until it was perfect and powerful, just like their relationship.
Perfect and powerful, just like him.
Play With Me
Where Ruby Has Fun With Steve
1.
Ruby cursed the Chicago public transit system as she hurried down the street to Steve’s apartment building. A few snow flurries and everyone in the city lost their shit.
When she got to his place, she knocked the slush off her boots and greeted his elderly doorman, a music lover whom they regularly comped into their concerts, and got on the elevator, juggling her backpack and the freakishly large container of Fletcher’s Cheese Balls she’d picked up at the bulk foods store.
In the old building, the trip to the sixth floor took almost three minutes.
“Come on, I’m late,” she whined to the elevator, but there was no hurrying the mid-century technology. Oh well. Things never really got going until an hour or so into Steve’s pajama parties. People had to change into their pjs and get a little buzzed before the serious games started.
It was just that Ruby really needed this party. November and December were the busiest months for the Gold Quartet because of the holidays. Dinners, concerts, corporate parties. The summer bridal season was hectic too, but at least the weather during the summer months wasn’t so bleak. Ugh, and she had Christmas shopping to do, and family visits to shoehorn into her schedule…
She didn’t want to think about that, not now. She was going to drink beer and eat snacks, and enjoy the hell out of this night. Steve’s twice-yearly pajama parties were the highlight of her social calendar…which wasn’t much of a social calendar since she was a musician, and her entire life revolved around traveling and playing with her quartet mates. All the more reason to gather with Steve’s wide and eclectic group of friends in his awesome apartment to drink craft beer, eat snacks, and play inappropriate card games.
Once she got to Steve’s floor, she hurried down the hall and knocked on his door. A moment later, he answered, his wet blond hair standing on end, and a question in his light blue eyes.
“Ruby? Hey.”
“Sorry I’m late.” She sighed. “I missed the connecting train, and the next one was twenty minutes behind schedule.”
“Must be a weather delay. The snow’s really coming down west of the city.”
She looked past him. “Is that why nobody’s here?”
“Rube, it’s Friday. The party’s tomorrow.”
She blinked at him. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, Saturday. Didn’t you read the invitation?”
She might have read the invitation. She also might have been so excited about the party that her brain skipped the date one full day ahead.
“Crap. I’m sorry.” Disappointment washed over her. “Damn it, I came all the way over here. I packed my pajamas and everything.”
“And you brought cheese balls.” He eyed the obnoxiously large container.
“You like them, right?”
“Yes, and Fletcher’s is the best brand, so you’d better come in anyway.”
“No, I don’t want to bother you.” She ran her eyes over his dark jeans and ironed shirt, and the jacket thrown over the chair near the door. Steve only looked that put together if he had somewhere to go. “You were about to go out, huh? Drinking and clubbing?”
“I was thinking about it, but the weather sucks and you have snacks, so get in here.”
She was happy she didn’t have to turn around and go home again. Steve was one of her best friends in the world, and a super fun guy to just hang out and chill with.
“Go on then,” he said, taking the vat of cheese balls from her arm. “Go change into your pajamas. We’ll have a pre-pajama-party party.”
“Oh my God, yes.”
She went to his bathroom and took her fleece pants, penguin-emblazoned sleep tee, and fuzzy socks from her backpack. Steve had explained the pajama-party reasoning when he first started giving them: no one worried about social anxiety as much when they were in pajamas, and guys were a lot less obnoxious about trying to pick up girls while they were wearing joggers and old tees.
By the time she came out, Steve was in pajamas too—moose pants and a worn tee shirt with a cello and the words “Well Strung.”
“I love it,” she said, pointing at the slogan.
“A gift from a college girlfriend.” He pumped his brows salaciously. “I usually wear it when I work out, to pick up chicks.”
“Hottie.”
“Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
Steve’s couch was a huge, stuffed sectional, the epitome of comfortable. She sprawled along an entire section, stretching out her fuzzy-sock feet.
“I’m sorry I came over on the wrong day, but this is kinda nice,” she said. “I get the place all to myself.”
“Have you had dinner?”
>
“Yeah, but knock yourself out if you haven’t eaten yet.”
She curled up on his couch and browsed through his streaming services while he called in an order to the pizzeria downstairs. “What do you like on your pizza?” he called.
“I’m not having any.”
“We both know that’s a lie. What do you like on your pizza?”
Steve was the best, the absolute best. “Onions, olives, and green peppers.”
He made a retching sound and said “fuck that” before he put the phone back to his mouth. “Just cheese. Yeah, please deliver it. We’re in our pajamas.”
He hung up as she laughed. “Maybe we can invite the delivery guy to stay and play cards with us.”
“Nah. I’m not sharing these cheese balls.” He screwed the top off the oversized container and peeled away the seal. “I’m fighting the urge to pour this whole thing over my head. Ruby, there’s so many.”
“We’d better get started snacking, then.”
He handed them back to her and went to the kitchen. “What are you drinking?”
She wrinkled her nose, tossing a couple cheese balls in her mouth. “What’s the least yucky beer you have?”
“I actually bought something special for my favorite lightweight.”
“I’m not a lightweight,” she protested. “I just don’t like beer.”
“I know. Voila.” He held up a bottle with a woodpecker on it. “Hard cider. Still alcoholic, but much sweeter. Without, you know, being one of those stupid flavored wine drinks. It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he said with a teasing grin. “You know, the actual day of my party, but I guess you can have it early.”
A Quartet of Pleasures Page 9
