by Mia Moon
Andrew’s apartment was farther away than Jonathon’s place, but the distance wasn’t bad. It was near my favorite grocery store—a clear indication it was safe. The building was tall and seemed well-maintained.
After he parked, Andrew jumped out of his SUV and rushed around to open my door. He’d changed after work to dark-wash jeans and a light blue t-shirt, which was almost nonexistent for how thin it was. It made everything gold about him stand out, and I giggled.
“What's the joke, darlin’?” he asked. His faux drawl sounded like Birdie, tickling me even more as he let me into the building and ushered me toward the elevator.
“Before I knew your name, you were Golden Guy in my head,” I admitted.
His brows ticked higher were with his amusement. “Golden Guy? That’s…unique.”
I nudged him. “It suited you at the time.”
“Not anymore?” he asked, settling in next to me as the elevator rose.
“Only sometimes,” I said, keeping my thoughts about his angel and devil personas to myself.
The elevator came to a stop and Andrew led me down the hall to a corner apartment.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, letting me into his private space. “Water? Soda?”
The apartment interior reflected his personality—a mix of light and dark, soft and hard. Metal and wood juxtaposed with plush fabrics and soft light. Something about the space made the sweet spot in my low belly tighten.
“Water, please,” I said. Vodka might be better, but water would do for now.
He grabbed a glass, filling it from the tap before passing it my way. “So, what do you need to know?”
“Everything,” I said. “At least everything that might apply to the average middle-aged woman who’s desperate to spice up her marriage.”
Andrew's easy laugh rolled up from the back of his throat. “Okay…why don’t I show you a little of what I know?”
I nibbled my lip as I nodded.
The warm pleasure that spread through me when his smile grew heated my blood and pooled at my core.
“Follow me?” He gestured toward a short hallway before heading in that direction.
I rushed to follow. “I’ve done some research, so I’m not a total moron," I said. "There’s so much info out there, and I’m not sure what an appropriate recommendation is. If a gal only needs a nice pair of fuzzy cuffs, I don’t want to tell her to go all in for whips and chains.”
Andrew dropped to his knees beside his bed, reaching underneath to pull out a long plastic tub. “There’s plenty of fun between those two extremes.”
“I see,” I said, soaking in the information. “So you really are an expert beyond the fuzzy handcuffs part?”
He smirked at me over his shoulder. “You could say that,” he said. He popped the lid and lifted it off the box, revealing all manner of handcuffs, riding crops, and ball gags. Some things I only recognized from pop-up ads when I neglected to update my firewall.
“Know what any of this is for?” he asked.
“Hitting,” I said, pointing at the riding crops. “Restraining.” I gave the handcuffs a second look.
“Okay, those are easy and obvious,” he muttered. When he stood, there was a different air about him. That sweet, dark devil was itching to play. “Let me find something more interesting for you. I’ve got tons of toys.”
“Well, it isn’t for me,” I rushed to remind him. “It’s for the column.”
“Right. But we’ve got to make sure it's accurate.” He flashed me a smile as he opened the drawer in his bedside table. His fingers vanished inside before he pulled out a long rose-gold chain with black clamps on each end.
“Nipple clamps,” I squeaked.
His lips twitched when he returned that to the drawer, reaching in again. This time, he pulled out a lighter and taper candles in red, black, and purple.
“Are you into wax play?” he asked.
“I’ve never done this kind of thing. I have no clue what I'm into."
His brows dropped at my defensive tone. “Hey. That’s okay,” he said, cupping his hands over my shoulders and sliding back into angel mode. He motioned between us. “This is easy. No pressure, okay?” Then he pointed to the things on his bedside table. “That’s all easy, too. It can create this amazing feeling and incredible connection. But…I'm not sure how to explain it to someone who hasn’t experienced it before.”
“Then show me,” I whispered, throat dry, though I’d chugged the water down in the kitchen.
He didn’t miss a beat. His switch back to handsome darkness was thrilling. “I can if you want me to.”
“Okay, so…” I held my arms out. “You’ll just drip it down my arm or something?”
His smooth smile lifted his lips. “It’s easier if you're topless.”
“Riiiiight,” I teased, turning to face the wall and pulling my shirt off. I unclasped my bra, too, but didn’t slide it off as I moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
Andrew cleared his throat hard as he stared at me. I couldn’t miss the twitch of his thick cock in his pants or the pleasure that graced his face. “This is a different kind of interaction between us,” he said, threading his fingers through my hair. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” I grated out.
“Lay down, then,” he instructed, holding the lighter to one of the candle wicks.
I stretched out on my stomach with a shiver anticipation rolling up my spine. The mattress dipped as he joined me. Warmth ghosted over me when he held the candle closer. Then, the first split of heat came. It was a bright, quick pain and then it was gone, melting into a cool, sexy sensation and leaving behind a spot of warmth.
I sucked in a breath and exhaled on a low moan when another droplet fell, hitting my skin. I shoved my face into the depths of one of his white pillows. It caught my sounds as he moved the candle down my spine, tipping wax onto my lower back, then up toward my shoulders. Every touch was another flash, almost too intense to handle. Each new, sensitive spot pushed me closer toward the brink of something. It didn’t feel like an orgasm. This was something dark and safe. Waiting. Hovering on the edges of my vision.
“How do you like it?” Andrew asked as if he were asking me about the weather.
I nodded, maybe too enthusiastically. “It feels amazing,” I said in a hoarse whisper. I peeled my bra off and tossed it aside, pressing my breasts into the mattress and admitting, “I can’t believe how much I like it.”
“Am I being too honest if I admit I hoped you would?” There was a smile in his voice as he brought the candle up, dotting more wax along my shoulders, then letting it pool against the back of my neck.
Every sound I made was full of longing. I gripped the sheets, glad I couldn’t see Andrew. I imagined his amused face, entertained while he watched me squirm like a virgin.
“There are other forms of play,” he said, “along these same lines, if you want more.”
“Bring it on,” I urged, curiosity piqued.
“This one is better blindfolded.” He offered a black silk blindfold up for my inspection. “It heightens the sensation. Do you trust me?”
I looked down at the blindfold, then back up at him. There was no question. I trusted him. "I do."
He seemed pleased. He drew back, slipping the soft fabric across my eyes, blocking out everything as he tied it against my hair. I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat as I waited for whatever came next. His weight left the bed.
“Do you need me to move?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But”—his voice grew distant as he left the room, still talking to me from down the short hallway—“if I’m going to keep going, you need a word.”
“A word?”
“A safe word. Something other than ‘no’ or ‘stop’ that I’ll be able to recognize as ‘no’ and ‘stop’.”
“Is there a reason I can’t use one of those?”
His voice grew louder, coming back to me. “Sometimes in a
scene, lines blur. We don't want there to be any question we’re on the same page.” The bed dipped again, bringing his warmth back to me. “Have you thought of something?”
I shook my head. My mind was blank. “Maybe I’m no good at this."
I jumped when his warm hand caressed my back. “There’s no good or bad here,” he said. “What about ‘red’? That’s an easy go-to.”
“Okay.” I repeated ‘red’ under my breath.
“Good girl." His voice was a heated purr.
Something cold touched the back of my neck, so sudden and sharp it was like he’d pricked me with a needle. I jumped but stayed where he had put me, waiting to see what happened next.
“It’s ice,” he murmured, soothing my concerns. He slid the ice down my spine, leaving a cold, wet path in contrast to the heat of my skin. “Look at you, Bree. You’re doing very well.” He slid the ice back up, teasing it over the back of my neck again before pulling away altogether.
An unexpected wave of sadness passed over me when the sensation ended. The sound of ice hitting glass made my senses kick up, and I panted. I wanted whatever came next. I trusted him with my body.
“Spread your legs,” he said. “And, remember, say ‘red’ if I lead you anywhere you don’t want to go.”
I did as he instructed. He slipped his fingers under me. With one hand warm and the other icy, he worked my jeans free and tugged them from my body.
Another cold touch landed against the inside of my thigh, and I jumped again, moaning and shredding a breath through my teeth.
Andrew chuckled and trailed the ice up my thigh to press it against my panties. Cold water seeped through the thin fabric, making me groan and writhe.
“Stay still,” he told me, voice firm as he slipped the ice up and down.
The freezing cold against my heated clit was almost more than I could take. With every stroke, the fabric of my panties soaked through, giving less resistance. It was a blissful contrast to the fiery arousal building between my thighs.
He moved the ice again, and his fingers slipped between my legs to stroke over the entrance. He pressed up into me through my panties at first. Then he pulled the damp fabric down my thighs with one hand, his other hand exploring my sensitive skin. His fingers were still cold and slick from the ice when he pushed inside me.
I gasped. His touch was only fingertips at first. Then he dipped in deeper with one finger—first knuckle, second knuckle, all the way down to the third. He added a second finger, spreading them to open and stretch me around him.
I tried to grind down on his hand, but his other hand came up to rest against the small of my back, pinning me gently to the sheets. I arched, pushing against him but he pressed harder. “Stay still, Bree,” he commanded, stopping his touch.
I whimpered and froze. Waiting. I wondered if that was it. Had I messed up? Was this over?
Then he eased his fingers back in. The slow, steady pumping of his hand, his knuckles pressing up against the softest parts of me—drove me out of my mind. Tension built in my stomach and my throat vibrated with a hum I hadn’t been aware I was making. His rhythm was perfect, his reach deep. I wanted so much more. If this was how he used his fingers, I could only imagine…
“Mmm, please.” Begging seemed natural. I wanted to give him sweet, entreating words in the hopes he would fill me up in return. “Please. More…”
“Oh, Bree. You beg so sweetly,” he purred. His voice grew deeper and darker, but his fingers maintained their steady pace. His hold on my back persisted. “You’re perfect. Do you know that? You’re doing so well. A wonderful job for your first time.”
I blushed at the praise. It did feel like a first time. My thighs ached with need. My whole lower body was on fire. I twisted the sheets and whimpered. “Please, Andrew. I need you.”
“How?” he demanded.
“Deeper. Stretch me open until I can’t take any more.”
His hands stilled, and I moaned. I didn’t want him to stop.
With a light touch, his fingertips smacked against my entrance, causing me to buck up. My clit was so engorged, every touch threatened to send me reeling—but no touch was quite enough. The sound of a foil packet tearing gave me hope for all I wanted and needed from him.
His chest brushed my back, hands settling on my shoulders and massaging in deep circles, moving down until he was right above the curve of my ass. He pushed his fingers into the dimples at my lower back, and he pressed the head of his condom-clad cock against me at the same time.
I gasped, imagining how thick he would be, how hard he would fuck me.
He eased his hips forward, sinking the head of his dick into my body. I was so worked up. Wet and stretched from his fingers. His dick was perfect, even though I hadn’t seen it. I learned him by feel, and he took my breath away. He was thick and hot, pulsing deep inside of me.
I relished the heat of his skin. The weight as he covered my back with his body. He slid his hand underneath me, lifting my hips so my ass pressed against him, angling me so his cock slid in all the way to the hilt. His thrusts filled me again and again. “So good, Bree. So fucking good,” he whispered on rasping breaths, stopping to grind against me, holding himself still. My body was eager for him, muscles clinging to his cock, holding him so deep inside. My walls quivered, milking him though neither of us was at the point of release.
“Such a good girl." His breath tickled my ear. His free hand slid up between my breasts, fingers spread so they splayed and held me tight across my sternum. That hold pinned my arms to my sides. I couldn’t move, but he hadn’t tied me up. I wouldn’t have protested if he wanted to do that, too.
“I want to be good,” I breathed. I really did. I wanted to take his cock any way he’d give it. I wanted to make him feel good, too, and I was desperate to orgasm with him buried deep inside me.
“You are doing so well,” he encouraged, stroking my skin. He drew his hips back to slide out all the way.
I wanted to squirm but didn’t think I was supposed to. I didn’t want to feel empty. He teased me with the ridge of his cock, using it to stretch my pussy at the very edges. Then he clutched my hip and drove back inside. I cried out—he pushed the sound up my throat from my very base. He took complete control, and it was the most blissful peace to let him have it.
This time he kept up a wild pace, thrusting as hard and fast and deep as he could go. Every time his hips crashed into me, the feeling ricocheted all the way up to my shoulders. Every single thrust was divine, practiced. If I’d been able to see, my vision would’ve been hazy. As it was, I felt dizzy. Dreamy. A warm, floaty feeling surrounded me, cushioning me and beckoning me.
Andrew skimmed the hand between my breasts back down. I whimpered, but I couldn’t have formed a full sentence if he'd asked me to. Those hot, strong fingers massaged their way down to my waist, over the swell of my thighs. Then they left my body. I felt the rush before his open hand came down across my ass. I yelped, and it happened again. Not too hard, but enough to make my ass heat up—all the blood rushing to the surface of my skin. I knew it would be flushed pink if I looked at it in the mirror.
“Do you like how that feels?” he asked. The rasp in his throat betrayed how turned on he was.
“Yes!” I cried out, pushing my face deeper into the pillow. I wanted everything he was doing to me and so much more. Every single thing he did was right.
“Should I let you come?” he asked, smacking my ass again. “Should I, Bree?”
I moaned. I’d already pulled up two corners of the sheets. If he kept asking my opinion on things the whole thing would end up bunched underneath me. I nodded hard, praying he saw my answer.
“Oh, I see,” he teased. “Well, what do you say?”
Another smack made me tighten around his cock, adding new layers to my building orgasm.
At first, I had no idea what he wanted from me and panic settled into my brain as I tried to figure it out. But then I caught on, and the words stuttered out in a bro
ken plea. “Please! Please! I want to come. Please let me!”
“Good girl.” He gripped my hair, wrapping the locks around his fingers and giving a tug that was gentle—just enough to make my scalp tingle. “Yes. You may,” he said, whispering the words in my ear.
The mix of his brutal thrusts with that soft, intimate brush of his lips. His pride in how well I’d done. Everything within me that had been clawing for escape came unhinged. He freed my arms, and I ripped the blindfold off, sucking in breath as if the cloth had been starving me of oxygen.
I came so hard I gushed between my legs and around his cock. My muscles quaked, filling me with heat. I’d been wound so tight for so long, I didn’t think the tension would ever fully release. When it let go, my entire body went soft; I was putty. Andrew could mold me into anything he wanted. His sweet hands released my hair to roam my skin. He was still buried, firm and thick, inside me. Holding me close as the last of my orgasm ebbed away.
“Good?” he asked.
“So good.”
“I’m glad.” He kissed my shoulders as he began moving again, working his dick back and forth, pushing himself in deep.
I was so slick I could barely feel the in-and-out any longer. Still, his thrusts sent shivers running through me every time his hips collided with mine.
“Bree,” he groaned, nipping my shoulder and thrusting deep one last time. He stilled over me, and I felt the jerk and spasm of his cock as he found release.
Andrew cuddled me for so long after that. He massaged my body back to life and kissed my skin until it was on fire.
“What did you do to me?” I whispered, stroking his hair in the dark.
“Sent you to subspace,” he said, kissing my shoulder and holding me closer. “How are you feeling?”
“Like nothing can touch me,” I said. “Floaty. Connected to all my emotions for once—that part was…hard. And words were impossible for a while,” I added with a laugh.
He chuckled, and his late-day stubble tickled my skin. “Sounds about right. Did you like it?”
