by Lynda Aicher
And he had to taste her again. He ran his tongue through her sweet juices, letting them sit on his taste buds before swallowing them down. He flicked her clit, the nub hard, full, ready and sensitive. She clenched, her muscles pulsing, and he swatted her ass. The counter balance of pain and pleasure would hold her on the brink until he was ready for her to come.
That was his power, but it was for her.
“Please,” she begged, the plea sweet to his ears.
“Not yet,” he said against her pussy. “Give me more.”
It was in her, he could sense it. He wanted it. He rubbed his cheek over the red skin of her ass, the light abrasion forcing a keening sound from her. Music to his ears. He was pushing her farther than he would most newbies, yet he couldn’t stop. She could do it.
She writhed on the bench, her whole body straining within the limitation of the bonds. He attacked her hot, wet pussy again. The musky scent of her arousal filled his nose and went straight to his aching dick. He was hard and ready in his pants, a damp spot growing larger on his skin.
He slapped her again, his palm stinging in a sweet reminder of his control over her.
“Please.” Her begging had become a continuous stream of soft pleas. He loved it. His breath cut through his lungs. His head hummed with his own arousal.
He grabbed the dildo off the cart and rolled it on his pants to warm it before pressing it into her clenching pussy. “It’s a dildo,” he quickly told her. A growl burst from his chest at the sight of it sinking where he desperately wanted to be. His erection was bordering on painful, his balls drawn up and ready to fire.
It was insane. Pure pleasure and hedonistic bliss that was deeper than he’d ever experienced. Her back moved in quick beats with the pace of her breath, her muscles had gone slack and sweat coated her skin with a fine gloss. Best of all, her ass glowed in the blush of his marks.
He pulled the dildo out and thrust it back in, his hips mimicking the movement in his desire to be in her. She inhaled, stiffened, and he moved. He pressed his thumb to her clit and pumped the dildo.
“Marcus.”
Her cry pierced the air and his chest. “Come for me, Quinn.” He bit her tender ass cheek and she went. The guttural sounds were choked and indistinct as her entire body tensed, froze then exploded in a wave after wave of release.
He lasted thirty seconds, tops, before he was standing, pants open, pulsing cock in hand. The three quick pumps were barely needed. All it really took was for him to look down and see his incredible submissive sated and out of it from his hands. His orgasm slammed into him, flashing up from his balls and arching his spine as he ejaculated over her back.
So fucking amazing. Dazed, he slowed his hand and watched the last pulse of come fall from his dick to dribble down the crack of her ass and over her exposed sex.
He fell forward, his legs weak, and braced his hand on the thin edge of the bench next to her hip. The brisk cut of their breaths filled the room to compete with the dull roar slowly fading from his head.
Below him, Quinn looked positively decadent. Completely used and floating in the afterglow. His come marked her, his collar claimed her and he had the strange urge to take a picture so he could savor the sight later. But he would never do that. Too risky. His memory would have to do.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, lingering as he inhaled the unique musky scent of their mingled come. The salt from her skin teased his lips as he pulled away and licked them clean, capturing that last bit of her.
Straightening, he tucked his dick away and wiped the sweat from his face. His hair was damp, his skin cooling. Quinn would get chilled soon.
She didn’t move at all when he released the cuffs. He checked each one, rubbing the skin and ensuring it was undamaged. He picked up the dildo from where it’d fallen on the floor and used a fresh towel to clean his release from her body.
Through it all, she remained unresponsive except for the small sounds of contentment that eased from her lips. His pride in her was beyond description. She’d taken everything he’d given and gave back herself.
A precious gift that he would cherish.
He draped a blanket over her before scooping her into his arms. She was impossibly light for a woman and fit perfectly into the cradle of his arms.
“Marcus?” Her eyes cracked open to reveal the dazed haze she was still floating in.
He kissed her temple. “It’s okay, Quinn. I caught you.”
She gave a lazy smile and dropped her head against his chest. Her hair hung limp and damp over his arm and her face was tear-streaked with dark makeup trails circling her eyes. And she was even more beautiful to him.
He sucked in a deep breath, hugged her closer and left the room.
Chapter Ten
Quinn woke to the impression of being wrapped in a cocoon of safety. Warmth surrounded her, from the firm chest pressed to her cheek to the arm holding her tight against the length of the man beneath her. Marcus. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that.
One inhale, and his scent triggered her memory with everything that had happened. A flush of shame and desire descended before she could exhale. Had she really let him hit her? The deep ache that throbbed over her entire bottom was proof that she had. Yet she’d loved it. There was no point in denying it, but that didn’t stop her from wishing she could.
Now the man who’d given her the most intense pain and pleasure she’d ever experienced held her close and protected. But where?
She forced her eyes open but couldn’t see much in the darkness. It definitely wasn’t the private room they’d been in before. This room had tall windows covered by curtains on either side of the bed, which was larger than the one in the private room and lacked the tricked-out canopy. There were also a number of opened moving boxes littered around the floor and on the long dresser.
She twisted around and looked up to find him watching her. “Hey,” she said. “Where are we?”
He brushed a lock of her hair from her brow. “My loft.”
She bit her lip. “How’d I get here?”
“I live over the club.” He smiled and scooted down until they were eye to eye, facing each other. “How are you feeling?”
She missed his warmth but liked seeing his face. His eyes. He wouldn’t let her hide and she didn’t want him to, either. “Sore.”
“And?”
She huffed a short laugh. “Confused.”
“How so?” There was honest concern in his lowered brow.
“Funny.” Like he didn’t know, but her deadpanned answer fell flat between them. She sighed and tried to think through the emotions that were a jumbled mess within her, only they were too fresh and new to analyze, let alone share.
“Come on,” he said as he sat up and grabbed her hand.
“Where?”
“Shower.” He shoved the sheets back and she shivered. The rush of cool air made her distinctly aware that she was still naked. At some point he’d removed the harness and changed into cotton sleep pants that hung low on his lean hips.
She glanced around the room. “What time is it?” The lack of light around the curtains had her guessing it was still night.
He picked up his phone on the nightstand and its bright glow highlighted his face for a moment. “Twelve-thirty.”
Wow. She’d slept that long? It was way too trusting, yet she did trust him. Had to, or she wouldn’t have done what she did that night.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand again and gave a tug. “It’ll feel good. Then I’ll rub some cream onto your bottom. It’ll help with the bruising and ease the pain.”
She winced at the reminder as she scooted out of the bed, taking care to keep her tender butt from rubbing on the sheets. He led her into the attached bathroom and flicked on the light before turning on the shower. The room was surprisingly large and finished in a dark marble that included a Jacuzzi tub along the wall across from the double sinks.
“How bad does it hurt?” He nudged her
shoulders, and she turned around to face the tub. He squatted down and lightly ran his palms down her back. The caress was almost therapeutic, pulling down any remaining tension until it seeped out her fingertips. Gripping her hips, he pressed a kiss to each butt cheek, the light touch reaching deeper than the brush of his lips. “You didn’t answer me.”
Lost in his kindness, she’d forgotten his question and had to think back before she could answer. “Not too bad. Tender.” She chuckled. “I know I have an ass when I don’t usually notice it too much.”
He stood. “Do you want to see?”
Did she? “Yes.”
He beamed seemingly with pride when he lifted her to stand on the tiled ledge of the bathtub. “Look.”
She peered over her should at her reflection in the large mirror over the sinks. Her small gasp was more of an inhale at the sight. Her makeup was smudged into dark circles around her eyes and trailed down her cheeks like a comedic mask. The black collar still circled her neck and seemed to show off the rosy marks that covered her back and bottom. Wouldn’t this be quite the picture for the tabloids?
“I’m a mess.” Her mother would be horrified if she saw her now. Yet that thought had a small smile forming on her lips.
“No. You’re beautiful.”
Right. Raccoon eyes and all. She didn’t believe him. But her focus moved downward. Both cheeks and the backs of her thighs were a deep, burnish red that stood out against the rest of her paler skin. And in the middle of each cheek was a mottled rectangular shaped welt. The flogger marks.
She scanned back up to see faint duplicates up her back and over her shoulders. Most of those were pale pink and faded. They didn’t hurt now, but the marks reminded her of the light sting and heat that had radiated from each strike.
Marcus’s marks.
She reached back and ran her fingers over one of the welts. The raised portion was sensitive to even her gentle touch. She couldn’t help prodding it to feel the deep press of the bruise that was forming. Her wince sucked in her breath before her smile grew. A strange warmth of satisfaction spread from her chest, leaving her off kilter once again.
Shouldn’t she be repulsed by the sight? He’d hurt her. But he hadn’t harmed her. That was the difference, the one that had clicked in during the Scene.
She met his eyes and had to bite her lip to stay quiet. There was a possessiveness in them, stronger than before. It was overwhelming and a bit scary if she was honest. No one had ever looked at her with such ownership. But she didn’t want to be owned. She’d come to Minneapolis to find freedom.
Before she could say anything, he loosened the string on his pants and let them drop to the ground. She tried to take in the sight, but he quickly swung her off the ledge and shoved her into the shower. He adjusted the nozzle then turned her toward the spray, keeping her back pressed against him.
The water was cool, but not cold, and was wonderfully refreshing. She lifted her chin and tipped her face into the spray and let the droplets wash away her forming doubts. He rubbed her shoulders, kneading a knot she hadn’t realized was there. God, that was good.
She leaned into him and he hugged her tight. Held her. His skin was slick and his flaccid dick pressed against her back. But this wasn’t sexual, just comforting, and that was a relief. She wasn’t ready for more.
He turned them around so he blocked the spray then soaped up his hands and started washing her. She could protest, she knew that, but didn’t. For as many people who liked to order her life around, very few had actually cared for her.
He was completely focused on what he was doing. His hands were gentle, the soap slick. The fresh scent filling the space reminded her of him.
“You’re confusing,” she said.
He looked up, eyes narrowed. “How so?”
She didn’t answer right away and he went back to his task. Kneeling, he soaped up again and ran his hands down both of her legs. The pressure on the tender back of her leg reminded her once again how she’d gotten there.
What a crazy ride.
He swept a hand over her abdomen then lower to her pubic hair. She was beyond being embarrassed and simply spread her legs when he nudged her inner thigh. His fingers slid though her folds from back to front, circling and finding all of the crevices with a gentleness that brought a surprising swell of tears to her eyes.
He shifted to the side to let the water clean away the soap then kissed her stomach before turning her around. The same tender care was given to her backside. She braced her hands on the wall and leaned into them as he gently washed her abused bottom. But it wasn’t really abused—that was the wrong word. Especially when he placed another lingering kiss directly over the crop marks on each cheek. She couldn’t see him, but the slight press of pain with each kiss told her that.
He stood and eased her backwards into the water. He ran his fingers through her hair to wet then washed it too.
“Why are you spoiling me?” The massage of his fingers on her scalp sent relaxing tingles down her neck and shoulders.
“Because you earned it.” He tweaked her ear. “And because I want to.”
“That’s why you’re confusing,” she mumbled.
He rinsed the soap from her hair then surprised her more by adding a round of conditioner. What man knew to do that? By now, she was too tired to think about it for very long.
She faced him when he was done and finally took him all in. He tipped his head back to wet down his hair, and her gaze traveled over his broad, muscled chest. His stomach was toned, but not overly sculpted, like the kind that spoke of too many hours spent in a gym to impress others.
There was a fine coating of hair over his pecs and it surrounded his bellybutton before trailing to a darker, trimmed patch around his penis. She liked it. He wasn’t a woolly bear, but hair on a man was natural when almost everyone in Hollywood waxed.
His penis was semi-hard and jutted out a bit. She wasn’t an expert on the male anatomy, but his fit him. Just like his balls that hung loose and soft behind it.
He turned then and started washing his front. She grabbed the soap when he set it down, lathered her hands and smoothed them over his back. He froze for a second then resumed his cleaning. His skin was smooth beneath her palms, and she enjoyed the luxury of simply touching him. He finished his front and turned before she reached his butt. Dang. She should’ve started there.
His eyes had darkened again and he leaned down to take her lips in a soft, prodding kiss. Like everything he’d done since waking, it was gentle and giving and twisted her insides with the complete switch from earlier.
He eased back to study her a moment before ending the shower. He was fully hard now, his penis standing erect and tall before him, but he didn’t say anything. Just wrapped her in a towel and nudged her out of the stall.
They both dried off, a dribble of water plinking away in the shower stall. She tucked the towel around her and used a corner to wipe away her remaining makeup. In her mind, she still looked like a child without makeup on. All fresh-faced and sweet. Would she ever outgrow that?
He came up behind her with a clean towel and started drying her hair. He’d slipped his sleep pants back on and his erection still bobbed boldly against the thin material. She watched him in the mirror, alternately squeezing then rubbing her hair between the cotton.
“Do you do this for all of your clients?”
“No.” He didn’t even glance up.
“See?” She raised her brows. “Confusing.”
“I’m not trying to confuse you.” He set the towel on the counter and grabbed a brush. His own hair was spiked around his head from his brisk towel dry. It was cute and she could almost see how he looked back in his football days. Before he was a Dom.
“But you are.”
“How?” The brush bristles scratched over her scalp as he tugged the tangles out of her hair.
“This whole hard then gentle thing. Stern then funny. Abrasive yet warm.” She sighed. “I can’t keep up.”
“It’s not intentional.” His voice was low and honest. The care he took with her hair was just as attentive as he’d been with her body. “It’s just me.”
“And who are you?”
He met her gaze in the mirror. “I could ask you the same thing.”
He had her there. She honestly didn’t know who she was either. Time to change the subject. “We didn’t get through many of your tools. Are you disappointed?”
“Never.” He shook his head and resumed his brushing. “You did great. Better than. How did you feel?”
She thought about that, trying to get a firm grasp on her feelings before speaking, but all she came up with was, “I don’t know.”
“Did you like being bound this time?” Her hair was untangled now, but he kept brushing. Long, slow strokes from root to ends.
“I didn’t mind it. It definitely helped when the pain started.”
“And what about the pain?” He held her gaze in the mirror. “Did you like it?”
“No!” Her reply was instantaneous and automatic.
He tapped the back of the brush on her bottom. The touch was light, but it didn’t need to be hard to make her wince. “Now think about it and answer me again.”
She glared at his reflection and silently fumed at his audacity. Yet she had to admit he was right. She’d responded based on instinct. No one is supposed to like pain. He tapped the other butt cheek and she closed her eyes, her teeth clenched to withhold the grimace. She breathed through the sting as it faded to a dull throb. She didn’t like pain.
But...had she really disliked it before? It hadn’t been her favorite. Not really. But the orgasm had been mind-blowing. The combination of pain and pleasure had blended until they’d no longer been distinct feelings but one big mesh of tumbling sensation. But even more than that was the knowledge that she’d pleased him.
“I didn’t enjoy it exactly,” she finally told him, talking her way through her mixed emotions. “But I didn’t hate it either. It was surprising, I guess. That crop is a nasty little thing. I didn’t think it’d hurt so much.”
