The person shrugged and someone else climbed on the table.
Sam kept walking, past a shelf where drinks were being served. In front of it, a man was on the ground and rolled up in a carpet like a burrito. A sign by his head said “Ladies, please use your heels.” A woman in spiked shoes higher than Cassie’s stepped on top of him, and he groaned.
Sam stifled a laugh, remembering not to yuck anyone’s yum. She turned to the right and watched what had to be a fire-play demonstration, an older, wrinkly man in white briefs lying on a countertop while a young woman passed what looked like a stick with a flaming ball of cotton at the end over his chest. This was like Oz. If Oz was full of sexual deviance and Trance music.
In a room to the side, a ropes demonstration was going on. A woman in lingerie was dangling from the cords and trying to bite at her captor. Each time her mouth snapped, he tied another loop, making her swing in another direction. People were packed in that space, and Sam stopped to look at their faces.
It was amazing how they all showed their dominant or submissive inclinations so transparently. It didn’t matter what their gender or orientation was—the behavior was the same. The submissives hovered close to their Dominants. Some sat on the floor beside them, either looking up lovingly or staring at the ropes display. The Dominants chatted amongst one another freely, some with their hands in their submissives’ hair or…other places. In the back row, several couples were already going at it.
What would Brady have thought of all this? He’d probably have made a joke about wanting s’mores at the fire play, or pretended he was a bug flying helplessly toward a bug zapper at the wand demo.
Things he would’ve said to make her smile.
She frowned, thinking about their texts again. Why was it so hard to talk to her own husband? One of them had to push through this weirdness. It might as well be her. She took out her phone, typed the words “I’m thinking about you,” and hit send, but a guy who looked like Mister Clean with a silver armband appeared out of nowhere and loomed in front of her.
“No cell phones,” he said sternly. “That’s gotta go back in the coatroom.”
Shit. That had to be the thing she’d missed Gabe saying. Powering off her phone, she went to the makeshift coatroom and got a ticket for her cell, then went down a long hall. The music got louder, the lights at the end more clustered together, leading to a packed dance floor.
People were cheering, dancing, writhing around one another. A feminine figure came away from the knot of pulsing bodies. Making her way through the crowd in sinuous movements, she curled through people like a snake through grass. She had golden brown hair pulled up in a sleek bun. Lashes you could see for miles.
Sam’s heart skittered. “Hanna!”
Seeing her new friend and fellow Domme was like synchronicity, the most perfect coincidence, and Sam slipped around the bystanders to greet her.
“Hanna,” she said again. They made eye contact a few feet apart. “Bonjour!”
Hanna blinked several times and quickly looked down. She laughed once, nervously, and then said, “Bonjour, Madame.”
That was different. Hanna wasn’t acting like the confident, brash woman Sam knew. She wasn’t wearing any Femdomme armor either. She had on a white, midriff-baring top that set off the color of her skin, and a flimsy skirt. Her neck was completely exposed, and her wristband was green. The colored lights bounced off her flesh: brown, red, blue, purple.
Time seemed to slow and then stop. Sam’s lips parted as Hanna stared at the floor. She looked shy, flustered and nervous.
She looked like Brady.
Like a submissive.
“Hannaleen.”
Sam didn’t know why she’d said her friend’s name that way, other than it seemed to fit the moment. It got Hanna looking up, though, and when her eyes met Sam’s again, they crinkled into a wince. She exhaled a short, sharp breath and shook her head, like something about it wasn’t fair.
Sam felt the ground shift, the level playing field they’d shared before vanishing into thin air. Hanna reached a hand up, her fingertips soft as they came into contact with Sam’s hair, just above her ear.
“So pretty,” Hanna whispered, caressing Sam’s hair with a feather-light touch.
It was a shock, a bolt of lightning, feeling this woman’s hand in her hair. Sam was both rooted to the spot and swaying on her feet. It was a simple touch, but it made Sam shiver, and Hanna seemed reluctant to let go.
Sam was reluctant, too. Oh, God. What was happening?
Hanna rubbed the bottom of Sam’s hair between her fingers, her eyes on Sam’s face. Her expression was electrifying—drenched with lust and longing. Sam’s scalp tingled, like Hanna’s hand was the violet wand, like Sam was being set on fire.
Had this been simmering beneath the surface since they met? Had she been lying to herself all this time? Was doing this cheating? If so, she had to shut it down now. But she didn’t, and as Sam stared at Hanna’s lips, she remembered what it was like to kiss a girl. To feel the gentle press of a soft feminine mouth against hers and to want more.
She wanted more from this girl. She wanted lips and hands and bodies, wanted familiar and foreign, to touch and be touched by a body that was like hers. She wanted this gorgeous woman pliant beneath her alongside Brady, both of them subservient and willing. Wanted to know what she could do that would make Hanna cry out in pleasure as loud as Brady did, and she wanted it now.
“I have to go,” Hanna said.
“Wait—”
Before Sam could finish her sentence, Hanna dropped her hand. She turned away, vanishing quickly, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost. Sam stayed where she was, too stunned and shaken to follow.
21
Brady was half-awake when he heard the front door open. He rolled over in bed, his breath almost choking him in anticipation and dread. Tonight hadn’t gone well, and Sam was going to be pissed.
He listened as she shut the door and put away her things. Her footsteps were first light up the steps, then louder as she went from the girls’ rooms to theirs.
“Where the hell are our children?”
The question was loud, full of alarm. It was well deserved, but he hated the sound of it, like he’d lost their kids somewhere during the course of the night, forgotten about them and went to bed.
“At Jack and Lilly’s,” he said.
Sam flipped on a lamp. Brady pinched his eyes shut to shield them.
“Why?” she asked. “What the hell happened?”
He slowly blinked his eyes open. God, she looked incredible. The corset was unreal. He didn’t want her angry at him looking like that. But he supposed he didn’t have a choice.
“It wasn’t a great night.”
“Not great meaning what?”
“Hope got hurt. I was throwing the ball and she ran into my elbow.”
“Brady!” She smacked her hand over her forehead. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I worried about happening tonight.”
“I know.”
She dropped her hand and threw him a glare. “Is she hurt badly?”
“There’s a bump.”
“Jesus Christ. So you handed them over to your brother?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
Brady closed his eyes, not wanting to recall his parenting fail, or how Allegra had allowed her uncle into her bedroom and not him.
“I lost my temper and yelled. Allegra wouldn’t talk to me. Jack finally got her downstairs, but she hid behind him and then Hope started doing the same thing.”
And wasn’t that a kick in the nuts. Jack had coaxed Allegra out to eat something by offering to show her pictures of Lilly’s cat, and then stood there helplessly while his nieces cowered and asked to go home with him. His perfect big brother, who his own children felt safer with than him. Who’d known before he did what his wife was doing tonight.
“They wanted him,” Brady said. “Not me.”
“Why didn’t you text me?” Sam
asked.
“I did. Right after you messaged me but you didn’t reply.” He’d hoped the words “I’m thinking about you, too, but I need your help for a minute” would’ve merited a response. “I called but you didn’t answer.”
“I had to turn my phone off,” she said. “Forgot to turn it back on.”
That was weird, but whatever.
“Jack texted after he put them to bed. Even sent a picture.” Brady reached for his phone and held it out to her as evidence. “We can pick them up in the morning.”
Assuming either of them ever wanted to talk to him again.
Sam took the phone from his hand, sighed and sank onto the bed. Brady turned away. He’d promised her he could handle things, but he’d only made a mess, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d disappointed her as her husband or her pet or both.
Both probably. And both sucked. Big time.
She tossed his phone on the nightstand. Good thing it had a case.
“They’re safe?” she asked. “They have all their fingers and toes?”
“I didn’t count, but I’m pretty sure all digits were still attached.” He still couldn’t face her. “Please don’t be mad,” he said quietly. “It’s bad enough they wanted Jack instead of me.”
He expected coldness. Distance. The same space they’d had between them before everything changed a month ago. But then her fingers were light on the back of his neck, trailing over to his ear.
“I’m not mad.” She leaned over him, and then her tongue was sparking along his earlobe, teeth scraping. “I am something else, though.”
What the hell?
A tremor raced through him, unexpected and sudden. It was a struggle to process, to catch up with her as her hands went over his back and down to his ass.
“I want you.” Her nails bit into the flesh of his upper thigh as her lips found purchase on his neck and sucked. “Do you want me?”
Jesus, this was happening fast. He hadn’t imagined this tonight. He’d thought she’d be mad, not horny—thought she’d be Mom and not Mistress. He never knew what version of Sam he was going to get, but if she could be this one for a little while, if she could—
“Oh, fuck.”
She stroked over his ass, rubbing in circles, and suddenly he was right where she was. He spread his legs to allow for more of it, rocking into her touch.
“You and your filthy mouth,” she said, amusement in her voice. “But that’s not a yes, pet.”
“Yes,” he croaked.
As if he’d ever say no to her.
She hummed, then pressed inward on his entrance until he was hard and panting and rutting against the bed.
“I have plans for you tonight. Plans for right—” another circle, “—here. But first, turn over.”
He did her bidding, twisting until he was on his back. Sam loomed above him, dressed like she’d been born to a wear a corset. Taking her in was like a sexy superhero costume reveal. The leather smelled new, like a clean pair of boots or a wallet store or a car fresh off the lot. The bow cinched below her breasts pushed them out and up.
“You look amazing,” he said.
“Do I?”
Brady nodded. He was both grateful and dangerously turned on at the fact that she’d gotten something like this, like he’d asked. But he was a caveman when it came to her cleavage, and he needed to adjust himself.
She caught the move of his hand and smiled. “Good. I’ll keep it on then.”
Brady smiled back, albeit uneasily. She seemed different tonight in a way he couldn’t place—wilder, more driven. He felt like he was spinning faster, too. Maybe the corset was sparking a leather fetish he didn’t know he had. Or maybe it was the first time he was seeing her like this, every bit the fierce Domme of his fantasies.
“Please do,” he said, then tacked on, “Mistress.”
Her grin was sin and relief, like getting into a hot shower after a long day. Sam slid her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulled them down, tossed them aside. She coiled her hair over her shoulder and fit herself between his legs.
“Hard for me already. Good boy.”
He made a noise, something thankful that died on a groan when she licked the sensitive area below the head. Over and over, just that one spot, a localized focused pleasure.
“Poor horny little sub,” she said, and Brady couldn’t contain his grunt. She mimicked the noise, but in a questioning way. “You want more?”
“Yes—” lick, “—fuck.”
“You need it?”
His hips lifted on their own, his dick twitching. He couldn’t come this way, but the feel of her pink tongue flicking over him was driving him crazy. “You’re killing me, Sam.”
She stopped licking. Everything went quiet.
“Mistress,” he corrected.
Four loud thumps of his heartbeat passed before she hummed softly.
“I like killing you,” she said. “I love it when you squirm.”
Brady laughed nervously but fell into it, into the relief, the embarrassment, the pleasure when she started up again. He was safe here. They’d set up ground rules, safewords and limits. She wouldn’t push him out of his comfort zone. She’d let him come eventually, and trusting her allowed him to give in, to simply hang in this space, in the ache between agony and bliss.
It felt good, to be here. To let her move and manipulate him, speeding him up and bringing him down as she saw fit. He grew lightheaded, and his eyes drooped closed. He’d felt like this before, the last time they played. It was the strangest sensation—writhing but floating, worked up but also totally Zen. Was this subspace?
The question faded away when she took him in her mouth—one, incredible, torturous suck. “Oh, God. Please don’t stop.”
He choked out the words, then gasped when she popped off him.
“Please?” She was using that teasing tone again. It revved him up.
“Please.”
She sat up, faked a pout—“Please?”—and unzipped her jeans.
“Please.”
She slipped off her jeans and panties, crawled to the edge of the bed and reached beneath it. She’d stashed the toy chest under there, and Brady’s pulse spiked when he heard it pop open and she righted herself. The strap-on was in her hand, palm-up like an offering.
“Please?” Her voice was lower now. Seductive and chocolate-smooth.
Brady’s throat worked. “Please,” he whispered.
Sam smiled. “Hands and knees, pet.”
Things went in slow motion. Fear and hunger tangled together. He turned over, faced the headboard, breath speeding up. The harness she’d bought was part of the anal training kit. Three different dildos came with it in increasing sizes. They’d already used the smallest.
“Which one are we using?” he asked.
“Which one are you ready for?”
The biggest one still scared him. The medium-sized one had a curved tip to stimulate the prostate. Shame and desire had his cheeks going hot. Was it possible to want something and still be terrified?
“The middle one,” he ground out, and Sam’s responding hum made the hair on his neck stand on end. He wanted this, he trusted her, but that knowledge was doing little to settle his nerves. She came up beside him, one hand stroking along his back, his hip, up to his shoulders.
“Knee okay?” she asked.
He tested it, moved his leg from side to side. “Yes.”
“You know your safeword?”
“Mmm-hmm.” The stroking felt good. He was getting drowsy again, like he was flying.
She made a fist in his hair, and he gasped when she pulled his head back to look at him. “Then say it, pet. So I know you remember what to say if you want this to stop.”
His mind was sluggish. He had to close his eyes to think. Why had he chosen such a stupidly complicated word?
“Metamorphosis.”
She released his hair, played with it. “Good boy.”
The affectionate words had their d
esired effect, but Brady felt less like a beloved pet and more like the bug in Kafka’s story—helpless, exposed. Sam pulled the wrist restraints up from where they’d been hidden, stuffed between the mattress and the headboard. Linking them together, she strapped his hands in.
“There,” she said. “Something for you to hold on to.”
He tugged once, to feel the pull. “Thank you, Mistress.”
The sounds of her putting on the strap-on were strange and unfamiliar, metal clasps pinging. He couldn’t watch, chained up the way he was, but heard another sound—a buzzing noise.
The ring?
A sudden vibration against his ass had him bucking forward. “Shit.” He bucked again. “What is that?”
“A bullet vibe.”
She circled his hole with it, buzzed once at his entrance.
“When did you…shit…get that?”
It was a shock, every time she used it. A good shock, though. “When I got the corset. It’s your other surprise.”
He cursed again, his whole body kicking forward and then moving back. She repeated the motion several times before rolling it over his balls.
“Fuck…me.”
The vibe switched off. Her arms came around either side of him—not an easy feat considering his size. She managed to get her lips by his ear anyway and whispered, “Since you asked so nicely.”
When she sat back, he heard the lube cap pop open, heard her hand slicking up the toy. Anxiety and excitement shivered through him when she lubed him up, too, first her hand around his erection, then thick liquid drizzling over his crack. He hissed when she eased her pinky inside him, and then his head was bowing, body arching. It was so intense, so immediate, and insanely good. She switched to her middle finger, testing him, stretching him. Getting him ready.
She pulled her hand back. His heart pounded when the dildo’s wet tip rubbed at his back door.
Sam stopped moving and stroked his back in hypnotic circles. “Relax, pet. I’ve got you.”
She did, he knew she did. So he closed his eyes and made himself go slack. Dropping his elbows to the bed and his head to his knuckles, Brady gripped the pillow with his strapped-in hands.
Their Discovery (Legally Bound Book 3) Page 21
