“Ready?” she asked softly.
His brain buzzed. His thoughts spun around. “Yes, Mistress.”
The dildo nudged his ass, and Brady let out a hard, dirty exhale. Sam slowly thrust forward, the toy easing past the first tight ring of muscle. He was hit first with burning, then pressure that morphed into bliss.
“Fuuuuck.” The word rumbled out of him in a moan.
Sam hummed, put her hands on his butt cheeks and gently spread them apart. She got in a little farther, then palmed his hips as she started to thrust. He shook but held himself still, afraid to move, afraid to want, afraid to do anything that might change the waves of pleasure rolling through him. She swiveled her hips in that way that made him crazy when he was the one inside her, and Brady groaned, low and deep. She was fucking him, really fucking him, and he got lost in the slow drag and slide, sensations inside him he didn’t know how to process. He didn’t realize she’d picked up the pace or that he was rutting back against her until he heard the wet sound of the toy going in and out.
“Please,” he moaned. He didn’t know what he wanted—not faster or harder, just something more solid than his restraints to hold onto while everything in him spun out of control.
“You like getting fucked?” she said. “My dirty boy?”
Jesus. His shoulders hiked up, like they could hide him, like he could disappear if he jacked them up high enough. She laughed, and fuck if that didn’t trip him up even more.
“Yes, you do,” she said, singsong.
Brady moaned and mashed his face into the pillow. She bent over him and reached around, finding his dick with her fist and wrapping it around him. Brady jerked upright, head jolting back, his mouth open in a silent moan. Yes, he liked this. Fake cock up his ass, real cock getting stroked. Slick. Hot. Wet. His arms went straight and stiff in his efforts to hold himself up.
“Fuck, oh holy Jesus, fuck me.”
“Brady Archer, your mouth.”
“Can’t help it.” He didn’t know how to handle pleasure like this.
She stopped stroking and a desperate shuddery noise came out of him. He slumped back down to the blanket.
“Did I tell you to move?”
He righted himself. “Sorry, Mistress.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” She bent forward until her nipples brushed his back. Her arms came around him, bracketing his body. “But if you moved I couldn’t do this.”
She sped up her fucking, and Brady couldn’t have moved if he tried.
“Ohhhh God, I’m gon—”
“No.” She slowed down, slid out of him. He whined like a child.
“Not yet,” she cooed. “Calm down. I want to make this last.”
She stroked his back in reassuring circles, and he tried to catch his breath. He wasn’t succeeding at calming down, though. His dick and balls ached with wanting, screaming for her to start again. This was torture.
She moved around, undid the restraints. For a minute he panicked, worried she was going to stop completely, that she was going to leave him like this, but then she got back into position and teased him with the blunt head of the toy.
“You trust me, pet?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Good. This time, I want you quiet. If you’re about to come, grab my hand and I’ll decide if I’m going to let you.”
Brady whimpered, suddenly aware that he was her plaything, that his pleasure and his pain were equally in her hands. But he’d do anything to have her fuck him again, so he sank his teeth into his lower lip and made fists in the sheet as a reminder to keep silent.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded.
It was nearly impossible to stifle his moan when she pressed inside, even more so when she reached around and jerked him, fast and hard. He thought he’d die when she released him abruptly again, using both hands to push his hips forward and drag him back. It was like being a ping-pong ball, bounced from one extreme of pleasure to another. He rocked in time with her thrusts, and she went deeper, faster, making that damn humming sound until the convulsions of his body had his head knocking into the headboard. When she took him in hand again and he managed to smother his pleading with a squeak, her laughter drove him to the edge.
This wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair for her to silence him, to scramble his brain this way. But it was too good for him to…it was too…oh, God. Too good. Too good. Too fucking goddamn good.
Brady reached back, grabbed her hand.
“Good boy. Come for me. Be loud, too.”
That was it. He’d always thought it was bullshit that people could come on command in porn, but her permission was a trigger and he was the loaded gun.
His orgasm hit like a bomb.
Blinding pleasure crushed him from the inside out. He spurted over the sheets, moaning until his throat went raspy. When she’d wrung every last drop out of him and pulled back, he sagged to the bed. He felt strangely empty and open, like a sweater with its neck stretched too wide. He heard the sound of Sam unbuckling, the strap-on hitting the floor. Like last time, Brady wanted to hide. To curl into a fetal position, or run into the bathroom again and close the door.
Sam moved in beside him, touched his face.
“What do you need?” she asked.
Tell me you still love me.
“I don’t know,” he said instead. He still hadn’t figured out how to ask that, and even if he did, it might not help untwist the lines in his head, the ones that told him he couldn’t be this and Sam’s protector, couldn’t be a husband, a submissive, and a man.
She urged him onto his back. His naked body was slick and uncomfortable, his backside burned and the sheets were definitely soiled. But Sam didn’t care. She drew the blanket up over them, took his hand and slid it between her thighs.
“Then focus on me.”
Feeling her was grounding, watching her head tip back when he parted her folds even more so. Brady found his focus, touched her tender flesh until everything else gave way. Whatever piece of himself he’d lost, he found it again in the sounds of her release, in the worship of his Mistress, his wife, his Samantha.
22
Sam clutched Brady’s shoulder, gasping as her orgasm abated.
What a roller coaster tonight had been.
Getting home from the club, she’d been so keyed up and confused she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to wind down. Then she’d crash-landed back into being a mom with an injured child she couldn’t comfort, both of her daughters MIA. It was a nightmare, as was seeing how dejected Brady was, how upset he was at having disappointed her.
She should’ve turned on her phone when they left the dungeon. Should’ve not had her mind somewhere else. Shouldn’t have been so turned on when the panic had abated and she’d realized they had the house to themselves that she’d blown off trying to talk.
She hadn’t wanted to talk. She’d wanted to fuck.
Wearing the strap-on, controlling him, seeing him take what she wanted to give him, then shake and fly apart, was the highest power trip ever. She couldn’t believe what he was willing to allow her, the trust he’d put in her hands. But even after that, even after the sharp, fast orgasm he’d given her and the slick pounding of his fingers after, she still wanted more.
Too much more.
She shouldn’t have done it—she knew it was wrong, but while Brady was touching her, she’d imagined Hanna there, too, imagined each of them on either side of her, two pairs of lips and four pairs of hands, feminine and masculine and all of them wanting her.
God, she was so selfish. So greedy. She was addicted to the power of being wanted, of being sexually desired. She wasn’t sure she was right about Hanna wanting her—wasn’t even sure if what happened was real.
Real or not, she needed to tell Brady what happened. Tonight, and years ago.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked.
He propped himself up on one arm. “Sure.”
“How would you…I mean, would you
ever…”
Ugh. What was the right way to phrase this?
“Streak through Fenway yelling, ‘Let’s go, Red Sox’?” he asked. “Nah. Saw it on YouTube. It’s been done.”
Sam snorted, then shook her head. “Where do you come up with this stuff?” But it broke the tension, made it easier for her to talk. “Would you be interested in having another woman in bed with us?”
Brady’s mouth dropped open. His brow furrowed and a shadow crossed his face. Sam’s stomach clenched. She was risking whatever they’d found together here by asking and was about to say never mind when he reached over and drew a pattern on the blanket above her heart.
“I didn’t know you were into that.”
“That?”
He shrugged. “Girls. Threesomes.”
Was it such a shock? She’d played the part of wife, of doting mother and homemaker for so long, it was hard to believe that was the mask and this was what she kept inside. “I was. In DC.”
His drawing faltered, then started again. “Oh?”
Was he trying to sound casual? Or was this bothering him? She couldn’t read his reactions to save herself. She wanted to, should’ve tried harder to figure him out, because he was the most important person in her world, but she never knew how much to push when he shut down.
“We never talked about my time there,” she replied delicately. “I wasn’t exactly an angel.”
“I thought you didn’t…”
“Have any relationships? I didn’t. But I did do…” Why was it so awkward to tell him this? “Stuff.”
“Stuff?”
Jesus, she sounded like a teenager. “I kissed a girl one night, at a bar. She wanted me to go home with her.” Sam took a breath. “And the guy I kissed that night, too.”
“Wow.” A long, drawn-out pause followed. Then, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know how you’d react.”
He looked at her for a minute, as if he wasn’t sure who she was. Then his lips tipped into a smile. “What was it like?”
“It?”
“The threesome.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“But you did kiss a girl, right?”
“Yeah. You want, like, details?”
“Hell yeah!”
His emphatic response was too much. Sam turned into his thick shoulder, hid her face in his skin. He smelled like sweat and sex. “It was only for a minute, but it was…softer than it is with a guy. Wetter, somehow. Like we were melding together.”
She glanced up. Brady was watching her intently.
“You enjoying this?” she asked.
“Are you kidding? This is the best story ever.”
Sam laughed again, then groaned. It was a relief, to finally open up to him, to share this secret, but it seemed strange, too—to tell the man she was married to, had children with, and had known half her life something she’d never said. About wishing she’d slept with people who weren’t him.
“Why didn’t you do it?” he asked.
“It wasn’t a good idea, professionally.” That was the abridged version. “But I always regretted not doing it.”
“That’s a long time to want something. I know how it feels.”
The guilt pricked, sharp at her chest. Sam kept her face tucked into Brady’s shoulder. Here he was, getting what he’d finally desired from her, and she wanted more. His arm came around her, warm palm flat and comforting on her back. It almost startled her—the fact that he’d noticed her regret.
“It’s okay that you didn’t tell me, you know,” he said. “It was years ago.”
“Well…something sort of happened…tonight.”
He froze. His hand was still on her back. “What kind of something?”
“Nothing like that. I didn’t kiss anybody. I could’ve imagined the whole thing.”
He pulled back. “Okay, it would be great if you could actually tell me now.”
What was she doing? Why was she causing him stress? The look on his face was killing her. But she had to be honest. “My friend Hanna, from work. I saw her tonight and I think she’s…interested in me.”
“And are you interested in her?”
“Maybe?”
It was crazy to be having this conversation. And now Brady wasn’t speaking. He went pale, then ashen. She might not be able to read his deepest thoughts, but she could read this. Sam took his hand, brought it up to her cheek. His eyes found hers.
“I’m not leaving. And I’m not interested in an open marriage,” she said.
She had no idea how people did that. Not because she couldn’t respect it, but she could barely manage taking care of the three people in her family, let alone add another person.
“I just want to have that experience I didn’t get to have. To live out that fantasy. With her. And you.”
His shoulders sank in relief. He moved closer to her again, curled up until his head was on her chest. “Okay, I might be into that.”
“Might?”
“Your wife telling you she’s into girls is pretty much the beginning of every porn.”
“But this is different. We’re different.” She petted his head, ruffled his curls, so he knew what she was talking about. “And I think Hanna’s different.”
“Different how?”
Sam recounted the story for him, starting at what Hanna had told her when she’d found Sam reading and finishing with Hanna stroking her hair tonight at the dungeon.
“You told Hanna?” he asked. “About us?”
Sam cringed. “Just that I’m a Domme, too.”
He didn’t say anything. Sam suddenly felt both awful for violating his trust and frustrated with this constant gag order. “She doesn’t talk to Lilly or Gabe. They run in different circles.”
More silence.
“I needed to talk to someone, Brady.”
“I get it,” he finally said, then offered her a small smile. “So, she’s a switch.”
Sam frowned. She’d read about characters like that—ones who enjoyed switching roles, from Dominant to submissive, bottom to top. “But she seemed so strong. So capable and forceful.” Passive didn’t seem to fit Hanna.
Brady’s expression darkened for a minute. “I guess it’s hard for either of us to imagine being on the other side of the slash.”
“The slash?”
“The line between Dominant and submissive.”
“Oh. Right.” Her frown deepened. “Why do you know so much about something neither of us have experienced in real life?”
His knowledge changed the balance, tipped the scales in a way she didn’t like. She was supposed to be the one in the position of power. How could she do that when he knew more than her? But the comment seemed to bring Brady’s smile back.
“I’ve just read about it in things that aren’t fiction.”
“You have?” she asked. “Where?”
“Chat forums. Other places on the Internet. I am still a geek under this manly exterior, you know.”
She laughed and cuddled closer. “I like that about you. The geekiness.”
“I’m glad.” He breathed into her hair. “And touching someone’s hair is PG-13 in my book, Sam. If it wasn’t, I’d have wanted to kill your hairdresser ages ago.”
She relaxed into him, into his warmth, his humor. Into the solidness of Brady. It was familiar. Safe.
Why did she need both? The safe, and the wild?
She questioned for a moment if she did—if this secure, comfortable, and lately exciting place she was in with Brady could be enough for her. It should’ve been, but Sam couldn’t deny the electricity she’d felt with Hanna.
“It didn’t feel PG-13,” Sam said. “If a guy had done it, you’d have been pissed.”
“Maybe. But I trust you. And if you haven’t figured it out, you’re kind of in charge here.”
Sam held still. He put that much trust in her? That she could allow another person to touch her and he’d…stand by?
�
��I’m your wife, Brady. I made vows and I don’t take them lightly.”
Brady reached over, took her hand. Rubbed her ring with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t take them lightly either. I vowed to take care of you. I do that for you, you do it for me. End of story.”
“Taking care of me means having a threesome?”
There was a pause in his breathing. “I guess, sometimes, taking care of you means giving you more of what you need.”
Their eyes met, locked. Something clicked into place, something healing, mending a bit of whatever had gone wrong in the last few years. His blue eyes were bright, so bright, and for the first time in so long, Sam finally felt seen by him. She appreciated him, appreciated every deviant thing he’d let her do to him, was going to let her do. And there was only one way to explain how much that meant.
“I love you,” she said.
Brady’s smile was almost childlike. “You do?”
“Of course I do.”
“I thought after how things had gotten, you didn’t feel that way anymore.”
Her heart ached. “Of course not. I love you. Never stopped.”
“I love you, too.” He leaned into her, his forehead against hers. “Never stopped.”
A soft noise came out of her, something she couldn’t name. She reached up, fanned her fingers into those soft curls of his, angled his head until his mouth met hers. The kiss was soft, slow and long. No tongue, just lips and breath and his beard brushing over her skin.
It might’ve been the sweetest kiss they’d ever had.
“This is what I need,” he said.
“What’s that?” she asked, still caressing his hair.
“After. When we’re finished playing. I need you to tell me you love me.”
“That’s all?”
He nodded. “Yeah. That’s all.”
The simplicity of it stunned her. That was all he needed to pull him back to reality—her love. Brady gazed at her.
“Is that something you want to do?” he asked. “Bring Hanna here?”
“I don’t know. Real life is different from a fantasy. And like I said, I could’ve been wrong about tonight.”
Their Discovery (Legally Bound Book 3) Page 22
