I release her hair to band my arm around her waist and support her as she loses the power to stand on her own. “Come for me, Emi. Come right fucking now, all over my hand. Do it.”
“Oh God, I…I…uhnnnnnnnn!”
She comes—hard—and pure male satisfaction fills me when I see her eyes glaze over and feel her pussy pulsing in vicelike waves. I whisper words of praise in her ear as I help her ride out the climax that has her whole body doing little involuntary twitches in its aftermath. After a minute, I slowly remove my fingers, smirking at the tiny sound of protest she makes at their absence. With her watching me in her post-orgasmic haze, I very thoroughly suck my fingers clean. At the first taste of her, I have to bite back a groan of tortured pleasure. I can’t wait to bury my face between her legs and drink my fill until she bathes my tongue in her come.
“Holy shit, that’s so hot,” she says.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” I promise and help her lay down on the couch. I shrug off my shirt and love the way her mouth goes slack when she gets her first look at my body. I make sure I stay in peak physical condition. It saves my life and others’ in one job and rakes in money at the other. It’s a lot of hard work, but worth it for so many reasons, not the least of which is to make this woman’s eyes dance with pure hunger.
I remove her heels and drop them to the floor before settling between her legs. I run my hands up her body, shoving the skirt of her dress up along the way, and push her arms up over her head. Grabbing her wrists, I lower myself until my hard cock—still hindered by too many damn layers—notches against the panties-clad folds of her pussy.
Channeling my junior high self, I start dry-humping Emi while kissing the hell out of her. In seconds we’ve worked ourselves back to incendiary levels. She’s making the sexiest moans and whimpers as her back arches and hips roll beneath mine, seeking the relief I’m denying us both.
I can hear the blood rush in my ears with the pounding of my heart. Things start to twist in my mind, and I imagine her writhing as she attempts to buck me off, her moans are pleas for me to stop… But it’s when I think I feel her shove against my hands pinning her wrists to the couch cushion that I snap back to reality.
“Fuck.” I push myself up and sit at the end of the couch. Dragging in deep breaths, I rake my fingers through my hair and try to get a hold of myself.
“Austin? What’s wrong?”
I see her sit up from the corner of my eye but keep my focus on the floor between my feet. “Nothing’s wrong, I promise. I just…need a minute to cool off.” She’s breathing heavy and I have to reassure myself that it’s from pleasure and not fear.
“I kind of thought cooling off was the opposite of what we wanted.”
Turning my head, I look at her. Uncertainty flickers across her face, and I hate that I put it there. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her until all the doubt is erased. But I can’t do that until I’ve calmed down. I don’t like how out of control I was starting to feel. “Emi, there are things about me—about my sexual tastes—that not many women are into.”
Drawing her knees into her chest, she wraps her arms around them and looks at me thoughtfully. “Like what kinds of things?”
“The kind where I use contracts and an NDA with my partners if we decide to go there.”
“Austin, don’t dance around it. Just tell me what it is.”
My palms are actually sweating. I’ve never been nervous having this conversation before. Then again, I’ve never been this into a girl before. She isn’t just some chick I want to fuck for mutual sexual gratification. I want to get to know her, spend time with her. And hell yes, I want to have sex with her. But if she’s not comfortable with my brand of kink, I’m not sure that can happen, because she tempts me in a way no other woman has.
Just say it, Massey. Even if she freaks out, it’s better she knows. “My kink is forced fantasies,” I get out finally.
“Forced fantasies,” she repeats slowly, as though trying to wrap her brain around it, and I have no doubt that’s exactly what she’s doing. It’s probably the last thing she expected me to say, and now she doesn’t know how to react.
I angle myself to better face her but make sure to keep my hands to myself. “It’s not anything I need every time, or even most of the time, and normally I keep my urges in hard check unless I know the woman I’m with is into the same thing. But with you…” I take a breath and hope to Christ I’m not fucking this all up. “I don’t know, it’s like my defenses slipped and my urges crept in under the radar. I pinned you down harder, but as soon as I felt you push back I snapped out of it. That’s why I needed to cool off a minute.” She sits silently, the wheels turning behind her intelligent eyes. “Emi, say something. Please.”
After a few painful moments, she says, “Would it be okay if I sat with you while we talked? I don’t like this distance.”
Relief rushes through me like a tidal wave. If she was disgusted by my confession, she wouldn’t want to sit next to me, right? “I don’t like it either. Come on.” I lift my arm, expecting her to tuck into my side, but she bypasses that in favor of curling up on my lap like a kitten and lays her head against my shoulder. Wrapping my arms around her, I rest my cheek on the top of her head.
“I have a confession to make,” she says, “and it’s kind of embarrassing for a girl my age.”
“You’re in luck, because this is a judgement free zone. You can tell me anything you like, sweetheart. I won’t think less of you, I promise.”
She exhales, her warm breath fanning over my bare chest, and an image of us wrapped up in bed together pops into my mind. It’s one I hope I get to experience for real someday, but I don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch.
“I’m first-generation American. My mom was from France and my dad is from Italy, and they were complete opposites, making them a bit of an odd couple. But one thing they had in common was being raised in strict homes, and living in America didn’t change those parts of them.
“I grew up extremely sheltered. I was home schooled, so my only socialization came from fellow dance students, cotillion classes where I learned how to be a lady, and attending charity balls with my parents. And sex was never discussed. Everything I learned came from health class and my partners over the years. Which is all to say, I know next to nothing when it comes to the world of kink.”
Taking that all in, I rub two fingers over the beard growth on my chin. “Okay, let’s do this: why don’t you tell me what you do know, and I’ll try to fill in any gaps.”
“For the sake of argument, let’s say I’m completely ignorant. Explain what forced fantasies means for you.”
“It means that I get turned on by really rough sex, to the point of pretending that I’m forcing my partner.”
She sits up so she can look at me. “Like rape?”
I wince. “Yeah, but I hate using that word. To me, that word is used exclusively for the real thing, when someone is assaulted in real life. I never use that word even for when I play, which is what I call when I’m acting out the fantasies with a woman.”
She bites the corner of her lip, and her brows draw in. Already I’ve learned this is how she looks when she’s thinking about something.
“Emi, I know it sounds extreme, but I would never, ever hurt or force a woman in real life. And there’s no secret trauma in my past that explains why I’m into this stuff. I just am. It took me years to fully accept this about myself, so I don’t expect you to necessarily be okay with it after five minutes, or ever. Like I said before, I don’t need to have that kind of sex. I started to slip with you, but it won’t happen again. We can stick to fast and frenzied.”
Every second she doesn’t speak, my nerves stretch tighter and tighter. I’ve never felt this raw and exposed when discussing this with a woman before. They were either into it or they weren’t, and any judgement they may have had never bothered me. Until now.
“Your reassurance that we don’t have to
explore those things means a lot. Can I…?” She exhales a deep breath, determination setting into the line of her chin. “Can I tell you something now?”
“I’m all ears, princess.”
“Years ago, in my early twenties…” She shakes her head, and I wait, giving her the time that she needs. “My boyfriend had my hands over my head during sex. I told him that I wanted to struggle but he shouldn’t let me up, that he should hold me down no matter how hard I fought.” My breath catches in my throat as I wait for her to go on. “He tried for a few seconds, but it bothered him too much and he stopped everything. He said there was something wrong with me wanting things like that. We weren’t together much longer because it changed the way he saw me.”
“Damn, sweetheart, I’m sorry about that.”
“I tried it one other time, but that went even worse. He called me a damaged freak and accused me of wanting to make it look like he raped me for attention. So again, not a great experience with asking for what I want.”
Fire burns in my gut, and my hands itch to rearrange the faces of the men who made this woman feel like her desires were shameful. But since I can’t punch anything right now, I cup the sides of her face and brush my thumbs over her smooth cheeks. “There is nothing wrong or damaged or freakish about the things that you want, Emi. Those guys have every right not to be into the same things as you, but they don’t have the right to make you feel shameful about them.”
“I get that. Part of the problem was that since all the men I know are dancers, and dancers tend to be fairly in touch with their feminine sides, all my lovers have been the slow-and-worshipful type. While that’s not a bad thing, something told me that it’s also not the only thing. I never really understood my desires, but I also never really looked too far into them. I didn’t know that what I wanted had a name, that it was a real thing.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely a thing,” I say with a half grin.
Her eyes light up, and her smile nearly slays me. She grabs my wrists and says, “Then I can do it with you.”
“Maybe.” I take her hands and hold them in her lap. My baser self wants to jump at the invitation, to pin her down and do all manner of dirty things to her. But there’s a right way to do this, and I’ll be damned if I do it any other way. “There’s a big difference between what you tried with your exes and the kinds of things I do. The only way we try this is by discussing hard and soft limits, as well as agreeing on a safe word in case you need things to stop. Plus, we need to sign the contract and NDA. It’s as much for your protection as it is mine.”
After a few seconds, she nods. “That sounds good. You’re very thorough, Austin Massey.”
“I’m very safe. I want us to have fun, and the easiest way to do that is to make sure we have a clear understanding of what we do and don’t want. Deal?”
“Deal. Let’s get started.”
“Whoa, slow down, princess.” I can’t help the light chuckle at her excitement. I’ve never had a woman react like I’m holding her only Christmas present. Emi is one delightful surprise after another. “I want you to think about this some more. Take a few days to process everything and then let me know if you still want to try it.”
“And…if I don’t? Will this be the last time I see you?”
“Hell no, Emi. I want to see you as often as possible. Sex without kink isn’t a deal breaker for me.”
“Okay,” she says softly, a blush creeping into her cheeks as her teeth capture that perfect lip again.
Groaning, I pull her back into my arms and tuck her head into the crook of my neck. “You’re killin’ me, Emi-girl. Totally killin’ me.”
“Mmmm,” she hums and smooths a hand over my bare chest. “Ditto, Tex.”
I revel in the feel of her touch, the way she traces random patterns on my pec and down my abs—aw shit. “All right, you frisky little thing you,” I say as I stand us up. “If I don’t get you home now, I won’t be able to hold onto my principles.”
Sighing dramatically with an added eye roll, Emi grabs my shirt from the floor and hands it to me. “Fine, but if you want me to hold onto your principles, you’d better call me an Uber. Otherwise I might be tempted to do unseemly things to you while you drive.”
I drag a hand over my face. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, then grab my phone. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
I order the Uber as we situate our clothing, and then I escort her down to the lobby and the waiting car. Before opening the door, I say, “Text me when you get home, so I know you’re okay.” I can watch the car on the app, but I don’t care. I’ll feel better with written confirmation. And selfishly, I want an excuse to hear from her again before the night is through.
“I will. Thank you for tonight, Austin.” Emi raises up on her toes and places a kiss on my jawline. “Good night.”
“Night, princess.” I get the door for her and help her inside. For the next thirty minutes I keep myself busy getting ready for bed. When I’ve taken a shower, brushed my teeth, and changed into a comfortable pair of basketball shorts, I finally let myself check the Uber’s status and see that she got home five minutes ago. For the next ten minutes I pace in my bedroom, slapping my phone against my opposite palm. I’ve deleted no less than four texts before hitting send asking her if she’s okay. I’ll give her a few more—
My phone lights up and buzzes in my hand.
I survived the Father Interrogation. Safe and sound in my room.
Exhaling a rush of air, I type back a response.
Glad you weren’t thrown in the dungeon for breach of curfew ;)
Me too! I also wanted to tell you, the more I think about it…
My stomach clenches like I’ve been gut-punched. This is where she tells me she doesn’t want to explore things with me. Goddamn it, I knew it was too good to be true.
The more I want to do what we talked about.
YES! My fist pump is totally juvenile, and I could give a flying fuck.
I couldn’t be happier about that but give it a few more days to be sure.
Unnecessary, but OK ;)
Sweet dreams, Emi.
Same to you, Austin.
Dropping back onto my bed, I release a laugh full of relief and hope for what’s to come. A tiny voice in the back of my head is whispering that I might’ve found my one true match, but I shut it down. It’s too early to be thinking like that. It’s just that finding someone so sexually compatible— No, I stop that thought, too. The only thing I need to be focusing on is the here and now with Emi. The future is something to worry about later. For now, I’m just hoping like hell we have a present.
Chapter Seven
Emi
Earlier tonight I was picked up by my date, brought to his apartment where we shared a lovely meal of eggplant parmigiana with roasted asparagus and crusty Italian bread, followed by a glass of wine, while we discuss the details of how I’m going to let him “force” me to have sex with him.
Not exactly your typical second date, but it’s one I’m enjoying immensely so far. Granted, we’re only at the wine and contracts portion of the evening, and I’m a tad nervous about what’s to come, but I’m also excited. I have been all week.
Austin thought I’d reconsider exploring this with him. Every day I sent him a text letting him know I was still on board. And every day he told me to take more time to think about it. Yesterday I texted with, I’m done thinking. Time to cowboy up, Tex.
He laughed at that and then promptly informed me of how this date was going to go, no questions asked. Apparently, he likes making those kinds of decisions because his “mama raised him right” and he only allowed it the first time so he didn’t blow his chance with me. I did not audibly “awwww” at my phone when he said that. Much.
“Here you go,” he says, entering the living room with a glass of wine. “I asked the clerk to give me a good one, so I hope it’s not terrible.”
“I’m sure it’s great, thank you.”
He hands me
the glass of red and joins me on the couch, keeping a couple feet between us. He’s been the perfect gentleman all evening, only giving me a kiss on the cheek when he picked me up. I understand it—he wants to make sure we’re both on the same page with everything before we go any further—but all I can think about is what happened between us a week ago and I want to climb him like a tree.
Last week was…brief yet unbelievable. I’ve never come so hard or fast in my life. In fact, I thought I was just one of those women who have a hard time climaxing during sex. I can get myself off fine, but unless I’m helping things along during intercourse, I don’t typically come.
But now I know that it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with my partner. Austin shattered my world in mere minutes with only his fingers and a few dirty words. I didn’t even know anything like that was possible. I feel like the world has been opened to me with endless possibilities.
“You’re not drinking with me?”
Austin shakes his head. “No, whenever we play I won’t have a drop of alcohol. It’s important that none of my senses are dulled. And you only get one glass, enough to take the edge off your nerves and no more. I’m not trying to control you. It’s all part of how I keep you safe.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. Being taken care of like this from a lover isn’t something I’m used to, and I’m finding it a little addictive. Taking a sip of my wine, I ignore the pieces of paper on the coffee table for a while longer. “Mmm, this is good. The clerk didn’t steer you wrong.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“And dinner was amazing. Where did you learn how to cook so well?”
“My dad and I bonded over fishing, but Mama and I bonded over cooking. I can’t bake worth a crap, though, so don’t expect any desserts unless they’re from the corner bakery.”
“That’s okay, I can’t cook or bake. We had a full-time nutritionist on staff to cook for us because my mom and I were always on such a strict diet. Sometimes it was agonizing watching my father down plates of pasta primavera and crusty bread. Ironically, now that I’m retired from the ballet and don’t have to worry about that, he doesn’t eat like that anymore.”
Merciless (Playboys In Love Book 3) Page 5
