“No,” she cried out, panting, pumping her hips, trying to stick some fingers in her pussy while still stroking her clit. “I don’t want that again. It was too embarrassing.”
“But when you’re all turned on like this, you like a little sexy humiliation,” he pointed out.
“No, I hate it!” she denied, pushing harder at her hand.
“Do you remember what happens to girls who lie?” he warned, his voice stern.
“They get—punished?” She wiggled from side to side, breathy, her voice seductive and raspy.
“They do. What do you think I’d do to you next time for lying about how you feel about the brush? Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” she moaned.
“Hands up above your head,” he ordered, making her whimper in disapproval, but she took them out and put them up, dutifully, smelling her own scent next to her head.
“Max, touch me, please,” she whined. “I’m so turned on.”
“Maybe I’d lube you up with ginger lube and put that brush right back into your little tight asshole,” he warned her, making her suck in her breath and clench her thighs. “I’d spank you until you cried and make you stand in the corner with the brush sticking out. Maybe I’d invite some kinky friends over to see you standing there, naked and punished, holding a hairbrush in your ass, what do you think about that?”
“Max, no, that’s sooooo perverse,” she groaned. “Please, touch me, touch me, help me rub, please,” she begged, shifting her legs restlessly, craving release.
“Uh uh,” he said. “Not yet. First you’re going to tell me what you’ll let me do to you next time, if you want to earn an orgasm right now. Tell me or I won’t let you come at all.”
“Max, you’re mean,” she gasped, as he put a few fingers inside her, found her G-spot, rubbed it, then pulled out.
“Start talking.”
“Fine. I’d let you do whatever you want. You can put the brush back into my ass and use the ginger lube. I won’t argue or ask you to stop, I’ll let you put it in there, I swear. You can tease me and pull the brush out and push it back in and fuck me with the handle and I’ll lie there and beg you for more. Just please, please, touch my clit. Now, please.”
“Will you stand in the corner?”
“Yes, God, I’ll stand up and walk around with the brush clenched between my ass cheeks and I’ll stand there as long as you want, just touch me right now, I’m begging you.”
“Will you put your legs up in that position you hated?”
“Yes, please.”
“What’s it called again?”
She felt her whole body burning with humiliation and desire. “The diaper position, you can do it to me as often as you want, just please, fuck me, lick me, do something, I’m dying here, Max, you’re killing me!” she wailed.
“I’m going to do that,” he promised. “You’re going to do everything you just promised and more. I’m going to make you crawl and kneel to suck me off. I’ll make you lick my cum from the floor if you miss any. I’ll whip you while you’re tied up on your bed, Casey, until you cry and beg me to stop. I’m going to clamp your nipples and chain them together and pull it while I fuck you. And you’re going to let me do all of that because you fucking love it.”
“Yes, yes, all of it, please, I will, yes, God,” she moaned, her words tumbling over each other, not knowing what she was saying exactly, but with the realization that every single thing he said was turning her on like never before, each word lighting up new circuits in her brain that tied directly to her clit and her nipples, and he was quite literally going to drive her mad with desire.
Suddenly his head was between her legs and his tongue was where her fingers had been, but it was so much better that she screamed out her appreciation, grabbing his hair and yanking so hard that he shouted and cursed. But he didn’t stop, he kept up a steady rhythm of swipes and licks until she was pushing into his face so hard her muscles trembled. “I need to,” she started to cry out, and then he pulled back and drove his cock into her body.
“Come with me,” he barked at her, his whole face blazing, and pumped her hard, grabbing her hips, his hands like a vise. “Come around my dick, baby. Fuck me while I fuck you and come, come, come.”
She screamed again and exploded around him, and he shouted “Fuck!” and came into the condom, and then he fell on top of her, his heavy body sweaty, his face victorious. “Casey, fuck, Jesus, fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck me, oh Casey, fuck, baby, just… fuck.”
This time they didn’t talk, not for a long time; there was nothing between them except contentment and satisfaction, and Casey felt that exotic drift again, tugging her to explore the outer recesses of her mind, a relaxation that wasn’t sleep but something so much deeper and more intricate, no dream, but a kind of waking fantasy land.
* * *
It was misty in her bedroom, which was also a rainforest, and this made perfect sense. Hunter and Max stood in front of her, both in dark suits. Max smiled and winked, Hunter scowled and turned away. They were in Hunter’s apartment now, and Hunter looked angry. He punched at a canvas and tore a hole right through it; it was a priceless Picasso-style picture of Casey. Angry, she ran forward, ready to yell at him. But then, when she looked closer, it was her arm punching through the canvas. She was the one ruining the masterpiece, and Hunter was walking away, fast, speaking into his phone, and she was desperate to apologize. She called out after him, imploring him. “Hunter, I’m sorry! Come back. Hunter, please. Hunter!”
She awoke with a start to find Max beside her, looking into her face. “Casey? You were calling out—” He rubbed his face.
She shook her head, startled to find her regular room without ivy and mist and green leaves. She blinked, letting reality fill her up slowly, a cup filling from a very slow faucet. “I’m sorry if I woke you. I was dreaming.” She swallowed hard. “Max? I’m sorry.”
His face looked sad. “It’s okay, Casey,” he soothed her, and pulled her into his arms, and she drifted back into sleep.
* * *
The click of the front door startled her back into reality sooner than she wanted; then she heard low voices and keys splattering on the tile counter. Echo was back. She felt the other side of the bed and found it empty—where was Max? He wouldn’t have left, she knew that—besides, there were his clothes, shoes, belt. She felt a thrill of excitement looking at that belt. Maybe next time he’d whip her with it. Maybe if she asked nicely?
Yawning, she padded over to her bathroom, found the door locked, and then heard Max’s voice, low and hard. “So just know that this is probably your last chance. I don’t even know why I’m doing this, because I want her, too. But she’s still hung up on you. You’ve fucked this up long enough and it’s time to start being human again.” Pause. “Yes, Yes, I am. And I’m not going to apologize for giving her something she fucking needed and deserved. And if you can’t step it up, man, you’re going to lose her for good. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Max? Echo’s back.” She knocked.
He came out, holding his phone and didn’t meet her eyes, then bent to kiss her lips. “So I hear.” He pulled her to his body. “Sounds like she brought company, too.”
“Who were you talking to?” She kept her voice light.
He looked away. “It was an important call that I needed to make.” His jaw tensed. “Thank you for a wonderful night, Casey.”
“Well, I guess I can thank you, too,” she said, allowing the subject change, even though she was pretty sure he’d been talking to Hunter. “Now that you gave me the second thing.”
He laughed. “Did you like it?”
“Mmm hmmm. I never knew talking could be so—insane.”
He gave her a look. “I think what gets you hot is the mixture of real and fantasy, and not even knowing where one ends and the other begins. And the fear that comes with knowing I might push your boundaries to a place you never thought you’d g
o. And the words can take you where the spanking did. Am I right?”
“Yeah. You are.” Her alarm clock went off, and she pushed at it. “Crap. I need to get showered and ready. I have to go the gallery.”
“On a Saturday?” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck.
“I have a lot to catch up on. I’m covering for my boss while she’s in the hospital.” Casey stepped away from him and started searching for clean underwear in her dresser.
“Is she okay?” Max pulled on his pants, shirt, buttoned the cuffs. Watching him get dressed was almost as sexy as watching him take the clothes off. She felt a pang of disappointment when his tanned wrist disappeared beneath the fabric, when his chest was camouflaged.
She wanted every nasty, crazy thing she’d said to him in the throes of her passion, although thinking about it now—getting dressed, acting like normal people, putting on the veneer of civilization—made her feel a huge rush of shame and confusion. And even that was enjoyable, because it was all in fun. With Max.
But right now, she was back in real life. “I don’t know. I think so. She’s out of state, and she got the best surgeon in the US, and she said they got it all. They expect her to make a full recovery with no more cancer. It’s scary, though. Her voice on the phone was so small and weak. I wanted to cry.” She felt her eyes well up. “I never even liked her until just before I found out she was sick. People are usually so much more interesting and complicated than you give them credit for. I’m mad at myself that I never appreciated her, you know?”
“You see it now, though, and that’s what counts. I’m sure she appreciates your support, too.” Max put his arm around her and pulled her into his shoulder. “And I’m here for you if you need to talk about it.”
“Thanks. You can shower here, Max. If you want to. I’m not kicking you out.” She didn’t want him to go. She sat on the bed, looking across the room at her closet.
“I’m already dressed. Besides, I have to get back, too.” He sounded regretful, then he sat beside her. “Busy day. Casey? Look at me. I don’t want you—” He paused. “I don’t want you to think that I expect anything else from you, after last night. I know that you have feelings for Hunter.” His jaw clenched. “And I also know that last night you needed something, and I was glad to provide it. If we’re done now, I understand.” He shook his head. “God, that’s not coming out right.”
He gave a short laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “I enjoyed last night more than anything in a long time. I care about you,” his jaw flared again, “and I want you to be happy. And if I was able to give you some kind of—closure, or help you process the club experience, or even just show you something about domination and submission, then—I’m glad. If you end up with someone who likes it rough on a regular basis, you need to be very strong in yourself and don’t be swayed into something you don’t want, or need, just to fulfill someone else’s fantasies. Make sure they match. And remember how punishment and forgiveness work in the real world.”
“So you were just doing me a favor.” Her gut twisted, and thoughts of Hunter’s dark eyes, strong jaw flashed in her mind. What did she even want anymore? “You’re such a hero.”
“No. Fuck. That’s why I said it was coming out wrong. To me, it was more than a favor, Casey. And it was more than a scene. I really like—look, I don’t want to pressure you. I came to the bar because you were in tears because of Hunter, and we ended up having insane, hard-core d/s sex. And I loved it, and yes, I want to be with you again, but I’m not going to pressure you into something you don’t want.” He broke off. “Still not getting it right.”
Casey hugged her arms around her body. Reality was back, fully back, cold and ravenous, eager to bite into her warm, sleepy skin. “I don’t know, either, Max. What I want, or what I need.” She shook her head. “Last night was more than a scene to me, too. I mean, I’m not really one-night-standy, you know? And last night was so intense. I couldn’t do that with just anyone. I trusted you. I trust you. I forgot about all of my stress, my worries. You made it all go away for a while, and that was incredible.”
She touched his arm. “You’re a good man, Max. A good friend.”
He looked away. “If that’s what you want me to be for you, need me to be, then that’s what I am. I’ll be your good friend.”
“With benefits.” She gave him a tremulous smile, but he didn’t return it.
Her phone rang. “Are you going to get that? I don’t mind.” He gestured.
“No. I’m talking to you.” Casey put out her hand. “Max, I—” but she’d glanced at the screen. “Oh, God. It’s Hunter. It’s Hunter.”
She snatched up the phone and pushed the button, pushing her thumb hard into her chin with her other hand. “Hello?”
“Casey.” His voice, familiar and new, rang into her ear, and she felt the same thrill she had when she first met him.
“Yes. It’s me.” She stood and paced, walked to the window. “I’m here. Right here.”
“Casey, I’m sorry. I need to apologize and to talk to you. Is that all right?”
“God, yes, of course.” She bounced on her toes. “Of course, Hunter. I can talk now. I’m so glad you called.” This was surreal. It was what she’d dreamed of for days, wished for so hard she thought maybe it could come true because of the power of her own brainwaves, willing something into existence that wasn’t there before.
She glanced at Max, then at the door.
Max stood. “I’ll go. Call me if you need—anything. Casey. I—” but he didn’t finish it. Just smiled, a sort of sad smile, and left.
“Hunter.” Casey felt his name on her tongue, barely hearing the door close. “How—how are you?”
“Casey.” She could hear him smiling, imagined his brown hair and green eyes, his strong shoulders, his abs. His dimple. “How am I? I’m a jerk, that’s how I am. Please forgive me for taking so long to call you. I was working through some things and finally figured out that I’m an asshole. A complete and utter asshole, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m going to ask for it anyway.”
“I forgive you.” Her words tumbled, fighting each other to get out. “It’s all right. It’s okay. I forgive you, and if you forgive me for everything, then we’re—we’re even. We can start again.”
“I’d like that.” His voice was low. “Can I see you today?”
“Yes.” She frantically mapped out her needs. “I have to shower and get ready, and there are a few things I need to do at the gallery—that’s my work. But after that?” She held out a question, an olive branch, a plea.
“I’ll pick you up there. Text me the address,” he said. “Casey? Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me a second chance.” His voice was earnest. “It means a lot to me.”
* * *
Organizing and emailing were not usually thrilling, but today, waiting for Hunter, every single movement she made was pregnant with anticipation. The keys on her keyboard felt supple, the pen with the gallery name was smooth and glistened in the light, reminding her of sex. She sucked in a breath, reminded of the night she’d spent with Hunter. How he’d restrained her. How he spanked her with the crop in front of priceless art. How he told her what he wanted from her, to be his submissive in the bedroom again. The golden line on his coffee mug flashed in her brain, illuminating a scene of his angry face as he dismissed her. She bit her lip.
She shifted on her chair, and her sore ass reminded her now of Max, and new thoughts assaulted her, especially the one where she was so gone and lost with arousal that she was promising him anything, begging for release. The look on his face when he walked out. How he promised her he’d be her friend, if that’s what she needed.
A knock disturbed her ruminations, and—there was Hunter, at her door. Waiting. She flew to her feet and unlocked the bolt, fingers trembling, then stood back to let him enter past her.
“Casey.” He stood looking at her.
“Hunter.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and the very air around them seemed charged with potential. “So this is where you work.” He looked around. “Nice. Streamlined, modern, yet comfortable. Good selection.”
She flushed. “We try.” His opinion meant a lot to her; he knew so much about art. She looked around, trying to see the place through his eyes: All of the works displayed on these walls were not worth even a fraction of Le Rêve. He could buy and sell them in a flash, as a trivial matter, and for some reason that made something akin to anger flicker inside her soul. It was disturbing to know that her boss’ entire livelihood, hers, Blake’s, could be snapped away, traded in some big-kids’ card game.
“It’s probably not on your level,” she said, her voice stiff. “I’m sure you use an art broker, the kind I read about in that New Yorker article.”
The fact that she felt like apologizing made her feel worse, and she decided not to do it again. “We’re proud of it here.” She changed tacks. “We have many loyal clients who come to us to find new and exciting names in the art world. We carry some older, famous works, but we specialize in pieces that are fresh, where the paint has barely dried. Artists whose ideas are so new that they shine and flash and make everyone see tiny glimpses of the future through their novel creations.”
She’d never said it or thought it that way before, but it was true. The old masters, they were famous and heavy, ponderous; these newer artists were light itself—flashes of brilliance. Whether they’d last or not, now that was another question entirely, but for the moment they could fill the field of vision with ecstatic bursts of revelation. To many people, longevity of their art was not as important as how it made them feel today.
“I do use a broker. But that in no way prevents me from admiring what you have here.” He walked around, looking at the walls, hands in his pockets. “I’ve wondered what you do all day, imagined what kinds of pictures would be on your walls. It makes sense, now, all of it. The conversation we had the first time we met. You knew so much about my art.”
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