There’s a puddle at her feet. She stood there and came while she was watching them. Without even thinking, I lean over, run my finger up the inside of her leg, and slip it into my mouth, her juices running down my chin. Good thing I was still watching. Her knees buckle and I catch her just in time to keep her from falling. Once she’s safe in my arms, I kiss her, and I know she can taste herself on my lips. Those eyes open and look up into mine, and all she says is, “Fuck me.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, little subbie. You’re gonna get a fucking. I’ll see to that. Now go help clean up.” I look up just in time to see Clint and Steffen carry Sheila and Trish, still impaled on their shafts, down the hallway, step into a room, and slam the door shut. Oh, god, I’d love to be a fly on the wall in that private room.
An hour later, everyone else is gone, but they’re still back there. I’ve got the bar cleaned up and Cirilla’s got all the performance areas done when she wanders up to the bar. “They’re still in the private room,” she says, tipping her head that way.
“Yeah. But Clint’s got a key. Steffen most likely does too. If they don’t come out soon, we’ll just leave them. They know how to turn off the lights and lock up the place.”
“Should you check on them?” she asks.
“Maybe.” I’m thinking that might be a good idea. I’d hate to think something had happened to them and no one bothered to check. The little window on the door has a sliding cover, so I slide it back and peer in.
Nope. They’re fine. Clint’s got Trish draped over the arm of the sofa in the room, her hair gripped in one hand as he leans back into his stance, fucking her ass like there’s no tomorrow. Across the room in the big bed, Sheila’s hands are bound to the headboard, as are her feet, so her ass is up in the air. No surprise that Steffen’s standing on the bed, fucking down into her like an animal and occasionally tickling her feet, which makes her squeal. “They okay?” I hear that soft voice ask from behind me, and I slide the little window shut.
“Oh, yeah. They’re perfectly fine. Fucking all over the room. I think it’s time we go,” I tell her and point to the office. “Get your stuff and let’s get out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” I watch that beautiful ass as it sways on her way in, then we head straight to the locker rooms to change. Back in my street clothes and her in her frumpster outfit, we saunter out to the car. Once we’re buckled in, I relax back into the seat and sigh. “That was intense,” she whispers.
“Yes. It was. And I liked it.”
“Me too. Can we do that sometime?”
“You mean with someone else?” She nods. “It’ll have to be with people we trust.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll have to work on that, huh?”
“Yes. We will. But first, we need to trust each other.”
“Right, sir.” As I start the car, she lays a hand on my forearm and asks, “Did you mean what you said?”
“You mean about fucking you?” She nods. “Oh, yeah. I meant that. You’ll be asking for a vacation from fuckery by the time I’m done with you.”
“I sincerely doubt that, sir,” she says with a grin and sits back in her seat. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The ride home was silent and excruciating, the sexual tension so thick that only a jackhammer could’ve busted through it. The whole way there I kept telling myself, Just pull over and fuck her. Go on. Just do it! But that’s not how I want our first time to go.
As soon as the apartment door is open, I point to her room. “Shower. Go.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you’re done, come to my room.”
“Yes, sir.” She disappears into the bedroom and I head to mine.
Do you know how hard it is to wash your dick without coming when it’s hard as rock? It’s work, lemme tell ya. I manage, but barely.
When I step out into the bedroom, she’s not there yet, so I set about lighting a couple of candles, getting out a big play pad so we don’t make a mess on the bed, and grabbing four restraints, just big strips of soft cloth that can be tied however I like. I get a bottle of lube out too. I have no intention of fucking her ass, but just in case things go that way, I want to be ready. There are condoms in a dish by the bed, and I check. There’s got to be about thirty there. Surely that’ll be enough. I’ll drop dead before I can use them all up in one session.
I’m lying there, cock hard and pointed at the ceiling, when there’s a soft rap on my door. “Come in.”
She steps in, takes one look at me, and drops her robe. Oh, god. Yes. This is promising. Instead of crawling right in, she stops beside the bed. “I’m yours, sir. What do you want?”
“I want you to get into this bed. First time around I want to make love to you. After that, I’m going to fuck you so you get an idea what will be expected of you. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds wonderful, sir.”
“Until we start the designated play, it’s Brian. Right now, we’re nothing but lovers, Cirilla. We need to get to know each other, each get to know the other’s body, all of that. I love you, and I want to show you I love you with my body.”
“I want the same.” She sits down on the bed and stares at my dick. “And that’s impressive, by the way.”
“Thank you. I hope you still think so in a few minutes. Come on up here,” I tell her, and she scoots up until her head is on the pillow beside mine. I run a fingertip down her nose, down her lips, down her chin, down her chest, and then around and around first one nipple and then the other.
“Oh, please, touch them? They’re so hard they hurt, baby,” she whispers, and I bend down to take one in my lips.
Her back arches, she groans, and I nip it lightly just to watch her do it again. Her skin is soft and smooth as my hands grip her waist, holding her in place, forcing her to stay where I want her. Five minutes of visiting one nipple and then the other, and I kiss down her midsection until I can smell her arousal. God, she smells so pretty and so sweet. Once I’ve scooted down the bed and lifted her leg to roll under it, I slide a finger in each side of her slit and press outward.
And there it is. It’s a deep, ruddy pink, and about as big as a green pea. No searching for this little gem, nope. It’s right there in front of me. When I blow on it to get her reaction, her fingers wind into my hair and pull a little, and that makes me smile. I hear her murmur, “Oh, Brian.”
“You’re beautiful, babe. There’s nothing about your body that’s not perfect. And not being inside you is killing me. Want me to give you what you need?”
“Oh, god, yes. Please.” My tongue is almost touching it when she says, “Brian?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Please? Do I have to come?”
Okay, I’m confused. “What? You don’t want to?”
“Please? Could the first time be with you inside me? Please?”
I want to cry. I want to sing. Why the hell hadn’t I been honest with her from the beginning? Because I wasn’t honest with myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And thank god my bed sits up nice and high. I scoot off the foot, then drag her down toward me to giggles and then outright laughter. “That’s what you want?”
“Please?”
“I told you I’d give you want you need. Not a problem.”
“Where are you going?” she asks as I step toward the head of the bed.
“To get one of these,” I tell her, holding a condom up. When I rip the package open, I think about how that’s one of the most satisfying sounds in the world, a sound that tells you you’re gonna get laid. Bet if you put the sound of condom foil being ripped in a song, it would be a number one hit. By the time I reach the foot of the bed again, I’ve rolled it on, and I look down at her. “Legs up,” I tell her, and she obediently lifts her knees to her chest, so I press my hands onto her shins and hold on. “I love you, Cirilla,” I tell her and slide into her.
“I love you too, Bri … Oh, jesus. Yes. Ohhhh, do it, babe. Make me come. I need it,” she whispers up to me, her eyes brigh
t and a tiny smile on her face. I don’t answer, just reach down and touch her clit with the tip of my finger. “Oh, god. Stroke it, baby. Nice and slow.” As I stroke her plump bud, I watch her hands go to her nipples, and she starts giving them a workover. So fucking sexy. Suits me. I can’t reach them from where I am, standing there at the foot of the bed, burying my hard cock in her soft, wet, warm pussy over and over.
“Very responsive,” I mumble.
“What?”
“I said your clit is very responsive,” I repeat.
“It should be. The way you’re stroking it, only somebody who has something really wrong with them could not be responsive. Jesus, Brian, you’re good at that.”
“Upper left quadrant,” I tell her.
“Yes. Oh, god, um … yeah, I can tell you know what you’re doing. You’ve been a Dominant how long?”
“Almost thirty years.”
“Yesssss,” I hear her hiss, and I know she’s not saying that in response to my answer. “Oh, slower, okay? Make it last. Make me miserable, babe. Make me want it.”
I slow down, speed up, slow down, speed up. At one point, I stop, bend down over her, and kiss her. Her palms are warm on my cheeks, and I’m not even sure I want to fuck her. What I really want to do is love her, and I do love her. Then I go back to stroking her clit.
“Holy hell, oh my god, Brian, you shouldn’t have stopped and started. I can’t … holy shit. I’m …” And I stop again. “Dear god,” she moans. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Isn’t that the whole point?” I ask as I reach down and take both nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. I pull in a milking fashion, then twist and listen to her cry out. “You’re beautiful, Cirilla. So, so fucking beautiful.” I stop tweaking her nipples and take her tits in my hands. “Natural, right?”
“Straight from my mama,” she says with a giggle. They’re perfect. Perfect weight, perfect size, and they feel perfect in my hands. God, I hit the jackpot.
When I turn loose and go back to stroking her, I hear her suck in a breath. “Jesus, Brian, oh hell. You’ve made me so sensitive, babe … I don’t know how much longer I can … Oh, god …”
“Then don’t wait. Come for me, baby. Right now.” As soon as the last word falls from my lips, I give that little pearl a good workover, fast and furious, and wait as she pants and screams.
Dear god, she’s tight around me when she comes, and I don’t stop stroking, so it goes on and on and on, pulsing and throbbing, constricting in the most satisfying of ways. “Oh, Brian, stop, please! Oh, god!” she’s screaming, clutching the sheet, twisting and wiggling, but I’m holding her fast and just keep going. “Brian! Oh my god! I’m gonna … Noooooo …” she says as the second one takes her, stronger and deeper than the first. “Brian! Please, baby! No more! Oh, god. Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god.” I’m watching her closely, and she’s had about all she can stand, the spasms in her belly rippling the muscles underneath the soft flesh.
So I stop and do what I’ve wanted to do all night. I plow into her, full throttle. In a couple of seconds, I lift her legs so her ass is slightly off the bed, and that gives the head of my cock access to that sweet, soft, plump little spot inside her, the one with the ridges. And as I feel my crown raking over it, she starts to moan even louder. God, that makes me so fucking hard. So. Fucking. Hard. And, damn it all, it takes me about eight strokes before I feel the skin on my shaft stretch as my cock lengthens just that tiny little bit before my sack draws up and I unload a quart.
God damn, that left my knees so weak I can barely stand, and yet I can’t stop looking at her. She drops her arms back, and her hands are resting palms up beside her head. Those soft, delicious lips are slightly parted, her eyes closed, and she’s still panting a little. I watch her tits rise and fall with her breath, and every few seconds I feel a muscle somewhere deep inside her twitch against my softening cock. Still inside her, I knee crawl up onto the bed, pushing her upward as I go, until I’m stable and kneeling between her legs. Running my hands up her shins, letting them fall onto her tits, watching her face as she comes down from the euphoria of three orgasms, I marvel at her softness. “You okay?” I ask as I tip forward until I’m braced over her, my belly against hers.
“Yeah. Worn out. God, babe, I think you did me in,” she says and pulls my face down to hers to kiss me.
“Then let’s sleep,” I tell her.
“I want to do it again.” That makes me chuckle. “Well, I do!” she insists.
“Okay. We’ll do it again. But right now, let’s rest. Then we’ll wake up and do it again, but when we wake up, there’ll be no lovemaking. I’ll be taking what’s mine, so expect a fucking like you’ve never gotten before.”
“Yes, sir,” she answers quietly, but there’s a mischievousness in her voice that makes me almost laugh aloud.
I slap her hip. “And we’re going to talk about that title too.”
“Yes, sir,” she says again, but this time it’s followed by a yawn.
I just drop beside her, take her in my arms, and hold her. She covers my face in kisses and in a couple of seconds, I let my lips catch hers on their way past again and hang on. It’s one of those kisses that makes you come to life, that tells you everything is okay between you and the person whose lips are touching yours. When I break the kiss, I give her another quick peck on the lips and then kiss her forehead. “Sleep, precious. It’s not like this will be the first and last time we have sex.”
“Thank god,” she whispers back and I can’t help but laugh. That makes her giggle, and it takes us a little while to get it all out. No one could understand how relieved I am that she’s here with me, that we’ve gotten all this out in the open, and that we can move forward.
If only I knew who she really is.
For reasons I don’t understand, I wake up about two o’clock in the morning, something poking at my brain. And then it hits me. Slipping out of bed quietly, I tiptoe across the room and out the door, across the living space, and through the doorway into her room, closing the door until it’s only open a crack. Ever so quietly, I open the nightstand drawer, then head into her bathroom, close the door, and turn on the light.
The journal. I check out the cover. On it she’s written Number 5. I’m not sure what that means. The first page has some scribbles on it, and I can’t tell what they are. I just flip through here and there, and none of it makes sense. There are numbers, and they’re in sequence. Looking at them closer, I realize they’re dates, but they’re done the way they’re written in Europe―four digits for the year, two for the day, and two for the month. With that in mind, I check the front of the book again. The first date is June two years ago. That’s where things get interesting.
First date in the book is June fifth. White man, dark hair, thick glasses, receding hairline. Wearing a gray suit. Never before. Beside the elevator in the parking garage at the mall. The next one is equally as cryptic. Black man, balding, short, wearing blue sweat pants and a gray tee. Never before. Sitting at a table in front of the coffee shop. I walk by, he gets up and follows me for about two blocks. Disappears in the vicinity of Stratton’s Florist. I know where that is. It was right down the street from my office in Cincy. Five more pages and it’s late August. White man, blond hair. Facial scruff. Looks to be in mid thirties. July 17th. Post office, came out as I was going in. Stepped to the curb at the side under a tree and made a call while looking around. I came out, looked his way, and he got into a black car and drove away. This one could be a problem.
That’s when I get it and go back to July seventeenth. Sure enough, there it is: White man, blond hair, scruffy facial hair. Probably mid thirties. Never before. Bank on Water Street, came out as I was walking by. Followed me for about three blocks. I ducked into convenience store, watched as he looked up and down the block, then headed back in the direction we’d come from.
And I get it. She’s documenting people she thinks are following her. It sounds kind of like one person actually was. In Oct
ober last year, there’s an entry that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Watching news, story came on about S.P. Still looking. Watch surroundings carefully and change up habits.
That was in October of last year. No wonder she didn’t mind moving here with me. She’s terrified, and it sounds like she should be. The story came on the news … I have no idea what story that could be. I know even if I try to look it up, that was long enough ago that I’ll never figure out what story it was. This is scary, knowing people may be following her. I don’t like it at all.
The rest of the journal is the same kinds of entries. To my relief, there hasn’t been a single one since we’ve moved out here and I’m happy she’s at least gotten some peace by having moved. Something deep inside me wants to keep her safe, but I don’t know from what or whom. It’s hard to do a good job of protecting someone when you don’t know what you’re protecting them from.
I turn off the light, slip the journal back into the nightstand, and head back to my bedroom. There’s a warm, sweet woman sleeping in my bed, and I slide back in and pull her close. A sigh slips from her lips and her breath feathers across my chest, a sensation that makes me want to wake her up just to kiss her. I’ll keep her safe somehow. I don’t know how, but somehow.
Of course, it would certainly be nice to know who the enemy is.
Chapter Seven
Waking up next to her was something I’d only dreamed about, and now it’s happening. As soon as I kiss her, she stretches like a big ol’ cat and yawns. “I love it when your mouth’s open like that,” I say and nip her neck.
“Oh, hahaha,” she whispers back. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“It’s Sunday. What do you think is on the agenda for today?”
Both eyebrows come up and she says, without ever opening her eyes, “I have no idea.”
Completely Mine: Bliss Series, Book Four Page 12
