Completely Mine: Bliss Series, Book Four

by Hall, Deanndra

  When she gets a glimpse of the pliers clamped to them, she cries out, “Oh my god! Oh, shit! Please! No!” At that, I just turn the knob on each one more time and she squeals. And then the magic happens.

  She goes silent. She’s not unconscious. She’s in deep, deep subspace, driven there by the pain and the sight of what I’m doing to her body. “Cirilla, look at them. Does that frighten you?”

  “Yes, sir. They hurt so much, sir,” she mumbles.

  “I know they do. We’ll be done in just a few minutes, okay? I’m going to give you a little more.”

  “Ohhhh, sir. Yes. Please, sir.”

  I reach over and pick up the butt plug I bought. It’s at least two inches across, and with a generous portion of lube, I slip it into her ass and listen to her suck in a breath. “I’m going to fuck you now. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir. Fuck me, sir,” she whispers. But I’ve got one more surprise for her. I’ve slipped the vibrator onto a stand and positioned it under her, and before I start to fuck her, I turn it back on. As soon as it starts to hum, I grab the rope I’ve braided into her hair, pull her head back, and fuck into that beautiful, wet, pink pussy. With the butt plug in, she’s so fucking tight she almost squeaks, and I’m getting the squeezing of my life. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a virgin. I hear her say, “Ohhh, my tits,” and I know the pliers are swaying and banging against the bench as I fuck her. That only makes me harder.

  And I fuck her hard. This isn’t a garden variety fucking. No, this is a full-scale pound-down. I move around a good bit, raking this spot or that one inside her as I listen to her groan and cry out. I’m getting tired and spent, but I’m not anywhere close to coming, and I can’t figure it out, so I keep going. It takes me fifteen minutes until I finally feel it coming on, and I just go to town until I shoot into the condom and stop, a panting, sweating mess.

  That’s when I realize she’s quiet, and she’s been quiet for a good ten minutes. I pull out of her so fast that I swear I hear a pop, and drop to my knees in front of her. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is shallow. “Cirilla? Baby? Hey, you okay?”

  Her head rises, but she can’t see my face, trussed up like she is. “Yes, sir. I’m fine. Are you pleased with me?”

  “Yes, little sub, I am. Let’s get you out of this stuff, okay?” I start cranking back on the knobs of the pliers, letting the blood flow in a little at a time, and finally get them off. The restraints come off next, and before I move her, I work the butt plug out and throw it down. She’s small enough that I can just pick her up, and I do, straight off the bench, then carry her to the bed and climb in beside her. She’s shaking a little, like she’s cold, and I know what that means, so I reach into my nightstand and get out a peppermint disk, unwrap it, and slip it into her mouth. “Suck on that, sweetie. It’s okay,” I murmur as I draw her close to me.

  Snuggled up against me, I feel her shaking subside. Her head tips back and she looks up at me. “I love you, Brian.”

  “I love you too, babe.” Before I can say anything else, she reaches up and swipes a strand of hair off her sweaty face, and I’m horrified as she does so. There’s a stripe of fresh blood about an inch wide across her face where she passed her hand over it. “Oh, god, babe, what the hell?”

  When I grab her hand and turn it over palm up, I’m sick. It’s cut and bleeding, and as I look closer, I see what it is. Pushing her aside roughly, I grab the other hand and look at it. “Brian? What’s wrong?”

  “Babe, what did you do?” There’s a series of crescent-shaped cuts across each palm, and I know what made them―her fingernails. She was clenching her fists so tightly against the pain that she gouged cuts into her palms and didn’t even notice. “Oh, god, Cirilla. Oh, my god. What have I done?” I whisper, knowing this was me. I did this.

  “What? What are you talking about? What did you do, baby? You didn’t do anything,” she says, curling up against me again.

  “I did, honey, and I’m sorry. We’ve got to see to these,” I whisper to her, clutching her to me.

  “What? You didn’t do anything to me. I’m fine,” she says. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

  “Cirilla, look at your hands,” I tell her forcefully. She holds them up and looks at the backs of them, and I can tell she’s confused. “No, babe. Look at your palms.” When she turns her hands over, I see the look on her face. “You did that with your nails.”

  “How … I did that? No. I didn’t do that, did I?” she asks again, still groggy from her trip out of subspace. “I just want to go to sleep.”

  “Let me get a cloth and clean them up a bit and you can sleep, okay?” She nods, so I jump up and run to the bathroom, grab a wash cloth, and wet it with hot water. By the time I get back to the bed, she’s almost asleep, and when I wipe her palms, she barely moves. With the blood wiped away they don’t look too bad, but I still feel like a piece of shit. A real piece of shit.

  It’s barely eleven, not even lunchtime, so I just settle down in the bed with her, holding her close and stroking her hair, occasionally kissing her forehead. And I make a promise to myself.

  I like it rough. Always have, always will. But I’m going to have to show some self-restraint. Hurting her that way isn’t something I ever want to do again. That’s not sadistic. That’s just sick. I love her. This is a good way to get her to run and never come back, and I don’t want that. The desire to create that over-the-top pain is being replaced in this moment with the urge to care for her and protect her, even if it means protecting her from me.

  I haven’t slept a single second by the time she rouses at two thirty. I’ve watched her sleep, blissfully unaware of my disgust with myself. When she does open her eyes, she smiles up at me. “Hey,” she says softly, then kisses my chin.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “Are you pleased with me, sir?” she asks, her face sweet and trusting.

  “About that … I won’t be treating you like that again.”

  “Like what?” she asks. “I liked it.”

  “Cirilla, look at your palms.”

  I watch as she holds up her hands and turns them over. “What the … What happened to my hands?”

  “Those are nail marks. I hurt you so badly that you clenched your fists until your nails bit into your hands. And I’m sorry. That won’t ever happen again.”

  A pair of big, sad, blue eyes gaze up at me. “But it’s okay. If that’s what you need―”

  “No. That was over the top, and I won’t be doing that again. And you―safeword. I mean it. I know you want to please me, but this doesn’t please me. It appalls me. I’m disgusted with myself for letting this happen. I’m old enough and I’ve been a dominant long enough that I should know better. And I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. It won’t happen again, baby.”

  “Oh, Brian, it’s okay, really. It’s fine.”

  “No. It’s not fine. I love you. That’s not something you do to someone you love. I think this was a ‘kid in a candy store’ kind of reaction, but that’s over. No more.” I wish I had a long enough flogger to beat myself with, because I would. It’s inexcusable. I should be punished.

  “Babe?” I’m having trouble looking at her because I’m so god damn ashamed of myself. “Brian, baby, look at me.” I feel her hand on my chin and she turns my face toward her. “I love you. It’s okay. We learn and we go on. Besides, I’ll let you make it up to me.”

  “Oh, yeah? And how do I do that? Because it’ll take weeks for your hands to heal, and―”

  “No it won’t. Besides, if it doesn’t bother me, it shouldn’t bother you. So take me to the mall and make it up to me.” She just grins at me and my heart melts.

  I don’t deserve this woman, but I’m glad she’s here with me. And I know exactly what I’m going to buy for her.

  * * *

  When we walk in, her eyes widen until I think they’re going to bug out and pop right out of her head. She never dreamed I’d bring her here. “Yes,” I say to
the lady at the counter, “my last name is Zimmer and I called a little while ago.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Zimmer! I pulled the things I thought you might be looking for. Please, come on over and have a seat. By the way, I’m Meredith.”

  “Brian. And this is the lovely Cirilla,” I say, not knowing exactly how to introduce her. My girlfriend? Assistant? Ready fuck? I think she’d probably laugh at that one. Cirilla, not Molly. Meredith would probably be horrified.

  “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you. Here we go,” she says as she points us to a little booth. It looks kind of like those booths at the hospital admissions desk, with sides so the person in the next booth can’t see what you’re doing. Meredith sits down behind it while Cirilla and I sit down in front. “I pulled eighteen, but some of them aren’t what I think you’re looking for. Just thought I’d pull everything that kind of fit the description. If none of them are what you had in mind, we can look at more, or I’m sure we can order something.”

  All eighteen stone-encrusted bands lay there in the tray, stuffed between the little rolls of velvet-covered foam so they stand up and wink in the dim light. I feel Cirilla’s hand on my arm and turn to look at her. “Brian, don’t you think it’s a little early for―”

  “I wanted something like this,” I say, lifting a simple band covered in blue topaz, “that reminded me of your eyes. To me, it’s a promise ring. A promise that I’ll be more careful with you, that I’ll always remember who you are to me. It’s a promise that, no matter what, I’m willing to work on the relationship if you are. Does that make sense?”

  She picks up the band I’d pointed to and holds it up to the light. “This is beautiful,” she whispers, then slides it on her finger. “I like the way it looks on my hand too.”

  “It is beautiful―just like you. Do you like it?”

  “Oh, yes.” She peruses the rest, occasionally taking one out of its little slot and then putting it back in. After a few minutes, she says, “No. I want this one.” When she picks up the original choice, I smile. “It’s perfect.”

  “We’ll take it,” I tell Meredith and watch as she takes the ring and heads off to get the paperwork ready. As soon as she disappears, I lean into Cirilla’s ear. “And it’s a teeny tiny collar if you want to think of it that way.”

  “Yes. I do. Thank you, babe. It’s beautiful.”

  We get it all set up for resizing, I pay for it, and away we go. “Hey, want some sushi?”

  “Yes, I do. That sounds really good. Know a good place?”

  “If it’s still there. It was my favorite before I moved away.” I step into the front of a store as we walk by and ask a clerk, “Is Gorman’s Sushi still open?”

  “Oh, yes, sir! Still there after all these years. I think it earned a Michelin three-star last year.”

  “Thank you so much.” That makes me happy. Gorman’s was where I ate sushi for the very first time and, honestly, no other place has ever measured up. As we walk toward the entrance to the mall, she leans against me. “You okay?”

  “Just tired. Kinda sore. And a little weak,” she says, her voice low, and I can tell she’s weary.

  I kiss the top of her head. “Let’s get some food in you and then we’ll go home and relax.”

  “Home. That sounds good,” she says and smiles up at me. When she looks at me like that, I feel ten feet tall. I’m sure people think we’re an odd sight, me tall and trim and wearing a pair of chinos and a polo shirt, and her in her big dark-rimmed glasses, her hair up in a knot and that baggy, shapeless dress with weird old lady shoes, but that’s okay. I know what she looks like under all that, and it’s kind of like this sweet little secret we have between ourselves.

  The restaurant is deserted. It is, after all, three thirty in the afternoon. We each order a roll, then pick one together, with the idea being to share all three. I’m excited for her to try them, and I hope it’s as good as I remember. “Well?” I ask when she chews up the first one.

  “Oh my god, this is delicious. I mean, really, best sushi I think I’ve ever had. Can I have one of those?” she asks, pointing to my roll.

  “Of course. Help yourself. I want one of yours too,” I say, reaching for it.

  “Great. Please. Oh, god, this is so awesome. Back in Cincy I never had anyone to eat sushi with, and it’s something that’s no good unless you can share it.”

  That makes me so sad, to know how much time she spent there in that city, all alone, knowing no one and afraid to get to know anyone. “I’m so sorry, honey. If I’d had any idea, I would’ve spent time with you. That had to be lonely.”

  I watch tears pool in her lower lids and my heart aches. “It was. I came to the office, worked all day with you, and then went home. And sometimes you were out, so I was alone then too. When you suggested we share an apartment out here, I mean, you just can’t know how excited I was about that. So excited. Even though I was afraid to talk to you and get to know you, it was still nice to think there’d be somebody nearby in case I fell or got sick. And the place I lived in back in Cincy wasn’t in the best part of town, so it was really scary at night.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because you’d always been so careful to make that distinction of me being your employee.” I start to say something when she holds up a hand and says, “I know, I know. In this day and age, you have to be careful, a man and woman working together, alone in a building like we were. I could’ve made any kind of claims and you would’ve had no way to defend yourself. I get it, really, I do.”

  “I’m just glad we’re past that now,” I tell her with a smile. Oh, god, so glad. “Open up,” I say and pick up a piece of sushi with my chopsticks, holding it out to her. She opens her mouth like a little bird and I set it on her tongue, then pick up a piece for myself and shove it in my mouth. “Man, this stuff is good,” I groan around the piece of roll.

  “It really is.”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah, a good bit. Do they deliver?”

  “I think so.”

  There’s that gentle smile again, and it warms me all over. “Good. We need to remember to order from them occasionally.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  We have a few pieces to take home with us, and I assure her I have wasabi in the refrigerator. I always have wasabi around, that and horseradish sauce, plus low sodium soy. There’s a game coming on that I want to watch, and she says that sounds fine to her, so I go in the kitchen and get us a drink apiece.

  And when I get back to the sofa, she’s sound asleep.

  I just sit down at the end closest to her head, grab a toss pillow, lay it against my thigh, and drag her over until her head is resting on it, then take the throw that’s folded over the end of the sofa and arrange it over her. We spend the rest of the afternoon, me watching the game and her sleeping soundly beside me, my hands occasionally wandering through that thick, melted-chocolate brown hair, its red highlights gleaming in the lamplight. I love her, and I don’t know what’s out there that she’s so afraid of, but as long as there’s breath in my body, she’ll be safe from it.

  The challenge will be keeping her safe from me.

  Chapter Eight

  “Come on, sleepyhead. Time for work,” I tell her on Monday morning. I carried her to bed on Sunday night, still sleeping the sleep of the dead, and I’m not sure she even moved all night long. And I should know. Between watching her because she’s so gorgeous and the guilt from the way I’d behaved that morning, I didn’t sleep a wink.

  “What time is it?” she moans.

  “Seven. Time to get up and get ready for work.”

  “But I’m just going down the hallway,” she grouses. Well, fuck me. Turning your assistant into your girlfriend apparently has its drawbacks. Who knew?

  “Come on. I’ve got some things I need you to do today, and one of them entails going out. Don’t go getting all unprofessional on me now,” I tell her and slap her ass.

  “Owww! Damn. Okay. I’
m coming, I’m coming.”

  By the time she gets finished in the shower, I’ve got food on the table. As we’re sitting there eating, I drag out my planner, and without saying a word, she hops up from the table. In just a few seconds, she’s back with hers. “Okay, so let’s see … Today is Monday … I’ve got a conference call with the guys from Denver Pharmaceuticals at eleven. Then I’ve got to meet a building owner at two over on the other side of town.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got those in my book as well.” Ah. Back to assistant mode. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Tomorrow I go to the monthly HQSeattle meeting. It’s at noon. Do you want to go?”

  “No. I think that would be a bad idea. Everyone needs to see me as your assistant. Yeah, sure, they’ll eventually find out about us, but I think we should keep them at bay as long as possible, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I nod. “Probably for the best.” I hate having to do that, but I’m glad it was her idea. She can’t accuse me of being ashamed of her, which I wouldn’t be, but this protects her too. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting with a builder at eleven thirty. Can you cover that?”

  “Sure. Just give me the address and phone number and I’ll meet him.”

  “Great. You’ve already got it. Winston and Winston, the law firm from Santa Barbara?”

  “Oh, yeah. Got it.”

  It takes us about thirty minutes to iron out the week, and I think we’ve got it on the run. “I don’t think we’re going to lose any clients over the move, but I’m a little shaky about it.”

  “Sir, you can fly anywhere you need to in order to meet with people. I don’t see how they’ll care, but if they do, we’ll just make up for it with business out here,” she says with an air of finality. Her confidence in me gives me confidence.

  “I hope so.”

  “But with the club, do you really have to hustle? I mean, how much will you be making from it?”

  I just shake my head. “Nothing. Anything I make I’ll put back into it. And one of the things I plan to do with the money is start some events for the members, new things. For one, I’d like to help underwrite the support of the submissives during the two weeks of the pairing event. I know a dominant worth his salt should be able to support his own submissive, but some of our Doms won’t have that income. Oh, yeah, they’d eventually be able to figure out a budget, but two weeks with someone extra in your house is a shock to the wallet.”