by Shandi Boyes
“Don’t stop,” I reply, licking my parched lips. “It feels good—so, so good.”
The feverous spark in Marcus’s eyes grows when he gathers one of the clothespins resting on my sweat-slicked torso. He stares into my eyes, relaying his intention without a word seeping from his lips. I pant as anticipation blazes through me. My grunts turn feral when Marcus uses his other hand to spread the lips of my pussy before he latches the clothespin onto my aching clit.
“Oh. . .” I moan loudly, speechless by the tingling feeling pulling my muscles taut.
The idea of a clit being bound by a clothespin doesn’t sound appealing, but let me tell you, it's one of the most orgasmic sensations I’ve ever endured. It’s. . .it’s. . . nearly enough to make me come. My thighs shake as the commencement of an orgasm sparks to life.
“Wait,” Marcus demands, his stern tone enough to rein my orgasm back in. “Do not come, Cleo. Do you understand me? Do not come.”
“Please. . . I can’t hold it back much longer.”
“Control the urge; fight the desire. Then maybe you will learn to do the same thing with me.”
Stealing my chance to request further information, Marcus slams his cock into me in one ardent thrust, taking me to the very root. Fiery heat spreads across my stomach as my back arches. I purr, relishing the feeling of being stretched wide by his thickened shaft.
Feeling my pussy clenching around his densely veined cock, Marcus says, “Wait, Cleo. I want us to come together.”
I shamefully whine, knowing all too well how controlled he is in the bedroom. He can last hours if he wants to. A highly inappropriately timed smile etches onto my mouth. I can't believe I am whining about his sexual prowess. I should be grateful he can exert such control, not angered by it. I'd much rather be taken to the brink and back for hours than the whole event be over before it has even begun.
I loosen the tightness of my hips, allowing Marcus to thrust into me deeper.
“Good girl,” he praises, acknowledging my attempts at following his command.
Peering into my eyes, his tongue laps up a salty bead rolling down the gulley in my chest before his attention reverts to my swollen-with-desire breasts. The bumps of his tongue running over my sensitive nipples shoot pleasing spasms to my throbbing core. I grind my back molars together, loving the welcome sensation, but hating that it thrusts my desire to come back to the forefront of my mind.
After lavishing my breasts with his skillful mouth, Marcus increases the rocking of his hips. My pussy hugs his glorious cock, caressing and milking it with every grind. I watch his muscles constrict and release, riveted by how fluidly he moves his body. Every pump has my excitement growing tenfold. He screws me like a man who intimately knows how to drive me wild with desire because he does.
When the tingling sensation stretching from my pussy to my chest becomes too great to overlook, the shameful pleas from my lips grow louder. “Please, Master Chains. Please.”
“If you need me to stop, Cleo, say your safe word,” Marcus grunts between pumps.
“I don’t want you to stop. I want to come,” I push out, unashamed.
Snubbing my appeal, Marcus’s pace picks up even more. He fucks me hard and fast, possessing every inch of me both inside and out. I thought the prowess he exerted last week was mystifying. Only now do I realize I didn’t even scratch the surface of his dominating skills. I’ve never been so thoroughly fucked.
“Oh. . .” I moan when a blistering of stars detonates before my eyes. The veins in my neck thrum as a shiver racks over me.
“Wait, Cleo!” Marcus demands again, his voice strained with lust. “If you come before me, I will punish you.”
“You're already punishing me, so what’s the difference?”
Growling, Marcus adjusts the position of my hips, allowing him to plunge into me without any hindrance. Fireworks spark low in my stomach when the rim of his knob hits the sweet spot inside me, and his pelvic muscle smacks into the pin secured on my clit. The rhythmic slap of his balls against my drenched core has my orgasm building at a speed greater than I can shut down.
I shift my eyes to the side of my room, doing anything to snub my overwhelming yearning to come. The more I fight, the harder my battle is. I don’t have the strength to ignore this man in general, let alone when he is fucking me like I’ve never been fucked before.
“Look at me, Cleo,” Marcus demands, increasing the rocking of his hips, ensuring every pump has the crest of his cock bottoming out at my cervix.
I’m tempted to deny his claim, angered by him withholding my right to climax, but then I remember our exchange in the hotel. How just the sight of my face in the midst of ecstasy was enough to push him over the brink.
My lungs take stock of my oxygen levels before I slowly float my eyes to Marcus. When our lust-provoked gazes lock and hold, the chances of warding off my orgasm become impossible. My body stills as an upwelling of pleasure scorches through me like an out-of-control fire. I quiver and shake while whispering Marcus’s name on repeat.
“Goddammit it, Cleo!” Marcus roars, thrusting into me even harder. His angry snarl growls all the way from his chest to his cock, pushing my orgasm to a never-before-reached level.
He pumps into me another four times, his speed furious before the hotness of his seed coats the walls of my clenching pussy. I moan even louder, worshipping the feral groans seething through his clenched teeth as he is lost in the throes of ecstasy. My pussy clamps around his cock, milking every drop of his cum as I shudder beneath him.
My orgasm is long and exhausting, draining me of any energy I had left. I’m barely lucid when Marcus removes his still rigid cock from my swollen pussy, but even being physically shattered doesn’t stop me whimpering from the loss of his contact.
A cool breeze sends a flurry of goosebumps rushing to the surface of my skin when Marcus moves off my bed to gather a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket. After cleaning evidence of my arousal glistening on his cock, he turns his attention to me. A husky moan topples from my dry lips when he carefully removes the pin from my throbbing clit. I’m stunned into silence, amazed a standard household instrument could be used in such a sexually-titillating way. I’ll never look at laundry in the same light again.
Once he has me semi-respectable, Marcus untethers my hands. A ghost of a smile stretches across my weary face when I discover what he used to bind me to my bed. It's the cord from my satin dressing gown I left draped over the full-length mirror in the corner of my room.
Marcus runs his thumbs over the small indentations the satin material made to my wrists. “Does it hurt?”
Unable to speak through my dry, parched throat, I shake my head. His touch is so soothing, the sting of the burn is now a distant memory. Exhausted beyond belief, I roll onto my side, more than eager to catch up on all the sleep I’ve missed the last nine weeks.
Marcus has other ideas.
Swamping my body with his overbearing heat, he adjusts the tilt of my hips. A shallow moan seeps through my gaped mouth when he enters me sideways, thrusting slowly to ensure he doesn’t encounter any hindrance from my sexually satiated body.
Moaning at how well we fit together, I crank my neck back to peer at Marcus. Although his eyes are still as commanding as ever, they also have a touch of susceptibility to them. Actually, upon consideration, I’ve never seen them so open and raw.
“I warned you, Cleo.” His breathing quickens as he slowly picks up the speed of his thrusts. “I told you you’d be punished if you came before me.”
“You can’t deliver a punishment during a punishment,” I argue when it finally dawns on me why he was withholding my climax. He isn’t just punishing me for goading him about Preston; he is instilling his dominance at my admission I work at Global Ten.
I call out when an unexpected slap hits my right butt cheek. My eyes snap shut as my body relishes the fiery warmth spreading across my backside.
“Once a punishment has been issued,
it must be delivered. There is no cause for delay,” Marcus grunts, his low tone as reckless as he makes me feel when he spanks me.
I dig my right knee into the mattress, opening myself up to him more. “I did what I believed was necessary to get what I craved. Now it's your turn to do the same.”
His balls slap my pussy as he plunges into me deeper. “Good girl,” he mutters, pleased I am accepting his punishment without putting up a fight.
As if I wouldn’t agree. I’m not an idiot. The first thing that crossed my mind when he slid his mouth-watering cock back inside me was, “If this is his idea of punishment, I’m going to start being more disobedient.”
Like he has done multiple times the past two months, Marcus intuits my private thoughts. “We’ll see who is acting smug when she’s deprived of orgasming for the remainder of the night.”
When he sinks his teeth into the flesh of my shoulder, my first plead for clemency rushes to the tip of my tongue.
18
Groaning a long and tedious grunt, I smack my hand at the person attempting to wake me up. A tired headache is thumping my temples, and my eyes are carrying the effects of a miniscule amount of sleep. Marcus’s punishment didn’t stop all night. No matter how sincerely I begged, he screwed, hammered, and fucked me six ways from Sunday. He was relentless, not giving an inch until I collapsed from exhaustion. I swear muscles I didn’t even know existed are aching. The only good thing that came from our exchange was that his threat of sexual deprivation only lasted half an hour. It’s a good thing, or I may have died. Marcus is a machine, his sole purpose to issue pleasure. . . and pain.
Powerless to ignore the pleas of my inquisitive mind, I slowly flutter my eyes open. I squint, adjusting my eyes to the blinding mid-morning sun streaming in my window. With the furnishing covering my window panels in severe need of an upgrade, the room is blanketed with natural lighting. It's so bright, you'd swear my curtains were drawn.
The animated thrill strumming my veins intensifies when my eyes lock in on a ravishing visual. Marcus is crouched at the side of my bed. He is wearing the same suit he had on last night, minus the tight restraints of a jacket. The shadowing on his jaw has grown darker, mimicking the hankering in his eyes, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled to his elbows. Considering his tight afro is wet, I infer he has been awake a lot longer than me. He is already showered and dressed. Giddiness clusters in my head, pleased he feels so welcome in my home he has made himself comfortable.
“Morning,” I stammer, both tired and sexually exhausted.
Marcus’s lips curl into a smile. It does wicked things to my libido. "Morning.” He moves closer to me so the smell of his freshly brushed teeth mingles with my not-so-fresh breath.
When his teeth nib at my bottom lip, I no longer care about my ghastly morning breath. I purr when he sucks my lip into his more-than-inviting mouth. His touch is gentle but potent enough for excitement to thicken my veins. I slip my hands under his shirt, craving the feeling of his skin against mine. A faint smile cracks on my mouth when the muscles of his abs contract from my meekest touch. He kisses me for several moments, slowly awakening me from my sleepy state. His kiss is lush, deep, and full of affection, and it has my heart swelling even more than my unbridled desire.
Once he is happy I’ve merged back into the land of living, Marcus pulls back from our embrace. I pout, childishly announcing my disappointment at his withdrawal. His finger twangs my dropped bottom lip.
“I thought you were going to sleep until eternity.”
After playfully biting his retreating thumb, I throw my arms out of my bedding and take a big stretch. Every muscle in my body tightens, and not in a good way. I am aching.
“What time is it?” I ask, grimacing at how sore my muscles are.
My body is so tender it reminds of the time Lexi signed us up to be guinea pigs for the Swedish reflexology class at our local university. We thought we’d be pampered for hours on end; we walked away with more injuries than we entered.
My jaw gapes when my sweep of the room has me answering my own question. If the time displayed on my alarm clock is anything to go off, it's well past one.
“Holy hell, why didn’t you wake me?!”
Weary muscles become a faint memory when my eyes lock with Marcus’s. From the hunger radiating out of his mesmerizing gaze, no one would guess we participated in a marathon lovemaking session mere hours ago. He looks like a man starved of taste, and I’m the only woman capable of quenching his hunger.
“You looked tired. . . I also liked watching you sleep. I’ve never done that before either,” he admits, his tone low.
The honesty of his confession staggers me. It also has me recalling segments of our fire-sparking encounter last night. Although our night was magical, it prevented me from achieving a solid eight hours of sleep.
Hugging the bedsheets close to my body, I scoot up the lumpy mattress and rest my back against the wooden headboard Marcus had me tethered to last night. The corners of Marcus's full lips tuck into his mouth when I gesture for him to join me. When he sits next to me, the smell of my body wash mixed with his skin filters through my nose. I snap my eyes shut and inhale extravagantly, not the slightest bit concerned Marcus will hear my brazen sniff. I moan loudly. I’ve never smelled anything as invigorating as our scents combined.
After calming my desire to straddle his lap and mingle our scents some more, I pop open my eyes and shift them to Marcus. His eyes tell me he didn’t miss my sniff of his tempting smell. They also expose he wasn’t bothered by it. Actually, he looks chuffed.
Striving to put the needs of my astute brain above my lust-crazed heart, I say, “A couple of things you said last night confused me.”
Marcus’s dark brows slant, but he maintains a quiet front.
“When I was. . .umm. . . ah. . .”
No matter how hard I try to fire the words off my tongue, I can’t admit out loud that I touched myself. I nearly died coming to terms with the fact I pleased myself while talking to him on the phone, let alone shamelessly doing it in front of him.
When Marcus continues with his silent stance, I shift my eyes to him. His lips are curled into a crass smirk, and an impish gleam is brightening his eyes. Screwing up my nose, I shove my fingers into his ribs. A brutal grunt escapes his mouth before it makes way for his hearty chuckle. My god, his laughter is delicious. Raspy, deep, and so deliriously scrumptious, it flows through my blood like liquid ecstasy. Usually, any type of laughter in the bedroom would have me breaking out in hives, but since it's coming from Marcus, it isn't as nerve-racking as normal.
I wait for his laughter to settle down before asking, “Are you good now? Can I continue?”
“Please.” .
I bite on the inside of my cheek, fighting hard to conceal my glee at his playful response. Not once in the past nine weeks have I witnessed this side to Marcus. I’m not going to lie; it gives me great pleasure knowing I get to see a side of him not many people are privileged to see. The man sitting beside me now isn’t Master Chains, the dominant, sexy owner of a BDSM club in lower Manhattan, nor Marcus Everett, bassist of a world-dominating rock group. He is a combination of them both, the best bits rolled into one incredibly alluring package.
I shut down the excitement blazing my veins before it overwhelms me. If I want any chance of reconciling the debilitating heart versus mind battle I’ve been combatting the past two months, I occasionally need to put the desires of my brain above the hankerings of my heart.
After coughing to clear my throat, I ask, “When I was. . .umm. . .” My second attempt at admitting to touching myself isn’t any easier than my first.
“Pleasuring yourself,” Marcus fills in, his tone knee-quakingly low.
“Yep. . . umm. . . that, you said some things that didn’t make sense,” I push on, pretending the heat inflaming my cheeks is not from embarrassment.
Marcus’s plump lips tug high, but not a syllable escapes his mouth.
Too tired to continue with the irksome two-step routine we've undertaken many times the past two months, I blurt out, “Last night you acted like it was the first time you witnessed me fondling myself. We both know that isn’t true. You saw a very similar thing the night of my birthday—when you awarded me my final gift of the day.”
Lust sparks in Marcus’s eyes, making them even more core-crunching than normal. If I weren’t so interested in settling my confusion, I’d be tempted to see if I could keep the look in his eyes for eternity.
Marcus adjusts his position to face me head-on before asking, “What exactly do you remember about the night of your birthday, Cleo?”
The hairs on my nape bristle from his seductive purr of my name, but I push on, more determined than ever to have my confusion settled once and for all. “We talked about BDSM choices; you made me climax, then I fell asleep.”
Marcus laughs. “Short and sweet, an approach my impatience has not yet taught me.” He stares straight into my eyes, spearing me in place with his primitive gaze. “Think a little harder, Cleo. Recall the actions leading up to the main event.”
Remaining quiet, I rack my brain about the day I’ll never forget. It was the day that officially saw us stepping over the line acceptable for pen pals. It was also the day I realized I was falling in love with Master Chains, a huge no-no in Marcus’s eyes.
From our conversations the prior two months, I reached the conclusion that Marcus has never been in love. When probing him about his previous D/s relationships, he made it very clear that love was not on his agenda. If he felt one of his subs was getting too close, he paid out the remainder of their contract and ceased communication with them.
Pretending I can’t feel the contents of my stomach creeping up my esophagus, I mumble, “I know you were watching me that night as you mentioned me sticking out my tongue.”
My tone has a bitchy emphasis to it. It doesn’t stem from Marcus spying on me. It's because I am afraid the instant he discovers I am falling in love with him, he will end our relationship even more quickly than it started.
