by Chloe Cox
She looked up. That look—he recognized that look now. Defiant.
Provocative.
“Maybe when they ask me about you, I’ll just make up whatever I want,” she said again. “Since none of this is real anyway.”
That was it.
Gavin moved quickly, but deliberately. He took her hand, the one he’d touched until he could feel the charge build between them, laced her fingers in his, and pinned it behind her, resting on the curve of her own perfect ass. He watched her eyes widen for a moment—savored that—touched the side of her face with his other hand, then raked it down her soft, yielding curves.
She gasped. He watched her nipple harden where his hand had been.
Then he pushed his hand between her legs, under her dress, and felt what he knew would be there. She was soaked through to his palm as he cupped her, and squeezed.
“This is real,” he said.
Twenty-Three
Olivia closed her eyes and tried to breathe. His hand still held her, under her dress, between her legs. Her pulse pounded against his palm, every throbbing impulse radiating from her core out to the tips of her fingers. She looked down—her hands were shaking.
“You can do all the goddamn mental gymnastics you want on your own time,” Gavin said into her ear, hoarsely. “But on my time, I’m going to make you feel just one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Whatever I damn well want,” he said.
She shuddered.
A male voice echoed somewhere behind her, refracted through the angles of the stairway, the hall, the door she remembered leaving open. Right. There was a freaking tour group.
Coming to tour the facilities, presumably.
Facilities that were currently…
In…use?
Gavin squeezed her where he held her, and she sucked in air as the added pressure moved her swollen lips against each other, sliding, slick. She almost burned. That impulse to move her hips, to do something with the pressure building up inside her, grew, until she let out a whimper, and pressed herself into his hand.
He’d won again. She’d wanted him to trust her, to give her something to work with, and instead…she was helpless, and she was his.
Olivia stretched up on her toes and nipped at his neck.
Gavin…quickened. The muscles in his neck twitched and she watched the jolt radiate through his otherwise motionless body, and then suddenly: fast moving muscle, relentless movement, ruthless hands. He spun her around and half pulled, half dragged her across the room, and in a split second she found herself standing over another kind of bench. It was rounded, like a smaller, lower pommel horse, the wide side facing her, and Gavin had pushed her forward so that the tops of her thighs pressed into the soft leather.
Something made her look up.
But she barely had time to take it in—a big frame over her head, lots of various things hanging from it, lots of bells and whistles she couldn’t identify—before she realized he’d restrained one of her wrists.
Both her wrists.
Soft leather cuffs attached to the pommel horse-thing on either side of her, with just enough lead on the rope so that she could move her hands to steady herself, just in case something pushed her off balance, over and over and over again.
He grabbed her ankle, pulling it out to the side, and she gasped, her hands reaching already for the pommel horse. She felt the soft side of a cuff wrap around her ankle. Then he grabbed the other, and spread her.
For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Olivia craned her neck and looked down. He’d spread her legs and cuffed her ankles, the leads pulled taut against where they attached to the frame. She couldn’t move them—unless she wanted to spread them further.
Silently, Gavin put his hand flat on her back.
And pushed.
Olivia bent forward, her eyes wide open, her pulse pounding everywhere, but mostly in one place, like her entire fucking being was concentrated around her clit and just screaming for attention. This was who she was, this was what she wanted, this—
Was probably going to be on the tour.
Her head snapped up as she heard voices again, this time closer. Gavin said nothing, wherever he was. His movements before had felt quick, efficient. Now: rougher. Insistent. He pushed her dress up over her hips and hooked his fingers under her the elastic in her panties, pulling at it. The material bit into her and she winced, until suddenly he let it go with a snap, smoothed his hand over her, and briskly spanked her on her swollen, soaking pussy.
She jumped, as much as she could, instinctively straightening up—and he pushed her back down. He was rummaging in something. A drawer? Where was—
Snip.
She blinked. Heard the sound again, and felt the fabric loosen around her hips. He’d cut her underwear at the sides. Then she felt the tug—he was pulling them off, between her legs, dragging the fabric between her soft, wet folds.
She moaned.
Gavin chuckled, ran his hand over her buttock, her thigh, in a familiar way. He did it again, only this time his thumb brushed against the skin where her buttock began to curve in, and her whole body felt…tight. Taut.
Waiting.
Strong fingers gripped her flesh on both sides, spreading her, and the long, hot, wet flat of his tongue licked the length of her, dipping inside her, taking as much of a taste as he wanted. Olivia’s eyes flew open, her mouth silent, the animalness of it shocking her in a way she didn’t think she could be shocked anymore, and as she bucked she realized: I still can’t move.
Gavin was still chuckling as he walked back around the contraption that he’d tied her to. Olivia raised her eyes, careful to keep herself bent at the waist. She could only see him from the waist down.
Holy shit.
In the three days since she’d been his sub, she somehow hadn’t gotten this good of look at him in the clear daylight before this. And now she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Even through his jeans, his erection was massive. Thick, long, and so hard it must have actually hurt.
She stared. The thought of Gavin unzipping his fly, right then and there, and ordering her to open her mouth while her naked pussy was on display for wandering tour groups made her…
He put one hand on the back of her neck.
Gavin knew that tour group wouldn’t be stopping by—he’d made sure Simone closed the door after her, and no one would interrupt a scene—but Olivia didn’t. And he’d seen her reaction as the voices got closer.
Her eyes wide. Her cheeks flushed.
And that tiny little smile.
She was nervous, thrilled, and turned the hell on.
“Perfect little sub,” he said to himself, and meant it. He reached down and threaded his fingers through her hair, ran them down her cheek. And then, because he could, he tilted her head up towards him.
And saw what she was looking at.
He’d been hard since he first touched her. Hell, he’d gotten used to getting hard just thinking about her, like he was back in high school. Didn’t test his self-control one bit.
But the look on her face sure as hell did.
She stared at his cock, ready to punch a hole through his jeans, and licked her lips. Just a little bit. Unconscious.
This beautiful fucking sub.
Then the sound of footsteps and voices started coming down the hall, and she sighed. Her eyes half-closed, and she squirmed, and that flush got deeper, and Gavin was only human.
Olivia watched in slow motion as his hands moved to his zipper, and a body shudder ran through her.
The uncomfortable truth was that for most of her life, she’d hated blowjobs. It was just awkward. And because it was awkward, she’d never been confident about giving them, and more often than not it was just unpleasant for everybody.
That was before Gavin.
That was before this moment, with Gavin.
She could still hear the clatter of some unsuspecting tour gr
oup in the vague distance, the thudding of her own pulse, all of it drowned out by the metallic snip of Gavin’s zipper. The image of a tour group walking in while she was restrained and getting face-fucked by Gavin Colson flashed across her mind, and she closed her eyes for a second, waiting for the flood of arousal to pass.
It didn’t.
She opened her eyes and there it was, in full light. Long, hard, darker to the tip of the flushed head, wetness glistening at the seam. She could see his pulse, it was so swollen.
She wanted it. So fucking badly.
She had no idea she was like this.
He put his hands on the side of her face and she nearly groaned, it was taking so long, and then, suddenly, close enough…
She flicked her tongue, caught the wet, salty tip, and licked her lips.
And made Gavin freaking Colson jump.
He growled and moved forward and she took it in her mouth, as far as it would go, swirling her tongue around the head, moving as much as she could, sucking as much as she could. She was possessed, somehow, like there was some long-lost talent she’d suddenly discovered, and she wanted to see just how good she was.
She wanted to see what she could make him do, for a change.
Gavin moaned, his fingers threading into her hair, the pressure increasing. Olivia had no idea what she was doing, laving her tongue wherever she could, reveling in every reaction. He twisted her hair in his hands and started to move his hips, unconsciously, setting a rhythm that she pushed harder and faster, until she could see his thighs tense, and she looked up…
He kept the eye contact, and she nearly came.
And then he was gone. He pulled out and walked around, back behind her where she couldn’t see. She pulled at the restraints in frustration. For just one second she’d held him in her hand and knew she could bring him to his knees.
She was about to shout in frustration when he drove into her from behind.
The intrusion was rough, fast, and then slow on the downstroke, as he dragged the head of his cock against her swollen g-spot and dug his fingers into her hips.
Whatever sound she made was definitely not a word.
He planted a hand on her shoulder and leaned forward, his weight pressing on her back.
“I tell you when to come,” he said. “And you’re gonna do it now.”
And then he leaned back, his hands back on her hips, and drove into her, again and again, until she came, hard and somehow spastically, the contractions early and out of rhythm. He paused, and then slid out of her, and she was…sad?
She heard him, behind her. Rummaging in something.
And then his hands under her hips again, lifting her slightly. “Up,” he said.
She couldn’t see beneath her, she couldn’t see what he’d done. Was doing. Just heard it, as she arched up on her tippy toes. When he was done he didn’t speak, just put his hands back on her hips, pressed down.
She felt it. Something pressing now, on her vulva.
And then he turned it on.
She yelped, and it turned into a low groan, as what could only be a Hitachi magic wand vibrated, just barely touching her flesh.
Until he entered her. Slow, circular strokes now, building, pushing her into that vibrator with a punishing rhythm, until Olivia screamed nonsense while her body pulsed around one particular point. It was too much, so much, she wanted to run away from the intensity, and there was a single moment of awe and alarm when she realized she couldn’t…
And then it flooded over her, through her, taking her with it until she was just riding it, falling in it, seeing white while the things that separated her from the rest of the world shattered.
She kind of came to, sort of, slowly. In pieces. Gavin carefully removing the restraints, rubbing her legs, massaging them. Wiping her down. Lifting her off the bench and cradling her, again, so that she could rest her head against his neck.
The last thing she remembered, when she thought about it later, was a single kiss on her forehead.
Twenty-Four
Olivia’s first unpleasant reminder about the real world—the one that existed outside of Gavin’s bedroom and Club Volare’s playrooms—came as soon as she announced that she was going see Blue about putting on that show to make the case for Club Volare. She’d had to kind of talk herself up for it, because it meant she was definitely going to come out to the whole world as who she really was, not just playing some role. No one else would know the difference, but she would, and that made it terrifying. But she’d powered through it.
Then Gavin had just nodded toward the circular attic window. “Not on your own, you aren’t.”
Olivia had given him a Look and gone to see for herself. But he was right—there were a couple of cars just parked outside the club, waiting. She thought she recognized a particularly noxious head of red curly hair sitting in a beat up rental across the street.
She sighed.
“Looks like he finally found his way out of that broom closet,” she said.
“I can put him back there if you want.”
“Down, boy.”
Gavin smiled, but he was serious. “Call Charlene,” he said. “I’ve got something to attend to today.”
Which was how Olivia got her next reminder of the real world—lying down in the backseat of Charlene’s car, covered with what looked like a picnic blanket.
“Is this really necessary?” she grumbled.
“I’m not gonna be the one to answer to Gavin if you get harassed,” Charlene called back. “So yes.”
After a while, and what seemed like a whole lot of unnecessary turns, Charlene told her she could sit up like an actual adult. Olivia tossed the blanket, smoothed her hair, and tried to recover some dignity.
“At least I’m getting chauffeured,” she said.
“Always at your service, ma’am,” Charlene laughed. “How are you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”
Olivia smiled.
She’d missed Charlene—almost as much as she hadn’t missed the rest of her ridiculous life as Olivia Cress, infamous starlet and ex-fiancée of Brandon Greer. How was it possible that she’d only spent a week with Gavin, and already that felt like her real life? The rest of this felt…wrong. Like a shoe that didn’t quite fit.
And she opened her mouth to say just that, but then—
Charlene still doesn’t know.
Olivia closed it again, just as quickly. Charlene had no idea that in the intervening week she’d agreed to be Gavin’s submissive, and that that had changed…everything. And nothing. Because they still had an ‘arrangement.’
Charlene’s eyes flashed in the rearview mirror. She looked worried.
“Liv?”
“Sorry.” Olivia smiled. “Just distracted.”
“Mmm hmm,” Charlene said a little too loudly, her voice going up at the end like a question.
Olivia squirmed.
Just say it. Say, “I’m a submissive.”
Right, and watch Charlene try to pretend she doesn’t think I’m an idiot, or a freak, or both.
“Are you going to tell me what the problem is, or am I going to have to pull this car over?” Charlene said.
Olivia laughed. “I’m fine, Mom.”
Charlene came to a stop, and turned around to glare around the front headrest.
“Olivia.”
Why can’t I just tell her?
“Well, fine, Miss Secretive, have it your way,” Charlene said as she turned back around. “But you’re not getting any pie at my party on Thursday, and I know how you feel about your Pie…Surprise, was it?”
Olivia came back down to earth with a jolt. “Your what?”
“Well of course I have no earthly idea, pie is your weird thing.”
“Not Pie Surprise. The other thing.”
“Gavin didn’t tell you?”
No, Olivia thought. No he did not.
“I take it you’re having a party,” she said, trying not to let her disappointment sh
ow through.
“As a thank you for all the help I got with Cook For Your Life,” Charlene said, her eyes floating in that rearview mirror, studying Olivia’s face. “I do it every year, but really it’s just an excuse to cook fancy stuff for my friends.”
“Sounds fun,” Olivia said, forcing a smile.
“It is,” Charlene said. And then, after a moment, “You know, he probably just assumed I’d be inviting you separately, honey.”
“Makes sense,” Olivia said.
“Mmmm hmmmmmmm,” Charlene said, pointedly.
Olivia said nothing.
Charlene cleared her throat.
“I said, mmmm hmmmm.”
Olivia couldn’t help it—she laughed.
“You just do not quit, huh?”
“You tell me what’s going on with you and Gavin right now,” Charlene said. “Do you need me? Is everything ok?”
“That is a longer conversation than we have time for right now.”
“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
There was a pause.
“Ok, apparently it’s not that long.”
Charlene cackled. “How’s that sex vacation coming, then?”
Olivia suddenly found something out the window to be utterly fascinating. She was trying not to smile, but her face felt hot, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip.
“We still have an ‘arrangement,’” she said.
“I bet you do.” Charlene laughed. “You got more than one—you’re playing house while shacking up? God, that sounds complicated.”
Olivia couldn’t hold her smile back any longer. I guess this is it.
She took a deep breath.
“Sort of,” she said. “Only…with more equipment.”
There was a pause.
“You’re his sub?” Charlene said, finally.
“Um, yes,” Olivia said. First time she’d said that out loud to anyone while it was actually true.
It was terrifying.
Terrifying.
“Congratulations, honey.”
Charlene’s soft, warm voice washed over her, and Olivia melted into her seat. After seeing Charlene’s discomfort at the club, she’d assumed there’d be more judgment, or…something. Instead, it was just Charlene being Charlene. She looked down—her hands had been curled into fists. She let them relax and smoothed her skirt.
