The Culmination (The Club Series Book 4)

by Lauren Rowe

She nods definitively. “Okay, baby. Let us now proceed with the semi-savage fuckery that comports with doctor’s orders while nonetheless giving me the illusion of naughty back-alley sex.”

  “Thank God, woman. Jesus.” I roll my eyes.

  Sarah giggles.

  I roll over to my computer on the nightstand and scroll through my music library for a minute, my cock throbbing like a motherfucker.

  “Play ‘You Owe Me,’” Sarah says.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s hip-hop. I think it’s by NAS. If you’re gonna screw your beautiful wife like she owes you a hundred bucks, you gotta have the perfect theme song.”

  “You and your fucking hip-hop, OAP Cruz.” I keep scrolling, shaking my head. “Mark my words: I will never, ever fuck you to hip-hop.”

  She laughs.

  I settle on “R U Mine?” by the Arctic Monkeys, press play, and turn back to her. “God, you’re gorgeous. Just look at you. Oh my God.” I crawl over to her and nip at her ear. “Get ready, baby. I’m now going to bring new meaning to the term motherfucker.”

  She giggles happily.

  I kiss her neck. “I’m gonna make you feel so damned good, baby,” I whisper, dipping my fingers into her wetness, “you won’t even remember Rio or Thailand.”

  She makes a sound that tells me she likes that idea.

  “Or your own name, for that matter.”

  “Please and thank you,” she breathes.

  I crawl between her legs, yet again, and spread her thighs gently. She exhales, instantly settling in for what she knows is about to come (or should I say who is about to come).

  I kiss the insides of her thighs for a while, letting her anticipation build, and then slowly begin working my way up toward her bull’s-eye. Before I get there, though, I slip my fingers inside her and begin stroking that telltale rough patch deep inside her. After only a few moments of stroking her G-spot with the exact amount of pressure she likes, she ignites like I’ve turned up the flames on her gas grill.

  “Please,” she says, arching her back and clutching the sheets.

  “Please what?”

  She says something incoherent. I can feel her G-spot enlarging under my fingertips like a water balloon. Oh, how I love that sensation. And I know what my baby likes, even better than she knows it herself. “You want me to lick you?” I whisper, my warm breath teasing her pussy, my fingertips continuing to own her.

  She moans.

  I increase the pressure deep inside her with my fingertips and she gasps and squirms with her pleasure.

  “Beg me for it,” I whisper.

  She arches her back and whimpers.

  “Beg me for it,” I repeat, my fingers moving with precision.

  “Please,” she moans.

  “Please what?” I’ve got her in the palm of my hand—literally, actually—and there’s no greater feeling. The tip of my cock is getting wet—feeling her pleasure ramp up gets me every time.

  She moans loudly in reply.

  I increase pressure and speed with my fingers and she goes fucking berserk on me.

  Her body is beginning to clench around my fingers. I can feel her orgasm coming. I lean in and lap at the delicious flesh surrounding my fingers, careful to avoid her clit. She screams something incoherent and thrashes around. I nibble around her bull’s-eye and she shrieks.

  She’s already rippling around my fingers. Well, that was easy.

  “Beg me, dirty girl,” I say evenly.

  “Please,” she whimpers.

  “Okay, baby. But only ’cause you asked me so nice.”

  With that belly of hers getting in the way, it takes a little doing to find the right angle for my tongue and hand all at the same time—but I’m a very determined and hungry boy, so I make it happen—and it’s a good thing too, because the minute my tongue hits her sweet spot, she lurches with pleasure. I’ve only gotten a minute and a half in when the woman spirals into Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one: simultaneous clit and G-spot climaxes. Fucking delicious—and a fairly new accomplishment for my little Mount Everest.

  There’s not a moment to lose. I can’t let her regroup. This is too fucking good. I push her onto her side, cleave my body to hers from behind, and whisper in her ear, “Get ready to get fucked, dirty girl.” I quickly lean back and grab a bottle of lube from my nightstand, and then, without warning, I simultaneously slide my cock into her wetness and a lubed finger up her ass, all the while massaging her clit with my free hand.

  Well, shit. The woman instantly loses her fucking mind. Ha! She’s all talk. When will she learn to leave the flavor of fuckery to me?

  “You’re not allowed to come ’til I tell you to do it,” I whisper into her ear, my voice ragged. Jesus, I’m so turned on I feel like I’m gonna explode. Nothing gets me off like the sound of her getting off like this.

  She whimpers and convulses against me, but she’s holding on.

  “You’re gonna come when I give you permission,” I say, thrusting slowly while continuing to work every inch of her. She’s gasping for air. “Only when I give you permission. Because I own you, dirty girl.”

  She screams like I’ve pushed her off a cliff. The woman’s gonna wake half of Seattle, and I love it.

  “Now,” she shrieks, her entire body jolting.

  “Not yet.”

  She whimpers.

  I continue thrusting slowly, ever so slowly—because no matter what my dirty girl’s craving, there’s no way in hell I’m gonna do a damn thing that even borders on risky at this point—all the while continuing to work every inch of her with my fingers. “You’ll come when I tell you to, baby.”

  She moans and shudders violently.

  “Only when I say you can.”

  She makes the sound that comes right before The Sound. Holy fuck, she’s right on the cusp of oblivion. I wish I could make this last for hours, it’s so fucking good. Even in my current frenzy of excitement, I can’t help smiling at all her big talk before we got started. I own this woman. She’s at my fucking command. “Beg me,” I say, my voice low and fierce.

  “Please,” she gasps.

  I bite her ear. “You like this, pretty baby?”

  She’s losing control.

  “You gonna shut the fuck up now and let me do what I’m good at?”

  “Yes.”

  “You feel so good, baby,” I whisper into her ear, fucking her just a bit harder.

  She makes The Sound, and I know she’s on the ragged edge, hanging on by the barest of threads. And so am I.

  “You’re gonna come when I tell you to do it—even harder than last time.”

  “Mmm.”

  “You’re gonna come so hard, you’re gonna pass out.”

  She makes the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard her make. It sends me past the edge. I can’t hang on any longer. “Now, baby,” I whisper into her ear. “Right now.”

  She exhales audibly and instantly, her ass clenches around my finger, her pussy seizes around my cock, and her clit flutters under my fingertips, all at once. This kind of DEFCON one-level orgasm is so fucking hot—and so fucking elusive, to be honest, no matter how good I am—I lose it, too, right along with her, making my own set of fucked-up sounds.

  After a moment, when we’ve both quieted down and our bodies have stilled, I lean down, push her to the side, and kiss the tattoo stamped on her ass. “You’re mine,” I say. “I own you.”

  “Well, duh,” she says softly. “Otherwise, that tattoo on my ass is gonna be a real pain to remove.”

  I crawl over her limp body and lie on my side, facing her. Her face is sweaty. Her eyes are closed. She’s cradling her belly. She’s fucking road kill right now. Holy fuck, I’m good at this. I feel like high-fiving myself. I swear to God, there is no one better at this than me, even when the object of my godliness is almost eight months pregnant with twins.

  “Wow, wow, wow,” she says softly. “That was incredible. I think that might have been the best orgasm of
my life. Seriously.”

  These are the moments when she’s most beautiful to me—when she’s in the afterglow of complete sexual satisfaction. I touch her beautiful face.

  “Wow,” she says again. She smiles broadly. “I’m sure you’re feeling mighty proud of yourself right about now, especially after all my babbling before we got started.”

  “Fuck yeah, I am. I killed it. The samurai is in perfect form, even when his options for combat are limited due to reasons outside his control.”

  “Well, not reasons outside your control—you’re the one who did this to me in the first place. This right here is entirely within your control.” She pats her belly and sighs happily. “The monkeys enjoyed that as much as I did. Maybe more. While you were ramping me up, they were leaping around, howling, going completely crazy, banging their fists against the cage, and then the minute that insane orgasm hit, they just stopped and went ‘Aah,’ like they’d just gotten into a Jacuzzi after a long, hard day of work.”

  “That’s an interesting mix of metaphors. Do monkeys work? And if so, do they really get into Jacuzzis after a long, hard day?”

  She laughs. “Well, okay, good point. I should have said the monkeys stopped and said, ‘Aah,’ like they’d sat down in a giant massage chair after a long, hard day of taking final exams.”

  I laugh.

  “Either way, you did a ‘bang-up’ job.” She snickers.

  “Clever girl. You funny,” I say.

  “I funny.”

  I touch her belly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like to have two humans growing inside you.”

  “Not gonna lie.” She sighs happily again. “It’s pretty damned cool.”

  I wasn’t intending to do this—not until I was one hundred percent sure I could deliver on the tacit promise of it—but, suddenly, I can’t resist. “Hang on,” I say. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, my metaphor-mixing sex goddess.” I leap out of bed and head toward my walk-in closet.

  “Hey, gimme a little shaky-shake,” she calls after me, as usual, and I grace her with a little ass-shake as I walk to my closet.

  She whoops behind me with glee. “Hawt!”

  I laugh. That woman is so damned easy to please.

  I grab a large box tucked away in the far corner of my closet and return to Sarah in the bed.

  “What’s this?” Sarah asks, eying the closed box.

  “Well, open it and find out.”

  Chapter 2

  Jonas

  She leans forward, opens the flap of the box, and peeks inside. Her mouth instantly drops. “Jonas P. Faraday,” she says. “How did you know—?”

  “I’m all-knowing.”

  “But how did you know about this specific thing?”

  “Remember when your laptop went in for repairs and you used the computer in the office for a week?”

  She nods.

  “You left quite an interesting search history.”

  She bursts out laughing and buries her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

  “That was quite the trail of breadcrumbs you left for me, baby. I assumed you did it on purpose.”

  “No.” She laughs again. “Well, maybe subconsciously, who knows?” She begins pulling out the bulky contents of the box. When everything is laid out on the bed, she looks it over, her eyes ablaze. “Holy Bondage, Batman,” she says quietly. “I never thought I’d see the day.” She beams at me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I take a deep breath. Shit. What have I done? I thought I was ready to take this leap, but suddenly I’m not so sure.

  “You do understand I want you to cuff me—not the other way around?”

  “That’s the only possible combination.”

  “And you’re totally fine with this?”

  We both know I’ve been hardwired since the age of seven to recoil from the mere thought of bondage—and The Lunacy in my teens certainly didn’t help matters. Can I really do this for her? And enjoy it? I think I can—if what happened in Thailand was any indication. Or were the circumstances of that bizarre night so fucking weird, so fucking confusing, it created a once-in-a-lifetime wormhole for me—impossible to duplicate? “I’m better than fine with it,” I manage to say, and, actually, as the words tumble out of my mouth, I’m pretty sure they’re the truth.

  “I can’t believe it. Wow.” She picks up one of the four Velcro cuffs. “How does this thing work?”

  I grab one of the soft cuffs and open and close it. “The sheet gets strapped onto the bed, really tight, and then the cuffs attach to the sheet, in any configuration you want.”

  “Wow,” she says, her face aglow, “that’s really cool—and a whole lot more efficient than a web of neckties tied to the bedposts, huh?” She laughs.

  I roll my eyes.

  “I can’t believe you got this for me, baby.”

  “Of course.”

  Now it’s Sarah who’s rolling her eyes. “Not ‘of course.’ This is a one hundred-eighty-degree turnaround from where we started, Jonas. You were pretty damned clear on your application that any kind of bondage was a total nonstarter for you.” She bites her lip. “Understandably.”

  I pause, considering. “Well, I didn’t know I was writing those words to the future mother of my twins.”

  “Hold up,” Sarah says abruptly, shaking her head like she’s got whiplash. “I’m the future mother of your twins?” She looks down at her massive belly. “Oh, shit. When did that happen?”

  I chuckle.

  “But seriously, baby, this is a big shift. Are you sure?” Sarah says.

  I shrug. “With the right woman to tie up, a man can overcome just about any kind of bullshit-hang-up.”

  “There you go writing greeting cards again: ‘Darling, I think I’ve found the right woman to tie up. Please help me get over my bullshit-hang-ups. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  I laugh.

  “Thank you so much, baby,” she gushes. “I’m so excited.”

  “Just a little motivation to get you through the next eight weeks—consider it a dangling carrot.”

  The look of sheer euphoria on her face makes me want to give her the second box, too. If I can’t get over all my childhood bullshit with the woman I love more than life itself—the woman who’s willing to bear my children, for Chrissakes, then when the fuck am I ever gonna get past it? And isn’t it my soul’s mandate to at least try to get past it? I look down at the inside of my left forearm. For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories. Why did I get that inked onto my skin if I wasn’t gonna commit to it as my life’s mantra? I take a deep breath. Yeah, I’ve got to do this. It’s time. I can’t cower in that closet behind my mother’s dresses forever, for fuck’s sake. “But wait, there’s more,” I say, leaping back up. I’m suddenly feeling flushed with adrenaline. I can do this. I know I can. Fuck my past. Onward and upward, baby. Climb and conquer.

  “More?” she says behind my back. “Hey, gimme a shaky-shake, baby.”

  Once again, I shake my ass for her with gusto and she hoots at me.

  In my closet, I grab a second, smaller box—this one from the farthest corner of the highest shelf—and bring it back to her on the bed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. In April.”

  She stares at the box with wide eyes. “What is it?”

  “Do I really need to explain how presents work again?”

  She grins from ear to ear and eagerly dives into the box. “Oh my God,” she says, pulling out a bag filled with assorted sex toys. She looks up at me, incredulous. “How did you...?”

  “Breadcrumbs,” I say. “You left me lots and lots of breadcrumbs, baby.”

  She blushes. “Wow. I never intended... I’ve just been...” She doesn’t finish the sentence.

  “You’ve just been what?”

  She shrugs, her cheeks turning bright red. “Curious.”

  I must admit I was initially taken aback when I found Sarah’s search history on my computer, but, almost imm
ediately, it all made perfect sense. The woman didn’t take a job reading sex club applications out of nowhere, after all, whether she realizes it or not. And, yeah, I’m not blind—I saw the way her eyes blazed in Thailand when I impulsively tied her wrists, not knowing how else to handle her. I told myself it was a one-time thing for both of us, given the unique circumstances of the night—but clearly, it planted some kind of seed inside her. Or maybe it simply ignited a fuse that was already there.

  “Jonas, I wasn’t looking at all that stuff to use with you, necessarily—I’ve known from day one this kind of stuff is off-limits with you. I was just browsing for the sheer entertainment of it—just sort of... “ She trails off.

  “Has My Beautiful Intake Agent been missing her sex club applications?”

  She smiles and shrugs. “Maybe it’s just a simple case of being attracted to forbidden fruit. The doctor said we’re not allowed to get too crazy-freaky-kinky, so...” Her cheeks flush. “So, of course, all I can think about is getting crazy-freaky. But it’s okay, Jonas. Obviously, you have very good reasons not to want to do this kind of thing and I totally respect that—”

  “Fuck it, baby. Fuck my bullshit.” I practically spit out the words.

  Her face ignites.

  “You’re curious? You wanna explore some kink and see if it gets you off? Cool. Don’t let all my baggage and bullshit and weird-ass shit make you think this stuff is somehow weird or shameful. It’s not. I’m ready to fuck you however you wanna get fucked. Nothing’s off-limits anymore.”

  Her face is positively blazing with excitement. “Really?”

  “You bet.”

  She picks up an unidentifiable sex toy, a glass dildo that looks more like a bong than a sex toy, and scrutinizes it like it’s an alien carcass. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m gonna like this stuff or not. I was just feeling a bit curious to find out.” She makes a face at the glass dildo. “I think.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  She drops the bag of toys and scoots closer to me on the bed. “Jonas, you know I’m a thoroughly satisfied member of the Jonas Faraday Club, right? I don’t want anything or anyone else but you, and I never will.”