by Shandi Boyes
My lungs suck in their first full breath in over ten minutes when Marcus draws back enough he relieves the pressure placed on them. His tongue delves out to replenish his lips as he contemplates a reply. The longer he takes deliberating, the more my anger resurfaces.
“You made me angry. First I had to send Cartier over to deflect the bartender’s advances, then you danced with Dexter.”
Pushing aside my bewilderment that he knows Dexter’s name, I snarl, “So you collared a submissive with your trademark just to make me jealous? Real mature, Marcus.”
He balks, shunned by my reply. "What? No. I didn't collar Keira. I don't even know why she was wearing a collar, because as far as I am aware, she is without a Dom."
If he is hoping his answer will subdue my anger, he needs to devise a new tactic. I’m more ropeable now than I ever was.
“She doesn’t have a Dom as the one she wants is already occupied. And since we don’t have an official contract, I guess she figures she’ll just stand in the wings, waiting for you to have your fill.” I shrug my shoulders, the expression on my face leaving no doubt I’m enraged with jealousy. “Or maybe she will turn up to a gala wearing your signature and force a permanent intermission in our relationship.”
Marcus’s dark brows slant together. “So I get punished for the actions of another? How is that fair?” he questions, his tone half-wrathful, half-confused.
“I’m not punishing you for Keira wearing your trademark. If she did that of her own accord, you're not to blame. I’m punishing you because you didn’t ask her to remove it, and you didn’t deny she was your sub.”
Marcus’s baffled eyes bounce between mine. “How do you know what I said to her? Did you hear a word I spoke?”
I freeze as the quickest flashback from earlier tonight runs through my tired brain. My stomach winds up to my throat when I recall I didn’t hear anything either of them said. I could barely hear a thing over my pulse shrilling in my ears, much less the low tone Marcus was using.
“No. You didn’t hear anything I said, did you?” You could construe his statement as snarky, but the relief in his eyes doesn’t allude to that.
I shake my head. “Still doesn’t explain why you didn’t deny she was your sub.”
“I was being stubborn. Just like you were when you refused to answer my questions about Dexter,” Marcus immediately fires back, his tone laced with as much jealousy as mine. We are both being immature.
“Then why did you let me leave?” Although my words are shaky, I’m pleased they come out with the confidence I am hoping for. “You had every opportunity to stop me, but you didn’t. You just let me go. That hurt me, Marcus. So much. . .” My sentence trails off when my words crack with emotions.
Marcus runs his hand over his clipped afro, a tell-tale sign he is worried. He peers past my shoulder for several heart-thrashing seconds before he connects his eyes back with mine. “For the past few weeks, my security team has been receiving death threats. Tonight’s was more concerning than the previous ones they have investigated.”
My sharp inhalation of air nearly misses the rest of his admission. "This is nothing out of the ordinary in my industry, so usually I'd just brush it off as a consequence of fame, but this time was different." He twists a piece of my humidity-frizzed hair around his index finger. "I never had anyone to protect before. Now I have you.” He whispers his last sentence so softly, I barely heard him.
“You let me leave to protect me?” I ask, sheer bewilderment in my tone.
“Yes,” Marcus answers, nodding.
His confession pushes us into resolute silence, plagued with confusion. Although I'm still angry, and my brain continually argues with my too-easy-to-forgive heart, I'm too tired to keep bickering. What I saw between Marcus and Keira was wrong—there is no doubt in my mind, but when I push aside my jealousy, and look at the entire picture, I realize their exchange could have been as guiltless as mine was with Andy. They were fully clothed, and they weren’t kissing. As much as it kills me to admit, other than Keira’s poor choice in accessories, their exchange was innocent. Furthermore, what Marcus said is true: when you trust someone, it should extend past the bedroom.
The same can be said for acting recklessly. Marcus doesn't just make me irrationally reckless inside the playroom; he makes me unreasonably reckless in all aspects of my life. So much so, I'm lashing out without first sitting down and evaluating the entire picture. I'm allowing my fear of losing him as a way to push him away, instead of cherishing every moment we have. Clearly, he is doing the same thing.
Instead of telling me he was worried about my safety, he let me believe the horrid notions running through my head, as he knew I wouldn't stand by and watch it happen. My desire to flee the gala was one of the most potent I’ve had. I guess to Marcus, it was the perfect solution to ensure my safety. It was stupid, but it was also effective.
After swallowing down my unease, I lift my eyes to Marcus's. My breath traps halfway to my lungs when I notice he is observing me cautiously. The uncontrollable rage in his eyes has entirely subsided, but the slap marks on his face are as angry as ever.
“Tell me how to fix this, Cleo. Show me what to do. I’ll do anything you want; just don’t ask me to give you up. I’d rather die than give you up.”
God—Marcus. The pain in his voice makes it feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest.
“I can fix this,” he assures me, his tone confident. “I just need the chance to do that. Give me a chance, Cleo. Trust me enough to know I’d never intentionally hurt you. Give me that much, and I’ll award you with so much more.”
I return his fervent gaze with equal vigor. I'm at a loss for a reply. Not just because his captivating green irises are luring me into a tangible trap from which I'll never be strong enough to break free, but because I genuinely can't think of anything he can give me than he hasn’t already given. My only request at the start of our relationship was to have our D/s contract removed from our negotiation. Marcus did that—then so much more. So what more could he possibly give me?
I freeze when an idea pops into my head. It causes a rush of giddiness to hit my stomach and head at the same time. Don't ask me if it's a good or bad giddiness as I wouldn't be able to say.
Like he can sense my internal battle, Marcus places his hand under my chin and raises my head. “Tell me,” he requests, his tone not wrathful or annoyed.
I swallow the brick lodged in my throat before checking, "Anything?"
“Anything,” Marcus confirms while tucking a strand of my wild hair behind my ear. “I’d give up everything I have before I’ll give you up.”
Once the unruly curl is secured behind my ear, the back of his fingers trace my earlobe, slide down my neck, then skim over my barely exposed collarbone. His touch is brief, but robust enough to spark a fire deep in my stomach I never expected to ignite tonight. It also strengthens my determination to push our relationship onto a whole new playing field. One I'm sure Marcus has never fielded before.
Marcus’s hand freezes on the collar of my shirt when I ask, “Have you ever made love?”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he shakes his head. “No.”
“Will you make love to me? Will you give me that? Will you give me a part of you no one else has had?”
Marcus peers into my eyes, the sentiment in them growing every second that ticks by before he whispers, “Yes.”
5
The tension in the air rapidly changes to lust when Marcus curls his hand around mine and paces toward his master suite. Incredulously, my hands are clammier now than they are when I kneel in his playroom. That probably has something to do with this being as foreign to Marcus as it was for me entering Chains months ago. Although I hate that I’m forcing him out of his comfort zone, I'm not going to stop our exchange. I need this—we need this.
After swinging open his bedroom door, Marcus switches on the lights, then merges deeper into the room. My brows furrow when his brisk pa
ce has us passing right by his monstrous bed sitting in the middle of the vast space.
“You don’t need a bed to make love,” Marcus advises my stunned expression. “You just need a place where you can worship, devour, treasure, and. . .” He fleetingly glances my way before muttering, “love.”
My heart rate kicks into a mad beat, an awakening combination of lust and excitement when he walks us into the bathroom. The attraction crackling between us is as vibrant as ever, but it's even more powerful, encouraged by a connection more compelling than just jealousy. There are so many emotions passing between us. Mutual respect. Understanding. Silent pleas for forgiveness—not only from Marcus, but me as well. But more than anything—the most intoxicating of them all is the sentiment of desire. It's so strong, I'll confidently declare that Marcus wants this as much as I do. He wants to share this experience with me—and only me.
Marcus releases my hand to switch on the shower faucet. After ensuring the temperature is adequate, he devotes his attention back to me. He stares at me, unmoving, nonjudgmental. He just stares.
"What are you waiting for?" I'm so used to him taking charge, I'm a little stumped on how to move our exchange forward without jumping him like an out-of-control nymph.
"For you to tell me what you want," Marcus answers as a ghost of a smile cracks on his lips.
My eyes dance between his. “I want you.”
“Good. That’s a start.” His smile enlarges. “Where do you want me? What do you want me to do?”
My brows stitch as confusion makes itself known. Why is he handing all the power to me? This isn’t what I wanted. I gasp when reality dawns.
I connect my eyes with Marcus’s. “I don’t want to top you, Marcus. I just want you to make love to me. Not me top you.”
“So you still want me to take charge?” he clarifies, his brows furrowing.
I smile at the unease in his voice. "Yes and no. I want you to lead, I just don't want any rules. I'm pretty sure that's the only difference between BDSM sex and vanilla sex: both participants control the exchange."
My smile enlarges when Marcus grimaces at me mentioning the word “vanilla.”
The worry tainting his gorgeous face vanishes when I grip the hem of my shirt and whip it over my head. Air hisses through his teeth when my naked breasts fall heavily to my chest. Obviously, he was unaware I am naked beneath my clothing.
Keeping my eyes locked with his, I shimmy my yoga pants down my thighs. His avid gaze raking over my body boosts my confidence. I’ve never felt more desired than I do right now. “So beautiful, Cleo,” Marcus murmurs more to himself than me.
I brazenly step toward him, my desire to undress him as potent as my need to taste him in my mouth. Usually, I'd have to wait for him to permit me to touch him, but since our exchange is happening on neutral territory, my body can express its desires without fear of repercussion.
As I fiddle with the buttons on his fancy dress shirt, Marcus gathers my hair to the left so he can ravish my neck. I lean into his embrace, adoring the smattering of kisses he places along my jaw and down my throat. Each soft nib and suck adds to the twinge inflicting my throbbing sex. My body heats up when one of his hands lowers to the curve of my back to draw me in, where the other cups my breast to toy with my erect nipple.
Because I’m so caught up in calming the furious storm brewing in my core, it takes me nearly five minutes to undo the last button of his shirt. I feel Marcus smile against my neck when his shirt drops to the floor in a heap. As my hands work on the belt wrapped around his waist, Marcus toes off his shoes. Warm water glides down my face when he steers us into the shower, his impatience meaning he isn’t even undressed yet.
I pull back from his embrace. “So impatient,” I tease, inwardly sighing when my voice comes out with the hint of sexiness I was aiming for.
Any reply Marcus is planning to give is rammed back into his throat when I lower myself to my knees and glance up at him. I lick my lips when the glorious image of his thick cock bracing against the zipper of his trousers is thrust into my vision.
When I brush my hand over his massive bulge, Marcus mutters, "I thought I was supposed to worship you?"
“Oh, believe me, this will be just as fulfilling for me as it is for you,” I guarantee while sliding down his zipper.
I squeeze my thighs together when his glorious cock springs free. He is thick, long, and jutted. My mouth waters when I spot a bead of pre-cum pooling at the top of his engorged knob. Loving that I don’t need to wait for permission, I wrap my hand around his thickened shaft before my tongue makes quick work of the salty goodness. Marcus’s groan rolls all the way down his chest until it vibrates on my tongue.
Once I lap up every drop of his excitement, I lower my mouth down his densely veined shaft. I sink my lips as far down as possible, only stopping when it's physically impossible for me to take any more.
“God, Cleo,” Marcus sighs, his tone announcing it's more a sigh of pleasure than disappointment. “I love the way you suck my cock, all greedy and eager.”
His praise encourages my pursuit. I run my lips up and down his magnificent manhood on repeat as my hand works the section missing out on experiencing the warmth of my mouth. I may have no gag reflex, but that doesn’t mean I can deepthroat Marcus. The girth of his cock is already a challenge, let alone the length of him.
“Slow down, Cleo, I don’t want to cum in your mouth,” Marcus advises me a short time later, his tone laced with lust. “I want to be wrapped in the warmth of your pussy before I cum.”
I continue my pursuit, acting like I didn't hear what he said.
“Cleo. . .” Marcus growls out, his tone as unforgiving as my pumps on his cock. “Slow down.”
Although his growl is clearly a warning, my speed remains unchecked. My tongue gathers every bead of pre-cum seeping out of his knob as my mouth sucks urgently on his shaft. I’m so dying to taste him, my cheeks hollow painfully with every suck.
When I peer up at him, advising him I have no intention of stopping, his grip on my hair loosens, and the strain marring his beautiful face fades.
“Good boy,” I mutter through a mouth full of cock.
If I hadn’t seen the quickest smirk etch onto his mouth, I’d be worried about my brazenness, but since the spark of admiration in his eyes is making me the most confident I’ve ever felt, I continue my mission to unravel him without pause.
Approximately five minutes later, my dedication is awarded in the most glorious way. The strong, brackish taste of Marcus pumps onto my tongue in raring spurts as he grunts my name in a guttural moan. My throat struggles to swallow every delicious drop of his spawn, but I give it my best shot, not willing to waste a single morsel of his cum.
Once every scrumptious drop has been consumed, I lift my eyes to Marcus. He peers down at me. Shock and admiration are smeared all over his face. My kneecaps pop back into place when he aids me into a standing position. I sway slightly, intoxicated by lust. In the past few weeks, I’ve only been allowed to suck his cock twice. Once was in the playroom when I wasn’t allowed to touch him, and another was when I woke him three days ago at 3 AM in the most glorious way. Although stunned by my brazenness, excitement soon pushed aside his anger.
Marcus’s big hands swallow my cheeks as he cups them before sealing his lips over mine. His tongue slides into my mouth, not the slightest bit concerned that his cum was just inside my mouth. Just the thought of him tasting a smidge of himself has my thighs touching. He kisses me until the dizziness causing me to sway like a leaf in the breeze becomes uncontrollable.
Keeping his hands on my shoulders to ensure I don’t succumb to the giddiness clustered in my head, Marcus kicks his drenched pants to the side, then moves to stand behind me. Although he just came, the heat of his erect cock scorches my back when he bands his arms around my waist and draws me into his body, stilling my swaying movements simultaneously. The cushy softness of my backside can’t take away from the sheer girth of his cock. He is
even thicker than he was when I had him in my mouth.
My head lolls to the side when the softness of cashmere scrapes over my aching breasts, down my quivering stomach before scrubbing ever-so-slightly over my throbbing clit. Marcus delivers an additional three gentle rubs over my pussy before he moves the shower puff back to my torso. I try to hold in my whine. I miserably fail.
“Who’s impatient?” Marcus mutters, his voice so tempting, a gathering of goosebumps race to the surface of my skin.
Once every inch of my torso has been thoroughly lathered with fragrant body wash, Marcus takes a step backward. Although disappointed by his lack of contact, the gentle sweeps of the heavenly soft shower puff on the weary muscles in my back keeps my disappointment at bay. His touch is gentle enough to know he is nurturing me, but firm enough to knead out the tension of my night.
After washing the suds off my torso and back, Marcus moves to stand in front of me. The excited butterflies in my stomach drop to my sex when he glances into my eyes and lowers himself to his knees. The reasoning behind his submissive stance becomes apparent when he lathers my legs with the same amount of attention he gave to my torso and back. Although my pussy was well-cleaned previously, it's awarded a second lot of attention when he slides the shower puff from my left leg to my right.
My breathing turns labored when the tips of his fingers extend past the shower puff to graze ever-so-slightly over my throbbing clit. The chances of securing an entire breath are lost when Marcus snags the extendable showerhead from the middle of the pole to remove the suds from the lower half of my body. The heated water pumping onto my pulsating sex adds to the tingling sensation sweeping across my stomach. He pulls it in close, ensuring every inch of my pussy is rid of bubbles.
I groan a low, raspy moan when Marcus peers up at me while replenishing his top lip with moisture. His eyes tell me he knows how desperate I am for him to touch me, but he remains entirely still, wearing nothing but an amorous smirk on his gorgeous face. The longer he stares at me, the stronger my desires grow. I'm so damn desperate for him to touch me, I'm not above being disobedient. Any punishment he wishes to instill will be worth it if he'll just touch me. I'm so close to the brink, I'm confident one sweep of his thumb over my clit will have me freefalling over the edge.
