by Lilia Moon
His mouth closes over my other nipple. This time, he tugs on the clamped one when he bites, and it’s all I can do to hold my orgasm back.
He puts on the second clamp and cups me as he sits back up. “You don’t get to come until I take these off.”
Evil Dom. I give him the dirty look he’s earned.
He swats my pussy, which just adds fuel to my wet fire.
He laughs and drums a freaking beat on my mound, hard and fast, and then picks up the flogger again.
Damn. He already has me riding the bleeding edge of orgasm, but I get smart and try to back off. No point advertising just how easy I am to torture.
The flogger lands on my thigh, and it’s sharp enough to sting. I look into the eyes of my Dom and see the anger. “No hiding. Whatever else you do today, there will be no more disappearing parts of you out of a scene.”
I stare at him, because he’s calling me on bullshit he should absolutely be calling me on, but I can’t believe he sees it. Nobody ever does. They trust my rep. Ari, all in, all the time.
Which used to be true, until putting all of me in every scene started to hurt too much.
He cups my cheek, and his touch is swampingly tender. “What don’t you want me to know right now, beautiful?”
I don’t know if we’re still playing twenty questions or if this is just Dom instincts heading in for the kill, but either way, he’d have me in awe of his skills if I wasn’t the prey at the end of his pounce. “I’m really close to orgasm, and I was trying to back off a little. This wasn’t me trying to hide anything more than that. Just standard sub survival tactics. I don’t want to make your job too easy.”
He eyes me, weighing my words. “Okay. Your question.”
He’s got a really good poker face. I breathe, backing away a little further. Letting him see what I’m doing. He lets me go—my body, anyhow. The rest of me he’s holding right here with his eyes. I swallow. “Why did you sit on a stool for three months before you asked me to play?”
“I sat in the dust for three years before I got to touch a drum. I knew I wasn’t ready for you yet.” He shrugs. “I’m still not, but you need me to get there faster than I was moving.”
My breath catches in my chest. I knew the first part. I have no idea what to do with the sheer, wild arrogance of the rest of it—or how well he’s seen into my soul.
He smiles and tugs on one of my nipple clamps at the same time as his fingers thrust up into my pussy.
It takes every bit of skill and pure, sheer stubbornness I have not to go over that cliff.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jackson
I didn’t mean to edge her today. I know what my hands are good at, but I don’t know her body all that well yet, and I expected to spend some nice, easy time hanging out with her on the lower rungs of arousal, figuring out what makes Ari tick.
At this point, I’m not sure she has lower rungs.
I look at the baby flogger lying over my leg and the toys sitting in my bowl and sigh inside my head. I wanted her to see that I’m not totally useless with the tools of this new trade, but it’s hard to beat the delirious sensation of my fingers in her pussy.
I hold still, waiting for the fluttering around my fingers to stop. I’ve never actually seen someone fight off an orgasm like this, and it’s an education.
Ari finally breathes out, and it’s mostly a growl. I skim my thumb over her clit. She jumps and squeaks, which is so much fun I do it again. I don’t recognize the language she curses in, but it’s long and fierce and really inventive.
I chuckle and slide my fingers out of her pussy, letting them trail up to her belly. “What’s the longest time you haven’t come for?”
Her eyes fly open, and I actually think I see fear there.
She doesn’t know enough about me yet. I’m not into denial of pleasure. Not for more than a small part of an afternoon, anyhow. However, she hasn’t answered my question. I wait and hope my Dom face does the work for me.
Her eyes go a little flat. “Almost two weeks.”
I’m way more interested in the flatness than the number. “How are you feeling when you say that?”
She makes a wry face that mostly ends up looking unhappy. “Sad. Frustrated. I like to play hard, but I don’t want to make new notches in bedposts just to make them.”
I’ve heard the club Doms talking. Ari’s a notch a lot of people want. Because she’s beautiful, because she’s skilled, because her confidence tends to ooze into everyone she plays with. “Notches aren’t about you. They’re about some idiot Dom’s ego.”
She shrugs. “It feels that way sometimes. Or I’ve just gotten too sensitive and I’m seeing things where they don’t really exist.”
I suddenly don’t feel so bad about my beginner nipple clamps and grass tassels. There are no notches here today and this is absolutely not a competition. I bend over and nuzzle into the soft, lush valley between her breasts. “How are you feeling about me not letting you come right now?”
“Cranky.” I feel the smile softening her words. “I somehow keep getting surprised by how well you read me.”
I snort into the side of her breast and dart my tongue out for a lick around the edge of the nipple clamp. “I didn’t expect you to be this responsive.”
She makes a sound that says everything and nothing at the same time.
I reach my fingers for the clamp. “I’m going to take these off and I want you to hold absolutely still while I do. You don’t get to come yet.”
She whimpers, but nothing else moves. Which is insane—I tried the nipple clamps on myself once and they hurt like fuck coming off. I wait until she breathes again and lave the abused skin with my tongue. Then I turn my head and put my fingers on the other clamp. This time I remember some of Quint’s instructions and slide my other hand between her legs.
She gets wetter when I take the clamp off.
I knew she liked some pain. Now I know she likes it from me.
I’m good with that. Pain for the right reasons is part of life. One of my proudest moments in Gambia was when Kengali had me play until my hands bled.
I give both of her nipples a little more affection, and then I sit up, letting two of my fingers slide back into her pussy. I tap them gently against her g-spot. Letting her know I’m there.
Then I wait.
She gives me a look. A distinctly grumpy one.
I tap her nose with my free hand. “You’re earning things today, remember? Give me the orgasm I want first. Then you might get the one you want.”
She glares at me and then at the baby flogger on my leg. “What about earning a chance to use the toys on you?”
Somewhere under the brat reply, we’ve just landed in serious. Serious that I’ve thought about, because she’s a switch and that has some implications. But I’m pretty sure we need a better foundation before we go there. My gut says submission is the harder part for Ari. And while I don’t think I have very many submissive bones, I might find it all too easy to let her lead.
We need to do the hard parts first. Find safe Ari can trust. Even if we get there with some steaming bowls of water, Gambian pastries, and a flogger that belongs to a munchkin.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ari
I’ve asked that question of a lot of Doms. I’ve never had one give me such clear-eyed, serious consideration.
I’m a switch. Most people aren’t, or not enough of one to want to jump into the exponential confusion of playing on both ends of the power teeter totter. I don’t think the man I’m looking at is a switch either, although I’m the first one to admit that he’s blown up a lot of my preconceived notions about him in the last twenty-four hours.
But whatever his personal leanings are, he knows this matters to me. His silence isn’t an answer—but it’s respect.
I open my mouth to walk back the question and its snarky edges, and he smiles. “Not yet.”
It takes me a moment to realize he just gave me an answer
.
One that isn’t no.
Holy fuck.
I blink at him, because I’m probably supposed to pull him aside right now and have a conversation about what a bad idea it is to try kinks that don’t feel like yours and what a good idea it is to explore kinks that matter to your partner, even if they don’t feel like yours on paper, which even I can hear is a conversation waiting to turn into a tangled knot from hell.
But I don’t get to think about that for very long, because his fingers are doing their evil mischief in my pussy again, and my nipples are throbbing in response, and he’s not giving me what I want at all, but ever so slowly, he’s sliding me toward the orgasm I need more than my next breath.
I drop my overly chatty head down a deep well and let myself go into my body. The rest can wait. Right now I have a Dom who’s entirely focused on my pleasure and I’d be the dumbest sub in the land if I let anything get in the way of that.
His fingers tap inside me again, a slow, lazy rhythm that makes me want to stab every drum he owns. He’s pushing me up the slow, aching uphill of a roller coaster, the part that happens right before you get to the top—and I’m always the person who wants to get out and push.
Which is precisely why I don’t wear latex all the time. Sometimes I need to be the one who isn’t in control of the ride. I remind myself of that as I pant and try to wriggle Jackson’s fingers a little deeper inside me without him noticing.
He growls, which is sexy as hell and also means I’m sucking at the stealth sub thing today. I open my eyes and try puppy-dog eyes instead, which only gets me a chuckle. He rubs his fingers in circles of torment inside me. “I can do this for a really long time, beautiful. You’re not coming unless I decide you can.”
I have no idea why I’m resisting him this hard. Most Doms don’t look for my soft and gentle, but when they do, I’m happy enough to share. I frown at Jackson, suddenly needing to know the why I’m throwing up roadblocks. I’m getting in my own way, and I so very rarely do that.
He rubs a thumb over the creases in my forehead. “Stop thinking. Feel my fingers inside you. Feel their beat. Let it go where it needs to go.” His hand travels down from my forehead and starts tapping on my belly.
I’ve just become his drum, and something about that feels playful and light and full of sunshine, even if it’s also making my all the blood in my body pool around his fingers.
His thumb brushes my clit and I hear the cymbal clang in my head. It doesn’t keep clanging, though. This isn’t a rock-and-roll-and-cymbals kind of orgasm he’s building. It’s slow and molten and it’s no less hot for the lack of fireworks.
He presses down on my low belly, his fingers stroking from below. I grab the sparks and try to use them to throw myself over the top of the hill.
The beat stops. Entirely.
Dammit. The man is a freaking psychic.
I don’t make him speak. I relax. Stroke the sparks wistfully and give them back.
He chuckles—and then, one molasses-slow inch at a time, he sends me over.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jackson
My fingers have just discovered their new life goal. They want time to stop while they hang out inside of Ari and play with the flutters of her orgasm as it flows into some kind of gentle standing wave that might never end. Which would be fine by me. The look on her face right now is as close as I’ve gotten to sacred in a really long time.
She comes back down very slowly, her eyes dazed and vulnerable and absolutely shutting off any more questions. I somehow thought we might do this a few times as we played our game. A way of building trust and laying down some of the train tracks of who I hope we can be.
She doesn’t need tracks.
I work myself around her legs and into a reclining position on the pillows, facing her. I slide her legs up over mine, enjoying the feel of limp Ari. Satisfied Ari. I’m still playing with the toys they issue in kinky preschool, but we got somewhere good. Quint wasn’t wrong about keeping it simple.
She turns her head so that her eyes are aimed at mine when she opens them. She smiles, and it’s lopsided and happy. “That was nice.”
Her voice sounds like an old jazz singer, the ones who smoked a couple of packs out back before they got up to sing. My ego isn’t big enough to think I did that to her. Mostly she did it to herself, but she let me hold her cloak, and that feels damn good.
I trace a line down from her collarbone into the valley between her breasts, and then feather out, touching her nipples gently. They’re still swollen, and I can see the marks the clamps left behind. “Tender?”
“Duh.” She chuckles. “Ever worn those things?”
I shrug. “Only for a couple of minutes. Long enough to decide I was way too wimpy to be a submissive.”
She reaches up a hand and threads her fingers through mine. “You tried them? For real?”
I’m not sure why she’s surprised. “Sure. Quint said it’s a good idea. I whacked myself with a crop some too. Paddles are kind of hard to aim.”
Her smile is soft. “Not very many Doms bother.”
I’m not going to lie here and let her give me extra credit for paying attention in class. I run my thumbs over her nipples again. “Tender, but okay?”
She nods. “Fine. And you’re welcome to keep fondling them if you like.”
I snort. This was a half-assed scene that’s now turning into half-assed aftercare, both of which Quint would probably set on fire.
She grins as I slide a hand between her legs. “Or that.”
I roll my eyes. “This is me checking to see that my dastardly actions left you in one piece.”
She pushes up into my fingers a little. “Is that a really long way of saying I get my hard, fast orgasm now?”
Brat. “No.” Which isn’t the answer my fingers are voting for, but I learned in training class that Doms sometimes need to be patient and I’m beginning to understand why. There’s magic in the space between what she wants and what I’m willing to give her. Magic for both of us. Bodies don’t lie, and hers is happy, pliant goo.
Which I’m not nearly dumb enough to confuse with compliant.
She lets her fingertips trail over the hand that’s cupping her breast. “Have I earned myself some more of those fried pastry things I need to know the name of before I leave?”
I laugh. The woman I buy them from will love Ari. “They’re called akara. I’ll hook you up with my dealer.” I reach over to the plate and offer her another one, this time dipped in a sauce that’s nothing but sweet. “Nibbles and a nap before you go?” It’s really warm and cozy and nothing in me wants to move right now, but this isn’t the part of the day I get to dictate.
She opens her mouth like a baby bird and snuggles in closer. “Yes, and yes.”
Now for the harder question, and I want to get it out there before we take our nap. “Will you give me a week?”
I hear her sleepy brain snap back into gear. “Maybe. What do you have in mind?”
Simple. I hold up her panties. I’m about to become a kinky cliché and I don’t care. “I don’t want you wearing any of these. For the next week. Access, only for me, whenever I want it.”
Her eyebrows fly up. “If you finger me in the grocery store, people are going to notice.”
Fair enough. “Grocery stores are a hard limit, and anywhere else we might shock innocent vanilla bystanders. Any other places you’d like to have off limits?”
She opens her mouth to say something. Twice. And then just shakes her head.
I hide a grin. Being a cliché is fun. “How about sex?”
Her lips twitch. “You’re leveling up fast.”
Since she’s currently got my cock pressed against her ass, I’m guessing she’s not confused about why I’m asking. “Quint suggested I use the tools I have the most experience with.”
She giggles, and it sounds like a freaking rainbow. “Cocks and drumsticks?”
Drumsticks hadn’t even occurred to me.
The inside of Ari’s head must be a really awesome place. “Something like that.”
She sighs and snuggles in. “No panties. In winter. Mean Dom.”
I cup her ass and pull it in a little snugger. I need to give my cock a few crumbs. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes. One week. Exclusive. No scaring innocents, and your cock can go wherever it wants.”
I kiss her cheek and grin. Those sound like the words of a shrewd negotiator, but her eyes and voice say she’s half asleep and falling fast.
Clearly I scare her about as much as a litter of kittens.
I’ll have to see what I can do about that.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ari
I should not agree to things while I’m half asleep.
I walk into the lounge where Quint and Scorpio are setting up and try not to look like I just got a surprise visit from their drummer. Between my legs. In the hallway.
It’s not the easiest of walks because no panties when you’re this aroused has some logistical issues. I surreptitiously adjust the waistband of the tight pants I wore to be a brat and sigh. Waving a red cape in front of even a baby Dom is generally a bad idea.
Quint catches the last of my adjustments and starts laughing. No words, just the belly chuckles of a friend who knows me really well and recognizes all the symptoms of tortured sub.
Scorpio rolls her eyes as I get closer. “Let me guess. Jackson got lost on the way to the bathroom.”
Nothing about that man is lost at all. I’m pretty sure he could find my clit in the middle of Greenland in the dark. However, there are roles to be played here, and at least half of why I do this is my deep love of all the theater. “No idea. There are cookies in the kitchen. Maybe he took a detour.”
Eli tilts his head at a plate. “What do you think we are, amateurs?”
Gabby has elevated cookie thievery in this joint to high art. Fortunately, I was here when she delivered the goods. Half of them are currently stashed somewhere no Dom would ever think to look. I march over and sit down in Eli’s lap, mostly to keep them from thinking too much about what just happened in the hallway, and snag one of his cookies. “I think these are my faves.” Gabby has some secret source for chocolate chips as big as your head.
