desire for Bliss: a novel of Sex, Mystery and Romance (RiverHart Book 2)

by Adira August

  He moved to her side and dropped gracefully to the ground, sitting cross-legged next to her, facing her body. From this position, he could reach every part of her. He considered her pussy, talking to her while he drew a finger up the wet yoke of her panties, over her mound, circling her clit.

  She moaned but held still. Suddenly, she wished he’d bound her hands. The thought startled her. Again he’d been proven right, just as he’d said at that first interview …

  “... restraint makes sexual stimulation of any kind, more effective. More arousing.”

  Her vulva spasmed. If her legs weren’t spread and bent, she would have come.

  “What?” He asked. She flushed. “Tell me what you were thinking. Now.” he ordered.

  “I -” Her voice caught. “I was wishing you’d, um, restrained me.”

  “I see,” he said, not repressing a brief smirk. “You think you aren’t restrained? Didn’t I tell you what to do?”

  "Yes," she whispered.

  He traced a lazy pattern over and around her clit through her panties. “I expect you to be a good girl and do what you’re told.”

  Her humiliation blush had started to fade, but now deepened.

  “Bad girls,” he said, turning his glimmering dark eyes back to hers, “Girls who disobey, resist and try to control, bad girls get their skirts pulled up, their panties pulled down, and their bare bottoms spanked. Hard.”

  Ben snatched his finger away as another spasm wracked her pudendum, her legs twitched with the need to close, but she kept them obediently spread. Perfect, he thought; his cock jerked and throbbed.

  He gave her a knowing look. “Restraints are rewards for girls who prove they’re obedient. Or a way to keep bad girls still, who try to avoid their punishment.”

  He swept his hands up the insides of her thighs, flipped open her garters, running his index fingers up and down the smooth furrow between thighs and vulva. Then he slipped his fingertips under the elastic legs of her panties.

  “Controlling our sex doesn’t mean only during sexual contact. Like these panties you’re wearing.” He pulled out his pocket knife and opened it.

  “Hold still,” he said. She gasped as he slipped the blunt side of the blade under the yoke, making sure she felt the line of cold steel across the burning lips of her pussy just under her clit.

  He pulled up, sawing and twisting. The elastic cut into the backs of her thighs and the fabric bunched and forced itself between the cheeks of her ass. The yoke split in two. The knife came free, up and safely away from her.

  “Go on the website when we get to the Keep and pick out which panties you like. You’ll have an endless supply. From now on, you’ll always wear tear-away panties.” He wasn’t making an offer, he was explaining an order.

  “You’ll wear them in court, covering the trial, while I’m on the other side of the world, because I want you to experience yourself as my submissive, everywhere. You’re my Alpha female, at all times.”

  He paused, gently scratching through her damp exposed curls. She shifted as a ripple of need tightened her core, he could see the spasm of her vaginal opening. He ran a fingertip inside her labia at the edge of the hairline, gently opening her on one side, then the other, studying her wet, warm inner folds and the pink pearl of her erect clit.

  Her hips tilted up, seeking his hand. He pulled away, catching her eye. “You’re not getting that, yet.” Her thin whine of need made his balls tighten.

  He ran the side of one finger over her breast still covered by her bra and her sweater, making her nipple harden, knowing it itched and ached as it tightened. He moved to the other breast. She mewled and squirmed and looked at him with trepidation in case he objected.

  “Move unless I tell you not to. Be yourself. I don’t want you to be someone else, it’s you I want, not someone I invent.” His eyes went black, his voice hard, rough. “Just seeing you work to submit to me, you drive me fucking crazy.”

  He reached out with both hands and took her hardening peaks between thumbs and index fingers, squeezing and kneading. She kept her hands behind her, but her chest lifted, pushing into his hands. “Ah - ah - oh, please -” she panted.

  He leaned over her. “Something you want?” She didn’t answer, just stared into his eyes, her own bright and silently begging. “Answer me,” he ordered softly.

  She writhed beneath his fingers. But he moved with her, never losing contact, never stopping the rhythmic pulsing around her elongated tips, poking up the thin wool of her sweater.

  “You're going to tell me exactly what you want, Avia.” A deep groan escaped her lips and a line of red, rose from the collar of her sweater.

  Ben gathered a fold of her sweater in his fingers above her breasts and pulled up, working it slowly, the fabric sliding over her sensitized nipples poking the thin fabric of her bra, making her press back into the ground, trying to get away from the maddening sensation.

  “Look at me,” he said as he worked. She did. The sweater was bunched over her breasts. He used his index fingers to fold her bra cups under. Glanced between her legs.

  “You’re clit is swollen so hard it’s poking out between your pussy lips. All of you is wet and flushed, all around your cunt. You’re aching for something. Tell me what you want.” His fingers found her bare nipples, gently teasing, rolling, stroking the ends.

  “Oh, God, please!” Her back bowed, her hands came out and pressed the blanket next to her to force her torso further up against his hands.

  But he again stayed with her, holding her gaze, his voice still soft, but as firm and relentless as his pulsing fingers.

  “I’m teaching you that good obedient girls get rewarded.” He leaned down and very gently licked the stiff, hot, peaks. He took each one between soft lips and sucked lightly. She keened deeply. He stopped and looked into her eyes.

  “Bad girls get held down and their bottoms spanked over and over until they say they’re sorry and promise to be good and do what they’re told.”

  He knew exactly how much she hated what he’d said. And he knew how helpless she was to protest in the face of her extreme arousal at hearing him say it and imagining him doing exactly what he described.

  Her eyes were huge dark pools, her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Her hips thrust and rocked. He smiled. Her breasts were swollen, nipples irritated, red and distended. Beautiful.

  He used the pads of his thumbs to lightly stroke them. “This is your last chance to obey me. Once I lay you across my lap, I’ll give you twenty, no matter what you say.”

  She screamed through clenched teeth against submitting, but he knew she was lost. This is what you begged for, Avienne. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Please,” she surrendered. “Harder, do it harder.”

  “Do what harder? Exactly.”

  “Pinch … pinch my … nipples, please, do it.” And he did, instantly, his fingers closed on her, viselike. Pinching, twisting. Her body relaxed; she moaned with pleasure and relief.

  “Good girl,” he said. "That's my good obedient girl." He took her into his mouth and let her feel his teeth, sucking hard, pinching tightly, rewarding her submission. When she pushed up into him, he took her cue and pushed back, working her more intensely. She'd be sore later.

  Her moans of pleasure deepened, her breath hitching. He sat up before she came and backed off, kneading her breasts, surveying her flushed body, covered in a sheen of perspiration in spite of the cool air. Her thighs shook from her continual battle to obey him.

  “I can see you clenching. Needing. Tell me what you want me to do, now.”

  Her eyes fixed on his in what looked very much like fury. He knew they were at a crossroads. She could shut down from overstimulation. Withdraw, decide he demanded too much.

  “Fuck me,” she demanded hoarsely. And he knew it wasn’t rage, but lust in her eyes. “Fuck me like a bad boy.”

  His cock was in his hand before she finished speaking. He drove himself into her in one deep thr
ust and she came. Her legs locked around his waist to draw him into her rippling core.

  He held her by a fistful of hair and a hand clamped around one cheek of her ass, his mouth crushing her mouth, his tongue lashing, sucking hers.

  It had never been like this for him before, never. If he’d pounded a submissive she had simply allowed it. If he’d slammed into a Companion, it was calculated, designed to teach her or to elicit the most consuming orgasm, and he held himself in control at all times.

  But Avia’s hands were in his hair, pulling hard, her tongue battling deeper into his mouth, her legs and feet tightening, urging him on. Her vagina clenched again and again, the spasms longer, tighter. It was as if her body was trying to drag all of him inside her.

  He fucked her with an urgent passion and fierce joy, jamming his iron-hard cock into her balls deep every time because he wanted to, because she was so incredibly slick, tight, scorching hot, wanting to take him. All of him.

  The waves of orgasms washed over her, her clit throbbed and pulsed and seemed to melt fire along her vulva, up through her core and to her anus. And he just. kept. fucking. her. He held her hair so tightly, her head immobilized, he pounded his big cock into her so hard, she wondered if her spine would snap.

  But she gloried in the feel of him in her hands, of his rock hard cock ravaging her, of his big body pressing her into the cold earth, his strong warm hand gripping her buttock, controlling her, for himself this time - to take her the way he wanted.

  He was using her as the object of his consuming lust, and the thought drove her to the precipice. She screamed at the height of her frenzy.

  With three great thrusts, he came, with a primal roar into the mountainside, paralyzed by rush after rush of liquid fire pumped through his agonized channel, pouring into her, filling her, dripping out of her. And she came one final time, strong muscles contracting around him, milking every drop of thick cum from him until he collapsed with the blissful emptiness.

  Avia lay back in a post-coital haze, staring sleepily up through the delicate pattern of grayish-white branches against the brilliant cerulean sky. Her breathing returning to normal, she was happier than she could ever remember being: Benedict Hart had collapsed on top of her, his beautiful penis still inside.

  She had gone limp, as well, her legs sliding down, but still wrapped over him, the feel of soft denim over hard thighs under her calves. He’d only shoved his pants down enough to free himself to enter her.

  That thought of him entering her, set an aftershock along her vagina, closing on the still solid girth that stretched her. He raised up on his forearms, his hands on her face, smoothing her hair, fingers tracing her brows and lips, searching her face.

  He pressed his lips to her forehead, dragged them over her cheeks and around and over her ear. He buried his mouth in her shoulder, in the hollow above her clavicle, and as he sucked at the tender skin, another wave of energy ran up her core, she closed her eyes as it rippled through her. He pressed himself into her harder. Safe.

  When she opened her eyes, she found him above her, looking down at her with warmth and concern. She’d have called it “love” but he hadn’t gone there, yet. She was content to wait.

  “Did I hurt you at all?” He asked.

  She smiled up at him and shook her head.

  “I’m big, Avia. I know that. Even now, my cock in retreat, you all slick with my cum, you feel tight around me. Tell me the truth, I have to know if I’m hurting you,” he insisted.

  Her hands had been lying on his biceps, she gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I never knew it could feel this good,” she told him, and reached up without thinking to smooth an errant curl back from his forehead. “You were perfect. This is perfect. Thank you.”

  He grinned and kissed her and slid himself slowly out of her, wincing a little as the wide head of his cock passed backward through her entrance. Then he adjusted his pants and stood up.

  “Don’t move,” he said, and disappeared down the deer trail. She realized he’d left in his sock feet and wondered when he’d kicked his shoes off, realizing she was still wearing hers. She wondered at him, at the things he found arousing. She thought back to the times she’d arranged herself in front of a lover, to present him with an enticing image.

  But Ben wanted her awkward, stockings sagging, splayed out with her shoes still on. Why?

  She thought back to her talk with Doctor Harley. If you like the feeling of being dominated by him, which he just did for you right here on this blanket, maybe the non-sexy poses represent submission to him. That's when she realized her humiliation turned him on as much as it did her.

  So she took his "don't move" literally, and remained as he'd left her, legs spread, knees bent, and put her hands back behind her. He returned to her with his hands and arms full of supplies. He paused when he found her obediently spread out before him, licked his lips and let his eyes roam over her.

  Then he put everything on the blanket. He dropped to his knees between her legs and laid down on the ground, his bent arms on top of her thighs. She felt his fingers, thumbs, lips and tongue moving over her vulva.

  His arms locked down on her thighs and she revelled in her ability to press futilely against him, needing so badly to move, to come and being held motionless.

  He expertly, gently sucked her clit between his lips and teeth, his thumbs stroking up the insides of her labia, his fingers rhythmically compressing them from the outside to slide along her burning clit. He worked patiently and calmly until she hovered at the edge of orgasm. And he kept her there.

  Finally, everything convulsed. Her hips bucked so hard she lifted him off the ground. He stayed with her, his tongue laving the slick hot tissues over her spasming clitoris' wings, prolonging her climax.

  Her hands found his hair, fingers combing through his curls. He'd worshipped her, serviced her, really. Loved her. The thought made her smile contentedly. He moved up her body and laid his head on her stomach.

  Finally, he rose and sorted through the objects on the blanket, dropping a kiss on her navel.

  He brought wipes and a pair of black panties, tear away ones he’d had in the car because he knew what he’d do, and what fate would befall whatever panties she’d been wearing. He brought the coffees they’d gotten but not drunk.

  He cared for her, cleaning her, restoring her clothes, giving her coffee, now lukewarm, but delicious. Hers laced with hot chocolate, of course.

  “Okay?” He asked when he finished and they were sitting up together.

  She nodded. “Was it a test?”

  “Was what a test?”

  “All of it,” she said. “The parking lot, to see if I was serious about you teaching me. Here, seeing what I’d accept.” She rolled her coffee in her hands. “You do it on purpose, don’t you? With forethought. Trigger humiliation in me. Why? To see if I’ll submit? It’s a test?”

  He thought for a moment. “The parking lot, yes. A lesson and a test. You had to know just how completely I expect you to submit. I had to know how far you would, without question.” He considered her. “Was it the truth? Would you have gone to your knees with my cock in your mouth, right then? Right there?”

  She nodded, serious, purposeful. He adjusted himself and went on.

  “This, here, was, well, I just had to fuck you. But it was also a bit of datamining. I guess that’s a kind of test. Without rules or goals or restraints, during actual sex, are there boundaries to your submission? Are there limits to my demands? This is a new thing we’re learning about ourselves.”

  “If there had been boundaries?” She asked. “If I’d called time out and closed my legs?” She bit her lips, afraid of the answer. Afraid he’d leave her if she stopped complying.

  “Then we’d know where some of your boundaries are. I’d know how to adjust to them. They can shift, you know, with time.” He seemed to be struggling with what to say next.

  “I mean it when I say today is about giving you what you want. Need," he told her.
"If you are, truly, naturally submissive with me, what I want from you, what I want to do to you, with you, fulfills deep-seated desires you already have.”

  She flushed. He smiled. “It works the other way, too. Almost since the moment I first saw you, I’ve wanted to power fuck you with no holding back, not even thinking about you while I was. What you wanted from me, I wanted to do to you.”

  “But,” he said before she could express the troubled thoughts that caused her brow to crease. “That doesn’t mean you want it all at the same time I do. Or that what I do is exactly the way you want it. Or, even if it is, that you’re ready for it to happen outside your fantasies.”

  He lifted her chin so she’d look into his eyes. “You’re going to tell me. You're going to be honest with me, Avia. You’re going to stop me any time you’re uncomfortable. Or frightened. You will. Must.” He smiled. “There. I made a rule.”

  She turned away for a moment before she blurted out some declaration of love she wasn’t sure he was prepared to hear. Or she to say. “I have something I want. And a rule I need,” she said, looking back at him.

  “What’d you have in mind?” He asked.

  She thought for a second how to express herself. He waited patiently for her. Another thing she loved about him.

  “Unless we’re doing something like this, it has to be okay for me to touch you. All the time. That has to be my decision. You can ask me not to, you know, if you need the space, but, I just get to touch you without having to think about it.” She reached out and put a hand gently on his forearm. “Like now.”

  He looked down at her fingers on his arm. “Is it sexual?” He asked.

  Oh my sweet Babyboy, she thought as she put the coffee down and reached out to place her palm on his cheek. “It’s affection. Connection. Comfort.” She scooted closer to him, leaning against his chest and shoulder. “You make me feel so safe,” she said

  “Safe?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.