"Come on, Violet. Come on my hand. Show me how dirty you are," I growl, gripping her hip with my other hand.
With a scream, she arches her back and spasms around my fingers, a prolonged clenching that makes my dick fucking jealous of my fingers.
He remembers how good that feels.
Fucking amazing.
Once she slumps forward, I ease the plug out of her and wrap it in a cloth, ready to be cleaned. I give her a quick clean up with a wipe and then move in front of her. “Kneel up, kitten. Time to remove those clamps, and it’s going to hurt.”
She does as she’s told, but her eyes are unfocused. Yeah, she’s gone. I remove the first clamp and suck and lick at her nipple to sooth it. Once I’ve taken care of the other, I wrap Violet in a blanket and settle on the couch where I feed her bits of chocolate and sips of water.
As much as I love having a sleeping Violet curled up in my lap, this is not how we’re spending the night.
Carefully, I ease off the couch and carry my sleeping beauty through the house to my room. After gently lowering her onto the bed, I climb in behind her and wrap my body around hers.
She snuggles back into me and I bury my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. The evening was so much more than I had hoped it could be—perfect.
19
Violet
I wake up to the mouthwatering scent of freshly brewed coffee and the breathtaking sight of a naked man climbing back into bed with me.
“How are you feeling?” Max asks, his gaze sliding down my body as he pulls back the sheet.
I fight the instinct to cover up, knowing it would displease him.
And as he checks my backside for what I can only assume are some very impressive marks from the night before, a heady warmth builds inside me. His care is my reward for submitting to his inspection. For trusting him to look at me, really look at me, without any artifice or prop.
I test my legs, pressing my thighs together, then flexing them down against the mattress. I feel well used, but also lighter, freer than I have in…years.
“I feel good,” I finally answer. “Thank you.”
He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “The pleasure was all mine.”
“Not all yours,” I whisper, rolling onto my back. I wince as I settle on the tender skin there. How good would it feel to have Max press me into the mattress as he fucked into me?
He gives me a wicked look as he trails his fingers down my torso and slides into the wetness between my legs. “Are you asking me to fuck you, Violet?”
“Is that okay?”
He barks a laugh and reaches for a condom. “More than okay. Do you want to roll over?”
I shake my head.
“This might hurt.”
I nod.
He groans. “Oh, you’re so perfect for me.”
He takes his time sliding into me. First he arranges me, legs up and wide. I don’t miss that he’s lifting the sorest part of my ass off the bed. He’s cruel, but not that cruel. Then he strokes me again, slicking my wetness all over my swollen flesh. Only when I try to rock against his fingers does he slide his cock through my folds and push in, filling me with his cock.
“You have the sweetest pussy,” he says, his voice rough. “It makes me want to do dark, dangerous things to you.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Do it.”
He circles the outside of my thighs with his hands, squeezing as he thrusts deep again. “I’m not kidding, Violet.”
“I know.” I’m no fragile flower.
He inhales, his nostrils flaring wide as he roams his hands over my legs. Up and around. Pressing me wide open. He opens his hand wide and slaps his palm loudly against the outside my hip. Adjacent to where I’m sore, but not quite on it.
A little closer…
His eyes darken as I wiggle beneath him.
“You want more?” He squeezes me again, this time right there, right where I’m probably bruised from his touch. His fingers press right along the sore outline.
In response, my inner muscles clench around him. I nod helplessly, the pain stealing my voice.
With a wounded grunt, he grips me harder with that hand and braces himself with the other, lowering his upper body right onto mine.
I’m helpless, pinned down as he takes me, rough and fast and out of control now.
I want to wake up like this every day. Even as that dangerous thought flits through my mind, he scrapes his teeth over my shoulder and rolls his hips, pressing my ass hard into the bed.
I was wrong. He’s just that cruel.
I love it. “Argh!” I cry out, my thighs clenching around his hips.
“God, yes,” he whispers, his mouth hovering right above mine. “Are you going to come? Are you going to milk me? Do it. Clench that hot little cunt around my cock. Suck my come right out of me, you dirty little slut. You fucking love this, don’t you?”
I nod, whimpering as his words rip an orgasm right out of my body.
I’m still ricocheting like a pinball when he lets loose and hammers into me, once, twice, three times more before burying deep and holding still.
I can feel him coming.
It’s crazy hot.
Even the aftermath is insane. The warmth of his breath on my neck, the weight of him on top of me…I want it all again and again and again.
But he has to deal with the condom, and there’s still the matter of the food he brought up to me.
I watch him saunter to the bathroom. He’s so beautiful naked. Gorgeous and sculpted and… I wipe my mouth. I might actually be drooling. I manage to put a normal look on my face before he returns, and I give him a blissful smile. “Now what?”
“Now we eat breakfast. Then a shower.”
“And then?” I’m breathless with excitement over just a discussion of what’s to come.
He rolls his lower lip between his teeth as he gives me a filthy, hooded look. “And then we go to the next size of butt plug.”
Oh my God.
I can’t wait.
20
Max
It’s Sunday morning and Violet wants to go home.
She wants to fuck me more, which is why she’s still here, but she’s got work to do for the week.
I could go to hockey.
But instead I’m ignoring her polite murmuring about home and work, and my own phone’s vibrating reminder about a hockey game, and I’m making her breakfast.
She’s naked.
I’m not letting her go anywhere.
At least for two more hours. Breakfast, a final fuck, and then I’ll release her to the world for a week.
“What are you thinking about over there, Mr. Glower?” she asks, leaning across me to snag a piece of red pepper.
She pops it into her mouth and gives me a cheeky, happy grin.
“How I suddenly see the appeal of a 24/7 master-slave relationship,” I answer honestly.
She turns pink. “Do you want me to help you cook?”
“I want you to stay there and keep rubbing your tits against me.” I kiss her quickly, then regretfully move her further away. “Except oil spatters, so no, you can stay there, where I can see you. Perfect.”
“Okay, I could get used to this,” she says with a little shrug. “Except that work thing…so pesky.”
“Stop dropping hints. I get it. Real life will get you back sooner than later. But I want to feed you. And then…” I heat up the pan, then turn and give her a slow, careful perusal. “And then I want you one more time, on my bed. A fuck that will keep us both content all week long.”
“You’re going to miss me,” she says, and the surprise in her voice is genuine.
“I know. It’s weird for me, too.”
“I’ll miss you as well.” Her voice softens and I want to hit pause right there, stay in the moment where Violet wants me and will miss me, but she’s already moving on. “And we can talk mid-week. I’d like that. This weekend has been intense. Good! But intense.”
; The way she repeats it makes me put down the spatula and turn toward her, suddenly concerned. “You’ll let me know if I’m pushing you too hard?”
I don’t think I have, but it’s always good to check.
She nods. “I will, and you aren’t.” She takes a ragged breath in, then drops her gaze submissively. “I’m looking forward to more scenes, in fact.”
Hearing her say that is like an electric current to my libido, which was already pretty alive. Only the spatter and hiss of my butter and oil stop me from crossing to her—and that’s a reminder that I still need to feed her.
“Now that we’ve spent a weekend together,” I say gruffly as I add vegetables to the pan. “Have any of your limits shifted? Anything new you’d like to ask me for that you may not have thought of before?”
“I can’t think of anything.” She rolls her lower lip between her teeth. “This is the best…I don’t know what to call it. Affair? Fling? You’re the best lover I’ve ever had. And now that’s going to go to your head, isn’t it?”
“My ego was already at maximum inflation.” I shrug. “Two eggs? Three?”
“Two, please.”
I pop toast into the toaster and get her omelette bubbling away, then wipe my hands on a tea towel and cross to her. I’d pulled on jeans and a Henley before coming downstairs, and there’s something about me being fully dressed and Violet so perfect undressed that turns me on a deep, primal way. Lizard brain, Gavin calls it. I trace my fingers down her bare arms, then settled my hands on the tight curve of her hips. She holds still for me, and I murmur praise because she likes to be told she’s good. And she’s so very good.
“Look at my erection,” I tell her, my voice rough. “See that? You do that to me. Only you. I’ve never had a woman in my house all weekend long. Never felt this insatiable. Best lover ever? That hardly scratches how I feel about you. If either of us should have a healthy ego after this weekend, it’s you.”
“Oh,” she says with a sweet sigh.
I laugh. “That’s all? Oh?”
“Wow?”
“That’s getting warmer.”
“Your eggs look done.” She presses her lips together and gives me an innocent look.
We’ll work on her confidence later. When we’re both naked.
“Sit,” I say, and she pulls on my robe. I’ll pull it off her myself soon enough, but she can eat with it on if it makes her more comfortable.
She starts to eat, slowly, while I make my own omelette, then we finish our breakfast together, sharing the sections of the newspaper back and forth. I keep my foot hooked around her ankle, and every time she shifts she gives me a little smile.
Those smiles are dangerously seductive.
“Have you had enough?”
She takes a slow sip of orange juice, then nods.
“Can you clear our plates? I’d like to set something up in my bedroom.”
Another nod. Another sip. I lean across to her and kiss her, my tongue sliding over her bottom lip and into her mouth. Orange juice and little smiles. I’m so fucked.
But in a few minutes, so is she.
21
Violet
I carefully hang Max’s robe on a hook on the main upstairs bathroom door, then make my way into his room. He’s still dressed, but he’s taken the blankets off the bed. The pillows are still there, and there are four nylon straps looping up and onto the mattress from below.
I stop in the middle of the room, not sure where he wants me to present up here. The line between scene and weekend sex-bender is really blurry now, not that I’m complaining.
He glances at me as he sets supplies on his bedside table. Condoms, lube, and…markers. Some with brightly coloured caps, and one big fat black one.
I force myself not to react.
“Let’s review our safe words, kitten.”
“Yes, Max.” I look anywhere other than at the markers. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down.”
“And the rules about leaving marks on your body?”
“Nothing visible outside my clothing.” My voice shakes, a slight tremor. This might be close to a limit for me, but I’m not sure. “Nothing on my chest or hands or face or lower legs.”
“Can you clarify what you mean by chest?” He gestures for me to climb onto the bed, and I settle in the middle, facing him. Knees wide, shoulders back. “Very nice. Could I mark you…here?” He circles one nipple with his index finger, than the other.
“Y-yes.”
“Would you need to choose your bras and shirts carefully if I did?”
“Yes.” I can see my closet. I don’t have a lot of blouses that go over a dark bra. I might have to go shopping if the marks don’t fade by the end of the week. But surely they would.
“And that would be acceptable?”
I nod with more confidence now. “Yes.”
He leans in, his mouth brushing my ear. “Good. I want to write my name all over your body.”
Whoosh. All the air in my lungs rushes out of my body. I was expecting bruises. Bite marks, like the one he left between my shoulder blades in July.
His name? Where I can see it all week long?
But he didn’t ask if he could do that. He just told me that he was going to. And I have my safewords.
It could be another mindfuck. Or I might be leaving here with his brand on my body.
He moves around the bed and climbs up behind me. His jeans rub against my skin as he kneels on the bed and gathers my hair, loosely at first, his fingers rubbing against my scalp, then more firmly as he separates my locks into three chunks and starts to braid.
“I have a—” I stop and try again. “Do you need a hair elastic?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got one.” He sounds amused.
I’m so curious now. Is it a rubber band? Does he know to use a covered one, or those little ones that don’t pull?
“Should you be thinking right now?”
“No?”
He laughs and kisses my temple. “Go ahead and lie down, head on the pillows, arms and legs wide. Eyes closed. If you aren’t able to do that, I’ll blindfold you.”
I do as instructed, and he moves over me, lashing velcro cuffs to my wrists and ankles, pressing each limb back to the bed once I’m bound for him, although bound isn’t quite the right word. I’m not tied too tightly to the bed. I bet I could even reach my arms up and around him, there’s enough slack on ropes for that, but I stay where he’s put me.
It’s an anticipatory kind of bondage. When he starts to do whatever he’s going to do with those markers, I’m going to try and pull away. They might be cold or wet or God forbid ticklish, and I’ll twist and turn, but I can’t get away.
I can move.
I have that seeming appearance of freedom.
But like a bird in a cage, I can only go so far.
And then I’m trapped. His. His to torture, and his to decorate. His to literally brand as his own.
Shivers race across my skin, raising goose bumps as I wait.
And when the first cold press of a plastic cap makes me jump, my breath hitches, because it also turns me on.
He drags the marker, still capped, along my collarbone and down the valley between my breasts. He’s kneeling, leaning over me, my legs spread wide before him. As I get wetter, he’ll be able to see how much he’s affecting me.
The next sound I hear is the pop of the marker lid, then there’s a press against my skin. Wet and firm. I tighten my abs as he writes something just below my belly button in a few quick strokes. Max, I imagine it says. Max’s.
“That’s beautiful,” he groans, then moves the marker to the other side of my torso. Bigger strokes this time, onto my hip. I writhe into the touch, not away from it, surprising us both. “Do you like this, kitten? Like being marked as mine?”
I nod, biting my lip as I sink into the sensation of him pressing ink into my skin. Restless heat skitters across the rest of my body, jealous for that wet slide of his attention.
&
nbsp; He moves around me, switching out markers. Snap. Pop. He rolls me onto my side and scrawls down my ribs, curving onto my back. Then he swats my bottom. “Stay like that.”
Another marker switch, but he doesn’t come back right away. I hear something, rustling, and my eyelids flutter. Don’t open, I tell myself. Be patient, but it’s hard.
22
Max
It’s hard to describe how I feel as I stare down at Violet’s body, covered in bright sketches. A bird flying along her ribcage, a wolf prowling across her belly. A dragon’s eye on her thigh, and a dahlia blooming onto her breast.
And she held so still for me, trusting me to cover her with whatever I want.
I pull off my shirt and reach for the black marker. This one is more permanent ink that will stay on her skin for a few days. All the colours are washable markers, and they’ll come off in the shower. I frown, even though that was always my plan. Pictures all over her, my name in small, easily hidden spots.
I trace the wings of the bird with the capped black ink marker. “Can I take pictures?”
She makes a thinking noise, a soft hmmm that goes straight to my cock.
I lean over her and graze her earlobe with my teeth. “How about I take them with your phone, and you can decide if you send them to me or not?”
She nods. “Yes, please.”
“Where did you leave your phone?”
She laughs. “I think on the top of your dresser?”
And still her eyes don’t open. I cup her breast, my fingers pinching her nipple as a reward. She exhales roughly, then smiles as I slap her flesh lightly. “Stay here.”
I find her phone where she left it, then swipe up and into the camera from the locked screen. Technology is handy sometimes.
I frame the pictures carefully, making sure there’s nothing revealing or identifying about them. Just sketches and gorgeous skin. I haven’t signed them yet, either, which is a shame, but I won’t ask her to document that. Those images will just have to live in my memory.
Dr. Bad Boy Page 13
