Don't Come

by Jessica Gadziala

"When you come, pet, I want to feel you squeezing my cock, got it?" he asked, a quiet reprimand, but a promise as well.

  "Yes, sir," I whispered, taking a deep breath as he moved off toward the side of the bed, but stopped suddenly, turning back, leaning over, and pressing a sweet kiss right at the source of the sting.

  I felt it then.

  I was sure I had been feeling hints of it before.

  But it was stronger now, undeniable.

  It was in the way my belly melted, flip-flopped, swirled, the way my blood seemed to heat and thicken, the way my heart stuttered.

  I was falling for him.

  And that was so, so not good.

  DOM half-turned, giving me a perfect view of his glorious, muscular ass, making me wish I could sink my fingers into it while he was buried deep inside me. His drawer slid open and closed, and the crinkle of a condom foil broke the silence in the room as he protected us before turning back around, moving back onto the bed, eyes so intense on me that it almost made me want to shy away.

  He moved in at my side, burying his head in my neck once again, his scruff scraping across the sensitive column of my throat as his lips moved up my neck to my ear.

  "You ready for your pussy to belong to me?" his voice rumbled in my ear, sounding thick with need as his lower body shifted over mine as well, my legs spreading to his sides, cradling him close, holding on with my thighs, all that I could give him.

  "Yes, sir," I whispered, feeling my belly wobble as he pushed up to balance on his forearms, watching my face as his hips shifted, as his cock pressed into the opening of my body.

  "That's a good girl," he mumbled, his praise washing over me like an embrace as his cock pressed just slightly forward, just stretching my opening around his head. "So tight," he growled, eyes getting smaller, body more tense as I felt him start to slip inside me, claim me inch by perfect inch, until he was buried deeper than I had ever felt before, a small pinch accompanying the last press forward.

  My lips fell open, my eyes wide.

  I knew it was there on my face.

  At least part of what I was feeling.

  The rightness of it.

  The perfection that was belonging to him fully.

  His air exhaled out of him slowly as he lowered down, his forehead pressing into mine, eyes closed for a long moment.

  My knees pulled up closer to his body, making his cock feel even thicker inside me, something that I realized with a low whimper that made his eyes open to watch me.

  He didn't move.

  I didn't shift my hips to give my body what it was dying for.

  We were lost in this moment.

  Both of us feeling things we weren't expressing to each other.

  And he was right there.

  And I wanted it more than I wanted to keep breathing.

  Eyes on his still, not sure how bad I was screwing up, I lifted my head, shifted ever so slightly, and pressed my lips into his with a low whimper.

  His body stiffened completely for a long second, eyes watching me as I pressed my lips in harder.

  Then it seemed to snap, whatever control that had been keeping him from doing so before.

  His arms shifted under my shoulders, letting his hands move up to cradle my face as his lips took over, seared into mine, claimed them in a way that felt like a brand, that ensured I would never be able to get the mark away. As if I would ever want to. His tongue moved inside to toy with mine as the pressure in my body built, knowing this was what the moment needed, the connection we had been denying ourselves.

  A whimper escaped me as his lips bruised in deeper.

  And just like that, his lips ripped from mine, his eyes looking hooded with desire but shocked, almost freaked.

  He found it again right then.

  The guard he had let down that had allowed us to be more than Dom and sub, that had allowed us just to be lovers.

  It went back up, higher, thicker, stronger.

  His hands moved out from under me, pressed, and pushed him back until his weight left me completely, as he moved to sit back on his heels instead, creating actual physical distance to match the emotional distance.

  I felt the difference with a pang, something deep and longing, something strong enough to make the backs of my eyes burn.

  But before I could humiliate myself by crying, his hands grabbed my hips, dragging my ass up onto his thighs, settling his cock even deeper.

  "It's time for me to fuck this sweet pussy of mine," he growled.

  And then he did.

  He fucked me.

  Fucked.

  That was the only word to describe it as his cock pounded into me, hard and deep, taking every inch of me with a savage, primal pace that should have scared me, shouldn't have felt good. But my walls tightened around him, my body begged for more, begged for him to give me the blissful oblivion he had been denying me.

  His body shifted slightly forward, one hand planting at my side, the other closing around my throat.

  "You gonna come for me, pet?" he asked, voice rough with his need for release.

  "Yes," I moaned, rocking my hips as he pistoned into me, so much power behind his thrust that the entire bed kept shifting with each slam forward.

  "Yes, what?" he demanded, tone pointed.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Fucking right you are," he agreed, slamming harder still as his hand shifted, pressing into the side of my throat, making my brain feel thick and slow as his free hand slipped between my thighs and pressed hard into my clit. "There you go," he growled as my walls clutched around him.

  And the world went white.

  I was vaguely aware of an almost pained choking noise, only realizing after the fact that it came from me as the orgasm ripped violently through my system, starting at the contact of our bodies and shooting outward until it completely overtook me, my body going tight, my arms pulling against the ropes, my air rushing out in gasping moans as the waves kept going, kept coming, kept taking me back under each time I thought I was about to surface.

  "Fuck, pet," he growled, releasing my throat and clit, both his hands going to grab my hips, dragging me into him as he slammed deeper, deeper than my body even wanted to take him, the pain a sharp thing as his body stiffened, his air hissed out of him, and he came, his eyes hard on my face as he did.

  As high as my body soared, it crashed a moment later, feeling spent, heavy, damp with sweat but somehow wrung dry at the same time. Whatever strength I had in my shoulders before to keep my arms aloft, so they didn't sag into the ropes was gone, making the binds scratch into already sore skin.

  DOM exhaled a slow breath, pulling himself back together faster than I ever could have, slowly slipping out of me, making me aware of a slight soreness inside, a testament to how rough the sex had ended up being - nothing like it had started as.

  "One minute, pet," he said, voice careful, not stern, but also not as soft as it usually was after things happened between us.

  He moved off the bed, walking into the bathroom, closing the door.

  He wasn't just getting rid of the condom. I heard him washing his hands just seconds after he went in. Something else was keeping him. Maybe more time to put more guards up.

  A shiver was moving over my skin as the sweat dried, leaving me cold and unable to move to climb under the covers.

  It seemed like forever before he came back out, eyes on me as they almost always were. He moved to the side of the bed, pulling open his nightstand, and coming back with a small pocketknife, flicking it open, then reaching above me to quickly slice through my binds, making my arms drop down numbly.

  "Shake some life back into them," he told me, putting the knife away, then moving around the room as I was racked with painful pins and needles as the blood flooded back into my arms and hands.

  By the time the pain subsided, DOM was somehow in a pair of low-slung black pajama pants, coming toward me with my giant, pink, fluffy blanket and the cranberry juice I had set down on the floor by my cl
othes.

  "You wanna wrap up?" he asked, holding out the blanket toward me.

  You wanna wrap up?

  Not Do you want me to wrap you up?

  I was on my own in this.

  I was on my own period, I reminded myself.

  This was not a relationship.

  He was just playing with me, fucking me, commanding me.

  He calls you 'pet,' my heart seemed to pipe in with a sad squeezing sensation. Not 'sweetheart,' or 'honey,' or 'baby' or even just 'babe.' He called me 'pet.'

  Because that was what I was to him.

  A pet.

  Something to play with and order around.

  Nothing more.

  I took a slow, deep breath, not wanting to do this here, in his bed, with him watching me with those invasive eyes of his.

  "No?" he asked when I shook my head at him, moving to sit up, taking my cranberry juice and unscrewing the top.

  "No," I agreed after taking a long sip, finding some kind of poetry in the bitter taste. "I actually should really get going. It's late. I have to get some sleep, so I'm not useless at work tomorrow."

  He said nothing, did nothing to stop me as I slid off to the other side of the bed, walking back to my pile of clothes, and systematically putting them back on, forcing myself to do so slowly and deliberately, not giving anything away about the battle going on inside me between the part of me that was loving exploring this side of myself with him, and the side that knew it was leading me right down a path of surefire heartbreak.

  "Tomorrow," DOM said, tone almost sounding unsure, something I never expected from him.

  I wanted to turn. I wanted to see if there was uncertainty in his face as well. But I kept my back stubbornly to him. "I haven't forgotten," I agreed, squaring my shoulders, and walking away from him.

  I didn't cry in the cab.

  I didn't cry in the shower.

  I didn't cry as I climbed into my roomy sweats and wrapped myself in a blanket that I was suddenly angry at simply because it wasn't my giant, pink, fluffy one.

  DOM: I need an address to send you what you are to wear tomorrow night.

  Cold.

  Formal.

  The Dom.

  Not the man.

  I shot off my address, not seeming to think any better of it, then curled up on my side.

  And not-cried some more.

  I wasn't going to be that girl.

  I hated that girl.

  The one who whined because she didn't get what she wanted from a man when he made it perfectly clear from the beginning what he was willing to offer.

  I refused to be her.

  So I blinked back any wetness in my eyes.

  And I forced myself to sleep, telling myself I would come up with a game plan the next day, some map of how the rest of this situation was going to go.

  It was tomorrow's problem.

  Tonight, I just needed to sleep the ache inside away.

  NINE

  Adley

  The packages arrived by a man in a suit who looked way too important to be delivering a bunch of fancy bags and boxes to a woman in Williamsburg.

  "Wait, just let me get you a tip," I insisted, turning to go grab my purse.

  "It's already taken care of, miss. Have a nice night."

  With that, the mysterious suited man was gone.

  And I was alone with a coffee table covered in untold goodies.

  The expensive kind.

  The kind that came in thick bags full of fancy tissue paper and boxes that were wrapped in silk ribbons.

  I had never been a woman who swooned over labels. I had been raised modestly. I busted my ass to get my money; I wasn't about to throw it away on an overpriced handbag or pair of shoes. There was absolutely nothing wrong with my shoe collection that came right out of the clearance section of Kohls.

  The warm feeling inside had nothing to do with the designer labels. It had everything to do with the fact that the collection of goodies before me was a gift from him.

  Which was not a good way to be feeling.

  But I couldn't seem to stop it as I sat down and reached for the first bag - a sturdy pearl-white one with satin handles and simple, bold font on the front. Font that said whatever was inside was about two-hundred more dollars than it should have been.

  La Perla.

  Only one thing came from them.

  Lingerie.

  I reached in, my hand closing around lace so soft it felt like it could slip through my fingers, pulling out a nude, half see-through thong that would feel like I was wearing nothing at all. Next came a matching bra made out of the same gossamer material, the cups of the bra completely unpadded, made fully of Leavers Lace that meant it was genuinely just a garment meant to entice, not hide anything.

  I set them back in the bag, having this odd feeling like they might get ruined sitting on my couch that I had gotten on a Black Friday deal off Wayfair, and had needed to hire three guys standing outside that day to help me bring it upstairs.

  I reached for the large box next with a simple black bottom and white top with a small black square in the middle with scribbled white writing.

  Saks Fifth Avenue.

  I pulled off the lid, finding my dress for the night. Simple in style, it had a plunging V in the center that the bra would allow for, thin straps, a tight cut, and a short, but modest hem.

  Simple. Classy. But still sexy.

  And way too expensive.

  My hand went next for a light brown box with simple, swirling white writing across the top.

  Christian Louboutin.

  I had heard countless songs - and watched several episodes of TV shows that talked about these very shoes. You know the ones.

  The red bottoms.

  Which was exactly what I found when I opened the box. Black skyscraper heels with blood red bottoms.

  I was only about halfway done, and I was already feeling overwhelmed. My entire wardrobe wasn't worth what the combined worth of my outfit for the night must have set DOM back.

  But, I reminded myself, he was well-off. It wasn't hurting his bottom line. And maybe he wanted me to 'look the part' when I was on his arm at an event.

  I didn't know.

  All I did know was he would insist I wear all of it.

  I reached for the most well-known box next.

  The smallest one so far.

  But the most distinct.

  There were movies about it.

  That very distinct bluish-greenish, hard-to-pin box with the white satin ribbon.

  Tiffany.

  I took a deep breath as I opened the top, willing myself not to get excited about it, even if it was the first gift of jewelry I had ever gotten from a man.

  Nestled inside, I found a set of earrings. There were small hooks to go through my ear that led into white gold chains that were so thin I was afraid I could break them with clumsy fingers. But they were obviously strong enough because they led down to and held single, brilliant red rubies at the ends.

  Rubies.

  And since this was Tiffany, not my beloved Kohls, I knew that meant real rubies. Which, with this tag associated with them, must have meant they were in the thousands.

  Thousands.

  For earrings!

  That was ridiculous.

  At least, that was what my logic was trying to convince me as my sentimental side maybe swooned just a little.

  Last but not least, there was a simple black box with no name on top. I reached for it with eager fingers, slipping open the lid to find a white notecard with quick, neat, masculine writing and a tube of deep red lipstick that would match the earrings... and the shoes.

  "Wear this tonight. Hair down."

  He had me so trained that my immediate response even in my brain was Yes, sir.

  With that, I carefully collected my outfit for the night, doing so with tentative fingers as though my middle-class touch might make their high-class fibers explode.

  I settled them all acro
ss my bed except for the lipstick which I put on the counter beside all of my perfectly good drugstore brands, then stripped and threw myself into the shower, scrubbing and shaving and deep conditioning away almost an hour before I got out to start getting ready for the night, feeling maybe a little bit of nervousness at the idea.

  But DOM would be there.

  I wouldn't be alone.

  I dried my hair, styling it straight so it fell like a shiny sheet down my back and shoulders, then set to doing some mascara and light liner, smearing on the lipstick that was a bit bolder than a red I would have chosen for myself, but it somehow worked.

  On went the lingerie which felt like I was basically wearing nothing under the dress once I slipped it on. Next were the earrings that I was paranoid could fall out at any point, and then thousands of dollars would be wasted. Lastly, the shoes. Which, actually, didn't hurt my feet and ankles like I thought they might.

  I reached for my perfume, doing a quick spritz to my chest. My eyes caught the motion in the mirror, bringing attention to my wrist.

  He had marked me again.

  But this time, it was lasting.

  I had thought it might be like the spanking and flogging, that my skin was just being pale and annoying, but it would fade in a few hours. As the day went on, the red, splotchy bands around my wrist somehow only seemed darker, more prominent.

  I walked back into my bedroom, going for my jewelry box. Sure, the bracelets weren't Tiffany, but they would cover up the rope burns.

  With that, I grabbed the lipstick and my wallet in case of touch-ups and IDs and threw them into the smallest clutch I owned before taking a cab to DOM's place.

  "Looking lovely tonight, Miss Adley," Richard told me with his fatherly smile in place. "Going out on the town?"

  "After some dinner," I agreed, still glad that he was no longer seeing me as some hired woman.

  "Wonderful! I bet you'll have a great time."

  I was hoping.

  "Come in," DOM called when I knocked at his door, something he never usually did. He always greeted me.

  I walked in, finding red wine breathing on the island beside what appeared to be a menu for room service. My stomach was feeling a little wobbly with nervousness and excitement, but I knew he wasn't just going to let me get away with not eating, so I studied the menu while DOM did whatever he was doing back in his room.