by Lilia Moon
I push her wrists down another few inches instead.
Her hands fist. Resisting.
I let go. Restraints are her trigger, and I suspect that for her they’ve always been the wrong answer anyhow. They create a false sense of security for a Dom, control that’s only cuff-deep. She needs to know that I’ve got her no matter how hard it gets and how much flailing she does.
Her hands steady, and she glances at me, questions in her eyes.
I don’t answer them.
One quick, fierce tug and the rest of the shirt is undone. I should have my eyes on her face, because my volcano just let herself vent a little, but I can’t tear my eyes away from what she’s uncovered.
She drops her hands to her sides, her eyes up and steady. Letting me look.
There’s nothing in the world more sexy than confidence, although her nipple jewelry gives it some stiff competition. She’s wearing two teal barbells that match the ring in my pocket. They frame dusky, tight peaks rising out of breasts she clearly doesn’t think are too small. Which is a fucking relief. She’s gorgeous in all the ways that matter, and if she knows it, she might not freak out about how badly I want to devour her.
I lean in, letting her hear the low rumble in my throat. “Get naked, Bright Eyes. All the way. I want you kneeling at the edge of the bed in front of me, legs spread, hands behind your back.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
India
Naked. My hands are already following his commands, stripping off my jeans, heading to that space where they listen faster than my ears.
Which I didn’t fucking tell them to do. I take a breath, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, because I will choose this, dammit. Me, not my body that’s a desperate strip of cranky metal looking for a torch’s flame.
Breathing doesn’t help much. I hurl my pants over the edge of the loft.
Rafe winces at the sound of breaking glass.
I don’t. I’ve got far more fragile things to worry about.
I glue my eyes to his as I shimmy over to the edge of the bed. The cool air is pebbling my suddenly exposed skin, or at least that’s the story I’m going with. I sit on my heels on the mattress, just like he is on the floor, and line my knees up with the edge of the bed. I keep them together. He gets to see my arousal when I’m damn good and ready for him to see it.
I swallow. It’s weird to be looking down on him. Most Doms would never play the power game this way, but no matter what my pissy thoughts are saying, we both know who’s in charge right now. Or who needs to be, anyhow. I’m not worried about my head rebelling—he knows how to shut that down. It’s the rest of me that’s an avalanche waiting to happen.
“Hands behind your back, India.”
It’s a dispassionate instruction, one at strange odds with the heat in his eyes. Until I clasp my wrists behind me and remember exactly what it shoves in his face. Fuck. I suck in another breath and look down at my chest. If he’s looking for the avalanche-trigger buttons, those are two prime candidates, and he’s got me offering them up to him like two kinky cupcakes.
“Spread your knees.”
I feel the heat rising up my face. I want to tell him precisely where he can shove his orders, in explicit, anatomically correct detail. Which is total bullshit. I’m acting like a greenie, someone who’s never been naked with a Dom before and can’t remember her job or how to follow more than one simple instruction at a time. I shift my knees apart, wishing I hadn’t needed the reminder.
Or wishing my resistance had at least been intentional.
“Ssh.” His hands settle on the tops of my thighs. “It’s my job to decide if you’ve fucked up. Let it go.”
I glare at him. “Stay out of my head.”
He raises an eyebrow, and his look is pure, irritated Dom.
Shit. I’ve been pretending to be vanilla for way too damn long. I let my eyes drop. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
His thumbs start to circle, kneading the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. Accepting an apology I needed to give, even if he didn’t need to hear it.
My breath hitches. Doms who know how to do gentle are the deadliest kind.
His hands slide a little further up my thighs, his thumbs making their way closer to my whimpering pussy. “Do you come easily?”
I scowl at the head game. “Isn’t that your job to figure out?”
He puts two fingers under my chin, and there’s steel in his eyes. “The next smart-ass answer earns you a ball gag.”
Gah. I hate gags, but I didn’t put them on my limits list. I should have. That look in his eyes absolutely isn’t kidding. Which is a good thing. I need my Doms to take some sass, but not when I’m using it to try to stay safe. That’s not my job, not in a scene, and I didn’t used to be a sub who needed to be reminded of that.
I close my eyes as the wave of unexpected sadness crashes into me. I lost so much more in that room than I understood back then.
His hands travel another aching half-inch up my thighs. “Answer my question, India.”
Steel and feathers—he knows how to wield them both. “The first time, yes. Wave a vibrator or a cock or a well-aimed paddle at me and I come.”
“Only once?”
I squirm, and it isn’t because of his thumbs. “Yes. Twice is rare. Three and one of us won’t be walking tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirty
Rafe
I wonder if she has any idea just how much she’s just revealed with that answer. I don’t care how easily a woman comes or how often, but India’s answer doesn’t match her soul. Volcanoes don’t satisfy themselves with one eruption, not volcanoes that let all of their needs be met, anyhow. She lets her Doms in just enough to satisfy the edges of the tearing need inside her—and then she takes her control back.
I sigh as the rest of it hits me. The one time and the one room where she didn’t do that, her Dom wasn’t ready for what he’d unleashed and pushed them both over the edge into disaster.
I keep my hands solid on her thighs. I have two choices right now, and one of them isn’t acceptable. The other one involves picking up the gauntlet she just threw down, even if it’s not the gauntlet that matters. This isn’t about orgasms, but I’m happy for those to be cover for the much bigger fight I need to win.
I give her the kind of smile that should get her worried. “If the first one is easy, let’s get that one done.”
I see the flash of surprise in her eyes as I dip down toward a teal barbell. It’s possible she pierced a part of her that isn’t wired to her clit, but that’s not what I remember from Matteo’s office. I give an inch of leash to the wild man straining inside me and suck one of her nipples into my mouth. My hands wrap her thighs to hold her in place, but it’s not necessary. She’s arching toward me, not backing away. Ready to be devoured.
Once.
I’m happy to start there.
I slide one of my hands off her thigh and between her legs, growling at the swollen, slick heat I find. She gasps as I thrust two fingers inside her, and then seven years of pent-up need arrives, desperate to ride my hand. I curl my fingers against the exquisitely sensitive nerves inside her and cup my palm against her clit. She groans and rocks, tiny intense motions that set off fireworks in my cock and bring an instant layer of sweat to her skin.
I suck harder on the nipple in my mouth, running my tongue around the barbell, seeking her most sensitive zones. The answering wetness in my hand tells me plenty about her wiring. I switch over to the other barbell, catching it in my teeth this time. Giving it a sharp tug.
She hisses, and her hands bat my shoulders. The next sound she makes is the choked whimper of a sub who’s just hit her Dom and knows it.
I tug again on the barbell in my teeth. I’m not asking for her control today. I’m asking her to let me shred it, and I can take whatever she needs to dish out as she lets go.
This time her hands land in my hair, grabbing huge handfuls and hanging on tight.
A sub putting restraints on herself.
I let the sharp pang of sadness land, and then I push it away. I can’t fix what happened seven years ago. I can’t make it go away and I can’t change how it’s shaped and molded her. I can only add a new page to her story and see what she does with it.
I move my other hand to her pussy, sliding through slick folds and further back. Testing the waters. Anal play is happening today, but how and why depend a lot on her response to my questing finger.
Her hands tighten in my hair as I nudge against her back opening. Her hips stop their micro-rocking, but it isn’t the stillness of avoidance.
It’s the moment the earth stops right before a volcano erupts.
I push my way in, one small, knuckle-deep invasion that causes everything India Jennings to blow wide open. Air rushes past my ear as she folds over onto my shoulder, gasping and suddenly missing some of her bones.
I catch her as best as I can with my body. Both my hands are still busy drawing out as much of this orgasm as she’ll easily give me. She rocks against my fingers, taking her last few moments of pleasure before she backs herself away from the cliff.
I make a vow she can’t hear. By the time we’re done today, I don’t intend for that cliff to still exist.
One last, slow glide around her clit and I move my hands back to her thighs. That was the hell-bent she likes, the mad run that lets her vent and land back on solid ground before panic can catch her. Which would be fine as an appetizer, but I’m not a Dom who lets his sub skip the main course.
Not when she’s been hungry for seven years.
Chapter Thirty-One
India
It takes me a moment—because I’m rusty and because he’s not a Dom who has a lot of tells. But something in the air has changed, and my foggy brain finally registers the message.
I yank my head off his shoulder.
His eyes meet mine levelly. “Lie down, sweetheart. On your back, knees up, pussy wide open for me to taste and touch.”
Those aren’t the instructions of a Dom who’s finished with me. My throat ties into knots.
His hands run up my arms. “You have your safewords. Use them, or lie down.”
My entire body shakes at the power in those two words and everything they touch in me.
I sit back on my heels. I’m still wobbly from the orgasm I just had, but I can feel my backbone stiffening. I told him the first one was easy. The next one won’t be, and I hate that he’s chosen this way to push on me. I’m a person, not a number, and orgasm-counting games were always the kind I got picked last for.
He rumbles, low in his throat. One pissed-off Dom, revving up.
I swallow hard. I’m in his bed. I chose to be here. I don’t get to pick the games we play.
I scoot back on the futon, hoping he’s good with his tongue. A talented fuck buddy is a good thing. Another orgasm could be a good thing. It would be nice to leave his bed feeling like I wasn’t going to need another snack in an hour.
I flop backwards, keeping my knees together in an act of entirely nonsensical prudery. The man’s already had a finger up my ass. Adding his eyes to the mix isn’t going to change anything.
Except he’s not looking at my pussy. He’s looking at my face with a combination of irritated and amused that’s beginning to grow on me. A lot. This time, however, he doesn’t re-issue his instructions.
We both know he shouldn’t have to.
I sigh and spread my legs, bending them up and wrapping my arms around my knees. There’s a yoga pose this resembles, and I’ve never been able to keep a straight face when a whole studio full of earnest people all cuddle their legs and flash their covered pussies at the sky.
Two firm hands run up my hamstrings. “What has you amused?”
I blink and look at him, checking that he’s not mad at the detour my brain just took.
He watches me curiously as he tucks pillows under my knees and my ass.
I curse. I have a bunch of throw pillows up here because tourists think a stupid number of pillows equates to something important. Now they’re all potential Dom equipment. “Nothing. Yoga class.” I wiggle my legs, feeling way too much like a stuck bug. “This is a pose they sometimes do near the end. It always makes me wonder if the instructors are in the kinky closet.”
He grins and lays a hand over my pussy. “It’s a lot more fun naked.”
He’s being easy. Slow. Not stalling out, exactly, but not headed anywhere fast, either. I remember his flying and groan. He likes slow. I should have put that on my limits list too.
His hands run up my inner thighs, spreading my legs a little further. Opening me to his gaze.
He’s done a damn good job with the pillows. I could hang out here like this for a long time. Which ratchets up the discomfort in my belly even further. I squirm gingerly, trying to feel less exposed.
He swats my pussy. Gently, but with a casual precision that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Don’t move.” He stands up at the foot of the bed and starts stripping. Big sweater first, and I get a sneak peak at his abs as his arms go over his head.
This sigh is mostly happy. I expected him to stay dressed longer. Standard Dom control mechanism.
He chuckles as his t-shirt follows his sweater over his head and onto a pile on the loft floor. “Like what you see?”
He damn well knows I do. I raise an eyebrow as his hands move to the button of his jeans. “I’ll like it a lot more shortly.”
He grins and slides his pants and underwear off his ass. Then he sits down on the edge of the futon to work the jeans off his legs, but I got a view of his manly parts for long enough. I stare at him, beyond dumbfounded. I rise up onto an elbow, cursing the pillows holding me hostage. “You have a dydoe piercing?” It’s a question I don’t need to ask. I saw the curved barbell riding the rim of his cock. Dark gray, which is boring, but finding him something prettier to wear is way down my priority list right now. I want to touch. To lick. To explore the wild side the man asking to dominate me just uncovered.
A wild side that says a whole lot about him. Dydoe piercings are mostly for his partner’s pleasure.
He looks down at me, eyebrows raised. “Lie. Still.”
I glare at him. “I want to see.”
The amusement is back in his gaze, but so is the steel. “Later.”
I’ve already let this man fuck me once without realizing what he was putting inside me. However, I’m rusty, not doorknob dumb. There’s no way his cock is going to be my plaything until he decides it is.
I throw myself back down on the bed with every ounce of flounce I possess.
He calmly reaches over and fixes the pillows I’ve dislodged.
Asshole.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rafe
She’s adorable, but since I don’t actually want to test the theory that she can produce fire at will, I keep that thought to myself. I didn’t mean to flash my cock at her, but the discovery that she’s not the only one in this bed with body mods has nicely distracted her from sorting through how she feels about my current intentions.
I reach into my bag and tuck several items under the pillows, out of her line of sight. She’s still throwing her not-entirely-pretend temper tantrum, so she doesn’t look.
Until she hears the crinkle of the foil package I rip it open.
Her face zings straight from annoyed to confused.
I shut down her protest with a single, raised eyebrow. There are some directions I’ll give her plenty of leeway today, but this isn’t one of them. I decide what happens in this bed and when, full stop. All responsibility on my shoulders where it belongs. The day may come when I’ll give her a vote just to enjoy the reaction when I use my veto, but first we need to build the kind of trust she’s never had with a Dom before.
Or at least never had where it didn’t crash her, head and soul, into a brick wall.
I roll on the condom, which gets me a severe case of sad-puppy-dog eyes.
I grin. I don’t usually bribe my subs,
but apparently my piercing opens up some interesting possibilities for later. Right now my cock has a job to do, although he might not be so pleased when he discovers what it is.
I squirt some lube onto my fingers as I position myself, cock nicely lined up with India’s ass. I set a hand on her lower belly to hold her still and circle my lubed fingers around her tight pucker.
Her eyebrows go up, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. Her nipples tighten, and a soft flush rises up her cheeks.
I slide in a finger, and this time I don’t stop at the first knuckle. She groans softly, her body tightening against my fingers and relaxing. I slide in a second finger, intentionally pushing faster than I normally would. Calibrating. I want to find the edges of her discomfort, but I don’t want to blow so far past them that she can’t function, because I have plans once I’m buried balls deep in her ass, and sadly, they don’t involve a slick, fast fuck.
Her eyebrows go up even higher when I line my cock up where my fingers just were, but her signs of arousal ratchet up too.
I push against her tight ring, calibrating again. She grunts, but there’s more desire in the sound than discomfort. I ease in, past the tight muscles, watching her carefully to see if she needs some added clit play to balance out what I’m asking of her ass.
Her muscles clench a couple of times and release, and then I’m on a lubed slide all the way in, ass to hipbones, my cock glorying in the tight squeeze. The rest of me is focused on the woman I just invaded with next to no foreplay.
Her skin has a sheen again. She’s taking me, but it’s hard work.
I rock slowly, a half inch in and out, letting her body acclimate. Taking notes, because slow flight has all kinds of flavors, and she’s really responsive to this one. She likes knowing I’m doing a good job of judging what she can handle.
She might change her mind on that fairly soon.
