Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  “No. I’ve never been.” A hard-to-read expression crossed his face. “It’s a bucket list thing.”

  Her brows raised. “It’s only four hours from here.”

  “I know. More backstory. Let’s not worry about it tonight.”

  “I need the missing piece before I can sleep, or I won’t. Half a bedtime story just keeps me awake.” She let her fingers drift across his chest, moving up to tangle in his loose hair. “You’re handsome, you know. Really handsome.”

  “I’m knotty, like a brown stick with too much hair.”

  She laughed, as she was sure he intended, but she clung to the front of his T-shirt. “I don’t want to make you sad, but I want to know you. Will you finish the story?”

  He touched her face. Sighed. “Okay. If you show me your boobs.”

  “God, men are easy.” She tugged the covers down, flashed her bare breasts at him, then her laugh caught in her throat as he gripped her wrist to keep her from pulling the blankets back up. Leaning down, he breathed heated air over one nipple, watching it crinkle under the attention. She quivered as he played the tip of his tongue over the areola, curled around it, then gave it his whole mouth. The deep, easy suckling had her sighing, folding both arms around his shoulders. In her languorous state, the desire unfurling inside of her was like being in a sauna. All of her was so loose and relaxed. When he lifted his head, she tried to keep him close.

  “If you joined me under the covers,” she whispered, “You’d slide into me like a steam bath. All slick and easy. I don’t want you to spare me or let me rest, Des. I want you to have me as often as you want.”

  His eyes sharpened, as did the planes of his face, telling her the effect her words had on him. He loosened her arms, but his grip on her was urgent. “I want that to build, for both of us,” he said. “I used you hard, Julie. Trust your Dom. I know what you need. If I take you now, I won’t be gentle about it. Again.”

  She saw the truth in his eyes, which caused a tiny little shiver in her. “If you think that makes me want you any less, it’s the wrong tactic.”

  His lips twisted ruefully. “I know. It’s why you’re like a drug. One of the reasons. Go to sleep.”

  “Finish the story first. Please.”

  He relented, though she noticed he shifted his gaze back to the shower curtain, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable. It was something people did when it was easier to pretend they were telling a story, rather than being the story themselves.

  “When my mother took off from the hospital, she left behind a postcard of the ocean for me. Cherry Grove, North Myrtle Beach. It had four words on the back. ‘Sorry. This is better.’ I threw the damn thing away about a million times growing up. Every time, Betty would fish it from the trash and hold onto it until I regretted it and wanted it back. I guess I always counted on that, since I never threw it away where she couldn’t get to it. I did tear it into three pieces once, and she taped them back together.”

  He tilted his head back and forth as if he was releasing tension in his neck. He was sitting up again, so she couldn’t reach high enough to massage the area, but she did stroke the leg he had bent on the bed next to her. “Then one day Betty said: ‘Maybe instead of focusing on what’s on the back, focus on what’s on the front. Your mother must have liked the ocean.’ That message stuck with me. I could focus on the dark side or the light. Focusing on the dark brought me nothing. When I focused on the light, I found I liked seagulls.”

  “I like seagulls, too. Maybe we could go to the beach together one weekend. I bet I could make a better sandcastle than you.”

  “I bet you couldn’t.”

  “You’re on. Loser has to paint the other’s toenails.”

  “I prefer passion pink,” he said seriously. He tugged the covers up again, with a last gratifying, lingering look at her breasts before he brushed her lips with his. “Go to sleep, crazy, gorgeous woman. So I can fuck you all over again.”

  Julie slowly became aware of her surroundings. It wasn’t quite dawn, but thanks to the glow of an outdoor light on the property, she had enough light that the furniture was silhouetted in the living room. Des had eventually come to bed, so they could sleep with comfortably tangled limbs, but he was no longer in the bed with her. He wasn’t far away, though. He was bent over her, looping rope around her wrists. Her heart and libido gave a simultaneous leap, making her twitch restlessly. He made a quelling noise, gentle but firm. Then he resumed the humming that had brought her so agreeably back to the surface.

  It took a moment to figure out the slow-beat song with his off-tune cadence, but when she did, it gave her heart a little twist. “Oh Girl”, by the Chi-Lites. She didn’t think Des had chosen it lightly. Oh girl, I’d be in trouble if you left me now… how I depend on you…

  “Making sure I can’t leave?” she said.

  She was on her side, her hands curled together like an infant in the womb. When she'd fallen asleep, Des had been flush against her, cradling her body inside the shelter of his, that spooning sensation that was the universally acknowledged best part of having someone in your bed. When the person was special, beginning to mean something, it was almost better than sex. Which with Des was saying something, since sex with him basically realigned her solar system.

  She'd experienced just the opposite a few times, having sex with a guy and afterward just wanting him to go away so she could forget the mistake that had led to that decision. Spooning with someone in those circumstances was like being trapped together in a well where the water depth promised death by drowning.

  Drowning with Des was a decidedly better experience. With him she became a mermaid, able to breathe underwater and see all the wonders of the deepest levels of the ocean.

  My, hadn’t she woken in a poetic frame of mind? She was also fast moving toward arousal, thanks to her Master’s expert touch. She was still naked, and suddenly even more aware of it with her wrists tied. He was wrapping rope around her thighs, attaching her bound wrists to them with a short length so that her hands had to stay below her navel. Now he'd moved down to execute a loose figure eight wrap around her ankles. He overlapped her feet so her ankle bones weren't rubbing together.

  The wrists-to-thigh tether also kept her knees pulled up to waist level, as if she were sitting in a chair, only lying on her side.

  "Des."

  He lithely moved over her body, settling in behind her, and she drew in a breath when he wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. Not a yank, but a firm tug that got her attention as he put his mouth over hers. He'd been chewing a piece of the cinnamon gum he favored, which made her self-conscious about morning breath, but he didn't seem put off by it. He curled his tongue around hers, stroking her with cinnamon heat and delving deep, his hand cradling her jaw as he pressed a turgid cock against her bare ass.

  "Hate to waste a morning hard-on," he muttered against her mouth. "Especially when I've got a tight, warm pussy for it first thing. Like going down the rabbit hole to pure mind-blowing fucking bliss, all before breakfast."

  He made an adjustment, tightening the rope around her thighs, and she made a small noise of discomfort. "More or less?" he asked, his breath along her cheek.

  With the constriction had come a throb of need that settled between her legs. How did he do that to her? Or was it already in her, and he’d merely revealed it, opening all the paths not taken but suddenly so appealing? Down the rabbit hole was the perfect way to describe it.

  "More," she whispered.

  "Good girl," he said, his approval and pleasure obvious. He adjusted it, let the rope bite into her skin. "That'll leave a pretty mark. Now be quiet, because I want to concentrate on fucking you."

  He guided his cock into her slow, working his way forward. Though he'd introduced pain into the restraints, he didn't rush or force himself into her tender folds, so as he made his way into the channel his ropes had constricted into an even tighter fit, his penetration was all the more excruciatingly pleasurable. Her c
unt contracted on him and she moaned, her wrists flexing in the bonds, forearms jerking against the length of rope holding them to her thighs, a reminder that she had to stay in this position because that was how he'd bound her.

  "Fucking heaven," he groaned, gripping her buttock in one strong hand. "Gorgeous round ass, tight pussy, and this…”

  Both hands slipped in front of her to cradle her breasts, fingers finding sensitive nipples to pluck, pinch and play. She writhed, crying out in involuntary reaction, the sensations shooting through her like starbursts. "Gorgeous tits. Firm and full and fucking God…"

  "Des," she pleaded, though she had no clue for what, since her body was being stormed, invaded, overwhelmed, conquered. All she wanted and needed was more of the same feeling.

  "Suck it up, love," he said mercilessly, his voice a caress. "You're taking everything I want to do to you this morning. I want you sore inside and out, hoarse from screaming, and wearing a mile-wide grin thinking of me taking you like this. I’m reinforcing the lesson we went over last night. You’re mine. The only woman I want."

  He was all the way to the balls now. He dropped his hold to her hips as he began to thrust, making it clear her purpose was to service his need, his thick, pounding need. Her pussy spasmed, but without the clitoral stimulation, the response built and built, holding her on that edge. He was hammering another lesson home. He would let her come when he was good and ready, when she was willing to abandon all dignity and beg for it.

  It kept scaring her, the way he did this. She told herself over and over it was the whole hypnotic, addictive power of BDSM dynamics, which could captivate like a siren while meaning nothing. But it didn’t feel like nothing. Not in the slightest. And he was telling her in no uncertain terms that it didn’t feel like nothing to him, either. He was pulling her so deeply into him, she couldn't, didn't want to say no. To anything.

  When he released, she shrieked at the sensation, so near climax but not quite there. He flooded her inside and she felt the seed trickling out around his length and against her labia. Curving himself tight around her, he recaptured her breasts, teeth scraping her neck. She was so needy, ready to beg, but he chose to be merciful.

  "Your turn, baby," he said. He lengthened the tether between thighs and wrists and turned her so she was on her elbows, her body still coupled together with rope so her ass was in the air. He steadied her on her bound knees. Wrapping an additional rope around her wrists, he looped it over her neck and cinched it down so her forehead couldn’t lift more than an inch or two from her knuckles.

  "Des…" She kept speaking his name, and only his name, but each time she uttered it possessed a wealth of different meanings. The climax was so close, but other things as well, a panic roaring up. Trembling had become shaking. She'd been alone for too long, and he took away every shield, every stitch of emotional clothing when he did all of this. She did believe him, she did, but a betrayal by him would literally kill her.

  She couldn't put that on him. Things were closing in, she needed to get loose, she needed to stay this way forever, she needed a climax…she needed him, in every definition of the word "need" there was.

  "Help…"

  "Hey…. Sshh…" He was over her, covering her, his hand cupped over the top of her head, and that gesture alone helped. It said, I'm here, I've got you. You're under my protection.

  He banded his lean, strong arm around her waist and molded himself against her hips. He was still semi erect, and he reached back to guide himself into her again, her tight fit making it possible to hold him, even when he wasn’t at full mast. "See, love? I'm right here. Calm down. Just breathe."

  She breathed, pressed her head to her hands and felt his body thrumming with life against and inside her. It was okay. She was okay.

  He felt the shift, murmured his approval. Then he was sliding from her, his palm stroking along her spine as he moved behind her, bent and put his mouth on her cunt, framed by her bound thighs. He plunged his tongue in deep to eat her pussy. He attended to it with the same thoroughness with which he kissed her, taking her over, taking his time, tasting her fully. Sucking on the swollen tissues, he lapped at the moist pockets of her thighs, then put his mouth over her clit to massage it with his lips while his tongue darted back into her cunt to lick and play, swirl and stab.

  He had his arm banded around her thighs to hold her up, because balance disappeared as the orgasm seized her. It was on the upward rise when the intensity of it wrested the first scream from her, and that cry built into shrieks, a composition of yearning, strident notes as he kept going down on her. He relentlessly took her past sanity, the longest roller coaster she’d ever experienced. She clawed the sheets with her restricted range and sobbed over the screams. Her body shuddered, pulling so the ropes bit into her thighs with a burning ache.

  As she was coming down, he slammed his cock into her again, her response obviously having accelerated his recuperation time. He was the best combination of selfishly demanding and generously giving lover she'd ever had. Her cries became animal noises, grunts and guttural whimpers as his hips pounded her ass, testicles slapping her clit. He kept her there until he'd come again, and then he flipped her over, held her knees to her chest with one capable hand on the back of her thighs. He sucked on her clit until he wrested another intense, almost painful orgasm out of her.

  At the end of that one, she was a mindless mess. Even the aftershocks had the same intensity as a climax.

  He was speaking to her in that calming tone again, though she heard an erratic note that told her he’d been as affected by what had just happened as she was. But he would take control, take care of her, because that was part of what drove him, as much as her surrender to him was driven by her own deepest needs.

  He loosened the rope over her neck and removed the tether between her wrists and thighs. When he took off the wraps around her thighs, he soothed the abrasions he'd deliberately put upon her. After wrapping her up in a blanket, he shifted to hold her against him. Both of them reclined on the bed, his head bent over hers, arms sure and strong around her. She clung to his forearms over her chest, twitched and jerked, made little noises he answered with peaceful crooning, holding her even closer. Since her body kept convulsing, she wondered if some of her neurons had shorted out.

  "It's all right," he said, many times, in different ways. He spread kisses over her jaw, her throat, her lips. He stroked her body, long, soothing passes that helped bring her back to earth. She realized he'd left her wrists bound, and her fingers were curled in the blanket.

  "It helps with the aftercare, to leave at least one restraint on," he said, noticing her awareness. "For some subs in particular, like you."

  It spotlighted that this was a normal thing for him, rocking some woman's universe. Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Did she think he’d done his wedding dress routine with every sub? She wasn’t going to require him to reassure her over and over again about something he’d made clear. It was her problem to figure out how to trust, how to get past a bunch of baggage from past assholes. She wasn’t going to make him responsible for unpacking all that debris and incinerating the suitcases.

  “You remember what I told you?” he asked. “That I’m not much into the whole call me Master or Sir thing?”

  Had she called him that in her passion? She wouldn’t be surprised, but had it bothered him? He squeezed her, dissipating her sudden tension. He untied her wrists but kept one, putting his mouth on her pulse, then her forearm, the crook of her elbow, tickling her biceps with his morning beard, an intimate reminder that he'd spent the night with her in his bed.

  When he shifted to her throat, releasing her wrist, she gripped his arm over her chest, holding on as tingles shot through her, up, down, spiraling, somersaulting in her heart, stomach, loins.

  He cupped the side of her throat, holding her fast, letting her feel the pressure of his callused palm against her frantic pulse. Then his mouth was against her ear.

  "Just because I do
n't tell you to call me that, doesn't mean that's not what I am. Right?"

  "Yes." She breathed it, closed her eyes. "God, yes.”

  He drew back, caressing her as he did, and pressed another kiss to the top of her head. "You don't have to call me that, either."

  She snuffled over a part chuckle, part sob, and hit him with a half-hearted fist. He chided her with a tsking noise, recaptured and kissed it. He sobered, though, touching her cheek and drawing her eyes to his face. “I know you’ve been hurt, love. I can tell you’re having a hard time letting go of the shields, no matter what assurance I give you. I get it. We’ve known each other what, less than a month?”

  She grimaced. “I really want to, but…”

  He shook his head, silencing her. “It doesn’t have to happen all at once. That’s the journey, and what makes it so nice. We can take our time.” He rubbed his thumb on her lips, seeming to enjoy their swollen fullness in the aftermath of their passionate kisses.

  “This is new for me, too,” he said. “I don’t want to rush a fucking minute of it. I love the way I feel when I’m with you, though I’m surprised you’re not running away screaming.”

  She tipped back her head. “Why would I?”

  His brown eyes took on a leonine golden cast. “Because the more time I spend around you, the more I want. It’s a good thing we both work such hellacious hours, else you would have already figured it out.” He shifted her so she was on her back and he was leaning over her, his expression even more potent. “I want to devour you, love. Tie you up in a million different ways. I’ve seen the ways women’s bodies, minds and souls respond to what I can do to them with my rope. It never occurred to me I could find a million different experiences with one woman, but when I look at you, I get so many ideas I have to write them down so I don’t forget a single one of them.”