The Baby (The Boss #5)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Doing what? Continuing to have sexual relations as man and wife? Knowing each other biblically? I’d like to think so.” His bravado faltered a little. “That is, if you’d like to. I don’t know if anything has changed, now that we’re home—”

  “Nothing has changed.” We hadn’t exactly been burning up the sheets the way we used to, but at least our sex life had started to exist again while we were in Reykjavik. But what I wanted from him, I wasn’t sure he was ready to give.

  Even though I hadn’t said anything, Neil knew what was on my mind. He always had an uncanny knack for that. “Nothing has changed, but you’d like it to.”

  “No. No, honestly, I slept on my own for so long I’m just happy to have a body next to me.”

  “That’s very flattering, thank you,” he said dryly.

  I tilted my head up to look at him. “You know what I mean. You just worry about yourself, right now. You know, getting back into the swing of things, figuring out how this is all going to work from here out. Not killing yourself.”

  He grimaced. “Perhaps it’s slightly early to joke about that. I expected it from Rudy, but from you it feels a bit…sensitive.”

  Sophie, you dick. “Sorry. I have to learn how to deal with this, too. What I was trying to say is, don’t worry about the sex thing. If you want to do it, great. If you don’t want to do it, I can handle myself.”

  His hand slid up my back, to close over the back of my neck in a rough, possessive touch that turned my knees to jelly. “But you’d rather I handle you.”

  The voice he spoke with belonged to my Sir. To the man Neil would always be with me, though our real lives sometimes buried the dynamic. This was the side of my husband no one else saw, the side that was just for me, as my submission belonged solely to him.

  I turned to look him fully in the face. There was no way I would let this be misunderstood. “I love you. And I want you. I really do. I’ve missed that connection we have. I’ve missed belonging to you. But a lot of stuff has changed this year. We’re both different people. And, if one of us doesn’t want that type of relationship, we can’t force each other. I will always be yours, Sir. And I will always wait for you.”

  “A lot has changed,” he agreed. “But you will always belong to me, Sophie. And I will always want you.”

  My heart pounded just at the thought of it, and the pulse beat in my other, more intimate parts, too. “So…maybe we should make a date? Make an event out of it.”

  “I’d like to take you over my knee, right now, but you’re right. I think something of a celebration should be in order.” He grinned at me. “What do you say to tomorrow night?”

  “That soon?” I chewed my lip. “Okay. We’ll tell Mariposa we’re going on a date.”

  “And not to wait up.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “It’s going to be one of those nights, is it?”

  He nodded slowly. “In fact, I think we should have a full negotiation this evening. Just so we’re both on the same page about all the devious things I’m going to do to you.”

  Devious things, indeed.

  * * * *

  My heels clicked on the marble as I walked through the Pavillon. With only the natural light streaming through the windows, the place felt like a mausoleum, and I felt a stab of panic that whatever we’d had here was lost.

  I went to the rack of canes. We couldn’t use them today; they hadn’t been oiled or tended to in so long, I wondered if we would have to buy new ones. Still, I trailed my fingers over the instruments. My sheer ecru lace and silk gown caressed my bare calves with every step. I closed my eyes, feeling along the curves of the ornately carved handle of one cane. I summoned the memories I had shut out during my last visit here, painting pictures from sights and sounds and tastes I’d experienced. And pain. Beautiful, unbearable pain, that had made my knees give out and my throat go raw from screaming.

  Images rushed back to me—my Sir’s hand clenching around my wrists high above my head. His cruel smile as I lay on the cold marble floor, bruised and weeping, but ultimately so safe and loved that I cried not from pain or humiliation, but joy. I remembered the salt of sweat-drenched skin, mine and his. The taste of my own tears, the taste of myself on his cock.

  “Sophie.”

  Neil’s voice opened my eyes, and I turned. I hadn’t heard him enter. He’d been in the aftercare room, making sure nothing was missing. He came toward me, his shoes whispering against the floor.

  “S-sir.” The word felt strange in my mouth, now. Would the familiarity return? Would this even work?

  He saw the doubt on my face. He laid his palm on my cheek and brushed his thumb over my skin. Then, that hand slipped behind my neck and closed over my nape, bending my head back for his kiss.

  My mouth opened under his. The desperate sound I made didn’t really come from me, but from Sir’s submissive, locked away for too long. I melted against him, and an arm encircled my waist to haul me up against his chest. His lips moved across my cheek, and his hungry mouth closed over my ear lobe, just before he said, low, “This dress is very…bridal.”

  I leaned back just far enough to look him in the eye, meeting his sly humor with my own. “It’s Elie Saab.”

  “Ah.” He took it as a warning, his lips twitching into the half-smile I loved so much.

  “It’s last season.”

  My Sir returned with startling force, spinning me in his arms and pinning me to his chest, gripping the neckline of the lace front and jerking down, hard. The fabric bit into my shoulders, then released as the bodice gave way, rending under the force of Neil’s strong hands. I gasped as it fell around my ankles.

  “That isn’t the only beautiful thing I’ll ruin tonight,” he whispered against my ear.

  My sudden nakedness chilled my skin, but his words kindled fire beneath it. He stepped back, and I teetered on my feet. He walked away, calling, “This way, Sophie,” and turned to take a few backward steps as he specified, “Leave the heels on.”

  I followed him into the bedroom, to the impossibly huge bed made up beautifully with its mounds of pillows and silky sheets. Along the foot, he’d laid out a selection of toys that made my knees wobble. A flogger. A paddle. A ball gag, a coil of jute rope, a wireless wand vibe… None of these items were novel to our play; they were timeless classics.

  “I’m not sure I know, exactly, what I’d like to do to you tonight,” he said, walking slowly as he examined the tools he’d laid out. “Is anything off the table since we discussed this?”

  “No, Sir.” I meant it. We’d negotiated which acts we might possibly get up to, but I needed him so badly there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do. I’d told him as much, right before I’d spent the better part of an hour with his mouth between my thighs.

  He turned his head to hide his smile. “Is there anything you would particularly like?”

  “Yes. I want you to be rough. And relentless. I want you to make up for lost time.” My voice wobbled. “I want to be yours.”

  Without comment, he went to the ornate bedside table and opened the drawer. My breath caught as I glimpsed the black velvet bag in his hands. He untied the drawstring and gently shook the object inside loose.

  My collar.

  The huge diamonds wreathing it sparkled in the warm, dim light. The platinum shone like a mirror. He opened the clasp, an ingenious hidden latch that fit the collar into a perfect circle when closed. Every step he took toward me was too slow. I raised a hand to touch the hollow of my throat, before I even realized I’d moved.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Get on your knees, Sophie.”

  I did as he asked, a chill running down my spine in anticipation of the cold metal touching my skin.

  He held the collar before me, open, so that faint engraving inside was barely visible. “Read it.”

  I didn’t need to see it to know what it said. I licked my top lip, my nerves finally overcoming me. “Property of Neil Elwood.”

  He reached down an
d cupped my cheek, lifting my face to look him in the eye. “You are my property, Sophie. I own your mind, your body, every moan of pleasure and rush of desire. All mine.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I whispered. I got dizzy as he leaned down to fit the collar around my neck.

  “Lift up your hair.”

  I did, stifling a moan as his fingers brushed the nape of my neck.

  The heavy weight of the collar surprised me; I hadn’t worn it in so long. It was only on a second before my body remembered the feeling, and its response to it. My mind, however, fell under its spell immediately. No matter how long it had been, I recognized the contentment of possession, of belonging to someone because I’d given myself freely. And, in an instant, we were who I needed us to be.

  He gave me his hand and ordered me to my feet, then led me to the bed. I saw the leather glove lying there, first in the row of tools, though there was no guarantee he would use them in the pattern he’d laid them. He picked up the glove, slid it onto his hand, then offered it to me like he was the Pope offering his ring. “Kiss it.”

  I pressed my lips to the cool black leather that would cause me so much pain, in just moments. The glove gave him distance from the impact, meaning he could spank me with his hand for longer. The leather made it sting more.

  “I want you over my knee,” he said, his voice deep, dripping with desire that I never usually heard when we played. He normally held himself as the epitome of detached control. But it had been too long, and he was struggling.

  He knew himself well enough to recognize that. “And, Sophie? Tonight, please use your safe words without hesitation. I know that you occasionally rely upon me to know your limitations, but I’m out of practice.”

  I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  So, I would have to keep my mind clearer tonight. Which was fine. We needed to ease back into this, no matter how desperately I wanted to let myself go completely.

  He helped me get into position over his lap. The trick was to not leave my torso supported solely by his legs, but to lay across him with most of my weight on the bed. That way I could breathe and stay comfortable for a longer spanking.

  Not that I was going to be comfortable tonight. He smoothed his gloved hand over my ass, squeezing each half in turn. His kneading fingers intensified the heavy, tight feeling in my cunt, and I squirmed.

  That earned me my first smack, a deliciously forceful slap that knocked a surprised, “Oh!” from my lips.

  “You’ll hold still,” he warned. “Is that perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Another slap, not as hard this time, but no less of a shock after going so long without this kind of contact. He’d had paddles and floggers on the bed, too. I wondered if those were just to scare me. He gave me another mild slap, and my hands instinctively flew back.

  That was a rookie mistake. The last thing you want to do when you’re getting spanked was to get your hands in the way. Neil wasn’t the only one out of practice.

  He grabbed my wrist and held it against the small of my back, and I moved the other to join it.

  “Should I tie you up?” he asked, both a threat and a real question.

  I shook my head. “No, Sir. I’ll be good.”

  “All right. I’ll trust you. But if you try again, I’ll have to bind you,” he growled, and I wondered if that had been his plan all along.

  This time when he slapped my ass, it was so hard I slipped on his lap. I shouted in pain, and my back arched. Another landed, and another.

  “I’ve missed this.” His voice was deep and hoarse as he rubbed his gloved hand over my burning skin. “How cherry red your ass gets. Marks or no marks tonight?”

  “Marks, Sir.” It was swimsuit season, but I had a pair of board shorts I could wear to cover my butt by the pool. My tan line would be uneven, but it would be worth it for the other lines I’d get.

  “Stand up,” he ordered. Once I was on my feet, he grabbed the back of my head and forced it down, bending me over the bed to push my cheek into the duvet. He peeled off his glove and held it in front of my face. “Again.”

  I licked my lips, then kissed it.

  “Good. Stay right there.”

  He’d positioned me so I faced the toy cabinet, and he strode there with purpose, opening the top doors and clicking on the light. He ran his fingers over the row of butt plugs, going from smaller to larger, back to smaller, then swooping over to grab the largest one.

  So, I knew what that meant.

  He came back and stepped behind me. A bottle of lube landed on the bed beside me.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t always get that.

  He chuckled, and his slippery fingers slid between my cheeks. “You were a very good girl.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” I murmured, grinding my pelvis against the edge of the mattress as he inserted the tip of one finger and slowly massaged around the rim of my ass.

  “Yellow?” I said. “I just wanted to remind you that it’s been a while.”

  “Don’t worry, I remember. I’ll be careful,” he promised. “Unless you’d rather not?”

  “No. I mean, no, I don’t want to rather not?” I laughed at my own clumsy words, from nerves more than anything. “I want you to fuck my ass, is what I’m saying. Sir.”

  He resumed the stroking with his finger, growing bolder, sliding in and not quite all the way out. With another squirt of lube, he slipped in a second finger, and I inhaled noisily.

  “Relax,” he growled. “If you can’t take this, you’ll be very sorry when I put my cock in.”

  Oh, god. Usually, the pain and weird feeling from anal—and no matter how much preparation we did, it always hurt for at least a few minutes—gave me cold chills and goosebumps, but just talking about it had brought them out. I forced myself to relax, which should have been an oxymoron, but it worked. It didn’t take him much time at all to loosen me up with his fingers before I felt another cold squirt of lube between my cheeks.

  The glass butt plug was the heaviest of our anal toys, and the weight not only forced me to clench tighter to keep it in, but it also exerted enough pressure near my opening that by the time Neil was ready to fuck my ass, I would be that much more loosened up. He was being gentle with me tonight, despite all the gruff talk; there had been times when he’d fucked me without anything more than a glob of spit to ease the way. The pain was incredible, but it was something better reserved for another time.

  He pushed the plug against my still resistant aperture, and the cool glass opened me wider and wider. I gritted my teeth, because every inch seemed like it should have been the last. When the bulbous bottom of the internal piece slid in, I stifled a cry of pain in the covers.

  He slapped my ass, hard. I squeezed around the slender neck of the plug, and the flared base uncomfortably pushed my cheeks apart.

  “Stay there. I’ll be back.”

  He left the room, probably to wash his hands. One thing he was fastidiously careful about was the transference of germs in anal play. When he returned, he was wiping his hands on a towel. He tossed it aside and stood looking at me, as though he were considering the next step.

  “I’ll never get over how beautiful you look bent over, open and dripping for me.”

  He was right; my pussy was slick, both from my arousal and the lube that had missed its mark and rolled down. Sir stood behind me and pressed his fingers to the opening of my cunt, barely dipping inside before sliding them down, over my clit.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, slowly stroking the broad tips of his fingers back and forth.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, my voice trembling.

  “Why do you like it?”

  “Because…I’m your filthy slut, Sir.” Demeaning words were a major turn on for me, though I knew that it was fully a matter of societal conditioning. It felt strangely powerful to self-apply them in play. “I’m your fucking whore.”

  He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. “Say it, again
.”

  “I’m a filthy whore.”

  He slapped my pussy, and I rose up on the balls of my feet, sobbing at the unexpected pain. “Again!”

  “I’m a filthy whore, Sir!”

  Another hard slap targeted my clit, and agony exploded through my lower body. The torturous sensation faded to a throb of renewed pleasure. I wanted him to do it again. I never wanted him to do it again. Either way, I couldn’t win.

  He did it again. Of course he did.

  “I want you to scream it, Sophie.” His hand tightened on my hair, and tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

  “I’m your filthy fucking whore, Sir!”

  He let go without warning, and my head lolled forward.

  “You’re not my whore,” he growled. “You’re my property.”

  I closed my eyes. Yes. That was what I wanted. To be nothing more than a toy to please him. To be powerless to him, with no opportunity to argue or object. I pushed the thought of my safe word to the back of my mind. He’d told me to use it, to know my own limits. Tonight, I didn’t want to know my own limits. I wanted to be utterly used.

  “And my property,” he continued, “doesn’t need to talk.”

  He went to the cabinet and carried back what I’d thought was a ball gag, until I saw the gleam of surgical grade steel.

  “And my property doesn’t need to close her mouth.”

  The claw gag consisted of four hooks on an elastic strap. The hooks had smooth steel balls on the ends of them, so they couldn’t puncture anything important. He slipped two past my lips, seating them at the corner of my mouth, then wrapped the band around the back of my head to place the others on the opposite side. The gag held my mouth wide open and vulnerable to anything he’d like to do to it.

  “Get on the bed. Hang your head over the side.”

  I climbed up, the weight of the plug shifting inside me as I positioned myself. I’d barely gotten comfortable, with my head tipped back over the edge, before he unzipped and pulled out his erect cock.

  “I’m going to fuck your throat, Sophie. Do you remember your signal?” he asked.

  I nodded.