Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)

by R. K. Lilley

  I felt her stiffen, and then, unbelievably, impertinently, she was kissing me, rubbing her tits against mine, and moaning into my mouth.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  FRANKIE

  I pulled her back, turning her until I was hugging her from behind, essentially forcing her to look at the stage. “What was that?” I asked her through my teeth.

  “I want you. I want to get you off. You never get off with me, and I want you to.”

  “Well, then, my sweet, watch the show. There is only one way to get me off, and if you’re interested in seeing what it is, it’s about to go down on that stage right now.”

  “Touch me,” she whispered, bringing my hands to her breasts. She was being completely impudent again, but I fondled her. She was getting a pass tonight. If anyone had a problem with it, they could talk to me. And of course, I loved her tits.

  “Don’t you ever wear a bra?” I said into her ear, pinching her nipples hard. Her little black dress was not the sort of thing you were supposed to go braless in, with a chest her size.

  She moaned and rubbed against me. “Not for you. I know you love to see them bouncing around. I’ve seen how it distracts you. I’m not wearing panties either. I wanted to give you easy access. I love it when you touch me.”

  I shushed her, because she was driving me wild, and because James had just pulled out a large flogger, showing the crowd. It was a heavy-duty cat o’nine, with braided tails that ended in small silver balls. Some hardcore shit.

  He said something to Jolene, his voice sharp, as I nuzzled into Estella’s neck, and Jolene responded in the affirmative, her voice pleading.

  “I love it when you call me your sweet,” Estella whispered, distracting me again. “It makes me feel pretty.”

  “You are pretty, you silly girl. So pretty it hurts.”

  “You really think so?” she asked, sounding downright ecstatic about it.

  She was distracted, we both were, by the loud sound of the flogger making contact with flesh.

  Estella gasped, and I brought one of my hands up to her neck, gripping, the other still kneading at a soft breast. “Watch,” I breathed into her ear.

  He struck again, and again, the sound startling and arousing. I glanced up at him briefly, watched his stark muscles playing across his back as he worked his sub over harshly. I’d seen it before. I wasn’t looking for me, but more wondering what Estella thought of him, how he moved her, how this moved her.

  James worked Jolene over with textbook accuracy, reddening her perfect little ass and thighs, using less force on her back and shoulders. He knew exactly where to strike and in what order. He was a pro.

  When he finally let up on Jolene, she was quivering and moaning loudly enough that he barked at her to be quiet.

  He acknowledged the crowd with the slightest lift of his brows as he undid his dark trousers, pulling out an impressive erection. The man certainly didn’t have stage fright.

  “Holy shit,” exclaimed Estella.

  “Yes, I know,” I said wryly. “He even has a perfect cock.”

  “He’s big…and very nicely shaped.”

  “He’s basically the most perfect man on the planet if you don’t mind a bit of pain,” I told her tonelessly. “He’s even a billionaire. Basically God’s gift to women.”

  He pulled a condom from his pocket, opening the packet and rolling it on with swift, economical movements. He didn’t bother to take off his pants as he moved back behind Jolene, gripping her neck and driving into her, flogger in hand, whipping hard at her hip as he fucked her.

  “I’m not sure I have that kind of a pain tolerance,” Estella said, her voice small and afraid.

  “The amount of pain you receive from your Dom is purely subjective. A good Dom will never give you more than you can handle. A good one will know how to read you. Jolene is a glutton for punishment. Those two are demonstrating an extreme, rather than what I would consider the norm.”

  “I’d like to try it, but maybe not with that whip he’s using. It looks very…harsh.”

  My heart tried to pound itself out of my chest. I couldn’t believe that she had watched that, and still wanted to try to please me. I’d been so certain it would scare her off. Her reaction was more than I could have hoped for. “As your Domme, you’d need to trust me to know what to use. I’d never start you out with something like that. I don’t need anything that extreme, either. Not ever. But I do need something. I’d probably begin with a riding crop, since that can be one of the softer ways to break you in.”

  “Okay. I’d like that. Can we try tonight?”

  I pinched her nipple hard enough to make her yelp. “You need to learn how to behave yourself. I’ve been spoiling you, when what you need to be learning is that I am the one in control here.”

  “Please, Frankie—“

  “Mistress Abelli.”

  “Please, Mistress Abelli, take control. Do whatever you want with me. Whatever you need. Whatever it takes to please you, because that’s what I want. I can’t stand the way it’s been, with only me enjoying our…encounters.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking,” I warned her.

  “I’ve seen it tonight, right? I think I do know. I want to be with you.”

  I began to kiss the side of her neck, one hand moving down, tugging up her dress until I found her hot core, fingering her.

  Jolene got really loud with her pleasure and, annoyed, I pulled my hand free. I didn’t want to get Estella off while we were listening to that. It would surely tarnish the beauty of it.

  I watched, my hands on her hips now, as James pulled out of Jolene, still hard.

  He untied her, pulling her to the front of the stage, then pushing her to her knees, in profile to their captive audience.

  “Open your mouth,” he told her, his tone indifferent. He was completely submerged in his Dom role, all of his emotions turned off.

  She opened wide, and he shoved himself down her throat. It was an impressive display. Jolene certainly had some oral talent.

  After an impressive amount of deep throating, James dragged himself out of her mouth, pulled off his condom, and promptly came all over her face.

  The small crowd burst into enthusiastic applause.

  He barely spared Jolene another glance as he tucked himself back into his pants, giving his audience a self-deprecating little smile, and a slight bow of his head.

  “That was…interesting.” Estella sounded as appalled as she was impressed. The money shot had perhaps taken her out of her comfort zone.

  “These demonstrations are generally…over the top. He was showing off, the hedonist.”

  “Do you do…demonstrations?”

  That had me studying her intently, because I thought I’d detected a hint of more than idle interest in the question. “I’ve had quite a few brushes with exhibitionism. Is that something that might interest you?”

  She chewed on her lip so hard that I raised my hand to her face, making her stop by tugging it out of her mouth. “It does, as long as no one else touches me.”

  I flushed, feeling more and more shitty about what had happened with Jolene and James, seeing for the first time that she had a keen sort of vulnerability about her.

  “I told you. That won’t happen again. I misread you. Badly.”

  “I only want you to touch me, but I want you to do it absolutely anywhere you like, in front of anyone you please.”

  I took a few deep breaths, then tugged her to the nearest vacant sofa. “Lie on your back, and put your hands above your head.”

  She obeyed, and I sat down at her hip, my hand rubbing her stomach through her dress. “Now, no matter what happens, who you feel watching us, I don’t want you looking at their faces. You understand? If you make eye contact with any of them, I’m going to punish you.”

  She cleared her throat, her eyes on my hand. “I understand, Mistress Abelli.”

  That was uncharacteristically proper for her, and I smiled. She was lea
rning.

  I inched her dress up over her hips, and then her chest. She was completely bare underneath.

  “Keep your hands where they are. If you move them, I’ll stop what I’m doing it. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress Abelli.”

  I moved down her body, parting her legs wide, fitting my shoulders between them.

  I ate her out, leisurely and thoroughly, teasing her until she moaned loud enough to draw the crowd.

  I felt someone hovering too close to us and then heard James speak, authority in his voice. “Don’t touch her. She belongs to Frankie.”

  “Oh, I apologize,” a very polite male voice responded. “I thought she was available.”

  “She’s not available now,” James replied, sounding amused. “And won’t be again, I’d wager.” He was nothing if not perceptive.

  “Well, she has magnificent tits,” the other man mused.

  I played her with my experienced tongue until she was begging me to make her come, pulling back to nuzzle her thigh every time I thought she was close. I was torturing her, a delicious sort of torture, the torture of unrequited passion. I wanted badly to tie her up, but I refused to do something to her in front of a crowd that we’d never even tried before in private.

  I didn’t let up until I heard a tiny sob escape her throat. Then I pulled back to look up at her. I climbed up her body until I was straddling her waist. I fondled her breasts and watched the tears trail down her face, her lush lips trembling, turned on by the sight.

  “Why are you crying, my sweet?” I asked her.

  “It’s too much, Mistress. I need…I need—“

  “To get off?”

  “Yes, I need it,” she sobbed.

  “Imagine how I feel, touching you like this. You think I don’t need to get off?”

  “Please do. Do it. Whatever you need to do to me. I want it.” Her lovely accent made the words into poetry.

  I patted her cheek, then wiped away each tear. “Later. Later I’ll take what I need from you. For now I’ll let you have your pleasure.” I climbed back down her body.

  When I finally let her come, she sobbed and keened, her body jerking.

  Our audience cheered enthusiastically.

  We were driving home in silence when Estella burst out with, “I don’t want you to share me. I want you to be mine, just mine, and moreover,” she swallowed, her accent noticeably thickening, “I want you to want me all for yourself. I don’t just want to be exclusive. I want you to want it as badly as I do.”

  “Well, if you’re bi—“

  “I’m not a confused little bi girl, Frankie. I haven’t been with a man since I was too young to know better. James, that man you made me kiss, is the first man to have his mouth on me since I was fifteen.”

  “You were looking at him like…”

  “He was lovely. Beauty is beauty, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him.”

  “Okay,” I allowed, not really believing her, not wanting to. I already felt too in over my head. “When you say you don’t want me to share you, does that mean you’d like to avoid the exhibitionism, as well? Was that too much for you?”

  Her hand slid over my thigh. “No, I don’t want to avoid that, and it wasn’t too much.”

  “Good. I’d have done more to you, but there are some things I’d like to try in private with you first. And yes, I’d very much like to become exclusive. I’ve wanted you to myself from the start, Estella.” I meant it, and I realized that I didn’t really have a choice but to try with her, even at the risk of being hurt. I was already in too deep.

  She was suddenly plastered to my side, nearly making me swerve off the road. She kissed my cheek, again and again, saying something fast in Portuguese and then in English, “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

  I pulled over, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing over her, until we were face to face. “Well, now you’ve done it, my sweet. We can’t go back now. I’m keeping you.” I kissed her, feeling happier than I could remember.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DANIKA

  “A surprise?” I asked him as he led me to his bedroom. We’d been apart for five days, but as always with our separations, it felt like longer.

  I gasped in delight as I saw the picture hanging above his bed.

  It had been taken on our wedding day. I was clutching my bouquet of white roses, wearing my little yellow dress. Tristan had his arm around me, and we were both grinning like fools.

  He’d blown it up and had it framed. He could be so sweet. The sweetest.

  “What a wonderful surprise!” I exclaimed.

  “That wasn’t the surprise,” he said into my ear. His tone alone made me shiver in delighted anticipation.

  I didn’t have to ask, as he was fitting a blindfold over my eyes. It had been a while since we’d played like this, and I’d found myself fixating on it when we were apart, fantasizing about it more than any of the other things we did.

  I held perfectly still as he stripped me down to nothing and took control.

  He pulled me to the bed, pushing me down onto my back. His hands were gentle but firm as he pulled my legs wide apart and began to tie both ankles to his bedposts. He kissed the arch of each foot when he was done, and moved on to my hands. He bound my wrists, then kissed the tip of every finger, making me shiver, my breasts tightening.

  He moved away and even through my blindfold, I could see the slight change when the light in the room was dimmed.

  I heard him light a match. Almost immediately, the sweet scent of almonds filled the air.

  The bed dipped as I felt him sit beside my hip, his hand going to my stomach, rubbing, kneading. I couldn’t help myself; I moaned.

  He fondled me. He stroked my thighs, rubbing close but staying just shy of my sex. He used his magic hands to play with my body, but only to tease, until I was gasping and begging him in short little breaths for more.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice thick with some emotion that’s root eluded me.

  “Yes,” I said without hesitation. Like this, under his hands, Tristan had taught me that he would always take care of me, pleasure me, satisfy me.

  Under his hands, I felt healed of all of the fear for this act that had once defined me. So when tied to his bed, yes, I trusted him implicitly.

  “Good,” he said, and moved away.

  He was gone for a few minutes, and the sweet almond scent became stronger, permeating the room in a delicious, invasive way.

  He came back, the bed dipping with his weight again, and he set something warm and metal onto my stomach.

  I gasped.

  He chuckled.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to show you.”

  The blindfold was secure, but I could see dancing light just bleeding through the bottom. He’d brought the candle close.

  I sucked in another hard gasp as I felt hot liquid dribble onto my collarbone. It didn’t hurt, but it was shocking.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “It’s hot wax.”

  I was trembling as I waited for him to do it again.

  It landed on my stomach that time, and I writhed, pulling against the restraints. It still wasn’t painful, just so intense I could hardly stand it.

  I moaned as he poured a few drops onto my inner thigh, my upper arm, the inside of my knee, alternating to the sensitive spots on my body, but avoiding all of the blatantly sexual ones.

  He trickled more wax onto my neck, my wrists, my open palms, and the tops of my feet.

  I panted, in a state.

  He dripped tiny amounts onto my fingers, my ankles, my hips, my ribs.

  I was close to begging for just one touch of his fingers.

  He drizzled just drops onto my knees, the bend of my arms, the valley between my breasts.

  “Please,” I uttered, wanting, needing anything beyond this delicious teasing game of his.

  His answer was to d
rip a generous amount onto my quivering breasts. I cried out. It still wasn’t a cry of pain, but one of want.

  He splashed some directly onto my pelvis, making my hips jerk, then circle in a plea.

  Finally, mercifully, he put his hands on me, rubbing the soft wax into my skin, massaging, caressing, squeezing, working.

  His hands were reverent, worshipful, devoted, loving; magic.

  When he finally moved on top of me, and pushed his hips between my thighs, I was primed.

  He buried himself to the hilt with one deep thrust. I’d already been on the edge, and I came, crying out, with a few heavy thrusts.

  He pulled out of me, and I moaned a protest, but he returned to me quickly.

  I stilled, listening intently as I heard the faintest buzzing sound from directly in front of me.

  He positioned himself at my entrance again, working himself in more slowly this time, but just as deep, and when he was buried, I felt what the buzzing sound had been. Some sort of vibrator that was attached to a cock ring, I assumed, because it left me as he pulled out, then made startling contact again when he was buried home, making direct and perfect contact with my clit.

  He was relentless, taking me over the edge again before he took his pleasure, spilling deep inside of me and staying buried deep for a long time, kissing my neck, my mouth, murmuring the sweetest things to me. “I love you, Danika. You being mine is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Yes. Yours. Every one of my heartbeats is for you. Every breath, Tristan.”

  “Oh, boo. You beautiful girl,” he groaned. “You’re giving me too much.” He trembled. “You’re spoiling me rotten.”

  “Every heartbeat. Every breath, Tristan. Yours.”

  After, as we lazed in the bath and scrubbed the excess wax off, he asked me, “Did you like that?”

  “Yes. I’d have guessed that it would hurt more.”

  “It’s a low temperature candle, very soft wax. I know you don’t like pain, so I thought it would be a good balance. Frankie suggested it.”

  “And what about the other?”

  “The vibrating cock ring?” His grin was a wicked white flash of teeth. “That one was my idea.”