The bed rose and she heard Mathieu’s feet on the floor.
“Let’s get rid of these,” Mathieu muttered.
Hands grasped her panties, and in a move so fast she couldn’t protest, he whisked her underwear down her legs.
Lisette gasped and squeezed her thighs together, all thoughts of the ice forgotten. Had he really just...? Yes, yes he had. Her brain stalled, hung up on losing that one bit of fabric. She wasn’t modest about being seen naked. After any time spent in a dungeon around every shape and color of human beings without a stitch on, a girl lost her inhibitions pretty quickly. But those panties, however flimsy an excuse, had remained a small barrier between them.
Mathieu grasped her right ankle and pulled her leg toward the corner of the mattress.
“No,” she wailed, even as he manhandled her leg into place.
Her body betrayed her. The pit of her stomach grew warm, her sex relaxed and arousal softened her body, despite ice cubes sliding down her stomach and between her and the towels.
He bound her ankle as he had her wrists, though she seemed to have more slack. She kept her thighs tightly together.
Would he recognize how turned on he made her? It was easy to hide when she wasn’t laid bare, but nothing would stand between them now.
A warm hand wrapped around her left ankle and he pulled her legs open so that she was spread eagle on the bed.
Her heart hammered in her chest, blood rushing past her ears. She was grateful to her rope-blindfold for protecting her from this moment.
chapter Ten
Release
Mathieu stood at the foot of the bed, rooted to the spot. He didn’t know if this was a great idea, or the worst yet, but he needed a moment to get himself in hand.
Hands, his cock, her. . .
He shut the door on that thought as his gaze traveled up her body.
Candlelight and a bedside lamp provided the only illumination, but it was more than enough.
For the first time since they began, Lisette lay perfectly still, her golden hair laid out on the pillow, some of it bunching up because of the ropes, but it only made her appear more under his spell. The muscles in her arms were tense, the tendons above her elbow sticking out as she gripped the tether going from her wrists to the bed. Ice had meandered down her ribs and onto her stomach, mostly half-melted by now. The washrag hid one breast from view, but the other was a tight, pale pink tip. Gooseflesh peppered her stomach and water pooled in her bellybutton. He dragged his gaze down lower, to her mound. She’d kept the small patch of hair natural, but neatly trimmed down.
His hands trembled with the rush of desire and power coursing through his system. Having a woman at his command was a powerful drug. He’d forgotten the siren song until her.
Mathieu forced himself to move, circling the bed to sit at her right, nearest the lamp. Her swift intake of breath as he sat was all the communication he needed to discern that she was his to play with.
Using his fingertips, he moved one of the melting ice slivers from her stomach to the exposed breast, circling the swell and slope until he reached the tip. He held the ice there until she hissed and squirmed a little. Bit by bit, the frozen barrier melted until his chilled fingertips rested against her puckered flesh.
He squeezed the nipple and she groaned through her teeth.
He pulled the washrag down to cover her stomach and took another mostly melted piece and repeated the same attention to her other breast. Her helpless sounds grew in volume and she continued to wiggle, but bound as she was, there wasn’t far for her to go.
“I don’t think you’re going to like this very much,” he said as he rose and adjusted his growing erection. Play was sensual, arousing. It wasn’t the first time Lisette had turned him on, and it wouldn’t be the last. Their boundary was no penetrating sex and it was a line he wouldn’t cross. Everything else was fair game.
“I don’t think I like you very much right now,” she said through her teeth.
He laughed because he didn’t believe a word of it. Oh, she might not like the ice, but she enjoyed play.
Mathieu knelt on the foot of the bed and without touching her—he wanted to keep the element of suspense—placed his bundle of ice cubs against the apex of her thighs.
Lisette’s body arched and she let out a strangled cry.
“Holy fucking...get that away from me.” She pulled against the ropes binding her ankles, but he hadn’t given her that much slack. “Mathieu!”
“Cold, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Fuck!”
He pulled a cube of ice out of the washcloth, dripping with the melted water, and traced her labia with it. Briefly he wondered what inserting ice into her vagina would feel like. Not very good, he imagined.
Lisette whimpered and continued to shift her hips, pull against the ropes, but she never once made him think he was pushing her limits.
Water droplets ran down his hand and onto the bedspread. He hadn’t thought this through very well, but what were a few wet spots anyway?
The ice he’d placed on her chest was almost gone, so he dropped a few more cubes on her stomach and chest, unconcerned if they traveled elsewhere. He returned to her pussy, a few cubes on reserve, and placed a new one against the little hooded nub.
“Oh my—God!” Lisette’s jaw dropped, and her face tensed, as if she were screaming without sound.
He suppressed his chuckle and took the two remaining cubs and held them to the inner juncture of either thigh. It took all his fingers to accomplish this feat, which also put his attention completely on her sex.
Mathieu wanted to lie to himself. He wanted to say there’d been enough women in the last eight years to let the memory of her fade, but that was a lie. Lisette was special, what they’d shared dynamic.
Her struggling tapered off until she lay spent.
Too bad this was only the beginning.
Mathieu slid off the bed without further caressing her. Doing that would be too much for him. He was walking a fine line as it was.
He took two of the tea lights and blew out the fire, leaving a little pool of melted wax. Padding to the side of the bed, he bit his lip. She had her head tilted to the side listening for him, her brow scrunched up probably because she couldn’t quite find him.
Mathieu upended the silver saucers and poured two streams of warm wax onto her distended nipples.
Lisette didn’t cry out. She screamed.
The neighbors had to have heard that, and he didn’t really care.
“Oh my God, that’s hot.” She gasped and her chest heaved. The wax dried over her breasts and in rivulets running down her the sides of her ribs.
He chuckled and returned to his line of candles and tea lights. Carefully he filled the flat of his hand with as many of the little silver saucers as he could, blowing out the flames as he went.
“You’re a sadist, aren’t you?” Lisette asked.
“Not particularly, but it’s fun to watch you squirm.” He turned as she shifted, pulling against her bonds again.
The sight of her naked body, writhing and bound, the possibilities threatened to short-circuit his control. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t want to be inside of her again. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and circle to the other side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” She tracked his movements again by sound, head tilted to the side.
“Nothing much.”
He poured one saucer of wax directly between her breasts and watched the wax rush towards her collarbone, turning solid as it went. She hissed and arched her back a bit more, thrusting her chest up.
The next saucers he poured at the juncture of either thigh, careful to avoid wax in her pubic hair and too close to her vagina. She whimpered and kicked her legs, but it didn’t deter him. The next went over her stomach, in her belly button and across her lower ribs. Her feet moved restlessly and her protests turned to little mews when the wax k
issed her skin, warming it and turning it a bright red for a moment.
The last two saucers had a purpose. He sat on the edge of the bed and upended them over her already wax-covered breasts. Her jaw dropped open and she sucked in a breath of air. Something close to a moan escaped her lips. He tossed the saucers on the bedside table and squeezed the puckered nipples between his fingers.
Lisette’s back came off the bed and her moan sang in his ears. He rolled the peaks between his fingers, grinning at her response. While he’d begun tormenting her, and the first splash of wax probably hadn’t been pleasant, her body was now hypersensitive. Her response was beautiful in the wide range of gasps, moans and little helpless sounds she made.
He coasted his hands down her body, using them to warm and tease her where the wax had not. Flakes of wax broke away, clinging to his hands and falling on the comforter. Her hips twisted and she never stopped moving. He gently brushed the crumbling wax from her thighs, but didn’t dare do more.
Mathieu rose from the bed and she whimpered. He paused, a word of comfort on his tongue. He wasn’t leaving her, but she didn’t need to know that. If he’d learned anything about playing with Lisette so far, she plunged off the deep end of subspace. Words were beyond her, and the biggest sexual organ in play was her brain.
He retreated to the bathroom and washed his hands thoroughly, scrubbing at the creases until he was certain not a trace of wax remained. He gathered a second washrag, but this one he ran under warm water and took back to the foot of the bed. Again he steeled himself against what he wanted and focused on what would complete the scene. His submissive’s needs were more important.
Gently, he began removing the wax from the apex of her thighs, brushing it away, clearing the area. She whimpered and lifted her hips more than once. Were she his, this would be the point when he’d take her, thrust into her tight heat and fuck her lights out, and he had no doubt they would both enjoy it. But there was no reason one of them couldn’t get off, was there?
Mathieu blew a breath across her pussy. Her hips lifted in offering and a hiss escaped her lips. He spread her labia and again blew across her sex. Her answering whimper, digging her heels into the bed, said all he needed to hear.
He thrust his index finger into her pussy and swallowed his answering groan. She was wet. Her internal muscles constricted around him, drawing him deeper into her heat. He withdrew and thrust again, setting a steady rhythm, her arousal coating his hand. It was too easy to imagine it was his cock and not his finger pleasuring her. But then they’d be face to face and he’d catch every swift intake of breath, little mewl and muttered word.
He added another finger, and her cries became more intense. He flicked her clit with his thumb and continued to piston in and out of her pussy, watching the way her body undulated and her breasts jiggled as she moved. She found the counter-rhythm and began working with him, fucking herself on his hand.
For a moment his pace faltered. She wasn’t entirely the woman he remembered. There was no shyness in her anymore. She was brazen and straightforward. He could really dig the changes.
He planted his other hand next to her hip and set a faster, harder rhythm. Her cries kicked up a notch, the pitch increasing. Outside the bedroom, Gator scratched at the door and whined.
Lisette’s body bowed upward and she let out a strangled cry as her internal muscles fluttered and clamped down on his fingers. He didn’t ease up, but continued, finger-fucking her through the orgasm until the tremors passed and she lay on the bed, completely spent.
He withdrew his hand and used the washrag to gently clean her vagina then his fingers. He took away the towels, and brushed away as much of the wax as he could, but some of it was hopelessly dried into his comforter. The ropes came next, and he took extra care in examining her wrists, looking for anywhere she’d rubbed herself raw.
Lisette blinked rapidly as the last coil of rope was removed. She bit her lip to keep from snatching it back. She wasn’t ready yet to return to reality, she wanted those moments back when his hand had felt like his cock and their labored breathing had been the only sounds in the room.
She wanted to cling to those make-believe moments in her head, savor them, because the reality was Mathieu wouldn’t kiss her now, he wouldn’t tell her he loved her like her dream concoction would have. With the blindfold it was so easy to create what she wanted, to cling to the dream of it. As much as he’d used it to fake her out and keep her on edge, she’d used it to create her fantasy.
“How you doing?” His voice curled around her, notes of pleasure in it. Since the lamp was behind him, she couldn’t make out his features, but she could guess he was smiling.
“Good.” Lie.
“Let’s get you under the blankets.” He started digging under the pillows for the edge of the comforter.
Lisette sat up, moving out of the way a bit. She wrapped an arm around her chest and squeezed her thighs together, feeling more exposed than just because her panties were gone. There was something about an orgasm that left her raw, and as much as she wanted Mathieu to take her in his arms for post-play aftercare, was that a good idea? She’d already acknowledged that her feelings for him had never gone away.
“Shit,” Mathieu said, punctuated by Gator scratching on the bedroom door again. “Gator, chill.”
“What?” She wasn’t in a place where she really cared what was wrong, but she needed out of her own head for a moment.
He stood, hands on his hips, the light elongating his features at this angle. “The wax went straight through the comforter and sheets.”
Lisette sputtered and laughed. “Really?”
She twisted to see for herself, and sure enough, there were two lines of wax on the sheets, which stood out distinctly from the wet spots around them.
“Let me get you settled on the couch for a few while I change this,” he said.
“Don’t be silly. I’m fine.” She scooted off the other side of the bed, thankful her things were nearby, and hurriedly pulled on what passed for her pajamas these days.
“This will just take a second.”
“Really, it’s fine.” She dropped her shirt in place and felt the better. The yoga pants and tank top weren’t much of a shield, but at least she wasn’t so exposed.
Mathieu had the now-ruined comforter on the floor at the foot of the bed and was struggling to get the sheets off. She grabbed her side of the bed and began helping, mostly to stave off the thoughts she could feel rolling around in the back of her head.
He’d said no sex, so she’d assumed that meant any sexual contact. She’d stuck to that line in the sand, but now it had been crossed, and she didn’t know if she could remain emotionally unattached. Mathieu stirred up all the desires she’d put on hold for a future with one man who was her lover, Dominant and friend. It was a tall order, but he was a tall man.
“I’m going to grab the bedding out of the closet in there.” He edged around the bed, scooping up the sheets and blankets as he went.
Lisette opened the bedroom door and Gator rushed in, ears perked up. He went first to her, sniffing her for some injury or harm. When he found none, he bee-lined after Mathieu. She busied herself gathering the bowl of ice, wet washrags and all the empty tea lights.
How did she feel about the orgasm?
In the moment, great.
After it?
Confused.
She couldn’t have what she wanted, not that she had any business doing anything but surviving until Seth was shipped out or caught in some way that no one could get him off the hook. A relationship with Mathieu wasn’t in the cards, and that could very well break her heart all over again.
While Mathieu gathered new sheets, she took the playthings to the kitchen. With such a small apartment they were constantly under each other’s feet, but the kitchen was her haven. She set the bowl on the counter and leaned back against the stove so she could watch through the buffet cut-out as Mathieu tossed new s
heets on the bed.
A tear slid down her cheek. Emotions always ran high post-play, and this was a charged situation. The man she possibly loved couldn’t love her in return, not until he wanted to.
The edge of subdrop loomed. Unlike subspace, which was wonderful and addictive, subdrop was the opposite. It was ugly and painful. The few times Lisette dropped, she’d become depressed and cried. It was a turmoil of negative emotions, not that much unlike what she was going through now.
Mathieu grabbed the blankets he’d been using on the couch and took the pile of linens into the bedroom. She hurriedly dumped the tea lights into the trash, put the bowl in the sink and laid the washrags out to dry before following him.
Together they made the bed, with Gator pacing from one side to the other, like some sentinel on duty. The poor dog probably thought she’d been murdered.
“There we go.” Mathieu turned the comforter and sheet down, patting the bed. “Climb in.”
Did she want to? It wasn’t like she had any other place to go.
She slid into the bed and he flipped the blankets over her. He left for a moment, and the rest of the lights in the apartment slowly went dark. She held her breath as his steps drew closer to the bedroom. He went to the other side and removed his jeans before turning off the lamp, plunging them into darkness while he slipped in beside her.
Gator joined them, lying across her feet as Mathieu drew her into his arms. Her heart quaked, wanting what he couldn’t give her.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
Awful.
“Okay.”
“Good.” He kissed her brow and hugged her closer.
With another partner, even one she didn’t have sex with, an orgasm was permissible. With Mathieu, it left her cut to the bone and raw. Why?
The answer stared her in the face.
Because her other partners were emotionally available to share in what she felt—the pleasure of an orgasm. Mathieu couldn’t feel for her, not how she needed him to. It was play without emotions, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
DutyBoundARe Page 12
