by W. Winters
The pounding of adrenaline in my blood causes it to heat and I swear I feel that pulse between my thighs the most.
With the belt folded in his hand, he turns his back to me before dragging the lone chair from my vanity to the end of the bed, placing it there and taking a seat.
He’s far too large for the dainty thing. His brooding stature takes it over.
“I apologize,” I say, answering him the only way I know how.
“Good girl,” he whispers with a sexed-up grin.
“Edging is what I would typically do in this situation, but—”
“Edging?”
“Orgasm denial for a few hours,” he says and leans back, more casual than he was a moment ago. His thumb runs down the stubble of his jaw as he adds, “Until I’m satisfied you’ve been punished.”
Heat simmers along my skin with the threat. James did that before. It wasn’t for hours and I cussed him out during. I vaguely remember being on the verge of tears when he finally let me get mine, then he fucked me into the mattress while telling me how much he loved me.
With my heart in my throat, I whisper, “It’s what you would do normally … but?”
“But I found what you did made me hard as fuck, so I’ll be rewarding you instead.”
The blush that rises through me, from the tips of my toes all the way up to the crown of my head, is heated and proof I’m eager for more.
“There’s—” I hesitate, my knuckles going white as I stare down at them, biting my tongue.
“Say it,” Zander’s voice is calm but I still can’t bring myself to look up at him, the memory that begged to be spoken playing in my mind.
“Tell me right now.” His tone is hardened and my gaze whips to his.
“I don’t love the pain.” I whisper the confession before swallowing.
His emerald and amber gaze is assessing, and the concern in his expression is apparent with the wrinkles that form around his eyes and his downturned lips.
Swallowing thickly I add, “James had a friend once.” It’s only once his name is spoken that I realize how easily I’ve mentioned my late husband. My lover. The only man who I’ve given everything to. It doesn’t feel like the betrayal I imagined it would. It feels like he’s given me permission. Like I’m supposed to tell Zander.
“When we were playing and learning things … he had a friend who asked questions. Most of them I didn’t really pay attention to.” That night was exceptional and a sigh leaves me at the memory, but the warmth that leaves means a chill settles inside of me. Picking at an imperceptible loose thread on the sheet, I peek up at Zander. “We were learning punishments and when James said I was a brat, that I pushed him to be punished, his friend asked if I loved the pain.” Shaking my head comes without conscious consent. “I don’t like it … not like his submissive did.”
Since Zander’s come in and seated himself in the chair in front of me, the sun has begun to set and the warm hues seep into the curtains behind him. With the light dimmed, shadows play along his sharp features.
He nods once before commanding me, “Strip. Down to nothing.”
I don’t expect the embarrassment. With my fingers fumbling at the hem of my silk pajamas, I can’t even look him in the eyes. Of everything I thought I would feel confiding in Zander, embarrassment isn’t one of them. It’s quickly relieved when he tells me, “I’m not a sadist, Ella. I don’t love the pain either and I already knew you weren’t a masochist.”
My heart thuds in a way that denies the space between us, like it doesn’t exist. A different kind of heat takes over as he stares into my gaze, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand and tells me, “I want you naked with your heels on the mattress, legs bent and spread, so I can taste you.”
With trembling hands I comply to his every wish, not sure if this is the punishment, the reward, or some kind of concoction of the two of them swirled together.
My hair cascades and spreads like a halo around me, my chest rising and falling as I stare above at the chandelier. At the details of the natural, untreated wood and the elegant curves of the iron that shape the sphere.
My eyes only close when the bed dips and groans, and then the warmth of Zander’s breath tickles my inner thigh. With his lips pressed against my skin I feel him smile as I shiver.
Looking down my body, I watch as he leaves an openmouthed kiss, teasing me. With one hand, he holds my hip, and with the other, he reaches up and plucks a nipple between his pointer and thumb. Almost carelessly, even though the sensation is directly linked to my clit.
The breath of a moan he elicits only makes me hotter. He nips at my thigh, not hard but enough that my body bucks in response. He doesn’t keep me steady; he could have held me down and we both know it.
“You need to keep still,” he warns, his eyes darkening. There’s a heat that resonates between us, ignited from the intensity in his gaze. I only nod, barely breathing, until he catches my nipple between his fingers, rolling it. The sensation is hot yet there’s a pain that comes with it.
I moan my agreement, telling him, “I’ll keep still.” He releases me instantly, and doesn’t hesitate to drop his tongue to my slit. Taking a languid lick, he groans deep from within his chest. The rumble brings a vibration that carries to his lips.
My head falls back and I let my eyes close, focused on keeping myself still. My fingernails dig into the sheets, scratching as I tighten my grip. I want nothing more than to run them through his hair, to keep him still instead of me, to rock myself against his tongue.
A gasp escapes and I’m forced to look down at him as his tongue dives into my heat. He drags himself back up and then sucks my clit. My lips form a perfect O and I can’t breathe as he causes a heat to dance along every nerve ending in my body. I’m cold all at once, my body refusing to move until the fire engulfs me and a cry of pleasure is torn from me. My back bows slightly, my shoulders digging into the mattress.
The pool of pleasure deep in my belly spreads slowly, outward and toward my limbs. His next statement catches me off guard. It’s the demand, the threat that lies there when he says, “Keep your ass down or I’ll tie you down.”
I don’t have a moment to respond before he presses his thumb against my throbbing clit, mercilessly rubbing as two of his thick fingers enter me.
With my teeth clenched, I force out profanity as he fucks me, his fingers curled so every stroke hits the wall where that bundle of sensitive nerves lies. He’s relentless, near brutal as goosebumps spread along my skin.
It’s beyond impossible to stay still. My legs tremble and before I can get out an apology or an excuse, Zander keeps me trapped in his gaze as he plants a kiss on my quivering thigh.
It takes everything I have to remain motionless and obey. My body begs to buck as the pleasure builds. It carries me higher and higher and I whisper, as if the single letter is a plea, “Z.”
Adding in a third, he finger fucks me harder and without any mercy.
“Fuck!” I cry out, my body instinctively attempting to escape the threat of my impending climax.
It hits me just as Zander squeezes my breast. He’s not gentle and the hint of pain only adds to the overwhelming pleasure. A cold sweat covers my body as the waves run through me.
My inhale is staggered as I attempt to retake my place and then I’m paralyzed by his next action.
He works his fourth finger in me, stretching me with a sweet, stinging pain. The pleasure lingers and feels especially present between my legs where it’s far more tender.
“Good girl, taking what I give you.” His groan of approval brings more heat. “I want to give you more.”
“More?” I can barely breathe at hearing the word, already overwhelmed and stretched and full.
“Be a good girl, Ella. I want to see how much you can take.” He plants a small kiss just beneath my belly button.
His fist? “Are you—fuck!” My neck arches as I scream out, loving the mix of pleasure and pain and feeling this … taken.
It’s all too much. I’m too hot, the pleasure building again, far more this time, taking me higher, to a place where I know the fall will destroy me after it’s taken me.
My throat feels raw, the safe word hovering, threatening to be spoken. I feel full, tight, ready to split. A shiver rides up my shoulders just as I feel him press the tip of his thumb in and I can’t take it.
I can’t take any more. I’m so close once again. Too close. Too full.
“It’s too much,” I try to speak, but the words are incoherent. “Pink. Pink,” I say and struggle, my head pressed firmly to the pillow, my body still shaking. All at once, I’m empty and cold.
“I’ve got you.” Zander’s voice is steadying as I roll onto my side. My legs collapse together and the blanket is pulled around my shoulders, the warmth nothing compared to what Z had just done to me. My shoulders shake with a shiver that’s only subdued when my Dominant lies behind me, his chest to my back, his arms around me, holding me tightly.
I didn’t even feel the tears that had leaked out of the corner of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks until my heart stopped hammering.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his lips at the shell of my ear. He shushes me, he tells me it’s all right.
I’m barely cognizant of what just happened. When my breathing calms, I realize I safe worded. “I didn’t mean to.”
My denial is met with a kiss on the curve of my neck. Not too short, an openmouthed version that lingers. “You did,” he says. With his lips in my hair, he kisses me again. His arm tightens, pulling me to him as he tells me it’s all right.
I recall only safe wording once with James. Only when he cracked the whip and it broke my skin. Only once because of the sudden pain and fear. I was terrified. That was an entirely different experience. He apologized. He held me, but I was crying. The pain lasted and I shoved him away. It was awful.
This … this doesn’t feel like that at all. Not in the least.
“You’re crying.” Zander’s voice is full of concern. I wish I could say anything, but I can’t utter a word.
“Where do you hurt?”
I can’t answer his question because it’s not like he could do a damn thing to fix it. Damon said I may be displacing my feelings and I think he might be right. I still love James. I love him and I think I love Zander too, but I don’t know how that’s possible.
“It’s okay, you can cry.” I know he’s looking down at me but I keep my eyes shut tight. “If you want me to stop—”
“Don’t stop.” I beg him with quickly ushered words. “Don’t stop. Please, Z, hold me.”
Zander
Scrolling through the photos on Ella’s various social media accounts leaves a longing to know who this beautiful woman used to be. She hasn’t posted regularly in nearly two years now but I scroll past flirtatious grins and obvious laughter, past a woman celebrating life and exuding strength with a no-fucks-given attitude. There are pictures of him as well. Her sneaking up on him and laying with him on sunny tropical beaches. Pictures of him kissing her and where she’s kissing him. There’s an obvious point where her public persona was tamed. Just prior to their wedding photos, she appears wild and free. And then it changes, to bright smiles and “love and light” captions.
There are wholesome posts about her charity work, but it doesn’t take much to be certain that prior to marrying James, Ella was known for her partying.
The fireplace in Ella’s sitting room is off, adding to the quiet. The blue of the paint is suffused with gray light from the early morning. She’s still sleeping upstairs, leaving me alone in the chill of this room.
I came here out of habit. I didn’t know what to do with myself when I woke up in her bed. I found a spare toothbrush in the bathroom, still wrapped in plastic among other travel-sized toiletries. She was sleeping so deeply when I finally let go of her that I couldn’t bear to wake her. I tugged her blanket up to her shoulders and quietly slipped out to the room that’s most familiar to me. We’ve spent the most time here, in the blue sitting room. And in its silence, I’ve let my mind wander, I’ve let the questions repeat themself over and over. Am I doing the right thing? Is this really what’s best for her?
I’m only her Dom, so there’s no reason for me to be here. Not technically. It’s storming outside and I watch the raindrops fall against the window. When the wind blows, it’s vicious, battering the small droplets against the panes. Unless we’re going to have a true 24/7 relationship, then I can’t be here all the time.
Even if a part of me wanted to be here, simply because she’s most comfortable here, a much larger part of me doesn’t want to develop this relationship anywhere other than my own home.
We’re going to have to talk about it, and soon. This is a crucial boundary between the two of us. When I’ll come over, and how long I’ll stay. I need to make clear to her that she was only agreeing to the relationship we had before, nothing else. I’ll help her as her Dom. Although I would never make this arrangement with anyone else who couldn’t leave the confines of their home. With the only other 24/7 power exchange relationship I’ve had, the only true D/s relationship, she lived with me. Quincy.
Quincy, who has been the subject of at least one phone call this morning. A phone call I let go to voicemail. The hearing’s coming up, and I don’t want to talk about it.
A larger sheet of rain sweeps across the yard and taps more forcefully against the windowpane. I’ve never lived in a place like this, with all this space.
All this wealth.
Across the house, the front door opens. I hear it click shut quietly. It’s far too early for Silas to switch off with Damon. The footsteps and the jingle of keys is telling. I stay where I am, my jaw clenching slightly. He can come to me.
Kamden appears in the sitting room doorway with my temper barely contained, the anger still palpable. The air between us seems thick. Weighted. He narrows his eyes and watches me from the opening, then straightens up and strides in, taking the seat across from me. He’s exaggerated about it. Casual. But it’s not casual, and we both know it. From the tight set of his jaw I think he might like to hit me. The very idea begs my lips to pull up into a smirk, but I keep my expression neutral.
It seems we feel the same about one another.
He lets the silence stretch out, and so do I. I’ve thought about what I’d say to him, but every conversation is different as I play it out. More importantly, I need to be careful. He’s Ella’s conservator. There is far too much at risk for her to allow my ego to take center stage.
Everything outside of the two of us, is a risk. She isn’t in charge of her own decisions. I don’t have authority in that aspect of her life either. Pissing off the wrong person could end in me not having access to her at all. Had I not been able to convince Cade and Kamden, things could be very different right now. The Firm, Kamden, even her closest friends. One wrong step and we could be buried in problems I don’t know how to get out of.
Wind rushes outside the window now. The rain lets up a little, then comes back down hard. It’s one of those fall storms that steals the warmth from the air and makes it feel frigid afterward, even if snow is weeks from falling. The heat kicks on in Ella’s house, with the faintest of clicks. Other than the leather groaning beneath Kamden as he readjusts to lean forward, his elbows on his knees, it’s the only sound in the room. But not for long.
“If you hurt her, I will destroy you,” Kamden says beneath his breath.
I stare at him across the space between us. “That a threat, Kam?” A heat travels up my spine and across my shoulders. Instinctively, my fingers curl slightly, ready to ball i
nto fists.
“It’s a promise.” His voice is clear, raised so there’s no doubt I can hear. “You wouldn’t be the first man who thought he could use her.”
A crease forms between my brows as my eyes narrow at him. That’s fucking rich, coming from the man who installed cameras in her home to spy on her. Fucking rich. Every ounce of anger calls at the back of my throat. Keeping a stone-cold expression I’m careful with my response, knowing full well the power he has over her. I’ve never hated a soul more than him.
“I’m not using Ella.”
“Of course you are.” His statement comes with a sadness he fails to contain. If I’m not mistaken, a fear as well. He stares into the empty fireplace, refusing to look back at me. “Even if you don’t want to admit it. You’re using her.”
“You’d know that from experience, right?”
“Fuck you,” Kamden spits, his eyes coming back to mine. I’ve pissed him off enough with that one remark to make color come to his cheeks. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. She’s like my little sister.”
I want to call him out on the cameras. Even if Ella were Kamden’s little sister, he sure as hell shouldn’t have been putting up cameras without asking her. But a guy like Kamden will have come up with a justification for himself. One that I won’t be able to change, or counter.
Besides. There are other things I know about Kamden.
“She’s like your little sister, but you didn’t go to visit her.” My tone is deathly low, and wrought with emotion I didn’t realize I had for that small fact. I don’t bother to hide it, the obvious pain he caused her. “She was alone, locked away, and you didn’t visit her once.”
All that color runs out of his cheeks, leaving him strangely pale in the gray light coming through the window. Ella told me he never went to visit her while she was at the Rockford Center, and that is definitely the kind of thing an older brother type would do. It’s most certainly the kind of thing Kamden should have done.
