by Liz Crowe
“Oh yes, we are,” he said, clear as day as he yanked me forward, his warm thigh now shoved between mine.
To say that this particular dance is sexy was like saying the Pope is a little Catholic. This dance personified sexy. It is sex, played out between two people on a dance floor, in carefully choreographed steps. My face flushed hot as I kept my eyes on his, the mask only adding to the charged atmosphere. The music filled me. I let it happen.
This man…this amazing, confounding man. He even knows his part of this, very much female-centric, dance.
After a few panicky moments when I realized what a spectacle we were about to make of ourselves, I let go of that and let the familiar moves take over my body.
By the time we were through, I was breathing heavily and not because of the dancing. His hands were where they were supposed to be, but I wanted them elsewhere. I had the rose in my teeth now and we stared at each other. His eyes glittered behind the mask. And I sensed how much he wanted to move this public dance of intercourse somewhere else. It was like waves coming off him, desire, lust and a sort of animal need for me that I was responding to in kind.
The applause faded. We got to our feet, our hands clasped, our eyes locked. I handed him the rose, which completed the dance. “That was amazing,” he said. I stared at his lips, and nodded, unable to speak.
“I want you,” I said as the music flipped to something else yet again. The dance around us filled as couples began to grind against each other to the sounds of the latest hip-hop. We hadn’t moved. I was frozen in place, pinned by his gaze, my body on fire. But my mind was oddly, completely calm.
He yanked me to him again and we joined the crowd. I lifted my hands over my head and smiled as he ran his hands up my sides, then around to my ass. I felt his erection, pressing against me from behind his fancy tuxedo trousers. His thumbs brushed my nipples which were straining the thin bra and dress fabric. His lips landed on my neck. I closed my eyes and let it all happen.
I knew he was in control of this night. And it would be perfect.
Chapter Fifteen
Even as he was mentally grateful for the time he’d put in learning how to tango, Trent wished he and Melody were alone. He’d set this whole night up, course. At no small amount of expense. His Melody loved to dance. He’d arranged for that. His Melody would look great in Dior. He’d arranged for that. If she’d said she wanted to dive into a chocolate fountain and let cherubs lick off the excess, he would have figured out a way to make that happen, too.
He was on dangerous ground, approaching crazy country, and he knew it. But he was about to turn forty-one years old and had spent the last sixteen years in a turmoil of regret over his first—and last—deep dive into what he’d thought was love. Emerging with his princess of a daughter—whom he truly had worshiped for most of her life and was now having to deprogram—had been part and parcel of all of it. He would do anything for Taylor. But he needed something more. Something to make him whole as a man again.
Melody Rodriguez with her smart-ass mouth, her four-lane-wide independent streak, her soft heart and her keen mind—not to mention her hot, tight, perfect body—was it. He would have her. And he would fulfill every fantasy she’d ever given a passing thought to, if that was what it took.
He smiled down at her, watching as she undulated to the sexy thrum of the bass. He had no idea what this music was, or who was singing it but he’d told the club manager what he wanted and the man had delivered, in spades. He’d nursed a hard-on from the second he’d spotted her which made dancing a challenge. But this was how it was supposed to be here—not that limp-dick, useless, sick feeling he’d had the last time he’d been here. He was supposed to be on a knife edge, about to blow, immersed in the erotic sights, sounds, scents and tastes of this exclusive locale.
Melody’s face was alight. She was in her element, dancing sinuously around him, letting him grind his aching cock against her body, while everyone around them did the same. He sensed the couples slipping away one by one as the music kept thumping away and his precious Melody kept at it, her energy boundless, her olive-tinted skin shining in the dance floor lights.
Finally, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her close. “Look around you,” he demanded.
She stopped and turned her head left and right, noting that that over half the couples had disappeared. His heart seemed to stop for a second when she gazed up at him, then it stuttered forward. The fear was back. He smelled it rolling off her. But if anything, that reassured him. He had to show her this life. To see if she’d take it on with him, alongside him.
“It’s all right,” he said, taking her hand and putting her knuckles to his lips. The delicious taste of her filled his mouth, firming his resolve to make her fully his tonight.
“Is it?” Her voice made his body tingle all over again.
“Si, mi amor.” He pulled her off the dance floor and over to a curtained-off hallway. He held the heavy velvet aside, then motioned for her to enter. She hesitated. He put his hand firmly in the small of her back, hoping she could sense the strength of him, that she knew to lean into it, because it was hers for the taking.
She walked forward and he let the curtain drop behind them. The hallway was a sort of mini-initiation rite. It led to his suite, the one he preferred and was given every time he came here. But before they reached it, she needed to see some things. She stopped at the first open door, her mouth hanging open. He put his arm around her. “Watch,” he said as she started to turn away.
A woman was on a St. Andrew’s cross, naked, spread-eagled, her wrists and ankles clamped. A man dressed in a tuxedo circled around her, touching her here and there with his fingers.
“Tell me what you need,” the man said, smiling over at his audience.
“I need you to lay hands on me, Sir,” the woman said.
“In what way?”
“Softly, please.”
A sharp sound came from the next room, making Melody flinch. Trent took her elbow and guided her to the next open door. A man was on his hands and knees, bound and naked with a ball between his teeth. A woman in full Domme gear cracked a bullwhip in the air around him.
He kept her moving, hoping this wasn’t making her more afraid. The next room held a threesome—a woman, bent over a spanking bench. A fully dressed man stood behind her, using a crop on her bare ass. Her wrists were bound in front of her. Another man stroked her hair, crooning to her, even as he released his cock so she could grab it in her bound hands.
“Please, Sir. Please I must have it.”
“Ask again,” the man behind her with the crop commanded her, giving her a soft smack.
“Please. Sir, I need to suck his cock.”
Melody leaned into him. He looked down at her still masked face.
“S-s-s-sir,” she said, her perfect, full red lips saying the word that almost made him come in his tux trousers like a teenager.
“Yes,” he said, tilting her chin up as she tried to avert her gaze.
“Sir, please…I need you.”
He motioned to a woman standing nearby. She unlocked his suite door with a smile and disappeared. Trent pushed Melody forward and she walked in.
She turned to him, surrounded by all the things he wanted to share with her—the swing, the overhead bindings, the bench. He was not a fan of the cross so the keen staff always made sure it was removed from this room before he entered it. She ran her fingers over the table covered in dildos. She picked one up, then another, then touched the crop with her lovely, red-nail-tipped fingers.
Trent sensed himself fading, going into his zone, but knowing this would be a long, wonderful night, for both of them.
“Go there,” he said, pointing to a raised platform underneath a pair of dangling leather straps. He saw her swallow and licked his lips, eager for the taste of her skin. She went and stood, waiting for him. “Take off the dress.”
She hesitated, then slid the straps off her shoulders, unzipped it and let it fall to the floor at her feet.
“My god,” he breathed, taking in the soft cream underthings that were, as he’d hoped they’d be, in ideal contrast to her brown skin.
She smiled, then held up her arms, reaching for the straps. He was at her side in a second, fastening her wrists and sliding his hands down her back. She was shaking. He smelled her fear again.
“I am going to do some things to you and there are two rules,” he said. She nodded. He walked around her, not touching, just looking, drinking her in with his gaze. “If you use your safe word, I’ll stop. Otherwise, you don’t speak.”
She nodded. He touched her lips, smelling something else rolling off her now. Something he was going to own, and soon. “I’m going to make you want to come, to climax, to scream. But you aren’t allowed to—not until I say so.”
She nodded, but was frowning. “I don’t—”
“Sh…remember?”
She nodded again, but her jaw was clenched. He pressed his lips there, then kissed his way down her neck, making her sigh and her nipples peak high and proud. He reached for the crop and trailed the ends of it along her skin. The handle fit perfectly in his palm and calmed him. He gathered himself mentally and forced control over his body. His dick wouldn’t cooperate and soften like it usually did but this was a special night. So he cut himself some slack.
He flicked the leather along her legs, up her torso, and on her arms, keeping it light. When he moved around to her back, he did it a little harder, his mouth watering at the sight of the tiny red marks he left. “Remember, my love, safe word anytime.”
She nodded, but stayed silent. He gave her sweet, bare ass a hard bite of the crop, once, twice, then again. Then he dropped it and slid his hands up her body from behind, tugging her nipples the way he’d learned she liked, drawing a low, loud groan from her. He let it pass. But he withdrew, taking a seat in the giant leather chair in front of her.
She squirmed. Her lips opened and closed. He smelled her lust curling around them. He needed to take a break or he wasn’t going to be able to fulfill this scene.
After about ten minutes during which she remained admirably silent, she whispered, “S-s-s-ir?”
He rose and went to her, sliding his hands into the mass of hair that he loved so very much, gripping it and tilting her head back. “Sh,” he said, as he lowered his lips to her neck. “No talking.”
He kissed her shoulders, sucked at her nipples, then slid his hand between her legs. She thrust at him, eager. Too eager. He withdrew again.
“I want you to trust me, Melody.” He grabbed the nipple clamps, and popped open her bra, letting it hit the floor as he caressed her breasts. “I want you to listen to my words, breathe slowly and trust me.”
She nodded, hissing but not crying out as he put the clamps on at the same time. A tear slid from underneath her mask. He licked it away. “Safe word, bella. Say it, and we stop.” She shook her head. He slid his fingers between her legs again, feeling her heat. He put his fingers to his lips, tasting her need.
He stood back, looking at his work, cupping her full breasts, kissing her neck and shoulders but keeping himself under strict control. She whimpered a little, but didn’t say anything. He grabbed the crop again, teasing her skin with it, admiring the way she seemed to relish it. He striped her ass once more, almost coming again without even touching himself.
He dropped the crop, and reached for ice. “Are you hot, my love?”
She nodded, licking her lips, her arms staining against the bindings. He trailed an ice cube down one arm, to her shoulder, across her neck. Her skin pebbled in its path. He put another cube in his mouth and kissed her, loving it when she sucked it into her mouth and bit down on it.
He put another ice cube between her legs, feeling how badly she wanted to come, stroking her firm clit a few times, before stopping and leaving her whimpering again. He released the clamps and pressed ice to her distended nipples, covering her lips with his and taking her moans of pain into his mouth. Sensing the tension in her arms, he reached up and flipped open the wrist cuffs, holding her when she slumped against him.
“May I…Sir?”
“No,” he said, picking her up and carrying her like a child to the large leather seat. He was losing it, and he knew it. He had to do something…something to distance her. That was the only way he’d make it tonight.
He dropped into the chair, still cradling her close and wondering, for the first time since he’d begun this sort of rough sex play, why he felt the need to keep her at a distance. He wanted her closer, closer than any woman.
She was not Sheila. She wasn’t a gold-digging, neurotic faker.
He guided her gently off his lap. “Stand there, in front of me.”
She sniffled, but did as he asked. He leaned back, using all his self-control not to unzip his trousers. She was trembling all over. Her skin was flushed from head to toe. For the first time in almost twenty years, Trent was at a total loss.
He jumped up and strode over to the box where he kept ropes and the whip. He ran his fingers over them both, pondering the possibilities. “Come here,” he demanded. She turned and joined him next to the box and the swing. Something primal rumbled around in his gut, pressing up into his chest, making his throat so tight he could barely breathe. She was emanating some kind of pheromone, he decided. Something deep, dark and needy. Something that was blinding him, deafening him, sending him into the subspace that he prided himself on bestowing.
He groaned and pressed his fists against the top of the now-closed box. Everything in him was yowling, clamoring for her, needing to be in her and nowhere else. This had never, ever happened to him before. He used all his mental tricks, everything he’d taught himself about orgasm control, to no avail.
“I…need you, Melody,” he croaked. She touched his cheek, then pulled his mask up and off, before doing the same to hers. “I…don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
She smiled. He fixated on her lips for a few seconds. “I’m here for you, mi amor,” she whispered. “I am yours.” Her hand was cool against his face.
He nodded, swept her up and tossed her down on the huge, silk covered bed, looming over her, unsure and yet, never more sure of anything in his life. She lay still, spread out for him, her hair an ebony fan around her face.
“Sit up,” he said, his voice still croaky and weak. “Unzip me.”
She rose slowly, her firm breasts with their slightly elongated nipples his focus now. With a small smile, she unbuttoned, unzipped and shoved his trousers down to his ankles. “Closer,” he demanded. She moved forward, her face tilted up to his. “Between your breasts.”
She cupped her breasts, pressing them together and he slid his aching cock between them with a loud groan. He felt her fingers under his balls as he grabbed her hair and kept fucking her glorious tits like some kind of a vanilla rookie. The orgasm roared down his spine but he choked it, holding it off, only allowing a small release of liquid. She licked it off him, making him groan at the effort not to give her more.
She pulled away from him, leaning back on her hands as he stood, shuddering and quaking, confused and unable to speak.
“Sir,” she said, making him open his eyes and meet hers. “I need something from you. May I? Please?”
Still speechless, he pressed her back on the bed, his focus regained. He lowered his lips to her clit, sucking it hard and making her scream before sliding two fingers into her, angling them forward and feeling the pulse of a full-body climax grip her. He rode it out, gasping along with her.
Her smell, her taste, her cries of pleasure, all blinded and deafened him. He crawled up her body, licking and sucking and biting and shoved into her hard, making her groan even as she was still coming. Without a single thought to his unprotected state, he pounded into her, needing to come, to fill her, to imprint on her in way that frightened and thrilled him. She wrapped her legs around him, digging the heels of the shoes he’d bought into his back. The pain drove him even faster.
; “I’m going to come,” he ground out against the sweaty skin of her neck. “I can’t stop. I want…to… Ah god!” His mind went blank. A whiteness descended over all his senses. He looked down and could see her beautiful face, her o-face, her lips moving as she babbled in Spanish like she always did when she came. But he heard nothing.
They lay in a head, tangled together, her lips on his scalp, kissing and crooning. He shook so violently he thought he was hurting her but she kept her arms and legs around him. Saying nothing and everything to him in Spanish. His body finally stilled. He rose on his elbows and stared down at her.
“That was sort of not how I wanted this to end.”
She smiled and touched his lips. And at that moment, Trent knew.
“I love you, Melody. Thank you.”
“For what?” She yawned and grinned up at him, stretching her arms over her head.
“For proving something to me about all this.” He pulled out of her and flopped onto his back. Pulling her against his chest, which was still covered in the tuxedo shirt, albeit a sweaty one. She untied the tie.
“This was what you looked like the first time I saw you,” she said, kissing him gently and unbuttoning his shirt. “This is what I wanted to do to you then. Indulge me?”
He nodded, speechless, watching her fingers move. She kissed his chest as she opened the shirt, bit each of his nipples, then hiked her stocking-clad leg over his thigh. “I’m not done, Sir,” she whispered, biting his earlobe.
“I can tell,” he said, sliding his hand up her thigh then pinching her nipple. “What would you like from me?”
She pointed to the line of sex toys. Trent grinned and grabbed a couple, then pushed her onto her back. “I am all yours, no charge for the batteries.”
She grinned, and bent her knees. “Show me,” she said, grabbing a tube of lube that lay helpfully on the side table. “I want to feel you in my ass.”
He matched her grin, sensing his dick harden at her words. “Hmmm,” he said, flipping on one of the toys. “I think that can be arranged.”
