Wargasm

by Sosie Frost

  When I didn’t answer, Anthony greeted the clerk with a smile that thundered my heart against my chest. He ordered a banana split for both of us. And, judging but the look she gave him, the clerk would have hiked to Costa Rica to find him the best banana.

  But he took my hand. Her expression fell.

  And I suddenly felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

  Though I’d have chosen a corner booth, Anthony picked the table in the exact center of the room, visible to everyone. The clerk tripped over herself to deliver the ice cream, but his eyes never left me. He offered me the first bite.

  How did I manage the whisper? “I don’t think I can swallow…”

  “Is that a hard limit?”

  “What?”

  He laughed. “Just talk to me, Morgan.”

  We sat in the middle of a dazzling ice cream parlor, overlooking a six-foot-tall chocolate castle complete with peppermint candy moat. A place that encompassed sugar, spice, and everything nice. Three floor-to-ceiling windows framed the front wall. Not only could everyone inside see us, half of the city walking by could look in.

  Would they know what heated inside me?

  “Do we have to talk here?” I asked.

  “Sir.”

  I cursed the fluttering in my belly. “Do we have to talk here, sir?”

  “My first rule was that you tell me everything you’re thinking.”

  “But we’re in public.”

  He took another bite of the ice cream. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m open about my sexuality.”

  “We’ll get arrested.”

  “I’ve done a lot worse than talk about sex in a place like this.”

  “Like what?” The curiosity got the better of me. I leaned close. “Have you done…it…in public?

  He smiled. Wicked. “Done what, pet?”

  I’d sink into the floor. He offered me a spoonful of ice cream. Reluctantly, I accepted the bite. My lips closed over the coldness, and he slowly pulled the plastic spoon away.

  His eyes lingered over my lips as I licked a bit of stray whipped cream.

  Fixated.

  Well, that was an odd exchange of power.

  I sighed. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  Act so confident? Seize everything he wanted? Bend the world to his will? “How aren’t you…ashamed?”

  “No games, Morgan. It’s not naughty to say the word, but does try my patience when you avoid it. Be a good girl and ask the question.” He cocked his eyebrow. “Have I fucked in public?”

  I couldn’t use that word. “Have you had sex in public, sir?”

  “I prefer it in public.”

  He offered another bite. I used my tongue to chase out the whipped cream. He murmured a good girl when I swallowed.

  Just the whisper of praise tickled everything inside of me. I loved it. Loved the way he said it. Loved the way I tingled when he said it.

  He preferred to have sex in public? No freaking wonder. Who could resist him? Any hot-blooded woman would bend over where she stood just for the promise of his touch.

  An image flashed in my mind. Us, pressed against the parlor’s spangled wallpaper. His arms wrapped around me. Holding me. Crashing against me. Waving to the bystanders as he lapped up the attention.

  The chime rang from the doorway. My reverie shattered. I gasped as if the entering customers had found me tangled between his legs.

  “I don’t get it.” I averted my eyes as they ordered. “It’s too...”

  “What?”

  “Sex is...personal.”

  “Personal?”

  “Intimate.”

  “Morgan.”

  “Embarrassing.”

  “And there it is.”

  He fed me another bite of the ice cream. The sugar buzzed my head. All the sexy talk and the stress was getting to me. I was ready to flutter off the chair.

  He posed the question with a knowing quirk of his eyebrow. “Morgan…have you ever considered that you might like to be embarrassed?”

  “Who likes to be embarrassed?”

  “Many people. Humiliation is a powerful reinforcer. Think of it as both an acknowledgement and punishment for your desires. For some…it’s a very effective seduction.”

  “But that’s…just a head game.”

  “All submission is a head game. Before you put the shackles on your wrists, you have to surrender to the idea of giving up power to a man like me.” Anthony studied me. “And I think you do like it.”

  I think I do too. But…”

  “But?”

  “Does it feel wrong to you?”

  “You should feel nothing but pleasure.”

  I warmed. “But wanting this, doing this…don’t you feel guilty?”

  “I’m not ashamed of sex. And I’m certainly not ashamed of good sex.”

  He leaned back as if to invite the entire ice cream parlor to join our conversation. I kept my eyes down, distracting myself by reaching for the dessert.

  Anthony seized by wrist and pinned it to the table.

  I stared, wide-eyed, immobilized.

  Everything ached inside me.

  “Everyone has sex, pet,” he said.

  Not everyone, but that was my secret. “They don’t all do it in front of other people.”

  He tightened his hold on my hand. “I like a captive audience.”

  “I can’t handle any more puns.”

  “My women are submissive, and they trust me to keep them safe. Don’t worry. I’d never bend one over in the middle of an ice cream parlor.” He traced an imaginary design on my wrist, tickling my arm. My blood superheated under his touch. “However, when I’m at Duchess, I’m afforded an opportunity to fuck my submissive as I like. I can do with them what I will and with whomever watching.”

  “And you…like them watching?”

  “I think you would too.”

  My chest tightened. I wondered how many women had experienced this treatment.

  Did they like it?

  Had they wanted more of it?

  Who was that comfortable with their body to put it on display for all to see?

  Or was that the game? Being uncomfortable. Sacrificing pride and modesty for another’s pleasure and perversions.

  I couldn’t understand it.

  But it didn’t scare me.

  “Are you interested?” Anthony asked a question I couldn’t answer.

  “I don’t know.” The truth hurt. “I didn’t know that public stuff was a submissive thing.”

  “Exhibition, Morgan. And it’s a very submissive desire.”

  “And you’ve…done this?”

  Anthony’s memories would have mortified me. Instead, he remembered them with a smile. “My subs are accustomed to domination. They’re usually tossed over a play room. Spanked. Teased. But they’ve never been properly used until they’re stripped naked, spread eagle, and fucked where anyone can watch them come.”

  Holy. Shit.

  He hadn’t been so graphic before.

  I closed my eyes, but all I could picture was him. Naked. Sweating. Thrusting into me as I wrapped my legs so tightly around him he wouldn’t be able to pull out. My hair would fan out behind my head, a dark shadow of curls. My chest would arch upwards, breasts bouncing with each delicious push inside of me. We’d contrast so perfectly—his hardened skin a bronzed tan, mine dark as night and every bit as mysterious.

  And everyone would see. Comment. They’d whisper their approval and commend us with their compliments.

  My orgasms would entertain them.

  And his final thrust would own me.

  Quick shame combatted the searing heat spreading between my legs. This was taboo. And wrong.

  And the hottest fantasy I’d ever had.

  Anthony’s dark eyes locked onto me long enough to reignite my blistering panic.

  “It’s a thrill, pet.” His voice was laden with desire. “Imagine it. You’d offer yourself to me for m
y pleasure. You’d be rewarded with orgasm after orgasm. And everyone would watch, envious.” His words roughened. “But I’m the one fucking you. I’m the one claiming my woman. They can look, but they can’t touch.”

  I trembled. “And that’s what you want?”

  “It’s the most effective way to control every man and woman watching.”

  Insecurity washed over me, ripped me into the tide, and cast me out to sea.

  I thought I knew what sex was—I’d peeked at the videos and touched myself. But what he described wasn’t any quick hump that I understood. I didn’t even know such desires existed.

  Rules. Permissions. Power games.

  What he spoke of…

  It enthralled me.

  “Talk to me, pet.” Anthony scooped another bite of ice cream from the bowl. “Tell me how it makes you feel.”

  Beyond confused. I couldn’t find my voice. In the span of a single evening, my entire worldview on sexuality imploded.

  Life Goal Number Five: Make it home without spontaneously combusting.

  “I’ve never had sex in public, sir.” I ran a hand through my hair, wishing I could loosen the bun. “I don’t even like to kiss in public.”

  “That’s no fun.”

  “I’ve never considered it.”

  “I could kiss you now.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His eyebrows popped upwards. Wrong thing to say.

  Would he punish me for it? What would a punishment even be? It certainly wouldn’t feel good. No punishment felt good.

  Right?

  Anthony dipped his finger into the ice cream, scooping out the whipped cream. It coated his fingers in sticky delight. His order stunned me to silence.

  “Lick it off, pet.”

  I froze.

  Ducking under the table seemed an easy escape from the demand. But, down there, he had another place where he would rub the whipped cream.

  Not that the thought was entirely unpleasant.

  Anthony waited, his expression hardening as the seconds passed. Was this worth using the safe word? It was just a little whipped cream. And a little sensual.

  And more than a little humiliating.

  He jerked his finger away as my lips parted. “I said lick, Morgan.”

  If my tongue could tremble, it did. Every other part of my body shook. But I did as I was told, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I gently licked the whipped cream from his finger. Once. Twice. Then I surrendered, despite any logical and rational protest in my head. I sucked. Slow. Just to hear the catch in his breathing. I sucked until I’d cleaned the sticky sugar from his skin.

  His smirk returned. He pulled his hand away and nodded to the couple seated in the nearby booth.

  My cheeks flared. That was it. Public indecency and disgrace and shame and every other dark and twisted fear coiled in my stomach. I tried to stand, but Anthony held firm on my wrist.

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Was that any worse than a kiss?” he murmured.

  How would I know until we tried? And God, I wanted to try.

  Anthony made no attempt to compare the two experiences. He changed the subject, patronizing me with a gentle smile.

  “Did you enjoy your dinner tonight, pet?”

  I sunk back against the chair. “Yes, sir.”

  “Shannon looked very beautiful, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She was naked.”

  Oh my, was she naked.

  “Did it make you uncomfortable?” he asked.

  He let me off with a nod.

  “She willingly gave herself to Thomas,” Anthony said. “He displayed her to his friends in an intimate setting. And she loved it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve known Shannon and Thomas for some time. If I had to guess, at this moment Shannon is fucking two men simultaneously. And I’d imagine Simone is demanding her own favors.”

  “Simone.” I didn’t want to imagine those services. “Right.”

  “Don’t be jealous, pet. Never be jealous of Simone.”

  Good luck. “This is a weird club you have.”

  “But how does it make you feel?”

  Curious. Squirmy. I didn’t answer right away.

  Anthony enjoyed my hesitation. “Thomas wouldn’t allow anything to happen to Shannon she didn’t want. That’s part of his role. Our role.”

  “What role, sir?”

  “My responsibility to you. It’s my job to protect you.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.” His grin turned dangerous. “How else would I ensure that you’re only as frightened as I want you to be?”

  “Oh.”

  “I like you curious, Morgan, but not worried. Finish your ice cream now. This was a good introduction to our life. You did better than I’d hoped.”

  “But I practically ran from the room.”

  “You finished your dinner, did as I asked, and now you’re trying to ignore how wet you are.” He scooped a bit of banana onto the spoon and gestured. “You have my permission to touch yourself in the bathroom if you wish.”

  The ice cream refroze in my stomach. All the talk of sex and sushi and submission made my insides pulse in a way that would have terrified me if Anthony weren’t responsible for every ache and clench.

  I shook my head. No way that was happening.

  “I offered.” Anthony shrugged. “One day, I might start getting restrictive. Save up while you can.”

  Oh, I’d bank a million as soon as I got home.

  He took my hand, preventing me from stirring the puddle of melted ice cream.

  “Simone is hosting an event on Saturday,” he said. “I’ll take you if you like.”

  This wasn’t an invitation to the party—it was an offer to continue. I’d passed his first test, and I was as surprised by the results as he was.

  Submission was…sensual. Liberating. Amazing.

  I’d witnessed enough tonight to realize that I wanted more than a show.

  I craved my own experience.

  With him.

  “I’d like to go, sir.”

  “It’s a pool party,” he warned. “You’ll need to wear a bathing suit.”

  That was easy. “I think I can handle a pool party. Is it…will there be any naked people in the food?”

  “No.” His lips teased a devilish smile. “But that means we’ll have to make our own fun, pet.”

  7

  I’d never make it to Simone’s party.

  Somehow, I’d survived the week without burning down the café or accidentally stepping in front of a bus. I’d even scraped together enough of my paycheck to make rent.

  I shouldn’t have felt so damn proud for acting like a functional adult. I’d checked my mail, bank account, and the deferment of my student loans without collapsing from a panic attack. Didn’t even need the little prescription sedative for sleeping.

  It seemed like life was easier to confront when I had something fun to distract me.

  Or maybe Anthony gave me more of a reason to hide from reality.

  Either way, the relentless demand pulsing between my legs had eroded all self-control. I’d panted, begged, and wished for Saturday to arrive.

  And then it did.

  And I had no idea what that meant for me.

  Anthony said to be ready by eight. I’d showered, dressed, and tucked my hair into a soft braid by six. The nervous energy strangled me, and I’d almost grabbed my violin for a few minutes of hard-wrought peace.

  Almost.

  I’d plucked the Mozart movement from one of the storage boxes just as he knocked. I flinched, shoving the sheet music back into the box—where it belonged. The lid slammed on those particularly terrible memories, and I rushed to let Anthony inside.

  I was 0 for 2 on dress codes for these events.

  Anthony didn’t hide his smile. I looked him over. Black dress shoes, black slacks, black dress shirt. Yep. I’d g
otten it completely wrong. My cotton dress was the color of a ripe peach, perfect for a fun and funky tiki party as it doubled as a bathing suit cover.

  Was I an idiot? Simone’s exclusive party wouldn’t be a coed luau.

  “I’ll change,” I promised.

  Anthony motioned me closer with a curling finger. “No. Let me get a look at you.”

  I stumbled forward, and his scent filled my lungs, sharp and consuming. Each breath pushed more of him through my veins.

  That was the sort of drug that’d never fade.

  I sighed as his fingers tickled over my arms. He pushed the sleeve of my dress aside and tugged on the strap of the bathing suit underneath.

  “I wore my suit under the dress, sir.” As if it wasn’t obvious. “I…thought it’d be okay.”

  “But, pet…you might go home wet.”

  I braved his stare. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Behave yourself, little girl, and I might ease that ache.”

  My pulse raced. I breathed, hard, but I managed to avert my gaze before I became too brazen. “Well…just let me change. I’m so used to college parties…”

  Anthony prevented me from moving. “I said no.”

  “No?”

  “I like you in that.” His gaze revealed he liked what was under it too. “You look very…”

  “Impractical?”

  “Innocent.”

  Oh.

  Anthony’s hunger shouldn’t have surprised me. I knew what he wanted from me. I just never thought that naivety would intrigue someone. For the past few days, I’d daydreamed about him—a man so handsome and confident and strong that I was certain I’d tremble into a little Morgan puddle the instant he touched me again.

  But I hadn’t thought about what he saw in me.

  I imagined how I appeared, so uncertain but eager to please. My dress wasn’t too revealing—not too short, not too long.

  Peach. Of all the freaking colors, it couldn’t even be a sexy pink. This was the kind of dress a girl wore before she got in trouble, before the wolf pounced and devoured her whole.

  When we’d first met, I’d stood out in Duchess. Anthony had rushed to my side to ensure none of the random non-VIP guests harmed me. He didn’t want an incident.

  Those men were drawn to me. I hadn’t understood why until I stood before him.

  “The dress stays,” Anthony decided.