Just One Night

by Carolyn Faulkner

  "I-I want to talk some more a-a-about this," she breathed raggedly.

  "So do I, my dear. So do I. We're not going to do anything without talking about it a lot and being very explicit about what we want and expect from each other. That kind of relationship really doesn't work unless both people trust each other a lot and agree to communicate—also a lot—even about things that might be uncomfortable for them to talk about."

  She only heard about twenty percent—if that—of what he'd said. What his fingers—and lips, by now—were doing to her was just too overwhelming to spend much time thinking about anything else.

  When Rad had brought her to just where he wanted her—right on the verge of orgasming—he moved away from her.

  Andrea made a mad grab for him—even an angry grab for him—but he was too quick, the bastard. She had been leaning against him and ended up lying half on, half off the modern style couch that had no arms. If she'd been a little more to the left, she'd have ended up on the floor!

  But she didn't, although she was kind of lying there in an inelegant lump, not that he seemed to care. In fact, he took great advantage of her position, not allowing her to get up when she made to. Instead, since her head was pretty much hanging off the armless end of the couch cushion, he was able to kneel over her head, open his robe, and present her with the gloriously beautiful, swollen and dripping head of his cock, hanging less than an inch from her lips.

  "Oh, please!" she breathed, and he angled himself so she could take him into her mouth.

  It was a strange position—not uncomfortable, just new. Andy did her best to relax her throat as much as she could, but she also knew him well enough at this point that she didn't think he was going to try to drive his cock down it.

  Rad divested himself of his robe immediately, not wanting to have to bother holding it away from her head, and she surprised him when he felt the tension drain from her, and he found he could bury most of himself in her mouth.

  He reached down to play with her nipples, but she pushed him away. Instead, her hands went up to find his. He didn't want her to feel left out, but what she was doing was driving him insane, and he didn't have the will to force her to let him touch her. That probably wasn't the most Dommish thing to admit to himself, but it was the truth.

  The appearance of the Seven Horses of the Apocalypse in this very living room couldn't have gotten him to move an inch until, at last, after he'd used her probably for too long—although she'd never made any kind of complaint—he spilled himself down the back of her tongue. She had no choice but to swallow him as he cried out her name in something that sounded like agony, but was the highest level of pleasure he'd ever attained in his lifetime.

  "Christ Almighty, woman!" he cried out, in what seemed to her ears to be some kind of Scottish brogue, laying himself down over her because his knees were so weak that if he didn't, he was going to fall to the floor. "Sorry. Pardon me. Sorry," he said, as he took up more than his share of the room on the couch.

  Unfortunately for him, he landed with his arse within easy range of her hand, and she began to take full advantage of his disadvantage.

  Man, she was small, but she had a formidable arm on her! Rad found himself very happy that he wasn't a sub and that he didn't switch.

  "Stop it now! Stop it, I said!"

  But she was having entirely too much fun to heed him. It was nice to see his ass getting red for a change!

  He knew he had to do something—the situation was rapidly getting entirely out of his control, and he couldn't have it. So, although he wasn't necessarily sure he could do what he wanted to, considering how she'd drained him right from his toes up, he did it anyway, and, since it involved lifting her, he knew he had to get it right.

  "Did you not hear me, woman? I said stop!" Rad stood, quickly and smoothly, and picked her up, essentially in one motion, lifting her over his shoulder as he had before and delivering a tremendous swat to her backside, then cocking his hand back for another hard volley.

  But she screamed as soon as his hand came into contact with her. And not in a good way. Not in the way he expected her to when she was being spanked, but in a way that told him she was in real pain, and the idea chilled him to the bone.

  "C-colly—" was all she had to get out of her mouth of her safe word before he laid her down on the bear skin rug in front of the fire, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "Baby girl, what did I do?" he whispered, searching her face.

  In answer, she rolled over a little to show him the spot where his hand had landed, and as he saw that angry red imprint over the large dark patch that covered her hip and part of her bum, he was reminded of the bruises he'd forgotten in the heat of the moment.

  "Jesus, honey, I am so, so sorry!" Rad was beside himself. "Oh, I am so so sorry, Andrea. So sorry," he kept saying, running his hands over her but not really touching her anywhere, as if he wanted to take her pain on himself, as if it would have been much more acceptable to him if he was the one in pain, rather than her.

  "I'm all right, I'm all right," she said, hating that he was so distraught. "You surprised me, and it hurt. I'm fine now, I just… don't think I could take a spanking."

  "Of course not, of course not!" He was cradling her lower body to him as gently as possible and looking up at her, face full of concern and worry and a huge dose of self-loathing to boot. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  She nodded emphatically. "Yes, I'm sure. I would tell you if I wasn't, believe me. You know I'm a wuss."

  "Stop." He swept his hand over where he'd smacked her, again, not making any contact. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  Before she could even answer, he was gone, coming back with two extremely necessary things: Tylenol, and a rocks glass full of whiskey.

  She didn't sit up, but rather he leaned her back against him, handing her both.

  "Uh, I don't think you're supposed to take one with the other."

  "Take them, doll. One will help the other."

  "I don't think the manufacturer of either would sign onto that, Dr. Windsor," she muttered, deliberately not far enough under her breath, but he was in no mood for jokes.

  Rad still looked stricken, as if he'd taken his fists to her, and she put her hand on his arm. "I'm fine. I promise."

  He took the empty glass from her and put it on the end table, then resumed his position by her hip, putting his hand out again but still not touching her.

  Then he looked up at her with completely serious intent and asked, "Can I kiss it better?"

  "If you promise that's not the only place you'll kiss better."

  That got him to grin in that completely unholy way he had. "Done."

  She didn't even feel his lips against her backside, but she did feel something hot and wet, and was startled to realize what it was.

  "Rad, are you crying?"

  "I know. Very unmanly, extremely undomly of me, but I just can't bear the idea of hurting you."

  "It was an accident, honey. I'm fine. Honest and for true. I'm good. You're going to make me cry at the thought of having you cry at the thought of hurting me."

  "Huh, what?" he teased, his eyes finding hers. She'd called him honey! He couldn't have been more elated. He'd gone from the depth of despair to the heights of happiness in a matter of seconds. He leaned back a little. "I like to move you around and position you—and I know that you like that, too, usually."

  It was true. She was a little embarrassed by it, but she'd confessed to him late one night that she loved how he manhandled her sometimes, arranging her to suit himself—and her. She liked that he was more than strong enough to do that, and like almost everything she told him, he remembered it.

  "But why don't you do that for yourself tonight, lovely?"

  Andrea carefully wiggled and scrunched herself down a lot, and while doing so, she suddenly noticed the white, fur like substance they were lying on and froze. "Please, please, please tell me that this is not a real bearskin rug."


  "It's one hundred percent fake, I promise."

  She didn't look as relieved as he expected her to. "Still, is there a head I should be aware of somewhere that I really don't want to see?"

  "There is, but you don't need to be afraid of it." He looked around them and found it, holding it up to her.

  But she had her eyes squinched tightly shut.

  "Andrea, open your eyes."

  She opened one, barely, with unconcealed reluctance, but when she saw what he was holding up, she opened both of them and laughed. It was a big ole' white teddy bear head that looked nothing like an actual polar bear head, thankfully.

  "That's adorable, kind of, if you forget the idea that it means we're sitting on the skin of a teddy bear…" she trailed off sarcastically.

  As soon as she was in position, he eagerly took his, too.

  Normally, he held her with his platter sized—if elegant—hands beneath her bum, keeping her still and holding her up to him as if he was eating from a particularly delicious dish. But he was loath to touch her, so he folded her legs back carefully, keeping a close eye on her and constantly asking if she was okay.

  "I'll tell you if you hurt me, just like always," she finally vowed in a soft tone, and he didn't ask again.

  With his shoulders holding her legs in place for him, his mouth latched onto her clit, and two fingers of one hand fucked her hard and fast. He let his other hand find its way to her nipples and was rewarded by an incredibly loud moan. And that made him consciously slow down.

  He wanted to luxuriate in her. He wanted to take his time with her and make her feel everything she possibly could from what he was doing to her. Rad changed up his rhythms, switched from suckling to licking, and from tugging to rolling, and then back again, doing it all at different paces, and keeping her just slightly off balance.

  She was on the road to Paradise; there was no mistaking that. She could definitely see it from where she was, but he kept changing the route on her, making her more and more desperate to find it.

  He even stretched himself out over her to kiss her, which he knew she loved, taking the time on the way back down to graze each nipple with his teeth before he resettled everything where it used to be and set about making good on his previous promise that she was going to faint or see stars.

  And she did. Just as she began to spasm with undiluted bliss, she saw stars and fainted dead away. The next thing she knew, he was hovering over her, patting her cheeks. "Andrea? Andrea, honey, come back to me."

  When she opened her eyes, he looked even more worried than when he'd accidentally hurt her.

  "I'm here." She went to sit up, and he helped her, sitting behind her to support her, just in case. Andrea looked at him, then down at herself. "I fainted."

  He, of course, was wearing a shit eating grin. "You did, just like I told you that you would."

  She leaned a little away from him so she could look him in the eye, her own narrowed considerably. "You have not done this to any other woman."

  "You are absolutely right; I have not, but I've always wanted to."

  His unrepentant glee was a little much for her to take. She wanted to get up, but her legs didn't want her to.

  Her Prince Charming came to her rescue again, picking her up and taking her into the bedroom.

  "But I had a nap. I don't want to go to bed yet!" She downright pouted, amazed when he executed an about face and brought her back to the living room, where he put her back into her robe, got her another drink, brought them a big bowl of ice cream he'd stocked the freezer with, and cuddled with her on the couch.

  "Shall we pick up where we left off on the Georgia Aquarium series?"

  "Yes."

  She was so easily pleased.

  He didn't know how he managed to deserve her. And that was easily answered, as far as he was concerned—he didn't.

  Chapter 7

  It did take them a while to decide exactly how they wanted to conduct their relationship, but only as pertained to the D/s elements. Otherwise, they fit together in an almost freakishly perfect way. They liked to do many of the same things and they each liked to do some different things, too. So, although they grew incredibly close, they didn't live in each other's back pockets—except when they wanted to.

  He traveled, she worked, and they spent as much time as they could manage together around those things. Because they were so relatively new, their friends kind of took a back seat, which was understandable. And the more time they spent together, the more they worked on honing how they wanted to be together in regard to her being submissive to him. In the end, they only really ended up with three basic rules for her—be kind to yourself and others, obey, and tell the truth.

  And Rad held himself to the same standards, except that, instead of "obey" it was "guide wisely.” He expressly didn't want to be some overbearing jerk, and he knew she didn't want to have to ask permission to blink, so if either of them wanted the rules changed, they would talk it over. Mostly, she really liked the idea that he was watching over her, and he really loved that he she had given him the right to watch over her.

  As could be expected, she began to spend so much time over at his place that she was, essentially, living with him, and he was having absolutely no luck convincing her that she should move in. He knew he could play the Dom card and tell her she was moving in with him, and he would do that if he had to, but he hoped it didn't come to that, frankly. He didn't want to have to twist her arm to get her to move in with him—he wanted her to want to.

  She owned her own house, too, so he couldn't even remind her that she was paying rent utilities on a place that she wasn't living in, since it had been paid off in the divorce. He supposed he could bring up taxes and maintenance costs, but that was nowhere near as easy as it would have been—he thought—to talk her out of staying in an apartment.

  Finally, because it had been months since she had been back to her house for longer than it took to run in and grab something, and she showed absolutely no inclination to do so on her own, he chose his moment carefully, dropping it on her when she was least likely to be able to fight back—after orgasm number twelve.

  Andrea was still trying to come to grips with what this man seemed to be able to do to her quite effortlessly. She hadn't fainted, but her fingers were tingling, and she was utterly spent.

  As always, Rad's first thoughts afterward were for her. He knew how much he blew her mind when he brought her off, because she did the same to him, although on a scale that was much less grand.

  He arranged himself on his side and pulled her back against him, making her the little spoon as he quite literally wrapped his entire body around her while he lovingly stroked her hair and soothed her until she was no longer shaking and spasming and panting.

  Then he gave her a few more minutes of relaxation before saying what he had decided to say. "I want you to move in with me, Andrea. And I'm no longer asking. This weekend is a bank holiday, and I'll have a mover there Saturday morning. You can bring over whatever you want—whatever's left that's not already here—and keep the rest there, but I want you to be living under my roof by the time you leave for work Monday morning."

  Her first impulse was to tell him, "Hell no," no matter who the fuck he was to her. She'd given up years of her life for that house, and Connor—dick extraordinaire that he was—had given her a very hard time about the fact that she wanted it from him, even though he was already living in his girlfriend's much nicer condo and he made a lot more money than Andrea did. He did, finally, let it go, but it was a hard won fight, and she wasn't in any hurry to get rid of it, which was essentially what she said to him.

  And Rad really didn't like how she said it. Whenever she talked about Connor, her hackles went up, as if she felt she'd had to be on the defensive with her ex, so she needed to be on the defensive with him, too.

  He turned her around so she was facing him, still keeping her close and hugging her to him, her body now as tense as it had been relaxed moments ag
o, and for which he was sorry. But he was feeling greedy. Rad wanted her by his side all the time—as much time as was feasible, anyway—and he wasn't going to relent.

  "I don't want to take it away from you. I just want you here with me as much as I can possibly manage. It's costing you money that you can't really afford, even if you don't have a mortgage—there are upkeep and taxes. If you wanted to, we could clean the whole place out and find you a good property manager, and you could rent the place out. Hopefully, you could charge enough for it to recoup some of the money you're losing. Or put it on Air BNB. Whatever you would like, I'd be glad to help you with." He kissed her forehead. "But I'm a greedy cuss, and I want you with me—all the time. I want you to live with me."

  He wanted her to wear his name, too. He knew he couldn't say that to her yet, but he would, eventually. One thing at a time—first the house, then he'd convince her to marry him, somehow. He hoped. But first, he wanted her to change her address, and it had come down to the fact that he was willing to accomplish that in pretty much any way he could. He hoped that getting her to marry him wasn't going to be as hard as this was, but he wasn't going to lay any bets on it.

  She hadn't said anything, but then he noticed that his chest was getting wet.

  "Baby! What is it?" he asked, concern written over every inch of his face when he put his hands on her shoulders and moved her back a little way from him.

  "I'm so sorry that I'm like this, Rad. You're so amazing to me in so many ways, and I'm so screwed up. You want me. You want me to be with you, and I just… I'm screwing it all up."

  He put her head on his chest and rocked her. "Don't be silly. Of course, you're not. And I understand your reticence. I do. But you have to admit that my closet is now full of pretty business suits and beautiful stiletto shoes, and handbags and scarves that don't go with any of my suits."

  That got him a watery smile.

  "My vanity has powder and foundation and eyeliner and shadow and lipstick that does not suit my complexion at all, and I now have access to something called an Insta-something that I think might blow the roof off the house at some point."