Cleave (Cutting Cords Series Book 3)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  He mounted me from behind and bent down and whispered, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight.”

  Hearing his husky voice and knowing I turned him on, were empowering. It was another affirmation of his love, even if the hearts and flowers were missing. I heard him snap open the lube and felt the viscous jelly as he wiped it around my entry, seconds before I was impaled. He exhaled against my ear when he was embedded deep inside my channel. Before I had a chance to relax, he lifted me up to my hands and knees and thrust. There was nothing tender about this moment, but I was okay with it. My cock filled out as I reveled in his loss of control. He needed me as much as I needed him, and the simplicity of this erased the last of my fears. The jabbing against my prostate initiated the begging, which aroused him further. My pleading always flipped some switch in his head, and Trent gripped my waist while continuing to plow into me, hell-bent on release. He came with a loud cry, and it pushed me over the edge. I collapsed with his heavy weight bearing down on me. He rutted against me a few more times, eking out the final drops as he shuddered with content. “Love you” were the last words I heard before I fell asleep.

  I woke up to the rocking motion of the yacht as it traversed the sea toward our destination. I had never been to Provincetown despite our proximity to Cape Cod. Cole had no interest in going, claiming it was too gay, too wild, too this, or too that. He could be such an ass at times. The tales of this iconic vacation spot intrigued me, and I wanted to see and experience everything I’d ever read about. I had mentioned it to Trent earlier in our relationship, and he’d filed it away for future reference.

  He was lying on his side facing me, looking so peaceful. The deep frown line I’d created earlier had smoothed out, leaving his forehead unlined. The dark stubble covering his cheeks made him look menacing, but I knew he was anything but. He was a kind and generous man and so very careful with my fragile emotions, something I never fully appreciated until now. I would have walked on hot coals for him if he’d asked.

  He opened his eyes, and when he saw me staring, he smiled. “Are you hungry?”

  “Very.”

  He rolled over and picked up the phone beside the bed, and I heard him tell the steward to prepare our dinner. It was surreal to know we had three people in the wings waiting to serve us.

  “So this is what it’s like to be a multimillionaire,” I commented.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  “I could get used to this.”

  “We make good money, babe, but this is another league altogether.”

  “Seriously, sir, what would we do with a yacht?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “It’s fun to pretend, though.”

  “Are you hurting?” he asked, shifting down into his Dom voice.

  “No.”

  “I wasn’t too rough for you?”

  “Did I safeword?”

  He reached for me. This time, the kisses were soft and tender. I knew he’d forgiven me and would never bring this up again unless I fell back down the needy hole.

  “I’d like to dress for dinner,” he said gently, “if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. What should I wear?”

  “I had them lay out your things in the room across from here. You can shower and change, and I’ll do the same. Meet me upstairs when you’re done.”

  “Sure.” He was so mysterious; I loved it.

  The room across from the master suite was a scaled-down version in brown and deep red. It was another example of wealth-gone-wild. Every fixture in the bathroom looked like it was made of 18-karat gold and probably was. The tub and sinks were marble. Not the fake stuff but the real deal. The shower stall had four pivoting heads angled perfectly. It was heaven to feel the hot water, and I shampooed my hair and cleansed thoroughly, wanting to smell good for him. I was excited, anticipating a very special evening.

  When I walked back out to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, I was surprised to see my wedding tuxedo on the bed. The last time I’d laid eyes on it was at the tailor’s when I went in for a final fitting. Trent must have picked it up without my knowledge and had the steward lay it out while I was in the shower. I started to dress, wondering what was up his sleeve.

  I stood in front of the full-length mirror and inspected the vision staring back at me. Trent had chosen my charcoal gray tuxedo specifically because the color matched my eyes. The attractive stranger staring back at me was always a pleasant surprise. In my head, I was still the scrawny kid from San Francisco. But now I was a hot commodity. Really, I was. It made me grin, and I blew myself a kiss and left the room. Hopefully, my husband-to-be would be equally impressed.

  When I got to the upper deck, I was stunned by the gorgeous redhead in his Scottish finery. Trent was also wearing his wedding outfit. The snowy white shirt offset the dark coat, and the blue and green plaid of his kilt brought everything together perfectly. He was so fucking beautiful I was tongue-tied. All I could do was whistle.

  He smiled. “You like?”

  “Love it.”

  He handed me a champagne flute and clicked my glass with his. “Sláinte!”

  I recalled all the times we’d heard this same toast when we toured Scotland. “Back at’cha, Master.”

  “Will you think I’m a romantic fool if I recite the wedding vows I’ve borrowed from my Scottish brethren?”

  “You could never be too romantic for my taste.”

  He took another small sip of his drink and began. “I pledge my love to you, and everything I own. I promise you the first bite of my meal and the first sip from my cup. I pledge your name will always be the name I cry aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor you above all others. Our love is never-ending, and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage. This is my wedding vow to you.”

  My heart was soaring as I listened to him. Whether he’d borrowed the words or written them himself, I knew he’d been preparing something to say when we finally stood in front of the judge. This preview, in the privacy of such a memorable setting, made it more meaningful. I could barely articulate my vow, but I made an honest attempt, trying to remember what I’d hoped to say on our wedding day.

  “Trent, you are my Anam Cara, a word I’d never heard of until recently, but one which perfectly describes our connection. I was lost till you found me. Your guiding hand and strong belief in me have transcended every obstacle I’ve thrown in the way of our happiness. You are my lover, mentor, and true soul mate. I vow to continue to give you my best, pledging my love and loyalty till death do us part.”

  We kissed and held each other for a few more minutes. “Let’s dance,” Trent whispered. I realized there was music playing in the background, but everything had faded out as I listened to Trent dedicating his life to me. The sultry voices of Ricky Martin and Meja singing “Private Emotion” penetrated the pink glow, and I sighed with happiness when he pulled me closer and swayed to the catchy melody.

  The euphoria continued late into the night as we had our fill of steak and lobster. We ate off each other’s plate, licking juices off our fingers and sharing buttery kisses. We were high on love and several glasses of champagne. It was like a fairy tale: one I’d always dreamed about during my darker days.

  We dismissed the crew around one in the morning, asking them not to wake us even when we got to port. Everything could wait until we were good and ready, another benefit of being a pseudo billionaire. We floated back to our stateroom and peeled off our clothes, taking special care to fold and hang each item so they’d be in perfect condition for the wedding. Our world narrowed to skin and smell and touch. I couldn’t wait to climb into bed and feel him inside me, but he had a request I hadn’t been expecting.

  “Fuck me,” he said seriously.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been preparing for this.”

  “Are you certain?” I said, stumbling over the words. My brain was screaming oh my God, but out loud, I wa
s cool and collected. “I’d hate to ruin this perfect evening.”

  “I trust you.”

  Yikes… talk about performance anxiety. “Master, this can wait for another time.”

  “No, babe, it’s my wedding present for you.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, humbled by his generosity. This was more than a gift; it was a symbol of trust I wasn’t sure I deserved. He was not only giving me his heart, he was also asking me to help him overcome his deepest fear. I prayed I’d live up to his expectations, not just tonight but every day from now until forever. “Before we get started, I need to know your safeword.”

  “I won’t need one.”

  “Wrong answer. You told me once that everyone needs a safeword, and I won’t touch you unless you give me yours and use it if necessary.”

  “You’re the bossiest sub in the world.”

  “True, but you did say you love me just the way I am. Now, stop waffling and give me your safeword.”

  “Wilbur.”

  “As in Wilbur the pig?”

  “You know I’m not very fond of those creatures.”

  I had to chuckle, despite the gravity of the moment. “You’d probably endure excruciating pain before safewording.”

  “I won’t need it.”

  I stepped closer and embraced him. I could feel his heart beating rapidly, evidence of his mounting anxiety. I kissed him tenderly, intent on moving beyond this freaky anticipation phase.

  Biting his ear gently, I lamented, “Tonight, I wish I had a pencil dick.”

  “I don’t.”

  I giggled. “You always were a size queen.”

  “Did you think your eyes were the only draw?”

  “Ah… the truth finally comes out. You’re shallow and have fantasies of being plowed by my battering ram.”

  Trent growled. “Let’s get this show on the road, babe. I want to see those stars you’re always talking about.”

  “I love you, Master.”

  “I know you do, Sloan, and now’s your chance to show me how much.”

  I decided to turn the tables on him and use one of his relaxation techniques to calm him down. Jokes aside, I could tell he was dreading this. I wanted to erase the other memories clouding his perception of anal sex. It could be just as mind-blowing as my first venture into subspace, and I was positive I could do it, if he would only relax.

  “Give me a second.” I could feel his mounting urgency pressing against my stomach, an excellent sign that the kissing and foreplay were working. I dashed into the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of Kama Sutra massage oil I’d seen earlier. If it was here, in this monument of decadent wealth, it had to be the best.

  I rolled him over onto his stomach and poured the oil liberally. My hands were gliding easily over the taut muscles as I kneaded and rubbed. I made sure my cock was glistening with the stuff as well. Better to play slip and slide than get stuck halfway home.

  He was starting to moan and rub against the mattress. I knew we were close, but I kept on massaging, wanting to bring him to the very brink. My hands were all over the place, and the noises coming out of his throat seemed to escalate when my fingers worked his thighs, inching toward the sensitive area between his balls and his asshole. I stroked him leisurely, loving it when he spread a little wider, giving me full access. I parted his ass cheeks with my thumbs and touched his quivering hole with my tongue, waiting to see how he’d react. He moaned louder and lifted his ass slightly, giving me the signal to go ahead. I was rock hard, aroused by his compliance and the beautiful body parts I was working with my mouth.

  “Babe, please….”

  I’d been waiting for him to ask. Assuming the position, I pushed before he could change his mind. The hardest part was getting past the tight ring of muscle barring my entry as effectively as a lock on a gate. Fuck it, I wasn’t about to be deterred by his body’s automatic reaction.

  “Stop clenching, sir… please, let me in.”

  Whether it was my polite request or his body’s natural response, I felt the give. I thrust forcefully and stopped as soon as my cock head popped through the barrier. My heart was thudding, and I swore I saw fucking stars because he was so tight. “Oh, hell….”

  He groaned in response to my breathy expletive. “God, you’re big.”

  “And you’re deliciously tight. Are you doing okay?”

  “I think so… fuck me.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, grinning, pushing in a little farther. He must have practiced for weeks with a monster dildo because he didn’t flinch when I sank in to the hilt. A little adjustment in my angulations, and he was begging like a sub.

  “Sloan….”

  My eyes practically rolled back in my head as I listened to him calling out my name in throaty gasps. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever heard, and I did see the fireworks, exploding in Technicolor all around us as I poured into him, seconds after he came in my hand.

  “Oh my fucking God.”

  Trent chuckled and caressed my face as I flopped down on the pillow beside him. “Was it that good, babe?”

  “Way better… how about you?”

  “Incredible….”

  “For sure?”

  “Stop being insecure.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I love you, Sloan.”

  “Me too… can we do this again sometime?”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Just asking,” I said, smiling at his weak attempt to be masterful.

  “Get over here, you brat.”

  He cocooned me, keeping me close and trailing light kisses down my neck and shoulder. I was so happy I wanted to cry. But I didn’t; I fell asleep instead.

  About the Author

  Mickie B. Ashling is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West.

  Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. A lot of her backlist is “Under Construction” as she slowly transitions from traditional publishing to representing herself. Her goal is to have most of her novels back in the universe by the end of 2021. Audiobooks and foreign translations are still available at Amazon and Audible.

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  Also by Mickie B. Ashling

  Third Son

  Enforcing Emory

  My Semana Grande

  Mayon

  Saying Goodbye

  Yesterday

  Finding Our Morning

  LEGACY SERIES

  A Tangled Legacy (1)

  A Noble Cause (2)

  BASQUE TRILOGY

  Loving Edits (1)

  Tono (2)

  Momentos: Mick’s Journey (3)

  BAY AREA PROFESSIONALS

  Impacted! (1)

  Bonds of Love (2)

  Fractured (3)

  Forged in Trust (4)

  Yield (5)

  CUTTING CORDS SERIES

  Cutting Cords (1)

  Vessel (2)

  Cleave (3)

  Cutting Out (4)

  HORIZONS SERIES

  Horizons (1)

  Taste (2)

  Daddio (3)

  Chyna Doll (4)

  Through My Own Lens (5)

  Being With Him (6)

  THE OPEN SERIES

  Open Seating (1)

  Open House (2)

  Open Case (3)

  POLO SERIES

  Fire Horse (1)

  Ride-Off (2)

  The Sixth Chukker (3)

  g Cords Series Book 3)