Ruin: Slay Two

by Laurelin Paige

I tossed my napkin on my plate and pushed my plate away, my irritation returning. “Let me guess. This nurse will only speak French.”

  “Don’t be silly. You know French.”

  “Are you guessing?”

  “Fais-je fausse route?”

  “Non,” I said with a sigh. He was not wrong. And that irked me more. “Speaking of being fucked over, how is it that you know when my birth control runs out?”

  “Your privacy is not a privilege.”

  “I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise considering the bikini wax.” It worried me though, what else he could know. Which of my secrets he could uncover. “Oh,” I said, relaxing with my realization. “My doctor sent a reminder email to schedule something, didn’t she?”

  He ignored me. “My privacy, on the other hand, is assured.”

  “Of course it is. Is that all?”

  He put his elbows on the table, inching his plate away in the process, and clasped his hands together. “Is that all, sir.”

  “What?”

  “When we are in a session, you will address me as sir.”

  This latest rule sent a shudder down my spine, a flinch I couldn’t hide. “I’d rather not,” I said softly.

  His brow raised in satisfaction. “All the more reason that you will.”

  I swallowed, my hands sweating in my lap. Memories from another time—another man— flooded me bodily.

  “What do you say about my gift, Celia?”

  “Thank you, Uncle Ron.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

  Except, it was more important not to let Edward know how I felt about it. It was not a weak spot I wanted him to know.

  I managed to keep from shaking as I picked up my champagne flute. “We aren’t in a session right now.”

  “We are,” he said, placing his napkin next to his plate. “Dinner is finished. It’s time to go.” He stood and circled behind me to pull out my chair.

  I finished my champagne and set it down before standing. “Do I need to change into some terribly drab outfit first?”

  His forehead rose in a silent prompt.

  I drew my hands into balls at my sides and gritted my teeth. “Do I need to change into some terribly drab outfit, sir.” I spat the last word out.

  His eyes narrowed, and for half a second I thought he’d challenge my tone. But then he looked me over, scanned me from head to toe, as though really looking at me for the first time that night. He couldn’t hide that he liked what he saw. “What you’re wearing is fine enough,” he said, unwilling as ever to give me anything more.

  “Careful,” I said, smug about my wardrobe choice. “I might mistake that as a compliment.” A beat passed before I remembered. “Sir.”

  Ten

  My triumph was short-lived.

  As soon as we arrived at the bungalow, he led me into the bedroom. “Take all your clothes off, fold them, and leave them on the chest. Once you’re completely stripped, kneel on the floor facing the chair.”

  Then he disappeared into the front room, leaving me to my task.

  He wouldn’t see my power stockings after all.

  I brushed off my disappointment. It was fine. I’d worn them for me, not him. Mostly.

  At least these instructions were familiar. I’d never played the sub before, but I’d prepared for this. The strip and kneel was very basic submissive training. This was something I could do.

  I took a moment to scan the room. Again, there were oriental-framed windows looking out to the ocean and bamboo ceilings and tile floors. It was sparsely furnished with only a king size bed, a chest, and a chair. There was no dresser, but there was a closet. There were no apparent kink contraptions. No hooks hanging from the ceiling. No spanking benches.

  Not that Edward wasn’t creative. He probably didn’t need gadgets.

  Who had he brought here before? Who had he fucked in that bed? What remnants of other women would I find if I looked?

  I’d taken two steps toward the closet hoping to check it out when Edward called out from the other room. “Hurry up about it, please. I expect you ready by the time I come back.”

  The clink of glassware told me he was fixing himself a drink. That wouldn’t take long. I’d have to rush.

  Somehow I managed to get the dress off, the garter, panties, stockings, all of it folded on the wood chest, the shoes on the floor next to it, and myself down on my knees just as he walked in.

  I kept my eyes lowered, one of the guidelines from my reading, so I could only really see his shoes as he circled around me. Studying me? Whatever he was doing, it made me feel very exposed.

  Except when I’d tried to kill him with the shard of glass, I’d never been completely naked this close to him before. I preferred it to the gut-wrenching storytelling from the night before, but on my knees, with my gaze down, felt chillingly different than standing in front of a man, attempting to seduce him. That was a powerful posture. This was pointedly not.

  After he’d completed his inspection, Edward sat in the chair. “Eyes on me.”

  I lifted them and felt my breath speed up when they caught his heated gaze. It was heady, the way he looked at me. Almost intoxicating enough to distract me from the foreign submissive position.

  “This might have happened last night,” Edward said, sipping his drink casually, as though he wasn’t at all stirred by the naked woman in front of him. The bulge in his pants said otherwise. “The second part of the session. We weren’t ready to move on, though, so we’ve divided it.”

  When he said we, I was sure he really meant me. But I did recognize it was possible he meant us both.

  “I think we should take a moment to recap what occurred last night. Can you tell me succinctly?”

  “I believe I can, Edward,” I said haughtily, hoping if I “forgot” often enough he wouldn’t correct the “sir” slip. “I opened up, told you something personal, became vulnerable like you asked, and you were unappreciative.”

  The correction he gave was with a glare.

  “What?” I asked innocently.

  “We won’t continue if you won’t follow the rules, Celia. And if we don’t continue, you’ll never get back home.” His tone was more matter-of-fact than stern, but it was a clear enough threat. Obey or else.

  “You were unappreciative, sir,” I said, my skin crawling with the simple added syllable.

  He nodded. “Because…?”

  I had a thousand snappy answers at the ready, but I held back. He’d just given me every reason to play along.

  Except, I wasn’t so sure of the answer. Wasn’t so sure what he wanted to hear. I thought about how my revealing had ended the night before, how, when I’d felt too vulnerable, too raw, I’d tried to counter with my power grab. As he’d so precisely called me on it, I’d been bragging.

  I knew the answer. “Because when I was finished, I didn’t allow myself to be weak.” My eyes lowered automatically, unable to hold his in the admission, then immediately rose again when I remembered he wanted them on him, as hard as it was to keep them there. “I did brag, yes, but if I’d told it differently, if I’d let the truth come out, you would have seen my weakness there too. Sir.” I flinched as I added the address.

  “Very good. I’m pleased you could recognize your failure. Very pleased.”

  His praise made me feel sun-touched, like I was glowing in its rays.

  “However, as well as you’ve done now, there must still be consequences for your behavior last night. Let’s see what those books have taught you—show me what you can do with that mouth.”

  He spread his legs, inviting me to fill the space between them.

  A mixture of relief and victory and, yes, want, flooded through me. This was my punishment? Sucking him off? This was a cinch. I was good at blow jobs. They were one of the easiest ways to manipulate men, and I’d become an expert. How fucking lucky could I get? How stupid was he not to see that
, with his cock in my mouth, I would definitley not be ceding power—I would be claiming it.

  And I’d be touching him too, fondling him in all the ways I’d wanted, in all the ways he hadn’t let me before now. Moisture pooled between my legs.

  Eagerly, I crawled forward and began working on his belt, pausing to stroke my palm along the hard ridge pressing against the pleat of his trousers. He gave a satisfied grunt, and the muscles in my thighs vibrated. Licking my lips, I glanced up at him. I could feel the smile in my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I was excited.

  He’d seen it, too. The space between his brows creased as though he was just figuring something out, and when I went back to undo his zipper, he caught my hand, stopping me. “I changed my mind,” he said, pushing me away. “Get on the bed.”

  “Uh. Okay.” It took me a minute to stand, I was too stunned.

  The bed could be good though too. Certainly more comfortable than the ceramic tile.

  But if he still had a blow job on the agenda, it was going to be very different from any I’d given before. Because when I got on the bed, he had me lie on my back, my ass at the foot of the bed, my knees bent, my legs spread—a very similar position to the one he’d fucked me in the night we’d married.

  Even better.

  My stomach flipped expectantly, waiting for him to unsheath his gorgeous cock. Again, though, he surprised me. He got down on his knees.

  I clamped my knees together and sat upright, alarm shooting through my veins. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I'm going to eat that pussy.”

  I shook my head, even as new arousal gushed between my legs.

  “Why would you want to do that?” I couldn’t help the panic in my voice. He couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let him. There was no way.

  “Because you don't want me to.”

  The asshole saw everything, knew everything. He’d made a momentary misstep thinking that getting me down on my knees was the way to punish me, but I’d given myself away. This was true punishment. This was true vulnerability. Having my legs open, letting a man give me pleasure—letting myself relax enough to feel the pleasure—that was truly giving up my power, truly giving up control. I’d been there before and never wanted to be there again. The idea was a nightmare to me, and it was obvious in the way I shooed him off, the way I tried to kick him away. The way the sweat beaded on my forehead.

  He knew, he knew, he knew.

  He knew, and he was so satisfied he hadn’t even mentioned my lapse of sirs, a slip that he couldn’t possibly have missed.

  He knew, and I still couldn’t stop fighting him. “That's stupid. What woman wouldn't want a guy going down on her?”

  “Good question.” He stood again, and my shoulders sagged with relief. He was abandoning this. Thank you, God.

  After glancing around the room, Edward strolled over to the chest and picked up one of my abandoned stockings. “Excellent,” he said, with an almost-wink in my direction. “This will do nicely. Scoot back on the bed and raise your arms above your head.”

  I did it. Whatever he was planning would be better than what he’d almost done. He came around one side of the bed and positioned my wrists together. Then, after tying the end of the stocking around them, he stretched the hose out and wrapped the other end around one of the slats of the bedframe before tying it off.

  “Kinky,” I said, my heart still racing from my near escape of orgasm by cunnilingus. “Sir,” I added, because I was calmer now and wanted to get back to keeping him pleased.

  But then he was kneeling in front of me, spreading my thighs with his hands, and the panic returned with a tsunami-like force.

  “I can manage your legs,” he said in explanation, “but it was going to be real hard to concentrate on making you come with your hands pushing me away.”

  His grip was tight and he’d done a good job with the binding, but I thrashed anyway. “No, please! Edward.” I sat up as well as I could. “No. You can’t.”

  He paused. “Is this really where you’d like to stop for the night? Because I will, and then we’ll have to start all over again another night. When I come back.”

  Fuck!

  I closed my eyes tight and reasoned through my options. It didn’t matter how long he’d be gone. If it was two weeks it would be too long. I did not want to start over. I did not want to be stuck here forever.

  And I did want him. As fucked up as that was, I still wanted him touching me, still wanted him inside me. He’d fingered me before, and it had been glorious. Would it really be that different if he used his mouth?

  “Okay,” I said, trying to steady my breathing. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Good girl,” he said, stroking his hand up my abdomen to fondle my breast. My nipples stiffened and my back arched into him. “I’m very happy with your decision.”

  He lowered his head then, and ran his tongue up my seam. “You’ll get two.”

  “Two licks?” I asked, a little delirious from the first swipe.

  “Two orgasms.”

  “Two?!” I yanked involuntarily against the stocking.

  “Now it’s three.”

  I clamped my mouth shut, afraid to protest. But three? I was a one orgasm kind of girl. It had been a miracle that he’d managed two from me on our wedding night, and that situation had been entirely different. Then, I’d been in control.

  Well, more in control.

  It wasn’t possible. I wouldn’t be able to do it.

  But I had to let him find that out on his own because there was no way I was going to talk back and get the number upped to four.

  He started gently, his tongue teasing my clit with slow, light circles. Then his licking turned more earnest, swiping first this side of my sensitive bud, then the other. I could tell he was reading me, studying my responses. Learning how to give me pleasure, and, despite the tension clutching my back and shoulders, I felt oddly moved by this realization. Even when I reminded myself he was learning me to use his knowledge against me, not because he cared, I couldn’t help but think it was one and the same. That everything he used against me was because, at some level, he cared.

  That was the way with being caught up in pleasure—it messed with the head. Made the lies I told myself easier to believe.

  I was wrapped in that particular lie when the first orgasm grew, sprouting from me like a seedling piercing through the earth, stretching its way through my limbs with a roll so gentle, I wondered if he’d even noticed.

  “That’s one,” he said, lifting up only long enough to say the word before returning to his task.

  I breathed easier now, the first one having relaxed my tense muscles. It had felt good—Edward knew what he was doing—and it hadn’t felt like I had given up too much to get it. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  But he was more aggressive after that, sucking my clit into his mouth, using his teeth, his nips sending megawatt jolts of pleasure through my nervous system, and when the second one came, it had me trembling and gasping his name with shallow breaths.

  The third, though—that’s when he really went to task. His mouth traveled down my pussy, down along my seam to my wet channel where he speared me with frantic thrusts with his tongue. His fingers entered the scene, dancing over my clit until I was squirming and pulling at the stocking.

  I couldn’t do it. It was so close, and I couldn’t get there. I wouldn’t.

  The defeatist narrative running through my mind wasn’t helping. I struggled against it, tensing up when I should have been calming down, thinking too hard about the man between my legs. Who he was. What he’d done to me.

  What I wanted him to do to me.

  It was a mess inside my brain, my feelings about Edward, and to top off the confusion, he was giving me the best orgasm of my life. Pulling it from me like he owned it. Like he deserved a piece of me, and I fought, afraid that when he took that piece, he’d take all of me with him.

>   My eyes were already tearing by the time it finally rushed through me, sweeping me up so unexpectedly, I hadn’t been appropriately braced for it. The edges of my vision went black and it knocked the air from my lungs as it took over, shooting bliss through my body like I’d just snorted a line of cocaine.

  And then they were done. All three. And I could sigh in relief, boneless. Sated. A survivor.

  “One more,” Edward said from between my thighs.

  I bolted up to protest. “That one was three.”

  He lifted his head, but left his fingers to stroke against the swollen lips of my pussy. “You're arguing with me?”

  “No, sir,” I said, defensively. “But that was honestly—”

  His expression told me what finishing my statement was going to get me, and I couldn’t bear another added to my sentence. I couldn’t bear the one he was proposing now.

  A tear fell, my mouth quivering. “I'm not trying to argue, Edward. I’m not. I don't want to make you mad, but since you won't let me have a safe word, I just want you to know I can't do it. I can't possibly take one more.” It was the most honest I’d ever been. The most raw.

  “You will,” he insisted, sliding two fingers inside of me to graze against my G-spot.

  My hips bucked, my body wanting him inside me despite my head knowing I couldn’t take anymore. “You said to tell you,” I blubbered. “You said when I couldn’t take it to tell you. To not play games, and I’m not playing a game right now.”

  “Yes, and you are very good to tell me. But I never said I’d listen.” He bent down to add a series of quick tongue strokes against my clit to the deep thrusts of his fingers.

  “Fuck, Edward! No, I can’t. I can’t!” I pulled against my restraint. I pressed my knees inward trying to shove him off.

  “Eyes on me,” he said sharply, shutting me up. When he held my gaze in his, he touched the tip of his tongue lightly to my most sensitive spot. “You don't think you can take it, little bird.” Another soft press of the tongue. “But you can.” This time his mouth lingered. “Keep your eyes on me. Relax. Let me take care of you. Let it feel good.”

  His words were soft and anchored me along with his intense stare, and there, wrapped in the solid promise of his authority, I let myself go. I let him take care of me. I let it feel good.