by Nikki Sloane
And then I stalled further by scheduling the final rehearsal at Elena’s studio.
“Are you okay?” she asked once we were both seated on my couch, a glass in hand. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
Since the day she’d come to my match, we’d gotten so close. Between orchestra, rugby training, and learning her audition piece, it was difficult to find time to see her, but we talked and texted several times throughout the day.
Every day.
Which meant I’d put off the bad news long enough. I sighed. “I need to play the song for you, so you can decide what you want to do. I’m not sure you’re going to be happy with it.”
Her expression was dubious. Did she think I was being humble? I wasn’t. I needed my performance to be perfect, and even my best run through the song wasn’t close. I set my wine down, stood, and marched to the cello resting in its stand, snatching up the bow hanging beside it. The chair I’d play in was across from the couch, and as I sat and settled into position, Tara began to struggle out of her shirt.
“What are you doing?”
She flung the shirt onto the cushion beside her and hitched her fingers under the waistband of her skintight leggings. “I’m getting naked.”
“I see that.” My mouth watered at the sight of her tits, since the black bra she wore was sheer and see-through. “Any reason why?”
She’d taken off her heels when she’d arrived, so there was nothing to slow her down as she shimmied out of her pants, revealing her long, gorgeous legs. “I think it might help you.”
“You mean to distract me?”
“No,” she said. Her expression was determined. “I think you feel vulnerable playing for me. I thought this way we could be equal.”
I was touched by her gesture, but she was insane. “You’re underestimating the power you have when you’re naked.”
Her smile was lopsided, but she wouldn’t be deterred. Her arms twisted behind her back, her bra was unclasped, and off it came. Her breasts swayed as she hooked her fingers under her panties and pushed them down over her knees.
Was I truly stupid enough to complain about this? If my stunningly beautiful and sexy as hell girlfriend wanted to listen to me butcher the song while she was nude, I should be grateful.
She crossed her legs, folded her hands into her lap, and waited dutifully for me to start. She looked regal, like a queen sitting on a throne rather than my leather couch, and although she’d taken off her clothes so we could be equal, we weren’t. Our power exchange was flipped upside down, and I was off-balance with the lack of control.
When I was in charge, she liked to please, but it wasn’t the same for me in this role. I wouldn’t feel satisfaction at pleasing her—only relief that I hadn’t disappointed.
I swallowed thickly, straightened my posture, and pressed play on the recording.
The piano intro was short. I had to start playing as soon as I heard the music, but as I struck my bow across the strings, my fear evaporated. The tight tension released from my shoulders and I relaxed into my movements, suddenly finding it easy to keep time with the hurried tempo.
Every note was echoed on her face. Her eyebrows lifted, and her lips parted, but she didn’t seem to be breathing. Maybe she didn’t want anything to interfere with the sound of my cello as it sang.
As I played, energy flowed from my fingers. It was exhilarating.
We passed the two-minute mark, but I kept playing along with the recording, having memorized the whole song just in case. Tara looked like she was hanging on every note in awe, and it was clear what had been missing from all those times I’d practice.
Her. Tara was the spark.
My spark.
Whoa. My brain told me to pump the brakes. It was much too soon to be thinking like that.
As I struck the last chord, she rose from the couch. The sustain on the piano faded to nothing and the recording ended, and in the new silence, her expression shifted. Her eyes smoldered and she stared at me like I was her trapped prey.
When she stalked forward, I hurried to get the cello back in its stand in time to make room for her. She climbed into my lap, draping her legs over me and shoving her warm hands up under my shirt.
Her lips tasted like wine and longing.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her deeper into the kiss, and in that instant, the power dynamic flipped right-side up. I was fully clothed, but she was totally nude and writhing in my arms from my hungry kiss.
How could it get any better than this? I felt like the Pied Piper, my music making her my eager slave. Would she follow me anywhere?
“It was beautiful,” she whispered as I kissed the hollow of her throat, my mouth journeying toward her breasts.
“You’re beautiful,” I answered instantly.
She whimpered like the understated compliment was too much and leaned back, placing her hands on my knees. Her head tipped up to the ceiling, arching her body toward me, and it was miles of creamy, flawless skin. I trailed my palms up her sides and closed them around her breasts, holding her steady as I feasted, my mouth plucking at her hard nipples.
As I went from one to the other, “Should I play it again?”
“Only if you want me to break every rule and fuck you in this chair.”
I chuckled wickedly against the curve of her breast. “That should make our next rehearsal quite interesting.”
Her fingers laced together behind my head and pulled me until our foreheads were pressed together. Her words were weighted. “Thank you, Grant.”
I inhaled a deep breath to match her sincerity. “The pleasure was all mine.”
Time was limited, and Tara was too focused during rehearsal to make good on her threat of fucking me. She was a whirlwind as she danced, leaping and turning and sliding across the floor while I played.
Elena came out of her office to say hello at the start of practice and never left. She sat in the corner, her back against the mirrored wall, watching us. Watching Tara, really. I couldn’t blame her. Tara was absolutely captivating.
When she’d performed it all the way through the first time, she looked over at her friend for critique. Elena pressed her fingertips to her lips, unable to say anything, but her eyes spoke volumes. Finally, she moved her hand down to cover her heart.
Her voice was hushed but powerful. “It’s good. It’s really, really good.”
The smile that burst on Tara’s face was enormous, and I was grateful I was seated when she turned and directed the smile at me.
We spent the rest of the hour perfecting the routine. She remarked that she wanted to do it enough times that she couldn’t get it wrong.
The days before the audition were short, but it was likely because any time I got to spend with her seemed to fly by. I’d come back to my place, sweaty and tired from training with my teammates, and she’d arrive with dinner shortly after. I’d offered to buy, but the week leading up to audition she was on a regimented athlete’s diet, and it was easier this way.
“Next week, we’ll eat all the pizza you want,” she said on Thursday night, after we’d just finished our chicken and steamed vegetables. I put the empty takeout containers in the trash as she surveyed me from the kitchen table.
“I’d eat it for every meal if I could.”
She gave a half-smile. “I’ve had cold pizza the morning after. You can keep it.”
“Brilliant.”
I sat back down and watched her drum her fingers absentmindedly against the tabletop. She didn’t say them out loud, but I could read her thoughts. Less than forty-eight hours until the audition. I wanted to distract from her anxiety.
“What time are you planning to be at the theater?” I asked.
“Five. The doors don’t open until eight, but the line will probably be a mile long.”
“Would you like some company tomorrow night? We could go together in the morning.”
“Just invite yourself over, w
hy don’t you?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, only to turn sincere. “I would love that.” She faked a stern expression. “But no shenanigans tomorrow. I need my sleep.”
“All right.” I lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll have to get those ‘shenanigans’ taken care of tonight, then, I suppose?”
She laughed like she thought I was joking.
“Oh, you’re serious, huh?” Her tone was playful and sultry.
“Get on the table.”
I’d show her how serious I was. She swallowed so hard, I heard the click in her throat. Was she thinking about the blindfold club? How she would lie on the cushioned table and let anyone have her for the right price?
It defied logic that this appealed to me, but my body was simpler. The concept had blood rushing to my cock, which swelled in my jeans. I wanted our first night back. I needed to do it right, but now we had these rules preventing it. I’d disliked the rules at first, and then began to enjoy them. It forced us to be creative.
We’d fucked each other in every way imaginable, except for the ways that were expressly forbidden. And I would have done it regardless, but the rules made sure I took care of her pleasure and placed its importance over my own.
The table was plain black and something I’d probably picked up at IKEA years ago, but it was sturdy enough. It barely shook as she sat on it, her legs dangling, and her hands curled over the edge as she stared up at me.
As I undressed her, she let my hands roam and explore. There wasn’t a spot on her body I hadn’t already touched, but it didn’t matter. Each time I was as eager as the first. I striped her of her shirt, bra, and jeans, but left the delicate pair of pink lace panties in place.
“Move back and lie down,” I said, placing a hand in the center of her chest and pressing gently, until she followed my command. She shifted on the wood, settling into a position that was still probably a little uncomfortable, but she didn’t complain.
My chest tightened as I gazed at her. My kitchen was well lit and boring, unlike the intimate, sexy club. She wasn’t blindfolded, or tied down, or even completely naked. But it was close enough, and I struggled to keep focus.
“Don’t move,” I commanded.
I left her, my footsteps swift as they carried me into my bedroom and to the bottle of scented oil I’d bought on my lunch break earlier in the week. When I returned to the kitchen, she was exactly as I’d left her, prone on the table, her palms flat against the wood. I approached and stood by her side.
She turned her head to me, her gaze landed on the bottle, and a coy smile warmed her lips. Tara approved.
I unscrewed the cap and poured a handful in my palm while she watched.
A puzzled look flashed on her face. “Is it scented?”
“Vanilla.” I chuckled.
Her laugh cut off as I turned over my palm and let the oil drip from my fingers, drizzling onto her skin. Her eyes hooded when I put the bottle down and set my hands on her, streaking the oil across her chest until it was glossy.
I repeated the process slowly all over her body, warming the oil before dispensing it. Pour. Drip. Slide.
My hands had the same sheen as her skin, and I kneaded the muscles in her calves, one leg, then the other. Tara wobbled between pleasure and satisfaction. My massage turned her on, but it also relaxed. She became pliable in my hands as I worked upward.
I stroked her thighs, working loose the muscles.
I probably spent too much time on her breasts. I loved the way they looked as they slipped through my fingers. The only spot I didn’t pay attention to was covered by her skimpy panties. Shit, they were sexy.
“I’m going to want this again,” she whispered, “on Saturday night.”
“About that . . .”
My palms slalomed over her curves, down her flat stomach, and to the tops of her thighs, only for me to slide them inward and ease her thighs apart. I turned my palm down and ran my hand between her legs, my knuckles brushing over the lace and her clit hidden beneath.
Her breathing picked up. “About that, what?”
I’d been standing beside her, but now I rounded the table, seized her ankles, and dragged her closer to the table’s end. She gasped in surprise, but again, she didn’t protest. Did she trust me not to hurt her? Her knees were up and together, and I put my hands on them, slowly pushing them apart as I spoke.
“I want to meet them.”
I’d proven myself, but I was desperate for more. I wanted to see this side of Tara, because I wanted all of her.
I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I threw my hands on either side of her hips, leaned down, and licked the crotch of her panties.
She jolted. “That’s against the rules!”
“Is it?” I did it again, dampening the lace further. “You still have your underwear on.”
When her legs tried to close, I put my palms on her knees and pinned them to the table. It was gentle enough she could easily overpower me if she wanted to stop, but firm enough to remind her she liked when I took control.
“Oh, fuck.” She recoiled off the tabletop, her body bending upward as she bucked from the sensation. I traced the pattern of lace with the tip of my tongue. This walked the line of being wrong, but I didn’t fucking care. If I’d been in competition with them, I’d clearly won. Maybe it was time they took some orders from me.
I sucked at her clit through her panties, drenching them. “Do you want me to stop?”
She couldn’t answer with words, but as she shook her head, she curled a fist into her hair and closed her eyes. Dark victory burned through me. I’d wanted this for so long, it felt like years.
Once I had her underwear soaked, I hoped it would feel like no barrier between us at all. I placed my fingers over the crotch of her panties, stretching the lace tight against her skin until I could make out the swollen bulge of her clit, and went to work.
“Saturday night,” I ordered, lashing her with my tongue.
Her moans were a melody of sex, and I brought on her crescendo when I added, “I want to watch you fuck them.”
“Oh my God,” she moaned. She squirmed against my mouth, reminding me of the first time I’d done this, only then I hadn’t been hindered. I needed it. I wanted that for us.
I flicked over the lace, stoking the fire. “And then you’re mine. They only get to fuck you when I say so.”
She sounded panicked. “You’re going to make me come.”
“Because of what I’m doing? Or because you like the sound of that?”
“Yes,” she cried, then gulped down an enormous swallow of air.
It wasn’t clear if she was answering me or encouraging me to push her over the edge, but I assumed it was both. One last stroke of my tongue, and her thighs locked around my ears. She contracted and flinched, jamming a hand in my hair to hold on as the orgasm roared through her body.
Power rolled down my chest, flooding out to my limbs. Making her come was amazing. Perhaps it was good I hadn’t done it that night at the club. I would have been as hopeless as I was now, halfway in love with her.
The only thing stopping me from falling all the way was my guilt over lying to her. It was another reason why I’d asked to meet them. I’d show her how comfortable I was, and when she came clean about the club, so would I. We could have it all. Sex and love, without shame or judgement. Pleasure and commitment, both kinky and vanilla.
I rested my head on her thigh, content just to listen to her soft sighs while she got her shivers under control.
Finally, she lifted her head and peered down at me over the slope of her body. “Give me another minute,” she said, “and I’ll text them.”
-24-
Grant
When Tara’s alarm went off at four a.m., I was already awake. I didn’t move, pretending to sleep as she rolled out of bed and quietly tiptoed across the dark room to her bathroom. The door shut, light glowed from beneath it, and a shower handle squeaked as it was
turned. Water beat against the porcelain tub and gurgled down the drain.
I wasn’t having second thoughts about this evening.
This couple, Silas and Regan, had invited us over for drinks at Regan’s place, and I was looking forward to it . . . mostly. But I was anxious. Tara had said it would be casual because when you started planning specifics, that was when it became tricky and awkward. If things were supposed to happen, they would.
It didn’t matter if Silas and Regan approved of me when it came to her. Tara reminded me of what she’d said before; if she didn’t like a dom’s rules, she’d find a new one. But I still wanted their approval. They had been a significant part of her life for almost a year.
So, while I was sure I wanted to go through with the meeting, this morning I was wishing I hadn’t been so stupid and asked for it the same night as her audition. I’d added more stress to what would already be a stressful day.
Behind the bathroom door, the shower curtain slid across the rod with a metallic jangle.
The longer I lay in her bed, with the sheets that smelled like her, the more my nerves gnawed at me. She said it didn’t matter, but if Silas and Regan disapproved of me, wouldn’t that give her pause? Our connection was strong, but what if theirs was stronger?
I needed to make a good first impression. That should be easy. I’d done it with Tara.
A dark corner of my mind whispered to me. What about the first time?
There was a black ledger in the drawer, less than a foot away from my head, which could answer that. All I had to do was page to the date and read it.
Doing that would be wrong. Looking in her journal was invasive, but the desire to know what she’d written about me was fierce. I was good at controlling her, but terrible at controlling myself. I reached over and tugged the drawer open. It was too dark in the room to make out what was inside, but my phone rested on the nightstand.
I grabbed it, sat up, and flipped on the flashlight app. It cast light across the leather cover of the journal, and I scowled. Part of me had hoped she’d moved it somewhere else, saving me from myself. But, no. It was right there.
