by C L Cruz
I squeeze my legs together, trying to ease the ache. “If?” I ask breathily.
He raises one eyebrow. “When?”
Tracing the rim of my glass, I ask, “What do you like to do…downstairs?”
Under the table, his hand lands on my bare knee and slides up, under the hem of my skirt, stopping where my thighs touch.
“I don’t like to share what’s mine,” he says. “But I do like to be in control.”
“Why?” I ask, my embarrassment fading in favor of curiosity.
“Spread your legs,” he says instead of answering me.
I glance over my shoulder. There are a few other diners in the restaurant, but it’s the middle of the afternoon and not very busy. No one is paying attention to us. I let my legs fall apart and his hand slides further up, grazing the outside of my panties lightly.
“When I tell you to do something, what do you say?” his rough voice grumbles in my ear.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I rotate my hips, seeking the pressure he’s denying me. “Yes, Sir,” I answer quietly.
He rewards me by cupping my center and pressing a finger to my clit. “I’m supposed to be the boss, but all day long, people question me, challenge me, make me prove myself. In the bedroom, I want a woman who obeys. Who doesn’t ask questions and who respects me because she trusts me to take care of her.”
The whole time, he’s stroking me languidly, up and down, circling my clit. My panties are growing damp and I’m trying to focus on his words, but the low rumble of his voice and the feel of his hand on me is almost too much. He’s going to make me come right here, in front of everyone.
“Can I get you anything else?” asks a voice from beside me.
My head snaps up and I see the waiter smiling placidly down at us. Tobias doesn’t stop, his touch instead sending me closer and closer to the edge. I open my mouth to answer but all that escapes is a small moan.
“No, thank you,” Tobias says easily. “The check please.”
His fingers push aside the crotch of my underwear and dive inside my wet heat.
I grip the edge of the table. “Tobias, please,” I beg.
“Please what?”
That’s a damn good question. Do I want him to stop? Not really. Do I want to let everyone in this restaurant see my orgasm face? Also a negative.
I’m so close. I grind myself against his hand, seeking that release—
And then his touch disappears. My gaze lifts to his only to find him smirking at me, confirming my first impression that he’s no Prince Charming. He’s a villain, through and through. But I don’t mind a bad boy.
“Answer when I ask you a question,” he says. “Communication is the most important thing in the bedroom. Or any room.”
The waiter returns and hands him the check, and they make small talk about some sports event that evening as he signs the check for a meal I could never afford. All the while, I’m trying to get my breathing under control as I process what just happened and how I ended up with the worst case of lady blue balls imaginable.
The waiter leaves and Tobias turns to me before standing. “You have two options.”
“What are they?” I ask hoarsely, wondering if one of them is climbing on top of him and riding him like a cowgirl.
“I can take you home and thank you for a lovely date and you can consider your end of the bargain upheld.”
“Or?” I ask, because there’s no fucking way that’s happening.
“Or, we can go downstairs, and I can show you what I like to do there.”
I lick my lips, wishing desperately for a stiff drink.
“What will it be?” he asks, standing and reaching for my hand. I’m reminded of that famous movie scene—Do you trust me?
I reach up and take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. This time it’s my turn to lean in close and whisper in his ear.
“Take me downstairs.”
♦ ♦ ♦
We reach the main level of the OC, but instead of going out the front door, Tobias turns left, opening a heavy metal door onto a stairwell lit by iron sconces. I notice that the stairs don’t go up—only down. We descend several levels, passing door after door, each of them shut and secured with a keypad, until we get to the very bottom.
“This building was a bank a long time ago,” he says. “This was the vault.” He keys in a series of numbers and a green light flashes, the door opening with a click.
He pulls it and gestures for me to go inside.
“Now, it’s the dungeon.”
The room is small and dimly lit. There’s a bed with tall posts, and beside it, some kind of bench. One wall has a large mirror, but the rest are lined with instruments of torture—chains, cuffs, leather riding crops, other things that I can’t even begin to name. I’ve read about places like this, but never in a million years dreamed I would be in one. And in one with the boss of my dreams? It’s like I’m starring in some dark fairytale written by K. Webster.
I turn to him to find him studying my reaction. “Do you use all of these?” I ask.
He smirks. “I can. But I don’t need to.”
I watch as he shrugs out of his jacket and steps out of his shoes, giving me no instructions. Instead, I wander the room, running my fingers over the metal and leather instruments.
“See anything you want to use?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious, like he wants me to feel free to explore. And maybe he does. Maybe part of his exerting control is showing me ways to find pleasure I’d never considered before.
“Is that a one-way mirror?” I ask, pointing, worried that there are people watching us in another room.
He was loosening his tie but now pauses, eyes following my finger. “Not in the way you think.” Crossing the room, he flicks a light switch, and instead of seeing my reflection, I’m left looking into another room like ours, except it’s empty.
“For the exhibitionists,” he explains.
“Can they see into ours?”
He shakes his head, grinning wolfishly. “No. I told you, I don’t like to share. But sometimes I do like to watch.”
I frown, trying to decide how that makes me feel. I’d rather he watch me, but I might be open to it, if it’s mutually enjoyable. There isn’t much I won’t try now that I have the chance.
Leaving his tie draped loosely around his neck, he comes back to where I’m standing just beside the bed.
“Raise your arms,” he instructs.
I do, and he slips my blouse off over my head. Then, he takes his tie from around his neck.
“Hold onto the bedpost.”
I turn around slowly and grab the nearest bedpost—one at the head of the bed—with both hands. Taking his tie, he wraps it around my wrists and the bedpost in an intricate knot, not so tight that I can’t slide them up and down the post, but tight enough that I can’t get loose.
“Is this OK?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Yes what?”
The feminist part of me wants to rebel, but the part of me that wants to hand over all responsibilities and let someone else take over for once is bigger. “Yes, Sir.”
He unclasps my strapless bra and my breasts fall, heavy and free, dark nipples erect. But he doesn’t touch them. His hand skates down my back, over the curve of my ass, down my thigh, and up my skirt. He bunches my skirt up around my waist and then pulls my panties down, sliding them off my legs and over my heels in a languorously slow movement.
“Relax,” he commands.
“I don’t know if I can,” I admit.
He’s quiet for a minute, and then I hear him open and close a drawer. “This will help,” he says as I try to turn to watch him. Before I get a good look at him, though, he wraps a blindfold around my eyes, tying it tightly at the back of my head.
I want to laugh. How will it help to make me feel more vulnerable? But then I realize how depriving me of my sight makes me that much more aware—not of the strange space or the tools on the walls�
��but of him. I know exactly where he is. I can hear his breaths, the shuffle of his feet.
He’s still standing in front of me, and his fingers trace the line of my neck, the curve of my breasts, reaching my nipples and pinching. I gasp and he relents, but then drops his mouth to one, circling his tongue over the sensitive nub. Instead of focusing on what I can’t do—like run my fingers through his hair or look down to meet his eyes—I focus on giving myself over to the sensation, letting myself fall into it.
When he’s done with my breasts, he moves behind me again and nudges my legs open, gathering my skirt up around my waist.
“Lift your leg,” he says, tapping the one closest to the bed.
I lift it, and he guides it so that it’s on the mattress. I feel every breath of air against my exposed wetness, and I’m helpless to move to cover myself. His fingers are firm as they slide along my slit and then press inside of me at the same time his warm, wet mouth comes down to cover my clit. That same building pressure I felt upstairs in the restaurant returns doubly, and I grind back against him greedily, desperately wanting—needing—to find that release.
But he stops, and says, “What do you want?”
I whimper but don’t answer.
“Do you want to come, Nina?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me.”
I shift my hips, searching and not finding his touch. “I want to come.”
His movements resume but they’re slow and light, teasing. “Will you scream my name when you do?”
“Yes, Sir,” I promise.
All it takes is another circle of his tongue to send me careening over the edge, but even as I do, he doesn’t stop. He thrusts and sucks and I spasm around his fingers. It feels like it will never stop.
“Tobias!” I shout as my legs shake, my arms straining against the restraints.
“That’s a good girl,” he says when the shudders subside.
I hear a zipper open and the crinkle of foil, and then his cock is pressing against my entrance, sliding inside, hard and fast, burying himself to the hilt. He isn’t gentle; his movements are urgent, brutal as he withdraws almost all the way and thrusts back inside of me, again and again. His hands grip my hips, squeezing hard, pulling me back to meet him. I can hear the wet sounds of our joining, his heavy, labored breaths, and another orgasm crashes into me almost without warning, my muscles pulsing around his unrelenting hardness.
“Tobias,” I say, not a shout this time, but a plea.
I feel him lean over me, and a second later, my hands are free and he’s flipping me over onto my back on the bed, lifting my knees over his arms.
“Take off the blindfold,” he orders.
“Yes, Sir,” I say automatically, tugging at the material until it’s around my neck.
My eyes find his. He’s hovering over me, bracing himself with his arms on either side of me, watching me intently as he starts to move again.
Chapter Nine
Tobias
I don’t normally like to be watched, but when she said my name, something inside of me changed. Like the Grinch whose heart grew at the sound of the song down in Whoville, the wall I’d built around my own cracked at the sound of my name on her lips. I knew I had to let her inside or I would regret it for the rest of my life.
Even though I unbind her, she still lets me take control. I pause to let her pull my shirt off, because I don’t want anything between us. Her hands trace my chest, my abdomen, like she’s worshiping every inch of me. They move back up to my neck, gripping hard, holding on as I pound into her. I can’t stop, can’t slow down. I have to have her, and I want her to have all of me.
Her body rocks against the bed, her tits bouncing, and I pick up my pace, grinding into her, feeling the juices of her arousal soaking my balls and my legs. My chest warms and my vision blurs as I become intensely focused on chasing my orgasm.
She doesn’t cower beneath my intense gaze or look away like a good girl should. Instead, she grips the back of my neck—hard. She moves beneath me as I press myself inside of her, rising to meet my thrusts.
The world dissolves and leaves behind only heat, pleasure, and a throbbing ecstasy.
As I reach the pinnacle of my orgasm, my lips crash down on hers, devouring her, groaning against her mouth as I find my own release.
When I grow still, panting above her, she shifts slightly, rolling so we’re on our sides, my cock still inside of her, her legs around my hips. I brush sweaty hair from her face and stare at her, trying to understand what just happened. I don’t have sex like that. My subs aren’t allowed to touch me or look at me or kiss me.
But she’s like no one I’ve ever been with. She’s responsible, reliable, loyal, but also curious and passionate. She trusts me, gives her body to me not because she has to, but because she wants to.
She’s not a sub. She’s a partner.
I’ve been taking care of people my whole life, but now I have someone in front of me who really needs it, who really deserves my care and attention, and I want to give it to her. I want to have her all the time, not just in bed, but every day, everywhere.
Now that I’ve kissed her, I can’t stop. I squeeze her face between my hands and consume her luscious mouth, moving my lips along her jaw to her ear, making her giggle.
“Why did you untie me?” she asks, stroking her fingers lightly up and down my side.
“I was just asking myself that question,” I admit, not ready to say more yet. She’s quiet for a minute, so I ask, “What are you thinking?”
She bites her lip, and I prepare myself for some soul-searching question. Instead, she comes out with, “Have you ever used nipple clamps?”
I let out a surprised laugh and roll away from her, sitting up.
“What?” she asks indignantly, pushing up onto her elbows.
Looking over at her, I tweak one of her dark, perky buds. “Next time,” I promise.
Her smile is devilish. “Yes, Sir.”
As we’re cleaning up, my phone dings with a text message.
Mom: Do you still have any bottles of that Gaja Barbaresco you got in Italy?
Tobias: Yes. Why?
Mom: Will you bring one to dinner tonight? Ben and Josie are coming. I’m going to need it.
Shit. I glance at my watch. I’d completely forgotten about family dinner tonight. I glance over at Nina, who’s tucking her blouse back into her skirt. This definitely throws a wrench in my plans; I’m not ready for the date to be over and I had plans for her still.
Tobias: OK.
“What is it?” Nina asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed to fix her shoes.
“Family dinner tonight.”
I run my fingers through her hair, messing it up again. Her own hand comes up and grips my belt buckle, making me groan as I imagine her lips around my cock. There’s no way I’m letting this night go to waste listening to my dad bash me and bicker with Ben and Josie.
“Go with me?”
She looks up. “Is that a request or a command?”
I hum thoughtfully before saying, “A request. Just this once.”
“Just this once?” she asks, raising one eyebrow.
“I don’t want to let you go yet. Maybe never.”
The playful ease leaves her at my words, and I could kick myself for being such a little bitch. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’m done playing around, done denying myself love and relationships because of work and family obligations. I want her, and I’m not wasting time on games.
“Plus, I can promise more orgasms later. As many as you want.”
Squinting up at me, she asks, “Nipple clamps?”
I nod and pinch her erect nipples through her shirt. She thrusts her chest out with a moan, her hand sliding down to cup my hardening dick through my pants.
“Handcuffs?” she asks.
“I have a few of those.” I move my hands to her wrists, a
nd we fall backward, me pinning her wrists to the bed as I nibble at her lips, moving to her neck, down to the top of her breasts just visible above her shirt.
She clamps her legs around my hips, grinding her center against me. “Will you spank me?” she asks.
“Only if you’re bad,” I say.
“Oh, I can be very bad.”
“I believe it.” I lean back, pulling her up with me, liking how she looks with her hair messed and her freshly applied lipstick smeared. She looks like she’s been thoroughly claimed. “So, you’ll go?”
“Sure,” she says with a shrug. “How many people get to experience a Kline family dinner in their lifetime?”
Certainly not a lot of people like Nina. My dad might have a thing or two to say about our newfound relationship, but I don’t care. With Nina at my side, I feel like I can face anything.
Chapter Ten
Nina
In the backseat of his Town Car again, this time, I nestle against Tobias’ side. His arm rests casually around my shoulder, stroking my arm.
“Do you ever drive yourself?” I ask.
He nods. “I have a collection of sports cars.”
A collection? People don’t collect cars. They collect stamps and paintings and sports memorabilia. It just goes to show how incredibly different Tobias’ lifestyle is from mine. I’m nervous about dinner with his family—on the “Estate,” as he calls it—but I’m also excited to meet his family, and curious to see exactly how the one percent live.
But something I realized today is that we’re not so different on the inside. Both of us have spent our lives caring for other people and putting ourselves last. With each other, we’re learning to put ourselves first for once.
“Why don’t you drive them?” I ask.
“Have you seen parking downtown?” he asks with a scoff, pulling me closer.
We stop first by his apartment in the exclusive uptown neighborhood known as the Grove so he can pick up a bottle of wine to bring with him.
“Do you want to come up?” he asks.
