Five Weeks In December

by Blue Kincaid

  She gave him a playful smile. “For future reference… I like collars and leashes.” Just the idea of Harry clipping a leash at her throat made her pussy clench hard. From the way his inhaled breath shook slightly, he had the same reaction.

  “Duly noted.” Then his smile faded and December wondered why. Because he remembered collaring his fiancée? Because he wouldn’t be collaring December at all? Or because he wanted to and remembered what they had was only temporary?

  She didn’t like any of those possibilities and stretched up to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m here now. I belong to you.”

  He turned into the brush of her lips, capturing them in a brief kiss before pulling back. “Come on. I think you’re going to enjoy the club.”

  December’s insides shivered in anticipation as Harry took her hand and led her toward and then through the double doors. They stepped into another world, one they belonged to so much more than the one outside.

  Harry had chosen her outfit, sitting in the hotel room watching intently as she paraded in and out of the bathroom showing him different options. He’d finally settled on this – a one piece ‘dress’ made of black lace, with cutouts on the sides baring a good portion of her stomach and lower back, the hem barely reaching past the tops of her thighs, and skin tight. The lace provided extreme amounts of exposure while still allowing for the appearance of being covered. Sky high black heels gave her an extra handful of inches so for once she didn’t feel like an absolute midget next to Harry and classic black silk stockings hooked to the attached garter clips on the bottom of the dress.

  Harry, for his part, looked mind-bendingly handsome in a simple black Henley and a pair of jeans that clung to him. Not in an obscene ‘Look at my ass’ way, but soft and worn and familiar with his body. Those jeans knew his body the way she wanted to know his body.

  It was dark inside, though not so much that it felt like some underground nightclub with creepers in every corner. Music thumped on a low volume, just enough to complement the crack of a whip, the cry of a sub, the shiver-inducing low laugh of a Dom working his magic. December felt as though she’d come home, letting out a soft breath.

  “I like it, Sir.”

  “Me, too.” Harry led her across the main room to a dais in the center, large and round, separated into five raised alcoves where various activities were being performed. Chairs ringed the dais, allowing for any number of observers. At the moment, all of the alcoves were occupied.

  In one a male submissive was being put through the paces by a Domina clearly extremely talented with CBT. In another a pretty blonde was flogged gently. Knifeplay in a third, candle wax in the fourth and in the last – the one where Harry paused – a tall, Nordic looking man worked rope into art on a beautiful brunette suspended from the ceiling.

  Harry took a seat and aimed a pointed look at the carpet beside his chair. December’s heart raced and her nipples hardened as she sank to her knees at his feet. A week ago, Harry wouldn’t have put her there. This week it came so naturally.

  He was remembering who he was. It made her warm inside while at the same time turning her on to no end.

  His hand stroked over her hair and she tilted her head into it, sighing softly. It felt so nice. Natural. She didn’t have to ever remind herself of her role with Harry. Her role was…it was just her. She watched as the Dom fashioned intricate, beautiful knots in a webwork on the brunette, then glanced up at Harry.

  “Master?”

  As before, Harry seemed to sense or read what she meant with that one word. “I want you to meet him.”

  Her brows lifted and she glanced at the man on the dais. He was very good-looking, even taller than Harry, with pale brown hair that brushed his neck, tied back in a half ponytail. He looked like some kind of modern-day Viking, with the chiseled features and piercing blue eyes noticeable when his gaze flicked to the crowd and he noticed them. “Who is he?” she asked.

  “Sebastian. Bas. A very close friend.”

  December wondered what that meant. When he’d wanted her to meet Raphe, it’d been because Harry wanted to share her with him. Did he want that again, with another friend? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, and because it made her slightly uncomfortable, decided that couldn’t be what Harry wanted. He wouldn’t suggest something she would be uncomfortable with, she felt sure. So he wanted her to meet Sebastian for another reason.

  When the scene ended and Sebastian finished with the aftercare, he turned and grinned Harry’s way. December realized abruptly that Harry wanted her to meet Bas not because of anything to do with sex or a scene or the Lifestyle at all. He wanted her to meet Bas because the man was special to him…and so was she.

  Her breath caught in her throat and she was grateful she didn’t have to speak or even stand as the two greeted each other with what she called ‘bro hugs’ – shoulder to shoulder, clap on the back. Why oh why did Harry keep tearing at the ridiculously weak wall she tried to keep between their arrangement – such as it was (or wasn’t anymore) – and the real world? It was like cellophane, and every nudge from him, every pull and tug and push wore it down even more.

  He knew exactly what he was doing, too.

  She didn’t have a chance to be frustrated by Harry’s inability to keep within the lines, because he turned and so did Sebastian and the dual smiles they pinned her with would have made any woman lose her wits. December was no exception.

  “She’s exactly what you said.” Sebastian stretched one big hand down for her to take. “May I?” He glanced at Harry for permission to touch her.

  Harry nodded and December slid her hand into Sebastian’s, breath hitching as he drew her to her feet and his ice-blue gaze swept her from head to toe. Then he smiled at her, the warmth of it making her have to smile back and he drew her close for an equally warm hug. “Well, now I know why I haven’t seen my best friend in three weeks…time well-spent, if you ask me.”

  She blushed and Harry shook his head with a chuckle.

  “No one did ask you, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He slid his arm around her waist. “December, this is Sebastian, my very closest friend though sometimes I forget why I like him at all. Bas, this is my December.”

  The way he said it, my December, made her insides tremble. So easily, so confidently. It was almost as if he dared her to deny it every time. And she never did. Which made her tremble even more.

  To try and ignore the overwhelming thoughts about things they couldn’t have, December sought to shift attention away from herself. She glanced around. “Your girl is gone.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Not my girl. A first-timer to the club who wanted to try suspension and a little shibari.”

  Harry rolled his eyes with a laugh. “A little shibari? You’re a master at it.”

  December agreed. “You do beautiful work.”

  “Thank you.” Sebastian gave Harry a slow, knowing sort of smile, then gave his shoulder a shove. “I’ll see you later.” And to December, he winked with a rakish grin. “Hopefully you as well, December.”

  She tilted her head as he left, then looked up at Harry. “He loves you.”

  “And I, him.” He didn’t say anything else, but she’d passed some sort of test. Gotten Bas’s approval, perhaps. She sighed inwardly. Harry was going to get himself hurt if he didn’t stop operating under the assumption that the end of their arrangement meant the end of her leaving when her time in DC was up. They’d both wind up hurt with that belief.

  In fact, she started to say something, even opened her mouth and managed a soft “Harry…”, but then he bent to kiss her, fingers closing on her hand.

  “Come with me.”

  And she followed. Because he wasn’t the only one guilty of not wanting to face reality. Not yet. Not quite yet.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harry’s heart pounded as he led her down the wide hall that branched off the main room of the club. Down here were various rooms. Some for couple sharing, some for pri
vate scenes had doors and locked, and others had no doors and were for those looking to be seen. Two years ago he’d been a frequent visitor of both this club and this part of it, so he wasn’t exactly sure why his heart raced like a freight train. Maybe because it’d been so long and never before with December.

  He turned into the first empty exhibition room they came to, drawing her through the doorless entryway. He reached over and flipped on the light, which was actually a string of lights hung along the back wall illuminating the bed there but leaving the rest of the room in shadows. Setting the stage.

  And that’s precisely what it was. A stage for her, for him to display her. She knew it, too, he could tell, and her demeanor subtly shifted as Harry drew her to a halt in front of the bed.

  It wasn’t that she adopted a persona, of sorts, but more that when she recognized what Harry wanted, she…shifted. Molded herself. Went soft and supple in his hands. Surrendered. It was beautiful, and a thing not many submissives found easy to do at first. Was it foolish of him to think there was anything special about him that caused her reaction? Or did December so easily give herself to every man? Why did he care?

  Yet he did. She was different for him in so many ways he hadn’t expected and he wanted to be different for her as well.

  His hand cupped the side of her neck, thumb lightly resting on the delicate hollow of her collarbone. She swayed gently toward him. God help him, he’d fallen in love with her. When she looked at him like that – as if he was the world – how could he not? Because he swore he felt the same way. She’d rapidly become necessary, to the point that he alternated between terrified and ecstatic.

  “Do you know what I want?” he asked.

  December glanced up at him through her heavy lashes. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  She reached out, slim hands flat against his chest. He could feel her warmth through his shirt. “Because I want it, too.”

  Harry’s heart tripped. He wondered if she meant the scene or what he’d been thinking about – their relationship. Did she want to stay as badly as he wanted her to? She’d basically said no up until now, so… Why didn’t he ask?

  Because sometimes the answer frightened him than the question. Especially if it wasn’t the one he wanted. No, he wasn’t ready to ask yet. For all the good she had done for his confidence thus far, Harry had a feeling it’d be for nothing if he pushed too far, too fast. Instead, he intended to push just far enough tonight. And maybe by the time the moment came where he had to claim her or lose her…maybe he’d be ready then.

  “Tell me what I want, then.” He slid his hand into her hair, drawing the heavy length forward over her shoulder. He loved her hair, tumbling in heavy waves down her back, the slightest curl at the ends. He suspected if it were shorter there would be more curl. He loved the length, though, loved to watch it slide like a satin fringe across her back as he fucked her from behind. Loved best when he’d wrap it around his fist and tether her to him for the ride to orgasm.

  “You want to display me.” Her breath hitched as Harry’s knuckles brushed across one lace-covered nipple, feeling it peak hard. “I want you to. I belong to you, Master…show them all, if you want.”

  Harry’s cock throbbed, aching and straining against his pants as if it could break free and find its way to her without him. At the same time, he hesitated, though he didn’t understand why. Tonight was a big part of why December had come in the first place. Regaining who he’d been, what he’d lost. Being himself as a Dom again. He took a slight step back, then reached one hand out to tug open the tie at the back of her neck. The front of her dress – if one could call a bit of lace and cutouts a dress – fell to her waist. Even in the dim light, he could see her cheeks flush and it sent another surge of desire through him. How she responded to his kink turned him on more than the exhibitionism itself.

  Seeing her cheeks flush, watching her nipples peak, knowing she was both aroused and a little bit embarrassed. Both the arousal and the embarrassment would get stronger once they drew an audience. She might not know what he was going to do, but she didn’t lie when she said she wanted it. Whatever he did.

  “Good girl.” His lips twitched when her breath quickened. Something as simple as word choice could ratchet up the tension, the objectification she felt. “Kneel.”

  She did, gracefully and eagerly, licking her lips. Then her gaze flicked to the open doorway. Harry followed her gaze and found a pair of men standing there, watching. As if deciding whether they wanted to come inside and watch the show or not.

  Harry frowned, a surge of possessiveness flooding him. It didn’t make sense, really, but he pushed it aside. Just nerves, the situation no longer second nature like it’d been before Katie’s death. He reached down to fist a hand in her hair and draw her attention back to him. “Play with your nipples.”

  December shivered, bringing trembling hands up to cup her heavy breasts, slender fingers plucking and twisting her already hard nipples. Harry groaned softly, free hand yanking open his jeans. She moved her hands as if to help, but he shook his head sharply.

  “No. You may not touch me without permission. But feel free to touch yourself.”

  December let out a soft whine, brows knit in silent protest. She was a tactile sort of person, Harry had noticed, always touching and nuzzling and stealing kisses and holding his hand. He imagined it’d be difficult for her to curb those natural urges tonight. After a second, though, she gathered herself and this time when she went back to touching herself, one hand abandoned her pretty breasts and slipped down between her thighs, knees spreading to allow herself room to play.

  About then, their hesitant audience stopped hesitating and stepped into the room, each leaned back against the shadowed wall – there but not obtrusive. Merely eyes on them. On her. Right where they should be. So why did he want to step between her and them? What was wrong with him? He nearly stopped then, his reaction to what had always been his very favorite kink unsettling.

  But December kept touching herself and staring up at him with naked need in her eyes. How could he resist her? Harry drew down his zipper, trying to hide the grin that wanted out at the way she watched so avidly, as if her very life depended on each slip of a tooth. “Are you wearing panties under there?” he asked, though he knew the answer. He’d dressed her, after all.

  December’s gaze flicked up and her dark eyes glinted with mischief. “Very, very slutty ones, Master. Do you want to see?”

  “Soon.” Harry glanced down where her hand moved under the indecent hem of her skirt. “Show me your fingers first.”

  She blushed a bit more, teeth catching her lower lip as her hand came into view and she held up for him to see. Her fingers glistened in the faint light, the scent of her wafting up to him.

  He grinned, bending to drag his tongue across the wet tip of one finger. “Delicious. So wet already…do you want me to fuck you?”

  She shook her head.

  Harry’s brows lifted. “No?”

  December gave him a small smile, sliding her hand back down between her thighs, breath catching a bit as the sensual motions started again where he couldn’t see. “I want you to do what you want to do. Not what I want. Do you want to fuck me, Master?”

  “Not yet. But you already knew that.” Harry grinned and gave his cock a light stroke. “What I want is your mouth. No hands, remember.” He sank his hand into her hair again. “Come here.”

  She shifted closer, looking up at him as he guided his cock into her mouth, sinking past her full lips, her tongue sweeping the sensitive skin eagerly. Movement caught out of the corner of his eye and Harry knew more people had joined them, watching. He didn’t take his attention from December, though. They weren’t what interested him. She was.

  Her attention did stray a bit, eyes widening in the direction of the door before flying back to meet his eyes. Her hand moved between her legs a little more frantically, though, and Harry swore if he listened hard enough he could hear the slick sou
nd of her fingers sinking into her body.

  “That’s it… I love watching you touch yourself, filthy baby,” he murmured softly, for her ears only. She moaned around his cock and sucked harder in response, as if telling him she liked it, too. She didn’t have to tell him, he could tell by the way her movements on herself and on him escalated along with her arousal.

  Harry wrapped her hair around his fist, tightening slightly. Their eyes locked and as if reading his mind, she relaxed, mouth softening, hazy eyes smiling up at him as he sank his cock deeper, past the point most women could take.

  Not his girl. She just moaned and welcomed him in, swallowing around his shaft to ease the way until he was buried in her throat and her tongue slid sensually along his balls. He smiled down at her, free hand brushing his fingers along her hollowed cheek. Then he thrust, holding her head gently in both hands. She timed her breaths expertly, and every so often he paused and gave her a slight reprieve.

  Before long, though, it was too much, he was too close and while he loved the idea of fucking her talented mouth to completion, he wanted so much more from her tonight.

  So he pulled back – despite her sulky frown – and dropped a kiss to her lips. “Stand up. No more clothes for you.”

  December shuddered, taking his hand as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Harry glanced at their audience – now half a dozen men and several women against the far wall – then back to her. She turned slightly to face them, gaze cast down as she slowly peeled the snug dress down her long legs, bringing the stockings with it. She stepped out of her heels and left the dress and stockings in a soft pile on the floor.

  Harry lifted his brows, moving around behind her. He palmed her ass, bending to nuzzle her ear. “You weren’t joking, little love. Your panties are very slutty.”

  They could hardly be called panties. The majority was nothing but thin black strings. One around her hips, another down the shadowed cleft of her gorgeous ass and – he peered around front – a triangle consisting of maybe three square inches of fabric just barely covering her pussy. Said triangle of fabric was also soaked through with her juices, rendering it nearly sheer, as if it weren’t indecent enough. “And they’re all wet, naughty girl.”