I swallowed convulsively. “I thought I would put your shoes away.” I laughed nervously. “I actually don’t have a clue.”
“I have to disagree with you on that. You seem to know exactly what you’re doing.”
My heart clipped briskly against my ribs and I licked my lips, wondering if maybe I did know what I was doing, if I had subconsciously known how being on my knees before him would affect him. I shifted from my crouch to my knees and sat down on my heels, spreading my legs slightly and placing my hands demurely before me. My heart beat so quickly it fluttered, a hummingbird knocking at my pulse points. My hair fell in a soft curtain around my face as I tilted my gaze to the floor. I knew how I looked sitting like that, because I had practiced the traditional submissive pose in the mirror in preparation for tonight.
It was astonishing to me that I could enjoy being so bold, taunting him as I just had, and yet so deeply crave my submission to him. Six months ago, I hadn’t known anything beyond the bounds of sexual abuse and timid sexuality. Now, I felt like a live wire, still beneath the plastic coating but thrumming always with a vibrant sensuality.
His sharp intake of breath filled me with triumph.
“Yes, siren, I think you know exactly what you are doing.”
His hand slipped from the top of my head, down the side of my cheek to grasp my chin and raise it gently to meet his gaze. “I am in a shockingly good mood, so I am going to give you a choice. You can get up, hang up my coat and lead me into the kitchen where we can continue the night as if we were on our first real date, with all the sweetness and awkwardness that accompanies that…” He paused and his eyes glittered as his hand sunk deep into my hair to tilt my head back almost brutally. “Or, you can take me between those sweet lips like you’ve been wanting to do for weeks. I think you missed pleasing me almost more than I missed the feel of your wet mouth around my cock.”
I moaned, both shocked and overwhelmed by his words. My body was already changing, my muscles melting into pliability, ready to mold themselves into whatever position he desired. Saliva flooded my mouth, moisture pooled between my legs and my nipples furled atop my heavy breasts. In two sentences, Sinclair had turned me on more than anything else ever had.
“Tell me what you want.”
I wanted to moan again but I knew he loved the words. “I want you in my mouth.”
“Who do you want me to be?”
I opened my mouth to ask what he meant but one look in his eyes showed me the dominant caged there, yearning for release even as he gave me the keys to the lock.
I hadn’t planned on starting the evening this way but I should have known we wouldn’t be able to resist. It had been too long since our last night together and even though we had only ever been together sexually for one week, my body was trained to respond to his like this. More than that, I wanted his dominance and control because they were intrinsically married to my power and pleasure.
“You,” I said firmly. “My Sinclair.”
His hand clenched in my hair and his nostrils flared as the Dom was unleashed. “Very well. Clasp your hands behind your back. You may only use your mouth.”
I threaded my fingers together at the base of my spine obediently while he undid the buckle of his leather belt and lowered his zipper. I was already panting. The rough sound of the zipper was like a physical caress against my overheated flesh and I shuddered when his hand disappeared within his loosened slacks to reappear with my prize.
He was already magnificently hard. The sight of his swollen flesh within his fist, slowly stroking, made me whimper.
“So eager,” he murmured. “I’ve dreamt of you, Elle, exactly like this. I love knowing that I put that flush on your creamy skin, that you’re wet just sitting like that for me, waiting for me to touch you. I love knowing that even this,” his fingers trailed from the edge of my jaw to the hollow of my collarbone, “turns you on. You want me with every breath you take.”
He stepped closer until he was almost brushing my lips. A bead of moisture adorned his crown and I licked my lips unconsciously. My tongue caught the edge of his flesh, the salty taste of his skin making me moan. He brushed the tip of his erection against my open lips, painting them with his arousal like lipstick. When I tried to take him into my mouth he pulled back, stroking himself faster now but still controlled.
“Please,” I breathed, embarrassed by my supplication until I saw his hand stutter mid-movement.
He stopped stroking, letting his hands fall to his sides so that I could take control of his pleasure. I let out a breathy little sigh and nuzzled the hot flesh with my cheek. I drew my nose down his long length before taking one of his silky balls into my mouth. I rolled my tongue around it, humming with pleasure as I did so.
My sex was dripping down my open thighs to the cold floor beneath my knees and the front door to my apartment was still slightly open two feet behind me. Someone could catch me like that, wanton and exposed.
“Anyone could come in and find you like this,” Sinclair rasped, reading my mind as only he could. His hands threaded through my hair, pulling slightly but not manipulating the movement of my lips across his shaft. “But you wouldn’t stop, would you?”
I groaned deeply, taking him between my lips, into the very back of my throat in answer.
His hands tightened in my hair, forcibly pulling me off his cock with a popping sound so that I was forced to look up at him from a painful angle. He was so tall, towering over me with a dark gleam in his eyes that thrilled me.
“I want you to get up and go into the kitchen. Take off all of your clothes and wait for me in front of the balcony doors,” he directed, his clipped, cool words trailing across my skin like ice.
I hesitated, old habits overriding my instinctive desire to obey.
“You wanted your Sinclair, Elle,” he reminded me. “You only have to say stop to make it all end.”
My gut clenched at the thought of it ending, of him leaving. I needed this, his dominance, almost as much as I needed his love.
“Yes, sir,” I murmured, lowering my gaze respectfully.
His hands pulsed in my hair at my submissive gesture before he let go.
Without another word, I scrambled to my feet and headed into the kitchen. I quickly shucked my clothes, leaving them in a messy pile, and positioned myself before the doors with my head lowered and my hands lightly clasped, my bare back to the kitchen behind me. The sun was setting outside and I became absorbed in the soft colors melting like candle wax between the iron spikes of the city skyline. The contrast reminded me of Sinclair and me, the soft with the hard, the warm and the cold. So opposite but so perfectly matched.
I don’t know how long I was zoned out for, standing nearly pressed to the cool glass, but I startled when Sinclair’s hands skimmed down my arms.
“Trust me.”
He wasn’t asking but I had the power to say no and it was a heady realization.
“Always.”
“If you want me to stop, you need a safe word.”
I’d thought about that while I had been researching the ins and outs of submissive life. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of a safe word. It seemed almost like a prenuptial agreement, it took the edge out of the scene and created a different sort of tension. Would he go far enough for me to have to use it? Would I break his trust by uttering it in a moment of knee-jerk panic before I could adjust to the boundaries he pushed me past? But I knew the serious necessity of it and I was ready with an answer I hoped would please him.
“Heartbeat.”
There was a question in the way he stilled behind me.
“Because even if I need you to stop, you’ll still own me. When we’re like this, you own every beat of my heart.”
“My siren,” he breathed, planting a delicate kiss on my neck to express his pleasure with me. “You are a constant delight to me but,” he shifted behind me, firm and tall once again, “I am in the mood to punish you.”
I shivered as he rais
ed my arms in front of me and stepped flush against my back, reaching around with a long red scarf to competently bind my hands together. Once I was secured, he looped the end of the fabric over the curtain rod above the doors, jerking it twice to check its stability, before securing it once more to my tied hands. He stepped back, giving me room to test the bonds. I found that even though I couldn’t lower my arms, I could move side to side.
“Legs apart,” he said even as his knee slipped between my thighs and forced them open.
I sighed when his hands came around to cup my breasts, pressing the nipples firmly between his fingers until they burned. Too quickly, he moved on, smoothing his palms over my soft belly, around to the firm flare of my hips and to the inside of my thighs. His chin rested on my shoulder, his lips against my pulse.
“You’ve tortured me. Having this body so close but unable to touch you,” his lips parted and his tongue swept over my skin, “has been torture.”
He pushed on the inside of my thighs until I spread them even wider, my muscles burning with the effort. I could feel my arousal trickle down one thigh and shivered.
“Did you mean to do that to me, siren? Did you wear those short skirts and lick your pouty mouth knowing how hard it would make me?”
He trailed his fingers in my wetness, running them back and forth like laps in a swimming pool. I throbbed for him, greedily sucking at his finger as he dipped one inside of me. He circled my opening and then entered me to his first knuckle, repeating the movement over and over again until I was a panting mess, writhing in my bonds.
“Hush,” he demanded. “Stay completely still and do not make a sound.”
One hand continued its excruciating rhythm on my sex while the other disappeared beyond my vision. Two seconds later both hands were on my breasts, smearing my wetness across my nipples and rolling them brutally between his fingers.
“You have gorgeous breasts,” he said. “So responsive to the simplest touch.”
He flicked one nipple and then the other, making me gasp despite my vow of silence. His dark chuckle stirred my hair. “Don’t make a sound.”
My body screamed when he snapped two clothespins over my already aching nipples. I wanted to buck and moan wildly at the intense sensation but I wanted to please Sinclair even more. I bit my lip until it pulsed with pain. I needed to be in control of myself just as much as Sinclair was if I wanted to be his sub. This was my audition; this was what I had been planning for since the gala. There was no way in hell I was going to be anything less than perfect.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Do you like being displayed like this for me and for anyone with the good fortune to look out the window across from us?”
I focused on the buildings across the way, on the thin line of sunlight that was fading slowly over the horizon and I shivered. The idea of someone watching us made me flush with pleasure.
“You have to be punished for being such a tease and there are so many sweet ways I can make your body sing.” His hand lifted and came slapping down over my core, the other arm already wrapped around my belly to hold me up when my knees wobbled.
He circled my opening and then entered me to his first knuckle, repeating the movement over and over again until I was a panting mess, writhing in my bonds.
“Hush,” he demanded.
He swatted my heat again, harder this time, jiggling my clamped breasts. I bit off a whimper.
“I said, quiet,” he warned.
He slapped me again and the force radiated through me. I was so close to the edge, my toes on its very precipice, but I had nothing to rub against, no voice to beg with, no power to do anything but accept the pleasure Sinclair doled out to me.
His hands left me for only a second but I immediately missed the contact, my body bowing uncomfortably in an effort to follow his touch.
“I’m going to taste you now, but remember you are being punished. You are not permitted to come and if you do so without my permission…” He trailed off and I knew enough to fill in the blanks.
If I hadn’t wanted to impress him so much, I might have orgasmed on purpose just to see what kind of punishment I would get.
His cool lips fluttered over the inside of my damp thighs, travelling gentle as a breeze to my center and over to the other thigh where he bit down firmly on the flesh. I groaned loudly and was rewarded with a slap on the ass.
“Quiet,” Sin said and then blew cool air across my sex.
His tongue lapped at me carefully, following my folds like a cartographer, and when my knees grew weak, he placed them over his shoulders so that I was practically sitting on him. The sensation of being suspended, reliant on Sinclair for my balance and my ultimate release, was so arousing that I was sweating and grinding my teeth after only thirty seconds to keep from orgasming without his consent.
“Please,” I panted finally, as pins and needles of painful pleasure assaulted my body.
Instead of answering me, he grasped my bottom tightly in both hands and pressed me closer to his mouth. My legs started to shake as I was wracked with pleasure and a scream gathered speed, collecting in my gut and surging through my lungs.
“That’s right, siren,” Sinclair said against the inside of my thigh. “Let go. Show me how much you missed me.”
I was so grateful for his permission that I could have kissed him. But my body reacted before my brain, seizing my pleasure and ripping it from the seams of my body until I spilled open, achingly exposed. I only noticed that I was sobbing when Sinclair stole my breath with a demanding kiss and entered me in one fluid motion. He caught my gasp between his lips, biting my lip and angling his hips as he pumped into me. I tried to lock my legs around his waist but he held them up and out, stretching me until I could feel the delicious burn between my legs.
“The world is watching, Elle,” he panted against my damp neck and my aching sex clenched hard in another brutal orgasm, or maybe the first one had never stopped.
He growled and bit firmly into the base of my neck as he came inside me. I couldn’t see his face but I could sense the impression of it on my closed lids like the imprint of sunlight, glowing so brilliantly it left a scar on my retinas.
Chapter Twelve.
I was glad I had planned a cold supper, because it was after midnight before we dragged ourselves from bed – where we ended up after the kitchen – to refuel. Sinclair carried me to one of the bar stools and retrieved a blanket from the living room to wrap around my naked shoulders so that I wouldn’t be cold. I watched him silently as he moved through the kitchen in only his black boxer briefs, collecting the gazpacho I had made that afternoon, the skewers of prosciutto wrapped melon, a bundle of deep red grapes, a baguette and a gorgeous round of Camembert cheese. His brow was wrinkled in concentration as he arranged everything on two large platters and he frowned further when I laughed at him.
“Yes?”
I covered my mouth with a hand and said, “I won’t judge you on presentation, Sin.”
He shrugged but I caught the sparkles in his eyes before he lowered them back to the work at hand. “You are an artist, of course you will judge me on presentation.”
I tucked my tongue into my cheek and gave his half-nude form a lascivious once over. “Trust me baby, it’s an A+ every time.”
He blinked at me before laughing freely, tipping his golden throat back to bark at the ceiling. I smiled too, and leaned forward to watch him.
“You make a man feel like a God.”
“You are one.”
His eyebrows slammed down and he leaned against the counter to cross his arms, to stare at me disapprovingly. I know it shouldn’t have, but that look always made me wet.
“Don’t put me on a pedestal. I don’t belong up there.”
“I didn’t say you were a God to everyone, Sinclair. Just to me,” I amended.
“After what I just did to you, I’m surprised you would equate me with anything so holy.”
My body tingled with the imprints of his l
ips, teeth, hands and cock. Even against the softness of the bed our second time round, the sex had been rough, two animals locked in heat and only conquered by the eventual need to sustain themselves on something other than flesh.
He took the plates in hand and placed them at the small table beside the little balcony. I followed with a nearly empty bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio.
“I don’t think there is anything really dirty about what we do together,” I admitted as I popped a grape between my lips. “It’s honest and sometimes a little bit brutal but I think that is what makes it special.”
“You are very poetic.”
I frowned and leaned forward over the table to accept a grape from Sinclair’s fingers. “It doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true.”
“No, I suppose you’re right. It’s been a long time since I heard anyone speak about BDSM like that.” He looked out into the brightly lit nightscape; the glimmer of red and white lights highlighted his puckered forehead and soured mouth.
“When did you start experimenting with it?” I asked, unsure if I was phrasing the question in an insulting way.
His lips twisted and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything.
“I’ve always had the desire to control. A number of therapists have surmised that it has everything to do with being powerless as an orphan and then under the thumb of very authoritarian foster parents.” He rolled his eyes, illustrating how little he thought of their theory. “The truth is much simpler and it might offend you. I have always had the desire to control, to manipulate and weld the will of others into forms of my own making. BDSM is the physical manifestation of those desires.”
“That sounds very super villainy,” I admitted.
His small smile surprised me. “On the contrary, I believe it to be soothing. As the Dom, it’s my responsibility to provide exactly what my sub needs, even if they are unconscious of those desires. It is about finding the balance, that golden edge between pain and pleasure, reluctance and desire. Love and hate. It is on that fine line between those extremes that I might find the true you, the one that no one but me will ever see.”
The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) Page 15
