Darkly (Follow Me)

by HELEN HARDT

  My God, she’ll be the death of me. “For God’s sake. What kind of question could you possibly have? No talking means no talking.”

  She lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s a valid one, Braden. Can I sigh and moan? Groan?”

  “Sexual sounds are permissible.”

  “Okay. But you got me last time for saying ‘oh.’ Isn’t that a sexual sound?”

  “No. ‘Oh’ is a word. ‘Oh God’ are words. ‘Yes, Braden, yes’ are words.”

  “But those words are indicating that I’m enjoying myself.”

  “So what?”

  “So…don’t you want to know I’m enjoying myself?”

  “I know you’re enjoying yourself by how your body responds to me. The words are superfluous.”

  She scoffs. “Seriously?”

  I can’t help a chuckle. I love her words, but what I love even more are her nonverbal responses. How her body reacts, how her flesh becomes flushed, how her pussy gets swollen and wet. And what she doesn’t yet understand is that, without words, all response comes from her body. It reacts more, feels more. Wants and desires more.

  In turn, I want and desire more.

  It’s a win-win concept.

  “You become more of a challenge every second, Skye Manning. You’re my Everest, and I’m determined to conquer you. Now, be quiet.”

  She presses her lips together and makes a locking motion with her hand. She’s something all right. The sarcasm ripples off her.

  That’s fine. She’ll understand. Eventually.

  I gently push her until the backs of her legs hit the bed. “Lie down.”

  She obeys.

  I head to my antique mahogany wardrobe and open the door. Before me—on shelves, in drawers, and hanging—are my various playthings. Tools I use to give pleasure. I zero in on a stainless steel anal plug.

  How I’d love to lube it up and begin training on Skye’s ass. Just the thought has my cock growing even harder, if that’s possible. Licking her ass tonight intoxicated me.

  But that has to wait. She’s barely ready for an introduction, so I must go slowly. If I try too much, she’ll bail. She can’t bail. I want her too much. She has it in her psyche to submit. I just need to draw it out slowly.

  I pick up the stainless steel plug anyway. It’s cool to the touch, and I have a use for it—one Skye and I will both love.

  I return to the bed, where she lies supine before me, naked, blindfolded, and exquisitely appetizing. I suck in a breath and adjust my groin.

  She squirms when I come near her. Though I’m being quiet, she hears me with her heightened senses. Sensory deprivation can be very erotic. I’ll introduce her to it further another time. For now?

  I trail the end of the anal plug around one of her hard nipples.

  She gasps and arches her back. I trace the swell of her breast and move to the other nipple.

  I enjoy using toys on women. They offer different sensory excitement to a partner, and consequently, they elicit different sensory responses. I love watching how their bodies react.

  But with Skye…

  The anal plug traces her rosy breast, and somehow I feel her soft flesh beneath my fingers as if I’m actually touching her, as if the plug has become an extension of my arm, of my body.

  Prickles erupt on her creamy flesh, and in tandem with her, I’m tingling as well. I continue, going from nipple to nipple and then trailing down her abdomen, feeling her warm skin beneath the anal plug as if we’re meeting flesh to flesh.

  I close my eyes a moment, savoring this new sensation I’ve uncovered.

  I want Skye’s submission. I yearn for it. I crave it. So much that I don’t have to actually touch her to feel her.

  Unreal.

  I stop at her belly button. It’s a sexy indentation, and I imagine a platinum and diamond barbell laced through it. I circle the toy around the little notch. She arches again, and her clit is visible and swollen, protruding slightly from her gorgeous pink folds. I want so much to drag the stainless steel downward, circle her clit. But I linger at her navel.

  “So beautiful, Skye. You should have this pierced.”

  She opens her mouth but then closes it. Was she going to say something?

  I’m glad she decided not to. I really don’t want to have to withhold her orgasm. I get just as much pleasure as she does from her climax.

  When I finally trail downward to her vulva, she lets out an excited moan. Still I tease, though, gliding over her pubic bone and down the sides of her opening. I nick her soft labia, suck in a breath as it glistens with her wetness.

  As much as I don’t want to leave that paradise between her legs, I trail the anal plug down over her inner thighs to her knees.

  Then I begin the trip back up. The ultimate tease for both of us.

  I trail the steel back over her slit. “Mmm. Nice and wet. How much do you want me, Skye?”

  She opens her mouth and then slams it shut.

  “Good girl.” I don’t need her words. The slickness of her pussy is more than enough answer. I slide the plug over her.

  She moans and circles her hips. Arches her back and undulates…

  But I move the object back up her vulva to her breasts and then to her lips. I poke it into her mouth. “Taste yourself. See how delicious you are.”

  She swirls her tongue over it—that sexy, silky tongue—and I imagine the pointed end of the anal plug is the head of my cock. Fuck. I swear I feel it, as if she’s licking me, caressing that most sensitive part of me with that warm tongue.

  Damn.

  I take the anal plug away from her lips and set it on the night table.

  Enough is enough.

  I remove my clothes as quickly as I ever have, leaving them in piles on the carpet, and quickly put on a condom.

  Skye squirms on the bed, twisting the covers with her hands.

  “Don’t move your hands, Skye,” I say.

  She releases her fists.

  “Bend your legs so your feet are flat on the bed.”

  Again, she obeys.

  I stare for a moment at the sheer beauty before me. Her pussy, engorged and juicy, just waiting for me to plunder it. I crawl forward and nudge her slit with my cock.

  She reaches—

  “I said don’t move your hands!”

  She quickly jerks her hand back.

  I understand. She wants to touch me. Normally I don’t need a woman’s touch, but with Skye…

  Damn. I want it.

  But not. I gave her a command, and she will obey.

  I tease her pussy again with my cock, sliding it back and forth from her clit nearly to her ass. It’s a tickle that has my balls on fire already. I want to thrust into her. No more waiting.

  But I wait.

  She says nothing. She keeps her hands flat.

  And still I wait.

  One minute ticks by. Another. My cock is so sensitive I may explode…but still I wait.

  Until—

  One powerful thrust, and I’m inside her. A vibrant groan squeezes out of me. Skye cries out, not in words but in pure emotion.

  Yes, this is what I’m after. Words are fickle. They lie. When I take away her speech, I get honesty. Pure, raw honesty. It’s a powerful aphrodisiac.

  I pull out, and she whimpers.

  I tease again, letting just the head of my cock breach her pussy. Tiny shallow thrusts, just enough to make her want me more.

  And God, it makes me want her more, too.

  My determination is waning.

  I have to have her.

  Now.

  “Fuck it.” I thrust into her, tunneling through her with my cock, burning through her flesh and taking what I need.

  She groans. Her nipples are tight and hard, and though I ache to lean down, touch
my chest to hers, I don’t. That would give her friction against her clit, and she’d come. I’m not ready to let her come yet, so I concentrate on my cock in her pussy. I simply fuck her. I fuck her hard.

  Again and again, I invade her pussy with my harsh thrusts.

  Each time, she gloves me more completely, swallows my cock more generously.

  Until I can’t wait any longer.

  I lean down, cover her body with mine, and kiss those beautiful lips, still thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, and giving her the jolt against her clit that she needs.

  And that’s all it takes.

  Her pussy contracts, pulsating against my plunging cock. Moans emerge from her throat.

  “That’s it, baby,” I say. “Give it to me. Give it all to me. It’s mine.”

  Thrust, thrust, thrust—

  “God, yes! So tight, baby. So good.”

  All mine. That orgasm is all mine.

  My cock is so deep inside her, and still she quivers around me. I give one last strong thrust and release into her hot pussy.

  I pulse, pulse, pulse, as she continues to come, milking every last ounce of semen from my dick.

  Fuck.

  Even I can’t believe how good it is.

  When my cock finally calms down, I pull out, roll off her, and remove the blindfold.

  “You can speak now and move your hands.”

  But she has no words.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I can’t help a glint in my eye. “Have I truly rendered you speechless? Seems unbelievable.” I’m on my side, my head propped on my hand. I stare down at Skye.

  She reaches forward and pushes a stray hair over my forehead. “What do you want me to say?”

  “You can start with, ‘Wow, Braden. You rocked my world.’”

  I laugh. “Isn’t that pretty obvious?”

  “See what happens when you give in to me?”

  She smiles but says nothing.

  Already, I know why. She thinks she’s still in control, and in a way, she’s right.

  Submissives don’t realize how much control they truly wield.

  She did what she had to do to make sure she climaxed. I can’t blame her for that. I wanted that climax from her as much as she did, but I was willing to put it off if she disobeyed me.

  She wasn’t.

  I know your secret, Skye Manning.

  But for now, I’ll keep that knowledge to myself.

  Finally, she speaks. “It was amazing.”

  I kiss her lips softly. “Go to sleep.”

  Something jars me then, as I dispose of the condom quickly and lie down beside her.

  I’m feeling…content. Content to be sleeping next to Skye in my bed.

  I lie back and close my eyes, and I wonder…

  Why do I like this feeling so much?

  …

  I’m up at dawn the next morning, and still strangely content to see a sleeping Skye, naked and gorgeous, next to me. I kiss her chastely on the forehead and rise, take a shower as quietly as I can, dress in jeans and a T-shirt, and pad barefoot to the kitchen.

  Marilyn isn’t up yet, so I start the coffee and fire up my iPad to check the morning news and then my email.

  A half hour later, Marilyn appears, her hair—which I can’t decide if it’s blond or brown, depending on the day—knotted on her head. She’s the only one on my personal staff to commute. The others have private bedrooms on the third floor of my penthouse.

  “Good morning,” she says cheerfully. “Was I supposed to be in earlier this morning?”

  “No, you’re right on time.”

  “Oh, good. What can I make for your breakfast this morning, Mr. B?”

  “Bacon and eggs, I think. And toast. Lots of toast.” After last night, I need to do some carb loading.

  “You got it.” She opens the refrigerator and grabs eggs and bacon.

  While Marilyn lays strips of bacon in her large cast-iron skillet, I peruse my email. Mostly good news, though I’m going to have to travel to New York again this week. Normally I don’t mind travel, but Skye…

  I wipe the thought from my mind. Skye is not an issue. Work goes on as scheduled. I’ve never changed my plans for a woman, and I’m not about to start now.

  I’m knee-deep in the middle of looking over a résumé for a new marketing manager when a soft “ahem” drifts to my ears.

  I look up.

  And suppress the urge to gasp as my cock reacts to the sight of Skye—wearing one of my white button-down shirts. It hangs on her, leaving her entire body to the imagination.

  It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  I hold back a groan as I turn toward her. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she replies.

  “Coffee?”

  “Absolutely. Thank you.” She walks in and takes a seat next to me.

  Marilyn turns away from the stove and eyes her. “Good morning. I’m Marilyn.”

  “Hi,” Skye squeaks out.

  “How do you take your coffee?” Marilyn asks.

  “Black.”

  A moment later, she slides a cup of steaming black coffee in front of Skye.

  I turn to her. “Hungry?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  “Are you sure? Marilyn always makes enough to feed a small army.”

  “That’s because you have the appetite of a small army.” Marilyn smiles and sets a full plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me. “Sure I can’t get you anything?”

  “No.” Skye takes a sip of coffee and then sets the cup down quickly, spilling a few drops on the marble counter. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

  “Not a problem.” Marilyn wipes up the mess with a flourish.

  Skye burned her tongue on the hot coffee, but I won’t embarrass her by mentioning it. This goes beyond a burned tongue, though. Something is bothering her. I place my iPad on the counter. “Could you excuse us for a few minutes, Marilyn?”

  “Sure, Mr. Black. Just buzz if you need me.” She exits the kitchen.

  I turn to Skye. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re acting strange. Are you uncomfortable here?”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to stay,” I remind her. “To leave on your own terms.”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  “Okay. Just so we’re both on the same page—you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I have a few hours of work to do.”

  “Oh. Okay. I should check in with work, too.” She takes another sip of coffee. “Braden?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her cheeks are that delectable shade of pink again. “I’m going to need something to wear home.”

  I resist a smile, though the memory of shredding Skye’s little black dress is worth a face-splitting grin. “Of course. Find out where Tessa got the black dress, and I’ll have it replaced. You can wear the cardigan I gave you last night.”

  “Okay… What about pants?”

  I nearly smile again. “I guess I didn’t leave your dress in working condition as a skirt.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I stand. “I’ll find you something. Next time, bring a change of clothes.”

  She widens her eyes slightly. Is she surprised? I’m nowhere near done with Skye Manning.

  “In fact,” I continue, “bring over several things. Or if you want to leave me your sizes, I’ll have some stuff delivered.”

  “That’s okay. I have plenty. I can bring some over.”

  “Good,” I say, my voice going darker, “because I plan to destroy a lot of them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Work and a ten-mile run fill the remainder of my Sunday—except for the call I make to my
tailor after Christopher leaves to take Skye home. Rather than wait to find out where Tessa bought the dress—since I may or may not be able to find the same one, especially if it’s not from the current season, which I’m betting it isn’t—I take the matter into my own hands.

  “Miguel, it’s Braden Black.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Black. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got a project for you, if you’re free today.”

  “I’m always free for you.”

  “Great.”

  Miguel Moore and I have an arrangement. I pay him ten times what he gets from anyone else, and in return, he drops everything and sews his ass off for me with a twenty-four hour or less turnaround. It started back when I’d made my first hundred million, and Sasha, who was just a pup at the time, chewed up my tuxedo. I had an event the next day, and a rental wasn’t going to cut it. I put out a plea on social media and Miguel answered. His work is top-notch, and over the years, we’ve kept up the arrangement.

  I plan to take advantage of it today.

  “I need a dress.”

  Miguel laughs. “I’m guessing your usual measurements? Or is it for a young lady?”

  I chuckle lightly. “For a young lady, thanks. I need you to work your magic. I have the tag from the back of the dress and some photos of a woman wearing it at a gala last night. Other than that, it’s in tatters.”

  “Must have been a fun night.”

  Right. And none of his business. I clear my throat. “I’ll have what’s left of the dress couriered to you right away. I’ll need two exact replicas of the dress created. Just a minute, and I’ll text you the photos.”

  A moment later, Miguel says, “Got them. It looks like a basic mini sheath with spaghetti straps. I can replicate it no problem.”

  “Excellent. Send one dress to Ms. Tessa Logan. I’ll find her work address and text it to you. I’ll pick up the other. Then bill me, of course.”

  “You got it, Mr. Black,” Miguel says. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t. Sorry to make you work on a Sunday, Miguel. Thanks.”

  After ending the call, I take a quick side trip to the MADD website. Front and center is a photo of Skye and me dressed to the nines. The caption reads, “Braden Black and friend.”

  I roll my eyes. The usual. Most women would find that caption humiliating. I hope Skye isn’t one of them. She’s much more down-to-earth than the women who usually inhabit my orbit.