by Lila Dubois
Blindfolded and bent forward as she was, all she could do was wait, feeling the tug and press as he wound the rope around her waist. When he finally threaded the rope through the ends of the dildo and plug, then pulled it tight, she danced up onto her toes as fresh bolts of pleasure shot through her.
Again and again he passed the rope around her waist and between her legs, until there was a hard, flat placket of rope covering her pussy.
“One more thing,” he murmured. He tugged at the rope, loosening it a little, and then his fingers were stroking and plucking the lips of her pussy, spreading her open so the rope rubbed against her sensitive, intimate flesh. Then he pushed something small and hard under the ropes, until it was cupping her clit. He tightened the ropes, tying them off.
“What’s that?” she asked.
His hands slid up her sides. He reached under her, fondling her breasts and then helping her to stand. He was at her back, his hands still cupping her breasts. He nuzzled her ear. “What do you think it is?”
“A…vibrator?”
“A very, very good guess.”
Christiana arched back into him, reaching back to slide her palms against his smooth waist.
“I should tie your arms behind your back, but I like the feel of your hands on me,” he murmured. “And I suspect you’ll need something to hold on to.” He kissed the top of her shoulder. “On your knees, my sweet.”
She slid down his body, onto her knees. James kept a hand on her as he circled around to her front. She heard fabric rustle as he dropped his pants. Unable to wait, she reached out blindly, first touching the back of the couch and then finding his bare leg. He was leaning against the couch, legs spread. She didn’t wait to be ordered to touch him. She slid her hands up his naked thighs, finding his hard, thick erection. He groaned as she touched him, stroking him with the pads of her fingers. He let her play, let her explore. She kept her touch deliberately light, wanting to tease and torment him the way he had teased and tormented her.
After only a few brief moments of exploration, he slid his hand into her hair, forming a fist and pulling her head back. She parted her lips, breathing heavily.
“Mouth only,” he murmured, pulling her head toward him.
Christiana opened her mouth wider, dropping her hands to her sides, palms turned out. The head of his cock touched her lips, then slid into her mouth. He wasn’t tentative, or particularly gentle. He pressed in deep on that first thrust, and she struggled to swallow around him, to take him deep without gagging. He pulled out, but not all the way, then surged in again.
With the dildo inside her, she could pretend that he was fucking her pussy and not her mouth. Or logic and reality be damned and she could pretend he was fucking her pussy and mouth simultaneously.
Still, she ached to feel his cock inside her there, ached to have the weight of his body bearing her down into a mattress.
He withdrew from her mouth, and she was about to ask what was wrong when he flicked the vibrator on.
Christiana’s teeth clacked together. The small butterfly vibrator, which cupped her clit, buzzed softly, yet the sensations were so intense that she screamed between her teeth.
“Mouth open,” James commanded in a hard voice.
Christiana forced her lips to part, but had to grab his thighs, digging her fingers into his tensed muscles. His cock pressed into her mouth, and this time she was able to take him deep without having to struggle.
It was as if the more aroused and closer to orgasm she was, the easier it was to take him deep into her mouth. It was a poor substitute for the kind of fucking she wanted, but she’d take what she could get.
She would take what he would give her.
James cupped her head with both hands and started to fuck her face, cock pressing deep into her mouth. Christiana held onto him as the vibrator buzzed on her clit, the vibration traveling through the ropes to the dildo and plug.
She was close, despite having already orgasmed, and wouldn’t last much longer. She squeezed his legs a few times, unable to tell him any other way that she was about to come.
The speed on the vibrator increased.
Christiana came, digging her nails into his legs and sucking hard on the head of his cock. Through the haze of her own pleasure, she heard him groaning, and his hands were tight fists in her hair.
Her orgasm went on and on, drawing her body into one tight knot of pleasure, easing only after he’d flicked the vibrator off.
Christiana panted around his cock, and that was when she realized he’d stopped thrusting while she came. She couldn’t see him due to the blindfold, but when she reluctantly dropped her hands back to her sides, he started to thrust into her again.
“I’m close,” he growled after only a few thrusts. “But I want you to come when I do.”
She frantically shook her head—as much as she was able with the iron bar of his dick between her lips. She couldn’t come again, not after the intensity of the last one.
The vibrator flicked on.
Christiana grabbed James once more, this time taking hold of his taut, delectable ass. She focused on relaxing her jaw, even as the vibrations caused her lower body to quake and spasm. She wasn’t going to be able come again. It was too much—too intense. Bordering on pain. Sweet, sweet pain.
She shouldn’t have doubted him. Doubted his control.
A second hard orgasm started to shake her. Above her, James made a noise she now recognized. He was coming. He started to pull out, but she held tight, holding him inside her and swallowing around the head of his cock. He managed to pull out a bit, just enough so that when he came his seed coated her tongue. She swallowed frantically, his cock still in her mouth, the buzzing vibrator keeping her at the peak of orgasm.
As the orgasms wracked their bodies, they stayed fused together, lost in the sort of physical pleasure few people ever knew.
Finally, Christiana could stand it no longer, the vibrations against her orgasm sensitive-clit nearly painful.
She dropped her hands and allowed him to pull her head off his cock.
Her safe word was there, on the tip of her tongue, but he flicked the vibrator off a second before she would have said it.
She collapsed onto her hands and knees, head pressed against his leg. They were both panting. Her pussy and ass were spasming around the invading dildo and plug. She could taste him in her mouth.
James knelt and pulled her into his arms. She turned her face into his neck and shook in reaction to what they’d just experienced together.
“That’s right, just let go,” he murmured. “Cry if you need to.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “But I’m not sad,” she whispered.
“This isn’t about sadness. Let me hold you.”
“Always,” she begged. “Never stop holding me.”
She loved him. She loved James Nolen, as stupid and hopeless as that was. Her defenses were down, as were her protective verbal filters. She was in his arms, her emotions right there on the surface. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. She was able, just barely, to keep herself from saying I love you.
James continued to stroke her, his hands working their way down to the ropes, which he started to loosen. “My sweet. My Christiana. Mine.”
Maybe he loved her, too.
Maybe this would be a fairytale after all.
Chapter 2
James flicked his fingers across the state-of-the-art tablet, sending the images there onto the large monitor on the wall of the sunny room he’d claimed as his workspace. He leaned back in the high-backed leather desk chair, considering his options. Both properties were lovely, both in good areas with a high resale potential. The first property had the option of coming furnished, as the interior had been done by a noted designer with many pieces custom-made in a style that fit the Victorian “painted lady” homes in San Francisco’s Russian Hill area.
The other was a loft in the Marina District. It was unfurnished and partially unfinished, but that co
uld be taken care of in the matter of a few days if he paid enough.
Which one would Christiana like more?
The front door opened. James rose from his chair, stepping into the doorway so he could study her. It was barely mid-morning, but she’d gotten up at five a.m., sliding out of their warm bed, and gone in to work a half day. She looked a bit dusty, and her cheeks were pink from being out in the cold, foggy morning.
She held a large gym bag, which he knew had her hardhat in it. She hadn’t seen him yet, so he was able to watch as she carefully removed a small, clean towel from the side pocket of the bag, laying it out on the floor and then stepping onto it before removing her dusty boots. He’d tried assuring her that the cleaning team wouldn’t mind a bit of dust from her boots, but she’d looked at him as if he were mad. With her boots off, she stripped off the first of two pairs of socks she wore, then stripped out of her heavy, bright yellow vest with its many pockets, and removed pouches from her belt before sliding that free of her pants. As she took each thing off, she carefully folded it and placed it into her gym bag.
She shimmied out of her many-pocketed work pants. Under that she wore a pair of knee-length bike shorts, in deference to the cold. Her long-sleeved polo was next, and under that she wore a thermal tank top. She was a knight removing layers of armor.
He felt content, standing there watching her, as he had every morning for the past five days. As they’d discussed, she’d gone into work for half days, returning by mid-morning. They usually ate an early lunch, then she would nap while he worked in the afternoon. When she woke from her nap, she’d come into his office, naked and warm, and then she’d submit to him, with such ease and beauty that his cock got hard just thinking about it.
Occasionally they’d venture out for dinner, and two days ago they’d gone to the offices of James’s preferred US law firm, where his lawyers had gone over the NDA Lillian had sent via her own lawyers. Christiana had squeezed his hand nervously under the table, but signed it, agreeing to never reveal details about what she’d seen, heard, or learned while at the San Francisco Orchid Club event.
She turned, catching sight of him watching her. She froze, standing there in a tank top, socks, and shorts, with her forehead and hair still bearing the imprint of the hard hat.
She was beautiful.
She looked down at herself, then screwed up her face in mock distress. “Not my best look.”
“You always look lovely.” He pushed away from the wall, stalking toward her.
She took a step back, which made the predator inside him sit up and take notice. He kept coming, and she backed up until she thumped into the door. “I’m dirty and I smell,” she warned.
He caged her with his arms, leaning close enough to kiss, but not actually kissing her. She smelled like dust and gas and paint.
“You actually do smell,” he whispered.
She smacked his chest with the back of her hand. “Let me go take a shower.”
When he didn’t move, she ducked under his arm, then started up the stairs. He followed her, waiting until she was several steps up to give her ass—which was no longer bruised—a nice, firm smack. Yesterday he’d deemed her healed enough for a spanking, and he’d had a very good time pulling her over his knee.
She yelped, stopped, and then wiggled her butt. He grinned and spanked her again. She squealed and raced up the stairs, as if she were running away from him. James chased after her, smiling. He caught her in the bathroom, and waited until she was reaching into the glass-enclosed shower to turn on the taps before sliding his hands around her, palming her breasts. Between the shirt and sports bra she wore, he was sure she couldn’t feel much, but this wasn’t really for her. It was for him. It had been far too long since he’d had his hands on these delicious breasts.
She pulled her hand, now wet, out of the shower and flicked water droplets over her shoulder at him. He released her and backed up, grinning. Rather than leave, he boosted himself up to sit on top of the vanity, in the space between the sinks.
She turned to watch him, folding her hands together behind her back and then leaning on the wall. “You’re in a good mood today,” she said. “Did you make a lot of money?”
“I always make a lot of money. That’s the point of investments.”
She shook her head. “Rich people.” She opened the shower door, stuck her hand in to check the temperature, then closed it and started to strip. He’d tried to tell her that the digital temperature setting would chime when the water reached the temperature she’d programed, but he’d watched her shower enough that he knew she would keep sticking her hand in.
She placed her clothes carefully into a laundry bag before stepping into the shower. James watched her as steam climbed up the glass, giving him a misty view of her lovely body. Each movement was efficient and practiced. She didn’t stand idly under the water, or do what he did, which was to fiddle with the controls, trying to find the exact combination of temperature and pressure to fit his mood or physical need.
Inside five minutes, she was done and stepping out. He hopped off the sink, grabbed a large bath sheet off the towel warmer that had automatically turned on when the shower did, and opened it. She stepped into the towel, and into his arms.
“I’ll get you wet,” she protested, trying to keep away from him.
“I like you wet,” he murmured.
She rolled her eyes.
“That was a fairly abysmal joke,” he admitted.
“Will you pass me another towel?”
He handed her a second towel, which she wrapped around her hair. When she straightened, her lips were pursed. “Okay, Mr. Nolen, what has you in such a good mood?”
He smiled, and for one wild moment he considered telling her his plans, but he didn’t want to spoil the surprise. Not yet. “Before you lie down, I want your opinion on something.”
She was still looking a little suspicious. He kissed the line between her brows, then used that as a distraction to yank her towel away, leaving her gloriously naked. He grabbed her hips, pulling her damp, naked body against his fully clothed one. She clutched his shoulders, looking up at him with those lovely dark eyes.
“What are you up to, James?”
Still holding her hips, he started walking backward out of the bathroom. “Come downstairs and see.” Her eyes lit with desire, an expression he was very familiar with. He shook his head ruefully. “It’s not that kind of surprise.”
“Oh. Then can I get dressed?”
He stopped near the head of the stairs, letting his gaze wander down her body. “I’d prefer you don’t.”
Her lids lowered. “Okay.” The Sir was unspoken but present—in the tone of her voice, her posture.
He stroked the underside of her chin and her neck.
Soon she would wear his collar.
He had it all planned. He would collar her—not just for a weekend, or for a single event, but semi-permanently.
No. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t do this.
He was using the term semi-permanently, but would she understand? That the collar was only until they tired of one another? Only until he grew bored and restless?
I’ll make sure she understands. I won’t hurt her.
Even in his thoughts, those words rang hollow. Lately he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that first night of the San Francisco event, when he’d watched the older couple enviously. Even then he’d thought to himself that he wanted that—that permanence, that surety. He would have that with Christiana.
A temporary permanence.
Right. You’re an asshole.
Hand in hand, they went downstairs. Christiana shivered slightly—he usually turned the heat up while she napped so the house was a comfortable temperature for naked revelry by the time she got up. When they reached the office, he sat in the chair and pulled her onto his lap. She drew up her knees, tucking her cold toes between the outside of his thigh and the arm of the chair.
He turned so they wer
e facing the screen. “Which one do you think is better?”
She stared at the real estate listings, and she tensed slightly. “You’re buying a place in San Francisco?”
“Yes.”
“What for?” she asked bluntly.
For us. So we have someplace to play.
“Real estate is what I do,” he said smoothly, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He valued honesty, but in this case he wanted it to be a surprise.
“If that’s what you do, I’m sure you know better than I do which one you should buy.” She leaned forward a little, then made a choking noise.
“Are you okay?”
“Look at the prices…”
“They’re roughly comparable at five million each.”
She snuggled back against him. “Rich people.”
He kissed her head. “You’re the local—which one would you pick?”
“Well, Russian Hill is a little closer to the Bay Bridge, though not by much. The Marina District is touristy, but it looks like that loft is walking distance to the Presidio, so if you want someplace you can market to outdoorsy people, I’d go with that one. If you want someplace you are going to resell to a local, I’d go with Russian Hill.”
He hadn’t actually expected that level of analysis, and stared at her profile in surprise. “Very well,” he said slowly. “I think I’ll go with the Russian Hill house.”
She sat up. Pulling the towel off her head, she wrapped it around her body as she stood. “I’m going to lie down for a few hours, while you casually spend more money than I’ll make in a lifetime.”
He grabbed her hand, pulling her back for a quick kiss before letting her go. When she was at the door, he called out, “Christiana?”
“Yes?” She didn’t turn.
“You said you haven’t left the country, but you have a passport.”
“I do. We went to Mexico to see my great-aunt a few years ago. Wait, how did you know I have a passport?”
“I threw ungodly amounts of money at a private investigator.”
“Oh, for the love of…” Now she turned, arms crossed under her sadly towel-covered breasts. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
