The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

  Fuck, it was hot.

  The pain from him removing one clamp was still fading when he loomed over me and his fingers toyed with the ends of the other. Chemicals pumped through my system, urged along by my galloping heart, and my legs trembled with apprehension. I understood what was in store for me once the clamp came off, and I dreaded it, but also wanted relief from the ache it was currently causing.

  He tugged the biting metal piece off, and I slammed my eyes shut, burying my face as best I could in the side of my arm. It throbbed like I’d been hit with a hammer, and I breathed through each pulse, drinking in air in slow, measured sips.

  When I finished evening myself out, I opened my eyes and found both men staring at me like statues. Was it concern for me that had made them go motionless? Because if so, there was no need. In the absence of pain, I became warm and tingly, and a dazed smile spread across my lips. It felt similar to a post-orgasm high. Like everything was dreamy and happy.

  E returned slowly to life, pulled the velvet bag from his back pocket, and dumped the magnets into his palm.

  My tone was teasing, but my voice sounded far away. “What are you planning to do with those?”

  His expression was an enigma, but Clay’s was pleased, and his fist resumed its unhurried strokes along the length of his hard cock. The way he twisted his grip from his tip down to the base and then back up again was hypnotic and distracting. I wasn’t aware E had separated the magnets and held one in each hand until he leaned in.

  I sobered and my eyes widened when he placed a silver ball on either side of my nipple and then let go. The pull between the magnets was strong. It was a more intense squeeze than the clamp, and I set my jaw. This ache was acute enough that I sucked in shallow breaths as he prepared to place a second pair of magnets on my other nipple.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to take it,” I whispered.

  It was like I’d just told Clay the sexiest thing ever. He pushed up his glasses, and his eyes glittered behind the lenses. “I know it hurts,” his tone was reassuring, “but it feels good too, doesn’t it? Like a good pain?”

  When E finished setting the magnets, it was too overwhelming to find words. Even thoughts were difficult, but I managed a short nod. Clay was right, though. It was a good pain, and when E straightened, I got a glance of myself on the screen.

  The small silver balls gleamed like piercings.

  And I fucking loved the way they looked.

  Clay’s tone was deceptively nonchalant, like it was just that simple. “I’ll take them off as soon as you come.”

  My discomfort turned my mind into a void, making plenty of room for the men to fill it. The pain and pleasure they created were all that existed, and I eagerly focused on E as he knelt in front of me. His hands roamed over my body, teasing and enjoying how I shifted mindlessly within my restraints.

  It was clear I wasn’t the only one who liked how my tits looked with the magnets pinching my pink skin. He squeezed one of my breasts, plumping my skin between his fingers, and the air in the room thickened.

  “Do you want my mouth or my fingers?”

  Clay asked the question, but I’d been focused on E, and it reinforced the feeling they were the same. Two different bodies, but one purpose. The fingers and mouth physically belonged to E, but they operated under Clay’s direction.

  “Both,” I breathed.

  Because I needed to come, and that would be the fastest way to get there.

  Clay chuckled. “Greedy.”

  E dragged his hands down my stomach as he settled in on his knees, getting comfortable. His palms smoothed along the insides of my thighs, pushing my legs wider. He already had enough room—he’d done it to exert control. Didn’t he know that was unnecessary? He had complete rule over me.

  His gaze stayed locked on mine as he lowered his mouth to my pussy, and electricity jolted up my legs. I moaned in relief while his tongue fluttered, and I gasped in satisfaction when two thick fingers speared into me. He pulsed them deep and rough, and the fracture inside me widened. Everything hurt yet also felt like bliss, and the conflicting emotions threatened to burn me to ash.

  There was a faint edge of concern in Clay’s words. “Are you about to come?”

  I was panting and had to force it out. “Oh, God, yes.”

  “Stop. It’s too soon.”

  E froze, and I gawked at the camera, both confused and irritated. “But you said you’d take them off when—”

  “Slow her down.”

  My heart flipped upside-down because Clay’s order to stop wasn’t for me. It was for the man on his knees, and I whined with frustration when E followed the command. Both his mouth and fingers retreated, leaving me right on the edge. And when the pleasure was gone, so was the war for focus. It was all pain now.

  “Clay,” I hissed.

  He wasn’t deterred. “I want to see if you can come through the pain.”

  “What?”

  E’s gaze drifted down my body as if he felt guilt. Was it because he’d gotten me close too quickly for Clay’s liking? Or for what he was about to do?

  One of the clamps was pulled from the black velvet bag, and my mouth went bone dry. I had an inkling of where he intended to use it, and just the thought of it made it so I couldn’t catch my breath. The word no echoed loudly in my head, but I kept my tongue leashed. Maybe he planned to use it somewhere else or—

  Oh, no. I whimpered in trepidation as E drew in a deep, preparing breath, then pinched my clit between his forefinger and thumb. His gaze flicked to mine, either checking in or perhaps waiting to hear the word stop tumble from my lips. But every muscle in my body was tense and strained, and I was frozen with my intense curiosity.

  What would it feel like?

  Would it hurt worse than the magnets? Or would it be an even better ‘good pain?’

  The long seconds suspended between us, and when it was clear I wasn’t going to stop him, E pushed forward. The rubber tips of the clamp closed around my clit, and he eased off his grip, increasing the bite on my sensitive, swollen nub of skin. It went on, and on, and I clenched my fists so hard, I was sure there were half-moon indentations in my palms from my fingernails.

  “Fuck,” I groaned. My head lolled to one side, and panic bubbled in my stomach. The amount of pain was . . . staggering. Tears burned the edges of my eyes. I had to focus on drawing air in and out of my lungs, because if I thought about anything else, I’d fly apart.

  It was surreal to see myself on the laptop screen. It exaggerated the feeling like I was outside my body, witnessing this the same way Clay was, rather than experiencing it in the moment. E shifted to one side between my legs so his torso no longer blocked Clay’s view, and the man on screen let out an appreciative sigh.

  “Look at yourself,” Clay said with rich satisfaction, “squirming and whining as you try to hold it together. You’re so . . . achingly beautiful.”

  Aching was right because everything throbbed and clamored for mercy. I shifted my hips as much as the belt around my waist allowed, futilely trying to get free. “Please . . .” I pleaded. Sweat dampened my temples and tremors rattled my body. “I can’t . . .”

  E plucked the clamp off me, and the sharp pain was like a knife slicing down my clit. I hissed through clenched teeth and my vision blurred. It drove the two men into one shapeless figure, both my tormentor and my savior. He leaned in, licking the spot that was white-hot.

  “Fucking fuck,” I gasped. “No.”

  But I didn’t mean it, because as his tongue continued to caress and massage, the prickly sparks of his indecent kiss morphed into something else. My pain turned upside-down, tumbling into pleasure, and my no flipped along with it.

  “Yes,” I cried.

  I blurted it again as the man slipped his fingers back inside me. The hot ache in my nipples flooded across my skin and seeped in, making my muscles liquify and my bones melt.

  “Look at me,” he d
emanded.

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure how the man meant. There was only one of them, after all. But I blinked through the fog of everything and refocused on the screen. His hand jerked up and down in rapid strokes, and while his eyes were lidded with pleasure, the rest of him was filled with authority.

  “It sounds like you’re close and need the clamp again.”

  The lie came from me in a rush. “No. I’m not close.”

  His smile was knowing. “I think you are.”

  There was a flash of silver in his fingertips, and while the word no was a loud, angry chant in my head, the word stop was nowhere to be found.

  “You made it once before,” he said, “you can do it again.”

  “No,” I whispered, but it was too late. The intense pinch was back, swelling until it blocked out everything else. All the blood had run out of my arms and they’d gone to sleep, but it was ignored. The pull of the magnets no longer bothered me either. Because the clamp on my clit enveloped my body like a vice, squeezing until I thought I might die.

  In this agony, I began to dislike the man. It was cruel how he stroked himself like he was taunting me.

  Look how much pleasure your suffering gives me.

  I hated him as his tongue whipped at me. He fucked me with his mouth and his fingers as the clamp bit at me with teeth of fire. He gave contented sighs of satisfaction like he was feeding off my pain. He threw his forearm over my stomach so his free hand could spread my pussy wider to his brutal tongue.

  Only . . .

  The pressure of the clamp began to ease.

  “Yes,” he encouraged. “That’s a good girl. You can come even when it hurts, can’t you?”

  The men had twisted into one, but as the pain in my clit started to subside, they separated. Clay was onscreen and far away. He wasn’t able to see how the clamp was being removed because E’s head blocked his view.

  The gradual release of the clamp’s grip meant it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as coming off in an instant, and when he finished, E tightened his fist around it, then focused on his task.

  My head swam with thoughts. Did Clay know what he’d done? E had been told he could use his own judgement, but this felt . . . like a secret. I didn’t feel guilty about that either. Clay kept nearly everything about E a secret from me. Wasn’t it fair I kept one from him?

  My chest heaved as I gasped for air. The tip of E’s tongue seemed to know exactly where and how I wanted it, and his fingers slid in and out of me with the same precision. Fuck, I was going to come, and as my orgasm closed in, I worried the force of it might make me scream.

  But instead, I was utterly silent as ecstasy burst inside and channeled out through my limbs. It was strange and wonderful to come like this while I was unable to move. It made the sensations linger, prolonging my enjoyment. Was this how it’d been for the girl trapped in latex under Mistress Theia’s dominance?

  “Are you coming?” Clay asked.

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  He gave a choked-off sound of pleasure, and seconds later he joined me. His fist slowed, focusing only on his sensitive tip, while he erupted and cum dribbled down over his clenched fingers.

  E’s mouth had ceased, but his fingers were still lodged inside me. Could he feel the rhythmic pulses of my internal muscles squeezing more pleasure from him? He studied me like he wanted to know everything about me, and—God—could I relate.

  I was still cooling down when he withdrew, stood, and set about removing the magnets. I could tell he was trying to do them slowly, but it wasn’t as controlled as the clamp, and I sucked in air through my teeth.

  Once everything had been put back into the black velvet bag and pocketed, E unclipped one of my wrists and gently guided it down. There was tension in my neck and back, and my arms were still asleep, so I was grateful for his carefulness. I’d expected him to undo the cuff, but he clipped it to a ring beneath the seat, and then repeated the process with my other hand.

  I shot Clay a look, wordlessly asking him to explain.

  He still had his dick in his hand, unbothered by the mess. “You were so amazing. Now I show you how much I appreciate you.”

  E marched over to his bag on the workbench and produced a cordless wand vibrator, announcing the scene wasn’t over.

  But there was a definite shift in tone. The first half had been pain.

  The second one would be absolute pleasure.

  THIRTEEN

  I was out late on Friday with Cassidy when my phone rang, and my pulse kicked when Clay’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Hey, there,” I said into my phone as I flashed an apologetic smile to my friend. She waved a hand, and I stood from the table, heading off to a quieter section of the bar that served just enough food to qualify as a restaurant.

  “Hi,” Clay said. “So, I just got home and—”

  “Oh, yeah? How was your flight?”

  “It was fine.” There was something in his voice I couldn’t identify. Curiosity? Confusion? “Any idea where the food in my fridge came from?”

  I laughed softly. “Yeah. You told me you wouldn’t be getting in until late, and since you’re only home for forty-eight hours, I bought some stuff to get you through the weekend. I thought I’d save you the time of having to go out.”

  “Oh.” He paused, and then pleasant surprise clung to his words. “That was . . . nice of you.”

  Even though he couldn’t see me, I smiled and shrugged. “It was kind of self-serving. This way you have more time to decompress,” I filled my words with extra meaning, “and, you know, work on your projects.”

  I could hear his smile in his voice. “I see.”

  This corner of the lobby was quiet, but all the sound faded out until it was just him. He was back. When I went home this evening, he’d be right next door. No more two-dimensional Clay to play with. It’d be his hands on my body.

  “Thank you, Lilith.” His gratitude made warmth bloom in my chest. “You should come over tomorrow afternoon so I can work on my new favorite project.”

  My heart skipped.

  I stood in Clay’s workshop, drinking the glass of lemonade he’d poured me, and watched him work, but anticipation vibrated as nervous energy inside my body. He wasn’t aware. He was busy gluing and clamping pieces together of the kneeler he was building for the client we’d met at Club Eros. While I studied him, I also had one eye on the St. Andrew’s cross.

  “Did you ever think about using a model for your pieces?” I asked.

  He tightened the final clamp. “Sometimes I do before I scale up. I want to make sure the proportions are right.”

  What?

  Oh. I gave a half of a laugh at the misunderstanding. “I meant like a person. I think it’d be helpful for your potential customers to see your stuff in use.” I walked over to the chair we’d used during our last session. “There are a lot of options here. Different places to clip onto, and then there’s the spreader bar. You can put a bunch of pictures in the gallery for this, but without someone sitting in it? It’s hard to get a sense of what it’s capable of.”

  He made a face. “I get what you’re saying, but I wouldn’t even know where to start with that.”

  Because he was private, and he wouldn’t want a stranger coming to his house, and definitely not down to his workshop.

  But I wasn’t a stranger.

  I affected a dramatic, wistful voice. “If only you knew someone who loved your work, especially when they’re handcuffed to it . . . Wherever could you find a girl like that, I wonder?”

  His attention was no longer on what he’d been doing, it was set on me and he asked it with total disbelief. “Are you volunteering?”

  “What if I am?” I ran a fingertip seductively across the chair back.

  It was interesting to see how this excited him as my partner, but also as a businessman. His gaze turned to the storage closet as he considered my offer. “I have a lot of pieces.”<
br />
  “And I have all afternoon,” I said.

  “You want to do this?” He put a hand on his hip and shifted his weight to one side. “I can blur your face, but you’re okay with these pictures being shown to other people?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Remember when I was waiting naked for you when you got home? I don’t mind who sees me. Hell, if I had more time, I’d probably make an OnlyFans account.” My cousin Heather made good money there. “You don’t need to blur my face. I assume you have a blindfold.”

  “I do.”

  This hadn’t been on his agenda for us today, and he visibly struggled with what to do. He hated being surprised, but he didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity.

  “This doesn’t have to derail your plans,” I said. “You can still do all the things to me you want to.” I nodded toward the St. Andrew’s cross. “As long as your plan includes using that.”

  His eyes filled with dark heat. “Oh, it does.”

  Decision made, he took the glass of lemonade from me, plunked it down on top of the tool cabinet nearby, and gave me a discerning look.

  “Before we start,” he said, “I want to talk while your head’s clear. Rules can become flexible when you’re deep in a scene, and I don’t want you agreeing to something you might end up regretting later.”

  I nodded. My reservations went out the window fast when something I wanted happened to dangle in front of me. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Are you on birth control?”

  I blinked in surprise but recovered quickly. “I’ve been on the pill since I was fifteen.” I took the continuous one because who had time for that period bullshit? “Why?”

  He shifted his weight, and I didn’t miss the way he subtly leaned toward me. “I was tested before my last relationship, and I haven’t had any sexual partners since. I’m clean, so if you’re safe and interested in it, I’d like to go without a condom. It’s easier, and—”

  “More fun?” I teased.

  Oh, his smile was delicious. “Yes, it’s more fun.” He turned serious again. “But I understand and respect if you’d prefer to keep using them. Also, I’m asking that this is only with me. Any scenes with Mr. E—if it requires it—will use protection. I’ve been clear with him about that.”