My back arches off the bed and, instinctively, my hands reach for him. Then I remember again that this is Nick and stop myself from touching him without permission. My fingers curl into my palms.
“This is your reward, Grace. You may touch me if you’d like.”
Oh, yes, I want to touch him.
Sweeping my fingers through his dark hair, I push him back to my nipple. He chuckles against my skin and I can’t help but smile.
When his lips snag my nipple again, he sucks it hard before scraping his teeth over the beaded tip.
He rolls the other one between his thumb and forefinger before pulling it away from my body. When my skin won’t stretch anymore, he pinches harder.
“I should’ve brought some clamps,” he murmurs against the outer curve of my breast.
Yes, he should’ve.
“Next time,” he says and I still.
Next time.
Will he make me wait a whole year for a next time?
Suddenly a million questions fill my head, but I sweep them away. Now is not the time.
No. Now is for my reward. Plenty of time later for other things.
He nibbles a path from one breast to the other until he clamps his lips tightly around my nipple and flicks the tip with his tongue.
“Nick...” I groan.
“Are you enjoying your reward?”
Oh, hell yes, I want to scream. But I don’t. I murmur, “Oh yes,” instead.
My neck bows as I tilt my head back and suddenly he’s there, nipping along my throat, tickling the hollow with his tongue. When he sinks his teeth in a little harder at the junction of where my neck meets my shoulder, I gasp.
“No?” he asks.
“Yes,” I encourage.
Again, he chuckles softly, deeply, and suddenly I’m covered in goosebumps. His voice alone can make me wet and wanting.
The evidence is making my inner thighs slick. I throb for him. Actually throb. That has never happened to me before. To need someone so much that my body cries out for him.
But there’s no doubt I want him, need him. All of him.
He works his way down my chest, biting the upper curve of my breast, nipping the tip of my nipple, softly kissing the skin of my belly. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the top of my mound. His hot breath beats against my flesh and my pussy clenches. He’s not touching me anywhere, but can make me react with just a breath.
Simply a breath.
“Open yourself to me, Grace. I want to see all of you.”
I slide my hand down my belly and separate myself.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Once again you’re ready for me. But that’s not your reward…” His voice drifts off as he strokes along my center with his tongue, the tip of it finds the tip of me, teasing my clit, making my hips dance off the bed.
“That’s it, Grace. You taste so good. I can’t get enough of you.”
He’s quiet, but I’m not, while he works me into a frenzy and takes me to the edge several times but won’t let me fall. Instead, he pulls away to nip my inner thighs or blow gently on my sensitive clit. Though, even that almost makes me come.
I find the more I whimper, mew, or cry out his name, the harder he sucks, licks, flicks, so it becomes a new game. One where I’ll clearly be the winner.
I mindlessly chant his name, begging him to let me come. This is supposed to be my reward; I shouldn’t have to beg. At first, I don’t think he’s trying to be controlling, but only trying to extend my pleasure. In one way, I appreciate it, in another I want to curse him.
Until there comes a point where I can’t take anymore; the tension in my body needs to be released. I’m tempted to shove his face closer and grind against him.
But I don’t.
I wait.
I trust him to know what he’s doing... Which, I realize, is learning my body, my reactions, what I like, what I love, what creates a slow build, what takes me there quickly.
I have a feeling he’ll use this to his advantage later. While the thought is electrifying to have someone end up knowing your body better than yourself, it’s also intimidating.
It hits me that it’s another form of control. He’ll be able to play me like a fiddle. I’ll be putty in his hands. And every other cliché that bounces around my addled brain.
“Tell me what you need, Grace,” he says against my swollen folds.
“I need to come,” I almost snap at him because I’m at the point of breaking but also teeter at the point of frustration.
I’m ready.
So when he chuckles against my clit and slides two long fingers inside me, curling them to stroke that secret spot of mine, my hands slam down on the mattress, grip the sheets, and I wail as my body bows and then ripples around him, throbbing against his mouth.
He’s saying something. I don’t know what. My head’s foggy, my gaze unfocused from the most intense orgasm I’ve had in a long time.
I hear his words but can’t make out what they are. With a last gentle kiss to my clit, which still makes me jerk against him, he slides up my body, careful to keep his weight off me.
When he’s face to face, he takes my mouth like he owns it, because he does. My body still shakes, my pussy quivers, my fingers curl around his biceps while my nails dig into his flesh to take purchase as he tips my head back from the force of his mouth against mine.
And, holy shit, it’s fucking glorious.
The best damn kiss I ever had.
He whispers to me how good I taste. I agree, because I discovered my own essence during his kiss.
Even though he’s hard again, he slips to my side, lays a heavy arm over my waist and plants a hand on my hip before tugging me tight against him.
“How old is Maggie?”
It’s the last question I expect him to ask. But besides his erection, the rest of his body is relaxed against me, so maybe he wants to learn more about me. Or my dog, anyway. Of course. She always draws the attention.
“Eight.”
His hand sweeps the hair away from my face and, with his fingertip, he draws a line from the top of my forehead down to my chin by the way of my nose.
“That’s old for a dog that size?”
I shift one of my shoulders. “More like middle-aged.”
“She looks good for her age, then. She’s well-behaved. I like that.”
He would.
Since we are speaking freely, I would love to know more about him. Especially what I’ve always been dying to know. But once again, I wait.
“My father trained K9s in the military. He taught her a lot of commands, both verbal and hand signals, but I don’t put her through her paces. She’s just my companion.”
“You live here alone.”
Not a question. He knows. He’s just affirming a fact that doesn’t need stated, because I’m well aware that I live here alone. It was one of the reasons I was so desperate to catch his attention. So I don’t respond.
“What happened to your father? Did he pass?”
“Yes, the year before you started coming up. I’m an only child, so this all got handed down to me.”
“How do you keep up with this place? There has to be at least a dozen cabins.”
“I’m used to it. I hire local help when I need it.” And can afford it, I add silently.
I shiver. I think about the fireplace and how nice it would be to start a fire just to get the chill out of the air. Unfortunately, I don’t have any firewood stacked near the cabins yet.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
He leans away from me enough to grab a blanket that’s folded neatly on the bottom shelf of the nightstand. He pulls it over us both.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“You can wrap your arms around me, Grace. I bite, but only during sex.” His eyes twinkle as he tells me this.
I have to say I enjoyed his nips and nibbles as well as the couple times he sank his teeth into me a bit harder.
&
nbsp; One more thing I have never done before.
He studies my face when he asks, “Did you like it?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Good.” A slight smile curves the corners of his lips and I can’t help but brush the tips of my fingers over them. He opens his mouth and snags one between his teeth playfully, then lets it go.
I continue my exploration of his face, follow the strong line of his jaw up and around all the way to his brows. His eyes follow mine.
His voice sounds husky when he says, “Tell me how long it’s been.”
I stop my exploration and drop my hand. “I told you, too long.”
“Be more specific.”
“Months.”
“How many?”
Why does he insist on knowing this information? I’m not comfortable telling him about my sex life. Or more like the lack of one.
“Nick…”
“I asked you a question, I expect an answer,” he insists.
“Does that work both ways?” Because if so, I have a lot of answers I’d like to hear from him.
He shifts a little under the blanket, drawing a leg over mine. Now with his arm and his leg crossing my body, I’m pinned to the bed. Another type of restraint without using actual ropes or cuffs.
Interesting.
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll only ask you a question I’m willing to answer myself. Deal?”
“Deal,” I say.
But wait.
I frown, regretting my quick decision. Does that mean only he can ask the questions? If so, then I may never find out what I want to know.
Chapter Seven
Nick
The last thing I want is to turn our limited time together into a game of twenty questions. But I’m curious about her, about her life, and why she remains in a remote area of Maine by herself.
Because of our deal, I word my questions carefully.
“Why don’t you sell this place? Seems a lot to handle by yourself.”
“I could, but I’d feel guilty. My parents put their heart and soul into this place. Then, when my mother died, my father kept this place because it was a piece of her. Now I keep it because it’s a piece of them.”
“There’s more to it than that, Grace. Tell me.”
I watch her face as she hesitates, uncertainty peeking through.
“I wouldn’t know what to do, how to live, how to make money. This is all that I’ve ever done, ever known.”
Her parents created a business, a home, but in a sense, they painted their daughter into a corner by doing so. The world is so big, but I have a feeling Grace never had a chance to explore it.
Which is a shame, not only for her, but for the world, too.
“You’ve never married.” I try to make it a statement and not a question because it’s something I don’t want to answer myself. However, I’m curious.
And we all know curiosity killed the cat, though for me, it may become more of a slaughter.
“No. You?”
“Yes,” I answer and her eyes widen.
“Yes, you are married? Or yes, you’ve been married?”
I clarify. Only because I don’t want her to wonder if I’m still married and am cheating on a spouse. “Was.”
Her body relaxes against mine again. I leave it at that, but I know she’ll want a follow-up. And I’m right.
“Messy divorce?”
Messy. Yes. Divorce. No. Heartache and pain all the same, though. If not worse.
Even though she’s asking a question I haven’t asked of her myself, I don’t have to answer, but I will. “No.”
When she opens her mouth to ask another question, I put my finger against her lips. “You forget yourself. I will only answer questions I ask you.”
She frowns against my finger, and I quickly replace it with my mouth, kissing her back into a smile. I like when she smiles at me.
“What would you want to do with your life if you could do anything?” When she tucks her bottom lip in her mouth, I touch it and shake my head. “That lip is mine. Only I get to bite it.”
She releases it immediately and smiles again. “I like it when you bite me.”
“I know. I plan on doing it some more.”
Her body jerks just slightly. I assume it’s from excitement or anticipation. Because I like when I bite her, too.
Very, very much.
I smooth the pad of my thumb over her lower lip, following it with my eyes. Her mouth parts and I can feel her soft, warm breath sweeping over my fingers. Her eyes darken and the tip of her tongue darts out to touch my thumb.
“Do you like taking me in your mouth, Grace?”
“Yes,” she whispers, her eyes hooded. She should be sated, but she’s not. She wants more. “I enjoy it.”
And I like that very, very much, too.
“Did you like when I came down your throat?”
“Yes.” This time her answer is so soft, it’s more like a breath.
“Why do you like it?”
Her throat works up and down, like she’s swallowing hard. “Because you’re giving me a part of you.”
Her answer brings my cock to attention. I can’t believe my luck. To have found the right woman, one able to fill what’s missing inside of me. The hole that’s been there for years. My instinct about Grace was right. Every time I saw her, even if only for a split moment in the past few years, I knew she might be the one. And I am quickly finding out I was right.
I just needed time to get to the place where I’m currently at. One where I could offer myself to her. One where I could comfortably ask her to give herself to me.
So far, she’s been nothing but open, honest, and hasn’t hesitated to do anything I request. Or tell, more like it.
When my life spun out of control a little over four years ago, I realized I never wanted that to happen again. So, I will never let it.
The more control I sought, the more I realized how much I like it. Even during sex.
Especially during sex.
“Why do you come here every year at this time?” she asks. Then she pins her lips shut and her eyes widen again.
She couldn’t help herself. It’s a question she probably has been wanting to ask.
“Every question you ask me out of turn, you will get one strike of the tawse. And I won’t guarantee that I will answer. You’ve already broken our deal. So this is the new one. Do you accept it?”
“I don’t know what a tawse is,” she answers.
“Ask me.”
Conflict crosses her face. She knows if she asks, it will add one more strike from something she has no idea what it is.
No matter if she stops asking questions, she’s earned herself one strike at least. My cock thickens at the thought of using it on her ass, making it red.
“Do you want to know enough to ask me?”
“No,” she says, her voice a little shaky.
“I will never hurt you and you have your safe word,” I remind her.
When her expression becomes determined, I fight back my smile of triumph. She likes a challenge. And she’s finding this a challenge she may want to participate in.
I’ll give her a little information to whet her appetite to want to know more. “I come up here every year to get away.”
“Why?”
Strike two. Her cheeks darken as do her eyes.
“It’s an anniversary I want to forget. I leave everything behind once a year at this time to cleanse my soul.”
“What kind of anniversary?”
Strike three. Her lips part and she blows out a ragged breath. So do I because the anticipation is beginning to grow inside of me to epic proportions.
“An anniversary of a major loss.”
I’m only giving her enough so she must ask more.
“A loss of what?”
Strike four.
“A loss of loved ones.”
She bites her bottom lip and I give her a pointed look. She releases it, but I can s
ee she’s dying to ask who, how, and when.
Though it’s somewhat easier to talk about now, it’s still not something I like to discuss. I came up here and drank myself into oblivion year after year to forget. Even though the loss of memory was only temporary. I needed to get through this week in a stupor until the pain became slightly bearable. But it’s still not completely gone.
And it never will be.
“You want to know the details,” I finally say.
She nods and says softly, “Yes.”
“Then ask.” I’m not letting her off that easily.
“Why here?”
Strike five. My cock twitches against her thigh. I close my eyes for a second to gather myself, not because I’m having a hard time with the memory, but because of my anticipation of giving her her punishment.
“Because no one would know to look for me here. I’m completely out of my element. I live and work in the city, Grace. No one would think I would hide in the middle of Maine.”
“Who are you hiding from?”
Strike six. My balls tighten and I get even harder.
“Friends, family. Anyone who would hover, anyone who would worry about my mental state this week every year.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Ah, she didn’t ask. Smart.
I may give this one to her because six strikes are already a lot. Though can alternate light and hard. I think she may enjoy getting this punishment as much as I will enjoy giving it to her.
“First your punishment, then the answer might be your reward,” I decide.
My heart beats a little faster, my breath speeds up a bit as I slide off of her and out of bed. I can’t wait anymore. I’m looking forward to this and I brought the tawse with me planning to use it one way or another, whether in punishment or play.
I will let her see what it is before blindfolding her. As I head toward my suitcase, precum beads at the tip of my cock.
And I can’t wait to fuck her once her ass is pink from my efforts.
Chapter Eight
Grace
I suck in a breath when he turns. He’s holding a long strap-like object in his hand. It’s flat and looks wicked. The thick, brown leather is split up the middle and on the other end there’s a hole with a leather cord running through it that would go around his wrist.
Needing Him Page 5