by Megan Hart
Elliott looked into her eyes. He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her close to him for a deep, lingering kiss that took her breath away. "No. Never. Tell me how it feels."
He walked her back toward the bed, where he settled her on the edge of it. He pushed her legs open and knelt between them. He ran a thumb over her damp panties and pushed the silk to one side, exposing her.
"It hurts. But everything is centered there, now. In my nipples. Like everything in my body, my blood, everything, is all flowing into my nipples."
"Not here?" He flicked her clit. Then pinched it lightly.
Simone groaned, head falling back as her hips shifted forward. "That feels good, too."
"And this?" He smacked her clit sharply.
Laughing, gasping, Simone managed to say, "Yes. Oh. God, yes."
He tugged a little bit on the clothespins, one at a time, as he slid two fingers inside her. Simone went molten. She writhed. When he bent to flick his tongue along her clit, she shuddered. Her cunt bore down on his fingers, and she thought she was going to come, but he stopped moving just before she did.
"Tell me what you want, Simone."
"Oh, fuck, Elliott, I want you to fuck me."
"You want to come?"
She gave another breathless laugh. "Yes. That, too."
"I want to make you come," Elliott said, reaching to tug again at one of the clothespins, then the other, until Simone let out a low, guttural shout. "From this."
When he withdrew his fingers, she let out a frustrated whimper. "Evil."
Elliott gave her a half smile, tilting his head to study her as though he wasn't sure just what to make of her. "You are so beautiful, Simone. You know that?"
Her first response was to say 'of course.' To play along with him, to keep up the front of self-confidence. But something in the way he'd said it brought emotions surging into her throat stinging the backs of her eyes, and she nodded, silent.
"I've been with a lot of women," he began, and at her snort, he kissed her quiet. "None of them liked . . . this."
Another tug on her nipples had her writhing and moaning. "I fucking love it."
"I know you do. And I want to give it to you. I want to make you come so hard," Elliott murmured, "you won't be able to stand for a week."
All she could do was smile.
"Tell me what you want," Elliott said. "Tell me what to give you."
Simone got up from the bed and went to his dresser. Curled in the top drawer was his collection of belts. In leather. One black, one brown. A blue belt of some webbed fabric. That wouldn't do. She took the black belt, feeling the smooth leather in her fingers. She smelled it, closing her eyes at the scent.
She brought it to him. Held it out. Elliott took it, looking at it with narrowed eyes.
"You don't have a cane or a whip or a flogger," she told him. "But this will work."
She turned and put her hands on the edge of the dresser, a highboy that stood nearly as tall as him. She spread her fingers wide apart. She looked at him over her shoulder.
"When fingers are spread apart, I'm ok. If I need you to ease off, I'll close them. Like this." She demonstrated, then gave her head a tiny shake. "I won't need to close them."
She turned around. Elliott snapped the belt between his fists. He drew in a short breath.
"You sure about this?"
"I want it, Elliott. I want it from you."
He let the leather slide down her back. Simone breathed. Waiting for the pain. Everything about her felt swollen. Ready. Waiting. Her clit pulsed. Her cunt ached, empty without his fingers or cock inside her. She pushed her ass back toward him a little, spreading her legs to show him her wet panties.
"Don't use the buckle," she told him with a laugh, her eyes closed, head bent.
"I haven't beaten a woman with my belt before, Simone. That doesn't mean I don't have any clue about how to do it."
She breathed a shuddery, drawn-out sigh. "Ah. Porn?"
His laugh answered that for her. "Shhh."
She hushed.
She waited.
This moment, before the real pain came, was always both the best and the worst. The rising anticipation. She forced herself not to hold her breath. Not to tense. She forced herself to be patient, though that had never been her nature.
The first smack was too soft. She'd have laughed aloud if she hadn't been sure that would hurt his feelings too much. He ran a hand over her back, as though testing the mark he'd left, and that sent another spate of shivers all through her.
"Tell me why you like the pain," Elliott said, and hit her.
Hard.
"Oh, fuck," she said. "Oh, because . . . because . . ."
Again.
"Because when it hurts all I can think about is that!" Simone cried. "And when all I can think about is that, everything else falls away and I can get lost in feeling good...!"
Again the belt came down on her bare skin, and Elliott may never have beaten a woman with his belt before, but he sure as fuck knew how to go about doing it just right. Over and over, each blow placed just a little lower than the first, though he stayed far away from her lower back, where hitting her kidneys would've done more than make her hurt for a little while.
The pain built until she thought she couldn't stand it anymore, but there was always just a little more that she could take. Every so often, Elliott paused to pass a hand down her back, as though testing the welts. And then, once, he kissed her shoulder where it hurt particularly bad.
She gasped at the pressure of his lips on flesh gone so sensitive all it took was the brush of his mouth to send a fresh wave of pleasure pain through her. His hand slid between her legs. Fingers inside, though not touching her clit, and he didn't move them. Not even to stroke in and out of her.
"I want to feel it when you come," he told her.
"Kiss me there again."
He did.
She came. Hard enough to weaken her knees. Yes. Hard enough that her fingers slipped and scrabbled on the edge of the dresser when she almost fell from the force of it. Turning her, Elliott caught her up and found her mouth with his. He kissed her hard enough to bruise her lips while his fingers stayed deep inside her, and she came and came and came.
Trembling, breathless, feeling a little woozy and sick, Simone shook in his arms. She clung to him and wept, not from fear or pain, but from simple, sheer release. Elliott scooped her up and carried her to the bed, where he sat down and cradled her on his lap.
Simone tucked her head against him, letting herself come down from all of it. His cock had softened, though when she shifted on his lap it gave a flattering throb. She reached between them to stroke him as best she could.
"I want you to feel good, too," she whispered.
Elliott tensed for a second. Then gave an embarrassed laugh. "Um."
Surprised, Simone pushed away a little to look at him. "You . . . did?"
"You were so sexy," he told her, not looking her in the eyes.
She took his chin in her hand and turned him until he met her gaze. "Elliott. Did you come in your pants when you were beating me with that belt?"
He smiled.
She smiled, too, and kissed him. Then she let him hold her close while neither of them said anything else.
Elliott woke to full daylight and the smell of coffee and bacon. His sheets had tangled around his feet, and he tossed around in bed for a moment or so, disoriented. Wincing at the ache in his shoulder muscles, everything from last night--hell, it had been only a few hours ago, really--came back to him. He sat straight up in bed.
"Shit," he said aloud. "Simone."
She was downstairs wearing the dress she'd worn when she’d showed up on his doorstep, but over it she wore one of his dress shirts, half unbuttoned and tied at the waist. Her wet hair lay sleek against her head, and she turned a fresh scrubbed face toward him when he came into the kitchen.
"I'm making some breakfast. You know you have like, nothing in your fridge, right
?" She gestured at the pan. "I mean, look, honey, if you're gonna fuck a Jewish girl, the least you can do is buy turkey bacon."
"I didn't know it mattered," Elliott said slowly.
Simone gave him a small grin. "It's fine. Coffee's really all I need in the morning, anyway. I hardly eat breakfast. But you, come sit down here. You haven't showered yet?"
"Uh . . . no." Bemused and a little overwhelmed, Elliott let her push him into a chair.
"You'll be late," she whispered into his ear, then straddled him. "Especially if I make you fuck me before you leave for work."
"We don't have time."
She rocked a little on his cock, which didn't give a good goddamn about the time. She kissed him slowly until Elliott kissed her back, and his hands found the indent of her waist just above her hips where they fit just right, and he pressed her down on his growing erection.
"No time," Simone said and got off his lap. "Seriously, I have to get going. I called a cab; it will be here any minute."
"But you . . . I could drive you."
She shook her head. "I have to go home first. I can't go to work dressed like this. And besides, it's not like we could show up together. Right? Someone might see us together."
"We don't work for the same company, Simone. It wouldn't matter." Hearing her say it that way somehow annoyed him, even though it was what he'd been thinking before she said it.
She dug in his fridge and pulled out a bag of grapes. Popping one in her mouth, she chewed, swallowed, shrugged. "I still need to go home, honey."
"I don't like--, " Elliott said, and stopped himself from rejecting her term of affection. She'd made him breakfast. She'd offered him sex when after the night before he wasn't sure how either of them could stand. And all that on what, two hours' sleep?
"What?" Simone said carefully, slowly, without turning around. The line of tension in her shoulders and the way she didn't look at him told him everything he needed to know. "You don't like what?"
"Bacon." He'd bought the package on a whim a week ago when it had been on sale, feeling nostalgic for Molly's BLTs, but then he'd never gotten around to making one. Without the tomatoes she'd grown herself, it wouldn't have been the same.
"Oh."
She put the pan in the sink and turned to lean against the counter. They stared at each other. In the daylight, without the protection of her makeup, she looked younger and softer, but no less lovely.
When had she started becoming so lovely to him?
"How do you feel?" He asked her, getting up to pour himself a mug of coffee. This close, he could smell her. His soap, but her scent.
"Great." She stretched, grinning, and pushed on her toes to offer him her mouth. "You?"
"Domestic," Elliott said without a smile.
Simone's smile faltered. Then her eyes narrowed. "I'll just get out of your hair, then. Okay? Sorry I fucked up your breakfast."
"No. Simone, no. Wait." He pulled her back for a kiss and a hug he was careful not to make too hard. "Your back?"
"It's fine." She nuzzled against him for a moment. "I'm sore, but it's really fine, Elliott. I can take a lot. I mean . . . you can give a lot, honey. But it wasn't too much. It was amazing. Last night. I don't usually like all of that stuff, I mean, the toys or props or whatever, but last night I really just wanted it. Needed it. And you gave it to me."
"I was surprised, too." He wanted to tell her, then. Everything. All of his secrets, all the stupid things he'd done and had never told anyone, that nobody but Molly had ever known. Elliott held her close, breathing her in. Trying to find a way to be honest with her.
She laughed, tipping her face to look at him. "What can I say? Sometimes a girl just gets set off. Believe me, if I'd known that's what was going to happen when Aidan invited me back to his place, I'd have given you a warning."
Elliott had been about to ask her how long she had before she needed to get home, if there was time for him to tell her some things that had been on his mind. But at this, he paused. "What? Aidan who?"
"My friend Aidan. He has a new girlfriend, and they're into . . . well, let's just say she's a better fit for him than I ever was, but they asked me over, and one thing led to another and she has this thing about pain, I mean she likes it but she doesn't love it, and so I was kind of caught up. . . ." Simone, rambling, spoke lightly and without any hesitation. She caught his gaze and laughed. "And I guess I just got so turned on . . ."
He stepped back from her. "This old friend of yours. What did you do? You fucked him? And then you came here to me?"
Simone looked at him. With the span of only a few steps between them, she could've moved toward him. He could've reached for her. But instead, they only stared.
Her chin lifted. She crossed her arms. "Would it matter to you if I had?"
"Yes!" Elliott shouted. "God dammit, Simone, of course it would!"
She shook her head without answering him.
"Don't just not answer me. Hey," he said when she walked past him, out of the kitchen and toward the front door. "Don't you walk away from me!"
"Fuck you, Elliott," she said without turning around.
"Simone," he cried, angry and desperate and furious and, fuck . . . jealous. "Talk to me."
"You said you didn't want to date! You said this was just what it was, and you don't call me, you don't fucking answer my texts, you barely talk to me unless your dick's in me!"
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging it in his frustration. "You said that would be okay with you!"
"Well, is it okay with you?" she shouted, fists clenched. "Because if it is, and if that's what you want, then you don't get to ask me who else I'm fucking! You understand me, Elliott Fucking Anderson? You don't get to fucking ask me that question!"
"Did you fuck him or not?" The thought of it, another man's hands on her, another man's cock inside her, made him want to puke. Or hit something. He punched one fist into the other, and hated himself for the way she startled.
Silently, Simone unbuttoned the shirt tied at her waist, then tugged it off. Carefully, she folded it and set it gently on the back of the armchair nearest her. When she turned toward the door again, he could see the marks he'd left. Faintly purple bruises, only a few, but he'd put them there. Because she’d wanted him to.
"Simone," Elliott said in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. "Yes. It matters to me."
She faced him then, and to his shame he saw she was crying. He'd made her cry again. She swiped at her face, but there was no hiding the tears.
She let him kiss her, at least there was that. He held her close, bewildered and off balance, not knowing what in the hell he meant to do or say, only that if she walked out that door, he would never be able to forgive himself.
"Yes, Simone," he said into the softness of her hair. "It matters."
Chapter 26
How long had it been since Simone had gone on a date? A real date, with a man who picked her up at her door, brought her flowers and took her out to eat, then to see a live show. And then, after, to a fancy cigar-and-cocktail bar to listen to a pair of dueling pianos.
"A long time," was the answer to Elliott's question as she took the flowers from him and pressed her nose to the blooms, which were not cut, but live in a small pot. She grinned at him over the top of a spray of baby's breath. "A lot longer than it’s been for you.”
He held his arm out to her as they walked along the cobblestone street to where he'd parked his car. "You want to know how long it’s been since a man took me to dinner and a concert?"
She knuckle-punched his arm and waited for him to open the car door for her. "You're such a giant dork."
Elliott waited until she'd slipped into the passenger seat, then leaned down to look into the car at her. "You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to insult me."
She thought about the nights she'd watched him in his office. "It hasn’t been that long for you. You've been on lots of dates."
"I don't remember any of them,"
he said gallantly. "None of them mattered. This'll be like my first date, ever. Oh my stars and garters, you be gentle with me, now."
He pulled such an expression of mock innocence that Simone laughed and pummeled him again, but carefully, since he'd pulled out into traffic. Then she sat back in the seat, trying to relax. Peeking at him from the corner of her eye, she grinned.
"It's not my first date. It's just been a long time since I had a real one."
"Why is that?" Elliott guided his car expertly through the Philadelphia traffic.
"Nobody's asked," Simone said honestly.
He glanced at her. "You don't impress me as the sort of woman who waits to be asked."
She laughed, smelling the flowers again. "Depends, I guess. Haven't had time to date. Haven't cared about it. I had that semi-long-term relationship a few years ago, and it didn't work out. So . . . I dunno. I guess I wasn't into it."
Tension curled between them, but he didn't ask for details. They hadn't talked about Aidan since the night Elliott had asked Simone if she'd fucked him, but that didn't mean it wasn't hanging between them. She'd have talked about it, if he asked. Simone had few secrets, and Aidan wasn't one of them.
But Elliott didn't ask. Instead, he reached for her hand and held it as he drove, letting go only when he had to in order to drive safely, and then he took it up again. The trip to Serrano's took only a few minutes from her place in Rittenhouse Square, but Simone sort of wished it could've lasted forever.
"We almost could've walked," she told him as he pulled into a tight spot in an expensive lot.
Elliott looked at her with a frown. "From your place? No. In those shoes?"
Simone looked down at her high-heeled pumps with a laugh. They had an inch-thick platform and four-inch heels. He had a point.
"You could've carried me when my feet started to hurt," she teased, though she'd been short her entire life and wore high heels like other girls wore sneakers.
Elliott leaned across the front seat, she thought to kiss her, though he only whispered his lips along hers "If that's what you needed me to do, I guess I could have."