by L. DuBois
He slapped her breast, feeling the wax pop and crack as he did. She sucked hard. His balls were heavy, and he could feel them drawing up tight. His stomach was tense, as were his thighs. Each time he pressed into her mouth and throat, a little grunt of pleasure escaped from between his clenched teeth.
Another thrust and he passed the point of no return. He was going to come, and nothing, except a safe word from his sweet, depraved submissive would stop that from happening.
His cock twitched as he started to come. He pulled out until he filled her mouth, but wasn’t down her throat. Her lips tightened around his cock, and he watched her throat work as she swallowed. It was base and primal how much he enjoyed watching that, watching her suck and swallow as he filled her mouth.
Liam pinched her nipple hard, released it, grabbed the candle, and then poured hot wax over the tight, pink tip of her breast.
Rosa’s body arched up, her heels and shoulders the only part of her body touching the table. There was a strangled sound of pain that burbled up from her chest, but she didn’t release his cock. If anything she sucked harder.
Liam’s eyes closed, his lips drawn back from his teeth as his orgasm finished, the last of his come filling her mouth only to be swallowed. He tried to set the candle down, but his hand was shaking. It fell to the floor, wick extinguishing as it rolled under the table.
He planted his hand on the table and hunched over her, panting heavily.
They stayed like that, his cock in her mouth, his body hunched over her still bound form. He was waiting for the guilt and horror he was sure would come now that he was no longer driven to insanity by sexual need.
He opened his eyes reluctantly, scared to see what he’d done to her. How he’d hurt her.
His sub was splattered with wax, her legs spread, wet pussy deliciously vulnerable.
There was no guilt, no horror.
Mine, his Dom crowed. Mine.
Liam almost laughed in relief. He didn’t feel like an abusive asshole. He felt like…like he wasn’t nearly ready to be done with his sweet, needy sub.
One of her breasts was speckled with hard purple wax, the nipple completely covered with more of the still-warm stuff.
He liked having his softening cock in her mouth. Maybe later he’d get settled in a chair with a good book and make her kneel with his cock in her mouth.
Liam pulled free, looking down to watch as she licked her lips.
“Master,” she breathed.
He grinned, not that she could see it, then jerked the gag back into place.
She made a noise of protest and lifted her head, neck and shoulders straining.
Liam lifted the other candle, which had been burning all this time, and held it over her naked breast.
“You’re mine.”
Hot wax dripped and then streamed over her soft skin. Rosa screamed into the gag even as she lifted her hips. Her legs splayed submissively, pussy visibly wet. His to use, abuse, and pleasure.
His.
Eleven
Rosalicia soaped herself with hands that trembled. She wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or residual post-orgasm jitters that made her hands unsteady.
This had been the most intense night of her life.
Liam had been…he’d been amazing. A few times she’d been genuinely frightened of him, but in a sexy way. The fear hadn’t been due to anticipated physical pain, but because she didn’t know what he’d do next. He hadn’t checked in with her each and every step of the scene. He hadn’t pulled away after the scene was over, making her feel bad for enjoying it.
He’d been as into it as she was.
If he had gotten flustered or had to stop to get something because he hadn’t really planned the scene, she hadn’t known about it, because he’d never removed the half-hood blindfold he’d had Luscious put on her.
She examined her wet breasts. As the pale white soap slid away under the deluge of water from the multi-jet shower, she hoped to see marks created by the wax. There were a few pink spots, but that might have been from the hot water.
Ducking her head under the shower once more, she made sure she was free of soap then turned off the water and stepped out.
She towel dried, then opened the drawers in the bathroom vanity. Las Palmas came through again—there were a few brand new brushes, still in their packages. She opened one and pulled it through her hair. She had a travel size bottle of her post-wash hair cream in her overnight bag, but that was probably still in Master Khan’s room, tucked neatly into a drawer beside Luscious and Hachiro’s bags. She’d been sleeping on a mat with her fellow harem members in Master Khan’s room—one of the largest sleeping rooms the club had—on the occasions she’d come to the club, seeking an escape from her mess of a life.
Would Liam send her back?
Her fingers started trembling again as she wound her hair into a rope, then curled it into a bun atop her head, securing it with a hair tie she found in a small crystal dish.
The fog had cleared from the mirror and she examined herself. There were no marks left, except maybe a crease line on one cheek from the hood, and even that was very faint. That was disappointing, but a good thing.
Maybe he wouldn’t leave her if she looked clean.
There was a rap on the door. She jumped and swallowed. She was nervous, as nervous as if it were a stranger who waited outside. A stranger instead of a man she knew as well as she knew almost anyone.
But he was different. In the time they’d been apart, something had changed. Something more than the beard.
Still damp, she grabbed a neatly folded robe off the shelf beside the vanity and slipped it on.
She opened the door.
Liam was standing by the dresser, sorting the things he’d unloaded from his pockets. His duffle bag, the one he used to transport things to and from the club, was sitting open on the ground by his feet. He must have gone to get it while she was showering.
It was nearly dawn. The heavy blackout curtains weren’t drawn over the window, and she could see the rolling brown hills of Malibu, their edges pale gold with dawn light.
It was morning. Monday morning.
The arrival of dawn meant a return to the real world.
Liam turned to face her. She kept her head turned to look out the window, but could see him in her peripheral vision.
He stared at her for a long moment, then walked past her and into the bathroom.
Rosalicia sobbed out the breath she’d been holding and then sank down onto the small ottoman that went with the bedroom’s lone easy chair. The bed—a massive Alaskan King, with a firm mattress, plenty of pillows, and a dark grey duvet—looked inviting, but she wouldn’t climb into bed.
Not until she knew where they stood.
She watched dawn spread slowly over the hills. Their room must have faced east, because the sky was a pale gray-blue tinged with pink and gold, rather than the darker night sky she would have been able to see had they been facing west.
The bathroom door opened. His bare feet were quiet as he walked around the room, doing something she stubbornly didn’t turn to see. If he was getting dressed and getting ready to leave, she’d—
She’d what?
She’d follow him back to their condo? Could she do that—go home and pretend nothing had happened?
He brushed against her as he sat in the chair beside her ottoman.
Rosalicia let out the breath she’d been holding, gathered her courage, and swiveled to face him. The outside of her right knee, covered by the robe, pressed against his left leg, in the space between chair and footstool.
He was freshly showered, wearing a robe and his glasses.
Except they weren’t his glasses. They were different frames then he normally wore.
“You got new glasses.”
The words were out, hanging in the space between them, shifting things. It was a comment only someone familiar with him would make.
Their scene now seemed miles away, as if it had
happened in a dream, or to someone else. Now she was ’Licia sitting in front of her boyfriend. Or was it her ex-boyfriend?
He touched the side piece with one finger. “Broke the old ones.”
They weren’t the simple brown frames she was used to seeing on him. They were a trendy style she wouldn’t have thought he’d pick.
“They were the first ones I put on that fit like my old ones.”
That made her smile, but sadly, because it was so classically Liam.
“They look good.” She forced her smile to widen in an effort to make it genuine. “You look good.”
“I gained weight.” He leaned back in the chair. “You lost weight. Working out too much or not eating?”
“Maybe a bit of both.”
More silence.
She broke first. “What are we doing, Liam?”
“I don’t know.”
She knuckled her eyes, feeling old and tired. “Neither do I.”
“How do you feel?”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s good, but…but even if I had, that would have been a part of the scene.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“I did hurt you. In a purely objective sense, there was pain involved.”
Rosalicia nodded once. “That’s…true.” She licked her lips. “Are you okay with that?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t before.”
“I realized some things.”
Hope, bright fragile hope, sparked to life behind her breastbone. “What changed?”
Now he looked uncomfortable. “It sounds stupid.”
“Please. I’d like to know.”
He met her gaze, doubt in his eyes.
“Because,” she continued. “Because tonight was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life and I want it again.” She had to stop speaking because there was a lump in her throat. “Is it…is it because you’re not my boyfriend anymore? Is that what made it different?”
He closed his eyes and made a pained noise. “I’m going to ignore that for now.”
“I’m sorry, I won’t say anything else.” She wished she hadn’t said anything.
Liam held up a hand. “Give me a second to explain.”
Rosalicia forced herself to be quiet, knotting her fingers together in her lap.
When he’d gathered his thoughts, Liam sat forward, resting his hand on her knee as he spoke.
“I love you, Rosalicia. I never want to hurt you. I was willing to do this because you like it.” His free hand gestured vaguely, apparently at the club as a whole.
“But you aren’t into it?”
“I am, but I…I didn’t want to hurt you. After everything we’ve been through, I want to protect you.”
Rosalicia closed her eyes, locking down the bad memories before they could rise up and derail her emotional train.
“Maybe if we hadn’t lost the babies—” he started to say.
She held up a hand. “Please, don’t. I get what you’re trying to say.”
He squeezed her knee. “I just didn’t want to see you hurt.”
“But it’s not like that,” she insisted.
“I know,” he soothed. “I mean intellectually I knew you had consented, but I was worried about doing it right, making sure you were enjoying it.”
“You were never as into it as I was.” She met his gaze. “I ended up topping from the bottom. I always had to make suggestions, ask, beg, and all that.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But a few times when I tried to start something, you said you weren’t into it.”
“What? No, I didn’t.”
“Not here, but at home.”
She frowned, scrambling to remember a time when she’d turned him down for sex. Even when they were younger she’d had the higher sex drive and usually initiated.
“Wait, are you talking about the time you just walked up and started trying to pinch my nipples through my shirt?”
He stiffened. “I was being aggressive and dominant. Like you wanted.”
“I was in the middle of work. I didn’t…you can’t just expect me to change gears like that. Not out in the real world.”
Only after she’d spoken did she realize she’d used the present tense, as if there was a possibility they would be in a position to have sex again.
“Okay, well it made me wonder if…if you really wanted me to be aggressive.”
“I literally begged you.” Her voice was rising. “You could have at least kissed me. It was off-putting walking into the kitchen for some coffee and having you randomly pinch me.”
He held up both hands, palm out. Her knee felt cold, devoid of the heat of his touch. “Okay, okay. We’re getting off track.”
Rosalicia crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned forward, so her elbows rested on her knees. “You’re right. We are. I’m sorry you thought I didn’t want you to be aggressive because of that one time. The thing is, when we’re here, I’m expecting it. You see what I mean?”
“I do.” His voice was softer, his tone matching hers. “Like I said, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She swallowed a protest, hoping if she stayed quiet he would explain what had led to tonight.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up oddly. She wanted to reach out and smooth it down. He had such soft, silky hair.
“Luscious called me. Did you know that?”
She shook her head.
“She said you needed me. So I came. I got here and you looked…you looked so sad. It should have reminded me of—” He stopped talking, shooting a guilty glance at her.
“I was feeling sorry for myself,” she said. “I was feeling like I wasn’t good enough. No one, not even my boyfriend, wanted to top me.” He stayed quiet, letting her talk. “There was this other couple, working on their letter, and her Dom had this elaborate punishment scene all organized, and everyone was looking at her. And I was just…part of the scenery.”
He grabbed her upper arms. “You’re the most amazing, beautiful woman in the world.”
“If that was true, you would—” She stopped herself from finishing that sentence.
You would want to be my Dom, and want it enough that you’d actually plan the scenes.
You would come home instead of going to the gym.
You would want to marry me.
“What, ’Licia?”
The nickname, said in that sweet familiar way, made her homesick.
“What was different tonight?” she countered. “If I was looking pathetic, and made you think of when we lost—” She pushed to her feet, pulling away from his hands. She stood at the window, the hope she’d felt dimming even as the landscape brightened.
“Master Khan suggested I hood and hobble you.” Liam spoke coolly, and more importantly, unapologetically. “I put the hood on you, and then you said ‘Sir’ and I thought you didn’t know who I was.”
Rosalicia turned. “That’s what was different?”
He nodded. “If you didn’t know it was me, then I couldn’t hurt you.” He smiled wryly. “I know that doesn’t make any sense. And it probably means that in a purge-like scenario I would lose all semblance of humanity and become a complete psych—”
Rosalicia dropped back onto the ottoman, staring at him as her brain worked feverishly to understand. “Never mind that. You thought I didn’t know it was you, but I did. I wasn’t sure why you weren’t talking, but I liked the way you were touching me, so I didn’t question it. When you walked out…”
She didn’t want to say more, because she didn’t want to color what he’d say next. It was her turn to be silent and let him talk. It was hard, and she had to bite her lip to keep from filling the silence.
Finally, he spoke. “Ever since we started coming here, I’d have these moments of…cruelty.”
“You’ve never been cruel, Liam.”
“Oh, but I wanted to be.”
Rosalicia inhaled slowly, b
reathing in the delicious menace in those words. His voice was a half-octave lower than it had been a moment ago. Under the thick robe, her nipples pebbled.
“Tonight was you being cruel?” Her voice was breathy, like some 1940s starlet.
“Yes. When I walked out of the playroom, I talked to Khan. He made me realize the…darkness—and yes, I know that sounds melodramatic, but I digress. The thing I was thinking of as darkness, that is my inner Dom.”
Rosalicia nodded enthusiastically. “I get it, I get it. I think tonight I got into sub space.”
They stared at one another. “After six-ish months of doing this have we finally figured it out?” Liam asked.
Rosalicia laughed in relief. “I guess so.”
He took her hands in his. “Rosa.”
He’d called her Rosa. Her sub name.
She held her breath, her fingers trembling lightly in his.
“I want you to call in sick to work. We’re staying here until we’re done with our letter.”
She closed her eyes in sweet relief that left her feeling almost lightheaded. She stood. “I’ll go get my stuff from Master Khan’s room.” Eager to do exactly that, she jumped to her feet only to find herself falling, landing with an oof on the bed as he pushed her forward.
The hem of the robe was jerked up to her waist, exposing her bare ass. Liam spanked her.
Hard.
She was still startled and catching her breath during the first three. The fourth swat startled an “ouch” out of her.
“Ouch?” He questioned.
His palm slapped against her ass so hard the sound echoed. Her butt throbbed and she thought she could feel distinct marks from each of his fingers. The pain lasted longer than any spank he’d ever given her, and when it mutated to heat, it wasn’t warm, but hot.
She squealed and reached back, trying to protect her ass.
He grabbed her arms, holding not to her wrists but bunching the sleeves of the robe in his hands, drawing the fabric tight around her in a makeshift but effective restraint. His fabric-filled fist pushed down on her back, holding her in place.
“When I give you an order, you will address me as Sir, or Master.” For the first time he didn’t feel either stupid or worried as he asserted himself. It felt good—he was both taking care of her, the way he’d wanted, even if that care didn’t look the way he’d imagined it would.