He began to pull the now-cool wax off her skin. The slight tugging sensation was benign until he got to her left nipple. He used the thin margin of a fingernail to pluck at the wax, which had adhered to the crinkly texture. His attention to detail stimulated her even closer to a climax. All she could feel was the pinching and scratching around her nipple. Then he leaned down and pulled her pebbled flesh into his mouth.
Sweet mother of God. Isabelle nearly levitated off the table. She held on for dear life. If she let go, her hands would go straight for her clit and the orgasm hovering there.
Then his mouth was gone. “Just softening some stubborn bits of wax.” He might have been talking about brushing off some dust from the roof of his car.
Isabelle tried to focus on her breathing, but she couldn’t relax. He had the wax on her other breast to deal with.
It was worse this time because she knew how good it would feel. By the time he was done, she sounded like she’d run a sprint. Her lungs were heaving, her hands spasmed into fists around the table top, and her legs started to shake. She could feel air on her clit, the tiniest sense of movement on her overheated nerve endings.
When Sebastian had picked off the last bits of wax near her right arm, he leaned back, admiring his handiwork. Then he flicked a thumb against her pussy, collecting some of the abundant moisture there. He brushed the pad of his thumb along the very tip of her clit, but it was too slick to cause much sensation. Not reacting was nearly impossible, but she managed it.
“Time to get up.” Sebastian slipped an arm under her shoulders and lifted her until she was sitting. Her fingers ached from their death grip on the table top. “Close your eyes, Isabelle.”
He helped her stand. A touch on her inner thigh reminded her to widen her stance. He stood behind her, his hands curved around the upper arc of her hips, his fingertips pressing lightly into the sides of her abdomen.
“You want to come, don’t you?” His breath stirred the hair by her right ear.
“Yes, Sir.” No point in pretending she didn’t.
“You wanted wax on your cunt, on that aroused clit.”
“Yes, Sir.” She kept her voice even and her brow smooth.
“There’s a lesson here, Isabelle. One I don’t want you to forget. Your orgasms—” His hands slid up to her ribcage. “Open your eyes.”
She was facing a huge mirror over the Chippendale sideboard. Sebastian’s satanic visage next to her head. She looked down. The wax hadn’t been applied in random zigzags. The pink streaks left by the hot wax spelled out…
mine
“Your climaxes are mine, Isabelle. This will help you remember.”
M, with the valley on her left nipple. I, in between her breasts, N, pointing down to her right nipple. And E, curled just to the side of her right breast.
He’d even managed to form the letters backwards so the word read properly in the mirror.
“I love it, Sir. Thank you.” She grinned at his image. Her pleasure when he grinned back almost made her forget how aroused she was, with no orgasm in sight.
Almost.
* * *
The pink writing on her pale cream skin—the symbolism of marking her, even temporarily—almost made Sebastian lose control, lean her over the sideboard and just fuck her, right there.
Almost.
Mine.
He’d never done that before. He’d played with wax lots of times, sure. Never so it spelled anything. It was ridiculously erotic seeing his word on Isabelle’s skin. It reminded him of the way some Doms in long-term relationships described putting a collar on their sub. How they felt seeing that mark of ownership.
Mine.
His hands cupped her breasts from below, his fingers reaching up for her nipples without obscuring the lettering. Her eyelids dropped a little, but she was still looking at the contrast of his tanned skin against her pale silk, now stained with his mark.
“How do you keep your skin so unblemished?” He plucked at both nipples, smiling when she sucked in a breath before answering.
“Sunblock, hats, and never going outside at midday.”
“Not the type to lie by the pool?” He was twisting her nipples carefully, watching her face to see if he took it too far.
“Mmm. Oh, God. No. I get antsy doing nothing.” Her back pressed against his chest, her shoulders carved ivory against his black shirt.
“And yet you don’t need the restraints.”
He tugged up on her nipples, causing her to rise on tiptoes.
“I love the feeling of being restrained, like your shibari. There’s freedom—ah!” She gasped as he used his thumbnails. “Freedom in being unable to move. I like that. I also like showing a Dom I can control myself.”
“Until your cunt squeezes me,” he taunted.
“I’m very sorry about that, Sir.”
“We still need to deal with that transgression, don’t we?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He let go of her tits, and she lowered her heels. He could feel her tremble, and the aroma of her arousal was divine.
He needed to fuck her.
Now.
He tugged her hand, dragging her out of the dining room, along the hall, and up the stairs to his bedroom. He grabbed the quilted restraints he’d placed on his dresser. “On the bed.”
When Isabelle was flat on her back, she spread-eagled her body. The sight of her cunt was too enticing. He paused on his way to the bed, the lengths of black silk in his hand.
She was looking at him, calm and unconcerned. That had to be her punishment—make her lose that serenity. He needed to make her crazy with the need to come. Even better…he’d make her come despite her undeniable mental control.
Sebastian dropped the restraints in the vee between her legs. He didn’t relax his mouth until he’d turned away from her bright gaze. He had to maintain his implacable demeanor if this was going to work.
He got a new fingertip vibrator from the basket. He fit it on his forefinger and pressed down to start it. It barely made a noise, but when he placed it on his own nipple, he was surprised by how powerful it was. Amazing what they could do with tiny batteries. He clicked it off, grabbed some condoms for one pocket and a small tube of lube for the other.
Isabelle hadn’t moved so it took little effort to tie the restraints, checking that they weren’t too tight. “Try them.” She tugged but they didn’t budge. “Not too tight?” he asked.
“No, Sir.”
Her eyes were bright, her nipples taut, her breathing quick and shallow, and she was smiling at him.
Mine.
The word across her breasts drew him. His. His to play with, his to possess, his to fuck, and his to pleasure. Right now, she was his to drive insane.
Sebastian stripped down to his black boxer-briefs. He pressed the vibrator back on, then knelt in the triangle between her legs. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on either side of her chest. He licked each of her nipples, blew on them, then ignored them.
He repositioned his hands above her shoulders. He was about to nip at the tendon running down the side of her neck when she moistened her lips. In a scene with another sub, he’d have assumed lip-licking was an effort to get him to deviate from the script, and he’d have punished her. With Isabelle, whose eyes were wide open and trained on his face, Sebastian suspected that tiny peekaboo of her tongue was prompted by nerves, not insubordination.
Still, it had drawn his attention to her lips, a luscious coral pink. He didn’t normally kiss subs, but this time…this time he would.
He started soft and slow, nibbling at her lower lip, tracing the arch of her upper lip with his tongue. Then the kiss caught fire. He leaned down, pressing her head into the pillow. Not enough contact, so he lay on top of her, holding her head with his left hand. He shifted until his cock was pressed tight against her pubic bone.
Isabelle bucked slightly, grinding against his erection and kissing with a hunger that matched his own. She wanted him to fuck her, and he
wanted it too, but not yet. He pulled back, sitting on his heels. Her eyes, wild with need, looked down at his bulge. He could almost feel her breath on the tip, then her tongue as her lips closed around the head.
So much to do in a single weekend. First, give her the orgasm she couldn’t resist.
He went back to the tendons in her neck and shoulder. She squeaked as his teeth closed carefully on her skin. He could smell her sex, which would be slick and hot when he finally got there. Tiny bites along the inside of her right arm, a little tongue up to her left wrist, then kisses on her knuckles, prominent as she squeezed her hands into tight fists.
He couldn’t resist sucking on her nipples, still enlarged from the wax, until she whimpered. He kissed his way to her pussy, puffy and wet. She tasted sharp and crisp, like a tart apple or a fine white wine. A uniquely Isabelle flavor, piquant and unexpected.
Time for the vibrator. He tucked two fingers into her and pressed up on her G-spot. She groaned and flexed her hips, straining against the silk around her ankles. His cock throbbed as he thought about how it would feel to replace his fingers with his rock-hard dick. Mind-blowingly good, he predicted. His cock ached to try.
Not yet.
Isabelle’s groans escalated in pitch and volume, and finally became actual words begging him to let her come.
“Please, Sir, please. Oh, God, your tongue. Yes! Like that, harder, please.”
Almost there, little cat. Time to make this really diabolical. “This is your punishment, Isabelle.” He used his worst Asshole Dom voice. Flat and unemotional. Her eyes were screwed shut or she might have noticed his grin. “No orgasm this time.”
She screamed when he put the fingertip vibrator on the side of her clit. Using his thumb on the other side, he tried everything, watching her carefully to see what worked best. When he had the move down—a twist-and-press technique—he reached up with his other hand and tweaked her nipples, first one and then the other.
She exploded, arching her torso until it was rigid. Her voice cracked—she’d long since stopped making sense—and gradually her moans softened into huffy little shudders. Even those died away, leaving her flat on the bed, her chest rising and falling like bellows.
Mine.
Sebastian untied her and helped her to sit so she could drink some water.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I really tried. I did.” She kept her eyes lowered.
He petted her cheek. “I know you did, little cat.”
She reached out a hand, not quite touching his cock, pressed tight by the black cotton and spandex briefs. “Would you like me to—” Her voice trailed off as she checked his face. Her sweat had compressed her hair, leaving it lumpy and untidy. She had no makeup on, so her eyes looked like emeralds dropped on a sandy beach. She smelled of sex and her own unique aroma.
He smiled at her, pleased by her tentativeness. “I want you to lie back down. No restraints.”
Her eyes widened. “Sir. Do you want me to keep still?”
He leaned in and kissed her. “No,” he whispered. “I want you to go crazy.”
He felt her lips curve into a smile, which he then kissed into submission.
When he finally pulled away from their kiss, Isabelle lay back on the bed. He held up one of the padded silk restraints. “One thing. I want you blindfolded.”
She sucked in her breath, causing the pink Mine to rise and fall suddenly. She lifted her head so he could tie the silk around it, the padding against her eyes. He kept the knot above her ear so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable when she was pressed flat.
She spread her legs instinctively, her sex pillowy and shiny from her climax. Sebastian stood to take off his briefs, sheathe his cock with latex, and kneel again between her legs. He ran his hands along her flanks, into the angle of her waist, wrapped around her rib cage, up over her tits until his fingers cupped her shoulders. He slid his palms down the outside of her arms, which were loose by her sides. Then he lifted her knees until her feet were flat on the bed.
He lapped along her seam and she moaned. He teased her clit with the head of his cock and her moan spiraled into a needy whine.
“You want this, little cat?” He nudged her cunt, taunting but not actually penetrating.
“Yes, Sir. Please fuck me.”
Maybe she was a damned good actress, but she sounded desperate.
“Please—?” Her voice squeaked a little when he still didn’t move.
His answer was to ease into her. If Bob’s story was to be believed, they hadn’t fucked in Chicago. Bob didn’t think there was anyone else, either, which could explain why Isabelle felt tight, so damned tight and hot.
When he was all the way in, he started the slow pull and push, making sure to angle up at her G-spot. She wrapped her arms around his back and tilted her pelvis with each stroke. While he could still think straight—and that wasn’t going to last long—he realized the vibrator was still buzzing against his forefinger. He tugged at her nipples, one after another, and grinned when she screamed. He wished he’d moved the vibrator to his thumb so he could have attacked her clit again. He switched to the other nipple instead.
Suddenly, his control disappeared. He was fucking Isabelle hard, enjoying the way she fucked him back, clutching at him with her hands and cunt. He kept it up for as long as he could, but the end rushed at him, inescapable and massive. Somehow she knew exactly when to tighten her muscles, squeezing his cock as though she never wanted to let go. His head exploded, followed by his cock, heart, and probably his soul. Three hard shudders before collapsing onto her. She gripped him in her arms. He managed to roll them onto their sides so he didn’t crush her.
His last thought before dozing was how much he didn’t want to hurt her.
Chapter Four
The bed’s movement woke Isabelle.
She’d been dreaming about The Club, observing the action like a fly on the wall, watching herself and others as though it was a movie. Katie was perched on the back of a sofa, watching Isabelle get bound, gagged and blindfolded by someone. But who was it, and why was Isabelle struggling? Suddenly the unknown Dom disappeared, and Isabelle wasn’t looking at herself from the outside. She was inside her dream body, aware of people moving in the room. She could hear them but not see them. She thrashed against the ropes and tried to yell for help, but with the gag in place, all she could do was squeak. The room was too loud for anyone to hear her.
There was always a signal when a sub couldn’t speak. A gesture instead of a safe word. What was it? Was she supposed to open and close her hand? She tried that and nothing happened. Where was Katie? Even if the Dom had left, Katie would want to rescue her. Isabelle squeaked again.
Dream Isabelle panicked. She’d never felt trapped in a scene before, unable to go forward and unable to get out. She tried harder to scream around the gag but with the blood rushing in her ears, she couldn’t tell if she was even making noise.
Then she woke up. The room was dark and she was disoriented. She was naked, that was one thing wrong. She normally slept in an old T-shirt. Plus, the sheets felt different and the covers thicker. She sat up, which caused the mattress to squeak. That was the noise from her dream, the noise she couldn’t turn into a cry for help.
It came back to her. She was at Sebastian’s house for the weekend. He must have gotten up. She tried to remember if there was a light switch or a lamp on her side. She fumbled around until her hand brushed something and a solitary light came on over her head.
There was a clock on the other side of the bed. Two-forty-three. Afternoon or night? The room was pitch dark apart from the one light. Did he have blackout curtains?
Wait, they hadn’t even eaten yet. She’d had a large breakfast, but she was hungry now. Afternoon, then. They’d had mind-blowing sex, her first in a long time. She must have fallen asleep.
She got up to look for Sebastian. His bedroom was at the back of the townhouse. She used the en suite bathroom, then went out to the landing. She could see into the other rooms o
n the floor. Guest rooms, their curtains open on the sunny afternoon.
How odd to have gotten so disoriented she literally didn’t know what time it was.
She was about to head downstairs when she heard the swish-click of a printer above her head.
The third-floor landing opened immediately into a huge room. Part library, part office. Sebastian sat with his back to her. She must not have made enough noise on the stairs to distract him. He was dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeved black tee. With his hair messy on his shoulders, he looked relaxed and demonic, all at the same time.
Images of him flashed through her mind. Contemptuous at The Club, intently tying her up onstage, and watching her read Mine in the mirror. Why hadn’t he let her watch him fuck her?
“You blindfolded me,” she blurted out.
He swung around to face her. His face lit up—just for a second—before his eyelids drooped and one eyebrow rose. “Ah. You’re up. What was that about the blindfold?”
Suddenly embarrassed, she looked down at the enormous Persian rug on the floor.
Not cool, Iz. “I would have liked to watch,” she mumbled. How could she admit she wanted to see him naked? “That’s all.”
“Not a very submissive thing to say.” His tone was light, mocking her awkwardness. He was right, damn him.
She placed her hand on the railing and looked him in the eye. “No, it’s not. It’s honest, though.”
He nodded, his smile still teasing. “I appreciate that.” He looked back at his computer. “Three? Lord, I haven’t fed you, have I?”
She considered making a double entendre about how he might let her see his cock before she went down on him. Then her stomach grumbled. Clearly, a meal would be better.
He stood up. She stared at his bare feet—about as much of his body as she was allowed to see naked. Narrow feet, perfectly groomed—what did he do, get a pedi every month?—and lightly dusted with silky black hair.
It occurred to her that she must appear very modest, her eyes cast down as he approached her. He tilted her chin with his thumb, then kissed her lips gently before he swept her into his arms.
The Negotiation: A BDSM Romance Page 4