The Negotiation: A BDSM Romance

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The Negotiation: A BDSM Romance Page 8

by Christina Thacher


  Isabelle set the tray down on his desk, which was remarkably tidy considering how hard he’d been working. She poured his coffee, lightened it and passed over the plate of cookies and a napkin.

  He looked exhausted. She wanted to do more than just make him a cup of coffee, so she started to massage his shoulders. A thrill went through her when he groaned with pleasure.

  “Coffee? Cookies? And a massage? How did I get so lucky?”

  She laughed. “Clean living and a dedication to showing lonely subs a good time.” She used one hand to rub his neck.

  “Bliss. Sheer bliss.” He swiveled his chair around and pulled her into his lap. “Let’s unplug the damned phone and go to bed. What do you say?”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Only when you’re ready.”

  He tugged her tight against his erection. “Oh, I’m ready.” His hand swept along her waist. “Wow, you really are dressed in all gray.”

  “You didn’t believe me?”

  “Of course I believed you.” He started to unbutton her blouse. “It’s just not how I like to picture you.”

  She nuzzled his silky hair. “How do you like to picture me?”

  He spread the lapels of her blouse apart, exposing a sheer peach bra. “More like this. Hard nipples crying out to be pinched.” He unzipped her trousers and reached in to find her clit. “Wet cunt begging to be caressed.”

  Isabelle let her head fall back. “It’s a drug you put in your coffee,” she accused in a die-away voice.

  “What is?” His head rose from where it had been licking at a nipple. He unhooked the front clasp and peeled back the bra. His tongue was rough on her breasts—just the way she liked it.

  “You touch me and I turn into taffy on a hot day.”

  “Sweet and fragrant?”

  “Boneless and gloopy,” she countered. But he’d already gone back to her breasts and Isabelle couldn’t get her brain to cooperate in the formation of rational thought.

  Her mental functioning didn’t improve when Sebastian helped her to her feet, perhaps because he tugged her trousers and panties off, pulled down his own pants, rolled on a condom and got her to straddle him. She was naked from the waist down, her shirt and bra were open and hanging from her shoulders, and she was in a sexual trance of some kind, blinded by a fog of desire. All she wanted was for him to fuck her.

  He pressed her clit against her pubic bone. “You don’t feel boneless to me.” His palms caressed her thighs, pushing her up so he could nibble on her tits, then urging her back onto his cock.

  She clutched his shoulders, her nails biting into his sweater.

  He leaned back. “Look, little cat. Look at how pretty your cunt is as it slides down on my cock.”

  She looked. The sight of his flesh meeting, penetrating, pleasing hers was so erotic. Then he closed his teeth gently around her nipple and blocked the view. She closed her eyes and let the sensations take over. He filled her. Stretched her, then reached into the heart of her and coaxed her to new heights of sensation.

  No one had ever made her feel this way, totally lost to the pleasures of the flesh. Far from being the Asshole Dom, Sebastian was proving to be a magician, turning the mundane rituals of BDSM and sex into fireworks and fantasy.

  “May I come, Sir?” She ground her pelvis against his groin. She laughed when his satanic eyebrow rose in disbelief, and again when he slapped her ass.

  “I see I need to renew the lesson on why a good sub respects her Dom.” He yanked her ass hard against his thighs.

  She squeezed her internal muscles, just as she had during the shibari session. He growled, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a punishing kiss. She loved his strength and control, but she also loved these tiny glimpses into his soul when his control slipped.

  He was still kissing her when he suddenly tightened his grip on her. She could feel the strain in his torso. It took her a moment to realize that he’d just climaxed, leaving her aching and eager for her own orgasm.

  “That’s for being a mouthy, badly behaved sub.” His eyes, sable-dark, dared her to complain.

  Isabelle was nearly vibrating with the need to come. “You’d better restrain me, then, because as soon as you let me go, I’ll take care of my own pleasure.”

  When he stood up, her legs immediately linked around his waist and she clasped her hands behind his head. He walked over to a wall of bookshelves, filled with reference books associated with his work, she assumed.

  He lowered her until her feet were flat on the silky Persian carpet. “Spread your legs.”

  She complied, feeling a trickle of moisture run down her thigh.

  He lifted her wrists above her head, turning her hands until they were holding onto the top shelf of books. She could feel her fingernails brushing the spines.

  Finally he stood back. “Yes. Just like that.” He nodded in satisfaction and went back to his chair. He’d disposed of the condom at some point, although she couldn’t imagine when. He turned back to his computer. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “If you’re good—if you’re quiet and stay in place, I’ll see to your pleasure myself. If you’re bad, you’ll leave.”

  A chill spread across Isabelle. No orgasm was worth being banished from Sebastian D’Alessandro’s domain.

  She settled in for a long wait.

  Chapter Seven

  Sebastian was so freaked out, he could barely focus on the two monitors in front of him. He’d totally lost control. He’d come before the scene was over. That should never happen. It had never happened before.

  Sure, Isabelle had misbehaved, but he hadn’t given her any specific commands to the contrary. In fact, it wasn’t clear they’d been in a scene. She could argue that she’d been free to play around as she had. She’d just been having a fun, sexy time. He pictured her face when he’d commanded her to watch—had he ever seen anything so erotic?

  She scared him. She was too joyous, too happy and…and too alive. Her vibrant personality, as fiery as her hair, was melting his deep freeze, causing him to enjoy her in unfamiliar ways. He could just make out a reflection of her body in the computer screen, a pale silhouette against the books. Standing stock-still, as ordered.

  Part of him hoped she’d fail the test so he could throw her out, burn the sheets and towels that would always remind him of her, and lock the door on the dining room. Oh, hell, he’d have to move around the world to forget Isabelle Peters. And even that would probably fail as soon as he saw some photo of her standing in the background as a politician celebrated a win she’d helped engineer.

  He’d never forget Isabelle. He could sit here, clicking through page after page of data, reading none of it. It wasn’t going to make him focus on anything other than the tang of her arousal, those delicate nipples, that perfect skin.

  Shake it off, damn it. Finish the scene and get rid of her. She was too disruptive by half. He thought about her all the time. Working through the evening knowing she was at The Club without him was nearly excruciating. He could name half a dozen Doms who would kill to play with her. The ones who really worried Sebastian were the sadists who ached to be the first to lay some real welts on that flawless ass.

  Over my dead body.

  Mine.

  This was crazy. How had he ever let a sub tie him into these thorny knots? She wasn’t his. They’d only played together a few times. Okay, so that was a few times more than he’d played with anyone for as long as he could remember, but just because she was the best sub he’d encountered in a long time didn’t mean anything. He’d enjoy her until he didn’t, and then he’d kick her loose. Hell, by then she’d be tired of him as well.

  “Sir?” Her voice was very subdued.

  He didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

  “I’m very sorry, Sir. I need to use the toilet. I’ll be quick and reassume this position, if that’s okay?”

  He could send her home. Some asshole Doms thought it was okay to control all of a sub’s bodily functions. Seb
astian could claim she’d broken the rules. But he’d never been that kind of asshole Dom.

  “Of course you may use the bathroom, little cat. Thank you for asking permission.”

  She scampered down the stairs.

  He listened but heard nothing. He held his breath. Still nothing. Had she—?

  Before he’d had time to formulate the question, she was back in place, her legs spread and hands up on the top shelf.

  Sebastian exhaled finally. She hadn’t left. That’s where he’d gone in his head—picturing her running downstairs and out the front door. He hadn’t realized how powerful that fear was until he felt that rush of relief at her return. He leaned against his chair and threaded his fingers through his hair. Painful.

  Time to get focused again.

  * * *

  She’d been in position for an hour. A digital clock glowed red on the left end of Sebastian’s desk. Isabelle could see it in her peripheral vision without moving her eyes. Crazy to think she needed to keep even her eyeballs still, but she did.

  She’d disobeyed, she knew that. She’d tried to make Sebastian come, and there was no excuse for it. She deserved this punishment. In fact, she was lucky he hadn’t kicked her out.

  Isabelle couldn’t understand her behavior. She was a good sub. She never had trouble following orders. On the few occasions when she felt a Dom asked for something unreasonable, she’d safeworded and ended the scene. With a good Dom, that never needed to happen.

  Sebastian was a fantastic Dom, the best she’d ever played with. She wanted to please him, she wanted to prove she was a good sub. Once she was in his arms, though, she couldn’t quite control herself. She smiled and teased him, tried to excite him, to push things along.

  She’d behaved like they were equals in the scene, and clearly they weren’t. Why was that reality so hard for her to grasp with Sebastian? Lord knew she’d never needed to act up with Bob, or any of the other Doms she’d met over the years. The thrill was in obeying. She had great control and she liked to show that off.

  Was she trying to sabotage things with Sebastian? Was that it? Was she failing to maintain control on purpose so he’d have reason to find fault with her? She’d never provoked a Dom intentionally so she’d get punished. She understood the concept—some D/s couples found perfection boring, so the sub would fail on purpose and have to be punished, only in a sexy way. “Funishment,” it was called.

  Isabelle always made it clear to Doms that she had no objection to discipline simply for its own sake. She wasn’t much of a masochist, but she enjoyed showing she could take a flogging without breaking down. She’d loved being paddled by Sebastian, particularly when he’d fucked her at the end.

  She didn’t normally enjoy the sex unless there were commands—to keep quiet, not move, or not climax—associated with the scene. With Sebastian, though, she seriously thought she could have totally vanilla sex with him and love it.

  And wasn’t that a paradox? She finally met a great Dom, commanding and sexy, then she jumped his bones like any other vanilla woman. He wanted a mature sub and instead he got a giggly sorority girlfriend type.

  No wonder he had to turn his back on her. She really needed to get a grip on her emotions and stop acting out.

  An hour and twenty minutes. She would apologize and beg for his forgiveness. She owed him that much.

  * * *

  After ninety minutes, Sebastian gave up even the pretense of working. He’d have to get up early in the morning and redo everything, but hell, he had a luscious sub nearly naked behind him. Besides, neither of them would think about anything else if he didn’t get her off, preferably several times, then fuck her and take her to bed. She might be driving him crazy, but that was hardly her fault.

  He rose to face her. “Let go of the bookshelf, Isabelle.” He kept his voice low and calm. His erection told the real story. Just the sight of her, with her bra and silk blouse hanging on either side of her tits, nearly made him lose control again. He wasn’t living up to his own Dom standards.

  She let her arms fall to her sides. Sebastian massaged her neck and up into her hairline, then along her shoulders, biceps, and forearms. He even massaged the fleshy part of her hands and down her fingers, ending with a circular motion on each fingertip. When her eyelids fell a little in sheer relaxation, he knew he’d done a good job.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, Isabelle?”

  “May I kneel?”

  He wasn’t expecting that. “Of course you may, little cat.”

  She dropped gracefully to the floor. She clasped her hands behind her back so her breasts were nicely displayed. She lowered her eyes. “I’m very sorry, Sir. I behaved badly before, and there’s no excuse. Thank you for punishing me. Please forgive me for my lapse.”

  Sebastian was stunned. She thought it had been her fault? Well, technically, maybe, but not the way he saw things.

  Still, no reason not to forgive her. “You’re forgiven,” he intoned solemnly. She wasn’t the only one who could add some drama to the proceedings. “Now, please, stand up.”

  She rose nearly as gracefully as she’d gotten on her knees—he could watch her move all day, she was that lovely to watch—and widened her stance.

  “I want you to stay completely still and make no noise,” he commanded.

  “Yes, Sir.” She sounded happy, but when he looked, her face was placid. He intended to change that.

  He knelt, not nearly as elegantly as she did, but then she wasn’t supposed to be watching. He did a quick check—good, her eyes were looking straight ahead. He reached up to cover her breasts, lovely and full, their nipples already hard, probably aching. He pinched them with just a hint of his fingernails. He could feel Isabelle’s soundless sigh. Good. “No noise” should keep her focus occupied.

  With a final squeeze, he left her breasts and curved his arms around to clasp her ass in both hands. He pulled her forward, kissing the swell of her belly. By sitting back on his heels and forcing Isabelle to shift her feet until they were on either side of his hips, Sebastian had his mouth aligned with her sex. When she tensed up, he knew she’d figured out what he’d planned—a full assault on her cunt. “Don’t move and don’t make a sound,” he warned. Her body went rigid.

  This was going to be fun.

  He started by licking the moisture from the crease where her leg ended and her pussy began. From there he dragged his tongue along the outside folds, then in toward the center. Like eating an exquisite bit of fruit—the best bit was always hidden.

  He paused, listening carefully. Isabelle was breathing audibly, deep gasps he could feel in his hands. Technically, she was making noise, but he could hardly forbid her to breathe.

  It felt good to be the Asshole Dom again.

  He used his thumbs to open her all the way up, exposing all that pretty coral-pink sheen. He admired it for a long moment, daring her to arch her back or tip her pelvis closer to his mouth. She didn’t take the bait, though, and finally he couldn’t wait to taste her more fully.

  Her aroma surrounded him in the quiet of the room. He teased her clit with his thumbs, then when he moved his mouth up to that spot, he reached up to smear her nipples with her own arousal. Nibbling at her clit and playing with her nipples—such delicious forms of torture.

  Her muscles started to quiver, tiny tremors she couldn’t control. He pulled away long enough to tell her, “You can come as long as you don’t move and don’t make any noise.” That would be an impossible needle to thread, but he knew she’d try her best.

  He sucked at her clit, lapping at it with his tongue. There was one thing he did the other night that had driven her nuts—a complicated maneuver with his right thumb, lips and tongue. He tried it again, only this time he tucked three fingers inside her to add her G-spot into the mix.

  Damn, she managed it. Her cunt spasmed hard around his fingers as she silently climaxed, her torso quaking and quivering. Her jaw must be welded shut because all he could hear were ferocious
breaths dragged in through her nose. When her body finally settled down, he glanced up. She’d grabbed a bookshelf behind her back, which was cheating. He was inclined to let it go. Having an orgasm without even a squeak was impressive enough for him.

  “Good job, little cat.” He stood up and tucked her into his arms.

  “I failed, though, Sir. I had to hold on to something.”

  “I know, sweetheart. I’m overlooking that, though. You did great.”

  She lifted her tired face, shiny with sweat, up from his shirt front. “Thank you.”

  He scooped her into his arms. “I should thank you. You obeyed me beautifully. I’m humbled by your control.”

  She smiled as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “Thank you, Sir.”

  * * *

  Isabelle didn’t make it back to her apartment until late on Saturday. Her lack of clean clothes, Sebastian assured her, wasn’t a problem as long as she remained naked. A plan she was happy with until it became apparent that Sebastian didn’t cook.

  “What about all that delicious food we ate last weekend?”

  “I hired a private chef, who made the meals in advance. Didn’t you notice all the sticky notes with careful instructions on how to heat and serve everything?”

  Isabelle gawped at him. “I just thought you were really thorough and prepared.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, little cat. I can make toast, a sandwich, and coffee. Everything else is hit-or-miss with me.”

  “Well, I’m not cooking in the nude, so you can get that fantasy out of your feverish Dom brain.”

  He leaned back against the kitchen counter, eying her up and down. “No, I’m inclined to agree. I don’t like the idea of you getting scalded.”

  She harrumphed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not a klutz in the kitchen, I just prefer to be wearing clothes.”

  “We’re agreed, then. Go get your jacket and pumps and we’ll go back to your place.”

  “My jacket barely covers my ass.”

 

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