G is for...

by L. DuBois

  “Mmm, you smell good.”

  “I’ll get you wet,” she warned even as she laid her head on his chest, her hair getting his shirt wet.

  “I don’t mind.” He kissed the top of her head, and her heart fluttered. “Especially since I’m going to grab a quick shower next.”

  He put action to words, taking a step back and stripping off his shirt in that one-armed motion she’d only ever seen in movies before him.

  As always, he was like a model statue come to life. She sighed happily.

  He grinned, flexed, and then swatted her ass as he walked into the bathroom.

  Sejal towel dried and then looked around their room. It was lush and lovely, though considered pedestrian by the standards of the club. They’d come here after wrapping up aftercare in their playroom. They’d both been sweaty and sticky, and she’d jumped immediately into the shower.

  Her stockings were shredded, the garter belt a wrinkled mess. She checked the cupboard. Her bag wasn’t there. Usually Hach arranged for her bag to be brought to whatever room they’d be using. She closed the cupboard door and stuck her head into the bathroom.

  “I’m going to get my bag.”

  Cort stuck his head out. His dark hair was standing on end and flecked with suds. “What?”

  “My bag. I’m going to go get it from my locker.”

  His gaze darkened. “I should have thought of that. I’m sorry.”

  It seemed ludicrous that someone like him would be so insecure, but it was clear that he had issues with his own perceived inability to plan. As a detail-oriented person, she couldn’t image not keeping track of things and planning ahead, but she understood that not everyone was like that.

  “May I wear your shirt?”

  He nodded and ducked back into the shower.

  By the time she returned, he was out of the shower and doing one-armed, naked pushups. She paused to admire the view, then set down two bags—her own, and his, which she’d asked a Dom to grab from his locker.

  Cort hopped his legs forward so he was crouching, stood, and then scooped up the towel he’d put on the floor to use as an exercise mat.

  He was gloriously nude, his hair still damp and slicked back from his face. He started to smile and then glanced at the bags she’d brought. He closed his eyes, sighed, and let his shoulders slump.

  Sejal walked up to him, laying her palms on his chest. “You seem upset.” She winced at her own wording, which was awkward at best.

  “I should have been the one to go get those. I should have thought of it before. Last night.”

  “I’m good with details. You’re good with emotions.”

  “I’m not—”

  Sejal held up her hand. “You are. You care what I’m thinking and feeling. That’s a gift. I told you before I thought you were a therapist or counselor.”

  His gaze softened and he grabbed her hips, pulling her against his cock, which started to harden. His t-shirt fell almost to her knees, but the material was thin enough that she could feel every growing inch of him.

  “I don’t think a therapist would approve of the things I do to you,” he murmured.

  “One who was open about differing sexualities—”

  “If I told anyone the things I want to do to you, with you…they’d lock me up and throw away the key.”

  Sejal licked her lips. “Perhaps you could be more specific.”

  “Ahh, but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

  Her stomach chose that moment to make noise. Cort pulled back. “Hungry?”

  “It can wait.”

  He pursed his lips, seeming to consider, but then shook his head. “No. I need to take better care of you. Let’s get lunch.”

  Cort went to his bag and started pulling out clothes, slipping on a pair of loose cotton slacks that reminded her of what someone might wear on a yacht. She wondered if Cort had a yacht. He probably did.

  As successful as she was, a yacht wasn’t something she’d ever own.

  They were so very different, and yet she felt close to him, as if she’d lived more in the past twenty-four hours than she had in months. It reminded her of something she’d read in a Mari Carr book, something about life being made up of moments, and those moments mattering more than the length of time people had together.

  She went to her own bag, pulling out a magenta teddy with royal-blue lace straps. There was a matching robe, which she put on. The cool satin, as thin and light as it was, made her aware of her aching nipples.

  She dug out a pair of black booties with corset lacing on the front and put those on too. Cort was so much taller than her that every inch she gained helped. Maybe she could buy some platforms.

  He whistled when she came out of the bathroom, her eye makeup done hastily but well enough. He offered her his arm, and together they walked to the dining room. It was mid afternoon, and the club was busier than she was used to seeing, but nothing like last night. Luckily, the dining room was relatively empty, so once they made plates, they selected a small two-person table. The dining room had a few sunken seating areas, ringed by built-in banquette style seats, with small tables in the center. These may have been intended for lounging and cocktail consumption, but in practice these were the performance areas of the dining room. The tables in the center of the seating area were where subs were put on display, punished, or offered up to those seated around them.

  Sejal was hungrier than she’d realized, and drank an entire bottle of water by herself. Cort brought a second bottle for their table, and brought her a second plate. She tried to wave him off, but he set it down beside her. He’d made an almost exact duplicate of her original selections, and when she smiled at him, he seemed relieved.

  “Can I ask you something personal?”

  She raised a brow at his question, but nodded, finishing the bite of honey-drizzled pear that was in her mouth.

  “What kind of doctor are you? You don’t have to say. I’m just curious.”

  “I’m a surgeon.”

  “You’re not like…on call or anything, right?”

  “Are you worried that we might have inadvertently killed someone while we were playing?”

  “Well, I wasn’t until you said that…”

  She laughed. “I’m not that kind of surgeon. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I don’t deal with emergencies. Sometimes my cases have started out as emergencies.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  “I’m a neurosurgeon. Specifically neurovascular surgery, as well as some neuro-oncology surgeries when the mass is particularly large.”

  “You’re a brain surgeon. An actual brain surgeon.”

  She raised one hand in question, not sure where he was going with it.

  “You know how people say, ‘oh, it’s not that hard, it’s not brain surgery’? Well you do the hard thing. You’re a brain surgeon.”

  “It’s fascinating. Heartbreaking, but fascinating.”

  He was frowning down at his almost empty plate. Sejal wasn’t high empathetic, but it wasn’t hard to tell that he was comparing himself to her. She opened her mouth, but there were no words. She wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Sejal.”

  The sound of her name shocked her out of her stupor. Hach was standing beside the table. He wore a pair of tight, black shorts and a leather harness that went around his shoulders but left his chest bare.

  “You are enjoying yourself?”

  Sejal was surprised by how emotional seeing Hach made her. Part of her wanted to stand up and hug him, both because he was familiar and comfortable, and to test what she would feel if she touched him.

  Yesterday she’d decided to leave him. Seeing him…that still felt like the right decision.

  Before she could say anything, Cort was on his feet, hands planted on the table. “You should have checked on her,” he all but growled. His genuine anger on her behalf made her heart thump in her chest. Every woman deserved, at least once in their life, to be defende
d the way Cort was defending her.

  Hach stared at Cort, his expression unreadable. “I assumed you were capable of handling her. Was I mistaken?”

  Cort snarled, his lip actually pulling up to expose his teeth. “You gave her away and you didn’t even fucking come to check on her. She deserves better than that.”

  Master Khan appeared beside Hach. He held two leashes in his hand—one attached to the collar of Luscious, whom Sejal recognized on sight; the other was attached to the collar of a pretty woman with South American features and blond hair. There was a man standing on the far side of the dining room, his gaze focused on the blond with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

  “Is there a problem?” Master Khan asked, jerking Sejal’s attention back the drama unfolding at their table.

  “It appears Master Dowell isn’t capable of handling my submissive,” Hach said.

  Sejal flinched when he said “my submissive.”

  Cort must have seen the flinch, because he laid his hand on her shoulder, then slid it under her hair to stroke the base of her skull.

  “She’s mine,” he said softly. “You gave her to me.”

  “He’s right,” Master Khan said. “You did. And while you know I’m far from strict about these sorts of things, you’re the submissive now, and the way you spoke to this Dom wasn’t very respectful. A punishment is in order.”

  “I will accept a cropping.” Hach’s tone was anything but submissive.

  Master Khan laughed, but Luscious looked worried. Master Khan grabbed the front of Hach’s harness, yanking him around, and then hauling him away from the table. The women hurried to keep up, and the man watching the blond pushed away from the wall.

  The scene blurred as Sejal’s eyes filled with tears. She bowed her head and watched as wet spots appeared on her robe where it lay over her thighs.

  “I’d like to leave now, Master,” she said softly.

  Cort scooped her up out of her chair and carried her out of the dining room.

  Cort carried her back to their bedroom. Now wasn’t the time for an Iron Court playroom. She needed to feel safe and cared for.

  She didn’t cry, or at least if she did, it was soundless. At one point she said she was able to walk, but he ignored that and kept carrying her. She was so petite, it was easy.

  When they were safely back in their room, he set her in the center of the bed, which she’d made before they’d left the room.

  She pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her cheek on her knees. He perched one hip on the side of the bed.

  “I’m leaving him,” she said quietly.

  Part of him wanted to roar in triumph, while another part of him was worried for her.

  “Not because of what just happened,” she added. “I decided yesterday. I need…” She trailed off, seemed to gather her thoughts, and then started again. “I need to submit. I want it. Hach was using me to live out his own fantasies, using the fact that I’m a sub against me, treating me more like a servant. It was all about what he wanted and needed.”

  “He’s evolving.” Cort echoed what Master Khan had said yesterday. What he wanted to say was that the other man was a grade-A asshat, but that probably wasn’t helpful.

  “Then I need to evolve too.” Sejal’s chin quivered, and she carefully wiped the skin under her eyes. “I’m just…not good at relationships. The idea of telling him it’s over is…” She pressed her forehead to her knees.

  “That I can help with, if you want.”

  She raised her face, a smile tugging gently at her mouth. “Thank you, but I should learn to do it on my own.”

  “You don’t have to do everything on your own. You’re allowed to ask for help. It’s something I’ve been sort of thinking about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The list. The checklist. Given away to another Dom is actually on there twice.”

  Now she frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “This morning’s scene was…it was incredible. I’m pretty sure you felt the same.”

  “You know I did.”

  They’d talked about it during the aftercare. He’d actually been more than a little worried how dark it had gotten in the end, how intense his desires for her were. He’d had to ask her multiple times if she was okay before he stopped worrying.

  “You and me, we don’t match.”

  She pulled her legs tighter against her chest.

  He held up a hand. “Wait, let me finish. Outside of here, who we are…it doesn’t match. But as Dom and sub, we’re...we’re good together.”

  The tension eased from her shoulders. “We’re perfect together. I called you Master, and it felt right.”

  “It felt really right. And that’s what got me thinking, about how given away is listed twice.”

  “Why is it listed twice?”

  “There’s ‘given away-temporary’ and ‘given away-permanent.’”

  She realized immediately where he was going with it. “Which kind of given away was I?”

  He grinned. “It wasn’t specified.”

  Sejal dropped her knees, sitting cross-legged instead of curled into a tight ball.

  “And if he doesn’t agree?”

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and right now, baby, you’re mine.”

  “You’re mine.”

  The words brought her peace. A peace she hadn’t known she’d needed. She was his; he was hers. As Master and sub, they were the perfect fit.

  Sejal reached for him, needing his touch. “Master?”

  Cort climbed onto the bed, crawling across the mattress to her. He pressed her down onto her back, situated his hips between her knees, and kissed her.

  She’d expected it to be intense and rough, the way he’d been this morning, but the kiss was soft and gentle. It felt like a pledge. He’d told Hach that she deserved to be taken care of. She didn’t want to be taken care of. She wanted Cortland. Master Dowell.

  Master.

  Her Master.

  “Master,” she panted. “Master, please.”

  “Undo my pants.” His voice was raspy, his jaw, smoothly shaved, gliding along her temple and cheek.

  She fumbled to get her hands between them, to undo the button and zipper of his jeans. He was hard and ready, spilling out into her hands. She tried to shove his jeans down to his knees, but only got them around his thighs. He reached out one long arm for the bedside table, jerked open the drawer, and fumbled in it. He was looking a bit panicky until he drew out a condom, passing it to her.

  She opened the packet, pulled out the rubber, and rolled it down the length of his cock. Her short teddy had ridden up when he bore her down onto the bed, and now there was nothing between them but a thin piece of latex.

  He flexed his hips, and then his cock was nudging between her labia, touching her clit and sliding down, finding the entrance to her body. She planted her heels and arched up, offering herself to him.

  Her master thrust into her, filling her in one smooth, firm stroke. He was big—big enough that it hurt a little, but only for a moment. Then there was nothing but a delicious fullness and a sense of connection that felt so right.

  In the back of her mind some part of her mourned the end of her relationship with Hach, because now, for her, there was no turning back. She was Cortland Heskins-Dowell’s submissive now.

  His lips feathered along her jaw to her ear. He nipped her lobe, licked the soft skin of her neck.

  Then he started to thrust, and the peace and contentment that had filled her morphed with alarming rapidity to a wild, savage desire.

  On his third thrust she came, her body still sensitive and primed from this morning. She’d been aching to have him inside her, and the combined emotional and physical impact of the penetration, along with a million other small sensations from the brush of her teddy against her sore nipples to his breath fanning over the wet spot on her neck all combined into a screaming orgasm.

  Her teeth clenched, her hands c
lawed at his t-shirt covered back, and her scream was primal.

  As if that were a signal he’d been waiting for, Cort went from gentle to savage. Instead of having sex, they were now fucking. He slammed his hips forward so hard that she started to scoot up the bed. She had to reach up her hands, plant her palms on the headboard, and push back, holding herself in place so he could ravage her.

  “Come again,” he growled in her ear.

  “Master, I don’t think I can. I’ve come so many times already.”

  “Come again, or I’ll turn you over my knee, put a piece of ginger up that sweet ass, and then spank you until you’re begging me to stop. I’ll spank you until you can’t sit down for a week, and then I’ll put you back on that glider, but this time I’ll have it fuck your ass.”

  The threat was as much stimulation as a physical touch would have been. She could imagine it—the burn of the ginger, the spanking, and the dildo stretching her ass each time he pulled her forward.

  She reared up and bit his chest as she came, her pussy clenching down on his cock.

  “Fuck, yes, fuck. Sejal. Mine.” His words came from between his teeth as he jackhammered into her, then held himself still deep inside her. She could feel his cock twitching as he came.

  They stayed that way, suspended at the peak of their orgasm. Then Cort blew out a long breath and collapsed down on top of her.

  They were both sweaty and breathing hard, their garments sticking to their skin. Sejal wrapped her legs around him, holding him inside her, and stroked his hair.

  She was content.

  No, it was more than that.

  She was happy.

  14

  Sejal opened her mouth, and Cort pressed the ring-style gag in place behind her front teeth.

  She looked up at him, eyes glazed with lust, mouth now forced open. The ring-gag was larger than normal, large enough that a cock could fit through it, as long as that cock was on the more slender end of the spectrum. He wouldn’t be able to fuck her mouth with it in. The only kind of gag that would have worked for that would have been a dental style gag, but he now understood her dislike for any sort of medical play, and had opted for this.