by Joey W. Hill
Her struggles only served to increase the intensity of his gaze, which roamed appreciatively over her jutting breasts and the flexing of her thighs. Lauren stopped, panting, as he came to rest between her legs, his aroused, impressive member at eye level. Instinctively, Lauren licked her lips and raised a hungry gaze to him. A smile touched his mouth.
He spoke, a soft crooning noise, almost like a dolphin or whale, and her bindings obeyed, wrapping high on her thighs and lifting her up, so her hips were elevated to his lips as the rest of her stayed lower, increasing her sense of helplessness.
His nose brushed her swollen clitoris and she screamed into the water. His tongue pushed in between the tight folds and she moaned. Though she was panting, the water was like air to her starving lungs.
His large hands, callused as if from carpentry work, came beneath her bottom and cupped the individual cheeks, separating them so his fingertips as well as the cool water and waving tips of sea life brushed the sensitive opening. More vines wrapped around her waist and thighs. Still more wrapped under and above her breasts, lifting them and binding them tightly, trapping the blood in them. She could no longer even writhe, only shudder with convulsions and tremble at what he was doing to her. She wanted to come, but she could not come as long as she could not move.
His eyes spoke eloquently, and she knew that his possession of her was not the toying of a shark with prey. It was a possession born not of a predator’s hunger, but that of a lifetime mate laying a claim to her whole being.
He rose over her, hovering, and his lips closed over one tight nipple, unbearably sensitive because of the seaweed’s constriction around her breast. She quivered and made soft cries. Spasms rolled through her body, small almost-climaxes that made her pleas incoherent, at least the words. Her need was as clear as the water around them.
The fronds drew her hips down, and he sank with them, descending so he was between her thighs. With his eyes on her face, his fingers slid to her hips and he thrust into her in one fluid stroke.
She came instantly, the intense sensation of being held still during his penetration equal to a bomb exploding in a contained space. The seaweed held her as she cried out, a long, low moan that rocked up to helpless screams. He continued to thrust with slow, tortuous strokes that prolonged her own orgasm until even in the breathable water she could no longer draw in enough for her lungs. Only then did he buck, unable to contain his own seed any longer, and she heard his voice, a haunting cry that reminded her of whales and other mysterious creatures.
He covered her mouth with his and gave her air, the ability to breathe and live above the water’s surface. He filled her with oxygen and all the substances that made life worth living.
Exquisite. An elegant, passionate word, reserved for an untouched box of Godiva chocolates, the sparkle of a diamond in sunlight, and this moment.
She called his name, begging to touch him. She would have torn her soul from its shell and offered it to him for the opportunity. As if she had made a wish, the seaweed was abruptly gone and she lunged, wrapping her arms and legs upon him. She groaned in joy as she felt his arms come around her and cried out in renewed passion. The lazy movement of the powerful tail continued his thrusts within her, stroking her trembling tissues and heating them again.
She pressed her cheek and her heart against his. “Never let me go. Promise you’ll never go,” she begged, and her tears joined the ocean.
He held her with relentless strength, but took her lips in a gentle kiss, so different from his fierce possession of her body that it unbalanced her. The trembling of her body made the ocean floor vibrate, a shifting of plates signifying a change in the earth’s surface, the alteration of the landscape of her mind, a wavering, and awakening.
Lauren’s eyes opened. Her arms were wrapped around Josh, her nails dug into his back. The wet saltiness against her face had moistened his bare chest, and he was stroking her hair, murmuring to her, gentle crooning, like a lullaby, or a chant. It was early morning, according to the clock on the dresser. Marcus was gone, but he had put fresh candles on the night table to throw a dim light in the room that had no windows to let in the soft shades of dawn.
She had never had a dream of submission; her sexual dreams often had the same flavor of her real life, the drive to tenderly dominate. It left her unsettled, not so much the dream itself, but the underlying sense of drowning, the willingness to go under and submerge herself in sensual exploration. She had carried it with her, out of the dream into a natural extension of thinking about Josh.
She chided herself for her initial uneasy response to the dream. A Dominant needed a sub’s devotion as much as the sub desired the focused attention of her dominance over him. When it came down to it, they were willing captives of each other, the lines of control and possession ever shifting because of it. But the dream, being the voice of her unconscious and subconscious self, underscored how much she wanted to establish that level of intimacy and trust, where safe rules and strictures were not needed, everything intuitive between her and a lover, whether in play or in reality. She wanted love and a forever with someone. Simple, natural, and unbearably painful, because of how complicated it was to find it. But dreams did not care about torturing the soul.
Sensing that she was awake, Josh moved his lips against her temple. He stole a kiss over her eyebrow, nibbling a bit at it, sucking it into his mouth. Lauren sighed and nestled closer, pressing soft cotton and swollen breasts into his chest. His hand wandered down her hip to the flank and she shuddered as his fingers curled around one cheek. He ran his touch along the satin leg band of the French cut bikinis and then slid his long fingers under them, using his knuckles to push the fabric back, and into the cleft of her bottom, like a thong. He gripped the top edge of the bunched panties and tugged at the rolled fabric, increasing the pressure on her clitoris.
Lauren lifted her eyes to his. He withdrew his touch, resting his hand on her hip. “It’s your card still, Lauren,” he murmured. His eyes promised her anything, a dangerous gift she could unleash or bridle at will, and the knowledge of it soaked her flimsy panties in a warm gush of response. She pushed the disturbing dream into her subconscious and took hold of the reins again.
“I want you to grab the headboard,” she commanded. “And don’t let go of it.”
He obeyed, shifting to his back, the long muscular arms threading through the slats and then gripping the wrought iron spindles from behind. Lauren rose to her knees and pulled the covers back, exposing him to her gaze. His arms tensed as if he might move to cover himself, but he controlled the urge and merely flushed, a rush of blood to his cheeks. Lauren ignored his discomfort and took her time looking him over, the graceful hips and long thighs, the light dusting of hair, the thicker thatch at his groin, the sectioned abdomen and soft tufts of hair beneath his arms. The longer she looked, the more his limbs trembled, the more turgid his cock became, until it was all she could do to maintain her indifferent look and not drool.
“God, you are beautiful,” she said softly.
He groaned, and the fire in his eyes became infused with something else, something that spoke of yearning, and regret. It was so similar a reflection of how she felt when she came out of the dream, shattered and aroused, it almost broke her now. It would have, if he had chosen that very moment to ignore her command, release the headboard and seize her to him. In the light of day, the game should probably be over anyway. He and Marcus should be going back to work on whatever they had to do. She would hobble around to see if there were the makings of a pimento cheese sandwich in Lisette’s kitchen and savor a few of Josh’s chocolate chip cookies while mulling over the events of the previous evening.
But it wasn’t over. Josh himself had set the parameters, reminding her the card was still hers. It occurred to her that, for some reason, he needed her to hold the cards, as if he was afraid to interact with her if she wasn’t in charge.
Not that she could possibly object. The male torso stretched out before
her in mute, powerful submission was a perfect creation. He had no spare flesh. His thighs, arms and stomach were roped with wiry, lean muscle. The buttocks flexing with his slight, agitated shifts were tight as she could wish, and she had a sudden, amusing desire.
“Roll to your side,” she commanded. “Away from me.”
He obeyed, giving her a lingering look, a look of wild desire she recognized as the hungry stare she had fixed on the merman in her dreams. When it came from Josh, it made her want to suckle him at her breast, protect and care for him, and yet keep him at her mercy forever. It was an interesting thought, since he stood half a foot taller than she was and could probably bend steel between those luscious ass cheeks. She desired him. Lord, she wanted him like she’d never wanted anything in her whole life, but something held her back. This game, for lack of a better word, had to be played out. She did not know if experience or intuition was telling her that, or just her raging hormones, but for the first time since Jonathan, she was going to try to trust herself again.
She reached out and scraped a fingernail down the curve of a buttock, watching it flex at the faint pain. Then she splayed her fingers out like a spider across his buttock, leaned down and bit him.
Josh jumped, and the muscle quivered beneath her touch, but he did not pull away, even as she tightened her grip and the pressure of her bite. He kept his fists locked on the headboard; those glorious back muscles rippling with tension against the pain. When she lifted her head, she saw it had not diminished the impressive erection in the slightest. In fact, it was brushing his belly, so filled it was with blood.
His ass now bore the imprint of her teeth. She bent back down to it, running her tongue over the marks, soothing the pain like a wolf’s mate. He made a noise, somewhere between groan and growl, and his hands flexed on the board like he might let go, roll to his back and seize her up, thrust her onto his shaft and then pump his seed into her while she clung helpless to his powerful forearms.
But he did not. He closed his eyes and swallowed, controlling his need. Watching him do so flooded her vitals with the sweet sensation of power, power made even more potent by the fact he was submitting to it by his own choice, if not entirely of his own volition.
She knew he was damaged, and eventually, they would have to get to the bottom of that. Her glance strayed over the marks she had left on him. No pun intended.
“Roll on your back again,” she said. “But keep holding the headboard.”
He obeyed and stared at her, his gray eyes steel that heated her skin with a flush of prickling desire. Lauren slid forward, rose up onto her knees again and straddled his neck, putting her thighs along either side of his tense jaw. His nostrils flared, taking in her scent, and she nodded.
“Would you like some of that for breakfast, Josh?” she murmured. “Unh uh,” she moved back as his mouth opened. “You have to ask for it. What do you want?”
“I want you,” he rasped.
She shook her head. “More specific, Josh. And you have to ask. You can’t demand it. Or maybe I’ll go sit in that chair way over there in the corner and take care of it myself.” She passed her finger lightly over the damp impression of her panties, which revealed the arousal beneath.
“No,” he jerked his head off the pillow and fastened his mouth over her swollen clit, plunging his tongue into her, through the soaked silk. Lauren jerked back with a gasp as her body vibrated in the clutch of a near orgasm. For a moment, she fought her own will, which screamed at her to put herself back in proximity of that clever tongue and finish it.
Then she looked at Josh’s face, the way he glared up at her, smug satisfaction in his eyes. She was making him feel vulnerable, and he was reacting as a new or damaged sub sometimes did, shielding himself. He didn’t want to feel vulnerable. She had to make him understand that he was required to be open and exposed to her in all ways. She wasn’t going to permit him to withdraw from her and make this into nothing more than a kinky fuck between two strangers.
Lauren grasped his hair in her hand and jerked his head back, wrapping her fingers into the thick mane and tightening her grasp, intending to cause him pain.
“You do that again, and I will go over to that chair, lick my fingers and fuck myself with them while you watch.” She did not permit any kindness in her voice now, nothing but cruel denial. “I’ll spread open my thighs over the chair arms, so you can see everything, and when I come, you’ll see the way it sucks at my hand, instead of your tongue. I won’t rub my scent over your face and make you mine. Now,” she eased forward again, her throbbing center only a breath away from his panting mouth. “Ask for it, and be specific. And you look at me when you ask.”
You won’t hide from me, Josh.
“Please let me eat…” it was fascinating to watch his thoughts chase each other, look for the words he thought she might like best. She revealed nothing, keeping her expression aloof and stern, though her tissues quivered from his rasping breaths, less than an inch away.
“Please let me lick your pussy,” he said, stumbling over the awkward word, his eyes pleading. “Please. I want to make you come.”
“You don’t make me do anything, Josh, but you will eat me until I come, because I won’t let you stop until you do.”
His body jerked as it trembled, and she recognized the nerves overtaking passion. The uncontrollable shaking came when a sub felt his true vulnerability to a Mistress’s will for the first time, an anxiety that came with relinquishing control to someone by some compulsion that defied issues of logic, strength or bindings. It puzzled her, because she knew he knew the game. But overriding the confusion was a more unsettling emotion.
His quivering brought tears to her eyes. Lauren bent, pressed the softest of kisses to his damp forehead, swept back his hair with gentle fingers. Then she straightened, took the head board in both hands, and slid over his mouth.
He did not lick. He devoured. With the noise of an animal, he plunged his face into her musky wetness, tongue stabbing into her flooded passage, lips and teeth pulling her aching labia and clit into the hot cavern of his mouth, the soft growls bringing extra vibration to the sensitive nerve endings.
Usually, her orgasms began as a lazy spiral that built with the rhythmic rocking of her body. His mouth was on her three shuddering breaths, and her spine snapped back, her head falling onto her shoulders, as a climax harder and more intense than the peak of the best orgasm she had ever experienced seized her body. She rocketed over a crest that she had never imagined could be so high. It occurred to her, a flash of a thought, that she might not survive the fall. She could have cared less.
He released the headboard and held her fast by the forearms when she would have toppled. His desire to protect made her forgive his disobedience, even though he took advantage of the moment to shove her harder against his mouth, his teeth scraping her shuddering, slick skin.
She screamed, too overcome to be self-conscious. She didn’t even remember who Marcus was as she ground herself against Josh’s face and felt each spasm jerk through her.
There was no finesse to it, just raw, fast response. She came down like an ejected pilot of an exploded plane, adrenaline still roiling through her veins, her heart pounding, fingers clenching and unclenching against her palms. She made soft, keening noises, her reaction to his mouth, tongue still busy with gentle lavings, soothing and stimulating all at once.
It was quite awhile before Lauren had the strength, or will, to slide back. She collapsed into his embrace, and her gaze fell on the imprints his fingers had left on her forearms. She noticed with puzzlement that her limbs were shaking, though she felt only muzzy languor.
The earth was shaking, not her. She tried to clear her hazy mind and realized that Lisette’s house was rumbling on its foundations in sporadic bursts. Each tremor was preceded by a thud that sounded as if it were directly beneath them.
Passion cleared from Josh’s eyes and he swore, amusing her by giving her a hard squeeze on the ass and an apolo
getic, desperate look before he rolled away. He snatched up his jeans and leaped out of the room, not a bad view all the way around. Lauren turned over, snagged her robe and followed him, more slowly, since the room was still tilting in a pleasant way. She was pleased to discover she could walk better this morning, though her slight limp and wobbling progress were no match for Josh’s athletic strides.
The orchestrator of the morning’s events, in an indirect way, was standing out on the deck, staring down. Lauren approached the living area just as Josh stepped out of the open sliding glass door, zipping up his jeans and buttoning them.
“She won’t listen to me,” Marcus informed him.
Marcus’s gaze passed to Lauren as she came out. “You’ve got healthy lungs,” he commented.
“Leave her be,” Josh said, leaning over the rail. “Isabel? I’m right here. Look…look up—Isabel!”
Lauren blinked as an earsplitting trumpet sound vibrated along the boards beneath her feet. It sounded like an elephant. It couldn’t be an elephant. She approached the edge of the deck. Marcus smiled at her, easing her discomfiture, and curled an arm about her waist to draw her forward.
She blinked. She was looking down at an elephant. A small, white elephant, but most definitely an elephant.
The elephant’s crinkled dark eyes shifted to her and the creature made a curious crooning noise. Apparently she was much happier now that she could see Josh. With some alarm, Lauren realized the earthquake had been caused by his devotee pushing her head and considerable weight against the pilings of the house.
The bright sun and the reminder that he had other responsibilities, albeit in a form she would not have expected, returned her to reality. She needed to push off the effects of the mind-boggling orgasm and not make too much of it. She wouldn’t push him. It had been a night of fun, was all, and now they all had things to do. His words this morning about continuing the game were probably just a case of male morning horniness.