by Lilia Moon
One finger, and then two, invading with the cinnamon hearts that are now my very favorite thing, lighting me on fire in the best possible ways. I try to wiggle again, this time to ask for more, and groan in frustration when I don’t get any further than before. I need to move. It’s not about being equal anymore, about sharing in the work—it’s about the absolute need pounding inside me and the satisfaction I know his fingers will give me if I can just freaking figure out how to move.
His hand lands on my ass again, sharp and stinging. “Be still. Take what I give you.”
There is potent threat in his words, the kind that sends shivering quivers bolting over my skin. I hold my ass as still as I can and try to will his fingers deeper inside. He’s toying with me, sliding a knuckle in and out, and I need more.
“Better.” I get a little more penetration as a reward, and then I hear the bubbling squirt of the lube bottle just before I feel the cool, sticky mess that glops down my pussy. I wrinkle my nose at the ungainly delivery—and then I feel the heat. A tsunami of it, driven by his fingers straight into my slick folds.
The fingers in my ass plunge deeper as two more invade my pussy, plundering armies bearing hot, tingling lava. I strain against the ties that bind me, knowing I can’t move, knowing he doesn’t want me to, and entirely unable to stop.
Chapter Fifty-One
Eli
She’s going to have bruises. I shake my head as Chloe strains against the straps, but the last thing she needs right now is for me to free her. She’s so very close—to orgasm and to the lesson that lives beyond, if I can get her there in one piece.
Or a million pieces. I grin and curve the fingers in her pussy to catch her g-spot with a little more force.
She goes over before she even realizes she’s going, one long shudder from her forehead to her toes. I tease out the aftershocks with both hands as she cries her pleasure into my once-boring living room.
I wait, stroking easily, the lube working its dastardly, fiery magic on my fingers as Chloe starts to soften. Which isn’t anything I intend to let happen. I lightly stroke the rim of her back hole where most of her nerves live and run my other thumb over her slick clit. She convulses. “No, Eli—I need to stop.”
I don’t think she does. Not for a long time yet. “You have your safewords.”
A long pause, and then an exquisitely frustrated gurgle.
I manage not to laugh out loud. Instead, I put my amusement into the parts of me that are strumming her clit.
The gurgle shifts to a long, liquid moan. I collect up the remnants of her first orgasm and throw them at the spiraling energies of the second. Three decades of fingering exercises have their upsides, and I use all of them to build the layers of her pleasure. This orgasm won’t come quite as easily, and it shouldn’t. I want her to go where I take her, not where her aroused body can practically take itself.
This time, when she comes, it’s not an edge. It’s a wave, one with soft, intense moans and the clenching of her pussy around my thumb. Which is sexy as fuck, and my cock is busy writing sonatas about why he needs a turn in there.
Soon.
Very soon. I slide my fingers out of her pussy and dedicate my whole focus to her ass. Whoever introduced her to anal play clearly did a lousy job, and the next time I dribble lube on her back hole I want the protest to be one of impatience, not lack of desire. I spread her ass cheeks with my fingers, using my thumbs to press the sides of her puckered hole. The skin is red and slick, nicely lubed, and gorgeously enticing.
I circle my thumbs, clockwise and counterclockwise, squeezing the delectable globes of her ass as my thumbs move. I build the pressure in my thumbs, keeping the angles so they press, but don’t penetrate. This isn’t an invasion. It’s a seduction.
Her breathing shifts into soft little pants, her arousal trying to pull her somewhere her body isn’t ready to go. No matter what the romance novels say, orgasm number three requires some serious effort, and I want it to be mine, not hers. I keep up my slow thumb torture until her breathing gets gorgeously ragged and her whole body becomes a lot more pliant.
She’s learning.
I leave her ass to one thumb, pushing in up to the knuckle while my other hand heads back to her pussy. The sound she makes is dark and decadent, teetering right on the edge of surrender. She knows I can take her where she wants to go.
I tease around the edges of her clit, exploring the swollen folds, taking a few dips into her wet heat. She moans, equal parts pleasure and frustration, as I don’t give her quite enough of any one thing to take her over. I keep teasing. Edging’s not really my kink, but I’ll hold her here as long as it takes, because the thing I want her to see is shimmering on the horizon, and be damned if I’m going to take it away from her with my impatience or hers.
A long, jagged breath and her pussy soaks my hand.
I blink, but she hasn’t come—it’s a different edge she’s gone over.
The one where pleasure comes purely from the act of letting go.
Chloe just jumped off her cliff.
Thank fuck.
I run my fingers around her clit, steering clear of the oversensitive tip and squeezing the sides. The thumb in her ass stays still, anchoring her surrender.
Chloe doesn’t make any sound at all as she comes. She barely moves. She just sinks into the puddle of pleasure we’ve built together and lets herself dissolve.
I’m on my knees, cock out of my pants and poised at her entrance before her pussy stops fluttering. I stroke my hand down her back. “Stay exactly like that, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck you until neither of us can walk, and I want you to let me.”
Words for the ears of a gorgeous newbie, even if she’s gone deep enough she probably won’t hear them until we’re done.
I slide in, one hot fast stroke that nearly has me coming inside her. I stop for a minute, warring with my cock for control of the bus while the lube does its damage to my sensitive parts, and let my finger play in her ass. Chloe doesn’t move at all, which strokes my Dom ego almost as nicely as she just stroked my cock.
She’s done fighting. Now I get to show her what lives out the other side.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chloe
I hear him saying things, but there’s no blood left in my ears. Or my brain. I’m not sure I’m a person anymore. I’m primordial, pleasured goo, lying still and letting him carry me to the stars.
He plunges into me again and my brain tries to send all the necessary signals to my legs, to my hips, to the part of me where my spine once lived. Rise up, tilt, meet his thrusts, join in the crazed dance of mating his pleasure to mine.
Nothing moves. Nothing except the liquid reverberations of his cock into the lava of who I’ve become.
His legs shift against mine, and the next thrust blasts straight into nerves so sensitive it’s a wonder time doesn’t stop. He hammers short and deep, excavating things I didn’t know were inside me. My clit is a never-ending scream of almost there, which makes no sense because it’s already so far past anywhere it’s ever been.
I’m pretty sure there are tears running down my face. And maybe snot.
Primordial goo.
My eyes have stopped straining against the blindfold. All I need to see is right inside me. The dark that wraps around both of us, full of the primeval, slick joining of his fire to mine. The slapping sounds of his thighs, imposing separation and driving us back together.
My thighs are neither helping nor resisting. They just are. Two stacks of cells suffused with pleasure so intense and so deep that orgasm seems like a weak word for what’s happening to me.
Something snaps on the back of my head, and it’s suddenly free, cast adrift into the world with no direction. I hear my whimper. Lost.
His hand is there a moment later, his fingers running up the nape of my neck and taking hold in a way that flimsy ties never could.
He has me. All of me.
I hear his jagged breath making rough, intense,
arrhythmic music with mine, and somehow that sets me alight, because I’m not alone in this place of fire and intense, beating need. Our sounds morph into something that isn’t two anymore, feeding a glow that I can see, growing right at the very heart of us.
Something penetrates deep that isn’t his cock, and the glow explodes into so many pieces that there is no longer any dark.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Eli
Kink lives or dies in aftercare.
I don’t know whose words those are—I just know they’re the first coherent ones I put together as my star-blown fragments fall slowly back to Earth. The most soul-shattering scene of my life, and I have no idea what it means. Where it will go. Who I will be when it ends.
I breathe into the hot, sweaty hair of the woman I’m mostly draped on top of and try to pull the fragments of who I am back together. I’m her Dom, and she’s going to need me with my shit reassembled. I managed to get her untied and both of us to my bed before my muscles lost all coherence, but that’s only the beginning of what I need to do.
I need her to see. Maybe she chooses this and maybe she doesn’t, but I need her to understand the power and the brilliance of what we just did together.
I roll over onto my back, managing a grin at the Chloe limpet that sticks to me as I go. She totally doesn’t have her bones back yet.
A floppy hand lifts up and ineffectually swats my chest. “Stop laughing, it’s making you bumpy.”
Or I think that’s what she said. Her words sound six feet underwater. Maybe they are. I stroke gently down her back, feeling her sweat and the ridges my leather straps left in her skin. Those will fade quickly, even though I don’t want them to. Evidence of what we made together. I finally get why some Doms don’t like using healing gels to soothe the bruises.
She’ll have some. Even the softest leather binds if you fight hard enough, and she did. Never in panic, though. Just resistance. Fear of being helpless. All leading to the beautiful moment when she realized that helpless is just a point of view and surrender holds all the power there is. Or at least I hope that’s what she got from this.
I breathe in, trying to collect my words. I’m not usually a guy at a loss for them.
Her hand swats my chest again. “Stop thinking. Too loud.”
I grin. I missed the years of hungover Chloe. I’ll have to take surrender-drunk instead. “We need to talk. When you’re ready.”
Her grunt makes perfectly clear what she thinks of that suggestion.
If I let her fall asleep like this she’ll be too stiff to get out of bed in the morning. I stroke a hand down her back again, this time using a little more pressure. Helping her spine to wake up. “Shower. Food. Then you can nap for as long as you want.”
She somehow manages to lift her head up, pinning me with still-glazed eyes full of mutiny. “Red. Stop. You’re not the boss of me.”
This is probably not a good time to tell her just how sexy she is when she’s pissed. My cock flexes against her leg, clearly disagreeing with me.
Chloe’s eyes clear and she flops over on her back, chuckles rolling right up from her belly.
My cock is dumb enough not to understand she’s laughing at him. He stands at attention, stupidly hopeful that this is a new form of foreplay. I send him a wry look. That would break all of us.
Chloe swats at my erection, missing by a mile, which is hopefully on purpose. And chuckles again.
I grin and snuggle in beside her. This is one way to bleed off all the spillover energy of a mind-blowing scene. Although if her breasts keep jiggling in that really pleasing way, more than my cock is going to forget that this is supposed to be the end. I reach over and touch one, just because I can.
This time she doesn’t swat at me. She rolls back over and cuddles into my hand, laying her cheek on my shoulder and sliding a sweaty leg between mine.
I stroke her hair again. I saw her eyes clear. It’s time to talk.
Not because she needs it. I do.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chloe
My skin is still on fire. All of it, even the parts I’m pretty sure Eli never smeared with cinnamon-heart lube. It’s making it hard to concentrate on anything else. I want to just lie here and be happy embers, but I can hear his mind clinking.
He’s always been a loud thinker.
I trace my fingers through the fuzz of dark hair on his chest. “What’s churning in there, love?”
I feel his smile, and his regret. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to go all cerebral on your afterglow.”
Too late—and I’ve always gotten off on his brain too. I lift my head up and rest my chin on his chest. “That was amazing, but you know that.” He’s glowing plenty, even if he can’t keep his brain quiet.
“It was.” He strokes my cheek, his eyes holding a hint of melancholy. “Kink isn’t always like that. It’s powerful, and it can be really amazing, but that was…” He stops, clearly out of words.
It doesn’t matter. I have them. “It was the most overwhelming sexual experience I’ve ever had.” So deep it almost felt holy. I grin and make a face at him, because holy isn’t where I want this to go. “What the heck is in that lube, anyhow?”
He chuckles, and some of the melancholy clears. “Dom secret.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I joined the wrong team, did I?”
I see the seriousness land with both feet—and the compassion. The intention. Whatever just scared him serious, he clearly intends to take care of me first. He reaches out and strokes his thumb along the curve of my collarbone, the tenderness palpable. “I don’t know that you’ve joined any team.”
Ah, that’s what’s got him by the short hairs. I smile and stretch up to kiss his cheek. “You’re composing, Eli. Listen to the damn music that’s already playing.”
His eyebrows fly up.
I grin. Surprising him is still fun. “Stop worrying about the labels. We know what we need to know.”
He blinks. “Which is what, exactly?”
I wrap the words up like the sexy, careful, deeply intended gift that they are. “In what just happened—did you get what you needed?”
He nods slowly.
I smile and will him to hear my truth. “Do I look like a woman who had any scrap of what she needs go undelivered?”
The grin starts all the way down deep inside him—and then it stutters. “That might not be what you need tomorrow.”
I hit his chest, and this time I have enough muscles back online to make it register.
He laughs. “The next time I tie you up, remind me that you’re feisty when I set you free.”
There we go. His soul just got there, even if his brain hasn’t caught up yet. “Next time, huh?”
I watch as his brain and his soul collide—but not for long. It’s my turn to drive this thing. I lean in and kiss his cheek again. “Of course there will be a next time, silly. They might not always look like this, because I don’t know how often I can do what I just did and be a functional human being who remembers how to speak. I might need space, or contrast, or a lesson on how to use your leather straps.”
That makes his eyebrows do really funny things.
I don’t care. We’ve got this, and I can see it, even if he can’t. “Eli, my big fear was that I wouldn’t be able to participate in your kinky world in any meaningful way. That would have been a deal breaker, an unworkable crack in our foundation, just like if I hated listening to your cello or you thought lingerie was for women who’d sold their self-worth to the devil.”
His eyes are laughing, even as his arms reach to pull me in tighter. “You can dress up in sexy scraps of lace and listen to me play the cello any time you want.”
I don’t bother hitting his chest again—it seems to have very little effect. “Focus. Foundations. Cracks. The horrible fear that you lived in a world I couldn’t understand or value or join.”
His laughter flees. “Join is a big word.”
I shake my head. I refuse to
let this get hard. I already did my time there. “It doesn’t have to be. Maybe I visit, maybe I move in, maybe I turn into Fettered’s resident lingerie maven and let you tie me up one Thursday a month.”
He raises a hand.
I snicker. “Fine. Every other Thursday.”
He grazes his knuckles down the curve of my breast, somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. “You’re saying we can figure this out.”
I lean in and kiss his adorably confused lips. “Yes. I showed up, you pushed me, and something spectacular happened. The rest is negotiable, unless you get really unreasonable.”
He laughs. “Most subs sit meekly in their Dom’s laps for aftercare.”
I don’t do meekly very well. Especially after I’ve just done wondrously shattered. “I might need some latex pants for that part.”
This time his laughter shakes the ceiling. “I’ll ask Ari where she shops.”
I smirk. The day I can’t sew a pair of pants hasn’t arrived yet. Although shopping for them with Eli in tow might be a lot of fun.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Eli
She’s just tied me down and set me on fire at least as thoroughly as I did to her. And for the same reasons.
Respect. Generosity. Love.
I can let that last one out of its cage now. It might not be safe to love Chloe Virdani, but it’s possible. The here-and-now version, and not the one tucked away into the very best parts of my history. We have as much chance at this as any two opinionated people in their forties who know how freaking precious this is.
Because it is, and we weren’t wise enough at sixteen to know that. We let ourselves walk away because we didn’t know that people who can see your soul and love it anyhow are damn hard to find, and they don’t always come packaged together with a lifetime of sex appeal. We were smart enough to treasure each other, but we weren’t ready to treasure what could be between us.