Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2)

by Jessica Collins

  A thought crossed his mind — she needed this as well. So, giving in was actually doing exactly what she needed. Right?

  No, Al. That’s your dick thinking.

  “I thought about you last night. How your tongue moved inside me. I had my legs spread wide as I played with myself, imagining it was you.” Her lips grazed his earlobe, the nerve endings screaming in delight. The smell of vanilla, so unmistakably her, engulfing him. Her slight moan creating a shiver up his spine.

  Used to being in control of the situation, of directing the next moves, this change was an unexpected turn-on.

  “Except, my fingers weren’t enough. I used the toy I bought, needing to be filled by something, by anything. Stretching myself wide.”

  Her lips against his neck elicited another moan from him. His throbbing cock begged to be inside of her. A vibrator was such a poor stand-in for what he could do.

  Suddenly, she pulled back, a wicked smile on her face.

  Did I say that out loud? he wondered. Her response confirmed the thought.

  “Ali, no need to be jealous of my battery-operated-boyfriend.” She dropped her voice to a whisper as her gaze darkened. “We often have intense threesomes with you.”

  The growl escaping Alistair’s throat should have scared Jayla.

  It didn’t.

  She squealed as his arms reached her waist, lifting her over his shoulder before walking upstairs and dropping her on a bed.

  “Playtime’s over, Princess.” The threat of what he was planning sending another rush through her.

  He flipped her over, pulling her hips up and pushing her shoulders down. He pulled her head back with her hair, keeping her immobile, yet arched for him. The roughness of the grip had her panting for more. She ground her ass against his opened jeans, a new rush of wetness at the thought of how large and hot his cock felt in her hand. Any other time, she’d be worried he wouldn’t fit. Not now though. She was primed — dripping and ready for him.

  The fabric was quickly replaced by velvety smooth skin, after removing himself from his boxers. A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of the foil wrapper being opened sliced through the room. His sheathed cock circled her clit, teasing her mercilessly.

  “How much do you want it, Jayla?”

  She refused to respond, knowing it would further their little game. He bent over her, reaching into the cup of her bra, grasping her breast. He pinched her nipple, the pain shocking her system. As he released, the flood of warmth into the area increased the wetness between her legs. She had been waiting far too long to feel him, she wasn’t going to let him get away this time.

  Taking control back, she began to move against him, allowing his cock to rub between her lips and against her clit. The continued pinch and release on her breast, coupled with the grip he had on her hair, creating a myriad of sensations against her already sensitive flesh. Her legs quivered. She was going to lose it, and quickly.

  When the tip of his cock entered her, she cried out. The stretching burned for a moment, the pain intensifying her need for him.

  “I don’t like being ignored. Tell me how much you want it. How badly you need it.” His voice deepened, the dominance dripping onto her like droplets of water.

  The grip on her hair tightened, pulling her back slightly. He worked himself in and out shallowly, only a few inches, as he continued to tweak her nipple. It was all she was going to need.

  “Alistair … I’m-I’m going to—” she squealed, her voice unrecognizable to her.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” he commanded, just as the sting against her ass from his hand registered. “You don’t come until I tell you to.”

  “I can’t … can’t stop it.” Her eyes squeezed shut as the sensations threatened to overwhelm her. All she needed was a few more centimeters and she would come. He was teasing her on purpose. She began to buck back against him, earning her another sharp smack.

  “Do you want to come?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  Fuck it. “Yes … yes, Sir.”

  His groan almost sent her over the edge. “Ask me nicely.”

  “Please! Please, Sir. Please let me come.”

  At her plea, he entered her to the hilt. He stretched her so completely, she felt every inch of him scrape against her walls. As his head hit her G-spot, she came. Crying out, thrusting through her orgasm, creating an even greater friction. He let go of her hair and breast, grasping her hips, pulling her into him roughly. She arched her back to position herself to better receive the rough onslaught.

  “Fuck, Jayla,” his voice was finally strained, having finally lost control. His movements quickened as lust took over.

  He pushed forward, entering her to the hilt with each rough thrust. Each time, hitting her so perfectly, prolonging the aftershocks of her orgasm. He moaned, the sound heating her again, until she felt him throb inside of her. A brutal yell emanated from him as he came, pushing his pelvic bone into her, grinding against her ass as he climaxed.

  He slowed, stilling, before leaning over her, pulling her to the side as he lay them against the bed, still inside of her. His arm wrapped around her waist, his mouth kissing her ear, her hair, pulling her body into him tightly.

  She settled into his warmth, her inner walls clenching as his cock still pulsated inside her. She turned toward him as they lay, catching their breaths. Smiling, she said, “Now, that’s what you call topping from the bottom.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Alistair?” Jayla called into the silent room, her skin prickling with anticipation.

  In the back of her mind, she knew her stunt earlier would earn her a “punishment”; after all, she had disobeyed him multiple times. A part of her craved this from him, looking forward to it. Perhaps she teased him, disobeyed him on purpose. Not just for the release, but for what came after.

  He’d taken her to back to the guest room. The space was still as warm as it had been the day before, dimly lit, with candles and the overhead lighting on low, but instead of the massage table, there was a large bed in the center of the room. The dark wood head and footboards obviously designed to accommodate a variety of restraints. There was also a large chest of drawers that piqued her curiosity.

  Her wrists were bound but separate, near her ears and above her head, in soft leather bindings, affixed to eye closures in the ceiling by soft ropes. She was naked and blindfolded and ached for his touch.

  “Alistair, please,” she spoke again, pushing out her chest as she attempted to stretch. The position wasn’t painful, just a bit uncomfortable.

  He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t answered her in at least five minutes. She knew he was in the room, could feel him watching her. She prayed he wasn’t stroking himself as he teased her. She wanted that sight all for herself.

  She waited another few moments and tried again. “I’m sorry.”

  Finally, he spoke. “What is it you’re sorry for, Princess?” Based on his voice, he was directly in front of her, lower. Possibly sitting, just watching.

  “For not listening,” she answered, thankful he finally responded. “And for … pushing you to … uh—”

  He laughed. “That’s not why you’re here, tied to my ceiling.”

  “It’s not?” she asked. Her heart began to race, the small voice in the back of her mind whispering red flag, red flag.

  “No, Princess. Nor, is it because you still haven’t learned to always address me as ‘Sir’ when we’re ‘playing’, unless I tell you not to.”

  She swallowed, realizing then she called him Alistair. Twice.

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  A soft caress under the globes of her ass startled her. His warm mouth closed around her nipple, sucking gently. “Good girl. You learn quickly.”

  She opened her mouth to ask why she was restrained, when his finger over her lips quieted her. “Another thing, Princess. Don’t speak, unless directly spoken to.”

&nb
sp; Thank God for the blindfold, or she’d probably get in trouble for rolling her eyes. The soft caress turned to a sharp spank against her rear.

  “Ow! What was that for?” she asked, trying to squirm away the heat.

  “You know exactly what that was for.”

  Damn it, the eye rolling.

  “You’re here, Princess,” he said, moving her hair from against her back to the side, and trailing a line of kisses on her shoulders, down her spine, between words, “for telling me you were ‘topping from the bottom’.”

  “It was a joke!” she laughed, biting her lip when she realized she’d spoken out of turn. She tightened, prepared for another swat, which never came. Instead, his warm hands grasped her hips, gently squeezing as he pushed against her from behind.

  He’s naked. And ready for round two.

  “Now, what kind of ‘top’ would I be, if I didn’t remind the ‘bottom’ of her place?” he teased, gently nibbling the top of her shoulder. Blood rushed to her nipples, her clit, at his breath, and body, against her.

  “The best kind?” she answered, almost joking.

  Okay, so maybe she kind of really liked this game. Not being able to see or anticipate his next move was exhilarating. That she felt safe enough to be tied up, while blindfolded, just added to her excitement.

  “The worst kind. What’s your safe word, Jayla?”

  “Jasmine.”

  “Good. If you say ‘jasmine’ everything stops. If you say yellow, it means you’re growing uncomfortable. I will take it into consideration — I may or may not stop.”

  Suddenly, her ass was aflame with wisps of a gentle pain. She took a breath as she felt the connection to her skin again in the same place, and then a third and fourth time.

  She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, when she remembered his statement about speaking out of turn. Her ass burned, the sting gaining momentum, yet he didn’t relent. Just as she was about to say “yellow” the pain changed, turning to … Oh, holy fuck.

  A rush raced through her system, quelling the dull heat, replacing the sting with pure delight. She gasped, a small moan escaping her lips.

  “This, Princess, is called a flogger. It’s meant for both punishment, and pleasure. It seems you’ve learned both.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. The flogger hit her ass again, sending another rush of heat through her ass — this time, her pussy clenched.

  “First, the whips snapping against your skin set your nerve endings on fire. Your brain registers the pain and begins to release endorphins to quell it. The more time between spanks, the more pain you’ll feel. Yet if I keep a constant pace, the pleasure will continue to grow.”

  Just as another moan threatened to escape, he stopped. She heard the shuffling of his feet just before…

  “Oh!” she called out, as the leather straps swatted across her breasts. Goosebumps rose on her skin. The pain morphed into pleasure after only three attempts.

  “The longer I play with you, the quicker your body translates the pain to pleasure. The more you’ll crave it.”

  Her ass burned, her pussy throbbed, and her breasts were too focused on the rasps of the flogger to realize what else was happening. Her pointed nipples arched on their own, searching for the devious device.

  A finger ran through her folds, causing her to squirm. He didn’t speak, yet continued to trail lazily against her lips, circling her clit and teasing the full length of her pussy before repeating the motion. His fingers were soft, caressing, before moving back and swatting her breasts again.

  He repeated this pattern — flogging her breasts, fingering her pussy — for some time, building her desire.

  Punishment, what punishment?

  When his finger was replaced by his cock, she moaned.

  He rubbed against her, sliding from her clit back, the tip grazing her entrance with each pass. In tandem, he returned the focus of the flogger to her ass, swiping at her, building the heat once again.

  Her nipples ached from their strain, her breasts heavy, craving his attention. Her moans grew as the pleasure increased.

  His voice was in her ear. “You’re going to get me off just like this, Princess.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she answered with enthusiasm.

  Moving faster against her, the mix of pleasure and pain confusing her, exciting her. He grunted into her ear, licking at her lobe. She moaned in response.

  His hand found her thigh, pulling it up, holding it firm against his hip. The shift in position allowing him to thrust harder against her.

  Swat, thrust. Swat, thrust. On and on.

  She was on the edge, and by the sounds of it, so was he. One final thrust, and he cried out, jerking against her pussy as he came.

  He continued to move, stroking her with his hardness. Almost there.

  Suddenly, he pulled back.

  “No,” she pleaded.

  He shuffled behind her for a few moments before removing her cuffs. She shook with need as his hands ran up and down her arms, helping the blood recirculate with minimal pain. Perhaps it was the endorphins already in her system, but she felt as if she were floating.

  Her pussy throbbing, she moved her fingers down to finish herself. He grabbed her hand, kissing the tips before pulling them into his mouth and greedily sucking. He pressed behind her, running his hands up and down her body, continuing the slow torture.

  Oh no. He can’t. He wouldn’t!

  Removing her blindfold, turning her head to him, he kissed her lips. Wrapping an arm around her, he cupped her pussy with his other hand. He ground his palm into her clit, her knees almost giving out.

  “Still think you’re ‘topping’?”

  “No,” she whimpered.

  “What do you want?” he continued, his voice low.

  “To come, Sir.”

  “You will. But not yet. Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen for breakfast.” He pulled away from her, leaving her cold.

  He took a few steps toward the door before turning back. “No touching yourself, Princess. I’ll know. If you do, it will be far worse. Understand?”

  She took a breath, trying to calm her nerves, nodding.

  His lips curled into a devilish sideways smirk before turning and walking out the door.

  Alistair barely contained his smile as Jayla’s dish clattered in the sink. “Careful, Princess. I’d hate for you to cut yourself on broken glass,” he warned.

  If he were a betting man, his money would be on a string of curses running through her mind, directed all at him. He’d deserve it, for leaving her hanging as long as he had. She needed a punishment, just to remind her who would be in charge in the bedroom. Sometimes.

  He’d already made up his mind that her little “topping him” stunt was going to be repeated, but only when he demanded it. Her writhing against him, needing him inside of her just as badly as he needed it — he’d never been more turned on. She was a confounding mix of submissive yet demanding. Shy, yet confident. Needy, yet determined.

  Breakfast was an exercise in restraint. He didn’t allow her to change, quite enjoying the extensive view of her peaked nipples. I’d like to keep her naked forever, he thought to himself, more than once.

  He couldn't decide what part of her he liked best. Her dark skin complimented by her ink? Her bountiful breasts? Her curves? Her pussy? As much as he enjoyed her body, her eyes were the most mesmerizing, constantly pulling him in. Their color changed with her emotions — honey when relaxed, hazel when she laughed. When aroused they darkened, turning a sinful shade of deep chestnut. He liked that color best. He feared if he stared long enough, he’d lose himself to her completely. More than once he’d stopped breathing just watching her. She was intoxicating.

  Taking her seat next to him, she winced only slightly as her ass hit the stool. He hadn’t hit her hard — just enough to bring the blood rushing forward, and in the same spot long enough for endorphins to rush through her system before moving the flogger to repeat the sensations
in another erogenous zone.

  Her skin reddened perfectly, her body — stretched to the limit in his bindings, a sight to behold. He’d never get the image out of his head.

  Icing on the cake? Her reactions exactly as he hoped they’d be — nervous yet aroused. Her lips parting in shock, then understanding, and then … excitement. Her fingers wrapping and unwrapping around the ropes, sensuously stroking in time with the swats — a completely unconscious motion. As the flogging continued, her nervousness dissipated into pure pleasure, and that’s where he saw the real Jayla.

  Open, free, trusting, beautiful. Perfect.

  Watching her, he smirked. Lifting her head to the ceiling, she inhaled deeply. He knew where her thoughts were focused — she shook with the need for release. She’d contained herself far longer than he gave her credit for. He’d been certain her natural bratty self would emerge, forcing him to “punish” her once again.

  It hadn’t. For that, she’d be rewarded. He contemplated laying her over his counter and lapping at her with his tongue until she came. Then he’d pull her hips forward, fucking her until she milked every last drop from him.

  He couldn’t remember the last time a sub tempted him as much. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last woman to leave such an impression on him. As if she were made for him alone.

  The thought shook him to the core. He shook his head, attempting to calm his skipping heart at his level of proprietorship.

  Mine.

  He licked his lips. “Come here,” he called, not only needing to care for her, but to clear his mind.

  “Well, good news and bad news,” Peter began over the phone.

  Alistair moved from the bathroom, naked, to the bed. After pleasuring her on the counter, and then bending her over the couch, they’d fallen asleep for about an hour, curled together in the tight space. Lying next to her, holding her in his arms, skin to skin — he couldn’t remember a time he felt more at peace. Waking up, his only thought was how to continue to care for her, and so, he’d put Jayla in the bathtub and told her to wait for him. He planned on gently caressing her body, on rubbing her sore muscles until she was putty in his hands. Anything that would keep the smile on her face.