L is for… (BDSM Checklist Book 12)

by L. DuBois

  “You’ll hold it for as long as I tell you to.” Cain put bite in the words.

  “Making it an order doesn’t change the fact that this is a half squat and my thigh muscles are starting to burn.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t get to control this.

  He cupped her pussy, but this time he spread her open then brusquely thrust two fingers up inside her.

  Her vagina clamped around him, and he saw the shiver of pleasure pass over her body. Abruptly, she sat, trapping his hand under her, his wrist jammed against the dildo base until he shifted the angle of his arm.

  “I told you I couldn’t hold it.” Vic’s eyes were half closed, and a pleased little smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  Cain’s lips quirked, and he reached out with his free hand, undoing the bow at the top of the little corset bra. It looked almost like a sports bra made of leather. He’d been a Dom long enough that he knew lacings on women’s fetwear were sometimes for show and not function, but when he tucked a finger under the first X of laces and pulled to loosen it, the bra started to come apart.

  He rubbed the heel of his hand against the top of her vulva, the angle off just enough that he wasn’t able to rub her clit directly as he worked to expose her tits.

  He finished loosening the laces, and the bra parted, but didn’t come all the way open, her luscious tits partially exposed, the inner curves criss-crossed by the lacings. Her pretty tits looked like they were in some sort of rope bondage and that made his cock twitch. The urge to rip and tear at her clothes was making his shoulders tight.

  “Take it off,” he ordered, not trusting himself.

  Vic arched one brow at him, then plucked the laces free of the holes before shrugging the bralette away. He curled his fingers inside her, and she arched her back, humming in pleasure.

  She was naked except for the lace skirt in a roll around her waist, astride his bike, with his fingers deep in her pussy. And she was about to have part of his bike in that pussy.

  It was probably fucked up how sexy he found that.

  But first he was going to remind her there was a cost for defiance. After all, she’d sat when he told her not to.

  He liked the disobedience. He didn’t want her to stop.

  But he also wanted to punish her. Lucky for him, he could have his pussy cake and eat it too.

  “Up,” he ordered. When she didn’t respond fast enough, he curled his fingers, not to hit her G-spot, but rather curving them around her pelvic bone and then lifting.

  With a hiss she popped off the seat, grabbing ahold of his shoulder and standing all the way up.

  Cain slid his hand from her sex, giving it an affectionate pat before casually wiping his wet fingers on her bare hip.

  Last weekend he’d played with those pretty tits for a bit in aftercare. He’d been gentle enough with his fingers and tongue that it had been a part of aftercare, especially since, when she’d started pulling his hair and moaning he’d given her a hand job to go with the nipple sucking.

  Today he wasn’t going to be as gentle.

  Cain grasped each nipple firmly. She sucked in air and her nails dug in to his arm and shoulder.

  He twisted until she arched her back and whimpered out a breath. “Sensitive nipples.” He hadn’t had to twist far to get a reaction.

  “Yes,” she hissed in agreement.

  He rolled them between his thumbs and the sides of his index fingers. “And if I told you I’d keep hurting these pretty tits until you called me ‘Sir’?”

  “Fuck you,” she breathed, but there was almost no heat in the words.

  He pulled hard on her nipples. With a yelp she leaned forward, her shoulder braced against his, her soft hair tickling his chest, neck, and cheek. That’s what he’d been planning on happening, and he took advantage of her position. Releasing her tits, he reached blindly between her legs, one hand dipping to her entrance, where fresh cream had gathered. He dipped his fingers in, then swirled the wetness over the head of the dildo.

  The leather was soft, not really made for getting wet, though no leather was. He had lube if they needed, but the first time she had the dildo in her sweet pussy he wanted nothing but her and the leather.

  Cain angled the dildo, bringing the tip to point up at her entrance.

  “Slide down on it, sugar.” He blew gently in her ear. He expected her to hiss or object, but instead she rubbed her cheek against his. It was tender and sweet, almost as if she were seeking comfort…reassurance.

  Cain blinked as a very unexpected feeling—far deeper than the emotions he attributed to the “crush”—gripped him.

  Then Vic leaned away enough to put a few inches of space between their bodies. She bent her knees, lowered her hips. He held the tip of the dildo, and when her pussy lips touched his hand, he adjusted the angle until it was perfectly lined up.

  He moved his hand down, but kept two fingers V’d around the dildo. Vic hummed in pleasure as the dildo entered her. Another half inch in and her hot, tight flesh—spread wide around the not-slender dildo, made fatter by the addition of the leather wrapping it—met his fingers.

  She sank down centimeter by centimeter, her hands now gripping his biceps as she rode the dildo, and his fingers, all the way down.

  When her ass met the seat, Cain slid his hand out from under her pussy, giving her clit a friendly rub on the way.

  That single touch made her twitch.

  “How’s the angle?” He dropped to a crouch and spread her labia so he could get a better look at where the leather dildo disappeared inside her.

  The sight was so fucking hot that his cock twitched in his leathers.

  “Too straight up and down,” she murmured.

  Cain put a finger around the base—stroking her wet, taut flesh as he did—and tugged, helping angle it forward, though he couldn’t see much of a change from the outside. But she settled deeper into the seat, her fingers flexing and releasing on his arm like a cat kneading a blanket.

  “I’m fucking a motorcycle,” she murmured.

  Cain glanced up. She was looking down at him. He rose and cupped her chin, rubbing his thumb over her lips before sliding it into her mouth. Vic frowned at him. He added a bit of pressure under her jaw. A warning that he could make this like last weekend if she didn’t behave.

  After a moment, Vic obediently sucked his thumb. He released the pressure under her jaw.

  He made her suck his thumb for a minute, holding her gaze until she looked away and obediently took as much of his finger as she could into her mouth.

  Then he pulled his thumb free—it made a popping sound—and circled her nipples, getting them wet. The nipples themselves were already hard, but now the aureoles ruched up tight from the cold.

  Cain grabbed the hem of the rolled, stretchy lace of the skirt and yanked it up over her tits, turning it into a tube top.

  Vic looked down at herself, then up at him.

  Rather than explaining, he demonstrated why he’d just done that. Cain pinched the fabric on either side of her right nipple, then rubbed it back and forth, abrading the sensitive tip of her breast with the rough lace.

  “Ohh fuck you, Cain,” Vic murmured, her head falling back, her mouth twisted in a grimace.

  “Not this weekend, sugar.” He cupped the back of her head, tipping her face up. He tried to make his smile fun and flirty, as part of him was dimly aware that he was tipping his hand. His words were too much truth. “But yes, I am going to fuck you.”

  Chapter 12

  A feeling hot and thick, like warm caramel, slid through Victoria as Cain raised her head and then slid his hand out of her hair. His palm caressed her jaw and then he placed a single finger under her chin.

  It felt like that finger was a pivot point, and her world was turning, swiveling, and spinning around the one sure, grounded nexus—the place where Cain touched her.

  Where they connected.

  In another second she realized what the warm, slow moving feel
ing was: affection. No, worse. Infatuation.

  She was catching feelings for her top, which was the sub equivalent of having a crush on the hot history teacher. Immature and foolish.

  Cain’s smile, which had started out predatory, shifted to teasing as his lashes lowered, hiding those intense eyes.

  Then his hand followed his gaze south of her face. She held her breath as he cupped her breast, squeezing the lace into her skin.

  Her pussy clenched around the dildo, and the reality of her current predicament crashed down around her, erasing the sense that this was a pivotal emotional moment.

  She was fucking a motorcycle.

  There was no other way to phrase it. Cain had custom-made a motorcycle seat with a dildo because he wanted to see her sitting on a motorcycle while also getting fucked with a dildo.

  This whole situation was intensely sexy. Massively arousing. And it wasn’t just the physical aspects of it that were making her body hum with pleasure and pulse with need. He’d put time and effort into something that would please them both…that was so damned sexy.

  Cain was bold and decisive, and she hadn’t been with many men like that, even here at Las Palmas. After her realization last weekend, she realized it probably had more to do with her, and the kinds of scenes and Doms she sought out. She’d self-sabotaged when she steered away from Doms who would expect her to behave in that more traditionally submissive way, because it meant she hadn’t had a chance to experience a scene like this. A scene where the Dom had full creative control, and she trusted him to pleasure both of them.

  Trust. It probably came down to trust. Not trusting herself to be submissive. Not trusting her tops to meet her needs.

  Cain thumbed her nipples. “You look so fucking sexy right now, sugar. I’ve imagined you like this a thousand times and the reality is better. So much better.”

  “I would have never known I wanted to fuck a motorcycle.” Intended to be a joke, the words came out soft and vulnerable.

  “I knew. I know exactly what you need, and I’m going to take care of you.”

  Tears tightened her throat, and it was ludicrous that she was about to cry. If she started, there would be no way to explain why to Cain, not and stay in the moment. Victoria closed her eyes and arched her back, grinding herself down on the dildo. That pushed away tears, but not the feelings behind them.

  I know what you need, and I’m going to take care of you.

  In her vanilla relationships, she was the one who had to know what was needed and take care of it. She had to act as the operations manager. She carried the burden of the planning and decisions, from when to move in together to where to eat dinner.

  After her last relationship ended and she’d gone back to living on her own, the freedom of not having to make decisions for two—while always running things by him, so he could have symbolic input—had been so damned freeing. It was one of the reasons she paid people to assist her with her house and life. She’d been used as unpaid labor to cover the day to day decisions and chores that were necessary. Now she paid people, as if by paying for those things she validated exactly how much work that had been.

  It horrified her mother. Maria Contreras worked, cooked, kept house, and did it all while making Victoria’s father feel like he was in charge. The older she got, the more their relationship pissed Victoria off, despite loving her father. But loving him didn’t mean she had to be blind to his faults.

  And none of the men she’d been with had felt the sense of quiet responsibility to their families that defined her father.

  Her prior significant others had needed recognition and praise. They wanted someone to tell them they were amazing when they did the laundry, even if the clothes they washed were theirs. They excelled at work because they got recognition for those accomplishments—recognition in the form of money, promotions, respect. She didn’t praise them for what she considered unpraise-worthy bare-minimum accomplishments, and in both cases that had led to tension. She had no idea how otherwise smart, attractive men had no drive when it came to putting in the work and creativity needed for life.

  Her most recent ex didn’t even make dinner reservations without first asking, “Hey, babe, what was that place we went that I liked?”

  A lifetime of men who were carelessly thoughtless had helped drive her to BDSM, where, by definition, Doms had to be thoughtful and capable of creating and executing an idea. And yet, she hadn’t trusted them. Cain had been right to call her out about hiding in her head and topping from the bottom. She liked rope play because there wasn’t as much room for creativity outside of the placement of the ropes and types of knots used.

  He pinched her nipples, and she wished she could just focus on how sexy the moment was, but emotional epiphanies apparently overruled extremely sexy situations. But the fresh torment of her tits did bring her attention back to him.

  Cain had planned and created something complex and kinky. He made something for her—actually made something physical and real.

  Arousal took control of the mental reins for a second, and she had a vivid mental image of him, shirtless, wielding a welding torch. He’d be sweaty and hot as he gave a motorcycle a dick just because he wanted to see her fucking an inanimate object.

  A shiver of taboo arousal shook her, and her focus snapped back to the moment. To him.

  “Cold?” Cain didn’t stop palming her tits.

  “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

  “Planning to lie to me, sugar?”

  “Will you punish me if I perjure myself?” She licked her lip, liking the way he watched her.

  “We’ll play out your kinky courtroom fantasies later.”

  That was the second time he’d implied they would keep scening together after they were done exploring “L.”

  She was still deeply ashamed that she hadn’t want him to see her as submissive, because she thought he wouldn’t respect her, when in reality she was the one who didn’t respect a version of submission that was different than her own. Cain didn’t think less of her, even after he’d pushed her to be really, deeply submissive.

  And she trusted him.

  She wanted him as her Dom. Not just for this weekend.

  “But for now—”

  His words were heavy with anticipation and he turned, lifting a leg over the bike.

  “—let’s go for a ride.”

  She blinked as he sat in front of her, his massive shoulders even with hers, despite her slightly elevated seat.

  He passed her back her helmet, smiling over his shoulder. “Safety first.”

  “You’re going to turn it on?” Surely they weren’t actually going to ride it.

  “Her,” Cain corrected. “I’m going to turn her on.”

  “It literally has a dick.” She shifted, the dildo a thick presence inside her. It felt like it was pulsing, but that wasn’t the dildo. That was her. Her body so aroused that her pussy was pulsing in time with her heartbeat. “If we’re anthropomorphizing an inanimate object we should use the correct gender—”

  Cain planted his feet and shifted the bike a few inches towards center. She’d barely noticed that the bike was leaning a few degrees off from straight up and down until he moved it.

  With a yelp of alarm she wrapped her arms around him.

  “Ouch,” he grunted. She’d cracked the helmet against his sternum as she threw her arms around him.

  “You’re fine,” she snapped, her stomach muscles quivering. She wasn’t sure if it was in fear or desire. “Cain, you are not going to—”

  He turned a key and the machine under her purred to life. It vibrated softly, and Victoria pressed her forehead against the back of his neck and moaned. She felt that vibration in her ass, and less intensely inside where the dildo filled her.

  She felt rather than heard Cain chuckle as she moaned.

  The hand not holding the helmet skimmed down his chest and the chuckle stopped. Victoria found the hem of his shirt, tucking her fingers under it, palm s
liding over his stomach. She needed to feel his skin. It wasn’t enough to press her breasts against his back, and she hated his shirt with a passion.

  As soon as she thought that, she changed tactics and pulled on his shirt, drawing it up his torso in jerky movements. Cain grabbed it and she leaned back so he could rip it off. The bike rumbled under them and when she ground her breasts into his bare back she wasn’t the only one who moaned.

  “Helmet.” He snarled the word, his face almost feral as he looked back at her.

  Victoria licked her lips and put the helmet on. It wasn’t one of those big ones that covered the whole head and face. Instead it was more like a skull cap, with a simple strap under the chin. He put his on with jerky motions.

  Victoria leaned against his back and wrapped her arms around him, luxuriating in all the skin to skin contact. She couldn’t really put her cheek on his shoulder because of the headgear, and maybe that was too intimate an act for what they were to each other.

  Too intimate? She was losing her mind. What they had was all intimacy.

  But her cheek on his shoulder was…well that impulse probably came from the inappropriately romantic feelings she was having for him. And the fact that this scene was bringing up a lot of other stuff. She’d thought about her exes, her father for fuck’s sake. Dimly she knew that it was a sign this scene was doing what good BDSM scenes did. Plenty of people used BDSM as either physical or emotional therapy.

  Of all the times, and all the scenes, to get emotional, this was probably the most ludicrous possibility.

  Cain’s arm flexed and the bike revved.

  Victoria sucked in air, her nails digging into his skin, and her mind blanking of everything but the feel of him and the bike.

  Cain’s laugh was soft and delicious, sinful and knowing. It was the way the devil laughed as the unwary and reckless signed on the dotted line.

  The bike started moving, and after a moment Cain lifted his stabilizing foot, putting it fully on the footrest in front of hers.

  The gate into the fenced part of the area stood open. As they turned in, she was worried they were going to tip over—plenty of times she’d seen people on motorcycles leaning at perilous angles as they took the hairpin turns in the canyon roads not far from here. They didn’t tip, in fact he slowed down enough as they turned that he actually put one foot down on the ground at one point.