by Lilia Moon
Two fingers slide into my pussy from behind, and Jackson’s breath closes in on my ear. “If he hears you come, this is your last hard orgasm for a week.”
That’s evil. I hate being quiet and he knows it. He’s also smart enough to leave me with choices. I grit my teeth and remind myself that marshmallow orgasms aren’t so bad.
His fingers rap a beat on my g-spot that nearly sends me straight through the roof—blocks, hook, cuffs, and all.
He chuckles and pulls his fingers out, snapping the strap of my garter as he goes. “Doesn’t look like you need much of a warm-up, beautiful.”
He’s had a freaking vibe up my ass all day. He has about ten seconds before I come. I groan as quietly as I can and bite my bottom lip. I really want his cock inside me before I go over.
I hear the rip that can only be a condom package, and then he’s right where I need him, cock lined up straight at my pussy and his hands on my hips. I breathe in sharp, whispered whimpers. I need this. Hard and fast and straight in and please don’t let him think I’m fragile.
His fingers tense on my hips and then he’s balls deep inside me in one arrowed thrust.
The sound that breaks loose from me probably earns me marshmallow orgasms until I’m thirty, but I don’t care. The sheer rightness of what just happened in my pussy is entirely, utterly worth it.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jackson
No words. There are no words for how this feels. The wet heat of her clamped around me and every cell of her body screaming its clear, uncensored delight. Mine too. We’re two people who absolutely want something, arriving there together.
Loudly.
I make a face and scan what of the club I can see, because clearly my scene-management skills have failed me again. I don’t care what people can hear, but I don’t want anyone coming to look over my shoulder.
The only person in sight is Quint. He’s looking straight at my reflection in the mirror of his bar, grinning his ass off as my sub freight trains toward her first orgasm loudly enough that people on the street probably know what’s going on in here.
Ari moans again and lets loose an entirely illegal wiggle. One my cock is totally on board with allowing.
I give up caring what Quint or anyone else can see and put all my attention where it belongs. I’m deep inside the woman I’ve been watching for months, and there were a lot of moments when I didn’t think this would ever happen.
I wrap an arm around her ribs, pulling her back tight against my chest. The blocks have her at the perfect height for this, and I thrust in again, my other hand using the wall for leverage.
She keens, and I can hear she’s riding the high, thin edge.
I’m not going to make her wait this time. I jackhammer three quick, intense thrusts straight into her g-spot and grin as her edge totally blows up. I can hear my noises joining hers, but I yank my edge back. I’m not going over yet, no matter how tempting it is.
I back off on my thrusts just enough to let the pieces of her settle back down onto the cliff. She’s panting, and her shoulders are covered in a sheen I lean down and lick. She sags against me, and I chuckle and tweak her nipple. “I’m not done with you yet, beautiful. Keep those legs working for me.”
I follow my words with a rapid-fire series of thrusts, changing the angle up just a little so new parts of her get to play.
She moans and rubs her chest against the arm that’s doing wall support.
I need more limbs. That’s the one that’s trying to keep us from doing a face plant.
Ari’s forearms settle against the wall, as if she’s read my mind. Maybe she has—this isn’t her first handcuffed-to-a-wall rodeo. I move both hands up to her gorgeous, needy nipples and pinch, hard enough to have her yelping. My cock joins in on the action from below.
Ari’s back arches, a woman desperately trying to be two places at once. I roll her nipples one at a time, keeping rhythm with my cock in her pussy.
Her wail is a primal, gorgeous thing. This time she doesn’t bother teetering on the edge. She incinerates it. Her pussy clenches hot and wild around me and it takes everything I have not to go to ashes with her.
We’re panting in unison now. Hot, ragged breaths that share what little oxygen is left in our tiny square of the world.
I don’t let her come down much this time. I want one more from her. I reach into the pocket of my shirt. I have one trick left, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to wreck any self-control I have left.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ari
I feel his hand leave me, but nothing about that processes. Not until my ass starts vibrating, anyhow.
His fingers come back to my nipples, and then he jerks and lets loose a long, vicious growl.
I can’t stop the giggles. He’s blown me wide open and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. So I revel instead, in the knowledge that my Dom has just fucked himself at least as thoroughly as he’s fucking me. Dom cock, meet evil vibrator.
A hand lands on my thigh, not at all gently. “This is the last hard, fast orgasm you get until you’re wrinkled and gray, beautiful. Are you really going to spend it laughing?”
Possibly, but that’s not going to do this next orgasm any harm. It’s coming for me like a hot, angry avalanche, and everything in me wants to meet it head on.
One more eye-tearing twist of my nipples and Jackson puts one hand back on the wall and the other between my legs. His cock beats hard time into my pussy and the vibe takes that fire and spreads it everywhere.
I open all of me to what’s coming. His fingers squeeze my clit just as the avalanche slams home, and I tilt back my head and let go an incoherent howl of victory.
He thrusts hard enough to split me in two and his howl joins to mine. I feel him pulsing inside me right before I’m no longer capable of feeling anything at all.
I’m not sure how long it takes me to have a functioning brain again, but when I do, we’re in a pile at the bottom of the wall, my legs tangled inelegantly with his, his breath hot in my ear. I bless Milo’s quick-release genius—the kind that leaves the cuffs on my wrists, because even cross-eyed with pleasure, I’m already moving my fingers to feel them.
Or trying to, anyhow. I officially have limp noodles now instead of arms.
Jackson chuckles and runs his hands down my spaghetti limbs. “Anything hurt?”
I do the checkin, but I know I’m high enough on endorphins that nothing will register for a while yet. “No.”
His fingers move to my ass, which is when I realize I’m not full of evil, buzzing butt plug anymore. Apparently my Dom managed to deal with more than the release switch. “And here?”
I want to cuddle up tighter into his chest, but I literally cannot move. “I’m fine. Utterly fantastic, actually.” I haven’t felt this baked after a scene in a really long time, and he deserves all the credit for that. Credit I’m just beginning to register in my own mind, because this sizzling-hot fuck says exactly the same thing the cuffs said earlier, but in a way so different I can’t believe they came from the same person.
The man who touches my hair like it’s spun glass and holds me tenderly and insists on my soft orgasms instead of my hard ones—this is what he picked for our first time. Up against the wall of a bar with our people right around the corner. Which would be entirely wrong for almost everyone in the universe, and so right for me. He nailed it. He got it exactly right, and that means he’s nailed me, and that has nothing to do with where his cock just was and everything to do with the rest of him.
He gets me.
I don’t know where this is going, and there’s still a huge gulf between a baby Dom and an experienced, edgy switch who lives and breathes kink, but he’s crossing it, one small marshmallow orgasm and mind-blasting, amazing fuck at a time.
I sigh and let myself meld even further into the man I’m sprawled on top of—and then my stomach lets out a growl loud enough to make Quint laugh around the corner.
I shak
e my head, or at least I try to. I don’t think my neck muscles are back online yet.
Jackson rubs my belly, and I can hear his grin. “How do you feel about aftercare pizza?”
Yup. I’m nailed.
Chapter Forty
Ari
I’m starving. Three-pizzas-just-for-me levels of hungry, and the guy across from me has the audacity to look calm, sated, and amused.
He reaches into the basket of complimentary cheesy garlic breadsticks that are supposed to keep me from eating the table before our pizzas get here and hands the last one to me. I scowl at him. “Why aren’t you starving?”
He shrugs.
I scowl again, but not before I demolish half the breadstick. “Orgasms are hard work. Clearly you didn’t have enough of them.”
The nice older gentleman sitting at the table next to us nearly snorts his drink up his nose.
Oops. I cast Jackson an apologetic glance. My filters suck when I’m coming out of subspace.
The nice gentleman’s wife reaches across the table and pats his hand—and then shoots me a conspiratorial grin that tells me I didn’t do a bad thing at all. I wink back and hope I get to be her when I grow up.
She hands me their mostly full basket of breadsticks. “You look like you could use these, dear.” She gives Jackson an entirely approving look, which makes her nice gentleman chuckle and say something in a language I don’t understand. It turns her ears rosy, which is stinking adorable.
Life goals.
Thirty seconds later they’re walking out of the restaurant, and given the swish in her hips, I don’t think their evening is over yet. Jackson is watching me, amusement all over his face.
I grin at him and chomp on another breadstick. I need to carb load my brain before it spills over on people who don’t actually want a side helping of sexy vibes along with their pizza. “You’ve been watching me for a long time. Which I didn’t know, and I’m still kind of twisted up about that, but it’s given you some moves.”
He dares to break off half a breadstick for himself. “The guy who taught me to play the drums was big on learning with your eyes first. I know the kink community is all about hands-on practice, and I get why, but sitting back for a while gave me a chance to learn in general and about you specifically.” He makes a wry face. “Sorry if it feels creepy. I definitely didn’t intend that.”
Shit. “Not creepy. I’m twisted up because I didn’t notice and I have a bit of a rep for eyes in the back of my head.” I chomp the head off my next cheesy garlic victim. “Quint’s a hands-on guy, but talk to Milo sometime. He watches better than any Dom I know, except for maybe Harlan. The two of them? They can figure out a sub before they ever touch her.”
He makes a face. “It will take a really long time to get anywhere near as good as they are.”
I laugh. “Duh.”
I take a deep breath, because the glorious pizza-dough high is finally rescuing my crashing sub high and I’m starting to think in complete sentences. “Tell me why you picked the end of Quint’s bar for our first time.”
He goes totally still, but he’s not sweating or apologizing or making faces. He’s watching me. Those are Dom eyes.
I shake my head. “Sorry. Please tell me why, Sir.”
His lips quirk. “Because it felt right. Because you’d earned it. Because you kept touching your cuffs and I wanted inside you badly enough to get off my stool and do something about it.”
I tip my eyes down, which is as close as I get to submission in a vanilla public place, and smile. “Nice answer, sexy man.”
He reaches forward and takes my hand, but it has all the command of fingers under my chin. “What aren’t you saying?”
Dammit, the last thing I want to do is throw up all over his nice answer, but I promised him I was done hiding. I hope he can see the apology in my eyes. “I guess I’m wondering if that was mostly about meeting my needs or yours. I’m still not sure. It sounds like it was a pretty spontaneous choice, and that’s okay. Your needs matter too.”
He looks at me for a long time. “You’re so brave everyone just expects it from you, don’t they?”
Whoa. I blink, not sure where he’s headed.
He shakes his head a little. “I don’t ever want to be one of them. Thank you. For finding what’s bothering you, and for saying it.”
I’m not the only one with a rod of brave up my spine. I nod, my throat tight with the agony and the pleasure of being seen.
He takes a couple of deep breaths and lets them out. “The choice of when to do that scene was made in the moment and my needs were absolutely a driver. But what we did?” He looks a little sheepish, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “I’ve been running scenes in my head for weeks. Ones I hoped you would like, that would let you know that I see you and I’ve noticed what you like and don’t like and maybe even figured out a little of what you need.”
It wasn’t a happy accident. I take a moment to let that land and then the place inside me that’s been terribly afraid to hope yanks apart the bars of the cage and roars out. “You picked it for me. It was about me.”
His brow furrows. “Of course it was. And I don’t think I goofed. You seemed to like what we did pretty well.”
I am totally sucking at this. I grab both his hands, because somehow we’re in a freaking pizzeria and I can’t just crawl naked into his lap to ease the doubts that I’ve created with my ham-handed words. “I loved it, Jackson. I adored it. It was an entirely perfect fit with the complicated person I am who wants to be soft and loud and private and a total exhibitionist, sometimes all at the same time.”
He chuckles, really quietly. “You nailed quite a few of those.”
My brat beams at him. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one who got nailed.”
A server walking by us nearly drops a pizza on Jackson’s head. I wince. I’m a total bull in a china shop tonight.
Jackson looks up and gingerly presses upward on the perilously tilting tray.
I shake my head as tray and server and pizza all find their balance. The man totally knows just where and how hard to push.
Chapter Forty-One
Jackson
She’s still wearing my cuffs. In Seattle, nobody will ask questions, but still. It means something, or at least that’s what the happy beat inside my ribs wants me to believe.
I’m not a possessive guy. I know that’s why some subs walk around in cuffs and collars, but this isn’t about marking my territory. It’s something far more innocent than that. A visual, tangible celebration of the delight that she’s chosen to be my sunbeam for a while.
I wait until the server walks away with the pizza that nearly landed in my lap and get my eyes back on the woman across from me, because she’s saying really big things and she needs to know that I’ve heard all of them. “I think I’m a pretty simple Dom, beautiful. I’m just doing what I learned in Quint’s classes. Pay attention, meet your sub’s needs, fix it when you screw up.”
She nods slowly. “That’s what the best Doms do. It’s not as simple as it looks.”
She would know. “What happens when most people play with you?” I’ve watched, but I suddenly feel like I’ve missed something important.
She chews meditatively. “It depends. Lots of the time I’m training, and then I’m holding the scene along with the Dom.”
I nod. “You do that sometimes with me.”
I get a seriously arched eyebrow for that. “I do not. You told me not to.”
I reach for her hands. Everything about her is sharper right now. I like that she’s letting me see. “That wasn’t an insult. You’re not doing it for whole scenes, but there are moments. Like when I take both my hands off the wall and you brace yourself on your forearms so that we don’t face plant. Small adjustments that I haven’t learned to be on top of yet.”
She snickers. “Sexy man, no Dom on Earth is on top of all of that. All experienced subs make those kinds of adjustments.”
That eases somet
hing I didn’t know was tight. “Maybe not quite as many as you’re making for me.”
She shrugs. “I don’t count them. What matters is whether those adjustments are pulling me into scene-holding space, or whether they’re just automatic because I’ve been tied to walls before and ended up with a squished nose.”
She’s watching me carefully as she says the last part. More carefully than seems necessary. I frown. “What?”
She shakes her head and squeezes my fingers. “Most baby Doms have a possessive streak a mile wide. You don’t, and you’ve made that really clear, but I somehow keep expecting it to creep out.”
Ah. Other scenes against other walls. “When I learned to play the drums, part of the teaching was to make your own. I did, and my first drums were really terrible. The next ones got better, but none of them came anywhere close to playing one of my teacher’s old drums. They had decades of experience making music, and even if they had repairs or new skins, they had a voice that a new drum couldn’t begin to touch.” I wrap my hands around her cuffs. “You have a voice like that. Your experience is part of what makes you amazing.”
She doesn’t say a word. She just stares at me, her eyes shinier than they were.
I let my thumbs stroke the sensitive skin just above the cuffs. “I struggle with the idea of sharing you in the here and now. I think I’m still pretty vanilla on that part. But I get that the kinky world would be a lot smaller without you in it and free to be who you are.”
She smiles and shakes her head slowly. “They’ll live. Don’t stop asking for what you need, Jackson.”
I shrug and move back as the server drops three piping-hot pizzas on our table. I want to tell her I already have, but I can see that her attention has just been hijacked by the drool-worthy platters in front of her. I’m smart enough not to fight with a pizza for attention. I move slices to plates, two for us to eat and two more queued up to cool.