by Eden Bradley
“Tell me, Ava,” he demanded, panting, “is this what you need?”
“Yes … to be under your hands.”
He pinched her clit, hard, and pain and pleasure merged as she moaned.
“Please, Desmond …”
“Please what?”
“Please … I need more.”
He thrust into her, burying deep.
“Yes … more …”
He pulled his cock out, his fingers stroking over her wet sex for a few moments before she felt the head of his cock there again. Then that lovely plunge as he thrust back into her.
“You are mine, Ava.”
“Yes, yours, Desmond.”
His wet fingers stroked between the cheeks of her ass, then lower, pressing at her anus. He rubbed there, his finger circling as his cock moved inside her. She backed into his hand, wanting, needing, to be filled in every way.
“Do you want it, Ava?”
“Yes!”
Then she felt the tip of his finger slip into that tight hole. Just the tip, but the sensation was exquisite, the feeling of being completely taken over carrying new currents of pleasure into her body.
“Oh …”
He moved his finger in and out, the merest motion, yet desire was a scalding heat, coming at her from every direction. “Come for me, Ava,” he told her.
He reached up and pushed her hair aside, and she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck for one lovely moment before he planted his mouth there. His tongue flickered over her skin, then he latched on, sucking her flesh. He pushed his finger deeper into her ass, his cock still moving inside her sex, and it was all too much: his cock, his commanding hands, his lovely, wet mouth on her skin. And the scent of him enveloping her as his body heated behind her.
Her climax came in sharp, stabbing surges, shafting into her body, his cock driving the sensation. Behind her eyes a million stars exploded, her mind losing itself in the glimmering light, then in the darkness, as she sank into the sensation, into him.
“Christ, Ava. You are fucking beautiful, my girl. I love to hear you come. To feel you come. I want you to come again.”
“Yes … anything …”
He pulled his hard cock from her, his finger still in her ass, and his other hand went around her body and in between her legs. She was soaking wet, her juices running down her thighs. He moved his hand between the lips of her sex, inside her, and she shuddered, her body giving one long squeeze, nearly coming again already. And he pressed his finger ever deeper into her ass.
“Does this hurt you, Ava?”
“No. It’s good … so good.”
He added a second finger, and it slid right in.
“I think you’re ready for me. You’re so damn wet.”
“Yes.”
He slipped his fingers out of her ass. “We need lube. Do you have any?”
“Yes.”
“Go get it.”
She nodded, made her way on shaking legs to her bedroom, pulled a bottle of lube from her nightstand, returned quickly to Desmond, who stood naked now and beautiful in the lamplight. His latex-sheathed erection was like some sort of homage to his desire, and hers.
He reached for her, taking the bottle from her hand, paused to kiss her mouth before turning her over the back of the sofa once more.
“Spread for me. Yes, just like that.”
Then his fingers at the entrance to her ass, spreading the cool lube on, his fingers dipping inside, pushing the cool gel into her body. Then he pulled his hand away and it was the head of his cock there. She shivered.
“Breathe in, Ava. Relax.”
She did as she was told, and he slipped the tip inside. Pleasure ran hot and deep in her body. She was shaking.
“Again, Ava. Long, deep breath. Good girl.”
Another wave of pleasure at his words.
Good girl.
Oh, yes, she wanted to be good for him. She wanted to do everything for him.
“I’m really going in now. Relax.”
He slid his cock in farther, and there was a small burning sensation. But she willed her body to go still, took him in deeper. And it was all good: his cock moving gently in her ass, his hand playing with her clit. Pleasure built, multiplied, until she couldn’t tell which direction it came from. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was what he made her feel: desire. Desired. As though she was his.
His.
“You feel so damn good, Ava. So good …” His voice was a panting breath in her ears, his male scent all around her, his body hard and strong. And in moments she was coming once more in long, shimmering waves, just falling into sensation until she could barely breathe. Her body clenched, trembled. She called his name over and over as she shook with the power of it.
She went limp against him as he cried out, came, pumping into her body, his arms tight around her.
Keeping her safe.
Making her his.
Her mind was numb, but through the fog she knew it was true: She belonged to him. And she would never be the same again.
HE STAYED WITH HER all through the weekend. She could hardly believe it was happening. But when she’d woken in the early mornings, dawn sifting soft and gray through the curtains, he was there beside her, his sleeping body sleek and graceful, full of contained power.
It was Sunday now, the late afternoon turning to dusk. They were in bed again, or still, she couldn’t be sure. They’d gotten up to eat, to shower, a few times. But somehow they always ended up naked and twined together, his big body thrusting into hers, coming together in a frenzy of heat and need. And the power play was more subtle, less structured, just him holding her down in that way he had that made it clear he was in command, a few quiet words letting her know she belonged to him.
Lovely.
It was all so good she didn’t want to question it. But the questions were there, at the edge of her mind. The sex was amazing, and she felt so close to him, but still … there was something missing. Because although they’d opened up to each other physically, he still held something back from her. They’d talked about her dreams of being a photographer, her family, his travels, his work, everything but his past. And she felt instinctively that he was hiding something from her, something deeply personal. Something crucial.
She sat up, pushing the pillows behind her, and watched him. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow, even. In the dim light she visually traced the hard lines of his jaw, his cheekbones, over his impossibly lush mouth. So beautiful. She reached out and touched one fingertip to the rough hair of his goatee, then his lips, and his eyes fluttered open. He smiled.
“What are you doing there, my girl?” His accent was heavy, his voice low and rough with sleep.
“I’m thinking.”
“Are you, now? What about?” He grabbed her hand, pulled it to his lips, and laid a soft kiss across her knuckles.
“You’re trying to distract me, Desmond.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, and as usual you’re doing a very good job of it.”
“As usual?” He paused, his dark brows drawing together.
“Desmond …” She needed to say something; she just didn’t know how to go about it. “This weekend has been wonderful. And I feel … I feel so close to you. Is that … I don’t know if you want to hear that.”
His gaze shifted to their joined hands as he wrapped his fingers around hers.
“I do think we’ve become closer. You’ve opened yourself to me completely. But this was our goal, wasn’t it?”
She pulled her hand away. “God, Desmond. You’re such a man. It’s not all about goals. It’s about … how I feel. How we feel. Don’t make me feel like a complete idiot here.”
“Ava. You’re not an idiot.” His green gaze was on hers again. “I’m trying to understand you.”
“Tell me I am not the only one here who’s feeling something,” she said softly, her heart pounding.
He was quiet for an endless span of moments. �
�No,” he said finally. “You’re not the only one.”
Her heart wanted to soar, but she couldn’t let it happen. “Then tell me what you’re hiding from me. Tell me what it is you hold back from me.”
“Ava …” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “There are some things I keep to myself. Things I don’t discuss with anyone.”
“Then we can’t go any further, Desmond. I can’t do it. I’ve opened too much to you, made myself too vulnerable, not to get the same back from you.”
Panic knotted her stomach as she said it, but she couldn’t stand to be with him and feel this terrible sense that they would never truly connect on the deepest levels. She felt too much for him already to be denied that.
He shook his head. “Fuck, Ava. I don’t know if I can.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and she wiped them with the back of her hand. Pain shot through her stomach. “Okay. Okay.”
She got up, walked across the room, pulled her silk robe from the hook on her closet door, and wrapped it around herself. She couldn’t be naked with him now. Couldn’t be that vulnerable with him.
“Ava.”
He was next to her, taking her into his arms. She tried to pull away, but he held fast. “Desmond. Please.”
“Ava … I’ll do it. I’ll tell you. But I have to … I have to do it in my own way. I need you to come with me, back to my place.” His eyes were dark, wild.
“What?”
“Just say you’ll do it. Say you’ll come with me.”
She watched his face, his features drawn, his eyes shadowed with emotion, making her chest ache. She couldn’t refuse him anything.
“Alright. I’ll come.”
Chapter Ten
IT HAD BEEN an endless drive through the city and across the bridge into Sausalito, but finally Desmond turned onto his street, pulled his car into the driveway. His stomach was a solid ball of dread. Dread at having to tell her about those things in his past he’d kept safely locked away. Dread at the thought of her walking away if he didn’t. And maybe walking away if he did, if she knew the truth about him.
He was screwed either way. But he had to do this. He understood that he owed her that much. He understood what he’d lost before by being so damn stubborn about keeping his secrets. Time to change that, maybe.
Life was about lessons; he knew that. And he supposed this was a time when he was meant to learn something. About himself. About Ava. About being with her. That didn’t mean it was going to be easy.
She’d been absolutely silent on the drive, her body tense, as if waiting for a blow. He felt that same strain himself.
He parked, helped her from the car, led her into the house, and shut the door behind them, flicking on the light in the entryway.
“What now, Desmond?”
He looked at her, those enormous blue eyes as sweet as ever but shadowed with concern. That babymouth lush and sad. He couldn’t bear to see her like this.
She was so damn beautiful.
Just do it.
“Come with me, Ava.”
He took her hand and led her through the house to his bedroom. He needed to get her in there. Needed to strip her down before he could talk to her.
His stomach was tied in a hard knot. He did not want to do this.
Have to.
He stopped at the foot of his big bed, and Ava was watching him carefully. He stroked a hand over her cheek, down her jaw-line. “I need to tie you up,” he whispered to her.
Her head fell back a little and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, an expression of pure yielding. In the pale moonlight he could just make out the translucent skin of her lids, her long lashes, wanted to touch the fragile flesh there.
“Ava, do you know how hard this is for me?”
“Yes. I think I do.”
“Then you’ll forgive me for how I must do it. I understand that I need more from you than a reflection of my own power. I’m not happy to admit to myself, or to you, that too much of the power exchange all these years has been about ego for me. About facilitating my own escape and need for control. And I am not objectifying you now, I swear it. But this is the only way I feel … safe enough.”
She nodded, and he dropped his hand, stroked the soft skin of her neck, before he began to undress her.
She was quiet, standing there, letting him strip her. Yes, just like a doll, so still, so utterly pretty with her wild blond curls, her flawless skin. Soon he had her naked, and he went to the rack and pulled several lengths of plain white rope from it, brought it all back to the bed. The air was still, night closing in beyond the windows. He didn’t mind that it was almost dark; he wanted the anonymity of it. The darkness and the silence enveloped them as he began the ritual of the ropes, weaving them into a simple pattern over the lovely curves of her body: over her shoulders, between her breasts, around her slender torso. He took a second, shorter, length of rope and bound her wrists in front of her.
It was enough. He needed the symbol of the binding more than anything. Wasn’t that what it was truly about, anyway? And she was so beautiful in her surrender, simply waiting, the ropes making her appear helpless. But he had come to know the strength of her. The fire. And he loved how it contrasted with that inherent air of innocence. With the way she gave herself over to him. He loved the way she looked, that sweet face. The way she moved with such grace. He loved …
What the hell was he thinking?
His hands clenched, the nails biting into his palms.
“Desmond?” she whispered.
“Shh.” He forced his fingers to uncurl, his mind to focus.
Too much now. Just tell her what she wants to know.
He took her in his arms then, and laid her back on the bed against the pillows. She was warm and pliant beneath his hands. He didn’t want to let her go. He could bury himself in her soft flesh and she wouldn’t protest. But he stepped back.
“I’m going to tell you, Ava. I’m going to tell you what I’ve not spoken about to anyone in years. And when I’m done you might understand why I have to do it this way. I lost my last relationship because I held my secrets so close. That was ten years ago. And now I’m going to tell you. But once you’ve heard it, you may decide to get up and leave.” He saw her start to shake her head. “No, don’t say anything until I’m done.”
He took a long breath in, let it out slowly, and began to pace.
“I had a sister.” A sharp pain in his chest, making him draw another breath. “I don’t talk about her. But she’s the reason why I feel this sense of responsibility. This hyperawareness of being responsible for … everyone. Everything. But in particular those under my command. This is why I seek it, why I operate the way I do. It doesn’t help, the knowing.” He stopped, not daring to do more than glance at Ava’s bound body, so pale against the dark bedcover. “Her name was Nessie, and she was three years younger than me. She was … she was a pretty girl. Smart. Funny. She was … my responsibility. And it was my fault that she died, Ava. I’ll be honest with you about that.”
“Desmond …”
“No, it’s true. She drowned, right in front of me, and I let it happen. We were at the lake, my family. We went every summer.” He ran a hand through his hair, clamped it hard at the back of his neck. “She was only twelve. I thought she was playing around. But she went down and she didn’t come back up. By the time I figured it out, went in after her, it was too late. Too damn late.”
Nearly impossible to get the words out; they burned at the back of his throat.
“Oh, Desmond. I’m so sorry.”
There were tears in her voice. He couldn’t stand to hear her like this.
“No, don’t be sorry for me. I should have done something. I should have fucking saved her.” Pain in his gut as it all came back, slammed into him like a wall. He bent his head, gripped his neck harder. “Fuck.”
“Desmond, let me out of the ropes,” Ava said quietly.
“Not yet.”
“Desmond, please.�
��
“It doesn’t matter, you know, how many people tell me it’s not my fault. I know damn well and good it is. Fault lies every bit as much in failing to do what’s right as in doing something with wrong intention.”
“That’s not true!”
“Oh, it is.”
“Let me out of the ropes,” Ava said again, her voice low.
“Fuck. Ava.” He blew out a long breath, looked at her, saw her gaze steady on his face. Saw the strength there.
He had to do it. He couldn’t keep her bound against her will. That wasn’t how this worked. And the words were out already. The hideous truth.
He went to her, and she was passive beneath his hands as he untied her wrists, then pulled the harness apart. The moment the last rope dropped away from her body her arms wound around his neck, the sweet scent of her enveloping him.
“Desmond!” Ava pressed her face into his chest, felt his heart thundering beneath her cheek, which was wet with tears. “I’m sorry. So sorry that you’ve believed this about yourself all these years.” She pulled back to look at him. He looked absolutely stunned. Her heart hurt for him, a heavy weight in her chest. “I understand how you must feel. I’m trying to, at least. But it wasn’t your fault. You can’t be responsible for everything.”
“Can’t I? I’ve tried to be.”
She reached up, stroked a lock of hair from his face. He seemed surprised.
“I’m glad you told me. I needed to know what drives you. I needed to be let inside.”
“And I needed to tell you. But does it really explain anything? Because it doesn’t to me.”
“It explains why your sense of absolute control goes so far. Too far, Desmond.”
She saw his jaw clench.
“It can’t ever go too far.”
“You’re wrong. It goes too far when it gets in the way of you having a life.”
“I have a life. I have everything I need.”
How was it he wouldn’t let her break through, even now?
“Desmond.” She took his face in her hands, her gaze hard on his. “Don’t do it. Don’t shut yourself away from me again. It’s too late. I know.” She felt desperate that he see the truth of it. New tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. She was afraid. Angry. “Desmond …”