by Anna Martin
Chapter 21
WILL UNLOCKED the front door and pushed it open, letting me in first.
The house was dark, all the curtains shut, and the air smelled dry and musty.
“Home at last,” Will murmured.
I kicked off my shoes and left them by the hallway closet, then wandered through the house. Cara had been in while we were away, and there was a stack of mail on the dresser, the few letters that hadn’t been forwarded. I trailed my fingers along the smooth wood surface as I passed, collecting dust.
Even though it was late afternoon, I went into the living room and threw the curtains wide, letting in the murky light and the familiar sight of rain. In the kitchen, Will opened the blinds and plugged the refrigerator back in, then set our coffeemaker to brew. We didn’t have any milk, but I didn’t mind drinking it black.
The suitcases were still in the car, but they could wait, there was no rush; I took Will’s hand and pulled him up the stairs. Our bedroom was at the front of the house with two spare rooms at the back. Will opened the curtains and wrinkled his nose at the sight of the bare mattress on the bed.
“You wanna make it?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
While I got sheets and blankets out of the closet, he opened the window, letting in the fresh air. I didn’t mind the rain. We had a wide windowsill that would catch it, stopping the floor from getting wet.
We made up the bed together—it was easier with two doing it—then Will flopped dramatically down on top of the neat sheets. I laughed and ran my hand over the headboard. It was a wide, sleigh style with elegantly carved wood.
Then I lay on the bed next to him.
Without saying anything, Will gathered me in his arms and held on tight while I cried.
IN THE weeks that followed, I threw myself into my job, finding more than a little satisfaction in being able to use the work I’d done in Georgia to help my next few projects. I was brought back to the museum family with lots of hugs. It was a relief. Part of me had worried my colleagues wouldn’t exactly be pleased at having to pick up my workload the past few months.
I’d underestimated them, though, and found a “welcome back” cake on my desk when I arrived the first morning.
The most difficult part of returning home was finally letting go of my mama. Will encouraged me to talk to my therapist again, and it helped being able to talk through the issues that had kept us in Georgia for so many months. Not that Will minded. He’d told me he would follow me anywhere.
Now that he’d changed locations again, Will ended up working longer hours to bring everyone in Seattle up-to-date with what was going on in Atlanta. There were more trips planned for him; he needed to go to Houston and New York before the end of the year, part of the new responsibilities he’d acquired when taking the promotion. It would mean two weeks of me being on my own, so he was trying to delay that for as long as possible.
Other things, like our regular night having dinner with Cara and Will’s dad every Thursday, stayed the same, and we never brought our work home on Sundays unless it was really important. On Friday nights, we went out for dinner or ordered in if we were both tired. The routine helped rebuild the sense of normality I’d sorely missed.
After a few weeks at home, we opened up the playroom again.
Even though it had been thoroughly cleaned only a few days before we left for Atlanta, I still wanted to tidy up and dust before we had a session together. The box of toys had been shipped back to Seattle, and I’d already worked my way through it, placing each item in its proper space.
Will found me in the attic, an Otis Redding CD playing while I scrubbed down the wood floors on my hands and knees.
“Now, why does this look familiar,” he said, mock-puzzled, as he leaned against the doorframe and tapped his finger against his bottom lip pensively.
I huffed, pretending to be annoyed. “I’m trying to make it nice for you.”
“It’s appreciated. I’ll make sure you’re rewarded for your hard work. Your hard, hard work.”
Sitting back on my heels, I tried not to laugh. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I am.” He walked over, leaned down, and pressed a firm kiss to my lips while holding my jaw steady. “Come on. I made you some lunch.”
THE NEXT morning, we were both up early for work. I’d kept my running habit, even if the weather here was much colder, burning my lungs in a different way. It had become time for me to clear my head and get my thoughts in order before I started my day. Plus it was keeping me fit.
I knew Will was awake because of the smell of coffee wafting through the house. After kicking my running shoes off at the door, I jogged up to the bathroom to take a quick shower before breakfast.
After being off work for months while we were in Georgia, my boss had me doing reduced hours while I got back into the swing of things. I offered to do some of the Saturday shifts to take the pressure off those who had been covering for me. We split the weekend rotation so no one got stuck doing it every week, even though we only needed to be there for a few hours to answer inquiries.
That morning, I didn’t need to be in the office till 10:00 a.m., a luxurious late start, so Will had changed his hours around to drop me on his way downtown. He was making us both breakfast.
I pulled on loose pajama pants once I was done in the shower, not wanting to get dressed in work clothes just yet in case Will wanted to get me out of them again. We had plenty of time before we needed to leave.
“Smells good,” I said, walking into the kitchen as he started to heap eggs and bacon on top of buttered toast. “Is there cheese in those eggs?”
“Do you think I’d dare make eggs for you without cheese in them?”
I laughed and kissed his cheek in thanks.
We ate at the breakfast bar while Will tried to field e-mails and messages that came through to his work BlackBerry quicker than he could possibly answer them.
“Sorry,” I said as he sighed and pressed Disconnect on another call. “Trying to go in later really isn’t worth it for you.”
“It’s fine,” he told me and nudged my foot under the bar. “I promise. This is nothing they can’t deal with on their own or wait for an hour until I get there. I stay on in the evenings enough. Going in late once or twice isn’t going to kill anyone.”
I nodded but still felt guilty and loaded the dishwasher with our plates. Will was still fiddling with his phone, so I wrapped my arms around him from behind and pressed my cock against his lower back.
“Oh. Good morning,” he said with a laugh. The BlackBerry fell to the tabletop with a soft thud.
I slowly kissed across his back, then up each side of his neck while he arched and stretched beneath me.
“We don’t need to leave just yet,” I reminded him.
“Mm. How about….” He spun around on the stool and stood, catching my waist neatly between his hands. “I’ll be home tonight on time. I want you upstairs at seven.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said automatically.
“Do you want that?”
I really did. More than that, I needed it. My headspace was still a bit messed up, and I knew I’d probably be grieving for my mama for a long time to come. Getting over the loss of someone so monumentally important in my life wouldn’t be a quick process. I wasn’t good at romanticizing memories, though. She would always be an awkwardly nosy, opinionated Southern Belle, desperate to see me married off and producing grandchildren. Even when I came out, she’d still wanted that.
We hadn’t had a proper session in a while, and hadn’t been in our playroom with all our toys for months. Now that I was satisfied it was ready and tidy for him, I wanted to play.
“Yes. If you do too.”
He gave me a wicked smile in return. “I’ll see you at seven.”
For the rest of the day, I was buzzed, already hyped up and ready for what we might get up to later in the evening. Will had always been particularly creative when it came to our sessions,
but I was more looking forward to getting back into our own space and doing something that was possibly just safe and easy.
When I got home from work he wasn’t around, which wasn’t really surprising. He was good at hiding somewhere so I didn’t see him until the session started. It was a good way for me to start to wind down, organize my thoughts, get into the right place so my submission could take shape.
Submitting to him still made more sense to me than loving him. Being in love with another guy still hit me like a sucker punch some days. I woke up some mornings and looked at him with vague confusion, wondering what twist my life had taken to bring me to that point. Then he’d roll over, give me a sleepy smile, and it would all make sense again.
There was never a moment’s hesitation when I knelt for him. I knew what he expected from me, knew what my place was in this part of our relationship.
I was naked, as he demanded of me. The room was warm and smelled of wood and leather. After taking a deep breath, I crossed my arms behind my back, grasping the opposite elbow, dropped my head and waited for him.
It was a few minutes before Master came into the room. I didn’t know how he could instinctively tell I needed that time to get my head in the right place, but he did.
“Good evening, Jesse,” he said behind me, and I heard the door click shut.
I didn’t reply. He didn’t expect me to.
When he passed me, he ruffled my hair affectionately and I grinned, knowing he couldn’t see my expression. Master crossed to the wall where I’d put my session collar, back where it belonged.
He came and crouched in front of me to buckle the collar around my neck, and I lifted my chin to give him better access to my throat. He carefully tested that it wasn’t too tight, something he did every time, even though he always buckled it in the same hole.
“Come with me.”
I followed on my knees, then smoothly rolled to my feet in front of the large St. Andrews Cross leaning against one wall. I waited for his nod, then stepped close so he could buckle my wrists and ankles, leaving me spread-eagled and restrained.
“I’m going to hurt you tonight,” he said softly while he ran his hands up and down my sides. “Are you ready for that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you want that?”
It was hard to stay still when his fingers were tickling me. I did, though. “Yes, Sir.”
He kissed my shoulder, his lips hovering over my skin. “Good boy.”
When he moved away, I took a few deep breaths, concentrating on the corner of my mind where all of this made sense. He did all of this for me. Because he loved me. With that thought making my belly squirm, I found my headspace and settled in.
THE LASH fell across my left shoulder, and I bit back a grunt of pain. Master was keeping his promise and hurting me—a lot—a flogger, then a crop, then another flogger doing the job of sending me flying high on the pain and the endorphins that came with it.
I wondered how many more I could take before he broke the skin. I was nowhere near ready to quit. I wanted to keep this warm, buzzy feeling going as long as I could.
Each fall of the flogger landed across my shoulders and upper back. This was where Master was concentrating tonight. I’d received a few swats to my ass after I cried out the first time, and the effort it took not to scream was making me break out in a sweat.
Even though I was riding my subspace, I kept in touch with the real world enough to know he wouldn’t give me much more. Unless we were in a punishment session, and this wasn’t one, he didn’t push me too far, especially when he was concentrating on one area of my body. In the morning, I wouldn’t be able to put my shirt on without help, and he’d likely spend the whole day practically waiting on my every need. It wasn’t reparations; in the same way he flogged me because he cared, he would take care of me after me afterward because he loved me.
The next lash landed, and I did cry out, earning me three fast swipes over my delicate, not-yet-warmed-up ass, which stung like fuck.
“Wait there.”
Well, I couldn’t exactly move, buckled in as I was, but being sassy would only get me something far less pleasant than whatever he had planned next. So I stayed quiet.
Master returned and smoothed some cool, herbal gel over my upper back to start the healing process before we were even done with the session. I groaned at his light touch, a different noise to the one which had finished off his work with the flogger. This felt good.
He wiped the excess gel over my ass, then swiftly released my wrists and ankles from the cuffs, roughly massaging my arms as he went.
“Kneel,” he said casually, and I hastened to obey, sinking to my kneeling display position. I hissed as I tried to cross my arms behind my back, and he looked over.
“Hands on your thighs,” he said. I did as he asked.
For a few minutes, he tidied up the room, giving me time to settle and take stock of myself. These moments of calm were just as important to me as the high-intensity parts of a session. I couldn’t go at full power for very long, but I could relax and then take more. Master knew that better than anyone.
My eyes were downcast, so I saw his feet approach and stop a foot or so away from me. When he paused, not coming any closer, I knelt and kissed the top of each bare foot. It was a symbolic gesture rather than one I performed out of a sense of duty.
I worshipped him.
“Jesse,” he said in a low voice. “You may suck my cock now.”
He didn’t need to tell me twice.
I knelt up, and my fingers went to the button fly on his pants, carefully opening it and searching for the prize inside. He wasn’t wearing underwear, so I found hot, pulsing flesh, all the more gorgeous for the smell of warm leather that came with it.
I pulled his cock out and immediately attacked the head with my tongue, fluttering over all his sensitive spots and tasting him. He groaned and dug his fingers into my hair.
With his firm encouragement, I sucked his cock into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks, then swallowing around it to take him deep.
I loved doing this for him.
We had been working on me denying my own pleasure during sessions and instead focusing on his. It was an extension of what I did anyway in serving him and taking the pain he gave me. Over the years, I had started to expect some sexual pleasure as part of a scene, but Master wanted me to divert those thoughts, ignoring my cock and concentrating on his instead.
That wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t there yet. It did give me something to think about, though, while I sucked him deep into my throat and held his cock there, denying even my breath for those brief seconds, if only to prolong his pleasure.
“Fuck,” he groaned and grabbed my head to hold it steady.
Master thrust into my mouth, more shallowly, just a few times, then exploded on my tongue. I swallowed his come and hummed in pleasure.
“That was incredible, Jess,” he said, his voice still strained and breathy. He tucked his softening cock back into his pants. I was a little disappointed that it was over so quickly.
I knelt, placing my hands on my thighs. My cock stuck straight up between my arms. God, I wanted him.
Master pressed his fingers under my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. He leaned down and kissed me once, firmly, then pushed on my chest until I was leaning back on my elbows with my legs stretched out.
“Here’s your reward,” he murmured and knelt in front of me, bowing his head and sucking my cock into his mouth deeply, in one stroke.
My toes curled, and it took a supreme effort not to come then and there.
There was a marked difference in how each of us approached the task of sucking the other’s cock; Will held tight onto my hair while I blew him, guiding my movements and taking control of everything, my body and his. When he sucked me, I lay back, fists clenched, and let him take control in an entirely different way.
If we were downstairs in our bedroom making love, I’d run my fingers through Wi
ll’s hair, not forcing, just guiding. I’d tell him with careful fingertips how much I loved him for loving me.
HE WAS grinning, looking pleased with himself, and slumped down on the floor at my side while I caught my breath. I sat up, not liking the ache in my shoulders from holding position too long. I would definitely be sore in the morning.
“I bought you a present,” Master said.
“Yeah? You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. It’s for me too. In the closet.”
The closet was shallow, flush to the wall so it didn’t take up too much precious space. I hauled myself to my feet and pulled the door open, laughing when the beanbag slithered out onto my feet. I picked it up. It was heavier than I’d anticipated.
“It’s so we don’t have to go downstairs if we don’t want to,” Will said. “I wanted to get a big armchair but I don’t think we have room.”
“No. We don’t. This is perfect.”
He smiled, and I offered him a hand to pull him to his feet. Will arranged the beanbag and slumped into it, then encouraged me to sit on his lap. It was comfortable, especially when he started lazily stroking my back.
“Is there anything you want to talk about?” he offered. Back in the early days of our relationship, we’d dissect each scene in detail after a session, allowing us both to get to know each other, our preferences and limits.
“It was good,” I said, and yawned against his shoulder. “I missed this.”
“Me too.”
He trailed his fingers back up to my neck and ran them over the leather on my collar a few times before he unbuckled it. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. I stretched my neck from side to side, sad to lose the comforting weight of it, as I always was.
When Will turned to kiss me, I responded with enthusiasm, palming his jaw and letting his tongue flick into my mouth. I was naked, he still wearing his leather pants, which were now warm and pliant from the heat of his body. Kissing him like that was amazing.