Maurice preferred to hear her, whether that meant begging, pleading, screaming, crying, whimpering, or whatever sounds he could coax from her, but he also liked to gag her. It clearly fed his dominance, forced him to read her responses, although he took other measures in case she needed to use her safe word. This pushed Susan, who feared not being heard over everything else, but she trusted him, and accepted a gag from time to time. She wished she’d taken the option tonight, because maybe she could have blamed her faux pas on it.
“Tell me.” He loomed over her, impossibly erect after what he’d given her, his seed still leaking from her channel.
“I came without permission.” Maurice didn’t like equivocation.
“I’ll be back.” He straightened and made to rise.
“Please.” Her plea got her an arched brow. “You said no and I tried. I really did. Maybe it’s the thrill of being in your home.”
Laughter rumbled from his massive chest even as he shook his head and reached for his jeans. “Nice try, sweetheart. But you know the rules.”
Lying there, trussed like a lamb for the slaughter, Susan heard his footsteps diminish and she contemplated her fate. It had been months. She’d been so good. Her eyes filled, and the tears spilled out the corners to run rivulets through her hair and pool in her ears, all the normal sounds of a quiet room muted.
The last time was still something she didn’t care to think about, but it wriggled into the forefront of her brain with insidious intent. Maurice had clamped her precious little bit of pussy flesh and applied an ice cube with nefarious intent until the burning pain of the cold had given way to utter numbness. When she swore she couldn’t feel anything at all, he’d told her to beg to come, right before latching his lips tight around her numb nub, heating the clip and the affronted tissue, shoving the hunk of ice up inside her to add to her discomfort.
Begging was probably an inaccurate term as Susan had screamed the roof off with her cries for an end to the suffering as her clitoris awoke from hibernation, every packed nerve ending bristling in response to his talented lips and tongue. She came with such a vengeance her throat pained her for two days afterward and her buttocks ached from clenching. It was an amazing experience. Just one she didn’t care to repeat.
Maurice had been so pleased with the way she took the consequences, it served to ease the less pleasant side of the experiences but she still didn’t want it again.
“Susan. Darlin’.” Maurice had crept in on big cat feet and was crouched by the bed. He set something on the bed beside her and used both thumbs to wipe her tears away. “What’s wrong?”
Sucking in a breath, she sniffled. “I didn’t like the ice.”
“You did. In the end.”
“I didn’t.”
“I beg to disagree. And you took your correction to please me.”
There was that. “I know. But still…”
“Well, I’m not repeating it anyhow. The ice machine in the fridge is off line. There were the kids’ popsicles, but I somehow couldn’t imagine grape or raspberry sugar water inside you.”
Susan closed her eyes and thanked the gods of refrigeration. She thought maybe Maurice didn’t want to fuck her with sugar water in her sheath—unhygienic or something. She had a faint memory of how he’d shuddered against her frozen channel, his cock having followed the remainder of the ice cube once he’d pushed her over.
“I found something better.”
Her eyes popped open as he lifted the object beside her into view. It was a little flogger, about a quarter of the size of the ones he’d introduced her to, the ones that sensitized her skin until she wanted to jump out of it. Flogging was one of her preferred deliveries of erotic pain, coupled with the press of Maurice’s heated body against her as he took her from behind afterward.
“I borrowed this from Joseph’s collection. It’s perfect for disobedient pussies.”
“No!” If it weren’t for her offended sensibilities, Susan would have laughed at the shock on Maurice’s face. His handsome features tightened and his brows drew together.
“Did you just tell me no?”
He didn’t tolerate lies, disrespect, or her taking chances with her well-being, coming without permission. Or telling him no. She didn’t care. No way was he touching her with that flogger.
“I said no.”
“Use your safe word.”
This was insane. Their first fight, although their first little disagreement had been over another woman. How stupid could he be? She shut her mouth against voicing that question. Besides, he’d never given her cause to be jealous, yet…
“I don’t want to use my safe word. Not when it comes to this.”
“Explain.”
“I don’t want you using anything that’s touched Angela.” Her voice broke on the other woman’s name, and sobs rolled up from her chest, choking her. Maurice was at her binds in an instant, tearing them loose and gathering her up. He cuddled with her on the stained and rumpled sheets, the heady scent of their earlier exertions wafting up around them.
“Sweetheart. It’s a new flogger. I’d never, never do that to you.”
The words penetrated but didn’t stem the tide of tears as she cried against his chest. As he soothed her, Susan registered his hurt and disappointment. She hadn’t trusted him. Gulping back her hiccups, she tugged the wad of tissues from his hand and mopped herself dry, then blew her nose.
“I’m sorry. I should have known better. I do know better.”
He didn’t verbally acknowledge her apology, although continued to hold her, which was acknowledgment enough. He never withheld in that regard. She wiggled free, noting that he allowed it, and slipped down to kneel at his feet, pressing her head against the side of his leg, not knowing what else to say. Bitterness welled up, and she tasted it, like bile. Angela had succeeded in her little campaign to tarnish what Susan and Maurice had, and Susan didn’t know how to fix it.
“Come to bed, sweetheart. We’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll let my parents know.”
“I won’t let her drive us away,” she said quietly, but fiercely. “I won’t let her win.”
Maurice pulled her head back, using her hair to do so, and it stung. He stared into her eyes. “Susan, this is just a bump in the road. It’ll be okay.”
Would it? All the joy had leached out of the evening. She didn’t argue with him, recognizing the inflexible tone in his voice. She scrambled up and clambered onto the high bed, taking her usual side, and buried her face into the pillow. She couldn’t even face him.
* * * *
He lay in silence beside his submissive, feeling her pain. Her reaction had stung, no doubt about it, but she’d reacted viscerally, in response to another female invading her territory and damned if that didn’t suit him. Susan viewed him as hers, exclusively, and while she had yet to tell him she loved him, he knew she did. He’d never used the exact term himself, although had continued to tell and show her she was his future.
Susan had discovered something new about herself tonight, and he had no issue with it. In fact, he was pleased, even if it had come with a price. She was overburdened, or he truly believed she wouldn’t have questioned him, would have trusted him never to misuse her. But the visit to his home, fielding Angela’s sly comments and regard—and what else that twit might have said to his woman he didn’t know—getting to know his parents a little and understanding his roots and his financial status would be a strain on anyone. Let alone a woman with huge trust issues stemming from her childhood.
Susan had quickly come to see her misstep and apologized. He would have to reassure her first thing in the morning, but had chosen to let her stew. She wouldn’t allow anything to challenge her belief in him the next time, or so he chose to believe.
In time, her stiff body relaxed against him, and she slipped into dreamland. Her breaths deepened and stuttered from time to time, assuring him she was down for the night. Sliding from the bed, he scooped up the flogger and hurried to return i
t to Joseph’s suite, not wishing to see either his brother or his sister-in-law that evening. Then he went to the main house and found his parents where they always were at this time of day.
“Son!” His mama beamed up at him from her curled position at his father’s side. The television droned on in the background, some kind of movie with helicopters and machine gun fire, but his father’s attention was on his wife. Maurice doubted that would ever change.
He took a chair opposite them. “I plan to marry Susan.”
“We assumed,” his mother said brightly. “She’s lovely.”
“Angela has been a bitch to her.”
“I think she is one to hold her own, my son. But I’ll keep an eye on her,” his mother promised.
“We’re leaving in the morning. Angela has done enough damage.”
“I think that’s a mistake, boy. That woman thrives on conflict, and she’ll worry away at Joseph if you leave early. Make him think it’s his fault.”
Maurice considered his father’s comment. He was right. And Susan wanted to stay. Considering how she’d arranged her work schedule—and that was something he’d be addressing shortly. She was going to have to make a choice because he wanted her in his home with no other responsibilities. Not that he wasn’t certain she was ready to do so. He’d give her a nudge shortly.
“All right. We’ll stay. But keep an eye. And don’t call me in to referee a disagreement again, okay? That’s when Angela put the knife in.”
Both his parents muttered something about his sister-in-law he didn’t care to hear, and wished him a good night. Dropping a kiss on his mother’s cheek, he wrung his dad’s hand, noting how they’d aged, and wished he’d come back to visit earlier and more frequently. But that was going to change. He strode back to the guest suite and found Susan exactly how he’d left her. Smiling, he threw off his clothes and spooned her back. He was hard again, despite the earlier fucking, and while he knew she wouldn’t refuse him, thought to let her sleep. She had to deal with another day in his happy childhood home, and come to accept more contact in the future. He’d take care of her.
Chapter Eight
“Breakfast in thirty.” Maurice’s deep voice chased away the vestiges of a dream, and Susan blinked herself awake.
The events of the previous evening crashed down over her, and she forced herself to look at him. He was regarding her with his usual blatant need tempered by warmth and affection.
“When are we leaving?” She tore her eyes away and pushed the bed clothes back.
“Tomorrow.”
That startled her. Maurice rarely deviated from a plan. She waited, very aware of her nakedness. He was dressed in a casual shirt and dark jeans, and his hair was still damp from a shower.
“I talked with my parents, and they asked us to stay for the arranged time. I agreed.”
“I see.” She sat up and inched her legs over the side of the bed. With him in such close proximity, she didn’t have enough space to stand.
“Tell me.”
“I’m glad we’re staying. I didn’t want…her…to push us away.”
“And?”
“And I feel terrible for not trusting you last night. I’m not sure how to fix that.”
“On your belly.”
She went over onto her stomach without another thought. She wanted to make things right, make it up to him, and he was allowing her penance.
“Five strikes. You don’t need to count them. You’ll be too busy trying to contain yourself. They’ll atone for the coming without permission and your lack of faith in me.”
There was a whistling sound and a line of fire announced itself across her ass. It hurt so badly Susan couldn’t get a full breath to scream before the next one planted itself directly below the first. A garbled sound, a cross between a scream and a whimper, passed her lips. He was using a cane. She’d never felt anything like it before and hung onto the fact she never would again because she’d learned her lesson. Her emotional angst had just been underscored and bled white with each cut.
After the fifth stripe, she imagined a cross hatch of welts across her buttocks and cried freely into the bottom sheet. Maurice tossed the implement aside, she could hear it clatter on the tiled floor, and then rolled her over to lift her into his arms. She choked on her tears as he carried her into the huge bathroom to set her down and lean her over the vanity while he started running a tub. As it warmed, he applied something to her bottom that stung like fury and then went blessedly numb.
“You’ll feel those for a few days, and I’ll know they’re there, look at them whenever I take the notion,” he said with satisfaction. She could see his contentment that he’d made things right, reflected in the mirror, and let her own angst go. Moving on.
“C’mon, darlin’. Step in.”
He guided her into the bathtub and only chuckled a little when she whimpered as her buttocks met the porcelain. He washed her with quick efficiency and stood her up to rinse her hair and body, his hands lingering over the marks on her ass. Maybe she’d have a tale to tell the other subs after all, but just one. She wasn’t screwing up again. All the erotic pain aside, she didn’t do this kind.
* * * *
They were driving home, the previous day having gone much easier than Susan might have forecasted. Of course, all she had to do was focus on being herself with everyone but Angela, whom she treated with icy politeness. And focus on where and how to sit without drawing attention to the fact her bottom hurt. Maurice never left her alone with Angela, and Mama Alain was always around, too. The other siblings weren’t able to make it home for a visit as hoped, but Susan heard herself agreeing to another trip when the entire family could get together at the same time. The petulant look on Angela’s face made her happy with her choice, although she’d agreed only as lip service. Maurice had made the decision.
“I want you to give notice, Susan. Ray’s new hire is well prepared, and Felicity will have seen this coming. She’s been giving you more and more time off.”
“All right.” It was an easy concession, far easier that one might think, giving up her independence.
“You’ll still see Felicity. And we can drop into Kelby’s from time to time.”
“That will be fine,” she agreed. “But you’re my family, Maurice, you and your parents. And Joseph and the kids. Probably your sisters, too, if they’re anything like your mom.”
He wove his way across two lanes of traffic and pulled to a stop in the breakdown lane. Flipping the console up, he had her seatbelt unlatched and dragged her against him before she could attribute cause and effect. His kiss stole her breath as always, and the weight of his hands on her biceps spoke to how affected he was by her counterstatement about family.
Pulling away, he stared into her eyes, his own that shade of melted chocolate she loved to see. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Setting her back in her seat, he leaned to tug and latch her seat belt before checking his mirrors to drive along and turn into the stream of traffic. Susan smiled to herself, then shifted a little and noted the residual ache of her stripes. They wouldn’t be sore much longer, although the marks would remain for a few more days. She’d caught Angela looking at her speculatively from time to time and knew she hadn’t hidden the fact she found sitting a tad uncomfortable, but ignored the other woman’s regard.
“Are you okay with selling your mom’s house? Or do you want to rent it?”
It was something she’d considered for a while now. Having a little nest egg would be nice, although the house would appreciate over time if maintained, and rent would mean a steady income for years.
“I don’t want to think about tenants, or maintenance. I think I’ll sell it.” She knew he’d keep the place up, without asking, but she wanted to focus on their relationship.
“Then we’ll list it as soon as we get back. I’ll do some repair. Adam’ll help. It’ll take some time for you to pack up, and clean it. Ask his wife to keep you company.”
“I wan
t to take my time, Maurice. Say good-bye. There won’t be much I want to keep.”
They talked desultorily about what pieces of furniture she might bring into his home—their home—and he urged her to bring the china cabinet in order to keep her mom’s precious knickknacks. He always thought about what she needed, like keeping her happy was paramount.
She’d been slowly adding some touches to his home, earth toned and silvery blue pillows to soften the lines of his leather furniture, odds and ends in his kitchen to make it more welcoming. It turned out he kept it clean himself, although had a service in once a month to give the place a thorough cleaning. Susan could think of better things to do with that money and planned to take on the task herself.
Adding curtains to most of the windows had been her latest effort to make the place homier, and Maurice gave her free rein, insisting only that he pay for everything. She’d purchased a few smaller items for the coffee table and other pieces of furniture on her own dime, a small rebellion, and knew he knew. And allowed it. She had her pride, and while she’d swallowed her issue with the fact her mom’s final funeral expenses had mysteriously been paid for, that meant she had a little disposable income. The money from the sale of the house would be shared, no matter how Maurice would protest. Fair was fair.
“I want to replace your collar with something more permanent.”
Her hand went to the fine chain around her neck. Maurice had insisted on buying the platinum piece of jewelry when she began to attend Club Pleasure. It was a beautiful piece, and she loved the way it sat just above her collarbones. The chain should have been unobtrusive, but the fine workmanship caught the eye and certainly was a sign to all the other Club members. Susan was claimed. She belonged to Maurice, no matter he guarded the door and was rarely evident in the Club proper.
“I like this one,” she protested.
“And you can wear it when we’re someplace more vanilla. But I want you to have something more substantial.”
Owned [Club Pleasure 6] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 14