Letting Go 2: Stepping Stones [Awakenings 5] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Michele Zurlo

  She didn’t, not really. Sure, they had a safe word, which she could use if she needed him to stop, but almost nothing could induce her to call “onion.” He could do pretty much anything he wanted to her, and she would most likely love it.

  Automatically, she lowered her gaze. Though they didn’t use titles, and Jonas typically didn’t make her ask for permission before coming, he was as demanding, sometimes more so, as the Doms in those erotic romances she’d begun reading during her first maternity leave. And he always made her beg for an orgasm, so she really didn’t see a distinction. She still only climaxed when he let her.

  The coolness of the lacquer faded due to the warmth radiating from her ass. Somewhere between the lounge chair and now, he’d completely disrobed her. It hadn’t taken much to get rid of the scraps of material that passed for a swimsuit, which wasn’t something she’d wear for a serious workout anyway.

  He shoved at her shoulders, and she found herself flat on her back. The tone of their encounter was set. Moisture pooled between her legs because she knew he wasn’t going to be gentle.

  With efficient movements, he buckled cuffs around her wrists and ankles. In short order, he used snaps to bind her arms above her head. The table might be ugly, but it served a purpose. It had hooks strategically placed along the legs and underneath the top. Jonas had modified it over the past five years to fit her body and all the positions he preferred to use.

  Normally he would immobilize her legs next, but he threw her for a loop when he snapped the cuffs together. Then he pulled a chair over, climbed on top, and pulled a chain from behind a panel in the ceiling. It looked like he had modified a few things other than his orgasm table.

  When he finished, her legs were stuck straight up in the air. She could lift her ass if she used her abdominal muscles, but those weren’t as strong as they once had been, so she couldn’t hold the position.

  He stood at the foot of the table with his hands on his hips. Her legs hid half his body from view. “That’s a damn fine cunt you have there. It’s red and swollen from your spanking and dripping with juices.”

  She felt the swipe of his finger over those inflamed tissues, and she shuddered from the lightning it sent careening up her torso.

  “I think you want me, Mrs. Spencer. Is that true?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation on her part. He’d denied her an orgasm and she was ready to beg. This was his favorite part. “Armand, please don’t be cruel.”

  She knew he wouldn’t be too cruel. Each of his personas had a distinct personality that had developed over the course of their relationship. Master J was cruel in all the right ways. Matt, the virgin she’d deflowered, was obsessed with a call girl. And Armand fucked like a marathoner. There were more, but these were her favorites. She’d signaled the terms of the scene with only the use of that name.

  God, she loved this man. He made her dreams come true, and then when she thought up new dreams, he made those come true, too.

  He rechecked her bindings before disappearing across the room. She heard evidence of him shuffling items around in a drawer or cabinet, but he had left her field of vision, and her position didn’t allow her to shift.

  She wasn’t known for patience, and Jonas loved to exploit this weakness. Tugging with her arms, she tested the give of her wrist bindings. Then she tried to move her torso. In this she was more successful. However, it yielded no relief. The motion only made her more aware of her acute need.

  “Armand.” She breathed his name, a plea and a sigh. “Please fuck me. Please don’t leave me here all alone.”

  He appeared on her other side, chuckling at her pathetic begging. Holding his hand over her body with his palm up, he paused. “You’re going to stay still while I fuck you. This will ensure your cooperation.”

  She could see the glint of light from something silver. He tilted his palm, and a delicate chain slithered to land on her stomach. She recognized nipple clamps on a long chain.

  From his other hand, he produced a ball gag. Sabrina wasn’t a fan of the way it felt in her mouth or of the drooling mess it necessitated. She shook her head. “No, Armand, please. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll be silent.”

  He cupped her jaw and forced her mouth open. Wearing a gag made her feel more helpless than being bound. She struggled against it, but she lost the fight. She always lost these fights. He popped the ball between her teeth, brought the strap around, and buckled it on the side of her head.

  Sabrina sank back against the table, feeling every inch of her body cede control to Armand. She didn’t have the ability to just submit, and Jonas always knew exactly what he needed to do to force the issue.

  “One more thing, and then you’ll realize exactly how little control you have over anything, Mrs. Spencer. And then I’m going to fuck this tight, hot little cunt all afternoon. When your husband returns later today, you’ll still be walking funny.”

  She tried to say something, breathe a shade of protest, but the gag turned her words into a whimper.

  He pinched one nipple hard and twisted it viciously. Her back arched off the table, trying to ease the sudden pressure. No longer worried about making too much noise, she screamed against the sharpness, even as it ebbed into a pleasing sting.

  He toyed with that tender bud, an arrogant slant to his lips as he ignored her desperate noises. When he tired of that kind of play, he clipped the clover onto her sore nipple and gave the other the same treatment.

  Then he secured the chains to hooks on the underside of the table on each side of her body. Now her wrist and ankles were bound, and he’d used her nipples as the third point of security. If she shifted to the left, it eased the tug on that side, but it intensified the pain on the right side. A similar thing happened when she tried to wiggle to the right.

  He watched while she tested the limits of her movement and the consequences of trying for something other than what he allowed. When he was satisfied with everything, he unbuttoned his shorts and let them slide to the ground. His tapered hips offered no resistance.

  She watched as his body was revealed. The chiseled perfection never ceased to amaze her. He’d installed a workout room in the basement, and he used it regularly now that he didn’t have a separate job as a Sadist/Dom-for-hire to keep his muscles as hard as iron.

  His erection sprang from a nest of curls. If the gag hadn’t been in her mouth, she would have licked her lips, inviting him to let her taste him again. As it was, he fisted his cock and pumped his hand up and down the length in slow motions that drove her insane with unsated need.

  The thick scent of her arousal filled the room, her body’s way of sending out insistent signal flares. She whimpered and wiggled. The pain brought a sheen of wetness to her eyes, forcing her to call upon the shallow well of patience that frequently ran dry. He would fuck her when he wanted, and she couldn’t say or do anything to entice him closer, harder, or faster.

  The topaz of his eyes betrayed the level of his desire and gave her hope. After an eternity, he rounded to the end of the table. She felt the nudge of his cockhead against her entrance. With her legs tied together, it was going to be a tight fit. She wouldn’t be able to lift her hips or spread her legs wider to ease the way for him. He shoved inside roughly and abruptly, her plentiful cream providing all the help necessary.

  She moaned and gave herself over to the conflicting sensations running rampant inside and outside of her body. Soon the climax he’d denied her loomed close. She fought the urge to writhe and was only half-successful. Each tug of the clover clamp on a nipple drove her further from reason. Behind the gag, she screamed out an orgasm.

  Jonas—Armand—ignored her climax. He didn’t slow down or take into account how sensitive her tissues became after an orgasm. A shiver wracked her body. Accepting her helplessness, she sank into a deeper level of submission. He hadn’t asked for it, but he’d taken it just the same. Goodness, how she loved this man.

  Another climax rocked her body. Tears streamed from her ey
es. He just might kill her with pleasure. She felt bathed in her own juices, full, and thoroughly used. When she came again, he came with her.

  She floated in a vast sea of blissful semiconsciousness for the longest time before fire ripped her from heaven. He’d removed one of the clamps. The other followed rapidly. If the gag hadn’t still been in her mouth, the neighbors definitely would have heard her scream.

  The fire lingered, growing and receding, pulsing in time with her heart. Jonas made no move to soothe it away.

  He leaned down and nipped her earlobe. “I have a surprise for you.” Now he closed one hand on her breast and plumped that tender globe.

  She arched into his hold. That, coupled with the insistent moan she forced out from behind her gag, begged for more of his touch. Moving around the table to stand at her head, he gave her what she wanted. He remained on the gentle side, as though he knew she couldn’t handle more right then.

  His caress moved up her body, over her arms and to her wrists. She felt the slight tug and heard the scrape of metal-on-metal as he released her arms. He brought them down one at a time, massaging the protest from her aching muscles.

  Then he removed her gag and wiped away the moisture from her face before massaging a reverent kiss across her lips. Now that her hands were free, she cupped his face and kissed him back. His submissive wasn’t gone, but she had definitely grown bolder now that he had partly freed her from the restraints.

  When the kiss ended, he drew a finger over her swollen bottom lip. “Let me untie your legs, and then we can talk about your surprise.”

  She’d thought the surprise was part of the scene, but it seemed she was mistaken. He moved down her body and stood at the end of the table that would give him a prime view of her exposed pussy. She knew what was coming next. The man was a stallion, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist one more bit of torture.

  He drew a finger along her dripping tissues. Her entire body flinched in protest, even though she knew this was the best part. When she was bruised and tender like this, it was the only time she could masturbate successfully.

  The soft pressure of his digit on her flesh increased. He pressed her clit flat. In the absence of bindings on her arms, she gripped the edges of the table. “Armand, you’re a beast.”

  With that, he plunged at least two fingers deep inside. He worked her into a fine frenzy, and when he reached up and twisted her nipple, she came hard one last time. It was a shorter-lived climax, intense and pulsing, but not lingering.

  Then he used a cold, damp cloth to clean her pussy before releasing her legs from the hook on the ceiling. As he helped her stand, she resigned herself to the fact that she’d be walking funny for the rest of the afternoon. Her legs were rubbery at best, and her ass, thighs, breasts, and pussy throbbed with remembered pleasure and pain.

  He helped her back into her bikini and carried her to the sofa. She slumped against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

  “I love you, Jonas.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I love you, too, honey.”

  Chapter Two

  With Sabrina asleep in his arms, Jonas settled back into the curve of the sofa where the back met the arm and enjoyed the weight of her body against his. The past five years were easily the best in his life. He cherished every moment from her surprise proposal—they hadn’t even known one another—to the births of their two children.

  From the first, she’d possessed an unwavering belief in him that still floored him at times. She trusted him fully, and she was game for anything he had in mind. Of course, this afternoon’s role-playing had been a surprise. He really wanted to get the pool clean before their friends and family descended on them en masse for the small cookout he’d planned to celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday. And then he had a dozen other preparations to make, as did his beautiful wife.

  The moment she’d appeared in that bikini, the one she never got wet because she didn’t see the point in swimming in anything but a one-piece, he’d known what she had in mind. That’s why he’d ignored her until she’d spoken to him.

  She liked to play power-exchange games, where he started out as someone who worked for her but ended up in complete control of her body and her pleasure, and so did he. “Armand” seemed far sexier than a thirty-nine-year-old English teacher and father of two. He never voiced that thought because then he knew Sabrina would stop playing. She found him irresistibly sexy no matter what name she called him by.

  And he lacked any desire to resist the classic beauty and understated charm of his incredibly lovely, intelligent, and thoughtful wife. She truly completed him. He’d always thought people were lovestruck or stupid when they said something like that, even though he’d seen proof of it in his parents’ marriage and that of his best friend, Ellen, and her husband. Now he was lucky enough to understand the truth of that sentiment.

  She stirred, nestling her cheek against his shoulder and inhaling deeply. He ran his free hand up her leg and over her hip. True to form, she shifted even closer. If they had time, he would take advantage of her again before anyone arrived.

  But they didn’t have time. He couldn’t complain about the way they’d spent the afternoon even though they’d both be scrambling to complete the party preparations.

  He continued his exploration. She opened her eyes when he exerted a small pressure on her breast.

  “Sore?” He grinned down at her, knowing full well her breasts had to be tender after what he’d put them through.

  She returned his smile. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Mrs. Spencer.” He closed his mouth over hers and devoured her kiss as another reminder that she belonged to him. Then he released her and spent a moment enjoying the dreamy slant to her eyes. “Let’s get a shower, and then I need to get the grill going. My parents will be here with the kids soon, and your sister was supposed to come early with the cake.”

  Sabrina groaned as she sat up, a reflection of her reluctance to end their interlude. When his parents had picked up the kids that morning so they could get some work done, she hadn’t been enthused to watch them drive away. She’d buried her face in his chest and said, “I miss them already.”

  It had made him a little doubtful about the gift he’d arranged for their anniversary, but her changed attitude renewed his faith that she’d absolutely love the surprise.

  * * * *

  The sound of a car door slamming had Jonas closing the lid to the grill he hadn’t yet begun to light and jogging around to the driveway in front of the house. Rose, his three-year-old pride and joy, squealed and ran to him, her arms wide for an expected hug. Not one to disappoint the women in his life, he scooped her up into his arms and peppered kisses on her little cheeks. She giggled and squirmed, and her riotous blonde curls, a feature he felt looked much better on her than it did on him, tickled his face.

  “Daddy, look what I made!” She held up a long scrap of flower-print cloth.

  His mind moved at a million miles an hour to try to figure out what it was before she became affronted by his ineptness.

  Luckily, his mother saved the day. Alyssa Spencer kissed his cheek and wiped away the lipstick. “She sewed that apron all by herself.”

  Rose’s grin grew. “Nana only helped a little.”

  Alyssa helped spread the fabric, and he could now see the hemmed edges and the tie that would go around back. “She couldn’t reach the pedal of the sewing machine.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he assured Rose.

  Her hazel eyes reflected the green of her party dress, and they glowed with pleasure. His princess enjoyed dressing up. “Now I won’t get so dirty when we plant flowers for Mommy.”

  Rose wiggled, her patience with being held at an end. A glance over his shoulder showed that she’d spied Sabrina, so he set her down and let her run off to greet her mother.

  His father, Brandon, approached holding Ethan. At eleven months old, his son was starting to take after Sabrina in his physic
al appearance. The downy baby hair had darkened to chestnut, and it was growing in straight. Ethan regarded his father with serious chocolate eyes and held out his arms, all the while exuding an implacable patience. He liked to tell Sabrina that Ethan got that, and his stubborn streak, from her. She would laugh and shake her head, not bothering to voice what they both knew to be true. They were a family of stubborn people, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  He took Ethan and slathered his face with kisses until his son opened his mouth and bit his nose, his way of returning the kiss. They would have to work on that.

  “Thanks for taking them. Were they good?”

  “Of course.” Happiness lit his mom’s face, and she tugged at Ethan’s foot. “Did you guys get everything done you needed to get done?”

  That was open to interpretation. One might argue that he and Sabrina didn’t get enough time alone together, and their scene this afternoon had been necessary. But they really hadn’t finished any of the food prep they’d intended to have done by now.

  Jonas shrugged. “Still a few things left to do.”

  His dad chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Good for you. When you have young children, you need regular breaks. Your mother and I survived having you three kids so close together because we could send you to your grandparents’ houses every other weekend.”

  They didn’t have a shortage of people willing to watch the kids. Tearing Sabrina away from them was a sometimes-painful process, and she’d only weaned Ethan a month ago. And he didn’t really want to be away from them either.

  “Does Sabrina know about the trip yet?” His mother whispered the question so Sabrina, who was exclaiming over Rose as she modeled her gardening apron, wouldn’t hear. He’d arranged for his parents and Sabrina’s mom to each take the kids for a few days. One or the other could have handled it alone, but he felt obligated to be diplomatic. Though Sabrina’s mother had thawed toward him significantly since she’d accepted the fact that Jonas hadn’t married Sabrina for her money, they still had improvements to make. Omitting her would have halted forward progress.