It had all happened so fast. I don’t have casual sex. I don’t mean, I don’t do one-night stands. I don’t, but that’s not my point. My point is: I don’t have casual sex; I have very, very planned sex. I know, long before the guy does, if he’s going to get my panties off, and if he is then I know well before the date starts that this is going to be the night, and I have a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen. First date: kiss. Second date: a little more. Third date: sex—maybe. Anything kinky—definitely not within the first few months.
And yet with Neil, I’d somehow skipped straight to kinky, strip-off-in-the-living-room-at-his-command sex, all within the first few days—and it was clear to me that when I saw him again, that side of things was going to get stronger.
Thanks to my mom, kinky sex didn’t seem shocking. Me being into it—that was shocking. I’d never seen myself as anything other than the leader, the one in control. With Nat and Jasmine and Karen, I’m the sensible one—the organizer. With my boyfriends, too, I’d always been the one to lead things. It’s not that I ran around chasing men, but...just because the man’s doing the approaching, doesn’t mean he’s in control. Even if the guy had the illusion it was him who was making the choice, I’d usually seen him coming a mile away and already decided what sort of response he was going to get. I was the one doing the choosing.
With Neil, I felt chosen.
Giving up control to someone else didn’t seem like me at all but I couldn’t deny how I felt when Neil was close to me. It was almost ridiculous. I was razor sharp and efficient in my dancing, in my dress, in my make-up, in the snarky put-downs I used on other men. But as soon as Neil used that voice, I melted into a big pile of hot goo.
I squirmed and sipped some more coffee. It wasn’t just the relationship. What if he’d exposed something inside me that, now uncovered, could never be hidden again?
Nat wandered in. She was in a robe—and naked beneath, I assumed.
“Coffee?” I asked. Then, because I couldn’t resist, I nodded at her robe. “I didn’t hear you in the shower.”
“Oh! Um…I didn’t have one.” She clutched the robe closed tighter around her throat.
Then I saw that she was wearing pointe shoes. “Nat, are you in ballet gear?” I frowned. “Did you just put on your ballet gear for Darrell on Skype?”
She flushed.
I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I knew it! He has a ballet fetish!”
“No!” she said urgently. “No, nothing like that!”
“What did he get you to do?” I bit my lip, half shocked and half delighted. “Did he have you play with yourself while you were en pointe?”
Her eyes widened. “No! It wasn’t a sex thing! I just danced for him!”
I looked doubtful. “In your room? The one that was only about eight feet square before you put an exercise bike in the middle?”
“We…managed,” she said weakly. “It was just dancing! I swear!”
I smirked. “Uh-huh.”
We took the coffee through to the living room and sat there watching TV while I teased her about what I assumed must have been some ballet-themed strip show for Darrell. But the irony was, it was me who’d already had sex with a guy I barely knew and had now agreed to some sort of casual sex relationship with him. I was the one with the real secret and there was no way I could tell anyone—not even my best friend. How could I explain to Nat what was going on when I didn’t even understand it myself?
Chapter 10
Clarissa
Monday came and Nat went off to K35, a bar that even I consider eye-wateringly expensive, to meet Darrell. She didn’t come home that night, which I took as a good sign.
I was worried about her, though. Even with the slowdown that Darrell’s trip had forced on them, she was still getting in deep, way too fast. I didn’t want her to get her heart broken, but neither did I want to interfere and mess up the first real shot at a relationship she’d had in years. Plus, who was I to lecture her on taking things slow, when some biker had me—
Had me on my back, writhing under him, my nipple between his teeth—
I took a breath. Ahem. Had me in the palm of his hand after only seeing him four times?
It had been over a week and he hadn’t called. I knew he was out of town—doing what, I had no idea—but I’d expected at least some contact. I started asking myself again if I could really do this—a casual relationship based around sex. Every fiber of my being screamed no. And then, I knew, he’d show up and suddenly my body would be screaming yes.
On Tuesday evening, just as I was giving up hope, I got a text message. Six words.
One hour. Red dress, no panties.
I stared at the screen and gaped. What was I—a booty call? Did he really think I was going to be waiting, salivating for him at the door when he showed up? That he could ignore me for a week and then just—
You agreed to this, a little voice in my head reminded me. You said you wanted it. I couldn’t judge him by normal relationship standards—it wasn’t a normal relationship, or anything like one.
I thought about replying No. Then I thought about how it would be, if I let him show up and…do whatever he wanted to me.
I realized I was pressing my thighs together.
Thirty seconds later I was in the shower. Luckily, Nat was out. This time I’d make sure that we stayed in my bedroom, and my clothes didn’t wind up scattered all over the apartment.
I had four red dresses. One was a full-length gown, and I guessed that wasn’t what he wanted. One was an interesting creation from a local designer that had vintage chic going for it—but again, wrong. Then there was a scarlet bodycon dress that I’d actually worn without panties a few times so that I didn’t get a panty line, but that felt wrong. It hugged me all the way down to my knees and I’d have to be pretty much naked before the lack of panties would make any difference. That wasn’t what he wanted.
The final dress was a short red thing with a slightly flaring skirt that swished around my thighs. I’d bought it when I hit the sales with Nat but hadn’t dared to wear it, yet—the hem pushed the limits, even for Jasmine, and if I bent over or even turned quickly, the skirt would fly up. I shuddered.
And then I put it on.
I added some serious heels and a push-up bra that worked the miracle of actually giving me some cleavage. I left my hair loose down my back and took a look at myself in the mirror.
It was ridiculous. And perfect. That drum beat of arousal had started again—as soon as I’d seen his text, I realized—and it was thumping stronger and stronger with each passing second. By the time I heard his heavy knock at the door, my breathing was tight.
It had grown dark outside while I’d been in the shower and the apartment was bathed in shadow, colors muted. I hurried through it to the door, a flash of bright red darting through the murk. When I opened the door, the light from the corridor silhouetted him for an instant, curling around the edges of his leathers to edge him in fire.
He took a long look at me and then smiled in approval. He came in and shut the door, and then we were lost in the shadows together, the room seeming even darker after the glimpse of the lights outside.
His mouth was on me instantly, lips mashing to mine even as he pushed me backward. Hands slid up over my waist, thumbs rubbing me through the fabric as he growled with hunger. “I’ve been goin’ crazy all week,” he told me.
I writhed against him. Every inch of him was hard—hard lips, hard muscle, the hard length I felt pressing through his jeans against my bare thigh. Even his boots and jacket were covered in zippers and buckles, and just as before I suddenly felt soft and delicate next to him. He was leather and I was silk.
As he laid kiss after kiss on my lips and throat, his hand wound around my back and down to my ass, strong fingers caressing my cheeks. Checking, I realized, to see if I’d done as instructed.
Instructed. How did I suddenly shift to being a woman who took instructions?
Then h
is fingers squeezed and kneaded and I gave a low moan into his mouth. “Let’s go to my room,” I managed.
He scooped me up—in his arms, this time—and carried me down the hallway to my room. This time he didn’t dump me on the bed. He kicked the door shut behind him and then pushed me up against the wall, face first.
My breasts pressed against the cold plaster and I could feel my nipples harden. I twisted my head so that I could look sideways, my cheek against the wall, but I still couldn’t see him. He was directly behind me…and then I heard him kneeling down.
He started with his hands, gliding them up and down my bare legs, moving no higher than my shins. Unable to see him, unable to do anything other than gasp and moan, every sensation was magnified a thousand fold. His touch seemed to light up my skin with crackling energy that spiraled upwards to my groin.
He moved higher, to my knees. Higher, to my thighs. My legs went rigid, every muscle taut, spike heels grinding into the floor. His movements became slower and slower, until I had to groan, “Please!”
I finally felt his touch on my naked ass and, as his palms slid over my cheeks and his fingers stroked the lines of my pelvis, I trembled against him.
He pulled up the skirt, and I felt his gaze on my ass. Now, I assumed, he’d go down on me. Or sex. Or both.
Then he said, “How have you been, while I’ve been away, Clarissa?”
I didn’t understand. “Fine.” Then, in a softer voice, “I missed you.”
But that wasn’t what he meant. I could hear the smirk in his voice, now. “Have you been good?”
My jaw dropped as I suddenly realized where this was going. God, he wouldn’t really spank me, would he? A hot rush of anger shot down from my brain, my face flushing. But at the same time I felt a new kind of twisting between my thighs. A different kind of ache, sort of like an itch you’ve only just become aware of.
“Define good,” I said tightly. I was hedging, trying to work out if I wanted it or not.
His fingers were moving inward now, from the creases of my thighs towards my sex. Teasing, but next quite touching me where I wanted it. His face was level with my groin—I could feel every word as a hot blast of air against my skin. “Did you wait for me? Or did you play with yourself?”
Another hot rush of anger. I didn’t have to apologize for…taking matters into my own hands, once or twice, while he’d been away. There was no shame in that! Except I knew full well that that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t about me doing something wrong. It was about what followed.
I could just lie to him, I thought. That was the point. That I would be bringing the punishment on myself—choosing it. The thought made my head spin. Of course I won’t choose it, I thought. I don’t want to be spanked!
But I heard my voice say, “I played with myself.”
His fingers didn’t miss a beat, as if he expected my answer. Did he expect that I’d done it and would be truthful? Or that I would say I had, whether I had or not? His thumbs were working hard at the cheeks of my ass, almost massaging me, while his fingers stroked and rubbed either side of my sex, playing up and down like piano scales. “What did you use?”
Another hot rush. There was nothing wrong with sex toys. I was proud of the fact I had a vibrator, just like I was proud that I wasn’t afraid to buy my own condoms. But with Neil, everything was different. Somehow, deep down, I wanted to have done something wrong. I wanted every one of my secrets laid bare to him, and then to take the punishment he deemed fair. My mind jumped back, for a second, to baiting him in Darrell’s kitchen that first time, and my realization in the car afterwards. Wasn’t this what everything had been leading up to—being bad, so that he would teach me a lesson?
“Top drawer,” I said, and the sound of my voice shocked me. It wasn’t my voice—it was like a soft, plaintive mewl. That wasn’t me at all.
He found the vibrator immediately, rolling around at the back under my panties. It’s one of those elegantly sculpted things in some high-tech plastic that’s never cold to the touch, smooth and silver, with a shape that looks bizarre until you feel how well it fits against your body. We’d shared many happy times, over the years. But this would be the first time someone else had used it on me.
He switched it on and hooked his hand between my thighs to press it up against me from the front. Immediately, the low throb of it had me gasping, my body grinding against it. He left it there for long minutes, laying kisses on the cheeks of my ass as I got closer and closer….
And then he stopped. “Take off your clothes,” he said. “And get on the bed.”
I stripped naked and walked over to the bed, my heart hammering. Hot energy was pulsing through me, me legs trembling and my eyes wide. I lay down.
“No,” he said, taking off his jacket. “All fours.”
I swallowed and got slowly up onto my hands and knees. I’m not really going to let him do this, I said to myself. I’ll stop him. Any second, I’ll stop him. Any second.
Neil pulled off his t-shirt, firm abs gleaming in the half light. He came over to the bed.
“I think you need six,” he told me, that low voice like honey-coated iron. “If you need me to stop, say so.”
I felt myself nod. OhmyGod! What am I doing?!
A thought that had been dangling and twisting in the wind for over a week suddenly snagged and caught. When I’d danced in the park with Nat, I’d stopped trying to control everything—just for a few minutes—and enjoyed it. The sensation had niggled at me ever since and now I knew why. It was the same, in some twisted way, as what I had with Neil. I was giving up control.
And then I heard a rush of air and a crack of skin on skin. For a split second there was no pain and then a blaze of fire spread out across my ass. God! A high little cry escaped my mouth.
Another one. This time the pain was different. Hotter. I let out a sob. It felt good—how could it feel good?!
Another one. The heat soaked into my groin. I unconsciously started to grind my hips. I could feel myself starting to climb towards a climax. Another few and I’d be there.
Another. I was sobbing with each stroke, but it wasn’t a sob of pain anymore.
Another. God, I’m going to—
“Stop!” A familiar voice. My head whipped around, looking back over my shoulder towards the door.
Nat was standing in the doorway brandishing a butcher’s knife, mouth wide as she took in the scene. Her gaping jaw matched my own.
She whirled back into the corridor, hiding behind the wall. I scrambled for some clothes, my face beetroot. “Wait here,” I told Neil, who was grinning.
I heard Nat walk away towards the kitchen. A few moments later, when I’d pulled on some sweatpants and a vest top, I trudged out to join her.
She was sitting at the table with two mugs of coffee. I slumped into the seat opposite her without meeting her eyes, mimed putting a gun to my head and blowing out my brains and then let my head fall to the table, my hair covering my face.
“It’s not that bad,” Nat said at last.
I nodded silently.
“You did come home and catch me…thinking about Darrell,” she said.
Oh yes. That. “Everybody does that,” I said. I paused. “Well, maybe not on the couch….”
“See?”
“It’s not even in the same league.” I stayed with my nose pressed against the table, my hair hiding me.
I heard her sip some coffee. “It’s no big deal. Spanking and bondage and stuff—it’s fashionable. Like in that book.”
I finally lifted my head from the table, horrified. “He doesn’t tie me up!”
“Well, then!”
I hesitated. Now that I thought about it…. “I think he wants to, though,” I said in a small voice.
“Oh. Well, okay. I mean, as long as you like it.”
“I do.” I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “I just don’t get what he does to me. It’s like he flips a switch in my brain and suddenly I’m all…. He’s so
totally not my type, but he just….” I gave a groan of frustration.
She sipped her coffee and smirked. “Like in the kitchen at Darrell’s house.”
My jaw dropped. “You saw?” I thumped the table with my fist. “I thought you saw, but you didn’t say anything!”
“I think he’s cute. I think you’re cute together.”
I shuddered. “Eww. Don’t. I don’t want to be cute. And I don’t know if I want to be some guy’s…plaything.” I finally picked up my coffee and started to drink. God, Nat made good coffee. After a moment, I said, “And the irony is, you’re the one dating the billionaire.”
I finally summoned up enough courage to really look Nat in the eye, and that’s when I saw the look on her face. The smile I’d just managed collapsed. Something was really, really wrong.
Chapter 11
Neil
Clarissa dived off the bed and started to scramble into some clothes. My eyes stayed locked on her naked ass the entire time.
When she trudged off after Natasha, she looked like she was walking to the gallows. The poor girl was so uptight about what was happening between us….
That made me stop. What exactly was happening between us?
I fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. This had started out so simple. Casual sex, with me the more experienced one and her the innocent learning about her submissive side. Then she’d come to the clubhouse and I’d had to lay down the rules for her. I couldn’t, under any circumstances, let this get deeper than sex. Both of us were going to wind up hurt, if I did.
All fine, in theory. And it seemed like Clarissa had accepted what the relationship was, at least for now. So why had the week I’d just spent away felt like the longest of my life? I liked what I did, even if it was something I couldn’t share with anyone else. It should have been a fun trip—I should have made some money and probably enjoyed some female company along the way. And yet, for the first time ever…I hadn’t wanted to. I’d sat there in my hotel room night after night, ordering room service like a priest at a damn church convention. Clarissa and I were supposed to be casual, but since I met her I just wasn’t interested in anyone else. What the hell did that mean?
Losing My Balance (Fenbrook Academy #1.5) Page 7