by J. Daniels
“I didn’t tell you to do that,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder as he opens my top drawer. “Open them.”
I submit to his command and lower my knees so they are inches from the mattress. I see him slip out one of his ties before he walks to the side of the bed, authority in each step. There is zero trace of the man who told me minutes ago when he knew he loved me. That tenderness is gone. He’s exuding control right now, and I’ve never seen anything hotter.
Looming over me with the tie in one hand, he slides his other hand up my arm and wraps it around one of mine, gripping me and the post. “Keep them here. If you move them before I tell you to, I’ll tie them in place. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He presses his lips against mine, searing me with a brutal kiss. “These will be the last words I say to you before I take you in the way I’ve been dying to take you. You won’t be able to see or hear me until I want you to. Understand?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out steady, devoid of any apprehension.
He leans back and drapes the tie across my eyes, blinding me. “Right now, I want you to concentrate on feeling everything I give you. Nothing else.”
I lift my head, allowing him to secure it behind me. And then the bed dips as his weight is removed, leaving me alone with only the sound of my breathing filling my ears. But it’s not uneven, nervous breathing. The pace of my lungs taking in air is quickened due to the eagerness I’m feeling. I want to experience this with him, everything he’s about to give me in a way I’ve never had. I’m not tense. I’m ready.
So fucking ready.
The sound of movement in the kitchen has me turning my head in that direction.
A cabinet closes.
The soft clink of ice hitting the bottom of an empty glass.
I expect to hear the tap water running next, but I don’t.
I gasp as my ankles are grabbed. My legs are straightened on the bed and then his hands are gone. I strain to listen, looking down the length of my body even though I can’t see anything. I imagine him standing at the foot of the bed, glass in hand as he stares at me. He’s hard. Painfully hard. Stroking himself to ease some of the ache. My grip tightens further as I clench the muscles in my core.
Is it possible to orgasm from anticipation alone? Because I might just be the first.
“Oh, shit.” I jerk when I feel the stark chill of ice on my skin, trailing up the inside of my leg. My legs are spread wider and then his body fills the space between them. I think I know where the ice cube is going. I’m positive actually, but just when I think he’s going to dip it between my legs, he avoids the area entirely.
I feel his free hand wrap around my hip, holding me in place. The ice cube glides over my stomach and up to the crease between my breasts. The heat of his mouth follows the path, warming my skin. I tilt my head up as he moves along my collar bone before circling my nipple.
“Reese.”
I bite my lip to contain myself. I want to squirm. To thrash about because this is almost intolerable.
But I don’t.
I whimper as the ice cube moves over my nipple. The bite of it is severe, but it feels too good for me to protest, especially when his mouth latches on and takes away the chill. He doesn’t moan into my skin like he usually does. He doesn’t give me any sign that he is enjoying this. But I knew he wouldn’t. He warned me I wouldn’t hear him, and apparently, sounds are included.
He moves slightly and I know he’s marking me. I’m familiar with the pull of that spot. Alternating breasts, the pattern is repeated. Cold then warmth, and then the chill is gone, as is the heat of his body over mine. I feel the hair on his legs brush against mine as he shifts, and then his hands are wrapped around my thighs, spreading me open. I figure the ice has been discarded, no longer needed. I wait for the heat of his mouth to press against me. His warm breath. The scorch of his tongue.
“Fuck!” I arch off the bed, almost letting go of the posts when he runs up my length. His tongue is frigid, mimicking the sensation of the ice cube and melting into me just like one. The feeling is overwhelming as he dips inside me, tasting ever inch. His mouth never warms, and I know it’s because the ice is in his mouth, which is confirmed when I feel the sharp edge of the cube press against my clit.
“Holy shit, Reese.”
He dips lower, pressing the ice cube inside me with his tongue. In and out. He’s fucking me with it, driving me toward my climax with this new sensation. I’m barely keeping my composure as my insides become liquid. My thighs are shaking against his head as I try to control my trembling. I’m close, moaning his name and gripping so tightly onto the wooden posts I’m certain they’re about to snap off. Then the chill is gone, followed by the sound of him crunching on the ice. Seconds go by and I think maybe he isn’t going to allow me to come. I take in several deep breaths, feeling my orgasm slip away from me until he buries his face between my legs.
His mouth still has the slightest chill, but his warmth is taking over. He fucks me with his tongue until I’m begging and incoherently pleading with him to make me come. He runs up and down my length, spreading me open with his fingers. His tongue swirls around my clit, flattening against it then flicking it in that rhythm I like. I’m once again right at the brink of orgasm and he knows it. He must, because that’s the moment he chooses to prop my ass up with his hands and lick along my rim.
“Oh, shit! Wait, wait, don’t…oh, God, just… Reese, I don’t…unghhhh.”
He’s never done this to me. The only time he’s ever gone anywhere near my ass is with his finger. I clench out of reflex; it’s automatic. He shouldn’t be there with this tongue, and it definitely shouldn’t feel this amazing.
Right?
Wrong. So fucking wrong.
He’s licking me like he works my pussy, and it feels unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My heart is thundering in my chest as I replay his words to me over in my head.
“Right now, I want you to concentrate on feeling everything I give you. Nothing else.”
So I do. I concentrate on this new sensation, blocking out my instincts and not letting any anxiety overpower me. I feel his hands shift, one elevating me while the other moves around my waist. At the brush of his fingers against my clit, I lose it. I throw my head back, screaming his name until my voice breaks. And then I feel him press against me with his tongue, slipping inside, and my orgasm stretches out, rocking me with a blinding intensity. Paralyzing me. I feel shattered. Stripped of all coherence.
And it’s incredible.
I don’t even realize he’s lowered my body back down until my blindfold is removed. I open my eyes, meeting his. There’s apprehension in them. Not much, but I see it. The uncertainty of what he’s just done to me. But when I smile at him, one that I’m sure looks completely dopey because that’s how I feel, his insecurity vanishes.
“You can let go of the bed,” he says as he kneels between my legs.
I do and shake my hands out, bringing them down to my sides. He reaches across the comforter and picks up a bottle I hadn’t known he put on there. One I’ve never seen before. I really don’t want to be nervous right now, because I do trust him, completely, but I know what that bottle is. I know what he needs it for. And I do a shit job at concealing my worry because he sees it, prompting him to drop the bottle and lean over me. His hand conforms to my cheek.
“I would never hurt you, Dylan. You liked what I just did, right?”
I nod and lean into his palm. “Yes. I didn’t think I would, but I definitely did.”
He gives me half a smile. “Trust me. I’d never lie to you. This will feel a little uncomfortable at first, just in the beginning, but it won’t hurt. And then it’s going to feel really fucking good. Okay?”
“You’ve done this before?” I ask, hearing the slight hurt in my voice. Jesus, Dylan. Don’t go there right now. Who cares what he’s done before you.
“I haven’t done it with you. You are the only w
oman who matters. And the only one I want to experience this with.” He picks up the bottle and flips the cap open. “I’ll tell you what to do. Just listen to my voice and keep your eyes on me. If you have to close them you can, but when I’m all the way in you I need you to look at me.”
“Okay,” I reply, watching as he spreads the lube on his cock. “Did you like what you just did to me? I mean, you were… you know.”
He squirts a bit of the liquid onto his finger before tossing the bottle to the other side of the bed. “I like everything I do to you.” I flinch as he spreads the cold liquid along my entrance, applying the tiniest bit of pressure. He watches me as he slips one finger inside, flattening his other hand on my pelvis. His thumb begins rubbing my clit as he moves his finger in and out of me.
“Mmm.” I close my eyes and take in the sensation, trying to stay relaxed.
“Two fingers, love.”
He pulls out of me and then I feel the slight sting as he stretches me. But he enters without restriction and begins moving his fingers around in slow circles. “Feel good?” he asks.
I open my eyes. “Yes,” I answer honestly. “So good. Can you do another?”
His thumb rubs against my clit as he slides his fingers out. I scrunch my face when he re-enters me, clamping my eyes shut. He stills inside me, letting me adjust to the foreign size. And it doesn’t take long until I’m begging him to move. He stretches me further as my eyes shoot open, immediately seeking out his cock.
I want it.
There.
“Reese, please.”
His eyes flash with a new desire. Maybe he wasn’t expecting me to beg for this. Maybe he just assumed I’d go with it and then hopefully enjoy myself. But here I am, begging because I need to have him in this way.
He slides his fingers out and grips the base of his cock. “Hold your knees back for me.” I do as requested as he positions himself. His eyes trail up my body, landing on mine. “You want this. You just begged for it. Focus on that.” He presses against my opening, meeting the tight ring of muscle, and I suddenly feel like my insides are burning up. “This is the uncomfortable part.”
“No shit,” I respond, letting go of my legs and clawing the comforter at my sides. I can’t relax.
I’m no longer finding the urge to beg.
This fucking sucks.
“Dylan, you need to push against me.”
“What?”
He grips my hips, steadying himself. “Push against me. Like you don’t want me in.”
Well, that’s not hard to imagine.
I swallow loudly, trying to loosen up. “Okay, okay. Just… fucking hell, just wait a second.”
He muffles a laugh above me but I don’t respond to it the way I normally would, by telling him to fuck off unless he wants to switch positions. Instead, I do as he asks and push, feeling him slip further in. Inch by inch. I watch as his face contorts into one of immense pleasure, and that drives me. To want it more. To pull my knees back so my thighs are against my chest, opening up to him.
“Fuck, yes.” He growls, deep and guttural as he slides in to the hilt. “Christ, you’re so fucking perfect.”
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to feel, but it wasn’t this. A wave of heat washes over me at the sensation of him all the way in me. “Oh, my… Godddd.”
And then he starts to move in and out as he works my clit with his thumb. I keep my eyes on him even though the intensity of the pleasure I’m feeling is urging me to close them. It’s too much. I need to take away some of this stimulation before I break so I close them, but it’s brief.
“Dylan, look at me.” I do, and he takes over holding my legs back as he thrusts into me. “Feel it. Feel how I make every part of you feel good. You want this. You want me here.”
“Yes,” I answer, but it comes out as a plea. To keep fucking me. To never stop. To love every part of me, because that’s what he’s doing.
His breath comes out uneven, ragged. He’s gasping above me, struggling to not lose control yet. And seeing him like that gets me right there with him.
“Reese.”
“Fuck, I can’t… Dylan, I can’t stop.”
“Don’t stop. I’m so close.”
His movements become urgent, slamming into me with a crucial force. Pushing me up over the edge. And he’s right there with me.
“Coming,” I barely choke out as my orgasm moves through me like a tidal wave. I need to see him. I need to watch him lose it even though my eyes are straining to remain open while I ride this out.
“Holy fuck. Oh, my God, Dylan. Fuuckkk!”
He keeps his eyes on me, giving me the satisfaction of seeing him unravel. And it’s unlike anything he’s ever done. He’s wild. Screaming out my name between moans. Throwing his head back and flexing every muscle in his upper body. He gives me everything in a way I’ve never seen. It’s chaotic almost, the way he lets go, but it’s beautiful.
When his orgasm subsides, he drops my legs and pulls out of me. Arms wrap around me as he sits back and pulls me against his chest, burying his head between my breasts. I feel him tremble against me and thread my fingers through his hair.
“Thank you, love. Thank you for giving me that.”
Dropping my head, I press kisses into his hair. “See, that wasn’t so bad. I told you you’d like it,” I tease.
He lifts his eyes to me, stunning me with that sweet face. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I brush my nose against his. “Now what? Should we box up more of my stuff? I feel like we still have a lot to do.”
He cocks an eyebrow, looking around the room. “Anal sex and getting you ready to move in with me permanently? Fuck yes. That’s my kind of Thursday night.”
I throw my head back, falling into a laughing fit as his arms tighten around me, pinning our bodies together.
Close, but never close enough.
I’m getting married tomorrow.
I’m finally becoming Dylan Carroll.
Holy shit.
Okay. Focus, Dylan.
I’m chopping up the bars of semisweet chocolate I’ll need for my wedding cake frosting while Brooke watches the mixer with keen interest. She completely lost her shit this morning when I told her she would be in charge of making the caramel buttercream frosting for the other wedding cake. I’ve been right beside her, supervising everything, but this really is her baby and she’s studying it with a mix of pride and restlessness.
“Can you grab the peppermint extract off the shelf for me?” I ask, breaking into her trance. She gives her frosting one last glance before she grabs the bottle I’ve requested and places it next to my cutting board. “Thanks. How’s it looking?”
She begins to twirl a strand of her hair, a nervous habit I’ve picked up on today. “Umm, I don’t know. Like frosting? It might taste like ass, though.”
“Oooo, I love ass,” Joey rejoices as he carries in a gift bag. I blush instantly and he notices. “Hmm. Care to elaborate?”
“Nope,” I state firmly, shaking off my reaction to the word ass. Really, Dylan?
He places the bag in front of Brooke and she surveys it peculiarly. “Here. This is my thank you for the shirt you got me. Which I look amazing in, by the way.”
I roll my eyes at his astounding modesty.
“Oh. You didn’t have to get me anything.” She stops the mixer, sliding the bag closer to her and peeking inside. I’ve placed my knife down, not wanting to miss the reaction to what I already know is in the bag. Her mouth drops open as she pulls out the apron Joey special-ordered for her. “You got me my own apron?” She holds it out, and I see the moment she notices her name on it. Her eyes well up with tears at the sentiment, just like any Wicks girl. “Thank you so much!” She flings her arms around Joey’s neck, clutching onto her apron.
Joey looks over at me and smiles as he returns the hug. “I was the last person who thought you should be working here, Brooke. But you’ve actually done really well. And you’re a natura
l back here with my cupcake.”
She spins around and slips her apron on, tying it around her neck. “Look, Dylan! It matches yours!”
“Apron sistas,” I sing, seeing Joey grimace behind Brooke.
“Goddamn it. I knew I should’ve ordered me one,” he mumbles as he turns around and disappears up front.
I stifle my laugh, dumping my chopped-up chocolate pieces into a mixing bowl. I brush my hands clean on my apron and walk over to examine Brooke’s frosting. Dipping a teaspoon into the bowl, I pop a small amount in my mouth.
“Well?” she asks fretfully. “Oh, God. Please, tell me we have time to make another batch of this?” She slaps a hand over her eyes. “I will never forgive myself if I’ve ruined some girl’s wedding cake.”
I grab her arm and pull her hand down. “It’s delicious, Brooke. Really. Try some.” I hold out a spoon and she takes it after studying it for several seconds, the obvious shock pouring out of her.
She dips it into the bowl and tests her creation. Her eyes flutter closed. “Mmm. Holy shitballs.” They pop back open, full of wonder. “I made that?”
I hold out my hand and she high-fives me. “Told you you could do it. Don’t doubt yourself back here.” I walk to the fridge, grabbing the heavy cream and catch her taking a picture of her frosting with her phone.
I love that: her excitement, her pride over what she’s created.
I’m so glad I hired Brooke Wicks.
After setting a large saucepan on the stovetop, I pour in the heavy cream and turn on the heat. Once I get it to a boil, I can add the peppermint extract and strain the mixture into the chocolate. Then it has to cool before I can frost my cake.
My wedding cake.
Both cakes are already assembled and ready to be iced. I’ve timed everything perfectly, allowing us to frost the other bride’s cake while my icing cools. The sugared orchids are already assembled for her cake. I tackled those bright and early this morning, knowing they would take me several hours. They turned out amazing, incredibly life-like, and I sent a picture to Reese so he could see what had me skipping my run today. His response was just as sweet as the flowers.