by Lilia Moon
I settle her ass on my thighs and rebuttress the pillows under her knees. She’s comfortable and as immobilized as I can make her without tying her up. It’s the first time I’ve ever used my cock as a restraint device, but it might not be the last. I can feel every quiver, every small reaction as she looks at me from beneath half-shuttered eyelids. Doing some measuring and calibrating of her own.
Chapter Thirty-Three
India
Kinky fuck buddies. Just kinky fuck buddies. I keep telling myself that, even though I can feel his cock pulsing inside me like a really disturbing thermometer for my soul.
I don’t know what he has in mind next, but he clearly has no intentions of going easy on me—and if there’s anything that could get me to violate my most sacred promises to myself, that might be it. I can feel my center wobbling even now. Wanting to believe he can hold me up if I finally let myself fall.
A finger of cool metal lands on my belly. I look down, just in time to catch the second object land. That one’s more obvious in its function. Which means the first one is probably a bullet vibe. I wince as he adds a magic wand to the pile. That’s one mean vibrator collection, and it’s probably not sitting on my belly for decoration.
He’s also not done. Some kind of feathery thing arrives next, with a switch that almost certainly turns on devilry, and then a little silicon wheel that has a dozen pink flapper tongues attached. I’ve met its older cousin, and those tongues are relentless.
I try not to shiver. No point in letting the cock thermometer know I’m worried.
He somehow pulls my eyes to his, even though the last thing I want to see right now is his controlled amusement. “Choose.”
I’m a lawyer’s granddaughter. I don’t walk into dark tunnels blind. “Choose what?”
His lips quirk. “The order I use them.”
Any of them could break me, so I don’t know that it matters. “The bullet vibe.” Old school, and I might still be able to walk after.
He nods and lays it down on the bed within easy reach. “And then?”
The uneasy feeling in my belly clones itself and starts synchronized maneuvers. “What do you mean?”
He glances at me like I just asked for a weather report. “Five vibes, five orgasms. You get to pick the order.”
I can feel the face I’m making. It’s disrespectful as fuck, but I don’t care. I have an insane person with his cock up my ass, and I need to get us both out of this before someone gets hurt. “That’s not going to happen. Not ever. We’re new to doing this together, and I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear before. I’ve had four orgasms once. With Tomas, and you know how good he is.”
Rafe’s chin dips. “I do.”
“So I know you’ve got an ego and all, because all Doms do, but maybe we can go back to the part where you fuck my ass and maybe one more orgasm and then this doesn’t end in a pile of tears, okay?” I’m babbling, a run-on train of words desperate to see comprehension in his dark brown eyes.
He grins and thrusts a couple of times.
I whimper as he hardens even more inside me. The man is a very fine ass plug, even if he’s insane.
He pats the pile of vibes on my belly. “Pick, Bright Eyes. Or I will.”
I freeze, because as casual as those words are, there’s not a single hint of bending in them at all. I try to swallow. “You can’t be serious.” It comes out as a hoarse, scared whisper.
He lifts off the implement of many tongues and lays it on the bed. Then the magic wand, which surprises me, because it’s always the vibe of last resort when an orgasm can’t be persuaded any other way, and he’s not leaving it for the end.
I hear whimpering as he lifts the last two items off my belly and lines them up beside the others. It takes far too long to realize it’s coming from me.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rafe
Five might be a little excessive. I can admit that, even as I line up the vibrators where she can see them. I hadn’t planned on turning this into a dare, but my instincts reacted hard to the look on her face when I piled my tools on her naked skin, and I’ve always been a Dom who rolls with my guts.
Especially when I can feel the truth of what lives in her. India Jennings has five orgasms inside her as easy as breathing. It’s all the shit she’s put into sandbags and piled in the way that’s going to be the problem, and I’m not a finesse kind of guy when I’m facing mountains of crap. I bulldoze. I pick up the bullet vibe. It got the strongest reaction—one laced with far too much resignation for my liking. The Doms of her past have spent too much time chasing her orgasms with more powerful tools instead of figuring out why she’s making them work so hard in the first place.
I glance at the feather vibe at the end of the line. It will make my point better than words ever could, but in the meantime, we have the beginnings of this dare to get out of the way. I hold out the slender steel finger in one hand, its remote in the other.
She stares at both like she’s never met a sex toy before.
I grin. “The second orgasm is yours, sweetheart. Use it however you like.”
Bewilderment lands, along with a sizable chaser of mad. “The fuck?”
I wiggle my hips a little. “Already got that covered. The vibe works better if it’s turned on.”
Mad wins. “Asshole.”
I don’t react. She’ll need temper for this next part. One of the best ways to get a mountain of crap moving is to light it on fire from the inside. I keep my eyes on her, letting her see my absolute certainty that she’s going to do what I told her to do.
She growls and hits the button on the remote enough times in a row that it starts protest beeping. The vibe practically dances in her hand, which is madness. Nobody needs that much stimulation to get off.
Then she applies it directly to her clit and her game gets a lot more obvious.
My cock, already confused as hell, instantly registers the jackhammer vibrations shaking a lot more than her clit. I grit my teeth. My ass plug gets a whole lot less useful if he shoots his load, and she damn well knows it.
This is scene sabotage, and normally I’d deal with that, but she’s just thrown another gauntlet down, even if she doesn’t know it, and this one is far more important than who controls the vibrator. She’s trying to shake me off my cool, and she needs to know that I don’t crumble when my own needs get revved up.
Which isn’t all that easy given how much my hips and her ass are shaking. I give her a quelling look and recite the pre-flight checklist for my C-182, trying to give my poor cock some other way to interpret the rumbling. It survives engines all the time. It can survive the thirty seconds it’s going to take for the bullet vibe to blow the lid off India’s volcano.
It doesn’t even take that long. A long, hissed cry later she’s going over whether she likes it or not, her back arching hard as her knees levitate off the pillows. I catch them, holding them in place as the spasms curl her toes. Then I catch the vibe and the remote as they slide out of her fingers, turning off the jackhammer as I drop them over the side of the bed.
I rock inside her.
The sound she makes isn’t venting this time. It’s rock melting into lava, the dissolving of bones that didn’t expect to be overwhelmed, but are willing to drink up the gift anyhow.
One breath. Two.
I wait until the third. Until I feel her starting to reform. Then I pick up the silicon pinwheel. This is plain mean after what she just gave me, and it’s only prelude to the magic wand that will come next. But she needs this. She needs to come unglued, and she needs to do it so hard and so irrevocably that she can’t find her way back to where she started.
I rock my hips again as I start up the pinwheel.
Anchoring her while I seek to blow up the mountain.
Chapter Thirty-Five
India
This is evil.
He’s evil.
I want to find the words to tell him so, but there are slapping tongues assaulting my fo
lds, demanding that the nerve endings still buzzing from their last torment give up yet another orgasm—and somehow my nerve endings are replying. Responding.
This isn’t the first time a Dom has stormed my walls like this, but he’s the first one with a decent chance of making it over.
Since Randy.
Fear slams into my guts and kills every nerve ending I have dead.
My walls exist for a reason.
The tongues flick against my inner thigh. Backing off, but not going away completely. “I’ve got you, Bright Eyes. And you need this. Let it happen.”
Arrogant, paternalistic, mind-invading jerk. “You don’t get to tell me what I need.”
“Truth.” The tongues creep closer to my folds and meander away again. “But maybe it’s time your head doesn’t get to make that decision for the rest of you, either. What does your body say it needs?”
I want to crawl up the bed and away, but I’m fucking impaled on his cock and he’s turned most of my limbs to jelly. I grab for the demonic tongues and miss by a mile. “Would you just stop that? I can’t think. I need to think.”
The tongues switch to the other side, turning my inner thighs into an erogenous fire zone. “You need to come. Allow yourself a few moments of unfettered sexual pleasure.”
I lurch up onto my elbows, the panic that’s been struggling to find its way out through my sex-drunk body finally surfacing.
His eyes see my panic and send back calm, inexorable demand.
I want to call him every name I know, to hate him for what he’s trying to pull out of my body without my consent. Except it’s not true. Everything in me wants to head for the furnace he’s stoking with his cock and his words and a stupid pink silicone flapper. Hell, everything in me is going whether I’ve said it can or not.
I throw myself back down onto the bed, because I’m not going quietly into this dark night and flouncing is apparently the only form of protest I can still manage. He chuckles as the tongues work their way back into my folds, and I clench around his cock in my ass because he should have to suffer too.
He starts moving, short, intense thrusts that just make it that much more obvious I’m no longer in charge of my nether regions or anything they might choose to do. I can feel the orgasm coiling already, sucking in the energy it wants, singing siren songs to the reluctant soldiers still manning my walls.
They turn to look, dereliction of duty a meaningless concept in the face of a tongue-whipped tornado.
The unmistakable thumping of a magic wand lands on my pussy. I snap like my copper, exploding with fury at his double-fisted-vibrators cheating—and then I feel the chaser orgasm building hot on the heels of the one about to swallow me whole.
My fingers clutch air. Sheets. Skin. I don’t do four orgasms in a day and I don’t do multiples ever and he’s making a liar out of me even as I fight to form the thoughts.
It turns out walls don’t fall at all.
They evaporate.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rafe
I curl up around her and pull the puffy duvet over both of us. She’s not back on-planet yet, but when she gets here, I want her to feel as safe as I can make her. And as captured, even though my cock’s no longer in her ass.
He regrets that, but I don’t. When she finally surrendered, I felt every moment of it from deep inside her, and the right way to honor that has absolutely nothing to do with fucking.
That will come later.
I run the hand that isn’t holding her against me down her back. Her arm. All the sweaty skin I can reach, although the fragments of my Dom brain that are coming back online know it isn’t necessary. She wasn’t tied up or restrained in any way that a little arnica gel in her ass crack won’t fix, and she didn’t fight the vibes nearly as long as I expected her to.
Which means I have two left.
I grin. I have a pretty good idea what I might do with them, but it needs to wait until the woman in my arms reconnects to the English language. And to her torch of outrage.
She groans, and I slide us a little further up the mountain of pillows at my back. “Here, beautiful.” I hold the bottle of water to her lips. “Drink.”
The first two gulps mostly end up running down my chest. The next ones are the frantic swallows of a body that knows it just survived a roller-coaster ride through an incinerator. I don’t try to slow her down. There are three more where that came from, powered by Adrian’s special blend of electrolytes for people who go deep enough on a regular basis that they need help climbing back out again.
I’m pretty sure she’s not going to want help, but I don’t intend to let her escape. Out is where her armor lives, and I want naked India for a while longer. Hell-bent got us to someplace important. Now I want to fly slow and easy and give us both a chance to appreciate the view.
Or in her case, to make peace with it.
When she stops drinking, the second bottle of water only half finished, I reach for the tube of gel down by my right hip. “Your parts have any issues with arnica?” It’s the club blend, so she’ll have met it before.
She manages to shake her head, which is more muscle control than I expected her to have just yet. I flip the cap that’s conveniently designed to be used one handed and fill my palm with soothing gel.
Her hand reaches out and snags my wrist. “If that’s going where I think it is, you’d better fucking warm it up first.”
My brain hiccups, surprised and a little awed at the speed she’s pulling herself back together. Which means I damn well need to get my safety lines in place before she blows us up. Because we both know that’s what she’ll want to do the moment she thinks she can walk.
I stick my hand, cold gel and all, between her legs, which makes her squeak. I’ll take any distraction I can get. I put some effort into rubbing the gel around, making sure I cover all the nooks and crannies the vibes just hammered on. She’ll be sore later, even with the magic gel, but I don’t want her planning murder in the night.
My other hand works some of the gel back toward her ass.
She grumbles into my shoulder, but she throws her top leg over my hip so I can do my job.
I do, taking my time. Feeling this woman up is unadulterated pleasure, no matter what the reason.
She snorts. “I think you’ve achieved full coverage. Sir.”
There’s more respect in that word than she meant to put there. Which means her armor might be reforming, but it has some pretty spectacular chinks.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight—and speak to the light streaming through the chinks. “For the rest of the day, you’re mine.”
I can hear the scowl I can’t see. “I have work to do.”
Good. That fits in nicely. “You can work. My only requirement is that every two hours until sunset, you come find me and offer me your nipples, your ass, or your pussy to play with.”
Her head flies up off my shoulder. “Are you shitting me?”
I grin. “Nope.” I pat her ass fondly. “Up. Go get some work done. I’ll be hanging out somewhere close by.”
Very close by. I don’t leave scenes unattended, and this one isn’t nearly over.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
India
I look over at the app on my phone I generally use to make sure I don’t burn dinner. I don’t know why I set it. I agreed to a scene, not some kind of twenty-four-hour ownership over my body and my sanity.
The metal under my torch starts running like an amoeba, because apparently I can’t be trusted with fire today. I turn off the flame and sigh. This isn’t my maddening copper. It’s a nice, safe silver blend I use all the time, forgiving of mistakes and high enough on the sheen index to still make me happy.
The last time I melted it into a puddle was exactly never.
I mutter and grumble as I watch the silver amoeba start to congeal. That’s me right now, stuck in some weird shape I never meant to be and hardening before I can figure out how to get back into a rectang
ular strip of safe geometry with dimensions and rules and repeatable, predictable behavior.
I snort, because that rings even my bullshit meter. I’ve never been malleable silver, and the man who just ran his butane torch over me knew exactly what he was doing. I’m an amoeba right now because I let myself go there, not because he held a flame on me for too long. I’m still confiscating his vibrator collection the first chance I get, though. I have standards. And a rep he’s probably never heard of to maintain.
My timer chimes softly, like it’s scared to point out that my two hours are almost up.
So it should be. I’ve swung through a bunch of moods sitting here on my stool, and none of them are pretty. All of them are shadows, though, mere echoes of what they should be. I just can’t work myself into much of a lather, despite two hours of effort and the application of fire.
Maybe I should have tried the copper.
I set the torch down carefully and let my head fall onto my crossed arms. I know why I can’t work up a good head of steam. He bled me dry, and he did it with intention and precision and an understanding of how my innards work that still has them feeling utterly stripped naked.
And utterly sated.
I growl and bury my face a little deeper into my arms. Five minutes. That’s all I have to go find him or to use my safeword by default. Which isn’t the way I roll, even when I’m a bizarre and under-fueled mix of pissed and confused and afraid and somehow still curious about what he might do if I track him down wherever he is and drop my drawers.
I wince as that thought lights stray sparks between my legs. My pants need to stay right where they are. Seven years of fuck buddies have definitely not kept me in training for even a Dom who’s going easy on me, and he didn’t. He’s also not done.