Waiting for Him

by Natalie Dae

  “I can’t… Sir, I can’t… Too much…”

  “I’ve got you, pet,” he panted. “I’ve always got you.”

  John held her waist, moving her up and down so she could relax against him as he shot the last of his cum, a series of judders overtaking him. She took the opportunity to come down from the euphoria slowly, feeling her self sinking back into her body, returning from that special place John always took her to.

  He stilled her, and she nestled her face into the crook of his neck, her breaths hot and ragged. Her chest felt sore, as though she needed to take a deep breath, but only able to manage shallow inhalations, she waited for stability to return.

  “Are you all right, pet?” he asked, voice hoarse.

  “I said it,” she whispered. “I said it.”

  “You did.” He stroked her hair, her back, her arse. “And now you fully belong to me.”

  * * * *

  A little later, Shara lightly kissed John’s cheek, then climbed from the playroom bed, leaving him dozing. She walked into the living room, taking the phone handset from its base as she walked past, then went into their bedroom to make a call.

  The man on the other end was surprised to hear from her, but nevertheless she reminded him of his promise to her not so long ago. He had quite forgotten, he said. Sorry, I’ll fix things right away, he said.

  She responded with pleasantries, although they both knew he couldn’t afford not to do as she’d asked. He hadn’t forgotten—he’d simply thought she wouldn’t carry out her threat.

  He didn’t know her very well.

  It seemed she’d still held on to a sliver of that stubbornness…

  * * * *

  My pet,

  Good news. Jacobson has decided to work with us after all. What do you say we celebrate this evening? The paddle again? Or would you rather I visit the store and pick up something new? The choice is yours, my sub with a touch of Dom. All yours.

  Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

  Fantasies Explored: Thinking Kinkier

  Natalie Dae

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  I needed him—now.

  The anticipation of tonight, the luxurious weekend stretching ahead, had burned me inside and out all day. Thoughts of Kline, drifts of memories, and the teasing images of what he did to me had taunted, as though tangible—real things with a mind of their own that knew which buttons to press in order to torment me. He’d arrive home soon, but not soon enough, and we’d go to the hotel, play out our fantasies for hours until the time came to return here. To a life like any other, where no one except those at the BDSM club we attended knew our particular desires.

  I had packed our things earlier—paddles, handcuffs, silk scarves and a slim vibrator—with almost idle movements, knowing many hours needed to pass before we’d actually use them. The rest of the day had been spent in tense expectancy in our new home, the hands on the clock shifting too slowly, the tick an interminable, mocking jeer in the background. I wondered, too many times to count, what Kline was doing at any given moment, envisaged him trying to get through the day like I was. Did he long to rush home during lunch, or take the afternoon off and whisk me away early? I hoped he did, hoped he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  And, God, did I want him.

  A stiff breeze soughed through the open window, chilling my legs as I rested naked on our bed, suitcase beside me where Kline should have been. I looked at it, a poor substitute for the dark-haired, broad-shouldered man who had the ability to send me to my knees. To beg. To plead. To border on screaming the safe word just so that he would stop paddling or smacking, plunge inside me and fuck me senseless.

  Nipples standing erect from more than just the cold air, I rose and walked over to the window, stared at the billowing curtains, more for something to do than anything else. I strained to hear the sound of his car as it rumbled up the lane running along the front of our property. We had previously lived in a New York City apartment block, our weekends away giving us the freedom to fuck and scream and come loudly without bothering the neighbours. But those weekends hadn’t been enough, and we made a snap decision to relocate to the outskirts where our house stood alone with no one to hear us at night—or during the day if we were home and had a mind to fuck. It had been a good decision, but the weekends away hadn’t stopped, and I wasn’t sorry about that. They were a special part of our relationship and always would be. We looked forward to them, and I was as eager now as I had been that first time, the promise of heady sex and being together with no stress a huge factor in keeping those weekend dates.

  I sighed, wishing I heard his tyres crunching over the gravel drive, the popping sounds growing louder as he drew closer.

  Closer to holding me in his arms and kissing the monotony of the day away.

  Fuck, I loved him.

  The drapes no longer held my attention, and I sat on the window seat, settling my gaze on smooth legs that would soon jolt with every smack of the paddle, judder when he sank his cock inside me, and finally give way altogether when I could stand no more. I loved it when that happened, when he owned me totally and I was at his complete mercy. Kline had a habit of breaking me every time, honing in on my weakest areas and tapping at them until I was exhausted, spent to the point I had no energy. He was good at that—too good—and I never quite got the better of him. And I’d tried to switch once or twice, tried to bend him to my will, but inevitably the sub in me relented and I let him have his way. How could I not? His dominance was too much of a lure, and seeing where he would take me, which boundaries would be breached, was all part of the attraction.

  There it was at last, that faint, low growl I’d recognise anywhere, then a slight rise in pitch as he revved the engine in his eagerness to get home. Stomach muscles bunching, I stood, one hand clutching the window frame, fingertips throbbing from the pressure, the other splayed flat across my belly. I held my breath and squinted to see the red blur of his car through the trees bordering the lane. Heart rate climbing, pulse throbbing in my throat and temples, I swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

  The blur streaked for a second, only to disappear as the trees grew thicker and the bend in the road took him out of my view. That he was speeding pleased me, it meant he wanted to see me badly, yet at the same time I worried that his haste would one day take him away for good.

  I couldn’t bear that.

  Silently, I urged him to slow, to take his time. Reaching me a minute or two later and in one piece was preferable to not at all. I stopped myself thinking that way, instead delighting in the emotions he inspired, the way my body reacted—the further swelling of my nipples, the increasing dampness between my legs and the inevitable lump in my throat.

  And there he was, on the home stretch, the green and yellow countryside a backdrop, where I could watch his approach unhindered by leaves and branches, a clear view of that little red car with my man inside. I wished I could tell him, show him just how much he meant to me, but words could not express the depth, and my hands roaming his body couldn’t feel enough of him to get my meaning across adequately. But he knew, didn’t he? Knew by the touches, the soft and sometimes bruising meeting of our lips, the way I moaned his name when I came.

  He had been slightly different since our last visit to the hotel. More needy, wanting assurance that I wasn’t going to run off and leave him. I knew why that was—the threesome we’d had threw him off balance—and I strove to ensure he knew there was nothing to worry about. That extra man, Jack, had been an itch I’d just wanted to scratch. But still, I was sure Kline’s mind played tricks on him. Indeed, if it had been another woman in our bed, in our world, I would feel the same way. A few sharp stabs of jealousy and a large spoonful of ‘what if’ would go a long way to making sure my mind was a mess along with raw, tangled emotions. Part of me wished that particular fantasy hadn’t belonged to me. That he hadn’t indulged my desires.

  I wanted—needed—him and only him. I wasn�
��t sure how to tell him that when my previous assurances hadn’t appeared to do much beyond easing his worries for the hour or two after he’d let his true feelings slip out. He was a Dom, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel. I loved that about him, the way he took control, became this whole other person in the bedroom, yet when out of it, although clearly a strong man emotionally, slight chinks in his armour were becoming more and more apparent. Maybe that was why he was hell-bent on taking me to subspace. Perhaps my inability to do so in the past told him lies—that he wasn’t the right man for me. The man who could take me there.

  If only he knew, believed, he was the only man who could do it.

  Clit aching, I resisted the urge to cup myself, to press the heel of my hand against the incessant throb. Kline had told me not to masturbate today, to let the excitement of tonight build without release. It had been difficult. Several times my fingers had strayed, and his words had floated into my mind, stopped me dipping a finger into my wetness or rubbing that swelling ball of nerves that he would later take into his mouth and suck. He was a master at knowing exactly how much pressure to apply, how long I could go with him teasing me before the excitement reached a level I couldn’t return from. Many times I thought I had arrived, only for him to take his mouth away, trail his tongue over other parts of my body until the burn, that nearly all-consuming burn, faded a little.

  I groaned, jerked my hand away from where it had been heading—to the soft, delicate flesh between my legs, growing wetter by the second—let go of the window frame and knitted my fingers together. The safest thing to do, that. My breath hitched as he swung the car into the driveway and sped along the gravel, coming to a lurching stop right in front of the house. He was home, and our weekend trying something new was about to begin. Swallowing again, then breathing deeply to calm my racing heart, I remained at the window to watch him emerge. So he could see me naked. He flung open the car door, so hard that it rocked on its hinges, and got out, glancing up at me with a look so intense I knew he’d fought through his day too.

  He’d ran his hand through his dark hair several times today if the mess of it was anything to go by—a tousled, cunt-spasming mess that reminded me of how it looked after my fingers had travelled through it. It had grown some over the past month. Gone were the shorter spikes, replaced by soft waves long enough for me to grip in tight fists. I wanted his hair in my hands now, the ends of it brushing my palms, tickling for a second or two before I gripped hard and held his head steady as he lapped my slit.

  His dark grey suit, crinkled at the inner elbows, flapped open revealing his usual white shirt. I made out the darker hue of his skin beneath it, and the even darker circle of nipple. I wanted to take it into my mouth and tease it into a tight nub. Swirl my tongue around it and flick-flick-flick. To hear him groan, to say if I sucked any longer he’d come. Please don’t, Anna. Stop. I’m going to…

  Another breeze gusted, lifting his tie and leading it into a merry dance before depositing it, askew, flat against his chest. With eyes the colour of dark coffee and only a hint of milk, he regarded me intently, studying me to see if I’d disobeyed him. He would read the guilt on my face in an instant if I had, and I smiled a quick flash to let him know I’d been a good girl.

  He cocked his head, a faint smile of his own eager to break out, doused by his ability to control his emotions. He felt, I knew that, but the power he had over himself never failed to astound me. A perfect Dom, my Kline. A perfect man in my eyes.

  He closed the door, gaze still on me, and half-walked, half-ran to the house. I couldn’t see him then, the porch roof prevented that, so I listened to the sounds of him entering. His keys tinkled as they met the hallway table. The door shut with a crisp snap—a similar sound to the paddle as it met with my ass—and once again my heart picked up speed. I yearned to go and meet him, to rush down the stairs, breathless and wanting, but he’d told me this morning to remain up here when he arrived. I would follow his orders, of course I would, and coached myself calm, told myself breaking the rules, disobeying his instructions wasn’t how we played the game. The end result was never as fulfilling if I disregarded his instructions.

  Would he come up here immediately or have me wait? Would he call my name, tell me what he wanted me to do next, or remain silent? Not knowing heightened my desire, and I wrapped my arms around my ribs, brought my legs closer together in order to feel the wet slickness as my inner thighs rubbed one another. How could a man make a woman so wet at just the thought of him? How had he burrowed so deeply into my heart?

  With no sign of him coming upstairs, I let my mind wander—I needed something, anything to take my mind off what he was doing. If I didn’t, I would end up coming where I stood with no help from his cock or my fingers. That had happened before and I’d been amazed by it. The level, the intensity of the feelings I had for him were all I needed to get me going, to have me shivering all over, rinsed time and again in a desire I’d never felt with anyone else.

  I thought of the last time we’d been to the hotel, where he’d tied me to the bed with duct tape at my request, told me he’d give me a night to remember. And he had, bringing Jack into the room, the man he’d paid to join us. To lick my slit as Kline sucked my nipples, Jack tugging on the chains attached to them until the hard, needy buds extended so far out that the pain grew exquisite. To fuck my ass as Kline fucked my cunt.

  “He’s going to prime your ass now, Anna. Make it nice and wet, ready to take him. He’s got a hard cock, sweetheart. You ready for us both now?”

  Just recalling those words, Kline’s voice so steady and in control, had me almost crying out, but if I did, he might hear me, think that I was touching myself. I thought, then, whether Kline had it in mind to invite Jack along again. Although I wouldn’t object, tonight, at least, I wanted Kline all to myself. His plans for this weekend involved taking me into subspace, something I had never quite achieved in the past, and I was determined to reach it. Having Jack there wouldn’t be right, not the first time I managed it anyway—it had to be something special, just between myself and Kline.

  A shuffle sounded, not close enough to be Kline on the stairs. I stiffened, eager for the moment he walked through the bedroom doorway. My staggered breaths masked any other noise he might have loosed and, much as I tried, I couldn’t concentrate enough to pick up on where Kline was. The thoughts of Jack, of sharing us with him, had me losing focus. Yet I had wanted that, my mind taken off what Kline was doing and the anticipation of when he would bless me with his presence. Yes, I had, but, damn it, I also wanted to think about him. I ground my teeth at my inability to know what I wanted, to stick to one thing and one thing only. Kline always had that effect on me, had me at sixes and sevens, blasts of contradicting emotions shuddering through me until I thought I’d go insane.

  He loved it that way.

  Breathe. Be calm. He’ll be here soon.

  I brought Jack to mind again, cursing when the vision of him filled my mind, all blond beauty and smooth, hard muscle. The sight set my clit throbbing harder, and along with the imagery of Kline prowling about downstairs, a smile on his precious lips, I reached a hand downwards again.

  No. Don’t.

  I folded my arms once more, fingers squeezing my elbows, and lost myself in the rhythmic pulse fluctuating in my neck. Listened to the sound of it as it thudded, a loud drum inside my head and chest, matching my heartbeat that squandered the chance to pump my blood at a more languid pace. God, this was difficult, staying put and waiting. I hated yet loved it. Wanted it yet longed to flout the rules and throw myself at Kline.

  Fuck, the things he does to me…

  A smile came then, slow to spread but nonetheless full of happiness, and I closed my eyes, giving in and listening out for him. I shouldn’t fill my mind with another man when my own was the one who meant the most to me—the one who had promised to take me to a place I craved, to keep going until I got there. Would I reach that special place? Abandon all thoughts that had always
ensured I was shut out before? Know that sensual, mind-blowing experience, where nothing mattered except the enjoyment of what Kline was doing?

  I vowed to try.

  Another shuffle reached me, louder this time. A shoe on carpet? Stair carpet? My stomach rolled over—God, he was going to send me crazy if he wasn’t careful—and abruptly the room spun and tilted, my equilibrium shockingly shot to pieces. I breathed through my nose in order to stop the reel that threatened to pitch me out of the window, and grabbed the frame to steady my swaying body.

  It was too much, this waiting.

  “Anna?”

  His voice floated towards me, sending shivers through my body and springing goose bumps up on my skin. I sucked in a breath through my mouth and released it slowly, judging by the volume of that one word that he was at the foot of the stairs.

  “Are you touching yourself?”

  I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No.”

  “Thinking kink, then?”

  Another head shake. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He was closer now, I could feel it, the hairs on my arms standing up a good indication of that. How he had learnt the pattern of the stair creaks in just under a month amazed me, but I shook my head at that thought. Why would it amaze me? Kline always worked things out in advance, always played our games in his head long before they became real.