Only Him (An Obsessed Novella Book 2)

by Jeanne St. James

  I jump to my feet, raise a wait-a-minute finger, and rush to the front door. I yank on it and it doesn’t budge. In my excitement (not to mention, a little worry she’s going to change her mind), I forgot I deadbolted it. I unlock it with fingers shaking with adrenaline and sprint out the door, not even bothering to close it behind me.

  My heart pounds as I burst into my house and take the steps two at a time. When I reach my bedroom, I glance around and find the cardboard box I’m looking for. It’s marked “old pictures” in black Sharpie. I snort at my ingenious subterfuge, snag it, and fight the urge to slide down the banister in my haste.

  I’m trying not to giggle like a little girl as I run back next door, now happy that the houses sit so close together. I slam her door shut behind me, flip the deadbolt again, and drop the box on the foyer floor. Then I bend over with a shooting side cramp. I press my hand into the pain and gulp oxygen.

  Fuck.

  When I finally catch my breath, I glance up and over into the living room and see she’s still standing in the exact same spot.

  I pick up the box, snag her hand to drag her upstairs and into her bedroom. I close the curtains (because I still wonder if anyone is out there spying) and then dump the contents of the box on her bed.

  Her eyes widen in amazement and she exclaims, “Holy shit.”

  “I know, right?” I smile. Then my smile drops when I think maybe she’s not so impressed. Maybe I just freaked her the fuck out with my enthusiasm. And with my box of “old photos” which really isn’t a box of photos at all.

  Nope.

  It’s my toy box. The one I kept hoping Pam would one day be willing to play with. But she never wanted to. So, I kept my fantasies to myself.

  And no man should do that. Well, unless the toys are illegal. But mine clearly weren’t. You know, two consenting adults and all that happy crap.

  I wave a hand over the bed. “You think you can figure it out from here?”

  When her eyes light up and she glances up at me with a naughty smile, I’m relieved. When she answers, “Oh, hell yes,” my whole body screams “Oh, hell yes,” too.

  Then she fingers an old pair of my handcuffs and the hair on the back of my neck stands up and my breath hitches.

  “Do to me what you will,” I tell her, my voice a little shaky.

  “Get undressed.”

  Without hesitation, I grab the back of my T-shirt and yank it over my head, tossing it into a corner of the room. I rip my jeans down and kick them and my boxer briefs into the corner, too.

  I stand before her naked, my cock jutting out from my body and I want to touch it but want her to tell me to. She inspects every inch of me. From the top of my head to my toes, then circles slowly around me. I imagine her tapping a crop against her thigh as she does it.

  She suddenly transforms before me. Her spine straightens, her eyes harden, and she points to the floor. “On your knees.”

  I instantly fall to my knees, the impact making me grunt. I drop my gaze to the carpet, allowing myself to act the submissive I’ve always wanted to be.

  I hear the ratchet of the cuffs as she spins them open and closed. The clicking sound of the metal teeth shoots lightning down my spine. My nipples harden to points and I only hope she can figure out some of the toys I’ve brought over (I say some, because if she uses them all at once, I might not survive).

  She steps behind me and in between my legs. I automatically offer her my wrists and she clamps the cold metal handcuffs on me, tightening them enough so I can’t pull free. My breathing shallows and my dick twitches in anticipation.

  “What are you punishing me for?” I ask her as she moves towards the bed. I see her in my peripheral vision sorting through the stuff spread over the bedspread.

  “For making me wait so long.”

  “What else?”

  “For making me only want you and no one else.”

  I’m floored. I open my mouth to ask her more, but I almost stutter due to my surprise. I swallow hard and try again. “I’m sorry.”

  She steps in front of me and I level my gaze on her hands. She holds a candle and a lighter. She points the candle at me. “Is this for a romantic dinner?”

  “No.”

  “What’s it for?”

  I hesitate.

  “Anal?”

  I shake my head but turn my gaze back to the floor. “No.”

  The sound of the lighter igniting makes me light-headed. And then I smell the wick burning.

  “Look at me,” she demands and I do. Her gaze flicks from me to the burning candle. The wax is already melting and rolling down the sides of the taper. “Lean back.”

  I shift my weight over my legs and she steps between my spread thighs. She stares at the flame for a moment, then turns the long, narrow candle to the side. Almost in slow motion, I watch the first drip of wax strike my body. It barely misses my right nipple and the burn against my skin makes me gasp.

  She moves it over my left nipple, closer this time, and she hits her target, the drip of hot wax coating the tip of my nipple. I cry out and she pulls the candle away, righting it quickly.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” The painful pleasure is tolerable and I want her to continue. My nipple tightens as the wax cools. I’ve wanted to try this kind of play for years and I’m not going to stop her now.

  If she’s willing to give, I’m willing to receive.

  Just because I want to let her have the control this time, doesn’t mean it will always be this way. But, I’m willing to let her punish me tonight. Because turnabout is fair play.

  Being a cop, I must always remain in control while working and in my down time, I don’t always want to be in control. Sometimes I want to be the one controlled, instead.

  Another drip falls from the candle and lands on my chest. It hurts so good echoes through my head.

  I close my eyes to avoid the anticipation of the liquid heat hitting me, instead I want to feel it as it happens. I groan when the wax completely covers one nipple, and she moves on to the other. A drip slides down my belly, but slows and hardens before reaching my cock. I breathe again in relief.

  “You don’t want to watch what I’m doing to you?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I like the anticipation.”

  “Ah,” she murmurs. I hear her blow out the candle, the scent of the smoking wick burns my nostrils.

  I open my eyes just as she slides a blindfold over my face. Everything turns black. She has taken away my choice to watch her actions. Now, I’m forced to use my imagination as she moves back toward the bed.

  It isn’t until she grips my cock that I realize this is the first time she’s touching me. She's not gentle as she stretches a rubber cock ring over me and snaps it over the root of my hard-on. I grunt and fall forward a bit, but straighten up as she pulls my sac through the ring, too.

  She may know more than she lets on.

  She doesn’t linger or try to give me any pleasure. She’s gone quickly. The air shifts as she gets to her feet. I do a quick inventory of what’s left on the bed in my head. And when I hear the smack of leather against her palm, I know what she’s grabbed next.

  My lips curve slightly as I picture her dressed in a black leather teddy, fishnet stockings, a thick leather dog collar with spikes, and high heels. If I wasn’t wearing the cock ring, I swear I would come.

  All I know is that I’m taking the woman shopping this weekend.

  5

  Sydney

  His lips part and he pants when I stroke the flat leather head of the riding crop down his cheek.

  I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. When I fantasized about having sex with Reid, I never imagined it like this. Not even close.

  I tap his cheek lightly and slide the leather end of the crop down his throat and over the hard coating of wax dotting his chest and covering his nipples. As I continue down his sternum and over his abs, I wonder if he w
ants me to smack him with it. I can’t imagine why else the item would be in his goodie box if he didn’t want it to be used. I could ask him or…

  I strike him on his thigh, the flat leather making a popping sound against his taut quadricep. His body sways but he doesn’t cry out. I held back that time, and his lack of reaction gives me a little more confidence. I strike his other thigh sharply and his breath catches this time as he grimaces. A pink mark appears where the crop made contact.

  His erection remains firm, extending out from his body. I brush the crop over his hard length and under his balls, which appear tight and dark due to the snug cock ring. I pause the riding crop at the bottom of his sac.

  “Do you want me to hit you here?” I brush the leather end back and forth over the skin that contains the most delicate part of his body.

  He groans. “No. Not there.”

  Now I regret blindfolding him and wish I could see his eyes. “Not even a light tap?”

  He moans but doesn’t answer me. I pull the crop away and he tenses as if he’s expecting me to do it.

  I don’t. I can’t do that to him. He would have to beg me first. Instead, I tap the crown of his cock lightly and he flinches but recovers quickly.

  “How about there?”

  “Yes.”

  I run the leather end up and down his length and tap the head at the end of each upstroke.

  He grits his teeth but doesn’t tell me to stop. Then, I realize I never gave him an “out,” a way to tell me when things are approaching the limit of his tolerance, when the pain becomes no longer pleasurable or wanted.

  I’m so out of my element, that I only know there are things called safe words. And I’m not even sure if we should be using them.

  “What’s your safe word?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t have one.”

  I step back in surprise. “Why not?”

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  And with that, my confidence just flies out of my open bedroom window. “What do you mean? You have all that stuff.” I glance over at the various toys scattered over my bed. He must be shitting me. No one owns all kinds of kinky toys and restraints and has never used them.

  I assumed he was a pro at this. Boy, was I wrong. I fight back a nervous laugh and look at the crop in my hand. I could hurt this man without even trying. We need to come up with a system if he wants to continue.

  The game of Red Light, Green Light from my childhood pops into my head. “Green, yellow, red. That’s what you’re going to use.” He nods and I’m tempted to rip off the blindfold to make sure he’s listening. “I want to hear you or I’m stopping this right now.”

  “Yes. Red, green, yellow.”

  I really don’t want to do anything to him where he has to yell “red” at me. I blow out a breath and study Reid Fucking Turner restrained in the middle of my bedroom floor, blindfolded, with hardened wax on his chest. A memory of the movie Misery flashes through me. I don’t want to be the crazy lady holding someone hostage against their will. Which is silly, since I know Reid consents and it’s his own toys I’m using on him. But still…

  I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. However, I’m wet and I’m enjoying this as much as he seems to be. And if he wants me to continue…

  “Tell me a color.”

  “Green.”

  “Lean forward, put your forehead on the carpet.”

  He complies right away, using the strength in his abs to lower himself forward. His back curves, not giving me the access I need.

  “Ass up.”

  He shifts his knees back until his body becomes a straight angle from his forehead on the floor to his ass in the air. His knees have to be hurting by now. But I brush that thought away and concentrate on my task at hand instead.

  With a flick of my wrist, I bring the crop down across his back and I’m the one who flinches this time. He remains as solid as a rock, so does his cock as it hangs between his thighs.

  “You like that?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I hide my surprise. “You want more?”

  “Please.”

  “What color?”

  “Green.”

  I bring the riding crop down across his ass cheeks this time, the hardest I’ve hit him yet. I notice his skin swell to form a welt where I struck him. “What color?”

  “Green.”

  Fuck. I don’t want to hit him any harder, but I’m surprised how aroused all this makes me. I want to fuck him, not torture him. However, giving him the pleasure he desires makes me want him even more. I want to give him what he wants. Because I plan on him giving me what I need.

  I strike him across the back of both thighs this time, narrowly missing his sac, and he makes a noise. “Color!” I yell a little panicked.

  He hesitates for only a second. “Green.”

  Fuck!

  I bring the crop down one more time across his ass and then quickly follow with another blow across his thighs again, then raise the crop one more time. “Tell me.”

  He sucks in a breath and his answer comes out ragged. “Green.”

  “No,” I moan.

  “Green,” he repeats more firmly. As I stand above him, with the crop poised for another strike, he gets impatient. “Fucking green. Do it!”

  I bring it down across his shoulder blades and his back bows as he cries out. I whip the crop across the room when I see a red line spring up from his skin.

  “Sit up,” I yell at him and he does, returning to sit on his heels. I rip off the blindfold and drop to my knees in front of him so we’re face to face. I cup his cheeks in my hands and stare into his eyes, which are dark, unreadable.

  I’ve loved this man almost my whole life. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re not. Can’t you see how hard I am?”

  I can. But instead of answering him, I pick the dried wax off his skin carefully, noticing he winces occasionally.

  His nipples appear red, irritated, and I kiss each one gently, before flicking them with my tongue. I kiss each red mark along his torso and when I reach his erection, I take him into my mouth. He murmurs something but I have no idea what. I take as much of his length as I can, though we’re still in an awkward position on the floor. I can’t believe I have Reid Fucking Turner in my mouth as I make him cry out with my lips, tongue, and teeth until he finally yells out the word yellow. I push myself back up and grab his face in my hands to finally kiss him.

  I crush my lips against his, exploring his mouth, his tongue tangling with mine playfully before it becomes serious. And, holy hell, I’m kissing Reid Fucking Turner.

  Finally.

  I moan into his mouth, then reluctantly push away. “How do I get the handcuffs off you?”

  He glances towards the bed. “There should be a key somewhere amongst the rest of the stuff.”

  I sure as hell hope so, because I want his hands all over me. And now I’m the one impatient. I stumble to my feet and rush over to the bed. I sweep my hand over it, looking for a key.

  “It’s silver, thin, and metal.”

  I roll my eyes, glad he can’t see me. Like I don’t know what a key looks like— “Wait.” I hold up what may be a cuff key. “This?”

  He nods and I sink to my knees behind him, trying to figure out how to unlock the cuffs. After fumbling and a few curses, I figure it out and release him. He lets out a sigh and rubs his shoulders and wrists but when he goes to move, I stop him. “Don’t move yet.”

  I throw the cuffs to the side and shed my robe, tossing that, too. On my knees, I shuffle closer, in between his legs and press myself against his back. I skim my hard, aching nipples across his skin as I kiss along the line of his neck and trace the tip of my tongue along his shoulders and down his spine. When I can’t go any lower, I work my way back up, making sure to kiss along the angry welt that crosses his back. My mark on him.

  I wrap my arms around the front of his shoulders, holding him close and whisper, “I
want you so much,” against the skin of his neck. When I sink my teeth into the corded muscles, his back arches against me. He groans, grabbing my arms, digging his fingers into my flesh, not pushing me away. No. He’s keeping me in place instead.

  “Green,” he whispers.

  When I bite the hard curve of muscle between his neck and shoulder, his head falls forward, and he shudders against me. I move to the top of his spine and grab his flesh between my teeth. It will leave a mark, but before I can release him, he’s telling me “Green,” once again and I bite harder, sink deeper. I only stop before I break the skin.

  I’m panting as hard as he is now. Knowing he’s getting off on me biting him sends a thrill right to my core. I push my pelvis against his ass and slide my arms down until I capture him in my hands. I cup his sac with one and squeeze the root of his length in the other. He lays his hands over mine and begins to control the movement of my fingers, my palm, up and down his shaft.

  His cock is dark and his balls even darker from the cock ring cutting off his circulation. I want it off him. And I want it off him now. I trace the rubber ring with my fingertip. “Take it off.”

  I fear he’ll lose some of his hardness when he removes it, but it’s worth the risk. I want to know he desires me and not just kinky play.

  After carefully removing the ring, I’m pleased he’s just as ready. I can touch him easier, more fully with nothing in the way. My fingers play along his hard shaft, the skin like velvet. I squeeze the head, milking a bead of precum onto my thumb and I swirl the silky fluid around the tip.

  “You do it,” I say, pushing myself to my feet and grabbing the bottle of Astroglide that’s on the bed. I move in front of him again. “Hold out your hand.” He does without question. I pop the cap and squeeze a few drops onto his palm. “Show me.”

  He grabs himself and starts to stroke. Slowly at first. I watch the glistening skin slide with each pull. His eyes never leave mine as he fists his own erection. I think back to earlier in the evening when I caught him doing the very same thing.

  His jaw tightens, and he reverses his grip, tugging harder, faster, his gaze still pinned to mine. I suck in air when I realize I stopped breathing. I can’t look away. My eyes flick down to his quick movements and when I glance back up, he’s grimacing and his eyes have closed. Still on his knees, his hips make minute movements in the same rhythm of his hand.