by Stacia Stone
He doesn't know how to love.
Somehow he must have been responsible, at least for leaving her alone with her sadness until it was too overwhelming to ignore. Because wasn't that exactly what he was doing to me?
I refused to make the same mistake that she did.
19
Julian didn't return home until almost midnight. I had some warning when I came down for dinner and Naomi was reading a magazine in the kitchen.
"It's gonna be awhile," she had said with a quirked eyebrow.
Because Julian had no qualms sharing his plans with his housekeeper, but I didn't merit so much as phone call. He clearly expected me to spend the majority of my time waiting for him, like a dog stationed eagerly at the door until its master returned.
When he finally entered the dining room, where I waited at a fully set table with now lukewarm food and candles burned down to their tapers, he barely spared me a glance.
I didn't speak while he loosened his tie and slung his suit jacket over the back of a chair. I bit my tongue on the rush of words that desperately wanted to spill from my lips.
But when his gaze finally met mine, I couldn't hold my voice back anymore.
"I want to talk about your wife."
His eyebrows disappeared into the fringe of dark hair that swept across his forehead. "Excuse me?"
"I want to k-know—“ I started, the words quavering on my tongue. Under the intensity of his undivided attention, I had to force myself to continue. "I have to know about your wife."
"I thought I made it clear how I feel about this line of questioning."
"You did," I responded, fighting to keep my voice steady. "But I can't let it go."
He tapped his fingers against the table, but his gaze never broke from mine. I could see the calculation in his eyes. "My wife is none of your concern."
"I know she died."
If the words had any impact on him I couldn't tell beyond a slight quirk of his lips. "And how would you know that?"
"I...I looked it up on the internet." Belatedly, I realized it was likely a good idea to keep Naomi and the key she had given me a secret. "There are no secrets with Google."
Julian rested his steepled fingers on his chin. "Then it seems like you know everything that you need to know."
"Why did you lie to me?"
"Lying to you and allowing you to believe a narrative that you came up with completely on your own are not the same thing."
"But you let me believe that I was helping you cheat on your wife, that she was at home waiting for you while you were here with me." I couldn't quite believe his cavalier attitude. "That's an awful thing to do."
"I'm not sure what it is that you're expecting from me, Dalea."
My hands clenched hard in my lap. "I guess I was expecting honesty."
"I've never lied to you."
"You have—“
"Be quiet," he commanded and I obeyed like it was second nature, which in a way it was. "Let me test my understanding: the idea of being with me while you thought I cheated on my wife was bearable, but now that you know no infidelity has taken place, you're upset?"
When he said it like that, it sounded ridiculous, which was probably very much his intention. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"There isn't anything to tell."
I opened my mouth to retort, but Naomi chose that moment to enter the dining room with a plate of roasted chicken and vegetables in each of her hands. I cast my gaze toward the table as she slid a plate in front of me.
When I glanced up, Naomi was watching me. I barely caught her slight wink before she turned to place a plate in front of Julian. I felt emboldened by her support.
Both of us were quiet until Naomi left the room. Julian picked up his fork and knife to began cutting into his chicken but my hands remained at my side. I had no appetite.
"Did she really kill herself?" I asked, knowing that I was baiting him.
Julian wiped his mouth with a napkin before laying it gently back in his lap. "You are walking a very thin line."
"I just wonder if there's some reason that you didn't tell me — some reason that you didn't want me to know."
"And what might that be?"
He raised a sardonic eyebrow at me and I had to force myself to ignore the surge of want that coursed through my body. Even my anger wasn't enough to overcome my desire for him and somehow I bet he knew it.
I swallowed hard. "You tell me."
"Perhaps because you fancy yourself in love with me."
I froze and my mouth went dry. "I never said that I love you."
"You didn't have to." He picked up the glass of red wine beside him and took a small sip. "Love is what inexperienced young girls call it when they confuse their body's response for something greater."
"That's a very cold way of looking at things."
"It's a realistic way of looking at things."
"And what about you," I asked, determined to keep my voice steady. "You fought pretty hard to get me here. You could have had a hundred other girls without a problem, why me?"
The look he cast me practically smoldered. "Because I wanted to fuck you in as many ways as I could think of without being interrupted."
I ignored the hard shiver that coursed down my spine at his words. "So once you've had your fill of fucking me, you'll walk away and never think of me again, is that it?"
"You seem quite intent on upsetting yourself."
I picked up my fork and knife to occupy my hands because I needed to focus on something besides his face. "Is that also the way you felt about your wife? Did she confuse love and sex too, or did you?"
"That's enough, Dalea."
"The article that I read said that she was pregnant."
The tension between us swelled and burst into frantic motion. Julian's fork and knife clattered onto the table and he was up and out of the chair in a hasty movement.
He grabbed my arms and pulled me bodily out of the chair and then spun me around until I fell hard against the table.
"Since you seem so intent on getting my undivided attention," he murmured against my cheek as he pressed his body hard against mine. "Tell me when you've had enough."
His mouth descended on mine, powerful and possessive. There was nothing gentle or controlled about his kiss and I could heel his frustration. For better or worse, I knew I'd struck a nerve.
He broke the kiss and pressed his lips against my ear. "Shall I show you what love is?"
With rough hands, he shoved aside the fabric of my skirt. Nothing stood between him and my exposed skin, just like he wanted. I braced my hands on the table as he went to his knees and buried his face between my thighs.
His nose pushed through the damp curls and his tongue found my most sensitive spot. I couldn't stop the groan that escaped from my lips. I was hyper-aware of my body, of the cold, hard wood pressing into my bottom and the sharp end of the table pinching against my thighs.
The heat of his mouth against my skin felt like a lightning strike. As his tongue lathed my clitoris, he pushed two fingers inside of me, playing my body like a musical instrument.
The orgasm burst over me suddenly, so strong that I swayed forward and would have fallen if he hadn't reached up to steady me.
"This is love," he said harshly. He drove his hips against mine, so his still-clothed erection dragged against my bare skin. "Love is neurotransmitters firing and hormones soaking the emotion centers of your brain. It's a trick that your body plays on your mind. It isn't real."
"You're wrong," I gasped into his chest, my eyes practically rolling into my head at the friction of him pushing against me.
"If I couldn't do this to your body — if it didn't respond to me like a moth to a flame — you wouldn't think you loved me."
I looked up to see an unrecognizable emotion cross his face, one that seemed almost stricken, before an all-too familiar mask descended over his features.
My hand rose unbidden to touch his face, fingertips cat
ching in the stiff stubble on his cheek. "Why are you so afraid?"
Julian ripped himself away from me in a violent movement, leaving me cold. He adjusted his cuffs as he walked around the table and heading toward the door of the dining room.
"I seem to have lost my appetite," he said tightly, not looking at me. "Enjoy your dinner."
He left the room before I could muster a response.
What the hell just happened?
Clearly I had gotten to him, even if I didn't know exactly what that meant. I wasn't naive enough to believe that Julian could fall in love with me, but I knew he felt something — more than he wanted to feel.
But was that enough?
I woke in the dark, unsure of what had startled me so suddenly out of sleep. Pale moonlight shone through the open window where the curtains had been drawn.
The house was eerily quiet except for the soft creak of it settling into the foundation. I lay there for a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dark. Nothing stirred around me but I felt a near-certainty that I wasn't alone.
I moved to sit up in the bed when a heavy weight forced me back against the bed. My hands were gripped in an iron-grasp and forced above my head. I tried to fight but my movements were like an ant pushing against a mountain.
The weight lifted off of my chest but when I tried to pull my hands away, they barely budged. I quickly realized that they'd been secured to the head of the bed above me.
"What—“ I gasped.
Julian cut me off. "Shut up or I will gag you."
He moved to my legs and I didn't fight him as he tied them down. When I experimentally shifted my feet, there was more movement allowed but not enough for me to do more than bend my legs slightly. I was effectively trapped.
He moved back over me, his body a nearly crushing weight over me. It became only more so as he leaned forward to speak softly into my ear. "I want you to restrict any sounds you make to those of pleasure — or pain. Do you understand?"
My nod was barely a movement against his cheek.
His hands moved down to my breasts, cupping the rounded masses before moving to pinch my nipples. I moaned and arched my back up against him. When his mouth moved to replace his hand, I couldn't stop the desperate exclamation that slipped from between my lips.
"Please—“
I felt his smile against my skin. "It's very difficult to remain silent, isn't it. Here, let me help you."
He pulled away and I made a desperate sound, thinking that he would punish me with his absence. But his hands quickly returned and pressed something smooth and round against my lips, forcing my mouth open so it rested against my tongue.
"Don't fret. This is a ball gag," he said as he fastened the strap around the back of my head. "Now you may make any sound you wish without fear of being disobedient. Even better, if my attentions become very painful, you can bite into the rubber without causing yourself damage."
The gag was uncomfortable in my mouth but not desperately so. I tried tentatively to maneuver it with my tongue but it remained solidly in place.
His hands slid down my body, coasting over my chest and belly then moving smoothly over my thighs. The pressure of it was so light as to be almost comforting, if I weren't gagged and tied to the bed.
"You have the smoothest skin," he murmured appreciatively. His fingers pressed into my thighs, hard enough that I knew the skin would be reddened with the beginnings of a bruise. "And so easily marked."
I turned my head and pressed my cheek into the sheet in a desperate effort to cool my overheated skin. The ache at the core of me was building into a crescendo but I could do nothing to soothe it — not even beg for release.
"But I think your breasts might be my favorite part of your body," he said casually, as if the conversation wasn't completely one-sided. "There perfectly-sized, kitten. Not too large and certainly not too small. See how they fit perfectly in my hands.”
His hands moved to demonstrate his appreciation, cupping and kneading the sensitive tissue until my breathing came in harsh gasps around the gag.
"And such pretty pert little nipples." His mouth closed over one and then another, pulling my flesh harshly into his mouth and sucking hard. "Would you like me to tell you what I'm going to do to them?"
He didn't wait for whatever response I might be able to muster and leaned away from me to search in the bedside table. The bed dipped under his weight and my body rolled towards him because I had so little control over my movements.
Julian leaned back with a long chain in his hands. He held it up where I could see and showed me the twin metal circles on each end. A pin stuck out of one side and metal teeth met in the middle.
He must have caught my wide-eyed gaze because he chuckled softly before moving over me.
"These are nipple clamps. I've heard them described as tormenting, but they won't do you any actual damage if applied properly."
I quailed against the restraints. Clamps? He wanted to place my nipples in a literal vice. There was no way that I would be able to handle that — the pain would have to be overwhelming.
Julian watched me carefully, his expression somber. "Do you trust me not to hurt you, Dalea?"
My hands clenched in fists against the headboard. Did I trust him? The better question was: what would I do to keep him with me? Because the answer to that was apparently anything.
I nodded and made a sound against the ball gag that was as close to sounding like yes as I could muster.
"Since this your first time, I won't expect you to wear them for very long." His finger traced the curve of one breast, making me shiver. "The clamps will feel like an intense pressure."
I forced myself to remain still as he pinched my nipples, hardening them into tight peaks in preparation for the clamps. I had quickly learned with Julian that there was a very thin line between anticipation and fear.
"Are the restraints loose enough for you to rap your knuckles on the headboard?"
I experimentally reached up with one hand and had just enough give to beat against the wood with my knuckles.
"Good. If the clamps become too much for you to bear, that is how you will alert me to your desire to have them removed." His hands pulled away from my skin and he reached for the metal chain. "I will be disappointed if you cannot continue, but I will always place your physical safety first. You submit of your own free will."
I nodded as much as the restraints would allow, as tears burned behind my eyes. Why did he have to remind me at every turn that I had done this to myself?
His hands moved slowly as if he feared startling me. The metal felt cold and alien against my skin as he pressed the metal device over one nipple and then the other.
The pressure was even more intense than what he had described, and much closer to excruciating pain than anything I was comfortable with.
And then he began to tighten the clamps. Pain shot through me, bright and terrible like a lightning strike on dry kindling. It burned like fire and stung, hurting more desperately than anything else we'd done together.
"Remember to breathe," he coached me softly. "I'm very pleased with you."
I moaned against the gag, clenching and unclenching my hands against the restraints at my wrists. The pain was nearly overwhelming. A battle raged inside of me because I knew that I could end it if I wanted to.
Except it wasn't pain without purpose. I was bearing it for him.
Because I would do anything that he asked of me.
The chain draped between my breasts, a line of cold against my skin. His fingers slid gently up my abdomen and stroked the chain. My nostrils flared in alarm as I realized what he was about to do.
Julian gripped the chain and gently pulled on it, but the small movement was enough to create an intense, burning pain that overwhelmed me so completely that I nearly lost consciousness. I screamed against the gag because it was the only thing that I could do.
The clamps had choppy teeth that pressed down on each side of my nipple, digging
into the tender skin. The pain was so intense — so all-consuming — that I imagined the skin would be completely torn off. That my reward for his play would be mutilation.
But I trusted him — didn't I? — trusted him enough to do me no real harm.
"Yes," he whispered into my ear, pressing open-mouth kisses down my cheek before nuzzling into my neck. His hands continued to play at the chain, sending tendrils of sharp pain shooting straight to my core. "Submit to me, Dalea. Let your body be my playground."
One hand pushed beneath my head to pull at the strap of the gag. With a quick movement he pulled it free and tossed the ball gag, wet with my spit and tears, aside so it hit the floor and rolled away.
His lips possessed mine and his tongue plundering my mouth as if he had to taste every inch of it. At the same time his hand moved down my body and between my thighs, pushing through the curls and dipping a single finger inside of me.
I moved desperately against his hand, pain and pleasure merging in a sharpening spiral until I could barely distinguish one from the other.
"You are so beautiful," he groaned against my mouth. "Does it make you happy to know how much you please me?"
I made an affirmative sound as he rained kisses over my face and neck. He massaged my liquid center with his fingers, drawing desperate and mewling sounds of pleasure from my lips.
My hips ground against his searching fingers as his mouth caught mine in another penetrating kiss.
"I'm going to remove the clamps now," he said as his lips moved against mine. "It may feel very intense. Are you ready?"
I had barely finished nodding when I felt his hands at my breasts, working gently at the clamps. In the next moment the clamps were gone and the pain intensified into a sharp locus as the blood flow they had temporarily been denied rushed back all at once.
A screech was wrenched from my throat at the ferocity of the sensation. His hands moved up to the restraints at my wrists and quickly released them.
Julian used his hips to push my legs apart, nestling between them like we were meant to fit together. He pushed himself inside of me, parting the tender flesh. My arms fell down around him of their own volition as my hips rocked against his.