Coming Together: At Last, Volume Two

by Alessia Brio, L. A. Banks, Bridget Midway

  And they were there.

  Pale marble with tendrils of gold running through it surrounded them both. Tall pillars of the same stone rose skyward at the entryway, framing the chamber and the pool in its center. Cushions were piled around the pool, all colors and sizes, and that's where she went. A tug on the leash brought Ares scrambling after her.

  "Damn!” he cursed as he hurried to keep up with her.

  She gave his leash a jerk, forcing a howl of pain from him. “You have a dirty mouth, Ares. I don't want to hear it again."

  "Right,” he shot back, and realized—a moment too late—that he was in no position to get mouthy.

  She jerked on the leash again. No outcry followed, but she saw his muscles tense. “You will also keep a civil tongue in your head, or I'll remove it."

  He shot her a look of panic, but kept any comments to himself.

  "I'm going to bathe. You're going to wash me. But, before you enter the pool, I'd like a glass of wine.” She released the end of the leash and, ignoring him for the moment, went to the side of the pool. It's so good to be home, she thought, and stretched languidly. His eyes were on her, she felt them burning a path over her flesh.

  Revenge was going to be sweet, she mused as she unwound the strands of gold from around her body. The semi-sheer gown was next. With a shrug of her shoulders, it slid, as softly as a summer breeze, down her arm and off. It pooled around her ankles, hobbling her until she stepped free of it. When she bent forward to unfasten the knotted laces at her knees, presenting him with an unobstructed view of her nicely rounded bottom, she heard him gasp.

  Normally, she would have just straightened up and entered the pool. Instead, she stepped out of her sandals, and ran her hands up the backs of both legs. Peering back, she saw him, fixed and staring at her. “Wine,” she said, loud enough to get his attention.

  He jerked his head up, caught. Mouth agape, he nodded and rose to his feet, or almost did. He stopped when he lifted one foot and placed it on the floor, then looked at her, “May I rise?"

  Laughing, she said, “Yes, but don't touch yourself.” Nodding at his middle, she added, “That belongs to me for the remainder of the night."

  "Yes, it does.” He rose to his feet, than asked, “What would you like me to call you, my love?"

  "My love will be fine, unless I suggest something else."

  "Thank you, my love.” He bowed. “I'll get your wine now."

  She watched him walk out of the room, his buttocks flexing, the muscles playing against each other. A beautiful man, and hers to play with.

  When he returned, Syne was up to her neck in the pool. Sitting on the lower step in the shallow end, she lay her head back, allowing the water to sooth her. Her breasts rose to the surface, the nipples peaking out at him. Each breath moved the water around her and felt like a massage.

  She watched him approach her, his cock erect and swaying before him. She loved the sight of him nude, his skin so dark it seemed to suck in the light around him. Walking around the pool, he finally knelt beside her and held out a crystal glass filled with amber liquid.

  "Your wine, my love. I hope it's to your liking.” The brute knew how to impress her. He also knew her love of water.

  When she'd taken the glass and placed it on the edge of the pool, he slipped into the pool beside her. A large basket of soaps and oils waited for him. He chose a lilac scented soap and, with a dollop in his palm, he worked it into a rich lather. He moved in front of her, then carefully nudged her feet apart with his own and stepped between them.

  Mnemosyne's blood felt hot as it raced through her. Her knees trembled when she spread them, and she gasped when his thigh brushed hers. His cock, hard and black, seemed aimed at her sex. His hands, slick with lather, slid across her shoulders and over her breasts.

  Beneath the water, she took hold of him. He gasped when she eased her hand up and down the shaft. He'd obviously been excited for some time, as he pulsed and groaned, his hips thrusting into her hand. His hands stopped moving. His head was thrown back, and his mouth hung slack as she teased him. Sliding her thumb over the mushroom head, she felt the slickness of pre-come oozing out of him. He shuddered, his hips twitched.

  "You're not bathing me.” Her voice was thick with passion. She loved to torment him.

  He blinked at her and swallowed. “I've missed you, my love,” he murmured and slid his hands down her sides. His mouth went to her nipple, his lips puckering for their first taste in a year. His body touched her, his chest slid across her belly, his cock rubbed along her inner thighs. She groaned and dragged him forward, her pussy aching to be filled.

  "Fuck me,” she growled, all thought of his punishment forgotten for the moment. When he pushed forward, the head of his cock wedged itself against her opening. Easing forward, his mouth tore free of her nipple. The cool air sent a shiver of pleasure through her. His ragged sigh was music to her ears.

  "Fuck me,” she repeated and to her joy, he plunged in deep. “Yes, but don't come. Don't you dare come."

  "My love,” he croaked. Breathing like a freight train, he eased himself out of her, and held still with the tip just barely in contact with her nether lips. He moved his hands to the side of the pool, one on each side of her shoulders. His body, slick and wet, covered in the lather with which he'd caressed her breasts, shone.

  She leaned forward, kissing his chest, and felt the drumming of his heart against her lips. With her hands on his hips, she pulled him back inside her, groaning as his cock touched deep within her. She held him there, reveling in the wild pulsing of his cock and the way he trembled under her hands. Again, she pushed him away, but just enough. Her pussy clenched, the lips fluttering against his glans.

  "Please, my love. Ah!” His hips lurched ahead.

  She lost her grip on his hips as he lunged deep. Her clit rubbed against the base of his cock, and she cried out as her orgasm blossomed. Flashes of light blinded her, took her breath and held her captive as pleasure raced through her. Tensed, unable to move or breathe, she basked in sensation. He pounded into her, again and again, slamming his body into hers, extending the blissful explosions.

  When her thoughts returned, he'd collapsed against her, cock still buried deep, still hard and throbbing. The ring snug around the base of his cock ensured his erection, although he continued to twitch.

  "Ares, dog that you are, get off me.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved.

  Obviously reluctant, he backed away from her. His cock slid across her inner thigh once again, but this time she let it go untouched.

  "Now, I've been alone for an entire year. Had to take care of myself, you see, in all things.” She warmed to her little speech and could see from the look of annoyance on his face that he knew where she was going with it. “I don't imagine you kept yourself celibate, did you?"

  Shamefaced, he lowered his eyes and muttered, “Uh, well ... No, my love."

  Laughing, she replied, “No, I didn't think you had.” She squirmed, truly enjoying herself. “I want a little entertainment. You, my love, are going to be it. Climb out of the pool and kneel beside me—nice and close. I don't want to miss a thing."

  Ares did as he was told, clambering out of the pool, and kneeling very close to her. She glared at him when he presented himself with his knees firmly pressed together. Quickly, he eased them apart and showed himself as he'd been beside Dione's throne, the leash still wrapped around his genitals.

  She made him wait, posed, cock trembling with lust. His eyes were lowered so he looked at it, watching it throb and swell as his excitement rose even more.

  Mnemosyne reached for her glass of wine and relaxed against the side of the pool drinking. “How many women have you had this past year, my sweet Ares?"

  For a moment, he didn't answer. Whether he was unwilling or unable to remember them all, she didn't know. Finally, he replied, “Not as many as I would have liked, my love. There are always women to enjoy."

  Temper flaring, she said, �
�Entertain me. Masturbate, but don't come until I tell you to.” She sipped her wine and watched him.

  Taking a firm grip on his shaft, he squeezed it first. The head bulged, its eye opening as if winking at her. A pearl of pre-come oozed out, perching atop the bulbous dome. His strokes were slow, uneven for the first few. He got into the rhythm quickly enough, his own private pace that would carry him at length to the heights of bliss. She watched his inner thighs tense, his belly muscles tighten, even watched his tightly held testicles squirm within the confines of the ring holding them. Her wine slowly disappeared, and she waited even longer.

  Sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip. The muscular chest heaved with his determination to obey, to show her he loved her through his obedience. She knew him, knew how stubborn he was—how proud and vain—and used it against him.

  "Lean back, one hand on the floor behind you."

  He leaned back and rested his weight on the hand he placed behind himself. His hips thrust upward, his balls pushed more forward. Covered in pre-cum, his erection glistened darkly, magnificently.

  Mnemosyne pushed herself toward him between his wide spread legs. The scent of him was intoxicating. “Do you love me, Ares?"

  Gasping, scarcely able to speak, he managed to gasp, “Yes, more than anything."

  Smiling, she said, “More than anything. Are you sure?"

  Without a moment's hesitation, he said, “Yes, more than anything."

  "Good.” She leaned forward and kissed his cock head. It pulsed, and he groaned, obviously near to losing control. “You may stop entertaining me now."

  A look of disbelief crossed his face. “Stop? Now?"

  "Yes, if you love me. You can still come, but it will be me that gives you that gift."

  She saw the struggle. His painful realization of what she'd done. She controlled him, owned him, and would decide when—or if—he climaxed.

  He forced his hand to release his cock. Curled into a fist, he put it behind his back, resting his weight on both hands.

  Mnemosyne eased into a more comfortable position between his thighs and blew on his cock. It twitched in reply. “You may come, but remember this. You come at my command. This,” she tapped his glans with a fingertip, “belongs to me."

  "Yes, my love,” Ares croaked. His eyes were on her, unblinking, desperate.

  Her lips touched the tip of his cock, and she allowed the sticky crown to ease them open. She grazed the glans with her teeth, and it pulsed. She carefully followed the vein along its length to the base, then back to the rim. She sucked the tip into her mouth, flicked her tongue back and forth, then around until his gasping became soft, begging her to take him, suck him. Ignoring his pleas, she released his cock and worked on his balls, sucking and nipping at them with her lips.

  "Please, my love, please,” became a litany of need and one she refused to heed.

  When he stopped begging her, simply allowed the pleasure she gave to be what he would have, she stepped up her suction—eased more of his cock into her mouth and urged the come out of him. The first spew was massive and she swallowed it quickly, knowing another would come on the next pulse. Warm, thick, rich with his salty maleness, he pumped another stream of come into her waiting mouth. His groaning returned, and she loved it. She knew he was beyond caring about anything then except the rapture she provided.

  He gasped and jerked, and thrust into her mouth until nothing was left but dry pulsing. She lathed him with her tongue then let his softened cock go.

  Climbing out of the pool, she got a towel big enough to cover them both and went to him. He'd just managed to pull himself away from the edge of the pool and settle back onto the cushion, but was still gasping. Sitting astride him, she wrapped the towel around them both. “My love, my dog, you'll never learn, I know, but I love you anyway."

  Eyes shining with love, he smiled at her and said, “Yes, I'm your dog, your slave even, and if anyone can train me it's you.” He laughed for a moment, but then stopped and gazed into her eyes. “I love you, my Mnemosyne, my sweet Syne."

  * * * *

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  Seafood Cocktail

  © Sacchi Green

  He emerged from the sea like the incarnation of some primal god: wet, powerful, gleaming like dark, polished rosewood. When he spoke, his voice was deep as thunder, smooth as rain.

  "Hey, Lexie, where do you think they've hidden the cameras?"

  I rolled out from under the boat's inverted hull. “Come on, Max, you think they could fake a storm like that? Even if the technology existed, they wouldn't pay for it. The beauty of reality shows is the low overhead."

  "You're probably right,” he admitted, turning away to block a full frontal view, oddly shy for someone who'd signed away all rights to privacy for a chance at fame and fortune.

  I still got the benefit of his muscular butt. Droplets of seawater trickled over its curves, forming jaunty question marks. Several intriguing answers occurred to me.

  "You'd think they'd still cover all the bases,” he said over his shoulder. “Including any island we might get ourselves shipwrecked on. Otherwise, why let us have a boat, even a chicken-shit one like that?"

  He might have a point there—in addition to the one he was keeping out of view. “I just hope they know this sand spit exists,” I said, peeling off my sodden T-shirt and shorts and spreading them next to his on the hull to dry. “You can search for cameras all you like—I'll even help after I wash this sand off—but our first priority should be figuring out how to survive until they come to get us."

  I walked into the whispering wavelets of the lagoon, feeling his eyes on me and feeling my body move in ways subtly different from the strides I would have taken under the gaze of another woman. A tingle spread across my ass and around to my belly, upward to my breasts; it had been a long time since a masculine presence had had that effect.

  I swam out until the water was smooth enough for me to float on my back. Images of last night's chaotic storm coiled into and out of each other, like oil on the surface of a whirlpool. The one clear memory was a sexual current intensified by fear. Max and I had huddled through the night under our meager shelter, bodies pressed so tightly together that our clothes, saturated with rain and sweat and seawater, were no barrier to the pounding of each other's hearts. But Max, in spite of the arousal his wet jeans did little to conceal, had done nothing to take it any farther.

  I had a pretty good idea why. He had witnessed my girlfriend Tonya's explicitly steamy farewell at the plane and drawn the obvious conclusion. But Tonya had known perfectly well that potential sex was written between the lines of the show's contract, and she'd still pressured me to sign it. I'd only agreed to do the “Marooned” show for my indie-producer girlfriend's sake. If I could get a bit of notoriety, she figured, she'd have a better chance of getting backers for our films.

  But last night, while the pounding rain made our shelter into an impenetrable cave, Max's arms around me and mine around him had seemed absolutely right. The lightning flashes outside had built an electric tension deep inside me until I'd been at the point of jumping him myself—when he'd started snoring.

  Men! But he'd saved my life more than once in the last few hours, maybe even a time or two more than I'd saved his. Instead of interrupting his exhausted sleep, I'd amused myself with working my hand gently, gently between jeans and skin and teasing his heavy balls and straining cock just lightly enough to make him writhe and groan in his dreams, until, ultimately, his pants were soaked with something thicker and sweeter than seawater. And all without waking up.

  I drifted onward in the lagoon, savoring a gentler tension. Unless Max had more reason for resistance than figuring me for a hardcore dyke, being marooned was going to get very interesting, very soon. I swung upright, my toes just touching the sandy bottom. I looked around and saw I'd drifted close to a tiny islet near the center of the lagoon.

  A maze of underwater rocks suggested
mysterious lurking creatures, maybe octopi. I could see, too close to pass up, clusters of what I was pretty sure were oysters. I wished I had pockets; my built-in ones winced at the thought of rough oyster shells. I dived and grasped a large one in each hand.

  Back on the beach, I loped up the slope to where Max knelt. He was piling palm fronds under a lean-to built with the boat and some pieces of driftwood.

  "Hey, Max,” I called as I ran; he turned and got the maximum effect of my jiggling breasts. It wasn't wasted on him.

  "What's up?” he said, and turned quickly back. I resisted commenting on the obvious.

  "I found an oyster bed out there. Might be a little hard to get them down raw without lemon or Tabasco, but better than starving. And better than the rats they're eating back at the main base.” I tossed my prizes on the sand.

  "I guess,” he said, clearly not really focused on eating of that kind.

  I pressed my thigh against his shoulder. “I don't suppose we'll be here long enough to starve, anyway. But there are things I'd really, really like to fit in while we're still here. Alone."

  He'd pulled his shorts back on, but not his shirt. I leaned on his broad back and nuzzled his neck. He knelt, unmoving, supporting my weight, until I began chewing lightly on his muscular shoulders. “Did you know that oysters can switch their sex?” I murmured against his rigid jaw.

  "Lexie,” he said, his deep voice getting even deeper, “What do you think you're doing?"

  "If you can't tell, I must not be doing it right.” I brushed my hardening nipples across his back.

  "But I thought..."

  "I know what you thought. And I know what you're thinking now. Drives you crazy, doesn't it, envisioning what women do with each other?” I reached around his chest to flick his nipples; they sprang to attention. An interesting effect on hard muscle instead of soft curves.

  "If it didn't before, it does now,” he muttered. I worked one hand down inside his jeans, over the bunched muscles of his buttocks and then in between; suddenly he twisted under me and ended up on his back with me astride. “Damn it, Lexie, you'd better be going somewhere with this!"