The Last Love Song (A BWWM BDSM Romance)

by Lyn Rosella

  "Very good," he said, brushing my cheek with his knuckles, and my chest swelled with pride at his praise.

  He sank down to the floor, kneeling between my legs. "What are you doing?" I asked, suddenly alarmed.

  "Trust me," he commanded. And I did. I just had never met a man before who liked to do what he was apparently preparing to do. And none who were any good at it, either. It always felt really awkward.

  But if anybody knew what they were doing, it was Vaughn. My breathing quickened as he spread my thighs wider and leaned in.

  With a feather-light touch, he kissed my swollen nether lips. I shifted. My body was yearning for firmer contact, was nearly ready to explode. But Vaughn was going to do things his way. He kissed me lightly over and over until I was squirming off the chair, head thrown back and gasping. But I gripped the armrests and I trusted him to take me where I needed to go in due time - because that's what he'd told me to do.

  Then, gently, he stroked my clit with his tongue.

  I lifted from the seat. "Oh! Oh, fuck-"

  "Shh," he said, rubbing my thigh, "If you make too much noise, I'm going to stop. Understand?"

  "Yes," I whispered. I cleared my throat and settled back down. It was hard. I was so turned on that it hurt, and everything inside of me was throbbing with need.

  I inhaled sharply when he licked me again. Biting down on my tongue, I thought, I can do this. He laved my clit over and over while he held my legs apart, increasing his pressure with every pass. I tensed and I ground myself into each stroke, so close, so close-

  I cried out when he slid two thick fingers inside my body. Lifting from the seat, groaning with abandon, I couldn't help the sounds I made. It just felt too good, so good, there was no stopping them.

  "What did I say?" he growled, backing away.

  "Please, Vaughn, please sir, don't stop, don'tstop don'tstop..." The words poured from me in a desperate chant. He held his fingers still, curved right against my g-spot, pressing it hard. Maybe I can get off like this. I writhed wantonly on his hand.

  He stuffed something into my mouth. My eyes shot wide open - he was muffling me with my own panties! I whined, begging him with my eyes, don't stop!

  He chuckled at my desperation. "All I asked for was silence." He withdrew and thrust his fingers back inside me once, hard. I whined around the mouthful of material. "Bad girl." He withdrew his fingers and held them still right at my entrance. I longed to push myself against them, to take them back inside, but I knew he would be displeased by that. He was calling the shots, now. "Count backwards from ten."

  How? I started counting, "Ten, nine, eight," and he seemed satisfied enough at the muffled "Mmmfs" that emerged.

  On "one," he thrust again. And again, I couldn't stop the dampened cries. It just felt so good, and his teasing me made it even more intense.

  "No," he said, withdrawing once more. "From twelve this time."

  Holy shit. How long could this go on? I counted down, and my whole body shivered with anticipation as I approached that number one again, preparing for his fingers. Keep silent, you can do it.

  "One." This time, when he plunged his fingers deep, I kept quiet. I inhaled sharply enough to hurt my throat, but I made no sound.

  He smiled, and I felt way too pleased with myself. "Think you can keep it up?" he asked. I nodded. "All right. I'm going to make you come now and I'm not going to stop, but I want you to try to keep quiet for as long as you can." I nodded again, harder this time.

  His assault was like a tornado - sudden and destructive. No more teasing, no more buildup. His lips latched around my clit and he battered it relentless with his tongue, humming all the while, creating vibrations that I could feel down to my toes, all while thrusting his fingers like he was trying to drive me through the back of the chair and the wall behind it.

  I bit down on my panties and held my breath. I released my death grip on the arms of the chair and dug my fingers into his hair, holding him against me. He didn't seem to notice or care, he never slowed for a second. Quiet, quiet, I urged myself as I ground against his face.

  But there was no holding it back. The rising tide of pleasure in my core spilled over all at once, and I wailed into the material as ecstatic waves of bliss flooded my quivering body. My mind shut down and I disappeared into some warm oblivion.

  I'd never come so hard in my life. Hell, I rarely came at all when another person was involved, not like that. Normally I had to make it happen myself.

  Vaughn was rising to his feet when my eyes finally fell open. He peeled the panties out of my mouth and dropped them next to my purse. I drew in big gulps of air, head still spinning with disbelief. "What the hell did you just do to me?" I asked.

  He just smirked. Cocky bastard.

  I swallowed and straightened up in my seat. "That was... a lot," I said. My heart was still racing and showed no sign of slowing.

  "Come here." On weak and shaking legs, I stood, and he pulled me into his arms. I leaned into him, savoring his warmth. And also because I didn't trust my knees to hold me up.

  His hands rubbing my back, soothing my jangled nerves. "I'm going to give you another assignment," he said.

  The prospect made me grin - but I said instead, "When will I see you again?"

  "I'll be joining you on the road for that award show."

  "Oh." It wasn't too far away, but part of me was hoping that his answer would be, "Tomorrow." "What's the assignment?"

  "I sent you something. A gift."

  "Oh?"

  "I want you to put it inside you every night between now and when I see you again. Work it in deep. And don't come."

  I shivered. "Mind if I ask, what the fuck?"

  I felt rather than heard his chuckle. "I don't want you to come again without me," he said. "And I want you to be ready for this." He pressed his hips against mine - his erection rubbed against my lower belly, incredibly hard and impossibly big. I remembered it - I remembered it well. I'd dreamed about the damn thing.

  I started to reach down between us to grip him, but he swatted my hand away. "Be good and you'll get it."

  Satiated as I was, his words caused another wave of warmth between my legs. I wanted it, all right. Enough to go along with his crazy assignment. "Okay," I said. "I'll do just what you said."

  "Good girl."

  A dildo. My sexy beast of a bodyguard sent me a dildo. And of course the fucking thing was pink.

  It arrived at my apartment the very next day after a terrible rehearsal. One of my dancers had revealed that she was leaving - and that she was joining one of Camden's artists instead.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" I'd shrieked at her. My famous, out-of-control temper made its first appearance in a long time. "He's using you to get to me, you just wait. As soon as this show's over you'll be out on your ass and no one, no one, will fucking hire you ever again!"

  She'd stared at me with an infuriating composure, and when I finally stopped to take a breath, all she said was, "Not everything is all about you, Zenaida." And then she left.

  So when I got home later that evening, exhausted and still shaking with anger, I didn't know whether to laugh or to scream at the obscene pink dick that had been delivered to my front door.

  I let it sit upright on my nightstand while I stretched out in bed that night, watching the news and eyeing the thing as if it was going to jump out and bite me.

  "He's fucking crazy," I muttered to myself. I mean sure, I wasn't a complete stranger to sex toys. I had a favorite vibrator. I'd even received a couple as gifts, odd as that sounds, usually from companies themselves looking for a mention. And there was a thinner, smaller, smoother, less pink dildo hanging out in the back of my closet somewhere, collecting cobwebs.

  This thing was a graphic monster, complete with ridges and veins. I never would have purchased such a thing on my own, and if anyone had tried to gift me one, I would have sent it right back with a nasty note questioning their upbringing.

  But, coming from V
aughn...

  Thinking about him picking this thing out and sending it to me was kind of a turn on. Touching myself while thinking about him was an even bigger turn-on, and the hornier I got, the less intimidating the thing looked.

  Well, I did promise. I grabbed it from the nightstand. The damn thing was heavy, too. I turned it over in my hands, considering the best way to get started. His words echoed in my head. Put it inside you. Work it in deep.

  I tried that night. I can honestly say that I tried. On my back, on my hands and knees, on my stomach... the thing was too big. I worked the head of it between my slippery lips and inside my channel but I just couldn't push it very far. It stretched and it burned and I gave up after each attempt, sore, red with frustration. Finally I collapsed and dozed off, unable to continue.

  The second night, though, after some careful manipulating and a little bit of lube, I was able to swallow it up inside my body. I could only stare down at it in awe at first - or at least, at the very base of it protruding from between my legs.

  Not getting myself off was harder that night. As the pain faded and it started to feel good, I was tempted to thrust it, just a little. Big mistake when I did - it filled me unlike any fingers or any cocks had in the past, ever. It curved right against my g-spot and rubbed me just the right way. This thing is fucking magic. If my pussy was a person, it would have been weeping with regret when I put the thing away for the night.

  By the fourth night I was feeling different all around, and not just unbearably horny, though that was becoming an issue. I also felt less anxious. It couldn't be as simple as the act of stuffing a big ol' dildo inside my body, there had to be more to it than that. Something else was happening.

  By the fifth night, I realized exactly what he'd done. I was coming home excited to try out the big pink dick again. I was shedding the day away as I shed my clothes and got into bed with it. I wasn't sitting up worrying, or fretting, or seething with anger at whatever obstacles I might have faced at rehearsal or elsewhere.

  I was only thinking about Vaughn. Every single night.

  "This is it, people!" Pauline clapped at my line of dancers. Then she reminded the band, "This is it, guys." She clasped a hand on my shoulder. "You've got this, Zenaida." She tugged here and there on my dress - an artfully torn-up gold sequined little number that showed off my legs all the way up. Paired with high-heeled combat boots, I was supposed to look like a post-apocalyptic diva.

  I swatted her hand away as she patted at my hair. Sure, it looked nice and neatly straightened, but that shit had taken hours. No one but my stylist was allowed to touch it until the night was ended.

  "Don't you have a seat?" I asked. She really didn't need to be backstage for this, and she was smearing the glitter off of my arm. I knew she was only there because she was worried about me, because she knew I was worried about Camden, but the woman was going to drive me crazy! I was wound up enough without her fluttering around like a manic hummingbird.

  "Yes, yes, I'll get to my seat, I just want to make sure everything is ready to go!" She ended the sentence with a flourish of her hand.

  "You're losing your shit, Pauline, and you're fucking up my vibe. Go sit down!"

  She didn't take it personally. She'd known me too long for that. With an exaggerated thumbs up, she rushed off and out of my hair. Finally.

  The Relevance Awards had gotten off to a rocky start when the stream was momentarily cut off a minute after it started, and everyone had been on edge ever since.

  But not me. Aside from being annoyed at Pauline's incessant yammering, I was as ready as I could be. I caught Vaughn's eye where he waited patiently further backstage, keeping watch for anyone who might try to approach me. He looked so calm. So solid.

  I could be calm and solid, too. No one from Camden's camp would bother me - not with Vaughn there.

  And that's what I kept reminding myself of as I waited for my signal to stride out onstage, where millions of people would be watching it happen live. I was a born performer, and this didn't scare me. In that moment, walking out onto that dark stage with him at my back, nothing could scare me.

  "You know whose voice this is."

  The audience went wild with the first note. Our whole performance was spectacular if I could say so myself. And it wouldn't conceited to say so, it took a whole team to put it together. The song was mine, but the rest was a collaboration, and I'd surrounded myself with the best people I could find.

  The light show was flawless, the pyrotechnics impressive, the dance number full of energy. I couldn't tell how the sound was but I would examine the recordings later.

  Everything onstage was perfect.

  Everything offstage was not.

  "Zenaida! Zenaida, tell us about your show!"

  "Why did that dancer quit? Why is she calling you a bully?"

  "Zenaida, tell us about Michelle!"

  That bitch. That twirling, dancing, bitch. I hope she breaks both her feet!

  "Who let these people back here!" I called over the questioners' heads. Vaughn and the other bodyguard, Bryan, were already lifting them and moving them aside to reach me. Lexi was screeching at them, Gavin was squeezing his way in between me and their cameras.

  I was fucking pissed. They did not belong backstage, someone had let them through. And I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who was involved. This will never stop if I keep running. "Give me my phone," I said to Gavin. He blinked before he passed it back to me.

  Vaughn reached me before I could use it. "Let's go."

  "I need a minute." I gave him a long look, hoping he would understand. When we looked back, Bryan and the venue's security guys were removing the unwelcome interviewers. Everything would be under control soon. "I need to do something."

  He nodded.

  I turned away from the spectacle and dialed a number that I hadn't dialed in a very long time. A number that I'd deleted from my phone long ago, that I’d tried so hard to forget. But it was tattooed on my brain, and I dialed every number without hesitation.

  It rang. I tasted bile as I waited for him to pick up, my stomach churning with all the old fears, but I refused to back down. But then I heard it - a cell phone ringing, somewhere in the distance. A familiar ring. I peered around Anyone could have that tone, it's been years...

  And there, further backstage amongst the lighting crew and the sandbags, was Camden. Wearing a white suit with a gold tie, he didn't look like he'd aged much since the last time I'd seen him face to face. His hair was shorter, and he'd shed a lot of the more casual, youthful hip hop style in favor of suits, making him look more professional. But there he was, the same old Camden. Waiting. Smiling. Motherfucker.

  "Wait here," I said.

  "Zenaida-"

  "I'll signal you." I wasn't even looking at Vaughn, but I could feel his strength behind me, and I drew from it as I stepped in Camden's direction.

  "Z," he said, his eyes lighting up. "You look amazing. Great job out there."

  "What are you doing here, Camden?" I clenched my fists at my sides.

  "I wanted to see you. I've been trying to see you but you've been... inaccessible."

  "That's on purpose."

  He showed me his palms. "I just want to talk."

  "How many times have I told you that I don't want to talk?" I hissed.

  "You need to cut this shit out, Zenaida," he said, his smile fading. "Do you have any idea how many doors slam in my face because of you? Because people don't want to work with me, because you can't let this old shit go? You're sabotaging my fucking career!" His face was twisted by the end of his rant, and he was leaning forward, towards me, but he hadn't moved his feet.

  Maybe he knew better. Or maybe he saw Vaughn watching somewhere behind me. Either way, he was smart enough to stay where he stood.

  "And your answer to that is to send your little cronies out to harass me?"

  "They didn't harass you, they just wanted to talk to you. Fuck." He dropped his hands. "You know, after all this t
ime, I've held out hope that you'd come crawling back?" I scoffed at that. "Even if that never happens you'd better learn to fucking get along, Z. You keep dragging me down and I'm gonna start dragging you right behind me."

  "I'm considering that a threat." I raised my hand. "You'd better leave me the fuck alone from now on, Camden. This shit is over. It's been over for a long time." Vaughn was there in an instant, standing between us, bodily shielding me from seeing Camden's snarling face any longer.

  "Time to move along, buddy," he said.

  "Do you have any fucking idea who I am? Fucking bald-ass pasty motherfucker, mind your own fucking business!"

  But Vaughn wasn't listening. He was turning me, ushering me away, back to my crew and then into the hallway behind the backstage area.