by Dani Collins
“Oh, no, Arianne, I’m sorry I interrupted you.” He wasn’t, though. She could tell by the smug smile flirting at the corners of his wicked mouth. “Which one do you prefer?” he asked.
Four photos. Good grief. The first two were full-body shots, one from behind, one from across the bed where he was able to catch the wanton expression in her closed eyes and parted lips. Then one of her hand splaying across her breast. When had she done that? Pinching her nipple in the V of her first and second finger while she clung with white knuckles to the post.
The last one angled down, showing her brunette nest against the deep red of the cherrywood post, the bead shiny with more than just lacquer.
“That’s so embarrassing,” she whispered.
“Exciting,” Dominic corrected. “Here now. I want to see this manicure I paid for. Kneel over here.”
On shaky legs she moved to the divan and followed orders, kneeling on the hard cushions, reminding herself he had paid for a lack of inhibition on her part.
“Now lift your skirt. No, all the way.”
She bunched it at her waist.
“Bend forward.”
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t, yet he only had to touch the crown of her head and she lowered to all fours, her manicure knotting the cool sheet beneath her.
“Now bring one hand around like this. Dig those fingernails in. Yes. Just like that. Turn your head, Arianne. Look at me over your shoulder—right. Just like that. Now say, ‘Kiss my ass.’”
She couldn’t help it. She broke up, falling onto one hip in laughter, only halting when he dropped the photo in her lap.
“I’d like to,” he said, while she picked it up to examine it. “I’d like to lick you from bottom to top.”
She stared at the part of herself she’d only ever thought about in terms of making sure she kept it clean. She didn’t even think she’d ever seen the tight bud of her anus as an adult, but there it was, exposed by the pull of her nails digging into her pale cheek, puckered as if inviting a kiss. Despite the mask, her amusement came through in her over-the-shoulder playful smile, obviously enjoying herself.
“Do you think you’d like that, Arianne? Being licked and sucked here? Fucked in the ass?”
The sheer forbidden aspect of it sent a throbbing streak high between her legs.
“I don’t know.”
Behind his own mask, his brown eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t ask you to take me. It hurts at first, which is part of the appeal, but not many women can take a man of my girth like that. It might even be a tight fit when it comes to your pussy.”
She caught her breath as a sharper excitement pulsed deep in her loins.
“But today is not the day to find that out, either. Not until I’m sure you’ve mastered your homework. Lie on your back, Arianne.”
“Dominic,” she protested.
He touched her shoulder, tilting her. She slid easily as the slippery fabric of the sheet shifted on the smooth leather of the divan, puddling at her side as he arranged her.
“Now this leg…” He dropped her one foot to the floor.
She followed it with her other one, keeping her thighs locked.
“It’s just a photo, Arianne. I have enough to get me good and horny, but I’m not going to come without the money shot. Your other calf rests here.” He lifted the corner of the sheet that had fallen and replaced it along the back of the divan. “Show me your pussy, darling. I want to see how wet it is.”
Very. Soaked and pouting and tingling at the idea of his looking at photos of her while masturbating.
Slowly she allowed him to lift her leg into place, both her hands instinctively moving down to shield herself as heat climbed the crease between her spreading buttocks.
One corner of Dominic’s mouth twitched and he half shrugged. “This makes a nice shot, too, with your arms pushing your tits up like that.” He adjusted the folds of the cups, exposing both her breasts, nipples hard and turgid.
“Very nice,” he said, not looking at the photo after he took it, only nudging her bottom knee to relax outward. “Now use those brilliant red fingernails to part your lips darling.”
This wretched manicure had cost her the ability to protest. She almost regretted it, yet…
Dominic licked his lips, waiting.
Yet she’d never in her life imagined bringing pleasure to a man, sexual pleasure, on purely a visual basis. She wanted to do this for him and it had nothing to do with what she might owe him. It excited her to excite him.
Easing her hands apart, she used a delicate touch to trace her wet slit. The long nails forced her to use the flats of her fingertips to ease past the damp curls and search out the smooth channel inside her plump outer lips. As she drew them open, she heard Dominic take a soft, harsh breath.
His body jolted but his gaze remained transfixed by what she exposed.
That hypnotic attention urged her to shift one hand and slowly ease her middle finger closer to the center of her sex. The race of tingles climbed as she used the full length of her finger to saw between her inner lips, opening them fully and stimulating her clit at the same time.
“Penetrate yourself,” he said in a guttural voice, lifting the camera, focusing. Flashing.
She tried, but— “My nails are too sharp.” She heard the frustration in her own voice. Her vagina longed for the firm push of two fingers, the modest stretch that tautened the skin beneath her clit and heightened the friction, but she was too tender and her nails too new.
Dominic lowered the camera, took a step closer and bit the end of his finger, tugging his glove loose. One fingertip, two, three.
She held his intent stare as the glove came free, voice frozen as her mind screamed that he was about to touch her. She wanted him to.
He tossed the glove onto her stomach. Almost without awareness, she drew circles around her clit at the same time, feeling the tension of approaching orgasm.
“No,” he said, his bare hand covering hers, drawing her away from fingering the swollen button. “Not yet. Open for me.”
Desperate, she spread herself, feeling the tip of his finger circle in the slick juice coating the sensitive area below her entrance, gently tracing her opening.
“How many fingers?” he asked, dipping the tip of one in.
She instinctively clutched at him, whimpering with loss when he pulled away.
He made a satisfied sound and teased her with another promise of penetration.
“Please,” she said, straining to hold herself wider.
“How many?”
“I used—” She caught her breath as he drove one finger all the way in, deep and thicker than her own, testing the channel. “Ahhh!” she groaned as he retreated.
“One?” he asked, driving in again. Withdrawing. “Or two?”
She groaned as two thick, firm fingers plunged relentlessly into her sensitive sheath. He pushed in as far as he could and held her like that, breathless and speechless, her muscles working to accommodate a deeper penetration than she’d known for a long time.
“You’re so wet,” he muttered, easing his fingers in and out of the pulsing, sobbing depths, causing shivers as the friction drove her level of arousal to unbearable heights.
“Please,” she said, sliding her slippery fingertips to her clit.
“No.” The delicious pressure of his fingers inside her receded, and his wet fingers clamped over her wrist. “Not yet. Now tell me. How many fingers?”
“I used two,” she admitted in a voice thick with mortification and pleading.
“So you want me to use two?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask me for it.”
“Please use two fingers,” she said.
“To what?” He touched her exposed nipple with his two damp fingers, her own juices lubricating his fondling. “Hmm?” He moved his hand upward, until the smell of herself filled her nostrils and her own essence, collected on the backs of his fingers, moistened lips dry from panting.
She licked instinctively, briefly catching the thick pad of one of his fingertips before he lifted away. He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Oral stimulation is tomorrow, otherwise I’d kneel down and fuck you with my tongue right this second. Now ask me for what you want, Arianne.”
Thrashing her head, she moaned, “Here. Two fingers, here.” She lifted her hips and opened herself wide. “Inside. Please. Fu-fuck me with your fingers.” She’d never live with the memory of having said that, but she desperately needed—
He slid his hand down, driving faintly cool fingers into her, all the way. “How? Slow? Hard?”
“Deep,” she gasped. “I like it when you’re—ah, there. There.” He could reach where she couldn’t. Only her shoulders touched the cushions as she pushed down with her heels, offering herself to his thrusting fingers, humping and rocking and finding a rhythm. “My clit. Please,” she moaned, not sure where the words came from, only needing so badly. Needing and needing— “Please!” she begged.
He denied her, his gloved hand coming to her pubic bone and pressing her flat to the cushions while the stretch between her legs grew. Three. He’d pushed a third finger into her.
“I can’t— I need—”
“Christ I want to fuck you,” he said and thumbed her clit.
The pressure of orgasm burst inside her, slamming from the depths of her uterus outward, exploding behind her eyes. No soaring release like the ones she’d enjoyed last night, this one clenched like a fist behind her navel, then released. Contracted and relaxed again and again while warm heat pooled where Dominic gently continued to thrust, his breaths harsh and labored.
The hand that rested so heavily on her abdomen shifted and his thumb circled her clit. She jolted and cried out as the kind of release she had expected ran through her like an electrical current.
“Shh. It’s all right,” he said, easing his fingers from her and soothing her still-pulsing folds. “Now this hand stays here.” He positioned her left hand on her thigh and draped the other above her head. “Stay just like that.”
No problem. She couldn’t move and didn’t even look at the photos he left on her stomach a few seconds later. He didn’t even bother to close her legs as he walked away.
“I could lick you clean,” he said when he returned to drape a hot, wet cloth between her legs. He held it there as a compress while she felt some of her self-consciousness begin to return.
“I can do that.”
“Lick yourself?”
“No, clean myself.” She smiled rather than blushed. Progress, she thought, especially since her gaze kept straying to the photos. She lifted one, the final one that showed a giant wet stain on the sheet beneath her. She probably ought to feel embarrassed, but pride was what she felt. Not every woman had experienced a G-spot orgasm and it was no wonder the ones who did made such a fuss about it.
“I like the excuse to continue touching you, Arianne,” he said, transferring the soiled cloth to his gloved hand so he could finger her slit, playing in her curls. “But you’re tender, aren’t you?”
“A little,” she admitted, dropping her high leg because she was growing uncomfortable, even though she wanted to leave herself open to his grooming.
He helped her sit up and bent to press his mouth softly to her own. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”
Chapter Five
The phone rang as Jason stowed his case in the back of the closet, just as he’d anticipated it would. Like yesterday, today hadn’t gone precisely as planned, but he hoped this call would bring things back on track.
“It’s me,” Arianne said, her voice as deliciously sated as it had sounded when she’d said goodbye almost an hour ago. “I can’t get out of what I’m wearing.”
“I’ll be right there,” he promised and adjusted himself inside his cotton khakis as he hung up. His cock was so thick and heavy it hurt. It had taken everything in him not to drive it into Arianne’s dripping pussy this afternoon.
He was supposed to have left her in an equal state of mindless hunger so she would invite him, Jason, into her bed right now. His agenda had flown out the window, however, when Arianne had begged him to touch and finger and drive her to shatter.
He hadn’t expected her to let it go that far. Bringing a woman pleasure was something that thrilled him no matter which guise he was wearing, so he didn’t regret a bit of it. Nevertheless, he’d been left randy as hell.
As he crossed the grass between their houses, breathing deep of the ocean-scented air, he teased himself with the images he hadn’t needed photos to capture. Arianne’s poses were burned into his mind. He was dying to see her again, already anticipating undressing her, laving her with his tongue, sinking deep into the heat he’d discovered today was exquisitely tight. His body was stoked to cover and pump and explode.
She met him at the sliding doors of her patio wearing the corset on top and flannel pajama pants below.
“I’m so tired.” She turned and smoothed her hair forward over one shoulder, presenting her back. “I thought about sleeping in this, but was afraid I’d suffocate.”
She had left her lights off so only the sunset’s glow lit the black satin and cast a faint peach-gold light across her pale shoulders and neck.
“What did you do today?” he asked, just as he’d planned. The bow of the corset came loose easily. She could have done it herself if she’d known where to find the strings.
“Photo shoot,” she murmured, chin to chest.
He took his time loosening the cords. “Can I see them?”
A brief pause, her head lifting a little. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” he asked.
The corset sagged and she caught it against herself, looking back at him, considerably more wakeful. “To masturbate?”
Bemusement feathered a smile over his lips. They’d come a long way in a very short time, he mused, but she was still bashful. Her cheeks darkened in the low light and the way she hugged the corset against herself made her seem very uncertain and vulnerable.
“Would it excite you if I did?”
Her lashes lowered self-consciously. “I feel funny that it’s me, but we can’t pretend neither of us do it, can we? Not after last night.” She licked her lips, still darkened by the high-end color he’d applied. “They’re in my bedroom.”
He followed her, his crotch aching, his hands itching to peel that loosened corset down and off.
Only the bedside lamp lit her bedroom—she’d redecorated after her husband had fucked Celine in it.
That unexpected reminder sent a surprisingly sharp slash of guilt through him. He tried to ignore it, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t entitled to be in here calculating whether the light wicker furniture could take their combined weight or drinking in the way dishes of dried petals colored the air with a subtle floral scent.
Arianne moved to the chair and lifted something: a pajama top. She dropped it over her head then wriggled the corset down and off her hips, leaving it abandoned on the floor. As she crawled between her sheets, she said, “They’re in that bag,” and elbowed toward the top of her dresser. The red bag was reflected in a vanity mirror that begged a man to stare into its frame while he took a woman on the bed from behind.
“You’re that tired?” he grumbled, closing in on the bed, thinking about leaning over and getting her attention.
She didn’t respond, already slumped into an exhausted sleep.
And this was the woman who had complained regularly of insomnia over the past year. If he wasn’t so amused, he might have called her a few choice names, but he only had himself to blame. She was coming off the kind of night he’d like to show her, and as Dominic, he’d taken another round out of her this afternoon. Small wonder she was tired.
He turned away and considered the red bag.
Oh, he’d dearly love to release some of what he’d been building up to for two days. But no, he decided. He’d save it for when he taught Arianne her lesson tomorrow.
Dominic had sent over a new outfit, a white cashmere sweater dress. Almost more classy than sexy, it fell to mid-thigh and followed the simple lines of a T-back tank at the shoulders while the front dropped in a low scoop to reveal her chest and the upper slopes of her breasts. If not for the shadows of her nipples, she could have worn this to show a house.
Arianne tilted her head and turned back and forth in front of her mirror, trying to gauge whether she could see the dark triangle of her patch or not.
The red bag with her snapshots from yesterday caught her eye. Jason hadn’t taken them and that disturbed her more than if he had. Had he not been interested, after all? She wouldn’t have called him last night if she hadn’t been trussed up like a Christmas turkey. The way things had escalated so easily between her and Dominic had disconcerted her, once she’d had time to reflect on it.
Even worse were all the ways the two men were blending into one in her mind. When he’d arrived last night, she’d found herself barely able to meet Jason’s gaze, afraid she’d see Dominic’s spiky lashes, Dominic’s narrow nostrils and Dominic’s pierced ear.
She’d never looked closely enough at Jason’s lobe to notice if he’d ever worn a stud in it. When he’d asked about her day, she’d wanted to be blasé and sophisticated about all the things she’d done with Dominic, but she couldn’t be nonchalant about dropping her inhibitions and begging him to pleasure her.
His fingers had thrust inside her and she’d loved it.
Reeling in a maelstrom of discomfiture and joy, she hadn’t been ready to thumb through the photos or the way she’d felt and behaved in each one of them. Throwing herself into bed and the escape of sleep had been pure self-defense—although she’d been genuinely tired. It had been a couple of very intense days.
Now she teetered between an exalted sense of finally having found her womanhood and a rather exposed feeling. It was bad enough Jason knew Dominic’s methods and could guess what she was up to. If he was Dominic…
If I walked in on a woman pleasuring herself that way, I would offer to help.
Trembling with both excitement and trepidation, she made herself finish getting ready. No hosiery, just pretty silver sandals and a choker and armband in sparkly, colorful rhinestones. She added her own sunglasses and felt like a movie star showing up at the hotel, allowing the chauffeur to take her hand while she stepped from the car. All she needed was a high-strung poodle to leap out behind her. Perhaps an exotic accent.