He couldn't see it, but I was shaking my head. How was it that this guy was so damned intuitive? Dan seemed to know when he should push me and when he should back off. He was certainly a very dominant man, but he was also very intelligent and respectful of me and the fact that I had a past that he wasn't a part of and that I was in control of imparting to him.
He was also—much more than it might seem—very empathetic, even in his strictness. He did his best to soothe me after he'd again reached his peak while I was denied mine, apologizing profusely for not being there.
"Turn onto your side, baby girl and take me with you." I put the laptop down on the bed, just below the pillow where his chest ought to be. "You were just wonderful! I am very proud of you." He frowned a bit. "Are you hearing me, little sub?"
"I am," I said.
"Snuggle under the covers and tell me what you would like me to know about what happened with Gary—and if that's nothing just yet, tell me something I don't know about you yet."
I really loved how smoothly his dominant side was integrated with the rest of him. He wasn't all stern, all the time—he was much more real than that, and endearingly, obviously—embarrassingly—interested in me.
"I…well…I'm not quite sure what to say."
"What was he like as a person?"
That was easy. "Smart and funny—I have a definite type," I confessed as he laughed.
"Thank you."
"H-he was a welder, he had a good job, and he liked Dallas football—so I learned more about football than I ever intended to in my life from him."
"He was a sports nut?"
"Just football, thankfully, or I would have had to kill him, I think."
"And what was he like with you?"
I fidgeted a bit, trying to think how to describe him. "Well, he was different in the beginning than he was at the end."
"That happens sometimes."
"He—he was wonderful, at first. Very attentive, very caring but, as time went on, he became secretive."
"You don't have to go any further, if you don't want to, baby," he repeated.
"No, I might as well get it out there. I'd rather you know where I'm coming from. He began to cheat on me very early on, but I'd already moved in with him. Our finances were comingled, and, well, I was an idiot. I stayed much longer than I should have, beating my head against a rock the entire time, but I don't like to admit defeat, you know? I hoped—after every time—that he really meant what he said to me about staying faithful."
The tears that were never far from the surface anymore—even more so than they had been before I met Dan—were already trailing down my cheeks and onto my pillow.
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry he was a dick. And that he didn't know an amazing thing when it was staring him in the face."
"Yeah. I was with him for about six years, and he was—probably, because I wasn't really looking—faithful for, maybe, the first year of it. Then I began to get hang up calls and find other women's earrings in the car and, at times, he began to let my calls go to voicemail and ignore my texts."
Dan sighed. "Want me to do the macho thing and beat him up for you?"
That got me smiling at the thought. "No, thank you for the offer, but I don't. I've been working very hard for the past couple of years to let go of the anger I had towards him—sometimes, I can, sometimes, I can't, but I always pick it back up again and keep trying."
"Good girl!"
"Thank you. I hate scenes. I really hate drama of any kind, and the last scene with him was horrid, because, although he didn't have any intentions—that I could see—of doing the one thing that would have made me perfectly happy with him forever, he didn't want to let me go, either. He was frightening. Not abusive, really, but big and loud. And by the time I got to my car that night, I felt like I was running for my life. He texted me, he called me, he emailed me for the longest time afterwards, begging me to come back, but I didn't."
"Very good girl," Dan praised in a marvelously deep tone. "He doesn't deserve you, and I'm glad you realized it."
I could feel myself pinkening. "Thank you."
"Out of idle curiosity, how long has it been since he's tried to contact you, honey?"
"Oh, three years, maybe a little less."
"Are you sure?" he asked, looking at me intently.
I was puzzled by his question. "Well, it's an approximation, but yes."
"He hasn't bothered you recently at all?"
"No."
"Good. I want you to send me a picture of him, so that I know what he looks like."
"You won't…do anything to him, Dan, will you? Promise?"
He put his hand up as if he was being sworn in as witness. "I promise that, as long as he doesn't try to harm what's mine, I'll leave him be and good riddance to him."
"You don't have to defend me—I can take care of myself."
"I know you can, missy. But you don't need to anymore." I watched him lie down on his own bed, wishing I was in his arms. "Make yourself comfortable, sweetie. I'm not going to let you go until you're asleep and then some."
I huddled a bit further under the covers, pulling them up around my neck.
"You're going to sleep really well tonight—I can feel it. It helps to get all of that garbage about past relationships off of your mind. Turn on your sound machine, but keep it low." When I'd done as he asked, he said, "I want you to look at me, my Isabella."
I met his chocolate brown eyes.
"I will never, ever do that to you. I'll tease and torment the ever-loving crap out of you, and I'll punish you until you wish you'd never thought of doing whatever you did, but I have never and I will never cheat on a woman, and I have never and I will never abuse any woman in any way. You are all much too precious to me for that—one in particular that makes my toes curl whenever I hear her speak, or when I see her smile, or she looks at me, or I watch her sleep or, well, you get the idea."
"Stop, Dan—you're too good to me."
"No such thing, little sub. You deserve every bit of it and then some—and I promise you that I will treasure you like the priceless goddess that you are, till the end of my time on this planet."
I was speechless. "Wow—I don't think a 'thank you' is anywhere near enough of a response to that!"
He was smiling again—as he always seemed to be. "Don't you worry about saying anything back. honey. I was just letting my mind ramble on about you—I don't think you've heard how wonderful you are anywhere near enough in this lifetime, and reminding you of that is going to be my distinct privilege." He adjusted me to be a little closer to him, then said, "Now, I want you to turn up your white noise machine and close your eyes, and I'll commence to boring you to tears talking about my work."
I had to laugh—nothing this man said was ever boring to me, especially not when he talked about a trip to a place I'd always wanted to go.
But I didn't tell him that, because I didn't want to discourage him. I adored the sound of his voice—it soothed me when nothing else could. It even—just a little—soothed the continuous surging of blood through my agonizingly sensitive lady parts.
And, to my surprise, against all odds, I was asleep within minutes.
CHAPTER 8
N ot even his arrival on my doorstep when he got back—first thing, he said as he swung me around joyously—he didn't even stop at his own place—was enough to get him to relax the "no orgasm" rule. He stripped me, he explored me, dear God, he tasted me and fucked me—with his cock and his fingers and his tongue in an orgy of sensation. Then he sat up against the headboard of my bed and turned me away from him, making me put my legs on either side of his which held me wide open for him, and pulled me down onto his enormous erection all at once, giving no quarter.
I wasn't still sore, but I was right there, and somehow, he knew that and lifted me off him again.
"What are you doing?" I asked, wanting to climb back on and ride him for all I was worth.
He was shaking his head regretfully. "Th
at's not going to work. You're too close. Give me your mouth instead."
Now, I loved bringing a man off, watching him come apart like I—used to do—wanted to do. But not enough to come from doing it, dammit!
Exasperated, once he'd come down the back of my throat, I threw myself down on the bed petulantly. "Are you ever going to let me come?"
And he very quickly, very easily made me wish I hadn't, descending on me with an arm across my back that held me down, my face pressed into the mattress, while his other hand assaulted my naked behind and boldly marched down the relatively virgin territory of the backs of my thighs.
Nothing I tried to do interrupted him in the least or got me any kind of relief from those loud, sizzling smacks, and it was a sure thing that my cries and groans and begging weren't going to do it, either. I found the way he punished me to be somewhat bizarre—so quiet. None of the scolding that was usually so prevalent in D/s, no lecturing, either. All spanks and nothing else, and it was nearly as devastating as withholding my bliss, reducing me in a humiliatingly short amount of time to a blubbering fool who would do anything to get him to stop.
I hadn't even known it was at an end before I found myself on my back, with him looming over me. "I will not tolerate whining. You may ask me respectfully about something, but the next time you whine at me about anything, I will have you fetch my belt."
"Yes, Daniel," I murmured through my tears, wishing I could raise myself up to alleviate the pressure on my seared flesh.
He dropped himself beside me, long arm crooking out to pull me against him when I would have preferred to be pretty much anywhere else. "I would humbly suggest that the next time you want to ask me when I'm going to let you come, you remember exactly who and what you are, and who and what I am to you, first. It might save you some misery. Your body is mine, to do with as I please, and if it pleases me to never give you another orgasm for as long as we're together, then that is exactly what I will do."
I couldn't even begin to contemplate that idea. No orgasms, ever?
He kissed my forehead in a gentler manner than his words would suggest, then said, "I do not mind you begging—not at all. It's a turn on. But you should be very careful that it never turns into a whine."
"Yes, Daniel," I sniffled.
He surprised me then by standing up and lifting me in his arms, carrying me into my tiny bathroom and turning on the tub faucet, holding me on his lap like a child while we waited for it to fill, and adding generous amounts of bubbles. Then, he deposited me very gently into the soapy fray, even when I clung to him because both my bits and my bottom stung badly in the very hot water. But he placed me into the tub regardless, as I'd known he would.
"I wanted to do this for you the entire time I was gone. I do so hate not being able to care for you properly."
This—this was damned close to bliss, I had to admit. A different kind of bliss than the one I actively sought from him, but bliss nonetheless.
He perched himself on the edge of the tub, long legs extended out in front of him, letting me play and even blow bubbles all over him. Then he moved to kneel beside the tub. "Here, darling girl, let me bathe you."
His hand—slippery with soap—drew the wash cloth all over me, rendering me mind numbingly relaxed. He manipulated me the way he wanted me to be to reach all of my areas, not addressing the parts I had thought he might go for first until he had me on all fours, reaching to roughly wash—and drag that horrible washcloth that I vowed to replace with a much softer one—over every bit of my raw backside and the area between my legs. I could not control the way I tried to rub myself against his hand when he tended to me there—washcloth or not—but he made sure he wasn't there long enough to get me anywhere.
And he even scrubbed my sore backside, re-irritating the bright red flesh he'd so recently seen to. He washed my hair, which I adored. Then, he dried me off—again, paying close attention to places that wanted more of it—and put me into clean pajamas—the bottoms—like my panties—several sizes too small so that they fit me very snugly indeed—and carried me back to my room as I yawned, then covered my mouth immediately.
"I'm so sorry!"
"Don't be, baby. You're tired. I know that edging is very tiring, and you've been doing a very good job at that. And I know you've been very busy at work, too, plus the time difference when we were able to get together to chat didn't help your sleep patterns much, I bet."
When he'd tucked me in and gathered me to him, he said, "I think we should spend some time at my place—it's bigger, and I'm planning that you'll move in with me as soon as possible."
Stupid me hadn't even considered that possibility. I knew where he lived, but I'd not been there yet. I knew it was an actual house, in the swanky part of town, and the inadequacies that I'd felt at dinner with him that first night resurfaced again with a vengeance.
"Oh, and I'd like to know when you're free the next few weekends, because I want to throw a small cocktail party so that my friends—and maybe even some of my family—can get to meet you."
I smiled faintly, but even with my obviously reluctant, "I'll check my calendar and let you know," he didn't pick up on my reticence.
"I'd like to us to use a calendar that we can both see. I'll get that set up and send you the links."
"Yes, Daniel."
He did notice that I was more subdued than I had been before, but I don't think he had an inkling as to the reason behind it. "Are you okay, baby?" He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead and cheeks. "Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine, thanks. Just tired, like you said."
"Well, then, why don't you curl yourself up on my chest, and I'll put—what—Gilligan's Island…" he guessed, "…on for you, so you can sleep?"
How like him it was that he remembered not only that I slept with the TV on most nights, but what I liked to have on in particular.
"No, I hate Gilligan."
"The Donna Reed Show, then?"
"That works." I yawned again.
"Poor sleepy baby," he murmured against the top of my head. "You relax and sleep, love. I'll be right here when you wake up this time."
And he was. In fact, he was rarely away from me from that point on—voluntarily. And, as he'd said, owing to the fact that we'd taken things so quickly, he became the ultimate boyfriend, being wonderfully attentive, in bed and out, taking me out frequently to the movies, dinner, even theatre in the city—complete with a limo—once, which I enjoyed. But I knew it was a terribly expensive evening, and I told him the God's honest truth afterwards—that I would have been just as happy to go antiquing with him, or to a museum to see the latest Tut exhibit, or a walk in the woods—pretty much anywhere that wasn't costing him an arm and leg.
That had set him to laughing. "Do you know how many women I've dated who would have insisted that we go to the theatre and to the Four Seasons and anywhere else that was expensive. They'd expect it—and they'd want presents and trips."
I was quiet for a moment, then said, "If you don't mine me saying, Daniel, I don't think you've been hanging around with a very nice class of women." Even if they were rich, I added in my head.
He found that hysterical, apparently, too, and when he'd calmed down a bit, he hugged me to him, giving me a long, lingering kiss. "You, my dear, are priceless, my little sub."
"Oh, no, I can most definitely be bought."
Dan looked at me askance. "You?"
"Me. Cheaply, too—for just the price of a slice of cheesecake," I hinted, elbowing him sharply.
"All right, all right, cheesecake it is, but don't be expecting that I'm going to allow you to eat it very often, honey. I intend to make sure you're eating healthy, too, among other things."
I looked down. "I'm nowhere near as skinny as I should be."
Then I found my chin tipped up, and my eyes crashed into his very serious ones. "You are skating on very thin ice. And don't make the mistake of thinking that I won't put you over my knee in the limo, either."
As he slowly—and quite comically—began to move me into his apartment, as he'd said he wanted to—taking one thing from mine every time he left for his own—I did my best to help him with the dinner party he was throwing, feverishly wishing the entire time that he wasn't doing it, or that I could come up with some way to get out of it. Since he was doing it just so that the people who were important to him could have a chance to meet me, that really wasn't going to happen.
Sharon did her best to help me at least fit in clothes-wise, loaning me a very pretty—and very expensive, I was quite sure—dress that did look quite nice on me, even if I had to say so myself. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't come through for me—nothing I owned was fit for anything beside a lower level management job or perhaps a dinner at Texas Roadhouse.
Dan insisted that I spend the day of the party with him, at his place, which in and of itself was kind of overwhelming. It was a gorgeous house with a huge, I don't know how many car garage—which I was astonished to realize was full of cars, so much so that he was considering adding on. His place had—of course—been professionally decorated and was absolutely spotless. The china in the cupboards was Wedgewood and the crystal—real, actual crystal—was Waterford.
And I had thought I felt out of place at Sharon's party and the dinner party and my first date with him—none of those held a candle to how I was feeling now.
With the guests due, and any minute, all I wanted to do was run!
Of course, he sensed my nervousness and tried to reassure me, but I don't think he had any idea of the true extent of it. I was feeling so anxious, I thought I was going to faint.
I managed not to—barely—which was a good thing, because the first to arrive were his parents, who were lovely and both very much like him. His father must've been a looker in his day, and his mother was a real character, which put me a little at ease. They both hugged me—his family were big huggers—and seemed genuinely glad to meet me, as did the rest of his family.
On the Razor's Edge of Paradise Page 9