by Black, Lena
“Cross your heart?”
He smirks weakly. “Cross my heart,” he answers, drawing an invisible X over his chest.
I smile back at him. Even though I feel a sense of relief, I can’t help but feel dread as well. I mean, who knows what kind of things will come out of his mouth. I want to know his past, desperately, but with everything he has been open enough to share with me, I find myself more and more stunned with each tragic memory.
Oh, jeez! Please, don’t start this back and forth crap! You wanted to know and he is willing to tell you, so stop being a fucking baby and woman-up!
I raise my glass to my lips and tip it up as far as it will go, inhaling the contents. I smack my lips and let out an, “Ahhh,” Before wiping my lips of the few amber droplets left behind with the back of my hand.
Hunt chuckles, sweeping his knuckle along the corner of my lip, retrieving a single drop, which he sucks off slowly.
“What’s the rush, Miss Hyde, big date?” I let out a sputtered giggle, feeling much better, and hand him my drained glass to set on the table. “We really should get you out of that dress. I wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”
I straighten my expression, going for sensual and suggestive, and nod my head sluggishly. I stand up and turn toward him, reaching behind me to unzip my dress, attempting sexy, but it snags, and I struggle with it. He smirks at my fumble, but places his hand over his mouth to hide it. Mission failed.
He wipes the amused smirk away and rises off the bed, strutting about me, grazing his knuckles down my spine to the top clasp on my dress. I shiver with delightful anticipation.
He nimbly unfastens the hook and slides the flap of the zipper down to just above my bare ass. I lift my arms slightly, and a second later, my dress is on the floor, puddled around my feet.
Next, he loosens the ribbon laced up the back of my binding corset, removing it so the corset falls open and onto the floor. Then, lastly, my garter belt, making quick work of it, he unhooks the clasps and tosses it aside. Hunt runs his hands along my shoulders and down my arms, every stroke sending me into a haze.
Then his hands are gone and I’m alone. I turn to investigate his sudden disappearance when I spy him walking out of the shadows behind me with something clenched in his hands. He walks up to me and holds open a long, white silk robe.
“Put this on,” he gently insists. I stare at him for a moment, confused by the simple gesture and command. “Gabrielle, I’m not going to fuck you, not yet at least. I am a professional, and I expect you to conduct yourself in the same manner.”
I slide my arms in both sleeves and shrug it on, tying it up in the front. He thrusts his hands into my hair and skillfully plucks out the pins holding the top half of my hair up. The wavy tendrils fall about my face, framing it. I spin around with an exaggerated pout and tease, “You’re so serious, Mr. Hunt.”
He smirks down at me and leans in, giving me a soft, tender, extended kiss on my forehead. He pulls me into his arms, rubbing the back of my head as he rocks me there. “I missed you so very much, Elle, even your smartass mouth…Are you still nervous?”
“Yes, a little…Perhaps, another glass of liquid courage would settle my nerves.”
“I think that could be arranged,” he replies, pecking me on the tip of my nose. He releases me and struts back into the shadows and a light comes on above a mahogany bar. “What would you like, Miss Hyde?”
“Doesn’t matter as long as it’s a double,” I retort with a pleased grin.
“Smartass,” he murmurs under his breath, with his head tilted down as he searches for something below him, but the smirk smeared on his face tells me he doesn’t hate it quite as much as he puts on.
“Would you want me any other way?”
He pauses, looking up at me with a dark gaze. “I’ll take you any way I can have you…However, I do enjoy our little game of cat and mouse. It certainly keeps things interesting.”
He prepares my drink and brings it over to me. I take it from him and notice it’s nearly half-full. I take a large swig, then another, downing the smooth golden liquor from the intricate whiskey glass.
He takes our cups back into the kitchen, placing them in the sink. It doesn’t take long for the warm, fuzzy feeling to come over me, starting in my delicates. I don’t know why the fuzzy effect of alcohol begins on my V, but it always has, which is why I was a tad on the sluttish side.
It tingles and warms, radiating up my body and down my limbs to the tips of my fingers. I feel amazing. I feel fuzzy. I feel…willing.
“Well, I see the scotch has done its job,” Hunt comments as he walks out from the shadows, dressed in jeans and a plain white tee. He looks phenomenal.
Suddenly, I feel the stupid, drunken smile stretch across my face, my eyes heavy with both well-aged liquor and sexual need. I shake my head lazily. “I’m ready.”
“I want to start you off slowly. I’m going to take simple, clothed photos to get you used to being in front of my camera…I want you to sit at the end of the bed.”
He takes my hand and guides me over to the bed. I sit at the end and entwine my numb fingers in my lap, waiting patiently. He grabs his professional camera from a bag sitting on a chair to the right of the bed and saunters back over, standing directly in front of me. He’s so close to me, the soft fabric of his jeans graze my bare shins.
He lifts his camera up to his face and begins snapping close-ups. I feel it focused on my face, piercing me. I begin to squirm and crinkle my nose as the scrutiny of his camera starts to take effect.
He puts the camera down.
“Elle, you’re stunning,” he states, reaching out to caress my cheek with a few tender fingers. “You are simply the most beautiful, funny, intelligent, fiery, deeply sexual woman I have ever met…Own it.”
He notices the faint smirk spreading my rosy cheeks. He lifts his camera back to his face and begins snapping shots, all the while building me up.
“Your face is so angelic, it’s captivating.” He leans in closer, causing me to lie back on the mattress. My hair fans out around me, my robe falls open just enough to give him a peek of bare cleavage and thighs. “Your smile, your sweet smile makes my heart skip a beat. Your eyes reflect all the beauty and pain of your tantalizing soul. You’re strong, so much stronger than I could ever be, Elle. You are everything.”
I start to feel confident, sexy, beautiful. I run my drunk fingers over the swell of my breasts, up my neck, through my hair.
“That’s my girl.”
I stare up at him in a sexual fog with heavy-lidded eyes, chest heaving with shallow breaths, lips parted. I lift my arms above my head and give him my best Marilyn. I allow her sexual grace to consume me and guide me. What would Marilyn do?
I grasp the comforter and pull myself from under him, kneeling on the bed. I sit my rear back onto my heels and arc my back, thrusting my hands into my hair. I notice the smile creep onto his lips, a smile of pride and satisfaction.
“Beautiful, angel, truly stunning,” he commends.
I’m comfortable now.
It’s Hunt. This is for Hunt, only him.
I slide my fingers under the collar of my robe, opening it slowly and shrugging it off. It falls down my arms and back, clumping about the curve of my hips.
Hunt lowers the camera, watching me with the erotic darkness I’ve missed. He looks absolutely captivated by me, by my beauty. It’s intoxicating.
He sets his camera at the end of the mattress, walks back over to the lounging chair next to the bed, and pulls his black duffel bag from behind it. He pauses and turns to me with trepidation on his face.
“Do you trust me, Gabrielle? Do you trust I would never do anything to shame you?”
Without having to think about it, I reply, “Yes, of course I do.”
“Very good…I want you to close your eyes and hold your hands out in front of you, wrists together. Understand, angel?”
It seems simple enough. I shut my eyes tight and hold my hands ou
t.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Good girl,” he commends.
I hear the zipper on Hunt’s bag of goodies and the sound of metal clinking together. I expect the cool kiss of handcuffs, but instead, it’s the creamy caress of silk. He ties the soft restraint about my wrists with only enough pressure to bind them together, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
The feel of silk presses against my lids and the bridge of my nose as he places more silk about my eyes, ensuring I can’t peek. It’s amazing how being sightless can suddenly make you very aware of the space around you, every sound, scent, taste, touch is intensified. It even heightens my ability to sense him. It’s as if I can sense his presence, his energy, his lust for me in every fiber of my being, awakening me.
He takes the robe wrapped about my waist and removes it, leaving me totally exposed.
“Place your hands in your lap and look slightly to the side."
I follow his directions and wait, and wait, and wait, but nothing happens.
“Damian?” I softly call for him.
“I’m right here, baby. You’re doing great.”
Oh, he’s already taking pictures of me.
I squirm and bite my lip.
“Beautiful. I love your innocence, your vulnerability. It’s so fucking hot, angel,” he compliments me. “Now, lie back with your arms above your head like before.”
I lie on the bed as told, and after a few moments, I feel his fingertips brush across my stomach and breasts. My mouth goes slack and my body arcs, reaching for his touch, desperate for more. But, his hand disappears, and I am left wanting.
“Well, Mr. Hunt, that didn’t feel very professional, in fact, that was quite personal. I expect you to conduct yourself in a professional manner,” I taunt him.
I can sense his amused smile, but it wasn’t the smartest move in my exposed, trussed-up state. His strong fingers tenderly pinch my left nipple, rolling it until it becomes hard and protrudes from the delectable stimulation of his mastered touch. I writhe and bow as my arousal takes over, saturating my thighs.
Then, the sweet teasing turns to a sharp bite when he yanks stridently, sending hot, piercing electric waves down my core to my eager V.
I cry out, “Ah, ohhhh yessss.”
“Behave,” he warns with a rumble deep in his chest and then he’s gone. I groan and nod my head rapidly. “That’s my good girl.”
After a few poses, he removes my restraints but not my blindfold.
“This will be the last shots for now. You’ve done extremely well, Gabrielle, but I don’t want to push you past your limits.”
His hand grasps onto mine and guides me off the bed. He walks me a few feet and stops. “You are going to stand over at the window, facing the city, palms on the glass above your head and legs spread out slightly wider than your shoulders.”
He clasps onto my shoulders and stands me where he wants me, spreading my legs and pressing my hands onto the cool surface.
“Arc your back, angel,” he instructs, and I follow, flinging my head back, allowing my wavy, honey-hued tresses to cascade down and brush the top of my plump rear. I hear his audible gasp, as he snaps away a few more shots.
“Very good, baby. You were made to be in front of my camera. My muse…You are fucking perfection, Gabrielle,” he says in a low, raspy voice, coming closer to me at the window. “I want to show you how perfect you are.”
He presses his firm torso into my back, smashing my breasts against the coolness of the glass, and clasps my wrists in his hands, pinning them above me. I grind my rear into his growing erection, coaxing a deep groan in the depths of his chest.
“You know,” he whispers into my ear, nipping at the lobe, “I’ve made it a rule to never fuck my subjects during a shoot.”
I moan, tilting my head back against his broad shoulder.
“You’ve never fucked any girls here before?” I inquire.
“No, never,” he murmurs, tracing his lips down my neck, “I thought it unprofessional, and I take my crafts very serious.”
“Well,” I pluck my hands from his grasp and face him, still blinded by silk. I trustingly jump up into his arms, flinging my limbs about him when he catches me, “Rules were made to be broken.
Chapter Nine
Lie To Me Once
Hunt settles me in on the couch with a blanket, a cup of coffee, and a few chocolate chip cookies from a local bakery. It had begun to rain on our way back up to the penthouse after our mind-blowing fuck-fest, so he started a fire and dimmed the lights. He really knows how to set the mood.
I sip on my hazelnut-flavored coffee, admiring the stunning misty view, and ponder what Hunt will divulge to me about Vanessa. How much he will let me in.
He walks out of the kitchen with a cup of joe and a plain buttermilk donut, taking a seat beside me. He sips on his coffee and takes a bite of his treat as he stares blankly out the window. He’s probably going through all the information he’s about to drop on me, same as me only a moment before, thinking about the newest complication in our path…Vanessa.
I don’t want to be the first to mention it, and by the looks of it, I’m not going to have to. Hunt turns his body toward me, tosses his arm along the back of the couch, and crosses his legs, ankle over knee. As I watch him adjust and ready himself, I become more alarmed about what might possibly come out of that beautiful mouth, a mouth that has caused such pleasure and pain.
“I suppose I should start from the beginning, with Marlena. After some time as her sub, I came to the conclusion that I wanted to master the art of, well, being a Master. She took me under her wing and taught me everything I would need to know to take on my role as Master. She told me, she wouldn’t have even considered showing me the ropes, no pun intended, if she hadn’t seen the ability in me. She said I was a natural Dominant.
“Anyway, a few years after I left college, I met Vanessa at a club. Though, not the type you might think. It’s an establishment where people like us can practice our craft and find others like us. I trained to be a proper Dom there, taking some time to master my craft before deciding to take a sub. When I was ready, I was introduced to her by the house Mistress. Vanessa was my first submissive.”
I stare at him, unable to move or breathe.
“Are you alright, Elle…? Do you wish me to continue?”
I want to tell him to stop, that I don’t want to hear another word, because I know the worst is still to come. However, all I can do is nod my head, urging him to finish.
“We fell for one another, though, my feelings for you eclipse anything I had with her…I need you to know that, Elle.”
He uses the hand draped over the couch to brush my cheek gently.
“I do,” I murmur.
He seems relieved, but it fades, replaced with fear. “We had been together for about nine months when she told me she was…pregnant.”
I can’t stop the word vomit as it rises up my throat and out my mouth. “You have a child with her?”
I leap off the couch, spilling some of the hot coffee on my hand. “Ouch, fuck!” I yelp.
Hunt jumps up and grabs the cup from my hand, setting it on the coffee table next to his.
“Angel, are you alright? Let me see,” he says, concerned, going in for my burnt hand, but I yank it away. He becomes agitated with me and orders, “Gabrielle, let me see.”
I reluctantly give him my wounded paw and he examines it carefully. He takes my other hand and tries to lead me toward the kitchen.
“No,” I protest, plucking myself from his grasp.
He turns on me, furious. “Elle, don’t make me carry you in there. I will do it. Do not test me.”
He grabs my hand once more and guides me into the kitchen over to the sink. He turns on the faucet and shoves my hand under the chilly water.
Oh, that feels good.
“Keep it under there while I get the First Aid kit.”
He goes over to a drawer near the kitchen entrance and retrieves a sm
all white box. He walks back over to me, shuts off the water, and picks me up with one arm, setting me on the counter with ease. He places the box next to me and opens it up, selecting a multi-purpose ointment with a pain reliever. He takes my palm in his hand and gently applies the soothing gel on my scorched flesh, cooling the fiery sting.
He blows on it for a second, before placing a large bandage over it. “This way you won’t hurt the sensitive skin further,” he explains.
“You didn’t answer my question…Do you have a child with her?” He doesn’t look me in the eye; he just keeps them focused on my hand as he holds it in his.
“Damian, do you?”
He takes a deep breath before continuing, “When she told me, I didn’t know what to do with myself. She suggested marriage, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to be a father, a husband. I was too young, twenty-one, and just starting to establish myself in business and life, but I also knew that I wasn’t the kind of man to turn my back on her or our child…We decided to get married and raise the child together. Everything was perfect. Then, six months into the pregnancy, she miscarried. She gave birth to our stillborn baby girl.”
He thrusts his hands into his hair and tears pool in his eyes.
“Oh, Hunt.” I leap off the counter and throw myself at him, flinging my arms about his big frame. He catches me and smashes me into him, burying his face in my neck. “I’m so sorry.”
I feel his hot tears pour down my neck and back, soaking the silk robe. He’s silent. He just holds me tighter as another part of his dark past has been thrust into the light, exposing him to me. We stand there for a long while, holding and swaying back and forth, as his tears trickle out quietly.
Finally, after an eternity of silence, he speaks, “I was so lost.”
He tightens his grip about my waist with a whimper.
“Hey. Hey now. You’re alright. You’re not lost anymore, Damian. I’m here. I found you.”
I pet the back of his head, running my nails across his scalp, which seems to calm him. His tears have ceased and his grasp on me isn’t as brutal as it was. He pulls away, backing up to the island behind him and resting himself against it with hands gripping the edge and his head down.