by Logan Fox
Her body went stiff, every muscle taut and quivering.
Greg had kept his mouth against hers. He kissed her top lip, then her bottom. He caught it between his teeth, biting her hard enough to draw another gasp.
“But I reckon,” he said. “I reckon you don’t know what’s good for you, Pearl.”
The hand that had been holding his dick ready for her slipped out from between them. He grasped a breast, tweaking the nipple, and pressed his palm over her breastbone, forcing her to lean back.
She moaned, her eyes sliding shut as the new angle stretched her even more. Why was he just holding her like this? Couldn’t he move? Couldn’t he fuck her like he so obviously wanted to? Instead he just kept her impaled, trembling, on the edge of panic and frustration and utter contempt.
“Because everyone needs help. Even you. Even me.”
He drew out of her, hesitated, and then thrust into her hard enough to draw a choking sob from her. Her eyes fluttered open. The set of his jaw was hard and interrogatory, but his eyes were painted with that same concern, that same tenderness.
“I’m sorry,” Pearl whispered. Then, loud enough for him to hear: “I’m sorry. It’s… easy to push people away. Second nature, by now. You were just… like everyone else.”
He gave his head a shake. The hand on her neck steered her closer again, bringing her mouth within kissing distance. Within biting distance.
“I’m not like everyone else, Pearl. And neither are you.”
Greg kissed her. It was nothing like before; his lips were gentle, cautious. He didn’t take, but asked, his tongue tentative against hers.
The hand on her breastbone glided down, sliding between them again. He urged her up, his hand cupping her sex and fingers parting around his shaft.
With the speed and urgency of a drifting snowflake, Greg began moving in and out of her. Pearl groaned into his mouth, her body shuddering. He broke off their kiss, inhaling deeply and releasing his breath in a warm rush of air that painted the side of her cheek and made her shiver violently.
“I want to see you again, when this is all over. Promise me that, at least.”
“See me?” she managed, her mind struggling with the task of forming words amid the volley of pleasure signals it had to deal with.
“I want to be with you. For however long it lasts. If it lasts. But I want to know…” A deep groan cut him off.
Pearl had leaned forward, pushing Greg back into the couch. Although his hand still guided her, she forced him deep into her on every thrust, flicking her hips forward so his palm massaged her clit.
“Want to know?” she prompted, whispering this into his ear.
“What would have happened… if you’d let me take you home that night.”
“We would have fucked, Greg.” Pearl’s hands gripped his face, forcing him to look at her. For his eyes to fix solely on hers. “And then you would have gone home. And I would have gone on with my life.”
“That’s it?” Greg trembled under her, his eyes flickering for a moment as if he was struggling for control. “How could you be—” his lips parted, a harsh breath escaping them “—so sure?”
Pearl’s thumbs dug into his jaw line. “Because that’s who I am. I’m not the marrying kind, Greg. I’m not even sure I’m the girlfriend kind. Sure as shit haven’t been…” her voice trailed away.
He’d figured out that applying pressure with his palm was pleasant. Way fucking pleasant. Pearl’s back arched, her hands sliding down and clawing into his pecs as she rode him.
A fine layer of sweat brought a sheen to her skin. This small dance room could have used more air conditioning, but perhaps that had been the intention when they’d built it; that whoever was inside here would sweat when they began dancing their ass off.
Greg sat forward, the movement grinding his cock against that hidden lever inside Pearl. The one that was so rarely triggered. The one that made her gasp and flail as she tried to get away from it while keeping him inside her.
“People change,” Greg said. His lips had twisted into a fierce snarl. Was he angry with her? Again? What was it with him? She couldn’t say anything without pissing him off. “And people can change other people.”
“Fuck, Greg!” Pearl threw her head back. She didn’t want him to stop, but she wished he would shut up. Why couldn’t he just accept that this was sex: paid for, bought sex. No strings. No flower. No fucking morning-after breakfast awkwardness.
No feelings.
That insistent thrusting was driving her toward a sparkling climax — one she knew would make her scream. But not if he kept—
Greg’s hand went to her hair. It seemed to fascinate him tonight. He grabbed it, tugged back her head, and began grazing her throat with his teeth. He was panting against her skin, his breath hot and forceful. She was panting too, gasping every time he shifted his hand or tightened the grip on her hair. Every time he made goose bumps lift on her arms from the delicate touch of his teeth against her neck.
“You’re going to make me cum,” Pearl whispered, her back arching.
“Do you want to cum?” Greg nipped at her earlobe.
“Yes!” Pearl groaned and renewed the frenzied rocking of her hips. “Yes.”
Greg slammed into her, his palm hard against her clit, squeezing it, massaging it, forcing her to shaking, reluctant knees. Then his hand left her, gliding over her damp skin and grabbing her ass. A wave of sullen pain washed through her; how long was it going to take for those bruises to fade?
Her climax retreated as quickly as a passing car on the freeway, in an instant nothing more than a speck in the rearview mirror.
“If you want it, then you’ll have to come get it.”
What? Pearl blinked away the haze of an almost-orgasm. Was he just fucking with her now? Recompense for the things she’d allegedly said to him?
She bucked her hips, riding him harder, forcing him deep inside her before lifting herself free. But it wasn’t enough. When was it ever enough?
“Cum with me, Pearl.”
She bared her teeth at him, frustrated beyond words. That would be easy enough, if he hadn’t stopped touching her. He was getting close — she could see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way he ground into her when she sank down.
Pearl’s hand released Greg’s chest. Her nails had sunk into his muscles like an eagle’s talons in its prey. She slid her fingers down his stomach, to his shaft, feeling her own folds sliding around him.
He gave her a tiny nod.
Oh. Of course.
Pearl brought hesitant fingertips to that pulsing bundle of nerves just above her sex.
“Cum with me,” Greg said again, his voice urgent.
She moaned, touching herself. The jolt of sensation it caused made her lips part.
Breath rushed out of her. Her eyes fell closed.
She began drawing a circle with her fingertips. Around her, the thumping music began to fade. All she could hear was her own heartbeat, hard and urgent, and Greg’s panting breath.
“Faster, Pearl.” His voice had grown so deep, so commanding. It didn’t even sound like him anymore. It sounded like her wolf. Just as he’d sounded when he’d told her not to disobey him.
“Yes, Sir.” The title slid out of her mouth without warning.
Greg paused, breaking that delicious rhythm he’d been keeping.
“No,” Pearl gasped. “Don’t stop, Sir. Please.”
His hand left her hair. She moaned at the loss, but her fingers picked up speed, quickly driving that disappointment from her mind. Greg’s hand cupped her other cheek, squeezing her hard. Another throb of pain. Of pleasure. Everything was so tangled. Upside down. Inside out.
“Then cum with me.” Another command, this one delivered in a low growl.
So Pearl did. Matching Greg’s thrusts with her own strumming fingertips, Pearl drove herself over the edge of that beckoning cliff, free falling with a wordless cry as her body stiffened. Greg’s hands had found t
heir way to her shoulders, forcing her down a final time as he poured into her.
His head was by her neck, his lips by her ear. They shuddered in unison, Pearl’s hands sliding around his shoulders and gripping him tight against her.
The music faded halfway through the song, leaving them cocooned in the near-silence of their ragged breathing.
Greg kissed her ear. “Promise me.”
Pearl shivered violently at the touch of his lips. She gave a small nod, swallowed, and whispered back, “I promise.”
9
A Journal of Submission
Greg left first, tugging his pants back up but leaving his mask off. It dangled from his hand as he left — surprisingly without looking back. Pearl was still on the couch, kneeling with her forehead touching the headrest, when Seth came to collect her.
The blanket was thick and hot, but her arms shook too much for her to fight the handler off. Instead, she let him lead her out of the dance room, his strong arm around her shoulders and his black eyes nothing but midnight pools. When they arrived in the den, it was empty and silent.
Pearl’s feet shuffled to a halt. “Aren’t we… what about aftercare?”
It had become the norm — screw a guy: get a treat. But Seth hadn’t detoured. Hadn’t asked her what she wanted to do.
He was still walking forward, tugging her after him for a step before stopping. Turning to her, those black eyes swept down her blanket-enclosed body before flashing back to her face.
“You look exhausted. Get cleaned up. Sleep.”
Why did his eyes look so sad? Pearl shifted uneasily on the carpet, squeezing her legs together. She still ached from Greg.
“You said… you said it wasn’t good to go straight to sleep. You said—”
“I know what I said,” Seth cut in. He lowered his voice, casting a wary glance at the closed doors to the foxes’s rooms. “It’s late, kitten. I’m fucking done. I can see you are too. Let’s just—” he rolled a shoulder and sighed, running a hand down his face. “Let’s just call it a night.”
She nodded. A hot, stinging wave of tears brimmed on her lashes, as unexpected as the look of dismay on Seth’s face when he saw them.
Pearl immediately shook her head, wanting to reassure him that the tears meant nothing, that they’d arrived on their own and had no bearing on her emotional state, but this only made them break free from her lashes and flash down her face.
“No. No, kitten.” Seth jerked her close, enveloping her in a hug. “Don’t do that. Please. I’ll take you. Where do you want to go? Outside? The pool again?”
Pearl wriggled free from him, swiping her palms over her eyes. They came back streaked with black and grey. She’d forgotten about her makeup.
“Fine,” she managed, but the word was a twisting, mangled thing. “Just, just going to shower.” The last word dissolved into a sob as she turned away from him.
“Pearl,” he called out; soft and pleading.
She pushed open the bathroom door. Inside, every angular line instantly distorted into a wobbling, distended version of itself. A fresh batch of tears escaped her defenses.
Pearl didn’t hear him follow her inside; a sob was ripping through her again.
She did hear him closing the door, and swung around to face him. He had his hand flat on the door, his head bowed, not looking at her.
Forcing her lips to stop trembling, Pearl whispered: “Seth?”
“You know him, don’t you?”
Her stomach contracted painfully. A drop of arctic fear trickled down her back. She shuddered, barely containing the movement to no more than a shiver.
“Who?”
Seth lifted his head, his eyes seeming reluctant to fix on her.
“The guy you just fucked.”
He’d never called anyone that before: it was always ‘client’ or ‘guest’ or ‘wolf’. Always a ‘scene’ or a ‘session’. Never… never fucked.
Another quiver-inducing trickle of terror made its way down her spine.
She gave a small, hesitant nod. “He was… he’s my friend.”
“Friend?” Seth’s voice sounded too hollow in the bathroom. Unreal. Like hearing a recording of your own voice. “How did he know about this place? How could he get in? Does he have money? How rich is the fucker?”
Her skin pulsed with a prickle of unease. “He’s a lawyer. He’s the one… the one that read my contract. It… interested him. This place—” she managed a weak flop of her hand “—what happens here.”
“But he only comes to see you.” Seth’s inflection didn’t change from that unnerving monotone.
“He’s… still new at this. I… tell him about it. He might—” words failed her then. She tightened her grip around the blanket, seemingly the only thing of comfort left in the world now that Seth had been replaced with this lump of angry regret she couldn’t fathom.
“Might what?” Seth took a slow step forward, his boot sliding over the tiles. He wore the same Metallica shirt as the other day, his muscles barely contained by the thin, black cotton.
“Might—” her mind scrambled, serving up image after image of Greg’s fierce mouth and hard jaw “—might want to learn about whipping. About becoming a dragon.”
“He’s no dragon,” Seth murmured. “Not even close.”
“But he wants to learn.” Pearl gave a nod, more forceful this time. “That’s what he said tonight. He likes it… he likes it when I call him Sir. When I let him hurt me.”
Her face was growing cold and prickly, her fingertips numbing. God, Seth, just stop with the interrogation already! He’d said he was tired, but he didn’t look it. He looked morose and sulky, and nothing like she’d ever seen. What the hell was wrong with him?
But then, as if a cloud passing over the sun, Seth’s face cleared. He lifted his chin, the bathroom lights sparkling in eyes.
“Jarred teaches,” Seth said.
“I know.” Pearl took a step forward, nodding fervently. “That’s what I told him, too. I said, I said Jarred probably has like set lessons and stuff.”
Seth gave a slow, deliberate nod. He walked past Pearl, crouching at the side of the tub. Water frothed into the massive bath, misting up the air around Seth. He tipped a bottle over; Jasmine tainted the air seconds later.
“He’s good. Jarred. Really good.” Seth straightened, hooking his fingers under his shirt and tugging it over his head. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Pearl took an unsteady step forward.
Her stomach was still too tight for her to take a full breath. Seth tugged down his pants, then his underwear. His ass was pale compared with his thighs and back, but there wasn’t a distinct tan line — more a seamless gradient from tanned to pale. His gluts were as hard and muscular as the rest of him. He didn’t have as many tattoos as she’d suspected: more than Owen’s single skull and roses tattoo, but much less than Tanner’s extensive canvas of ink.
Her hands, too numb to keep hold of it any longer, let the blanket fall to the bathroom tiles.
Seth did this with Opal. Ivy sometimes too. She’d heard them; talking and laughing in the tub. It wasn’t strange. It was nothing more than aftercare.
So why wouldn’t her heart stop its hammering?
Seth stepped into the tub with a deep sigh. His feet squeaked against the bottom as he turned and sank down into the seething mass of bubbles and churning water. Pearl looked away from his crotch, blinking a few times to try and clear the image of his shaved dick.
Too unexpected. Way too unexpected.
He beckoned her with foam-dripping fingers, and stroked his beard into a semblance of order as she stepped toward the bath. His gaze touched against her body, but there was nothing except that same familiar look in his eyes, the one that had seen a thousand pretty young things in their birthday suits. Too many for this one to be any different.
She slid into the water, settling opposite him, murmuring an apology when her feet brush
ed against his thighs. He didn’t even seem to notice, intent on taming his beard and spreading the bubbles in front of him into a flat plain.
Perhaps he was just tired: his gaze was unfocused and lethargic, his mouth slack. For long moments, the only sound was the water slapping against the side of the tub, growing softer as it settled from their rude intrusion.
In the silence that followed, Pearl’s eyes began to drift closed on their own. Her heart slowed to a steady thump-thump in her chest. Breath came and went at its own pace — even in, even out. Her head sank down, resting on the edge of the tub. She let her hands bob just below the foam-peaked surface of the water.
“I’ll ask Jarred what day he can see your friend.”
Seth’s voice made her jerk. Water sloshed angrily around her as she scrambled up, having almost slid into the water at the impromptu awakening.
“What?” She wiped bubbles from her chin.
“Your friend.” Seth took a scoop of bubbles and began constructing a blobby structure on the surface of the water. “Jarred’s really busy. Usually have to book three months ahead. Sure I can get him in sooner.”
“Oh, that.” Pearl shook her head. “It’s fine, Seth, really. You don’t—”
“You said he wanted to learn.” Seth’s voice was insistent now. He looked up from his landscaping project, black eyes peering out beneath his thick, dark brows. Waiting for her response.
Was he testing her?
“Yes, he does. I just don’t know how busy he is.”
“He’s not coming to see you again?”
Were Seth’s shoulders tensing up? Pearl shifted, her ass squeaking against the tub’s floor. The bubbles were starting to dissipate, so she paused to draw some of them closer.
“He didn’t really say.” Pearl shrugged. “Maybe he’ll come through in a day or two again. Maybe not. He’s really busy.”
“Monday.” Seth gave a slow nod. “I’ll speak to Jarred.”
No, no, no! Pearl forced herself not to look up. She drew her fingers through the bubbles, mind searching frantically for an escape route to this new, improved shit storm she’d landed herself in.