Comfort 4: Command Performance

by Annabel Joseph

  He was inside her. His cock was just a physical metaphor for how deeply he possessed her. The pain and fear and pleasure were previews of the coming years, but with their love, it would all be bearable. Wonderful even. She wrapped her legs around his hips, gasping as he drove into her. He lowered his head to kiss her, tugging and nipping at her lips. They moved together as one, rediscovering one another in scents and explorations, tentative touches that became grasping, needful strokes.

  Miri wished it could have lasted forever, this re-familiarization with one another, but soon her body was barreling toward climax, her nipples tightening against his furred chest. Her pussy clenched around his cock, each thrust setting her pelvis on fire with a shimmering, aching burst of bliss. His heaviness, his hands at her wrists, his collar fastened at her neck fulfilled her craving to feel his force and power.

  She fell apart with his hands pinning her and his cock touching her deep inside. His body slid across hers, possessing her, grounding her. The orgasm pulsed on and on, climactic ecstasy. When she came to rest, when her body unwound from the extended pulses of release, Mason wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He pumped inside her, bracing himself on his knees, practically pushing her across the bed. With a gasp, he pulled back and shot his cum across her stomach, fisting his cock to drain out the last stuttering spurts.

  “Ohh...” He groaned. “That was a long time coming. Literally.”

  Miri laughed as he rubbed the fluid into her skin with caressing strokes. “I would tell you to clean up,” he said. “But I think I’m just going to make you dirty again.”

  “I think you made me dirty a while ago. And I’m sure you’ll only make me dirtier over time.”

  “That sounds like a challenge. Turn over, naughty girl.”

  He made her dirty almost all night, and tormented her too with a wide variety of implements from the pegboard on the wall. At some point they stumbled back upstairs to shower and sleep. The next morning the nanny ventured out with Ava and the baby’s bodyguard for a stroll around the backyard, and Mason took the opportunity to make her dirty yet again.

  After that, they swore off sex long enough to have breakfast and check their phone messages. Mason smiled over his. “Good news, Miri. Shane says Revelation’s getting great reviews and excellent numbers from the premiere.” He looked up at her, but his face clouded when she didn’t return his smile. “What’s wrong?”

  “My father called,” she said, holding up her phone. “It’s Grammy. She’s taken a turn for the worse.”

  Chapter Nineteen: Peace

  Pneumonia. People called it “the old man’s friend” because it was a quiet, peaceful way to die. A slipping away from consciousness, a cessation of stress and pain.

  Her grandma looked peaceful for the first time Miri could remember in years. The last time she’d visited her, to show her baby Ava, her grandmother’s condition had been difficult to process. Now this was the end. Miri felt deep grief watching Grammy’s chest rise and fall, slower, ever slower. Soon, it would become completely still.

  She was thankful Mason was here to help her through this. Her father was in and out too. He’d fallen off the wagon when Grammy went into her final decline, but he’d climbed back on again. He was back to doubling up on AA meetings. Most importantly, he was taking responsibility for himself, doing what he had to do to find peace in his life. Miri wished she could spare him this pain. She wished her own heart didn’t ache so much.

  “I can’t imagine life without her.” She looked over at Mason, sitting in a rocker with Ava sleeping on his shoulder. “I didn’t have friends growing up, except for my sister. I lost my mom. I lost Maddy. Dad was sick. Grammy was the only friend I had for so long.”

  He rocked back and forth, sighing in sympathy. “I wish I could have known her then. She sounded like a great person.”

  “She was. Thanks too, for helping pay for her care at...at the end of her life,” Miri choked out.

  Mason stood and crossed to her, cradling the baby carefully so she didn’t wake up. “I’ll help you with anything, always. You have me to be your friend now.” He leaned down to kiss her gently. “But I’m sorry you’re losing your Gram.” He touched his nose to hers. “I love you. I’m sorry you’re so sad.”

  Miri’s father came in then, and they moved apart. Peter Durand regarded them uncomfortably. She knew he would always have problems with the idea of his little girl in a grown up—and unrelentingly public—relationship. But like his alcoholism, he’d have to learn to deal with it.

  “How is she?” her father asked.

  “Oh, daddy.” Miri held out her hand and he came to stand beside her. “She looks so peaceful, doesn’t she?”

  “That’s what everyone always says,” he said gruffly. “She’s dying though.”

  “She’s dying peacefully.”

  “At least she wasn’t stabbed,” Mason muttered under his breath from the rocking chair. Miri slid him a silencing glance.

  She looked back at her father. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  His eyes searched hers. “Are you going to move away now, like you planned? Now that Grammy’s leaving us? Are you going to leave with the baby?”

  Miri paused. That had been the original idea, to escape L.A. once Grammy was gone, but that had been a while ago. “Daddy—”

  “Because I was going to tell you... I met a lady. A nice lady in treatment.” He laughed ruefully. “I know, two drunks falling in love. But we’re both sober now and...” He clammed up, pursing his lips.

  “Aww.” Miri put an arm around him. “I think that’s wonderful.”

  “The great thing about her is that we’re both in this together. We go to meetings, we talk. She makes it easier for me. But she can’t move out of town. She has a lot of family here. Kids and grandbabies.”

  “I don’t think we’re moving anywhere just yet. And if we do, Mason will be there to take care of me and Ava. So we’ll be okay.”

  Her father threw Mason a baleful look. “You sure he can keep you safe? With his crazy fans and reporters everywhere?”

  “I’m right here,” Mason said. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”

  She held up a hand. “You two stop bickering. And you, daddy...you have a lot of nerve talking about Mason being safe when you stabbed him.”

  A blush spread over her father’s craggy features. “Are we going to hash over that forever? I said I was sorry.”

  “I can still press charges, you know,” Mason said. “The statute of limitations doesn’t run out for two years.”

  Miri rolled her eyes as her father started counting months on his fingers. “You guys are ridiculous. The point is, I’m happy you met someone, daddy. I think it’s good. What’s her name?”

  “Pamela. She’s a great gal.”

  “I’d love to meet her sometime.”

  Grammy drew in a sudden deep breath, and they all fell silent. Mason stood and walked over. For the next fifteen minutes, her breaths grew slower, almost undetectable. The hospice nurse stopped by and waited wordlessly at a respectable distance. Finally, Grammy breathed out and didn’t breathe in again. Miri thought she’d be ready for this moment, but her eyes filled with tears. Her father shuddered and started to cry quietly. This hurt like losing her mother. Like losing Maddy. So much loss in life, so much pain. Mason held her close and then leaned over to squeeze her father’s shoulder. Ava made a little sound in her sleep, a tiny whimper and sigh.

  Miri reached out to touch her grandma’s pale, gnarled hand. Rest in peace, Grammy. Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about any of us.

  I think we’ll be okay.

  *** *** ***

  After Grammy’s funeral, Mason suggested some time away. He’d done six films back to back, and wanted to take a year off to enjoy Ava’s babyhood. Miri immediately agreed, and asked where he wanted to go.

  “Everywhere,” he said with a smile.

  It turned out Mason really did have twenty-one houses i
n all his favorite places, all of them vastly different. All of them a wonder to behold.

  She learned so much about him by seeing the cities he loved and the homes he was attracted to, although there was no rhyme and reason to his tastes. They’d spend a month at a swanky multi-story Parisian townhouse, and then turn around and spend two weeks in a one-room cabin nestled at the foot of the Alps. They went to Wales, Spain, Romania, Turkey, New Zealand, Brazil. Baby Ava’s passport had more stamps on it than most people collected in a lifetime.

  They were dogged occasionally by foreign photographers, although their little army of bodyguards kept them safe. There was a positive side to the annoyance—the paparazzi provided a thorough documentary of their travels. Miri started piecing together the photos and articles so Ava could have a scrapbook of her adventures when she was grown.

  One night in a lakeside villa in Italy, Miri sat organizing those clippings while lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, rattling the stoneware in the hand-hewn cabinets. Mason sat across from her in the cozy living and dining area. French torch songs played softly in the background, one of Mason’s new obsessions. He sang along at random times, although he was also concentrating on reading prospective projects. Ava slept in an adjoining suite in her porta-crib, which was getting as much international mileage as her passport.

  “It’s a shame she won’t remember any of this,” Miri said.

  He looked up from the script he was reading. “Hm.”

  She laughed at his vague, preoccupied stare. “Hm. Is that your final answer?”

  The corner of his lip curled in a grin. “Sorry, I’m distracted. Have you read this yet?”

  Miri wasn’t sure. About six months into their world tour, a funny thing happened. Scripts started to arrive—an avalanche of them. Some of them for Mason, but some for Miri too. There was always a stack of them in the corner, most of them Fedex’d from Mason’s agency, which was now also Miri’s agency.

  “Is it one of yours?” she asked, closing the clippings folder.

  “It’s one of mine, but I think you’d be better for it. The female role, I mean.”

  Miri crossed to him intending to look over his shoulder, only to be embraced and drawn into his lap. He started to tell her the story of the film, pointing out the salient parts of the script, the scenes he liked, but then the lights flickered. Another sharp clap of thunder, and they went out completely, the torch songs going silent as well. In the sudden darkness Miri felt a frisson of fear, but Mason was holding her, a strong, warm force at her back.

  “It’s amazing Ava can sleep through the noise of that thunder,” she said.

  “If she wakes, Greta will soothe her.” The sultry edge in Mason’s voice made her shiver. She felt his lips at her ear, nibbling, teasing. “Miri, my love. Do you know what?”

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Something about thunderstorms really turns me on.”

  She giggled as he traced the contours of her breasts beneath her strappy nightgown. “Everything turns you on.”

  “You turn me on, all the time,” he said. “I blame you for everything.”

  Miri gasped and sighed, then pressed back against him. He made a sound, a sharp groan, and pushed her down to her knees in front of his chair. She heard the script swept aside, a ruffle of pages, and then a thump as it hit the floor. Miri fumbled with his boxers in the dark. He accidentally bumped her with his knee as he shimmied them down and kicked them off. He leaned down and put his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She laughed softly. He’d worry about a little bump like that and then turn around and whip her bottom until she begged for mercy. Oh well, it all made sense to them.

  Miri took Mason’s cock in her hands, stroked it, enveloped it with her mouth as thunder rumbled in the distance. He bucked his hips, trapping Miri’s face between his hands. Sometimes lightning flashed and she’d see Mason’s cock, Mason’s balls, Mason’s abs bunching as he thrust into her just enough to excite her and make her feel powerless, but not so much that she gagged.

  “Ohhh...” she moaned against his shaft.

  He made a feral noise and pulled away from her. With a quick movement, he lifted her and dumped her on the table on her back. In another flash of lightning she saw him arch over her, his face etched with desire and craving. She spread her legs and welcomed the pressure, the pleasure of his length and girth. He drew her legs up over his shoulders, leaning forward to fuck her harder and cinch her nipples in a biting grip. The sagging table creaked in complaint and started inching across the tile floor.

  “Fuck,” Mason said. “Hold on to me.”

  She slid her legs down and braced them around his waist as he stumbled with her over to the couch. For a while he bore her down into the scratchy chintz cushions, kissing her, driving into her with an intensity that matched the storm outside. Then he withdrew and grabbed her hips. “Turn over.” He arranged her on her knees, had her brace her hands against the high, upholstered arm. “Hold on, baby, because I’m about to fuck you to oblivion.”

  Ha. She was already almost there. She loved this about him, his passion, his intensity. She loved the way he grasped her and manipulated her, the way he possessed her and focused all his attention on her like no other woman existed. He was hers. She didn’t know how she’d gotten so lucky. She didn’t know how she’d resisted him for so long, or how she’d ever believed there was no hope for them. Now, she couldn’t imagine life without him.

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes,” he chanted behind her. He reached around to cup her mons and play with her clit, and she arched back against him, thrilling to the feel of his broad chest at her back.

  “Oh God,” she cried. “Harder!” Mason complied and fucked her harder, although he never hurt her—he always tempered the force of his passion, which is why she always felt brave enough to egg him on. She put a hand over his on her clit, holding it so she could grind against his palm. Then, ahhh...her climax was there, hot and pulsing, so strong it nearly rendered her insensible. Amid the buzz of satisfied release, her spasms of ecstasy, she slipped on the arm of the couch and fell over it with a yelp. Mason laughed and landed a whack on her ass as she braced her arms against the floor to keep from totally falling over. He ground her hips down against the padded arm as he tensed inside her and came in a burst of quick thrusts.

  Then, rather than help her up, he tumbled down to the floor with her.

  “This is not dignified,” Miri complained as they landed in a tangle.

  “If you wanted dignity, you attached yourself to the wrong person.”

  Miri shook her head at him and laughed. He grinned at her like a satyr, her sexy, virile man.

  “I think that couch is a hundred years old,” he said, nodding at it in the dark. “We’re lucky it held up.”

  “A hundred years old?”

  He winked at her. “It’s probably been fucked on a time or two.”

  “At least one time,” Miri answered. “The antique dealers would be horrified.”

  He reached out to stroke her shoulder, then slid his fingers down to take her hand. “They’re just things. The antiques, the houses. They’re nothing compared to you. Compared to Ava. I feel like I had nothing until you came to me, even though I had tons of things. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

  “You don’t have to. I understand.”

  Another flash of lightning lit up the room, but the storm seemed to be moving on. The thunder sounded far off, just a rumble. Mason squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm.

  “There’s something I want to ask you, Miri. But you can’t say no.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you really asking, then? Or are you telling? We’ve talked about the distinction before. Because if you’re asking, that implies an actual choice—”

  He put a hand over her lips until she fell silent, then brushed his fingers down her cheek. “I want to marry you, baby. It’s past time. Let
’s get married when we get to Ireland. Let’s get you that big-ass, heavy-duty slave collar. I want to grow old with you.”

  Miri felt a flutter in her chest, her heart expanding in happiness. She tapped her cheek and pretended to consider his words. “Grow old with me? You’re already pretty old, aren’t you?”

  He made a warning sound as he rolled her onto her back. “You are so, so lucky, you little minx, that noise would be an issue right now. Otherwise I would tie you to that table and do everything in my power to make sure you couldn’t sit for a week, using a barrage of your most hated implements—and my cock for good measure.”

  Miri shivered and snuggled into his arms, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed he couldn’t follow through on his threats. Well, there would be other opportunities where noise didn’t matter, opportunities she hoped he would capitalize on, even if it hampered her sitting. They were going to get married. They’d have a lifetime of opportunities. She gazed up at him, letting him see all the love in her heart.

  “You’re not old, you beautiful man. You’re perfect. I thought so from the start, way before I ever met you in person. But back then, I had stars in my eyes. Now I see clearly, and I realize you’re even more perfect than I gave you credit for.”

  “Even if I’m a clumsy, insensitive jerk?”

  “Even then,” she said, nodding her head. “Anyway, you’re only clumsy and insensitive half the time.”

  The threatening glare deepened before his face transformed into his trademark smile. “Answer me before you get yourself into more trouble. Are you ready to marry me or not?”

  Miri didn’t even have to think about it. She squeezed him in a Mason-like hug, the kind of smothering, affectionate hug she’d never experienced until he’d brought it to her life. “Yes, let’s get married in Ireland. Let’s grow old together. Or in your case, older.”