by Stacey Lynn
Had I realized all of this sooner, would my crush on Simon have evaporated? Leaving me with a man who would have worshipped me in the way Simon described earlier? Someone who I could be with in public, and not be hidden away? It certainly would have made things easier.
I chewed on that for a moment, and dispelled it. My crush and attraction with Simon went far beyond kinky sex and floggers. I admired him as a man, his intelligence, his profession. Spending eight hours with so many teenagers would have exasperated me before my student teaching days would have ended. He wasn’t just built and muscled and sex on a stick, he was a man with morals and inner strength.
Eventually, his car slowed through a residential street and I turned to him, grinning. “I didn’t picture you as a neighborhood kind of man.”
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I wanted to be involved in the community where I was teaching and coaching. Plus,” he flashed a grin. In the pale light shining in the car, his cheeks turned pink. “I do want a family someday, and I wanted a safe place to raise them.”
“Well,” I responded, stunned he’d admit it to me. “It makes sense then.”
His answer was a quiet laugh.
He slowed the car and turned onto a short driveway. A simple, mid-century looking home was well lit up with security lights on the front porch and on the sides of the two-car attached garage.
It wasn’t anything particularly special, or overly large and impressive, but knowing that when he bought this house, he was looking at having a family, a wife, made my heart beat faster inside my chest.
He pulled the car to a stop inside the garage and climbed out of his Tahoe. “Let me help you inside.”
I waited for him, and slid into his arms when he reached for me, carrying me into his house like he’d carried me out of Luminous. I focused on his house, and not the fact he was carrying me over the threshold of his house like a new groom would do for his bride.
“Got the house on a foreclosure about three years ago. It needed a lot of work. I’ve done what I can and hired out the rest.”
He sounded nervous, like it was important to him I liked his home.
I pushed down the excited flutters rushing through me as he set me on my feet.
We entered through a short hallway where the laundry room was to one side and a half-bath to the other. The kitchen directly in front of us had definitely been updated with a gray looking wood floor, cream white cabinets and gray and white marbled countertops. Stainless steel appliances gleamed as he flicked on light switches and my jaw dropped as I surveyed the entire open area where the kitchen led to an eating area and then an open living room. Wood beams ran along the length of the vaulted ceilings then down one wall, surrounding a fireplace with slate tiles complimenting the wood coloring along with the floor. The colors were all dark and masculine, the wood shone like he took the time to care for it, yet there was comfort in it, too. Luscious carpeted floors made me want to slide my toes into the thickness. Dining table and furniture that could have been straight out of Pottery Barn filled the space.
“Wow,” I whispered, walking through the living room. Behind me, Simon was silent, but I felt his gaze on me. Everything was warm and inviting. A place where you could envision stockings hung over the fireplace, a wall perfect for displaying family photos, empty now, but primed and ready to be filled. It shouted, “Fill me up with family and laughter and memories,” and the reality he’d planned it this way, clearly wanted it, slammed into my chest.
Was there any possibility, regardless how miniscule, I would be the woman filling the space with photographs and making family memories?
Cassie and my parents gathering at his dining table for a Sunday meal was a non-existent possibility.
“Did you decorate this place by yourself?” I ran a hand along the back of a suede-feeling couch. It was too dark to be beige too light to be chocolate, but it was soft and like everything else I’d seen so far, expensive and high quality.
“My mom helped.”
He was still in the kitchen, near the island. His hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, he stood tense, like he’d been waiting for my judgment.
“Your mom helped you?” I couldn’t stop the smile stretching my lips. This guy. How adorable.
He lifted a hand and ran it over his mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m a bachelor and a guy. I wanted it to look nice, not like a frat house. I saved that for downstairs.”
He winked then and turned toward the fridge. “So, I have, um...water and protein shakes. And wine.”
He was flustered. My heart fluttered in a giddy, schoolgirl sort of way.
“Your mom doesn’t do your grocery shopping for you, too?”
He shot me a look while he dug through a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. “Only when I ask nicely. Come here.”
I joined him at the counter. He opened a bottle of white wine and poured me a glass. Before I could reach for it, his hands were on my waist. He lifted me, sat me on the counter in front of him and handed me my drink. Then his hands went to my thighs, where he ran them slowly up and down. “I do have food. You hungry?”
I had barely eaten dinner before he picked me up, too nervous to munch on anything more than cheese and crackers.
“Yeah, I could probably eat.”
“Good. Then you can sit here and look pretty while I get something ready for us.” He turned to put the cork back into the wine bottle but flashed me a wink. “And spread your legs. I want to be able to see your pussy whenever I want.”
And just like that, I was ready to play.
* * *
Thrilled we weren’t having anything fancy, I smiled while Simon pulled out basic ingredients.
He didn’t touch me while he prepared a simple, homemade pizza.
We ate at the kitchen table where he sat at the head and placed me around the corner from him. We noshed on pizza, drank a glass of wine and switched to water, which he chose without offering to me, and talked about our lives. The entire time, he kept me open for him, one knee of his pressed against the inside of mine so he could see me if he wanted.
By the time he cleared the plates and loaded them in the dishwasher, I was hot for him. I was dripping wet and my thighs shook with anticipation when he told me to go stand by the edge of his couch.
I’d expected to kneel, so the order threw me off for a moment.
“Here?” I asked, next to the couch, facing the fireplace.
“No.” His voice seemed to echo through the kitchen and living room’s vaulted ceiling. “Face the couch. Lift your dress and bend over.”
Damn. A wave of pleasure washed over me. Without hesitating, I bent for him so my ass was in the air.
The fabric of the couch was cool, eliciting goose bumps down my back and legs as I tried to make myself comfortable.
His footsteps grew louder as he walked closer until I sensed him behind me. My face was turned toward the fireplace but I could only see the shadow of him behind me. His hand brushed against my backside and I wiggled, surprised at the movement.
“Still, Little Bird,” he said. “Place your hands on the arm rest and curl them around the edges.”
I dug my fingernails into the soft fabric of his furniture. Already my breaths had quickened. He’d barely touched yet when he did, I would love every moment of it, whether it be soft and slow or hard and rough.
“Do you know what I love about your body?”
“No.”
A sting hit my ass, and made me yelp.
“Excuse me, Little Bird?”
“No, sir,” I quickly corrected. I’d forgotten through dinner, through pleasant conversations about our week and our jobs to address him properly. “No sir. What do you love about my body?”
“Good job, Little One.”
God, that nickname
. I loved it. Almost more than Little Bird, which I knew came from the masquerade mask I’d worn months ago.
“I love that you’re small.” He caressed my back, down my spine and over to the side of my waist. “You’re breakable. It makes me feel like I could conquer you, break you and ruin you if I wanted to. I could destroy you and you’d let me, and not only let me, you’d love it. You enjoy the idea of my powerful body pushing you.”
I did, I really did. A shudder rolled through me and I couldn’t respond. He’d stolen my speech like he’d taken me earlier, and it didn’t matter anyway. The rustle of clothes behind me, the clink of a belt, and his zipper being pulled down focused me.
“I want to take you here, to worship you here, and you’re not going to move, are you?”
“No sir,” I quickly responded. My legs were shaking. My toes barely reached the floor and I had to stay on my tiptoes, but I already want to collapse to the floor, roll to my back and hold him.
“Good.” His fingers brushed against the backs of my thighs, the curve where ass met leg. It took everything in me to remain still and pliant for him. I focused on my goal—pleasing him. “Spread your legs wider, let me see you dripping for me.”
I listened and he rewarded me by grazing his fingers over my clit.
“Oh,” I moaned, so into the feel of him, the hope of him driving deep inside me.
He pinched my clit, ran his fingers through my slit with his other hand. He worked me over until stars shone behind my closed lids. When I trembled for him, my pussy slick and my body more than ready, he pulled back.
“Wait,” he commanded. “You will not come until I tell you.”
Movement flickered out of the corner of my eye. He bent down and pulled his belt through his pants, snapping it twice into the air.
I sighed at the sound. “Please.”
Leather on my ass. Everything he said earlier was true. I needed the trust and reverence and the feeling of being cherished. Leather wielded by a man who fit all of those things for me enthralled me. The sharp sound of leather snapping into the air sent my senses on overdrive and I tensed, waiting for the first slap against my bared skin.
“Relax,” he said. The first brush of his belt shocked me. The cool leather brushed against my ass before he glided it through pussy lips and down my inner thighs.
My knuckles stung from gripping the couch, but my shoulders relaxed and I melted further into the couch.
“You’ll count for me,” he said. “We’ll start with eight strokes and you’ll let me know how you’re doing. Understand?”
I nodded against the couch, my throat too dry for me to speak. His hand came down on my backside, hard and punishing.
“Ow! Yes, sir. I’ll count, sir.”
“Good.”
He landed the first strike. Fire roared through my body, starting at my upper thigh where he’d struck and spreading out.
Holy shit damn!
“One!” I cried, tears welling in my eyes. I pinched them shut so the tears didn’t fall. His hand brushed against the hot skin he’d just marked. He massaged the area and the pain shifted, rolled to a deep ache.
“One what?”
“One, sir.” I was going to fail at this. The pain was intense, yet as he continued rubbing my flesh with his hand, the pain dissolved into something else. It ignited my nerves, calmed my racing heart and thundering pulse.
“I’m going to continue, now, Chloe. Don’t forget, if it becomes too much, yellow for me to pause and red to stop.”
I nodded against the now warmed couch cushions. Releasing my hands, hoping it didn’t earn me another punishment, I stretched and flexed my fingers while I took a large, shuddering breath.
“Yes, sir. I’m ready, sir.”
He moved swiftly, landing another strike against the opposite side of me.
“Two, sir,” I bit out between gritted teeth. Already, sweat beaded at my temples, the heat no less intense than the first strike. I relaxed despite the instinct to flinch. It would only make the next strikes more painful.
He slapped me again and I counted, screamed the number into the air, and as he waited, rubbed my ass and then my wet pussy with his fingers, I shivered wildly.
“You’re liking it. It hurts, but you love this, being whipped, trusting me.”
“Yes, sir,” I moaned. His fingers inside me moved quickly, the sharp, sweet scent of leather against flesh lingered in the air. He pumped me with his fingers and struck me again, doubling the sensations.
I continued counting, continued trying not to come as he rubbed the rigid flesh inside of me, but all of it was so much.
He reached seven and I counted like he’d commanded, my pussy clenching around his fingers deep inside me.
“Please, sir,” I chanted. “Please Simon, I need to come.”
“You want to come?”
“Yes,” I begged, tears dripping down my cheeks. I licked them off my lips, tasted my own salty tears. The pain from his belting was sublime. Too intense to describe and yet all of it made me hot in a way I’d never imagined. Brilliant light flashed behind my closed lids as I tried to take it all in. “Please let me come,” I begged.
He pulled his fingers out of me and I cried. The loss of him more painful than his final strike.
“Eight, sir.” I panted, my chin quivering ferociously. It hurt to lose him. Hurt to think I’d disappointed him.
He covered me, pushing my dress up and adjusting my shoulders above my head. His erection brushed against my back as he undressed me with purpose and efficient movements.
“You’ve pleased me,” he murmured, brushing hair off my wet cheeks, exposing my face to him. “And now I’m going to please you. But you still may not come until I say so.”
Oh God, it was going to kill me.
He drove inside of me, already sheathed and hard. Large and thick, he stretched me more than his fingers had done. My breath stalled while I took him in, so deep he hit the end of me.
My fingers clawed into the couch and I reached back to touch him but he bent over me, pinning my hands together beneath one of his.
“Don’t move,” he grunted, pulling out and thrusting in again. “I tell you when to come, trust me to take you there.”
He already had, multiple times, but still, I nodded, begged him again for release.
“You’ll have it,” he whispered, his lips at my ear. “You have me.”
Oh, God. It was all I wanted. Him. Simon Delgado. Just him. My body went flaming hot with desire as he moved quickly. His grunts filled the room, the movements quick and hard and gave me an entire different idea of what being worshipped could be like.
He worshipped me with leather belts and rough hands and his body covering me, pinning me so all I could do was take it. My fingers clawing fabric to stave off my climax, his hand snuck around to my front and undid me. It was the pinch of his fingers on my clit, the grind of his palm against my mound, and the slap of his balls against me that sent me rushing toward euphoria.
“Please, please, please,” I begged and chanted. Mindless. I was mindless.
“Now,” he groaned. “And say my fucking name.”
I did. I screamed his name and please and thank you and ohmyGod and holyshit until words became sounds and sounds became whimpers. Blinding white light and symphonies of his grunts in my ears continued while he slammed into me, his fingers plucking my clit like his favorite instrument. I came, seeing stars, until he rode me through every shuddering breath and seated himself deep inside me.
“Fucking hell, what you do to me, Chloe.”
Chapter Twenty
Simon
Awareness of the morning sounds outside hit my ears first and I opened my eyes. I rolled over and curled my arms around Chloe. At some point during the night, she’d rolled
to her side, out of my reach. After the scene on the couch, I fucked her another time in my bed and was so blissed out I’d passed out just after she did.
But now, she was next to me, her body warm and pliant. Her blonde hair fanned out over her shoulders, draping over the covers she pulled tight around her body. Bringing her to my home last night had shifted things with us. I didn’t want to keep my distance from her any longer. I wanted her here.
I wanted her scent all over my house, her light perfume the first aroma I inhaled when I stepped inside. But I’d also seen pain lash through her eyes when she’d gazed at my kitchen table. Large enough to fit eight, it was perfect for large family gatherings and entertaining friends.
How could I begin to grow feelings for a woman whose family would never understand us together? It seemed impossible. Yet, the impossibilities aside, I was beginning to love everything about Chloe. Her sass, her compliance, her intelligence and her beauty, they were all wrapped in the petite and blonde package next to me.
I drifted a hand beneath the sheets and ran my fingers along the soft, silken expanse of her stomach. A soft breath left her lips but she didn’t wake. One soft sound and I was hard for her.
A dozen possible scenes of how to wake her flashed in my mind like a movie, and while I contemplated them, I continued brushing my hand over her stomach, up to the curve just beneath the swell of her handful-sized breasts, over to her ribs.
I wanted to plug her, prepare her so when I claimed her ass, it wouldn’t pain her.
I wanted to bend her over and slam my dick inside her wet pussy and have her screaming my name before she could even think of wanting coffee.