Worth The Wait

by Joey W. Hill

  He left the bed, a visual gift in his loose pajama bottoms and nothing else. He'd lost some muscle tone and weight, but not much, his lean torso as wiry and interesting to her as it had ever been. The surgical scar still gave her heart a little jump. Reaching out, she grazed her fingertips over his flank as he bent over his dresser.

  He turned, holding a handful of rope. "Lace those wandering hands behind your head. I'm turning you into my own personal pin-up."

  He tied her wrists and fingers above her head. Running the ropes over her butterfly spread elbows and upper arms, he did an elaborate breast harness that constricted and lifted the curves, putting them on lush display for his avid gaze. Next he brought the ropes beneath her, through her thighs. He spread her knees, bent and tied them in the same butterfly shape, giving her a true hourglass look. He did an elaborate rope harness over her pelvis with more slender rope.

  When he was done, he hooked his fingers in the slim rope, stroking the small knots over her clit and labia, watching the way she squirmed, lifted, undulated. He'd left her enough movement to be a man's wet dream, struggling and quivering, her limbs, breasts and hips bathed in moonlight. Her throat arched and her wet lips parted.

  "Des," she pleaded as he put his fingers inside her. His jaw was tight, his gaze relentless, that shift that let her into the darkest room of his soul. It was a dungeon where he wanted to possess her completely, take her to this.

  "Your gorgeous wet cunt. Fuck, I want to be ramming into it, reminding you I'm boss. Sounds cavemanish, doesn't it?" he mused. "But that's the way weeks of this shit makes me feel. That's what's coming for you, love, when I get full strength. Just some merciless, caveman, Master-slave, nothing PC about it, fucking. I need to drown you in a boatload of Tarzan."

  "Okay," she agreed, breathlessly. "But you don't have to do this for me. I want to come when you're ready, when we can go together..."

  He chuckled, a dangerous sound. "This doesn't have anything to do with what you want. I'm not being selfless, love. You'll know that before it's over. Watching this happen, turning you into some wanton little sex slave on my bed, may turn me on so bad it'll give me an aneurysm, but you don't call the shots. You're going to come for me. Again and again. And again. When you're exhausted, limp in my arms like a pretty little hen buffeted by a storm, I'm going to do it one more time. I want you to be begging for mercy, and not getting any from me. Fair enough?"

  "Doesn't sound like fair is your goal." She was surprised her voice was more than a squeak.

  "No, it's not. Clever girl." He bent, suckled her clit as she jolted at the sensation. Rising to go to the dresser, he returned with a vibrator about six inches long. He fixed it in the small net of rope he'd created over her clit and labia, cinching the lines to hold it there.

  "Now see, this will roll a bit," he explained with lustful satisfaction. "You'll have to keep squirming to hold it where you want it as you get more and more excited. It'll also give you a little breathing space as you come down from one climax and charge up the hill to another. But I won't let you take too much of a breather. No cheating."

  He turned the vibrator on, and the rhythm was one that would push her up, and drag her down. As she tried to wrap her fragmenting mind around that, Des bent to cup her breasts and leisurely suckle her distended nipples. The excruciating sensations were coming from everywhere. She rolled and pitched like she was on a turbulent sea.

  When he at last sat back, his lips moist from nursing her, he drove her even higher simply by watching her with a man's undisguised hunger. He had an impressive erection against his pajama bottoms, but he seemed to ignore it, focusing on her, taking his satisfaction from his control, what he could do to her.

  She toppled over the first orgasm, and it was a rough, tumultuous one, fueled by several weeks of desperation and worries. Mortality had been beating down both their needs and this was a defiance against it, an answer and challenge at once.

  She cried out her response, the unrelenting pulse of the vibrator giving her no quarter. The more she squirmed the higher it took her. When his fingers slid between it and her soaked cunt, she mewled in relief and jerked as he brushed his fingers over the lips of her sex, communicating a muted form of the vibration through his fingers.

  "That's it, my beautiful sex slave. Your Master wants to see you do that again." Lowering his head, he cleaned her with soothing strokes of his tongue. Tears rolled out of her eyes, reflecting what she was feeling. He rose to kiss them away, bracing himself over her. She couldn't explain why she was crying, and he didn't ask, but it wasn't because he didn't notice or was being callous. She suspected they both understood why.

  He changed the vibrator rhythm to a gentle roll against her clit. He worked it against her sensitive flesh in slow circles. As he did that he was kissing her body, rubbing his sandpaper jaw against her tender skin. He rose to kiss her gasping mouth with leisurely thoroughness. Then he went down again.

  Never had she had a lover do this, this unhurried, you-are-my-universe kind of lovemaking where he fed off her every reaction, making it all about her, but all for his own pleasure. She could do nothing but be lost in him, ache for him and love him. There was no conflict here, just two souls dancing forever in a world belonging to the two of them.

  Climax after climax. He hadn't been bluffing. He used the vibrator, his mouth, his fingers, the demand of his voice. His piercing eyes, dark as an abyss, insisted, his body looming over her haloed by moonlight.

  When he at long last decided he was done, a couple hours had passed, and she was a dish rag. No, dishrags had more starch to them. She was as malleable as water, perspiration glistening on her naked body, her lips parted to gulp in air, all her pulse points thudding with a replete lassitude.

  He adjusted her bonds so he could turn her over on her stomach, bringing her knees beneath her, tying them together, adjusting the pillow so her ass was in the air, her cunt framed by her thighs. She heard another drawer open, and smelled the fragrant scent of the heated lubricant he'd used on her before. She wasn't able to resist anything and, when she felt the broad tip of a dildo at her rear entrance, she had no resistance. By the time she registered how thick it was, he already had it past both rings of muscle and was easing it deeper into her passage.

  "Oh God, Des. That feels..." It was uncomfortable, unnerving, but she was so loose, it wasn't burning. Though the potential was there, a little fizzling sting around her rim. He adjusted the ropes once more to hold the toy in place. She heard a metal clink, and his belt brushed against her ass.

  "I decided you needed a reminder. I want to own your soul, Julie. Okay? Give every bit of it to me, so I'll know I didn't fuck this up, dragging you into this."

  "It's already yours," she said, voice breaking. She wanted the pain and punishment. How had he known it? What she heard in his voice said maybe he needed it, too.

  He reached beneath her, adjusted the vibrator once more and turned it on to that mind blowing rhythm that made it impossible to stay still. She let out a moan of protest, it was too much, but when the first crack came, she was already lifting into the blow, and the vibrator stroked over her clit, sending an impossible shard of pleasure through her.

  She shrieked on every strike. The hard sting, the clutch on the dildo in her ass, and the vibration in her cunt, combined to break her down into whatever he needed, whatever they both did.

  Once again, astoundingly, he took her back to climax. This time she was sure it tore open her soul. When it was done, the dam had given way and she was fierce in the grip of a cathartic cry, working out and knocking loose every worry or fear she'd let build up in her all these weeks.

  "That's my love. My sweet sub. My girl. There you are."

  He'd untied her, was rubbing her back and legs, turning her in his arms, wrapping her up in a blanket and him, holding fast. She put her hand over his, and knew what Elaine had said was right. Whatever she'd felt before, it hadn't been love, not truly. She'd never let herself be lost in someone so com
pletely.

  "Ssshh, easy love. Easy, girl. I'm here. I'm a monster, but I'm here."

  "Not." She sniffed. "Perfect in every way. Master."

  "Sssh. Sleep. It's okay now. Sleep."

  She had no choice in that, either, since she'd left behind her own will hours ago and wanted only to obey his every word, give him everything he wanted. She held onto him and was pleased that he didn't let her go, either.

  He was right. There was no room between them for any more worries. Only love, and it could fill and overflow their hearts and souls until they swam in it all the way to Heaven.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A week later, they received an invitation from Marcus and Thomas to stay overnight at their North Carolina house. Elaine wanted them to come for dinner because Les, Thomas's sister, was coming home for the weekend from medical school at Duke University. She hadn't yet had a chance to meet Des.

  While she'd normally look forward to any visit with Marcus and Thomas's family, Julie chafed at the timing. The day they were supposed to go was the official day Des had an all-clear to resume all normal activities--including sex. She'd figured Des would prefer to have the privacy of his place to tear her clothes off and do all the things that he'd been threatening, but Des told her to say yes to the invite.

  As they left Charlotte that day, Des agreed privacy would be optimal, but he gave her a wink as he took the exit ramp onto I-85.

  "They're going to give us a private bedroom, aren't they? They live in the sticks, but it's not like Little House on the Prairie, everyone in a one-room cabin."

  "You just admitted you've watched Little House on the Prairie."

  "Everyone has watched at least one episode of Little House on the Prairie, no matter how much they deny it," he said staunchly. "Melissa Sue Anderson was hot. And don't get me started on Ma." His gaze slid over her. "I wouldn't mind seeing you in one of those cute farm girl dresses with the little boots and stockings."

  "There's something deeply twisted about you."

  She chuckled as he grabbed at her knee and she scooched farther against the passenger seat to avoid him. Even as he teased her, though, she wasn't fooled. Something was up. He had something planned, but he wasn't in the mood to share, even when she probed. But he gave her a nice surge of arousal when he leveled a more direct gaze on her.

  "Come here and stop hiding over there."

  She moistened her lips and slid back to the center of the seat. He settled his palm on her leg, sliding up to her upper thigh and then turning his hand so he cupped her between her legs under her skirt, fingers playing over her labia like a violin and sending a quick little shudder through her. "You just sit like that for a while," he said conversationally. "Find us something on the radio while I drive."

  "Sadist."

  His eyes glinted, but he kept his hand there until she found a station he preferred. "You feel wet," he said. "I'd like to keep you that way all day, but..." He gave her a firm stroke that made her draw in a breath and put his hand back on her thigh. "That's just a reminder that things will happen when they should happen. All right?"

  "Okay." She curled her hand over his. "I'm rethinking wanting you back to 100% again. You may drive me crazy. Crazier, that is."

  He shot her a grin. "Sit back and enjoy the ride, love."

  Elaine fed them a repast that would put a Thanksgiving dinner to shame. So much so that Julie was afraid they'd need to postpone sexual activity for a week unless she did a marathon jog from here to the state line. Since she abhorred all types of formal exercise, her serious contemplation of the idea said just how desperate she was.

  It wasn't that she needed this first time to be acrobatic, rock-her-world kind of sex. She just wanted her Master's cock deep inside her, his body pressing her down, his arms around her. She needed that link and connection as much as she needed air, and the more she thought about it, the scarcer the air seemed to be getting.

  It didn't help that Des kept touching her, putting a possessive, stroking hand high on her thigh under the table. Or laughing at Marcus's and Rory's banter with his sexy timbre. Or getting that attentive look in his brown gaze as he listened to Elaine. She wondered if his frequent touches were a way of communicating his own urgency, but the difference between her and him was he fed off of denial, fueled by his sub's frustration. The only thing that might keep her from murdering him was that she couldn't have sex with a dead man. Though if she got any more sexually frustrated, her moral barometer might drop precipitously.

  Des had shifted his hand to the back of her chair and was playing with her bra strap under her shirt when she was beaned by a biscuit.

  "Hey, girl with the idiot dreamy look on her face," Marcus said. "Pay attention. Might as well be freaking newlyweds," he grumbled to Thomas. "When she's not looking at him, he's looking at her."

  "Yeah, not like anyone else we know at this table," Les said, rolling her eyes at him and Thomas. She winked at Des. Though when not smiling she looked like the serious overachiever she was, Les was a pleasant girl with brown hair and hazel eyes like her mother's. She became even more animated when Daralyn, a family friend who'd lived with them for the past few years, was here, but Daralyn had a field trip with her community college this weekend. Something Julie was happy to hear because, though she loved being around Daralyn, the young woman was painfully shy and needed to be more socialized.

  Marcus sent Les a mock frown. "I have a very important something to tell you both," he said to Julie. "I acquired the information at great personal cost."

  "You had to give up hair mousse for a week?" Rory asked, wide-eyed.

  "Shut up, crip, or I'll let the air out of your tires," Marcus advised.

  Elaine tsked at their byplay. Yet Julie noticed the men were keeping the humor clean if tasteless so she didn't have to resort to outright admonishment.

  "Spill. What's this valuable info?" Julie asked.

  Marcus glanced at Thomas. He had his arm stretched behind Thomas's chair, body canted toward him, foot propped on the cross piece beneath. Unlike Des and Julie, they'd already been able to resume carnal relations, but from the hawk steadiness of Marcus's gaze, Julie suspected he didn't yet consider them caught up from the deficit. But when had Marcus and Thomas not been like that? Honest to God, she was going to have a meltdown if she couldn't have Des, or he could have her, two minutes ago.

  Des was more than partly to blame, and not because of his attentiveness today. The man had used his Devil-cursed self-discipline to tie her up and do a repeat of that wonderful night several times, a scintillating reinforcement of the Dom and sub bond, as well as the other bonds between them. As much as she loved that, the aftermath had been even more precious. He'd held her so tightly, a quivering mass of "fuck it, I want to live" energy that broke the heart and made her love him all the more.

  "I had to call Tyler," Marcus informed her.

  She returned fully to the present with a mock dramatic gasp, putting her hand to her heart. "Oh my God, you're right. Thomas, how could you let him make such a terrible sacrifice?"

  "I will dip your hair in rubber cement while you sleep," Marcus said.

  "Enough," Elaine said, putting pecan pie on the table. "Tell them your news. I've been fairly bursting with it since Thomas told me last week."

  "He's such a tattle tale." But Marcus relented, meeting Des's gaze. "There's a study going on right now. It puts pancreatic cells in this biomaterial that withstands immune system attack. When the cells are injected into you, the cells can maintain their ability to detect low blood sugar and produce insulin in response. What healthy pancreas are supposed to do. Encapsulated islet cell therapy, I think it's called." He glanced at Les, as if he'd confirmed some of the medical terms with her.

  "Regardless, Jon will be able to explain it much better," Marcus added. "I understood every third word, but the important gist is there's a lot of optimism surrounding the study. It's ready for human trials."

  Julie raised her brows. "How did you find tha
t out?"

  "He called Marcie," Thomas supplied.

  "Oh." Julie beamed and explained to Des. "Marcie is a friend of Marcus and Thomas's. Well, let me step back. Initially the common friend was Lucas Adler. He's a big CFO for this major company out in New Orleans. Marcie is his sister-in-law. When she was working in New York on an internship, she, Marcus and Thomas hung out together so...they could show her the ropes in the area."

  From the flicker in Des's eyes, she knew he understood. Marcie was a submissive, and Marcus and Thomas had been her introduction into the New York BDSM scene. "Anyhow, she's now married to Ben. Does that make her a sister-in-law squared?" she asked Thomas.

  Thomas laughed. "While the Kensington guys are a lot like brothers, they're not actually blood-related, so no. Lucas and Ben both work for Kensington & Associates, run by Matt Kensington."

  He directed his further explanation to Des. "Five of them run the executive management team: Lucas, Peter, Jon, Matt and Ben, and they're thick as a pack of wolves. Anyhow, Jon is their Leonardo da Vinci when it comes to mechanical stuff and cutting edge research. He has contacts with all sorts of other geniuses, people involved in everything from the next shuttle launch to cancer research. Marcus asked him to dig around and see if there were any reputable studies that might fit your situation."

  "Studies like that are tough to get into," Des said.

  "Yeah, they can be, but like anything else in this world, it's who you know," Thomas pointed out. "The study is being conducted by a Tampa research center. One of the top researchers involved founded a juvenile diabetes camp and foundation. Tyler Winterman is a big donor and honorary board member."

  "The light dawns." Julie chuckled. "I bet that hurt."

  "Yeah. I merely gave up a kidney. Marcus having to call Tyler and ask a favor, that was the real sacrifice," Thomas said.

  Julie beamed at Marcus. "You do love me."

  Marcus sniffed. "Piss off, both of you." At Elaine's sharp look, he lifted both hands. "I could have used a much worse expletive. They're picking on me."