by Kendall Ryan
My orgasm crashes into me, pulling a low moan from my throat, and my fingers dig into the carpeting, scrambling for purchase.
“That’s it, peach,” he murmurs encouragingly against my backside as he slowly removes his fingers.
My entire world is rocked. I feel spent and used in the most lovely way.
“Up on your knees, pet.”
I couldn’t rise to my feet right now if he demanded it. But he helps me up to my knees and as soon as I’m perched before him again, I open wide, waiting for him to take my mouth again. The admiration in his gaze makes my belly flip. Without direction, he pushes forward, shoving his huge cock into my throat, and he holds my head in place, fucking my mouth as he desires.
I gag slightly and he retreats; his eyes trained on mine flash with something dark. “Don’t stop now,” he warns.
I shake my head; I won’t stop until he makes me. I want to use my hands, and he hasn’t expressly forbid it this time, so with this cock bobbing in and out of my mouth, I test the waters, trailing my fingernails over his solid thighs. When he doesn’t stop me, I grow bold, wrapping both fists firmly around his generous length and stroking him between each thrust.
“Fuck.” The word rumbles from deep in his chest, an almost animalistic sound. Seconds later, his fists tighten in my hair and a hot jet of semen coats my throat.
I swallow him down and once he’s finished, he bends forward and brushes his lips over my forehead, then pulls on black boxer briefs.
My limbs are heavy, and all the blood has settled into my lower half from remaining on my knees for so long. I’m shivering and weak.
“Come here,” he says, gathering me up in his arms and moving me onto the bed. He pulls the quilt over me and holds me quietly. After several minutes, he tilts my chin up as though he’s inspecting me. His eyes are dark and stormy, and I don’t understand why. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out hoarse and rough.
“Would you like some water?” he asks.
I nod.
“I’ll be right back. Just lie back and rest.”
He rises from the bed, and I watch his tight butt as he heads for my kitchen. In the silence, my gaze wanders to the candle he’s placed on my dresser, its flame dancing in the otherwise dark room.
The initial satisfaction fades and a deep shame over what I’ve done—with a perfect stranger, a man I’ve hired—threatens to overwhelm me. Confused by the quick shift in my emotions, I blink back tears.
I rest my eyes for a few moments and when I open them, he’s standing over me wearing nothing more than boxers that barely contain him and the generous swell at the front. His eyes are soulful, and his look is one of concern. He brings a glass of cool water to my lips, and I take a long drink, grateful for his compassion.
“Are you okay with everything that happened?” he asks, noticing my solemn mood.
“Yes, I’m fine.” It was just a blow job, for goodness’ sake. But I think some part of me knows it’s only the tip of the iceberg. Submission. Blindfolds. What’s next? Before I have time to ponder that, his cell phone rings.
He apologizes as he grabs his pants from the floor and fishes his phone from the pocket. As he looks down at the screen, he frowns. “Do you mind if I answer? It might be something important.”
“It’s fine.”
When he hits a button, the sound of feminine voice crying in the otherwise silent room startles us both. In the darkened room, he must have inadvertently activated the speaker phone.
“Hale?” she sobs, her voice frantic.
He quickly takes the phone off speaker and presses it to his ear. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.” His tone is soothing, worried.
Hale…is that his name? What kind of name is that? It’s surprisingly fitting. Its association with the weather, forceful and a little scary, is just like him. I love it. I wonder who the woman is, a sister? A friend? My stomach sinks when I realize she could be another client.
It’s impossible not to listen, and he makes no move to leave the room or prevent me from overhearing. Whoever the woman is, she’s sobbing, and though I can’t make out what she’s saying, he listens attentively, repeatedly telling her that everything will be okay in a solemn and comforting tone. After several minutes of kind encouragements, he tells her that he’s not alone, and that he has to go. He ends the conversation by telling her to run a warm bath and make herself a mug of tea, and that he will check on her later.
When he hangs up, his posture is so rigid he looks like he could crush the phone in his hand. He releases a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry about that.”
Of course I want to ask who the mystery woman is, but remember we’ve made an agreement not to delve into each other’s personal lives. “Is…is she okay?”
“Do you know what aftercare is, Brielle?”
“No.”
“Chrissy is a submissive at a club I belong to. She was shaken up after a rough scene with a Dom tonight, and he left before she could talk with him about what she had just experienced.”
“And she trusted you to talk her through it?”
“Yes.” He places his hand against mine and meets my eyes. “We will always talk about how you’re feeling after a lesson. I won’t leave until I know you’re okay. And if you have questions, or unexpected emotions pop up afterward, you can call me. I have a cell phone number for clients that I’ll give you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry tonight’s lesson got cut short. I didn’t intend for that to happen.”
“That’s okay. It sounds like she needed you.”
I wonder what that means, a submissive at a club he belongs to. A sex club? Does he play with her too? A pang of jealousy flares inside me, but I ignore it. He’s a Dominant hired by scores of women for sexual instruction, yet there’s no denying he’s a caring partner. I’m not mad; I’m more curious than anything.
“How many women are you mentoring?”
His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “You’re the only one I’m concerned with.”
His non-answer sets me at ease more than it should. “So, what does aftercare usually involve?”
He hands me my glass of water, encouraging me to drink more. “It can be discussion over what just happened, cuddling, kissing, or even vanilla intercourse if the scene didn’t involve sex.” He waits while I consider everything I’ve learned tonight, and tucks the quilt tighter around me. “Any other questions?”
I meet his eyes and smile. “Now that I know your name…can I call you Hale?”
He chuckles and nods his head. “You may.”
Chapter Ten
Hale
I’m waiting for Reece to arrive at the bistro we agreed on for lunch, but all my thoughts are on Brielle and the night we shared.
Kirby must be a fucking idiot. If he hasn’t noticed her by now, that’s his problem. I know I’ll walk away at the end of this, like I always do, but I’ll enjoy every single one of my sessions with Brielle in the meantime.
I pull out my phone, deciding to text her. We exchanged numbers before I left last night.
Hale: How are you feeling today?
Brielle: Good.
Hale: Not sore are you?
Brielle: A little.
Hale: I’m having lunch with an old friend, but I wanted to check on you. I apologize our lesson got cut short. I promise you that’s not a regular occurrence.
Brielle: It’s okay. Learning your name was worth it. ;)
I chuckle to myself, liking her sassy side.
Hale: One more thing, pet. I’m not free until Friday this week. You are not allowed to masturbate. I’m the only one touching that sweet pussy. Is that clear?
Brielle: Yes, sir.
Her use of the word sir is unexpected and quite welcome. Initially, she questioned herself, me, and this whole process. But it turns out that with only the slightest coaching, she is submitting beautifully.
“How’s your newest project?” Reece asks as he stro
lls toward me.
“She’s a natural,” I remark, lifting my gaze from my phone. I won’t be one of those douche bags glued to his phone, no matter how entertaining I find my newest pet project.
Pulling out a chair, Reece sits down across from me. “A natural submissive, huh?” He makes a deep, appreciative noise in his throat.
Damn straight. My little peach is a pleaser. It’s up to me to show her how to funnel her energy. She doesn’t need to throw herself at every man who gives her a passing glance; she only needs to submit to her Dom when he demands it. It makes my cock ache just thinking about it.
I’ve found myself thinking of her all day long. Usually that’s the case when I’m working with a client, but it’s most often that I’m analyzing my own performance, thinking of ways to improve my teaching. But aside from my fuckup with leaving my phone on, I haven’t thought of my lesson once. I’ve thought of Brielle’s sweet ass in the air, her pink pussy slick and wet from my words alone, and the breathless whimper she makes when she comes.
“What are you smiling at, brother?” Reece asks, giving me a grin.
“Just the woman I’m coaching. She’s…fun.” I smile back.
“Fun.” He chuckles, his eyes on mine. “You gonna keep this one?”
Given my past, he knows how raw his words make me feel. “No,” I choke out. “I’m training her for another man.”
He nods. “I see.” He picks up the menu and glances at it, but I can see his wheels turning. “You’re not going to have a hard time giving her up, are you?”
“God, no.” I shudder. After what happened the last time, that’s not a possibility for me. Reece knows that as well as I do.
We place our order with the young waitress that Reece can barely keep his eyes off of, and make small talk about work.
“How’s Chrissy?” I ask in between bites of my sirloin sandwich. “She called me last night, distraught. Needed to be talked down off the ledge. Sounds like she worked with someone new who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.”
Reece would call me a pussy, but aftercare has always been one of my favorite parts. Talking about what we just experienced together, laying it all out there in the open. Examining it and letting all of the feelings of lust, pain, and desire refuse to hide in the shadows. Submission is a beautiful thing, and I’m always glad to explore it in words after the act itself. To make sure my partner felt as good about it as I did. Plus, I’m serious about this mentor thing. I damn well want to know if something I did caused real pain, physical or emotional, and I want to learn, to grow. A Dominant is only as strong as the communication he receives from his partner.
He adjusts his water glass, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, we had some fucking jackass fly in from New York City for the weekend. Called himself Dominic.” He scoffs. “Turns out he was nothing more than an amateur. But you know Chrissy. She was eager for release, putting herself front and center, ready to be used however he wanted.”
Fucking Chrissy. I inhale deeply, frustration creeping its way into my posture. I flex my hands, my knuckles popping with the effort.
Reece holds up a palm. “I know, brother. I’m pissed off about it too. Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again. That fucker and the guy who vouched for him are both banned for life.”
“Good.” The one-word, grunted response is all I’m capable of.
That unpleasantness out of the way, we focus on our food as we catch up on small talk like men often do. Sports, politics, and women. I keep waiting for Reece to announce he’s collared a sub, that he’s finally found his match, but so far it hasn’t happened. He seems content to dabble in the lifestyle, but deep down, I know he’s seeking something more.
During lunch, I find myself smiling, thinking about Brielle and planning our next lesson. Balancing my work and social calendar with my mentoring is often difficult, but I’ve always preferred it that way. Staying busy keeps my mind from wandering, which has always been a good thing.
So why am I hesitant to get involved with another client right now? I have two other women I’ve just wrapped up with, but last night while scanning the e-mails in my gentleman mentor in-box, I was unsure if I wanted to get involved with anyone else right now.
I tell myself it’s not due to Brielle, but part of me knows it is.
Chapter Eleven
Brielle
“Push your bottom back and press your heels into the floor.”
I glance up at the yoga instructor and mimic her pose, pushing back into a downward-facing-dog position.
Frustrated, I glance at Julie beside me. She’s so tall and graceful with her long limbs and perfect posture; her downward dog looks nothing like my awkward, shaking attempt. Yet week after week, I let her drag me here to this yoga studio and twist my body into shapes it isn’t meant to do, following it up with a wheat-grass shot that I can barely stomach, all in the name of good health. Oh, joy.
I glance at the clock and see that it’s only been seven minutes. Shit. I’m doomed.
“I still need the details about the other night,” Julie hisses at me.
“And yet you bring me to yoga, which I hate.” I narrow my eyes. I’d be much more inclined to give her all the juicy details over, say, margaritas.
“It’s a free country, Brie. You didn’t have to come. I think you secretly like it.” She winks.
I shoot her a scowl and blow a lock of hair from my face.
“Besides, I think that Dom of yours will appreciate how limber you are,” she adds.
“He’s not mine,” I tell her. Apparently, I’m one of many.
His phone call last night with Chrissy springs to mind again. The soft, calming tone of his voice, the anguish in his features as he spoke to her. It was like catching a glimpse of a whole different side to him, one that I never imagined existed.
“And rise up into warrior pose. Arms gracefully extend out from your body,” the instructor says from the front of the room. “Brielle, lengthen your spine, chin up. Good.”
I roll my eyes and inhale deeply. My brain is still spinning over my arrangement with Hale. I hope I’m doing the right thing.
This is all for Kirby, I remind myself. I can do this.
• • •
When Friday rolls around, I’m distracted and edgy. I didn’t hear from Hale all week, aside from his text this morning.
Hale: Are you ready for your lesson tonight?
Brielle: Of course. Are we meeting for a drink again?
Hale: No. Not this time. When I fuck you, I want you stone-cold sober and one hundred percent sure this is what you want.
Needless to say, I found myself speechless and still haven’t responded. After my second cup of coffee, I finally summon the courage.
Brielle: Do you want to meet at my place?
Hale: Yes. I’ll be there at 7 p.m. Make sure you eat something beforehand. You’ll need your energy.
When darkness falls, I finally force myself to leave the office. It’s Friday, which means all of my coworkers took off early, looking forward to their weekends and asking me if I had any plans. I mumbled something noncommittal about seeing a friend.
If they knew the truth, my professional reputation would be at stake, and I can’t have that. I may still be new to my career, but I’m a damn good real estate agent, and I won’t risk it.
I gather up my laptop bag, my purse, and the remnants of the lunch I was too nervous to eat, then head out to the parking lot. I knew staying at the office and keeping myself busy with listings and e-mails would be a better decision than pacing my quiet apartment, waiting for Hale. The anticipation of seeing him makes my belly flip. I have no idea what he has in store for me tonight, aside from his hint that we’d be fucking.
Once home, I only have an hour until Hale’s due to arrive. I secure my hair into a bun, strip down, and wash off in the shower. Then I stand naked in front of my dresser, peering down into my underwear drawer. Both times we met up, I’ve worn sexy G-strings, and both times he’s
kept my panties as some type of intimate souvenir.
My eyes flash on my most nondescript pair of white cotton briefs. I wonder what he’ll say if I wear those?
A streak of defiance flares within me and an impish grin curls my mouth. Wanting to force a reaction from him, I grab the panties and step into them, then add a plain white bra, a pair of jeans, and a comfy long-sleeved pink tee. We’re staying in, after all. What’s the point in dressing up?
Once I’m ready, I munch on a handful of pretzels as I tidy up my apartment. I know Hale told me to eat, but the idea of sitting down to a full, heavy meal is not appealing. A glass of wine sounds fantastic right about now, but I won’t indulge. Hale wants me completely sober, and there’s something ironically intoxicating about that.
The buzz of the intercom catches me off guard.
He’s here.
I press the button and tell him to come on up. Moments later, feeling breathless and excited, I answer the door and find the tall, striking man I’m coming to know as my Dom standing in the hall. He’s dressed down tonight in dark-washed jeans and a slim-cut Henley in navy blue.
“No suit and tie tonight,” I murmur.
“No. I left the office early and went home, so I had time to change.”
“Oh.” Never having seen him in anything other than a suit, I stand mutely in my doorway, struck by how his straight-fit jeans hug him in all the right places, and how the shirt brings out how intensely blue his eyes are.
“May I come in, peach?” he asks with an amused expression as if he knows I’ve been standing here awestruck by him.
“Of course.” I pull the door wider and usher him inside.
It’s his second time here, but I didn’t give him much of a tour the first time. He pretty much attacked me at the front door and carried me to my room after our sexually-charged encounter in the bar. Tonight’s mood feels mellow in contrast. Something tells me we’re going to take our time, explore things more fully this time around. I’m both nervous and excited.