Play Me

by Tracy Wolff

  But this is different. This is her deliberately provoking me, deliberately trying to get me to lose control in a desperate need to appease the violence inside of me. It’s wrong. It’s dangerous. And I want it—want her—more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Even redemption.

  Knowing that should stop me, should have me pulling back and walking away as fast as I possibly can. But I’m caught in her web now, completely wrapped up in the sweet surrender of her demand, the desperate demands of her hands and body and soul.

  Crushing her mouth with my own, I grab on to the front collar of her shirt, where the first button brings the two sides together. And then I yank hard. Buttons go flying in all directions and the shirt falls to the floor in tatters.

  “This is my work shirt,” she murmurs against my lips.

  “Yeah, well, now it’s my play shirt.” I reach down, scoop it up from where it fell and rip first one sleeve off and then the other.

  She’s gaping at me now, eyes wide and wild. “What are you doing?”

  In response, I pull her hands together behind her back, tie them with one of the sleeves. There’s a lot of give in the material and because I know it’ll relax at the first tug from her, I tie it a little too tight. Then double knot it to make sure she doesn’t get free before I let her free.

  She’s still wearing her bra, though—a lacy, white thing that manages to look both demure and totally debauched at the same time. Of course, the fact that she’s tied up could have something to do with that perception. As well as the fuzzy awareness creeping into her eyes—the first step into subspace.

  But no matter how good she looks like that, I want more. I want everything she has to give and more—need it with a desperation that is both uncomfortable and exciting as hell.

  Yanking her bra down so that the cups actually press against her breasts from the bottom, lifting them up even higher than they already are, I drag my thumb roughly around first one areola and then the other.

  Her nipples are already hard. I can’t resist pinching them, making them harder. Any more than I can resist the little gasp she makes or the way her lower body moves restlessly against mine.

  I do it again, harder this time, and she cries out, turns her head so that her face is buried against my biceps. And then she bites, hard enough to have me swearing, long and low and vile. More than hard enough to have my dick jumping in my fucking pants.

  Before I can think better of it, before I can even attempt to calm myself down, I tangle my hands in her hair and yank. Hard. Aria’s head hits the wall, but she doesn’t seem to notice as I grind my mouth to hers. As I take and take and take.

  She tastes bitterswee​t—like pain and pleasure and every craving I’ve ever had. Like coffee and caramel and the wild desert wind that late at night sweeps through the city in barely controlled gusts. She tastes like everything I’ve ever needed and I want to stay here, right here, like this forever. My tongue in her mouth. My chest against her breasts. My dick rocking slowly against her sex.

  Breaking away from her lips is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I want her naked. Open. Completely vulnerable to me and everything I want to do with her.

  I tug at her skirt, yank it roughly down her legs. Then grab her delicate lace panties and tear them off with one twist of my hand. Her gasp turns into a moan as I slide two fingers through her already damp flesh and then thrust them roughly inside her. It’s a bad move on my part because now that I’m here, now that I can feel her warm heat clutching at me, I want to stay right here forever.

  But it’s not enough. When it comes to Aria, nothing is ever enough. I always want more, always want to take everything she has to give and then more. More. More.

  I’m desperate, devastated, completely enthralled—and in these moments I’m more out of control than I’ve been in my entire adult life. I want her. Want to touch her, taste her. Want to pour myself inside her until—

  With a groan, I bend my head and take as much of her breast into my mouth as I can manage.

  “Sebastian!” It’s a high-pitched plea for help, for relief, for surcease, but I have no surcease in me right now. I have no mercy—not for her and not for myself.

  I want her every way I can have her.

  I want to fuck her against this wall. Want to turn her over a chair and come at her from behind. Want to perch her above me and let her ride us both to ecstasy.

  I want to fuck her mouth, her pussy, her sweet, lush ass. I want to slide between her breasts. Want to come on every part of her. Over and over and over again, until there’s no end and no beginning. Until there is just Aria and me and the violent heat of a desire that will never burn itself out.

  I pull away from her breast for a moment, lean back so I can get a good look at her. She’s gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous with her dark red nipples all but begging for my mouth and her skin scratched pink from my stubble.

  Because I can’t resist, I suck at the tender skin on the underside of her breast until a dark purple bruise forms. Then I do it again and again and again. Until her breasts are black and blue—bruised and branded and claimed. By me.

  The thought causes a dark heat to rise deep inside me, has my dick growing harder and my balls aching for release.

  Control it, I warn myself. Control the need. Control the burn. Don’t push her too far. Not yet. Not now. And yet even as I’m telling myself that, even as I’m promising myself that I’ll go easy on her, I’m sucking another bruise into her skin—right over her nipple. And this time I make sure it hurts.

  She cries out, her body writhing against mine. I grit my teeth at the feel of all that softness pressed so invitingly against me and for a second I’m all but paralyzed with the need to fuck her. Right here, right now, and to hell with everything else I want to do.

  But a quick fuck isn’t enough, not when every time I close my eyes I hear Aria telling me it’s not my fault. I hear Janet screaming that I’m a murderer. I hear my own guilty conscience bombarding me with everything I didn’t do to save Dylan.

  And so, praying my control is as good as I hope it is, I close my teeth over her nipple. I bite softly and then harder as her cries of pleasure echo in my ears. I polish my tongue against her nipple even as I bite down, drawing out the pain and the pleasure to a tight pinpoint that has Aria gasping for air. I do it again and again, before moving to her other breast. This nipple I draw into my mouth and roll slowly between my teeth before gently biting down.

  “Please, please, please.” Aria repeats the word like a litany, like a prayer, her back bowed, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the wall behind her.

  She’s close—I can feel it in the uncontrollable trembling of her body against mine, hear it in the way her breath breaks with every inhalation. See it in the pink flush creeping over her stomach and up her breasts to her neck and face.

  I want to give it to her—it’s cruel to keep her hanging when she’s this far gone. But there’s another part of me that wants to make her wait. That wants to see just how far I can push her before I tip her over the edge into ecstasy.

  With that thought in mind, I sink to my knees in front of her. Putting a hand on each of her thighs, I push them apart. Spread her apart so I can see all of her.

  Aria whimpers, but opens her legs willingly. My dick jerks at the first sight of her, red and glistening and hot. So fucking hot. I slide a finger along her slit before I even know I’m going to do it, relishing the way she feels—soft and silky and wet, so wet—almost as much as I relish the way she responds to me.

  “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I tell her, resting my cheek against her thigh so I can smell the sweet, musky scent of her. Then I dart my tongue out, lick back and forth along her slick folds.

  “Sebastian.” This time when she says my name, she sounds testy. Overwrought. I like the sound of it. Like even more the way she looks, skin flushed, hair tousled all to hell, lips wet and open as she gasps for air. And her eyes. Those goddamn black magic eye
s of hers are soft and glazed and so, so out of it.

  She’s gone, totally in subspace now. I could do anything to her and she’d like it. Hell, she’d beg me for more.

  “Aria,” I murmur her name as I press kisses to her inner thighs, her mons, the soft, sweet folds of her pussy.

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Aria.” I say it more firmly this time and she lifts her dazed eyes to mine. Memories of the subdrop she experienced a few days ago flash through my head and it’s enough to fasten on the manacles of control. Enough to have me asking, “You doing okay?”

  Once again, she doesn’t answer.

  “Aria!” This time I pinch her clit for emphasis and for a second, just a second, the haze clears. “Are you all right?”

  “I’d be a hell of a lot better if you stopped talking and fucking put that mouth of yours to use,” she snaps.

  It’s all the answer I need. Turned on more than I thought possible by her sudden flash of dominance, I grab her chin. Tilt her head down until her eyes lock with mine. Hers are hot with desire, blazing with need, darker than I’ve ever seen them. Keeping my gaze level with hers, I use my thumbs to spread her wide open. Then I lean forward and lick a long, slow stripe right down the center of her sex.

  She screams at the first touch of my tongue to her clit, her hips rocking against my mouth. I hold her open, circle her clit once, twice before delving inside the very heart of her. I lick deep, loving the taste and smell and feel of her. Loving the warmth of her and the way her body trembles, spasms, around my tongue.

  “Sebastian, I’m—” Her voice breaks, her head falling back against the wall as her eyelids flutter closed.

  I pull back, growl, “No!” and it’s the most direct order I’ve ever given her. “Look at me while I take you. I want to see your eyes when I make you come.”

  Color rises from her breasts, up her throat to her jaw and cheeks, but in the end, she does as I ask. Leaning forward, she braces her hip against my shoulder and lets her eyes tangle with mine.

  “Good girl,” I tell her, loving that she’s a little off balance like this. Loving even more that she’s leaning into me for support, trusting me to keep her safe. And this time when I take her in my mouth, she watches as I close my teeth gently over her clit. Watches as I stroke my tongue back and forth against the delicate bud. Watches as I press first one finger and then a second one inside of her.

  She comes with the second finger, her body clamping around my hand even as her hips rock and jerk against my mouth. I crook my fingers and find her G-spot, then rub over it again and again even as I flick my tongue back and forth against her clit. Drawing out her orgasm. Making her come harder and longer than she ever has for me before.

  When it’s finally over, when her body is resting limp and sated against mine, I slowly pull my fingers out from inside of her. And then start all over again.

  “It hurts,” she cries out as I force her oversensitive body to take more pleasure. As I push her up, up, up toward a second climax. “Sebastian, please.”

  “It’s okay,” I soothe, but I don’t stop. Don’t relinquish the hold I have on her body. I want to take her up again, want to see just how high I can get her this time before she comes. I need this as much as she does, need the mastery and the control over her body, over her orgasms, in a way I haven’t needed anything in a very long time.

  When she’s almost there, when her body is rocking against mine and soft, desperate whines are falling from her lips, when I can feel her sex quivering and know that one lick, one stroke, one breath will send her spiraling over the edge again, I pull back completely.

  I stop kissing her, stop touching her, stop soothing her as her body continues to jerk and tremble. Instead, I push to my feet. Step back. And then, when she’s just staring at me, looking lost and aroused and so, so beautiful, I turn my back on her. Walk away.

  I don’t go far—just to the bar in the corner of the room to get her a glass of water and to give myself a chance to calm down. I’m almost as close to coming as she is, just from touching her. Just from tasting and smelling and hearing her as I went down on her.

  “Sebastian?” This time when she says my name, her voice is soft, uncertain. And while there’s a part of me that doesn’t like the fact that I’ve made her feel insecure, there’s another part that relishes it. That wants to control every part of her—body and mind. That wants her every response, no matter how small and inconseque​ntial, to come from me.

  “I’m here,” I tell her, crossing back to her and lifting the glass of water to her lips so she can drink as her hands are still tied behind her back.

  “Thank you,” she says after she’s done drinking. She smiles at me. This time I don’t smile back.

  She looks confused for a moment, but when I roll the cold glass over first one nipple and then the other, she relaxes. Her head falls forward and she watches with languid eyes as her nipples grow tighter and tighter.

  Suddenly I pinch one, hard, and she cries out, her knees buckling. She leans forward like she expects me to catch her but I don’t. I let her fall to her knees, though I do make sure it’s more of a slow slide down my body than it is an actual fall.

  Once she’s on her knees in front of me, Aria scoots forward, nuzzles her face against my cock. I’m still in my jeans, but I swear I can feel her breath through the thick fabric. God knows, my dick twitches like it can.

  “What do you want, Aria?” I ask, forcing myself not to rip at the denim in my desperation to feel her mouth on my dick.

  She looks up at me then, and she’s so far under that I’m not even sure she knows how she got onto the floor. Her eyes are wide, her pupils dilated until they cover almost her entire iris. Her mouth is open, her tongue licking at the last remnants of the lipstick she put on hours ago.

  “Everything,” she tells me in a soft, breathy voice that is somehow both completely not her and completely her at the same time. And that’s when I know—really know—I’m seeing the core of submissive Aria. All her attitude has been stripped away, all her snappy comebacks and control issues are gone. And in their place is soft, sweet, biddable Aria who wants only to please.

  Only to take whatever I want to give her.

  It’s not what I anticipated when I started us down this path, not what I ever thought I wanted from her or from myself. But I can’t leave her like this, either, not when she’s this far under. And not when my own control issues are riding me like hell itself tonight.

  I reach for the buttons on my jeans, undo them slowly as she watches with dazed and hungry eyes. When all the buttons are undone, I shove my jeans down a little and pull out my cock. Then wrap one hand around it and begin to stroke.

  Aria makes a soft sound deep in her throat—whether of protest or arousal, I don’t know. And I don’t honestly care, not when it shoots through me and has every nerve in my body tightening in an agony and ecstasy of need.

  Reaching out, I cup her cheek in my hand. Rub my thumb back and forth over her lips, smearing the last of her red lipstick across her mouth so that she looks just a little dirty, a little messed up. And then I’m guiding her forward, sliding my dick along the soft, wet seam of her lips.

  She opens eagerly, her tongue darting out to slide over the head of my cock before licking long and slow over its length.

  My breath slams out of me as every muscle in my body grows taut with need. I fight for control—over myself, over her—but there is none. Fighting to relax, but that’s impossible as her mouth skims over me. Sparks explode behind my eyes—clean and bright and almost as beautiful as Aria is.

  I reach forward, tangle my fingers in her hair. Tug sharply. She hums her approval and the answering vibrations make me quiver as they travel through my cock, down my thighs, over my stomach.

  “Aria.” Her name is all I can manage at this point, a guttural groan when what I really want to do is praise her. To tell her how beautiful she is. How much I want and need her. How I’d do anything for her.r />
  But I can’t speak. Not when she’s killing me—softly, slowly, without even a shred of mercy. And even if I could tell her how I feel, I’m not sure I would. Not when words like that, promises like that, make me vulnerable. Not when they take away the control I’m all but desperate for.

  Her mouth closes over the tip of my dick, tight and hot and so good that I nearly come right then. I tighten my fingers in her hair, pull her head back as I thrust slow and steady into her mouth, sliding so deep that I can feel her throat constricting around me.

  Aria moans then, long and slow, and the vibrations rock me to my very bones. They melt away the last of my resistance, the last of my tenuous hold on control, and I thrust deep into her mouth. Over and over again I pound into her, shoving myself down her throat, making her take more and more of me. Making her take everything I have and more.

  And she does. She takes it all, burning me alive with each silky glide of her tongue, each warm pull of her mouth. Again and again I thrust deep, again and again she takes me until I know that if I don’t pull out now I’m going to come before I ever get inside her.

  But as I start to pull her up and away, she presses herself against me, sucks me deep, mutters a protest deep in her throat. Her words are unintellig​ible, but the rhythm of them send shock waves from one end of my cock to the other. My heart slams against my chest and I thrust helplessly into her mouth.

  The need to come is urgent, the desire to empty myself into her mouth so intense that it shakes me to my very core. But at the same time, I don’t want this to end. I want to stay here, in this moment, connected to this beautiful woman forever.

  I thrust against her, watch as I slide in and out of her red, swollen lips. I do it again, long and slow and deep, then nearly come as she moans. I start to pull out—I’m so close that it won’t take much to send me over—but Aria just sucks me deeper. Runs her tongue up and down and around my dick in a rhythm that has my eyes crossing and my balls aching for relief. I’m on the brink now, orgasm threatening with every strangled breath I manage to pull into my lungs.