“You already have that.”
“No, I don’t.” He smiled that small, warped smile that I hated so much. “Only when you really belong to me can I know you like that.”
Silence descended but it wasn’t uncomfortable. These moments were inevitable between us, I thought, because there were so many dead ends in a conversation where the future was not to be discussed or changed. If I was a different person, better maybe or worse, I would have used the moment to tell him that I wanted to belong to him more than I wanted my next breath.
Instead, I slid my hand over his lightly, pulling his attention back to me. “Tell me what it would be like, if we were in an actual relationship type thing.”
Despite myself, I blushed at the thought of discussing such things and despite the dark, Sinclair could see that.
“You can beg me to make you come but you can’t actually say the words Dominant and submissive?” he asked.
I shrugged and spooned a helping of gazpacho into my mouth so that I wouldn’t really have to answer.
His eyes crinkled with suppressed mirth but he sat back in his chair and studied me thoughtfully. I loved that about him, how he took everything I gave him and mulled over it as if I was special, important and worth consideration.
“Alright, Elle, why don’t we start with the basics? There are different kinds of D/s relationships with varying degrees of control. On one end of the spectrum, there are the slaves and Masters. A slave is expected to obey commands at all times, to be controlled in all aspects of his or her life by the Master.”
“That sounds horrible,” I said, the honesty burst from my lips like the grape between my teeth.
Sinclair chuckled easily and I loved that I could coax that from him. “I think we can safely rule out that kind of relationship. I have no desire to control your life.” He reached across the table to run two calloused fingers along my jaw. “Not when you live so beautifully.”
“Now who’s poetic,” I said softly.
His eyes darkened to wet blue velvet and I gasped when his fingers tightened on my chin. “Submission is poetic too. Get on your knees, siren.”
I was sliding out of my chair before I had even fully absorbed his words.
“Come closer.”
I hesitated. My inclination was to stand up and walk over but I knew what a real submissive would do and the idea of crawling to him lit a fire in my belly. I kept my eyes on the ground as I moved forward on my hands and knees, ass swaying.
When I settled at his side, he spoke again. “This is something we might do in a real relationship. I might have you eat at my feet, only by my hand.”
His fingers appeared in my lowered line of sight, a purple grape in his grasp. I immediately parted my lips and tilted my head back to receive the morsel, taking care to swipe my tongue against his skin as he fed me.
“Behave,” he warned mildly before continuing in an almost bored tone. “There would be rules, of course.”
He waited but I had the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to respond.
I could hear the smile in his voice when he finally said, “Exactly. You would not speak unless expressly ordered to and when you did, how do you think you would address me?”
“With appropriate respect, sir,” I said.
My voice was breathy and he hadn’t even touched me.
“Very good. I cannot count the things I want to do to you, not least of all because you would blush to your toes to hear me give voice to them.”
I could feel that full-bodied blush, how my blood ricocheted through my veins and my heart knocked brutally against my ribs. Idly, I worried about heart failure.
“Please, tell me,” I whispered hoarsely because I was so filled with desire that even my throat was swollen with it.
He studied me dispassionately for what felt like a long time. The more his gaze cooled, the warmer I grew. I couldn’t think when he looked at me like that, not of Elena or the stress of my upcoming showcase, not of my lifelong insecurities or even my own name. When Sinclair looked at me with those aloof and commanding eyes the color of lightening, my very soul felt electrified.
Finally, he stood up, so close to me that my nose was pressed into the inside of his lower thigh. I breathed deeply, so intoxicated by his smoky, masculine scent that I almost felt high.
His hand lowered heavily to the top of my head and he said, “I would rather show you.”
I let out a breathy little sigh before I could help myself. His hand slid over my crown and threaded through my hair, pulling firmly at the roots until my back arched to release some of the tension. Pain prickled deliciously down my spine. Slowly, he tugged my head back until I was looking up at him. With his other hand, he placed his thumb on my bottom lip, rubbing back and forth until my mouth blossomed open under his touch.
He was so masterfully made, his features so perfectly chiseled that they were almost brutal to look upon, especially now when he loomed over me like the statue of a God. My God. Oh, how I wanted to devote myself to him, venerate him with everything I had.
I swept my tongue along the ridge of his thumb, staring into his eyes through my eyelashes as I daringly took him into my mouth and scraped my teeth across the pad of his digit. His eyes flared.
“This lifestyle is not always about pain and restraint,” he explained. “It is about worship.”
His ability to read my mind no longer surprised me.
“I worship you,” I breathed.
He pulled his thumb from my mouth and drew two fingers tenderly down my cheek before saying, “And I you.”
Without another word, he reached down to pull me into his arms. Cradled securely against his chest, I let myself listen to the beat of his heart as he led me into the bedroom and gently laid me on the bed. Languidly, I watched as he went into the bathroom, reemerging with a bottle of lavender scented massage oil in his hands and the same red scarf that he had bound me with earlier. Warmth pooled between my legs just at the sight of it.
I studied him silently as he straddled my prone body on the bed and gently secured the fabric around my head so that I was blindfolded. I gasped in disappointment when his body left mine once more but he returned to me quickly after plugging his phone into the music system. Glass Animal’s Toes beat sexily from the speakers.
“This is about you, my siren. I control you to discover you, to unlock the secrets of your heart and the hidden desires in that brilliant mind of yours.” His voice was smooth and warm as the massage oil that he heated between his palms and applied to my shoulders.
I hummed with pleasure as he began to knead my neck and chest, my mind empty of everything but the exquisite pressure of his hands against my skin. His fingers moved down my arms to my very fingertips where he released an uncanny amount of tension just by pinching the pads of each digit. After working his way from my stomach to the ends of my feet, he tenderly rolled me onto my stomach and began to caress my back.
A moan built deep in my gut. It was in no way a sexual massage but I felt restless with desire nonetheless. Each press of his strong fingers into my muscles molded me further and further into a creature of his own making, as supple and easily manipulated as clay beneath his touch.
I was mindless, made only of sensation by the time his thumb found the pronounced curve of my bottom. He pressed hard into the muscles there, almost painfully so that I sucked air between my teeth. I wasn’t sure where the massage oil ended and my own wetness began.
“On your knees.”
His voice slithered into my subconscious. I raised my heavy body as quickly as I could, tucking my knees underneath me, arching my back so that my ass was raised with my hands grasping my ankles and my face pressed into the sheets. Cool air drifted deliciously over my overheated flesh.
The slow, arousing massage continued but this time it was punctuated by the sound of his cool voice washing over me. “I remember the first time you displayed your pussy like this for me. You were so wet.” His thumbs dipped down the creas
e and pulled apart my lips to expose my wet, pink core. “I could smell you from across the room.”
I groaned softly into the bed and wriggled, desperate for more stimulation.
He punished me with a swift, brutal spank that left my skin singing out for mercy. His hand squeezed the smarting skin, clenching it in under his strong grip until I whimpered.
“I wanted to punish you just like this for bewitching me.”
Another painful slap, my skin even more sensitive under the sheen of oil.
“I wanted to take this perfectly plump ass in my hands, warm these cheeks and spread them open for my tongue.”
I tensed in anticipation as he spanked me twice more, harder than before, and slowly spread my burning cheeks so that my most forbidden place was exposed to his gaze. His thumbs commenced their massage over my abused flesh.
I shuddered when his hot breath wafted over my center. “I’m going to take your ass, Elle. Would you like that?”
My answer was the bestial groan he wrought from me as his hot, velvet tongue stroked heavily over my asshole. I shuddered at the depth of pleasure, the heat of my embarrassment only provided further kindling for the fire raging inside me.
He slapped my ass again. “Use your words, siren.”
“Yes, sir,” I breathed.
“Yes, sir, what?”
“Yes, sir, I want you to take my ass.”
Saying the words out loud set my oiled skin aflame. I wasn’t mortified. I was desperate. Desperate to show him how much I could take, how eager I was to be physically and emotionally splayed open before him, to be used by him.
His finger slowly followed the track of my wetness from the inside of my knee to it’s source at my center.
“So wet for me.”
“Yes,” I hissed, locking my knees to keep from rocking back against his gently questing fingers.
I needed more. My tender flesh missed the pain, my mind craved debasement.
“Please, sir,” I begged.
His tongue was back at the tightly furled entrance between my cheeks. He circled my opening languidly, his hands roughly suppressing the undulation of my hips.
I wanted to buck my back at him like a bitch in heat, howl at the sky, force Sinclair to break his control and take me like an animal. Instead, he enforced my stillness, my silence, and caged the sensations roiling through me, heightening them until I was a churning mess of incoherent need.
“You’ve done this before,” he reminded me and I was momentarily surprised that he remembered that. “But you’ve never had me here.” His thumb firmly circled my anus before plunging inside. “No one will ever own this ass but me.”
The tightly knotted mass of shame that had lain at the core of my psyche since the moment Christopher had initiated contact with me began to unravel. With the mental release came a flash of gut wrenching memories; Christopher’s pale hands as they coaxed me onto the bed, his casual suggestions that I might please him as payment for his kindness to my family and his sincere promise to keep my ‘virginity’ intact. He was never forceful physically, but his emotional manipulation of my teenage self had been perfectly calculated.
Goose flesh rippled across my skin and I pressed my teary eyes harder into the bed sheets until the scent of Sinclair and me, of our intimacy, killed the images like mustard gas.
I gasped as Sinclair pushed forward with two fingers, pumping and twisting them firmly inside of me. It was so decadent, these dual feelings of fullness and taboo, that I was drunk with it.
Sin’s hand pressed hard on the base of my spine so that my bottom was steeply arched into the air.
“What are you thinking of, siren?”
His fingers inside me, stretching. His smoky scent braided with the smell of lavender, the smell of me. His words saturating every conscious thought so that they fell into a heavy sleep, so that I was only my body.
“You,” I said.
“Yes, me. When we are together you only think of me.”
“Even when we aren’t.”
He swatted me again.
“Who is in this room? Only you and me, Sinclair and Elle. A Dom and his sub.” His voice lowered dangerously and his touch left me. I felt his absence more painfully than any spanking. “I will ask you again. What are you thinking of?”
“You, only you.” I jerked my hips back at him. “Always you.”
His hands were back on my ass, powerfully clenching and pulling them apart to make way for his cock. He nudged my slicked opening and paused.
“I could own you, all of you.”
“Yes.”
The head of his cock slid slowly, only an inch, inside me.
“Do you know how I know that?” he asked, his voice softer now, smoother than the hand that stroked down my back as he pushed further inside me. “I know because you own me, my siren.”
I buried my face in the blanket and groaned raggedly as he seated himself fully inside me. The pain was like a heated blade cutting through me and my bottom was raw from the spanking. I was surprised by how much I liked the pain, loved how it unlocked my mind and sent it reeling into velvety darkness. Loved that it was Sinclair in this most private part of me. The feeling was so intense that I wanted to wriggle away from it but each undulation of my ass only pressed him further against me.
“Ah,” I said, chasing after each elusive breath.
“Hush.”
His hands were all over my skin, soothing away my restlessness by lighting fire to my nipples with firm twists and tugs, dipping into my drenched sex to pinch my clit. After endless minutes, he rooted one hand in my hair and tugged until my neck was craned back and he was hunched over me, his tongue on my ear.
“I’m going to fuck you now. I expect you to ask permission before you come.”
I didn’t know if I could orgasm like that but I held back my concern.
His hands rubbed roughly over my ass, reawakening the ache there. “You can and you will come for me like this.”
The first sinuous glide of his cock leaving my body was strange and wonderful and as he began to saw in and out of me at an infuriatingly slow pace, my clit began to throb like a strobe light.
The calloused fingers of one hand plucked at my nipples while the other flattened across my stomach and urged me to sit back against his thighs. I whimpered and moaned, ugly little animal sounds as I churned up and down, grinding and bucking in any way I could to relieve the ache swelling uncomfortably inside me.
“Ah, Sinclair,” I begged, unable to speak but desperate to convey how much I need more, more, more.
He turned my head, fusing his mouth over mine to absorb my cries into himself as his fingers grew cruel against my breasts, as his hips jutted punishingly against mine. I screamed against his lips as his hand slid lower and rhythmically pinched my clit to the beat of his savage strokes.
I tore my lips from his, the separation painful as if Velcro secured us. “Please, let me come.”
He hummed but continued the torment.
“Please, please.”
His mouth found my ear, nibbled at the lobe before his tongue slid down my salty neck. His voice filled me like a second cock. “What are you thinking about, siren?”
The feel of his sweat slicked skin against mine, the powerful clench of his hands on my hips, the sound of our bodies slapping and panting… Him, him, him.
“You.”
“Yes,” he hissed and three of his fingers plunged into my sex. “Come for me.”
I had never been so happy to obey anyone in my life.
Chapter Thirteen.
I’d never had a vision of the kind of man I might fall in love with.
My sisters always had. Cosima imagined herself with an Italian, someone who worked with their hands and came home smelling of earth and wine. They would love passionately and fight passionately and have a brood of gorgeous children who constantly got underfoot. I had yet to see her with such a man, but it was a dream that I knew she kept sewn into the lining of
her soul.
Elena’s prince was a little more typical and a whole lot more modern. She didn’t want to be treated like the timeless woman the way Cosima did, like a sexual creature and a domestic goddess. Elena wanted a relationship of equals, a partnership that afforded her individual power and independence. Her man was eloquent, elegantly opinionated and urbane.
And technically that man stood before me right now, his lean back gold and black in the acidic sunlight streaming in through the windows of Cosima’s kitchen. He was Elena’s ideal; smart, classy and eternally composed. Hell, he even wore three-piece suits on a daily basis. They were practically meant for each other.
And yet, I was watching a completely different man cook me breakfast. There was boyishness in the chestnut hair curling over his ears and gentle humor in the way he rolled his shoulders to the beat of Meagan Trainer’s All About That Bass. He had laughed when I blasted it from the speakers, shaking my booty so that the bare skin winked at him from under the tail of his dress shirt. I could count the number of times I had heard Sinclair laugh on my fingers but this was the best yet because he kept laughing as he reached out to tug me into his arms. I smiled into my coffee at the memory.
This man, the kind that only laughed at the really good stuff and looked at me with a heady mixture of authority and awe, was my kind of man.
“I better be the reason behind that gorgeous smile, siren.”
I looked up to see him looking at me, his electric eyes sparking with mirth even though his lips remained smooth and impassive.
I shrugged one shoulder as he slid a plate laden with bacon and avocado studded scrambled eggs in front of me. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”
His eyes narrowed. In less than a second, the soft Sinclair, the one with the boyish curl and the wide, almost awkward smile, was gone and in his place was Sinclair the Dom. He wore his icy control like a king’s mantle across his shoulders and when he moved around the island to stand before me, the liquidity of his gait froze the air in my lungs.
He didn’t touch me but he may as well have. The thin slice of space between our bodies vibrated with palpable tension and set my body’s rhythm to his like a tuning fork.
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