Dart met me just inside the door and began to undress me. This wasn't all that unusual. He enjoyed doing it, and he also got the extra added bonus of being able to curb my messy tendencies as he went along, putting everything in its place as he removed it from me.
And I got to see him playing ladies' maid. It was a win-win situation.
When I was naked, and still, surprisingly, able to blush in front of him, he brought my fingers to his lips to kiss the backs of them. "Gorgeous. I can hardly believe you're all mine, you know."
For such a sometimes severe dom, he could be quite romantic.
"Come with me, little one."
He brought me into the bathroom, where he'd drawn me a bath, essentially duplicating what he'd so rudely interrupted when he'd kicked my door down that night. There were scented candles all around, candlelight being the only source of light in the room besides the skylight that was right above the tub, which was filled nearly to the brim with bubbles. He guided me into it but sank down outside it, keeping possession of one of my hands as he did so.
I pouted. "You're not joining me?"
"No, my dear," he said while piling my hair onto my head quite artfully for a man that—I assumed—had no experience doing such things. "This is all for you."
Then he handed me a glass of wine—real wine, good wine that he'd introduced me to. It was amazing, although there was a little part of my mind that worried that, if this didn't work out, I was now essentially ruined for the cheaper wines I could afford.
"Close your eyes," he whispered.
Having learned to obey him instantly—as close to without thinking as I could get—I did as I was told.
"Open your mouth."
My reward for being so obedient was instantaneous—a chocolate that began melting on my tongue immediately.
And this wasn't Hershey's. I didn't even really know what it was, besides fucking amazing!
"Jesus, that's an orgasm for my tongue!" I raved. "What is it, and where do I buy a shitload of it from?"
He actually giggled, which was a rare event I treasured when it happened, especially since it was such a funny sound coming from such a big guy. "It's very good, Belgian chocolates. Only the best for you, lovely."
"May I open my eyes again, please, Sir?"
He hadn't ever directed me to word things quite that subserviently, nor did he expect me to ask him permission to do the obvious, but I had noted that he quite liked it when I did, so I did my best to remember to do it. I was finding that there was little else I enjoyed more than pleasing this man, in small and big, easy and hard ways. And for me, as surprising as some people might find that to be, it was the absolute truth.
"Of course, doll."
"This is amazing—thank you so much!!"
His smile was ear to ear, happy to have given me a little unexpected present. "Well, I want you good and relaxed."
I was instantly the exact opposite, of course, because those words were, occasionally, the precursors to something that was going to involve a distinct amount of discomfort in the coming moments.
But his hand cupped the bare back of my neck and began to rub soothingly. "Shhhhh. Nothing like that. This is going to be nothing but pleasant for you, I promise."
At that, I allowed myself to unwind even more than I had before and tried not to anticipate what I wanted too much, because that wasn't necessarily where he was going with this.
"That's it," he encouraged, rising to his knees to begin washing me, which he made a very thorough job of, lingering at all the right places but not for long anywhere.
When I was close to waterlogged, he lifted me out—not wanting me to slip—to deposit me in the shower stall to rinse all of those bubbles off me, greeting me when I came out with a warmed towel, with which he dried me thoroughly, then lifted me into his arms again to carry me to the bed.
There, he proceeded to massage me nicely, with heated, scented oil, but not so much that it made me sleepy, just adding to that lovely boneless feeling I'd gotten from giving over to him in the warm water of the bath.
"How long as it been, Tawna, since I allowed you to come?" he asked softly.
"Nearly six weeks since the night you told me you wouldn't allow it, Sir," I answered truthfully, consciously endeavoring not to sound resentful or bitchy about it.
"And you have been beautifully behaved since then, overall." Oh, there had been times when I hadn't really been, but as long as he was pleased, I certainly wasn't going to argue with him.
"Thank you, Sir," I answered on another soft blush.
He leaned down to kiss me, and I couldn't help but try to arch my body up to his as he hunched over me. When our lips parted, he murmured, "I think perhaps you might be allowed your pleasure, this evening, if you continue to be a good girl."
I couldn't help it. I moaned just at the very idea of him allowing me to come. At this rate, he wasn't really going to even need to touch me but could just lie there and describe what he wanted to do to me and that would be more than enough to get me off.
"I want you to just lie back and let me love you."
He had assiduously avoided using the "l" word since I'd commented about it all those months ago, but recently I'd been hearing it a bit more often, and I wondered if it had to do with the fact that our one-year anniversary was coming up in not too long a time—the anniversary of the night we'd met in the bar, which he was insisting was an anniversary, when I would have counted it more as almost two weeks later, when he appeared on my doorstep and we decided to date.
My legs were already moving restlessly, as if he was between them and he wasn't. "Dart—Sir—I don't think I'm going to last very long."
He laughed. "No? I bet you can."
"Is that an order?" I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"No, darlin', it isn't. I would love for you to stretch it out as far as you can, but you've been waiting a long time for this, and I don't want to add any stress at all. So, it happens when it happens. But don't be surprised when I don't just let you stop at one." He leaned down and sucked a straining nipple deep into the recesses of his warm, wet mouth. "Or twelve." He pressed kisses across the sensitive area between one nipple and the other to lave its partner the same way. "Or twenty."
My eyes, which had been half closed, flew open at his teasing, and I had to smile at his big, mischievous grin.
I have never had a man take as much time with me, concentrate so completely on doing everything he could remember or think of that he thought I might enjoy sexually. He touched and tasted me, he teased and probed and licked and nibbled me, sometimes concentrating where I most wanted him to, sometimes avoiding those areas entirely. He heard and processed every sigh, every whimper, every moan and adjusted what he did accordingly, and I knew he was doing exactly as he'd said—trying to draw it out for me as long as he possibly could.
And when he finally draped my thighs over his shoulders, drawing that big, flat, wet tongue over every inch of my crevasse—some inches more than once—I almost cried.
He dipped the tips of two fingers and his thumb into me, the fingers continuing to sink into me, the thumb reaching down to press gently against my nether hole, but I rose up, mewling, "Please, no, too much. Please, Sir."
"All right, baby," he breathed. "Shh-shh-shh. I won't do it if you don't want it."
I relaxed back onto the bed immediately as his mouth latched onto my clit and his fingers began to move—slowly, carefully, as if he was fucking a wraith that might slip through them if he moved to vigorously.
It was mind blowing. It was amazing. It both hit me like a ton of bricks and snuck up on me at the same time.
My hands were free, and they weren't usually, so I didn't really know what to do with them. They ended up in his hair—I adored his hair—and he didn't seem to mind. I wasn't trying to control him; I just wanted to be in as much contact with him as I could possibly be.
He knew when I was close—he always had, as if he had a sixth sense about it. "That's my
girl," he whispered. "Submit to it, Tawna. It's what I want for you. I adore seeing you shatter into a thousand pieces. I love being the one to pick them up for you on the other side."
When it came—when I came—my screams were ear shattering, but I could feel him smiling through them. I bucked and writhed and tried to get away from him, but his hands—still infinitely gentle—clamped down on me, not allowing me to dislodge him from his sacred task, riding me as surely as I did him sometimes, careening me from one shaking, shivering orgasm to another, with him the only solid thing in my world to hold onto.
He stopped at the perfect point, just before it got hard for me to reach the pinnacle, when I'd have to become all tense again in order to come, bringing himself up my body and not even joining us together, even though I could feel his rock-hard length poking into my leg.
Instead, he took me into his arms and held me while I slowly drifted down from the heights to which he had brought me.
"But Dart—Sir—you—"
"Shhh, babygirl. This is for you."
I was humbled by that and actually had to blink away tears, but I lifted my face to his. "Please? It's—It's so special to me to have you make—make love to me."
I'd never really used the "l" word in any capacity with him until now. But that was what it had felt like to me for some time, so I said it, hoping he wouldn't mind.
And, judging by his smile, he didn't.
He covered my body with his, connecting us slowly, gently and with great deliberation as his eyes held mine.
"Tawna," he sighed, his lips sealing themselves to mine as he began to move.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in that quiet, sacred pursuit. The world could have crumbled around us and we would have made no move to stop it or even noticed it. We were lost in each other.
A FEW MONTHS LATER, we went to the bar in which we'd met—not that I remembered much about it—and I got plastered again, only this time, he was with me instead of Carla. I did go home with him again, just as I had before. He held me in his arms and made me tell him, again, what I did recall of that evening, as well as making me—for old time's sake, answer roughly the same questions he'd asked me then, getting me to describe—in a fashion that was still just as titillating, I hoped—or even more so, since he knew me—in excruciating detail just what I liked—dominant men, being made to submit, being spanked, and, of course, chocolate.
That got a laugh out of him, as was my intent. He seemed, all of a sudden, altogether too serious, as if he wasn't quite as drunk as I thought he was. And that could end up—as I already knew—being pretty dangerous for me.
Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and led me into our bedroom. I was exactly as drunk as I thought I was and easy pickings for him. I was stripped within seconds—my torn clothes ending up on the floor—my wardrobe bill since I'd met him had gone through the roof, which was why he had tried to insist on paying for all of my clothes and I had balked completely, bargaining him down to just that which he had damaged.
I had learned long since not to wear anything around him that I would mind being ripped off me.
He stretched me out on the bed and tied my hands above my head, then my ankles to opposite corners of it, coming to sit not quite on me—because he was overly cautious about not wanting to crush me, for some reason—but rather over my hips, his hands on my ribs.
"Now, I have you at my mercy."
I snorted. "You've always had me at your mercy, just by dint of the fact that you're twelve times bigger than I am."
He frowned. "Not quite twelve."
"Okay, eleven."
A bigger frown. "You're pushing it, little girl."
My eyebrows went up. "And, when haven't I? When I thought that was your job, I might add."
He growled down at me. "I brought you in here because I want to discuss something serious with you, but I'm beginning to think you need a good fucking beforehand to remind you to whom you belong."
Something about his tone struck the silliness out of me, and I said, as I stared into those mysterious gray eyes, "I could never—would never—forget that, you know."
He looked down at me, holding my gaze. "I know this might be a bit unusual, but you have to admit that we're not your average, run of the mill couple, any way you slice us. But I want to get it out into the open." He stretched himself out over the entire length of me, and then some, and cupped my cheek.
"When we first came together, you told me you didn't want me to use the word 'love' with you, since we weren't in love, or some such thing."
I opened my mouth to correct him, then shut it again, sensing that this was not the time to correct him, not that there ever really was a good time—I was learning, slowly, because I could be numb as a hake at times—for a sub to correct her dom.
"I love you. I find myself egotistical enough to think that you might harbor something akin to that for me. If you don't, I'm sorry to make you feel uncomfortable, but I've been wanting to say it to you for quite some time, and I thought our anniversary might be a good time."
He looked expectant or almost embarrassed about what he'd said, and I couldn't stand it.
"I love you, too, Dart. And telling me on our anniversary was a wonderful idea. Would you please release my arms so I can hug you?"
He did, and I threw my arms around him, crying all over him for no particular reason other than the fact that I was overjoyed. He rolled us onto our sides and held me, kissing me lingeringly, his hands roaming everywhere, ending up buried in my hair as he kissed the tip of my nose.
"Marry me, Tawna."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Was that supposed to be a proposal?"
He looked completely unrepentant. "If you want something more romantic, I'll arrange it for another time. But, no, I'm really not asking. It's just a formality, as far as I'm concerned—a nod to tradition. And I'll go all out if you want me to. I just wanted to get that out there, too. The only real question is how big you want the wedding to be, and when, within the next, say, no more than three months, you would like to have it. Otherwise," he said, sounding much less tentative than he had a few minutes ago, rolling onto his back and bringing me carefully up atop him, my back to his front, which was rapidly becoming one of his favorite positions in which to have me. His legs kept me spread wide open—and they did as he slid me down onto him, making the both of us groan loudly.
His voice already rough with passion, he nibbled on my ear. "You keep your palms flat on the bed, now, or I'll light into your bottom like nobody's business. You've been so well behaved lately that you haven't had nearly the discipline that you need. I've been neglecting you, and that's got to stop."
What he was saying to me and how he was saying it had my breath bellowing out of me. "No, Sir, please!"
"Oh, yes. I think it's time to start training these pretty breasts of yours—imagine how the switch will feel on them!"
"No!"
I wasn't kidding. I wasn't trying to inflame his passions—he didn't need that kind of help from me, anyway. I was not interested in exploring what that was going to feel like.
As if I had a choice in the matter.
AS IT HAPPENED, I couldn't find a reason why we had to wait three months to get married, so we flew to Vegas—on his private jet. Then, after we'd spent a couple of days there indulging ourselves horribly, he sent it to pick up Carla and her husband to be witnesses for us.
We had a beautiful bridal suite, and that was where we were married. Dart had it strewn with lilacs and lily of the valley, my favorite flowers.
I got married in a very pretty off the rack dress that was far from designer, but it was one of my favorites and his—it was tea length and all over pink lace, and it fit me like a glove.
Carla wore a pretty suit that she'd brought for the occasion, and we all had a sumptuous steak dinner afterwards, right in the room, after which the other couple discreetly left us alone.
I'd never seen him happier, I didn't think. He literally danced me to
the big bed, lifting me high above his head before he set us both down on it, me half on his lap, half off, him half sitting up and half lying down with me. We were intertwined, in more ways than one and it was perfect.
"You're sure that you don't mind living in a tiny town in a tiny house, even though I can afford something much better?"
"I don't care if we live in a cardboard box, as long as I'm with you."
And I meant it. He knew that his money or, if it came to that, the lack thereof, meant nothing to me at all. I hadn't grown up with it, so there was nothing for me to miss. I didn't want things—I wanted him. Time with him was more valuable to me than anything he could buy me.
I hoped he could hear the sincerity in my tone, and I like to think he did, or he probably wouldn't have married me.
He'd already moved on to much more interesting pursuits, anyway. His hand was trying to work its way up under my skirt, as it had been since he'd seen me in this dress, and I deliberately let my own hand drift down to cover his thick wrist, as if I was trying to stop him from touching me.
That got me a look that said I was in trouble.
Which was exactly where I wanted to be.
THE END
CAROLYN FAULKNER
The words “spanking” and “discipline” have always sent a shiver up Carolyn Faulkner's spine. She knows she's not alone.
Writing started as a way to explore her feelings. Soon short stories flowed from her pen featuring reluctant heroes taking the leading lady in hand, but always for her own good.
Today Carolyn is the author of dozens of books. She writes from her home in Maine, where she lives with her husband and leading man.
You can read an interview with Carolyn here:
http://www.blushingbooks.com/blog/?p=175
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The Alpha’s Woman
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