by Force, Marie
Or is it Marlowe and Big Johnny and the bag of frilly bits that Leah brought her that has me wondering what the hell she’s thinking asking her assistant to bring such things here when I told her earlier that nothing is going to happen.
Why does it seem that she’s working five steps ahead of where I am on this thing? Probably because she is. Marlowe is one of the sharpest, smartest women I’ve ever known, and I’ve long admired her ability to slice through the bullshit to get to the heart of a matter. Except when she’s using those superpowers on me, as I’m sure she’s planning to do.
I’m on edge waiting to see what will happen next, and that’s so not like me. My anxiety issues don’t usually extend to women. At least they never have before. I’m all about having a good time, making sure my partner leaves happy and going on with my life without ever looking back.
With Marlowe, not looking back wouldn’t be an option, which is one of many reasons why I told her this shouldn’t happen. Not to mention, we’re both Doms, which isn’t ideal. I can’t picture myself with someone like her—or anyone, for that matter—long-term. I’m a lone wolf. Always have been, even when I was running with gangbangers. I preferred to work alone so I wouldn’t have to count on anyone but myself. In my entire life, I’ve truly trusted a half-dozen people: my mother, Hayden, Flynn, Jasper, Kristian and Marlowe. Emmett too, I suppose.
Period. End of story.
My thoughts are interrupted by loud music coming from my guestroom. “Why Don’t We Get Drunk (And Screw)” by Jimmy Buffett. I huff out a laugh. “Subtle.” Then my phone chimes with a text from her.
I could use your help.
I’ve never understood the expression “gallows humor” before now. I feel like a condemned man going to my doom, having no doubt that whatever she needs my help with will be the end of me. I fear that confessing my longtime crush on her will turn out to be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made—and I’ve made some doozies.
When I knock on the closed door, she calls out for me to come in.
Hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath and summon the fortitude I’ll need to contend with whatever she’s got planned for me. When I open the door, the sight that greets me is one I’ll remember in the final moments of my life. It’s all I can do not to laugh out loud at her shamelessness, but I don’t laugh because with one quick glance at her face, I see vulnerability just beneath the surface of her bravado.
She’s wearing an electric-blue… thing. Calling it a bodysuit would be giving it too much credit, especially since it leaves most of her body uncovered. Strips of blue crisscross her chest, covering her nipples but leaving the rest of her full breasts visible to my hungry gaze. Miles of creamy white skin, marred only by bruises here and there, are on full display, and then she turns down the music on her phone and shifts ever so slightly to show me her back.
“I can’t reach the snaps. Can you help?”
I can’t move or breathe or do anything other than stare at her. I’ve seen her in the skimpiest of bikinis and managed to control myself, but this… This is for me, and knowing that shatters any semblance of control I normally would have around her.
“Sebastian? Are you all right?”
No, I’m not all right. I’m completely and totally fucked. And the best part? She knows it, judging by the smug little smile she sends my way.
She turns fully onto her belly, showing me her sweet ass. Then she spreads her legs, ever so slightly, but just enough to make me want to howl, and glances at me over her shoulder. “Can you help?”
Three thin strips of fabric hang from each side of her back. The angry-looking lacerations are what finally snap me out of my stupor. “We should tend to those wounds.”
“No.”
“What?”
“That’s not the kind of help I need.”
“Marlowe…” My voice is strangled sounding, and I know that if I touch her even once, I’ll be lost forever. I can’t.
My oversexed neighbor picks that moment to start her moaning and groaning act, and I have to marvel at the way the universe is fucking with me.
Marlowe’s eyes glitter with delight. “Must be nice to enjoy it so much. I’m not sure I’ve ever enjoyed it as much as she does.”
Behind me, I grasp the doorframe, still hanging on to the last thread of resistance. Who am I kidding? I’d give her anything and everything, if only I were worthy of her. “You can do so much better than me.”
Anger flashes in her gorgeous eyes. “If you ever say anything like that again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“It’s true.” My fingers ache from the effort to stay put, to not take the one big step that would take me to her and change everything.
“It’s not true.”
“You don’t know…” I shake my head. “Anything.”
“I know everything I need to know. Come here.”
“You… you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine. You saw to that.”
“But… the bruises, and your back…” I’m a stuttering, stammering fool. That’s what she’s done to me.
“Please?”
With one softly spoken word, she decides my fate for me. I can no more resist her than I can stop from taking my next breath. I’m moving toward her before I consciously decide to let go of the doorframe. I sit next to her on the edge of the mattress and lean over her to press gentle kisses above the healing wounds on her back.
She shivers violently, her hands clutching the bottom sheet. “Don’t stop.”
“We shouldn’t do this.”
“Yes, we really should.”
I drop my forehead to her shoulder and breathe in the fresh, clean scent of her skin. No perfume or lotion or anything that can be bought in a store could properly capture the essence that’s so uniquely hers. I’ve experienced it before, of course, whenever she’s hugged me or leaned into me or sat next to me in a car packed with friends. But I’ve never before had the chance to luxuriate in the scent that’s driven me mad more times than I care to count. Until now, when she invites me into her bed and asks me to give her something she needs.
“Is it because I’m here?”
Her head whips around, and again I witness the spectacular flash of anger that seems to come from her very soul. “Do you honestly think I’d risk years of friendship for a cheap fuck?”
“No, but…”
“Stop talking.”
“Marlowe—”
“Do you want me, Sebastian?”
My throat closes, making it impossible to speak or breathe or do anything other than stare into her magnificent eyes and nod. I’ve always wanted her, and I can’t lie to her, not now when it seems so important to her that I give her the truth. “Yes.”
“Then have me.”
“What about after?” I manage to choke out.
“It’ll be okay.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah, I do.” She moves onto her side and reaches up, cupping my face with her soft hand. “I swear this isn’t a rebound or a pity fuck or any of the things you’re thinking.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Very sure.”
“I’m afraid if I touch you the way I want to, I’ll hurt you.”
“You couldn’t.”
“Yes, I really could.” Desire beats through me like a wild animal set free from years in captivity. I’m so hard, I ache. I grit my teeth against the burning need to have her. Right now. In every possible way. But then I remember the wounds on her back, and I find the last remaining semblance of control that I possess. “Your back…”
“Will be fine if we do it this way.” She moves so she’s again facedown and looking at me over her shoulder. “Unless you don’t want me the way I want you.”
My teeth are so tightly clenched that my jaw aches. “That’s not it.” If I wanted her any more than I do, I’d probably have a heart attack from the pressure building in my chest as I try to do the right thing by one of my best friends.
She drops her head onto her folded arms, sighing deeply. “Never mind. I’m not going to beg you.”
It’s the defeat I hear in her words that spurs me, finally, to action. I cup one luscious ass cheek and squeeze before leaning in to take a little bite, fulfilling a fantasy twelve years in the making.
She gasps and then squirms.
“Don’t move.” I summon my inner Dom and put my faith in the tenets of the lifestyle we share, hoping that’ll guide me through these uncharted waters. “I’m in charge, you got me?”
“Yes,” she says softly.
“Yes, who?”
She looks at me over her shoulder and licks her lips. The movement of her tongue sends a surge of need to my cock. “Sir.”
Hearing that word from her makes me crazy, knowing it’s not something she’d give to just anyone. Her use of that word also tells me she’s dead serious about whatever this is that’s happening between us. No way would she ever call me that or give me control over her pleasure if she wasn’t.
The realizations make me dizzy with lust and desire and something much bigger, something so big, it fills every part of me with longing. For what, I don’t know, but it’s a feeling I’ve never had before. I move so I’m fully on the bed, on my knees between her legs with both hands now on her ass.
“What’s your safe word?”
“I’ve never needed one before.”
“Now you do.”
She thinks about it for a minute before her lips curve into a small smile. “Famous.”
Knowing she’s had a complicated relationship with fame, I appreciate the irony. “You’re not famous here. You’re just Marlowe, the most spectacular female to ever grace the face of the earth.”
I’m not sure what it is about this new terrain we’re traversing that has me spewing my truths to her, but the half of her face I can see expresses shock and then pleasure. “You really think that about me?”
“Hell yes, I do. Everyone who knows you thinks that.”
“Not everyone.”
The son of a bitch who hurt her has no place in this room or this moment. “The ones who matter.”
“You matter, Sebastian. You always have.”
“Same goes, sweetheart.”
I drop my head to her shoulder and kiss every inch of soft skin, steering clear of the wounded areas as I work my way down. She follows my directive to stay still, except for the trembles that ripple through her. “You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Of you? No.”
“Of doing this? With anyone after…”
“No,” she says emphatically. “I won’t give him that.”
“That’s my girl.” I continue to kiss her and caress the soft globes of her ass and the backs of her legs, making sure that some part of me is touching her constantly, hopefully giving her too much to think about in the here and now so the memories of what happened with him can’t interfere. That wasn’t about love or affection, like this is. It’s also about care and concern and need and longing and so many things that defy easy explanation.
My feelings for her have always been complicated, and they’re becoming more so by the second. Touching her this way is like a dream come true, a dream I never dared allow myself to have before she looked over her shoulder at me and said, “Please.” I want to touch her everywhere, but I’m so afraid of causing her pain that I take it easy with her, giving her vanilla when everything in me wants it kinky. Never more so than with her, but not now. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now.
With my hands on her hips, I lift her so she’s on her knees and jam two pillows under her belly to keep her where I want her. “Comfortable?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Words, Mo. Give me words.”
“Yes,” she says, sounding a little breathless. “I’m comfortable.”
“And nothing hurts?”
“No, but that ache is back…”
Vixen. It’s all I can do not to laugh. She knows just what to say to make me crazy. I rest two fingers over her core, which is covered by a scrap of warm electric-blue silk. “Here?”
“Mmm, right there.”
I remove my fingers. “Good to know.”
She releases a frustrated sound.
“Don’t try to top me from the bottom.”
“I don’t know how to be a bottom.”
“You need to learn.”
She glances at me over her shoulder. “Will I be allowed to top you?”
“No more talking except if you need your safe word.” I kiss and caress her while she continues to tremble, sending the desire pulsing through me into the red zone. She’s trembling because she wants me, or so I tell myself. I need to believe that, or I can’t do this, no matter how much I want to. And I want to—badly.
If she hadn’t been so recently injured, I’d fuck her until she begged for mercy, and then I’d do it again and again and again. I’d do it until neither of us could walk or move or do anything but sleep off the exhaustion. I could unleash the beast with her, because I know she’d handle it the way most women wouldn’t be able to. Marlowe isn’t most women, and I’ve always known she could handle me—all of me—in bed.
No one gets all of me. Ever. But Marlowe… She might be the exception to the rule. Eventually. If this becomes something more than right now. In the meantime, I’ll give her satisfaction like she’s never known, just enough to make her want more. I release the snaps between her legs and push the fabric aside. Before she has time to prepare herself, I run my tongue from the dimples at the base of her spine to her clit, which I suck into the heat of my mouth at the same second I push two fingers deep into her pussy.
Fucking hell, she’s tight, and her internal muscles clench around my fingers. I want to howl from the need to replace my fingers with my cock that’s now leaking copiously. Instead, I give her my fingers and my tongue and coax her into an orgasm that has her screaming from the power of it.
God, I want her. I want this. I want to do everything with her, but the wounds on her back serve as a stark reminder of why I can’t have everything. This has to be enough for now. I remove my fingers and use my tongue to clean her up, tending to every part of her until she’s trembling hard again. This was supposed to be one and done, but now that I’ve had a taste of her, I can’t stop. I want more, and judging by the tension I feel coming from her, she does, too.
I slide my fingers back inside her, moving them until I find the angle that makes her gasp. I love that sound and will do whatever it takes to hear it again and again. For the longest time, I use only my fingers, moving them in and out, applying pressure to the place that makes her clench, all the while wondering if this is enough for her, if I’m enough.
She rocks in time with my fingers, defying the order to remain still.
I give her a light smack on the ass to remind her she’s not supposed to move.
All the air leaves her in a big whoosh as she settles into the mattress, her hands clutching the sheet.
I love knowing this is affecting her the same way it is me, that she feels a little out of control and off her game and that I’m the one doing that to her. I keep up the torture with my fingers, finding patience I didn’t know I had. Then I take her by surprise when I remove them and press my wet fingers against the tight entrance to her ass.
Her back bows and her muscles tighten. “No, Seb. Not there.”
She knows the rules of this game as well as I do and is aware that only her safe word will stop me. But she doesn’t say the one word that will call a halt to this, and in our world, the word no means nothing unless it’s accompanied by a safe word.
I press harder, demanding entrance.
“Seb…”
I tongue her pussy as I continue to press against her ass, waiting for her to yield to allow me in.
“I can’t…”
Still not the word I need to hear to change directions. “Yes, you can. Push back against my fingers.”
“No,” she says on a
whimper.
I push my way past her initial resistance, gaining entry. “Easy, sweetheart. Nice and easy.”
“Seb…”
“I’m here. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” I add my tongue, dipping into her pussy and swirling around her clit, licking and sucking as I push my fingers deeper into her tight channel while thinking about what it might be like to have her there with my cock. I nearly black out from the surge of pure lust that accompanies that thought.
I fucking love anal, but it’s not something I do very often due to my size. Most women can’t handle me there, but again, Marlowe isn’t most women. When she’s on her game, there’s nothing she can’t handle, even a ten-inch dick in her ass. Or so I think…
I keep up the fingers and the tongue action until I can feel her about to explode, and then I stop moving, leaving her right on the edge with my fingers deep inside her and my tongue pressed against her clit but not moving.
The sound that comes out of her is barely human, and it makes me smile, knowing I’m getting to her.
I bend my fingers ever so slightly, and she screams. I know the difference between screams of pain and those that come from pleasure. This is the latter. She’s still screaming when I suck her clit, hard, and she explodes, coming so hard around my fingers that I’ll probably be bruised.
It’s all I can do not to explode right along with her, but somehow, I manage to hang on—just barely. I bring her down slowly with gentle strokes of my tongue until she collapses into the pillows and mattress, breathing hard. The half of her face that I can see is flushed, and her lips are so plump that I wish I could kiss her.
It occurs to me that I’ve finger-fucked her ass before I played with her nipples. That would make me laugh under normal circumstances, but nothing about these circumstances is normal. I withdraw my fingers slowly and carefully, reveling in the sounds that come from her as she fights the exit every bit as much as she battled the entry.
I kiss the center of her back and get up. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Chapter 12
I’m completely wrecked. I’m shaking profusely, my ass and sex throbbing with violent aftershocks from two intense orgasms. I’m speechless with disbelief over how he completely owned me. He’d probably be stunned to know that I’m an anal virgin. I’ve pegged guys who wanted it that way, but I’ve never had it done to me or wanted it. Being a Domme means you get to say what and how, and that’s been a hard no for me.