By My Side (6 page)

The kiss went on and on. It stoked tiny flames into larger ones. The length of his body pressed along her side, providing accelerant. Burning pain seared her breast as he removed the other clamp. She bucked, an involuntary reaction, but he held her down with the hand that cupped her breast and massaged her sore nipple.

Her body trembled under his onslaught. Nerve endings fired and short-circuited when they reached the juices flowing from her pussy, begging for attention.

He broke the kiss and raised his head. The hazel of his irises had darkened, and his taut muscles shimmered with repressed wildness. “Cella, get on the bed.
Now.”

In the far corner of his dungeon, a futon sat on a pedestal frame. In her mind, she called this his porn-star corner. Floodlights, pointed at the bed, illuminated every angle. Sean allowed no shadows in his play area.

Heeding the urgency in his tone, she scrambled to the bed as he headed for the light switch.

“Hands and knees.”

She crawled to the center of the bed and lifted her head just in time to see the curtains on the walls part to reveal floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The reflected brightness of the lights caused her to wince. She blinked to get used to them.

He climbed onto the bed from the opposite end. Marcella nearly fell when she realized he had undressed completely. Pausing, he knelt up and let her look at him. Strong thighs led to his thick cock, which jutted from a nest of light brown curls. She followed the sprinkling of hair up his abdomen to his navel. Broad shoulders topped his magnificent chest.

Fever glittered from his eyes, and uncharacteristic desperation strangled his voice. “Say you want this, Marcella.”

She rushed to assure him. “I want this, Master.”

“No. Fuck the benefit. Say you want
this
.”

More than anything in the world
.
Wordlessly, she nodded.

He growled and hauled her roughly against him. Her tender breasts flattened against the unyielding hardness of his chest. She thought he might kiss her. His hot, panting breaths heated her lips and fanned her chin.

Hooking a finger under the elastic holding her hair back from her face, he jerked it away. Tears pricked behind her eyes from the few places where it yanked a little too hard. She blinked them away, keeping her attention focused on Sean. She’d never seen him like this before.

He fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her down to the mattress. Anticipating Gretchen, Marcella had made it up with a fresh covering. A plastic pad below the sheet crackled under her weight. It crackled even more when he fell on top of her and ground his hips into hers. Finally he caught her mouth with his and swept his tongue inside.

Acting on instinct, she lifted her hands to his shoulders. She ran them over his skin, seeking to soothe his wildness with her submission. He nudged her knee with his own. She spread her legs wide and moaned as he settled his cock against her pussy.

He lifted slightly and slid his hand between them. The crown of his cock paused at her entrance. He captured her gaze and tightened the hand fisting her hair.
“One last time, Marcella.
Tell me you want this.”

Finally she understood. He needed to know she yielded to him, not to the faceless specter of the audience that would be watching them. Reaching up, she caressed his cheek with a trembling hand. “I want this, Sean. I want you.”

One thrust and he buried his shaft to the hilt. Marcella’s mouth dropped open at the sudden fullness that had nothing in common with the glass dildo. Sean’s warmth stretched and filled her pussy.

“Perfect. God, Cella you fit me so perfectly.” He shifted to balance his weight on his elbows. “Wrap your legs around me, honey. I don’t plan to go slow.”

And he didn’t. Marcella clung to him as he pumped his hips at an impossible pace. An inferno began low in her abdomen, fed by each of his frantic thrusts. Her arousal skyrocketed, and she felt the small pulses in her pussy that signaled an orgasm was near. “Sean, please let me come.”

He neither paused nor slowed his actions. Sweat glistened on his shoulders and made it difficult for her to keep her legs clasped around him. “No.”

She breathed. She thought about baseball. Images of tight asses in white pants came to mind, so that didn’t help. Sean thrust harder and faster. His lips parted, and his eyelids fell to half-mast. This image of her master burned into her brain, and she realized her mistake. “Master, please let me come.”

“No.”

As much as she wanted to come, she wanted to please her master more. If he denied her, then she would stave it off. She gathered her determination and locked eyes with him. An unspoken challenge passed in the air. His eyes sparkled, and his lips stretched in a slow, sensual smile.

He slowed the pace of his thrusts.

Marcella’s control faltered. A quick, hard fuck gave her a quick, hard orgasm. It was easier to gain and easier to keep at bay. This slow, measured style robbed her of any strategy for maintaining control.

The inferno altered and became a slow burn. It slipped under her defenses. Her insides melted, and her consciousness became fluid. She clutched frantically at his shoulders. Climax pressed urgently, a nonspecific feeling gathering force and searching for a focal point. Trying to escape it, she writhed. “Please, Master. Oh please let me come.”

Leaning closer, he brushed a kiss across her lips. “Yes, my Cella. Come for me.”

Sean watched the woman beneath him undulate and arch. Her tight cunt contracted around his dick, pulsing hard and fast. The sight of the woman he’d wanted for so long climaxing in his arms sent him over the edge. He thrust twice more before he exploded.

He collapsed onto her chest and forced himself to roll to the side. Though he wanted to stay on top of her warm body, he didn’t want to crush her. Marcella was proving to be an amazingly responsive submissive. Now that he’d figured out she couldn’t resist finesse, it was only a matter of time before she would admit she couldn’t live without belonging to him. After all, finesse was his strong suit.

She burrowed closer. He hooked his leg behind her knee to help her move as near as she could. He wanted her to say something, to let him know if he’d gone too far or not far enough. He’d certainly planned to play with her for a lot longer before he fucked her.

Before demons of self-doubt could haunt him too badly, her stomach grumbled.

“Sorry, Master.” She mumbled the apology into his shoulder.

He’d tangled a hand in her hair earlier, and he didn’t release his hold now. He pulled to tilt her face up. “Don’t apologize for being hungry, my sweet slave. I’ll arrange for lunch to be brought down here, and then I’ll clean you up.” Reluctantly, he released his hold on her and disentangled their limbs. “Don’t move.”

He used the house phone located next to the light switch to order lunch. The time on the tiny digital display showed it to be just past one. He had the rest of the day to spend with his new submissive.

He glanced toward the bed to check on Marcella. She lay where he’d left her and watched him with unasked questions in her eyes. A minute later, as he ran the water in the bathroom faucet, waiting for it to warm up, he told himself he hadn’t fled to escape her questions.

Questions meant uncertainty. Uncertainty meant she played the game. This afternoon meant nothing more than practice to her. The bright lights pointed at the bed had always brought him joy. They allowed a slave to hide nothing. Pointed at Marcella, they allowed him to confirm what he already knew. Marcella revealed only what she wanted known. Even though he’d made her admit to wanting him, he couldn’t be sure of anything until he called a halt to their activities and actually talked to her about it.

He didn’t want to do that just yet, not if it meant finding out she only intended this as a temporary thing. Returning to the bed, he found that she’d drawn her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyelids fluttered open.

“Cold?”

“No, just—”

“Lie on your back.”

She complied. He checked her nipples to see how they fared. Swollen and red with the sex flush that hadn’t faded, they beckoned. He wanted to suck them into his mouth, but he refrained. She flinched when he brushed the pad of his finger over one.

He might have been worried that he’d hurt her too much, but her breath caught and her hips flexed. With a grin, he used the warm, wet cloth he’d brought from the bathroom to clean between her legs.

“I’m going to whip you after lunch. I’ll give you this one choice. Would you like to be tied to my cross, or would you like to be tied to the spanking bench?” Personally Sean preferred the bench. It had a place for her torso to rest while her arms and legs were bound out of the way. It forced her to bend over the table, exposing her cunt and making it more accessible. He didn’t care to whip a submissive for the sake of whipping.

The cross, while it kept her legs apart, didn’t allow enough access. He wanted to find the rhythm and pressure she found arousing so he could make her come. She had already disclosed her dislike of pain. He had wanted to kiss her tenderly when she’d told him she could come for him. She didn’t care to be whipped with a heavy hand, but she would try for him. Her dedication to pleasing him made him want to do anything to see her pampered and pleased.

“Master, you have a two o’clock appointment with Fuller, and I have to call the caterer.”

He turned her over and smacked her ass three times, but not too hard. “Answer the question, slave.”

When he released her to roll back, her brown eyes held a hint of smoke. “I wish to please you, Master. I would like to experience the spanking bench, but if it pleases you to use the cross, then I will submit there.” A hint of defiance hid just beneath the surface of her statement. He and Fuller were planning their next big project. She wasn’t going to let him miss his meeting.

Two sharp knocks at the door arrested the sarcastic retort that came to mind at her pretty speech. As he crossed the room to retrieve the cart his chef’s assistant would have left in the hall, he silently breathed a sigh of thanks for the intervention. Accustomed to Marcella’s sharp-tongued sense of humor, he didn’t believe her submission. He would need to work on that.

With the changed circumstances, he needed to adjust his thinking. If he didn’t trust her to be honest, how could he expect her to trust him? He returned to find her standing near the foot of the bed. Her demure posture and downcast gaze shimmered with grace. She had something to say. When Marcella had something to say, she didn’t mince words, not with him.

He tensed. “What is it, slave?”

She glanced up, startled perhaps by his terse tone. “Master, may I have a few minutes alone in the bathroom?”

“Yes, of course.” When she moved safely out of sight, he let his shoulders relax.

By the time she returned, he had arranged a chair next to the cart of food. Since he didn’t usually eat in the dungeon, he didn’t keep a dining table down there. They would improvise by using the cart.

He hadn’t dressed. He sat in the chair naked. She came to kneel at his side. Head down, hands tucked demurely behind her back, knees spread, posture perfect. With his hungry gaze, he feasted on the beautiful sight in front of him.

Finally he patted his thigh. “Come sit on my lap, pretty slave. You’ll feed us both.”

Perhaps somewhere in the
dom
handbook, it stated he should be the one doing the feeding, controlling every bit of food that passed her lips, but Sean didn’t operate that way. He’d actually masturbated to fantasies of Marcella feeding him. Her long, tapered fingers with that delicate French manicure would touch his lips and his tongue as she placed the food in his mouth.

“Use your fingers only.”

She settled on his lap, her bare bottom pressing heat against his thigh. “Yes, Master.”

He held her close with one arm circling her back. He crossed his other arm over her legs and rested it on her thigh. Her breasts swayed and jiggled as she cut the turkey sandwich into bite-size pieces. Next time he would have to request finger foods. The clamp had colored the deep rose of her nipple red. It called to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip. She twitched.

“Does it hurt?”