Caressa's Knees (13 page)

He was watching her, smiling softly. “You like that.”

She shook her head but he only laughed. He lowered his lips to the other thrusting peak and gave it the same rough but sensual treatment. Her hands sought something to hold onto…the carpet, his neck, his hair. She cried out, the pressure to come almost unbearable, building and swirling in her pelvis so she thought she would explode from it. Again she pressed against his knee, spreading her legs, thrusting against him—

The reaction was immediate. “I said not yet.” His clipped reprimand was accompanied by a sharp slap to her thigh. She gazed back at him, the sting barely registering over the surging wave of horniness. She felt wild and completely wanton in a way she’d never felt before. He pushed himself off her, sitting on his knees between her legs. She could see his cock was thick and full, jutting up out of a thatch of dark hair. God, she wanted it—but he was making her wait.

“Please…” she begged, hardly knowing what she was begging for.
Anything.
A touch.
A taste.

“Yes, you’ll get it,” he said.
“When I say.
Not yet.”

She moaned again and he ignored her, pulling down her panties and tossing them aside. “Part your legs. I don’t want you to come yet. I know you’re hot and horny, but we can’t have you getting yourself off whenever you feel like it.”

Can't we?
His hands pushed her thighs apart and she complied, driven more by the demanding tone of his voice than the insistence of his fingers. He forced her legs wide open, past the point of comfort to the point of embarrassment, at which time he finally seemed satisfied. “That’s better. You can come when I say. I know it’s hard to wait, but you do what I want right now. I think you like it that way. I can see how wet you are from here. I can smell you.” He touched her carelessly, drew rough fingers across her pussy in a tease that brought
unassuaged
longing to a brutal peak. He brought his fingers to her nose. “See? Taste yourself. See what you taste like.”

She couldn’t believe he ordered it, and worse, couldn’t believe she obeyed. She licked his fingers, desperate for something—anything—to be inside her. She sucked her scent and taste so avidly she embarrassed herself, but the look on his face told her she was doing the right thing.
Things…things I want to do to you.

She hated this and loved it. She wanted him to fuck her, to fulfill her needs
—
but she liked it just as much that he was refusing to. She had the feeling that if she didn’t do exactly as he told her, this magical game would end and she would be far less satisfied than if she continued to obey. So she waited, trembling like a leaf, as he stood and went to get something from his luggage. He returned with a black permanent marker. She watched with a kind of wonder as he removed the lid and knelt between her legs again.

He spread his knees so her thighs were pushed open wide, then reached beneath her to remove her bra. Once it was off, he placed the point of the marker between her breasts. He drew a long, straight line all the way down from her breasts to the top of her pubic hair. She watched, barely breathing. He drew a second line beside the first, and this time she shivered a little at the feel of the felt tip against her stomach. He put his other hand on her hip.

“Be still.”

“It tickles!”

“Be still,” he said again, his gaze pinning her. “Let me.”

Let me.
Her body wasn’t giving her a choice. It was honed in on the slightest stimulus he gave her. The narrow tip of the marker nearly undid her as he began up at her breasts again to draw a third line all the way down, and then a fourth. At some point during the fourth line she understood what he was doing. He moved the pen to the side of her stomach, drawing a narrow outline of a curve, and then a mirror-imaged one on the other side. She could see they were exact replicas of the ones on her cello’s body.

“What are those called?” he asked, tracing the figures with each hand.

“F-holes,” Caressa replied, feeling strangely close to hysteria.

He
nodded,
a faint smile. “Apropos.”

A few more lines down over her breasts and around her hips to outline, and then he sat back and capped the pen. He studied her, running long, tender fingertips up the strings of her body.

“Caressa.
I can play you, if you let me. Let’s make music, you and me.” She swallowed, never doubting for a moment he could do it. In this type of music, he was a maestro. “But I like to be the conductor,” he continued. “Can you understand that? I like to be the one setting the tempo. I want to be the musician, doing the phrasing.”

She gazed up at him, transfixed. “Where did you learn about tempo and phrasing?”

“From you, of course.
Everything I know about fine music, I’ve learned from you,” he murmured, drawing his fingers down from her quivering f-holes to the base of her instrument, aching and yearning for his touch.

* * * * *

The drawing had been complete improvisation. He’d wanted to find a way to explain his desires to her without coming off like a tyrant or an asshole. He quite simply liked to be in charge. It’s what made him good as a personal assistant, and it’s what drove him to become a dominant once Jeremy had introduced him to that world. Kyle understood her desire to submit, her reckless need to challenge and be brought to heel.

But he was after more than just control here, just as she was after more than chastisement. He wanted connection, and he felt like connecting with her would be like weaving himself into a tapestry.
An incredibly involved and lengthy process, but one which might produce a masterpiece.

He gazed down at her now, his beautiful instrument. He leaned over her on one arm, the other stroking her, making her jerk and shudder beneath him. She was so wet, so responsive.

“What a good girl you are,” he said. “Keeping your legs wide open as I told you. It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“
Yes, Sir.
”

She hesitated, but only for a moment.
“Yes, Sir.
It’s hard.”

He noted the charming blush. “Is it embarrassing?”

“A little.”

“Turn over.” He helped her turn onto hands and knees, obstructing her when she tried to draw her legs together. “No. I want you open to me. I don’t care if you’re embarrassed.”

She made a small sound of protest and buried her face in her hands as he spread her wider still. “Now, stay.”

He got up and went to dig a condom out of his luggage, and then took up his jeans, drawing his belt out. She stiffened a little but stayed still. She looked gorgeous
—
ass up, back arched so perfectly.
At least for the moment.

“Don’t move, Caressa.”

“What are you going to do?” Her muffled voice sounded
quavery
.

“Spank you.
A real spanking.
I hope you like it as much as you thought.” He smiled to himself, imagining she drew herself up a little straighter. “If you say ‘enough’ I’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“
Yes, Sir.
”

“Yes, Sir,” she said. She seemed to brace herself. He doubled the belt over and landed the first stroke, not hard enough to scare her, but hard enough to count. The only reaction was a curling of her fingers into tight fists. He hit her again, this time concentrated on one cheek. She gave a little whiny moan and he cracked the other cheek. She was already nice and pink. No need to drive her to her limits the first time around. He wouldn’t make it that far. His cock was close to exploding.

“Okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Sir.”

Another blow, harder.
She yelped and drew her knees in just a bit. He used his foot to push them back open, none too gently.

“Be a good girl, Caressa.”

“How—How many—?” she asked.

“As many as I think you need. You’re beautiful like this, by the way.”

She made another lovely, frustrated sound. The belt was perfect for this task, weathered and supple, certainly very sting-y for her, but not likely to bruise her much. He gave her another middle-strength stroke, and another. “It would be kinder of me to tie you down, wouldn’t it?” he asked, watching the telltale trembling, the tension in her spine. “I can see you’re trying very hard to be still. Or is the trembling from something else…?”

She shook her head, but her whole body arched as if begging for him. He was suffering as badly as she was. His control broke and he fell on her, the belt flung, forgotten, to the floor. He grabbed her hair and pulled her back to him, his cock nestled between the hot
apex
of her thighs. He pressed his cheek to hers, his lips against her ear. “My God, you’re a spectacular little slut, aren’t you? You make music I’ve never heard before.”

She shook her head, and he felt moisture on her cheeks.
Tears?
Had he miscalculated?

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never heard this music before either. I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want me?”

“Oh, yes.
More than anything.”

He grabbed the condom he’d set aside, rolled it on in record time. His hands wrapped around her hips, grasping, no doubt, just over the drawings he’d made on her, the “f-holes” as she called them. He squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples as he drove into her, feeling her convulse around him as the pain registered. He pounded against the red cheeks he’d punished, fucking her deep.

God, she made him crazy. He pulled her hair and bit her nape, breathing in her sugary, salty scent. She was like a wild, liquid thing in his arms, shuddering and shivering until she cried out and arched back against him. He came too in a pounding wave of sensation, his fingers pressed against the strings he’d drawn down the center of her chest.

He turned her over when he was able, collapsing down beside her. There were still tears, and he tried not to be troubled by them. Not only troubled, but affected too much.
I love you.
The words rolled through his brain, a shocking revelation. But he couldn’t really feel that, not so soon. It was only her vulnerability, the way she gave herself up to him when her life was so much about defiance and control.

She ran her fingers down the strings to where they met her dark pubic hair.

“How do I get this off now?”

“You don’t.” Kyle traced after her fingers and took her hand in his. “It’s permanent.
At least for now.”

They showered together then, and
yes, the marker didn’t come off, not the least bit
. He didn’t want it to. Nor did she leave when he gave her the opportunity, even though it was nearly two in the morning.

“I want to stay,” she said. He nodded and gestured to his bed. She hesitated. “Should I go get my pajamas?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

He slid in beside her and looked at her a long time. He wished he knew what was going on behind her steady gaze. The tears were gone now and she seemed calm, more peaceful than he’d ever remembered seeing her.

“You liked it?” he asked finally.

“Yes.” She answered as if it was painfully obvious, and he supposed it was. She had enjoyed his dominance. She had slid down into submission like a fish into an ocean.

“Why?”

She thought about it a moment. “Because I…I liked doing something right. When you said…when you said
good girl
…” She paused, her voice suddenly tight with emotion. “It’s been a long time since I’ve really felt like I’ve done something well.”

Kyle frowned as he brushed an errant curl from her forehead.
“Caressa.
You’ve made countless people happy with your music. You’ve made
CDs,
you’ve performed at hundreds of concerts. You’re a familiar name in the music world.
A music celebrity.
Why do you think that is?”

She shrugged.
“Because I’m young.
People think it’s interesting that I can play so well at my age.”

“So it’s just your age? You don’t think it’s because of the music? Because you play in a way that moves them, that astounds them? There are thousands of cello players in the world, really good cello players. And you’re probably in the top five.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Right now, at this moment in time, I believe you are. Okay, let’s say top ten. Still. Do you really believe you haven’t done anything well? That you don’t do something well every time you walk out on that stage?”

He traced her drawn-on strings, toying with her, trying to make her see what was so blatantly obvious to everybody else. She looked away. “I don’t know. I don’t ever feel like I really play well.”

“The music world disagrees with you.”

“What about those reviews?”

“That was the first night. Jesus, Caressa, they’ve been raves since then.” He sighed and rolled away from her onto his back, shoving his fingers through his hair. “You really scare me sometimes. You really worry me.”

“I should just sleep in my own room,” she grumbled, turning to climb out of his bed.