The Girlfriend (The Boss) (46 page)

The pinch of pain sent shocks of desire skating across my skin, like water on hot oil.

“Where have you been hiding this?” he asked, looking up to take the collar from my hands. “On your knees.”

I knelt obediently in front of him, my hands resting on my thighs. “I was saving it for a special occasion, Sir.”

The backs of his fingers brushed my shoulders as he pushed my hair back to fasten the heavy collar around my neck. There was the weight of promise in the cold platinum band, and anticipation wound tight in the basest places in my body. As the clasp locked, he leaned down and whispered close to my ear, “I think tonight will be very special.”

I shifted on my knees to press my thighs together.

“Stay right there,” he said, standing.

I waited for him, listening to the far off sound of rummaging in the closet. His footsteps crossed the carpet, and something covered my eyes from behind. I made a startled little “eep,” then giggled. “You scared me.”

“You’re not afraid of me,” he admonished. “I don’t believe it for a second.”

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, my heart pounding hard in my chest. “Maybe you could make me afraid. Just for tonight.”

The blindfold over my eyes made it impossible to tell how he reacted to the suggestion. As he tied the swath of black silk over my eyes, he said, “I... suppose I could. What would make you afraid?”

Without my sight, falling rapidly into the space of mind I only inhabited when under his control, every word over my lips felt like a caress. “You could be rough? Rougher than usual. I know my words and my signal. You know I’ll use them if I have to. I want tonight to be the furthest we’ve ever gone. Let’s face it, this is going to have to last us a while. I need memories to jill off to.”

He chuckled, but then he hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t, Sir,” I purred. “Besides, I can always ‘yellow’ and you’ll dial it back, right?”

“Of course,” he agreed. Then he put his hand on the back of my head, a possessive touch. “Fine. If that’s what you want, get on the bed. Feel for it with your hands, so you don’t slip. The only marks I want on you tonight, I’ll put there myself.”

I did as he ordered, asking, “How do you want me?”

He answered from across the room. The French group Air began to play over the speakers in the ceiling. “I want you on the bed, and silent. I’ll put you in whichever position I want you in, when I’m damned good and ready.”

The admonishment in his tone made my pussy clench.

I waited, breathless, my heart fluttering like a fly against a windowpane, frantic and desperate. I still knelt, but on the bed now, wondering when he would touch me, wondering what torment he had planned for me.

“Open your mouth.”

I hadn’t heard him come back, and I startled. I’d just barely opened my mouth when something smooth and firm shoved between my teeth. A ball gag, I realized; I’d seen it hanging in the cupboard, a leather harness with a black silicone ball. Forced to breathe through my nose, I felt a stab of panic that twisted into a shock of pleasure in my groin.

“Give me your hands.”
 

I held them out, and he grasped my wrists and forced my arms behind my back. “The signal is the same, open and close your fingers three times.”

I made an affirmative noise around the gag.

“People will still be able to hear you, if you scream loudly. And I guarantee, you will scream.” He secured my arms with wide cuffs, leather from the stiffness of them. “So, do try and control yourself. The music will only cover so much.”

I nodded and tried to articulate, “Yes, Sir,” around the gag.

He gripped my ankles and jerked me toward the edge of the bed, and I fell forward with a startled cry. He pulled me to kneel on the floor, and forced my head against the mattress with his hand spayed roughly against my face. “Tonight, I’m going to use you as I see fit. You are nothing but a toy for me to play with. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

The cool tails of a leather flogger dragged across my back.

I heard the crack before I felt the pain. There was no warm up, no gentle test to see if I could take it. The leather tails snapped against my backside, against and between the woven elastic design of the thong. It hurt where the flogger met fabric; it hurt more where it met my skin. My neck strained as I lifted my head, groaning against the gag.

“Shh,” he scolded. “They’ll hear you.”

Then
snap, snap, snap,
three stinging swipes that brought a ragged cry up my throat and tears to my eyes. I breathed hard through the pain, until it faded into the rosy glow of naughty pleasure I craved.

But if this was how we were starting out...

I
had
asked him to make me afraid.

Not being able to see what he was doing made it so much worse. Not being able to see
him
was another kind of torture altogether. I had to imagine his almost cruel smile, his forearms beneath his rolled-back sleeves.

The next strikes painted stripes of pain across the backs of my thighs, and I squeezed my eyes shut behind the blindfold. Hot tears sprang up, and I tried to blink them away, my lashes fluttering against the silk.

The song playing had a high electronic guitar line and a deep, sinister distorted bass. It only added to the foreboding I felt at being told I was a toy, just there for him to use.

He dragged the flogger between my legs, brushing my quivering center. Then he reached up and unsnapped something, and my hands were free, the cuffs broken apart but still encircling my wrists. “Turn over. Spread your legs.”

Oh, yikes. I’d hated when he’d used the flogger on me this way, before. But he’d given me an order. I got to my feet, sniffling at the tight feeling of my burning skin. I climbed onto the bed and spread my legs, my feet resting on the floor.

“No. Get them wide apart. I want those shoes in the air.”

I took a long, deep breath through my nose and reached down to hold my legs behind my knees, drawing them up and apart for him.

He stepped to the edge of the bed, the fabric of his trousers brushing against my bottom. Something shockingly cold touched my burning thigh, then I heard a snip, and another snip, and my nearly two-hundred dollar Agent Provacateur panties were just
gone
. I heard the whip of the flogger through the air, and my nails dug into my own skin as I braced myself. The blow didn’t land between my legs, as I thought it would, but on the duvet beside my head, and I yelped.

His hand closed over my throat above the collar, and I coughed. He didn’t let up. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

I nodded. His tongue traced the wet track of a tear up my cheek, to the edge of my blindfold before he released me. I gasped for air around the gag, and a thin stream of drool ran from the corner of my mouth. The position I was in, totally exposed, gagged, helpless, was utterly humiliating.

My nipples were hard, tight peaks. He pulled down my bra and let the ends of the flogger tickle each of them in turn. I stopped breathing; I wanted to know if he was going to hit me with the flogger again. I wanted to know if he was going to slap the flogger across my chest. I wanted to know how much it would hurt.

That’s control, Sophie. You want control.
But not just over sex play. I wanted control over the entire situation. I wanted a certainty that Neil would be okay. I couldn’t have that. The more I lamented my loss of control, the less I was able to slip into the sub mindset and enjoy myself.

When my life had been utterly out of order, Neil had swooped in as this larger-than-life Dom and made me forget about everything. Now, he was entrenched in what I wanted to forget. I wasn’t sure I could get back into the sub space I’d become so good at inhabiting.

His fingers dived into the hair at my scalp, ruining my sleek ponytail to jerk me to the floor. My limbs tangled and clattered together as I fell with a cry. Then, in an instant, he was behind me, hauling me against his body to sit between his spread legs. He hooked his feet around my calves to force them apart. I heard the buzz of a vibrator, and I unconsciously bucked my hips.

Lying with my back against him— his back against the bed, if I judged our position correctly— I couldn’t feel his cancer. I couldn’t see the effects, the loss of hair, or the slight puffiness in his face. If I were leaning on his other shoulder, I would feel the apheresis catheter, but he kept my head against his left shoulder, held there with a palm against my cheek.

“Where should your mind be, Sophie?” He’d picked up my distress, and the fact I couldn’t slip entirely into my role. His hand slid down my body, from my face to my neck, over my breasts and stomach, down to my cunt, where he grabbed my mound and roughly forced his fingers inside me.

“This is where it should be,” he growled against my ear. “This should be your only concern right now. Taking pleasure from what I do to you. Feeling what I want you to feel, what I let you feel.”

He jerked the gag from my mouth with his left hand, his arm wrapped around my shoulders to keep me upright. I coughed as I tried to swallow the saliva that had built up behind the ball.

“Where should your mind be, Sophie?” The fingers inside me stretched me painfully, and I whimpered and squirmed on them.

“On what you’re doing to me, Sir.” My voice quavered. “On feeling what you want me to feel.”

His fingers withdrew, and he slapped my pussy, hard. My body bowed and I almost bit through my lips to keep from crying out.

“Very good. Is the gag causing a problem?” He wanted to know if it was my inability to speak that took me out of my sub space. A boneless calm washed through me at that. He wanted me to achieve the mindless peace I felt as his sub, just as much as I wanted to. Merely remembering that we were working toward the same goal was enough to center me.

I shook my head. “No, Sir.”

“For now, let’s go without it.” He left the gag hanging around my neck. “Just for now.”

Wrapping his big hand across my face, he covered my mouth with his palm, his thumb resting against the side of my nose. He pressed the vibrator against my inner thigh, slowly rolling the cool metal cylinder toward my pussy. It was the platinum vibrator, I could tell, the one he’d used on me in New York, when he’d fucked me and forced me to orgasm over and over. I panted and squirmed. The torturous buzz travelled slowly up, and I made high-pitched sounds against his hand.

“Remember, you’re being quiet,” he reminded me. Then he pressed the rounded tip of the cylinder against my clit, and my hips rose up from the floor.

“You’re already wet, you know,” he said, as though we were discussing the weather. “It doesn’t take much, does it?”

I squeezed my eyes shut behind the blindfold and shook my head.

“Do you know why that is?” He leaned his cheek against mine. “It’s because you’re my whore, Sophie. You’re nothing but my filthy little slut, aren’t you?”

Holy fuck. Those forbidden words, the ones I was never supposed to self-apply, the ones I should
never
let a man apply to me, ramped up my excitement unbelievably. If I’d had any indication that Neil would use those words against me in a derogatory way, I would have been out of there and on a plane back to New York in a heartbeat. But as a part of our sex play, reveling in the taboo of those words in a safe way, I had never been so turned on in my life.

“What are you?” he demanded, releasing his grip on my face so I could speak.

“I’m your whore.” The word sent more blood pounding to my already engorged clit, and I rubbed myself against the vibrator with small, desperate movements of my hips. “I’m your filthy little slut.”

I came. Oh, sweet fucking lord, I came so hard that my feet jerked against the carpet, my legs thrashed, and I seriously thought I might hurt him, myself, or both of us, with my wild flailing. He covered my mouth, muffling my relieved shout, and moved the vibe in circles over my clitoris while I whimpered and twisted in his grasp.

He didn’t wait for me to come down before he got to his feet and hauled me to mine. His fingers spread over my face, he gave me a shove with his palm to push me onto the bed, and I fell, bouncing on the mattress.

“Did I give you permission to come?” he snarled, and a hiccup of fear escaped me. He forced my legs back, held together. “Give me your hands.”

I extended my arms, still wearing the cuffs around my wrists. He tugged my hands so that my arms looped behind my knees, then clipped the cuffs back together. I was my own binding, my feet brushing the backs of my thighs, my dripping, satisfied cunt tilted up and helpless.

The smack of the paddle against my pussy was an unpleasant shock, and I couldn’t help my scream. He reached up and shoved the gag back into my mouth. The vibrator pressed against my aching, over-sensitive clit, and I bit down on the rubber ball between my teeth.

“Careful,” he admonished, as though I had any control over what my body was doing. “You don’t want to ruin that pretty smile.”

I managed a garbled, “Fuck you,” around the gag. That shocked me; when I was acting as a sub, I usually didn’t want to back talk. I wanted to please him.

He pulled the vibrator away, and smacked me again with the paddle. I yelped.

“I don’t like bratty subs, Sophie. I’ve told you that before.” The vibrator pushed against my clit, swirled in tight circles. “I was going to make it one, but now I think it will be five.”

One what? Five what? My mind circled furiously, but it was really hard to think as my body was forced closer and closer to another climax. I dragged ragged breath into my lungs, gulping and gasping under the mingled pain of my burning flesh and the pleasure of my singing nerve endings. My hips lifted against the wand in his hand, coming closer, closer, so close that I didn’t care that I’d just had an orgasm; if I didn’t have
this one
, I wouldn’t make it through the night. I hovered on the edge, my toes curling, and I hugged my legs tighter.

Just as I reached the brink, just as my body was about to let go, he pulled the vibe away and slapped the paddle down on my open, wanting flesh.