Theirs To Cherish: Quintessence The Collection II, page 20
That made him snicker. “No.” His knees pinned her down by settling on either side of her lower thighs. His hands made fists, and he pressed them beside her arms as he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “That’s for thinking you could leave us. I settled on five because I could give you a thousand and it would never be enough punishment for thinking you could abandon us.”
She jerked back at that, but before she could utter a word, his teeth settled on her shoulder and he bit down. She yelped, jolting at the pain, then even as she winced, she let out a hiss as that pain settled deep in her belly.
Why did that feel good?
The question was wailed internally. She didn’t verbalize it. Couldn’t.
Just knew that ache felt right.
It made her blow out a breath again.
“That’s going to leave a mark,” he told her, and there was such satisfaction in his voice that it had the same effect as a blanket on a cold winter’s day. She wanted to roll herself up in it like a goddamn human sausage—a thought that had her lips twitching. His nose ran down the side of her cheek, making her jump. “Do you like the idea of that?”
It came as a surprise to realize that yes, she did.
But she didn’t say that, not until his hand slapped her ass again. “Do you like the idea of that? Of bearing my mark? Of people seeing it and knowing that your man gave it to you?”
“Yes, Sean,” she whispered, and felt her pussy grow wetter at her timbre.
Jesus, was that her?
That sultry, submissive tone belonged to her?
She gnawed at her bottom lip as, after shifting his position, he murmured, “Spread your legs.” She parted them, grunting as he pinched her butt. “Wider.” She did, moving them apart to a degree that was borderline uncomfortable—she felt the strain in her inner thighs. Then, his hands made it all better as he stroked between her legs, coating his fingers in her cream.
Shivering, she murmured, “That feels so good, Sean.”
He kissed her cheek. “Why does it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would it feel different if I’d come in here and just rolled on top of you?”
She thought about that a second, then squealed when two fingers plunged their way inside her gate. God, she was wet, but they felt really big after months of inactivity. A shudder washed through her as she acclimated to the new thickness, and he let her. Let her breathe and relax in increments.
“Yes. It feels different.”
As though to reward her for the answer, he carefully removed his fingers. But she clenched down on them, liking them there, wanting them there.
“Why?”
“Because. . . .” Why? Because he was acting on his own? Wasn’t waiting for cues from her? Or, was he? Was he waiting for cues that she didn’t know she was emitting?
His other hand pinched her butt again, making her firm the cheeks in response and let out a mewl. “Ow!” she cried, because shit, that stung like hell.
“Answer me then.”
“I don’t have a say in this.”
“You always have a say in the things we do,” he murmured, and his voice was so close to a purr, it sent shockwaves down her spine.
“I guess. But. . . .” She’d read enough BDSM romance to know how it worked. To know that she was in control because of how much she trusted Sean. When she didn’t want to play, he’d have to stop if he was a good Dominant. But that didn’t mean to say he was a good Dominant.
There was always that threat of having your wishes totally ignored.
A notion that stole her breath again.
Not in fear, but excitement.
“What made your breathing hitch there?” he asked, thrusting his fingers inside her again.
“I-I don’t want to think, Sean. Let me stop thinking, please?”
He must have heard the plea in her voice because he didn’t pinch her again, just fell silent as he stroked her butt. But even if he was contemplative, that wasn’t enough for her. Not with his thick fingers filling her. She wriggled and writhed beneath him, and he surprised her by spreading his fingers apart, scissoring them wide.
He did that a few times, then he pulled out of her and half-leaped off the bed. About to grumble, she fell silent again when he ordered, “Don’t move a goddamn inch.”
That bite was back again, and fuck if it didn’t make her cream harder.
She even stopped fidgeting, stopped rolling her hips and rocking into the bed. He’d only spanked her so far, but she knew what was in his bedroom. If he wanted to take this up a notch, the only thing he had close at hand was a belt. She sure as hell didn’t want to be hit by a fucking belt.
The sound of his feet padding against the floor was the only indication she had of his proximity. Her eyes weren’t covered by a blindfold, but they might as well have been for all she could see.
The blanket of darkness seemed to cosset her. Cushion her from the real world, and she loved that. She needed that cushion. Wanted him to wrap her in it for the moment, take her away from herself, and place her somewhere safe and warm, somewhere that was theirs alone.
She moaned when she felt the silk around her ankles. From the shape of the material, she knew it was a tie. “I’m going to grab your ankles,” he told her, but it wasn’t like he was asking for permission. He was advising her to prepare herself.
Sascha found she enjoyed that.
He could have just dragged her where he wanted her to go, but he hadn’t. Even in this, Sean was a gentleman.
The Gentleman Dom?
Her lips twitched. Maybe.
Then, she squeaked anyway as he did as he’d warned. When he moved one foot wider than was comfortable, she didn’t protest, curious as to where he’d take this. She knew if he hurt her, genuinely, he’d stop the minute she asked him to, but she didn’t want to, and she knew that was where her faith in him came into play.
There was no need for a safe word with Sean.
She had no need to cry wolf. No need to beg him to stop, because the minute she did, that was the minute the fun would come to a halt, and this? Sure, she knew he was getting off on it. But for her? She really wanted this. No, a part of her craved it. Craved him.
He was always so in control. Always collected.
She’d never wanted to break that control, didn’t even think she could. But now? The notion thrilled her.
Had he wanted more from her than she’d realized? Had he been holding back on her? The idea displeased her, but she didn’t have long to be upset because she felt him grab the tie and heard the sound of fabric crossing as he knotted it to the foot of the bed. When he did the same with the other foot, she clenched her hands at the deeper ache in her thighs. She was spread wide open now, tied and fixed to the low footboard.
“How do you feel?” His hand slid over her calves. She’d pointed her toes in an arch, and she wasn’t sure why, but he rubbed the taut muscles of her lower legs, which had her toes curling in delight.
“Like I can’t move,” she murmured drily.
“Well, you can’t,” he remarked, but she heard the smile in his voice. “How does that make you feel?”
She thought about it, then as the answer whispered in her mind, she pressed her face into the covers.
“Sascha,” he warned on a grumble, and his fingers tensed on her calf. The prospect of being slapped there didn’t fill her with glee, nor did it frighten her.
She wanted to be truthful, though, even if it made her uncomfortable. “Safe,” she whispered.
He rubbed her leg again. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
God. What was this? Trivial Pursuit? She was tired of the questions, wanted nothing except to feel what he wanted her to experience, but the trouble with Sean was he liked to ask questions. He wanted to communicate.
There was no avoiding it, just as there was no avoiding him slapping her ass if she displeased him.
The very thought had her belly clenching. Surprise hit her as she murmured, “If you’re in control, I don’t have to think. If I don’t have to think, I don’t have to worry or be afraid.”
This time, both hands moved over the curves of her calves, down to her ankles and over the soles of her feet.
“Count to thirty. If you don’t move, I’ll let you come.”
Because she’d expected another question, she hesitated a second before she began her count. By number two, she’d realized his intent and clenched down hard as he began to trace his fingers over her soles.
Fuck!
He knew she was fucking sensitive there.
His tickling fingers had the numbers choking in her throat as she bit them out. Tension whipped through her frame as he carried on, making her legs want to tremble with the force she was putting on her muscles. A part of her wasn’t sure if he’d class that as moving, but she genuinely wasn’t. Normally, she’d be wriggling all over the damn bed, laughing her ass off and trying to avoid his hands. Now, she was as still as a statue even as all of her nerve endings were screaming at her to move, to avoid his touch.
By twenty-five, her eyes were wet. By thirty?
She wanted to scream.
Only the knowledge that she could wake Tin up prevented her from doing so.
When he stopped, she blew out several sharp breaths as her nerves carried on responding to the tickling treatment. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God,” she rasped.
Who knew that could hurt more than the flat of his hand on her ass?
Jesus Christ!
“I didn’t think you’d be able to stop yourself from moving,” he murmured, and she heard the amusement in his voice. Though she wanted to growl at him, she didn’t, because she felt the bed shift with his weight, and had to whimper as his hot breath washed over her pussy.
He stayed there for endless seconds, and she wiggled in place, trying to move her body down to meet him. She shifted her knees somewhat, but her legs were so wide apart that the movement was no real help.
Then, she felt him. His tongue, just the tip, against her clit. He fluttered it until she mewled, then he stopped, murmuring, “Ride my tongue.” Her eyes widened in protest.
“How?” she shrieked. He was too far away to do more than tickle!
She whimpered as she rocked her hips, getting that feathery, fluttering sensation against the nub, but nothing that could satisfy her. Nothing that could do much more than ramp up her agitation.
A cry escaped her as she managed to pull one leg harder, releasing the strain on the other. That enabled her to move somewhat, but he just pulled back. Giving her only the tip of his tongue.
The sounds of her panting breaths seemed to echo around the bedroom, and before she knew it, she felt light-headed. She stopped rocking her hips, and pressed her forehead to the duvet. As she did, he moved closer, used the flat of his tongue to caress her clit and slide down her folds to thrust into her.
She released another cry, sharper this time, as delight filled her. The mental image of him with his nose pressed against her, getting as close as he could, filled her with lust.
He thrust into her a few times, then moved down to her clit. When he gave it an open-mouthed kiss, she wanted to die, and then, she stopped wanting that, preferring to live if he could just carry on making her feel this way.
“Come on, Sascha, sweetheart. You can come now.” His gravelly voice, the words so husky and so close to her cunt, made a delicious vibration. As he sucked down on her clit once more, she felt the wonder come over her, wash through her very veins as it seemed to cleanse her of any and all negativity in her body.
The reasons she hadn’t been able to sleep?
They disappeared.
The stress of having to pack up the house for the next few months?
Gone.
All she could think about was him. His mouth. His lips. Her clit. Her orgasm.
She fisted her hands into the sheet and moaned through the climax. It was powerful, enough to make her feet tug at the bonds holding her in place, but it was beautiful, too.
Colors seemed to flash before her eyes, and electric tingles bounced down her spine in a kind of merry jig that had her clenching her ass once more.
When he moved away, she blew out a tired breath, but though she was exhausted, more than she would have been if he’d just fucked her, she protested when he began to unknot the ties from her ankles. “What are you doing?” she asked, aware that she sounded sleepy rather than sexy.
He hushed her, though, as he released her, tossing the ties on the floor, she assumed, by the sounds of the silk pieces whispering against each other as they tumbled to the carpet. Then, he climbed onto the bed beside her and carefully dragged the duvet out from under her. When he covered her with it, he shuffled close. For a second, she was unsure what he was doing, then she released a sigh and turned into him.
Pressing a hand to his belly, low down where she could feel the heaviness of his cock, she murmured, “What about you?”
“Not tonight.” He kissed her forehead. “We have many nights ahead of us to play.”
Her eyelids flickered at that.
To play?
Well, didn’t that just fill her with glee?
Lips curving as she pressed her mouth to the side of his arm, she closed her eyes and, for what felt like the first time in months, actively welcomed sleep.
Thirteen
The minute she stepped into the house, Sascha knew Jane was there.
She could smell the perfume, and after the crisp air of an early December morning, the vanilla overtones made Sascha wonder if she’d stepped into a cupcake factory or her foyer.
Okay, so that was catty, and she’d tried to like Jane. She really had. But Sascha had seen the way the other woman looked at Andrei, and was weary of it. She didn’t mind a few ogles. Hell, she really liked Becca at Rossi’s café in Soho, and she invariably gaped at whichever of her men Sascha brought along.
She wasn’t jealous by nature. Not really. But when something became blatant? Yeah. It put her on edge, and that pissed her off, considering how floaty she’d been feeling these past couple of days.
It was ironic, perhaps, that today was the first day she hadn’t felt the strain in her thighs after Sean had tied her up. She’d liked feeling that. Had liked seeing his bite mark in the mirror, and was grateful the remnants of that were still there, even if it was covered up by the sweaters winter weather necessitated.
A part of her knew she liked the physical mark because it was a claiming she couldn’t otherwise have.
She’d never, all those years ago, realized how irritating it was not being able to lay claim to her men, and have them do the same to her.
She was in a kind of vacuum. No one, unless they’d seen Andrei, actually knew who Tin’s father was. Sascha was aware that the small social circle she had—pathetically small, really, consisting of a few moms from the mother and toddler group she attended with Tin—simply believed that her men were actually friends.
Unable to marry them, unable to even state they were much more than her partner—which could mean anything in this day and age—created a lack of equilibrium that was heightened when it came down to other women who poached on her turf.
And in her own goddamn house, no less.
A shrill laugh echoed down the stairs, and she grunted as she slipped out of her jacket and hooked it in the hall cupboard. It was damp from a light shower outside, but she’d liked the brisk weather as she’d headed to the local corner shop for some extra milk. Tin loved the stuff, and she wasn’t about to stop him from drinking it just because she’d run out.
Another laugh, followed by an, ‘Oh, Andrei, you’re so funny,’ had her pulling a face at the hall mirror. When she did, she jolted in surprise as Devon asked, “Why are you making faces at yourself?”
Pressing her hand to her heart, she grumbled, “You startled me.”
Devon tilted his head to the side. “I usually do.”
His tone was rather dry. For Devon, anyway. Her lips curled at that, and she murmured, “I wasn’t making faces at myself.”
“You were. You were looking in the mirror.”
She jerked her thumb at the upstairs landing. “I was making faces at that.” Right on cue, Jane laughed.
God, Sascha loved Andrei, but he wasn’t a fucking comedian. Especially not in work mode. Jeez, her sexy Slav could make paint drying look interesting when he went on about ‘quantitative’ this and ‘statistical’ that.
“At the landing?”
She hissed. “Do you have to be so goddamn literal all the time, Devon?” She glowered at him a second before she stomped forward, grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the last few stairs to the hall. Then, she carried on dragging him until they hit Sean’s office. She barged in, nodding at Sean whose eyes flashed up to catch sight of them.
She ignored the fact he leapt to his feet and turned the whiteboards around. Because she knew what was on them, she didn’t want the nasty details—Sean hadn’t gotten that wrong. She knew, point blank, that was more than she could handle at the moment.
“Why would the landing piss me off?” she growled at Devon, even as she placed the milk bottle on the dresser beside the door. “She was pissing me off. Laughing like Andrei’s Eddie goddamn Murphy or something.” Sascha huffed. “It’s sickening.”
Sean snorted. “Sascha, there’s no need to be jealous.”
“I never said there was a need for it. I just said I was annoyed by how much she laughed.”
Then, as she heard the words back, she grimaced at how irrational that sounded. A fact that was confirmed when Devon eyed her like he’d eye the Statue of Liberty if she’d wandered into Sean’s office behind them.
“Should she laugh less?” he asked, apparently considering her question.
“Yes. It’s false laughter,” she explained. “Women do that shit all the time. It’s to make a guy think that the woman believes they walk on fucking water.”
He pursed his lips. “Is that a good thing?”
“What?” She scowled at him.
“To walk on water?”
For a second, she just had to gape at him, then she pressed her hand to her forehead and stepped closer to the fire. Tumbling into Devon’s armchair, she stared at him, then cut Sean a look. “You deal with this one, Sean. Pretty please?”
