A French Whipping (8 page)

“Oh, God, yes.” No one had ever done anything like this to her before. Never prepared her, tormented her the way he was doing. She felt like a goddess being worshipped even though she was the one tied for his pleasure.

He explored her thoroughly while his fingers moved to play with her clit, pinching and rubbing it gently.

“Nick, I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” she gasped.

“You’ll come when I say.”

Blake whimpered.

“Do you want to come like this?” he asked, his hot breath making her moan.

She shook her head from side to side. “I want to feel your cock.”

His tongue stabbed inside her again. In and out, silky soft, while his clever fingers stimulated her clit ruthlessly. Blake tried to hold back, but her orgasm beckoned, shining bright and hot and just seconds out of reach.

“Yes,” she screamed and came hard, rocking back against him.

He moved quickly, putting on the condom he’d grabbed earlier and securing her hips with his hands, squeezing the head of his cock inside her still-throbbing entrance, which was clamping down on him as he slid deeper centimeter by centimeter, making her gasp as she was stretched and filled. A renewed surge of shudders rocked her as he slid all the way inside, his hips pressing against her butt.

“I wanted you to come,” he gasped, “in case this was too uncomfortable.” He drew out of her slick flesh about halfway and then thrust back inside gently, obviously trying to take it easy on her, but she didn’t want easy. She’d come, now she wanted him to lose control. She wanted him to fuck her as hard as he wanted.

“Pull all the way out. Fuck me hard.”

He grunted and took her at her word, sliding roughly back out of her and then thrusting deep, sliding hard over her.

Blake gasped and hung her head, arching her body back against him as she took him deep, over and over again, until she felt like he’d become a part of her. When he came, he gripped her hips and shook, fingers bruising the flesh of her hips.

“Blake.” He shouted her name like a man falling from a cliff, and slumped over her, breathing heavily.

Blake let him lie on her and catch his breath for a minute before shifting to the side, rolling him off her. He slid heavily to the rug between her and the fire, his eyes closed.

Blake rolled the other way until she was on her left hip facing him, and drew her knees up so that the ropes around her elbows would loosen. Freeing her arms, she left the rope around her knees where it was and stretched out for several seconds before settling back on her side with her knees slightly bent.

His eyes were open, but she couldn’t read what he was feeling.

Laying her arm over her hip and propping herself on one elbow, she regarded him silently, and waited to see what her friend Nick had to say about what they’d just done.

7

NICK COLLAPSED
NEXT
to Blake, gasping, feeling as though he’d just had his insides ripped out. He’d always known it would be like that, an all-consuming lust that would completely take him over.

He lay where he was, recovering, hoping he hadn’t freaked her out or scared her, because he honestly couldn’t remember whether she’d been with him for that last part.

She turned over on her side, draping one arm over an elegantly curved hip, her eyes sleepy as she regarding him. Her pink lips looked red and swollen, like she’d been biting her lip.

Nick wasn’t sure what to say to her now. She was Blake, and she was naked in front of him and he’d been dreaming about what it would be like to fuck her for over ten years. Unable to help himself, he reached out and trailed his fingers over her collarbone and down to the tip of her breast.

Her soft rosy nipple tightened immediately and he stroked it, fascinated by its perfect shape against the pale globe of her breast. He started to tell her that he’d been fantasizing about her breasts since the first time he’d seen her in that dive bar in East Cambridge, but he stopped himself. She’d just wanted sex with someone she wasn’t afraid of, sex without a relationship.

“You okay?” he asked instead. “No flashbacks?”

She shook her head, her eyes still dark and heavy-lidded. “Phillip was the only one who ever raped me, and only the one time, the last time.”

His lips tightened and he stopped stroking her nipple. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Closing her eyes, she whispered, “No, not tonight.”

Nick sat up, unable to lie still, and removed the condom deftly.

“Be right back,” he murmured and went into the kitchen to dispose of the condom and drink an entire glass of water.

She hadn’t moved when he returned. He bent and picked up the hand that dangled from her hip, kissed her knuckles, before adjusting his grip and tugging on her hand to pull her upward.

She groaned, but let him pull her up, and the rope that had been loosely gathered around her knees fell to the floor. He held her against him for a moment, just for a moment, before he swatted her butt lightly.

“Come on, gorgeous, how does a shower sound?”

“Like too much work,” she said against his shoulder.

“I’ll do all the work. You just have to stand there.”

“In that case, a shower sounds awesome.”

He chuckled. “Well, if I’m the first nonrelationship sex you’ve ever had, I want to give you the full treatment. Shower, back massage, and another deep dicking before sneaking out on you in the morning. I promise to leave a note and cab fare.”

She lifted her head and gave him a disgruntled look. “I can’t believe you just said ‘deep dicking.’ ”

He chuckled, and took the opportunity to pull her toward his bedroom. She followed willingly, her smooth limbs gleaming in the low light. “That’s what bothers you?”

She yawned as they walked down a short hall to another set of tall double doors. “I know what ungodly hour you like to leave in the morning. I’ll take sleeping in, a few cups of your coffee, and cab fare over getting woken up at the crack of dawn. Bet your ass.”

Smiling a little, he made a mental note to leave breakfast for her. It wasn’t exactly a nonrelationship-sex thing to do, but she was his friend. He doubted she was inclined to make herself a smoothie every morning the way he did, and he didn’t want her to be hungry. He opened the doors and gestured for her to precede him inside. “You’ll like how I wake you up.”

She laughed. “Damn, Nick. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He stopped and pulled her into him for a kiss. “Had what in me?”

Patting his cheek, she kissed him in return. “This lusty side. I figured you’d be super-serious and intense.”

You have no idea,
Nick thought.

He ushered her through his darkened bedroom and into his bathroom, hoping she didn’t notice his lack of response. He flicked on the bathroom light and she stopped dead in front of him.

“Oh, man.” She sighed. “I always forget how nice this shower is. It’s not fair that you have this bathroom.”

She’d only been in his bathroom once that he knew about, but he’d asked for her opinion when the apartment was being built. He stepped inside the glass-enclosed shower and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature on the digital display.

“Don’t turn it down on my account,” Blake murmured. “I like my showers hot.”

Yeah, he’d guessed that about her. “I’m turning it up.”

“Tell me you don’t take cold showers.”

He looked at her. She was standing with her hands on her hips, her breasts proudly thrust out, long legs gleaming in the bright light of the bathroom. In the mirrors to her left, he could see the smooth cheeks of her ass, and he felt his cock stir. He’d taken cool showers ever since Dr. Jensen had suggested they were good for enhancing calm and control.

“Not cold,” he said absently, stroking himself.

Her eyes widened as she followed the motion. “I have to say, Nick, I love your cock.”

She was smiling at him. Blake, naked in his bathroom, smiling at him and telling him she loved his cock. He had to be dreaming.

He continued to stroke himself, enjoying the way her nipples tightened as she watched, how she wet her lips.

Steam began to rise in the shower, surrounding him. “Come on.” He held out his hand. She took it, her slender fingers sliding into his, and he held on to her as he stepped inside. The shower’s design hadn’t been his idea; if it had been up to him, he would have chosen something water-efficient and utilitarian, but the designer and architect he’d hired to renovate the building had insisted that a penthouse required the absolute best of everything. Blake had agreed.

Seeing Blake enjoy the waterfall-like pour from the massive showerhead above made him glad he’d conceded to their taste.

He stood back a little and admired the view as she closed her eyes and let the warm water cascade over her face and breasts, streaming from her nipples, in rivulets over her belly, and down between her legs.

She stepped forward and wiped a hand over her face to clear the water from her eyes.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Immensely.”

She smiled and lifted her chin to indicate a shelf above his head where the maid had laid out fresh towels.

“I was promised a personal washing service.”

Nick reached back without looking and plucked a washcloth from a small stack. His body wash and shampoo were neatly arranged in a nearby nook built into the wall.

“Is that the soap I told you to buy last Christmas?”

It was. “I have no idea.”

She breathed in deeply. “Smells like it. Mmmm. Crisp. Clean. I can’t ever remember the name of it.”

L’eau Serge Lutens. He’d added it to a spreadsheet he kept with a list of her other favorite things. She’d also liked the Clive Christian cologne that he’d purchased at the same time. Christmas shopping wasn’t his forte, so he recruited Blake for help each year. She always managed to convince him to buy a few things for himself.

“I’m going to smell like you.”

She was. Pleasure coursed through him at the thought. Blake would go through her day smelling like him, thinking of him, maybe thinking about how it felt to take his cock.

He knew what
he’d
be thinking about all day.

“Get over here,” she murmured.

He did, lathering up the washcloth with his soap as he approached her. She was standing so the main force of the shower hit her back.

“Turn around,” he told her. If he started washing those magnificent breasts first, he’d never finish before he pinned her against the wall and fucked her.

She did. The skin of her back and butt was red from the heat of the water. He stepped closer, catching her hip with his left hand to hold her steady as he ran the washcloth over her shoulders and down her spine. He paid attention to every nook and cranny, sliding the cloth gently under her arms and down between the cheeks of her ass.

She moaned and shifted a little. “You’re going to torture me again, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed as he knelt behind her and washed the backs of her knees down to her ankles. While he had her, he would do everything he’d always dreamed about. “Turn around.”

She did, even while he still knelt at her feet, water spiraling into the drain in the center of the floor beneath him. Her breasts and belly were bright pink, her nipples taut from the force of the water beating down on them. He straightened, meeting her eyes as he cupped the back of her neck in one hand and began to gently wash her scarred neck with the other. She swallowed, water making her already thick lashes look dark and spiky.

Her collarbones followed and then her left breast. He rubbed the cloth in gentle circles over her nipple.

“God, that feels good.” She put her hands on his shoulders to brace herself as he lathered up the cloth again and began washing her right breast. The smell of clean linen and something citrusy rose with the steam. Her breasts were slick and slippery with soap, the nipples rosy and abraded, soapy bubbles clinging to the tips.

He eased her back, just a little, enough that water cascaded over her shoulder and down her breasts, rinsing her, before bringing her back toward him. He bent his head and began to suckle her left nipple, enjoying her sweet taste, the rough texture against his tongue. Her hips jerked toward him.

Releasing her, he moved to the other nipple, lapping at droplets of water falling from the tip before taking it in his mouth as well.

“Harder,” she gasped, holding his head to her chest. He obeyed, suckling harder, letting the edges of his teeth ever so slightly abrade her taut pink flesh. He didn’t release her nipple until she’d pressed herself fully against him, hips writhing.

She made a noise in protest, but he hushed her, dragging the cloth over her flat belly and her hips.

“Open your legs,” he ordered. She obeyed, still clutching his shoulders.

“Good,” he murmured and ran the cloth over her left thigh first, starting at the top and sliding inside, letting his knuckles brush the hair between her legs as if by accident.

Going all the way to his knees, ignoring the pain as the tile bit into an old scar, he meticulously washed both her legs and feet, pretending not to hear her begging cries as she asked him to touch her, take her, fuck her.

When he was finished, he spread the lips of her sweet pussy with his left hand, exposing her clit, and drew the washcloth over the swollen flesh. She came immediately, crying out and jerking so hard that he dropped the washcloth and caught her against him, lifting her and pinning her to the back wall of the shower with his body.

Spreading her legs and wrapping them around his hips, he guided his cock into her entrance and worked his way inside, forcing himself roughly past her body’s initial resistance, losing himself in the tight heat of her.

God, she was amazing—her nubile body writhing and tightening around him, breasts pressed hard against his chest as he slid in and out, in and out.
More, God
. Nothing had ever felt so good in his life. And he wasn’t wearing a condom. With a curse he pulled out and his cock immediately began pulsing, sending jets of come streaming over her belly.

He bent his head toward hers, breath still heaving, his hands still gripping her hips.

They stood that way for several minutes, her legs and arms wrapped around him in an exhausted hug.

When she finally tilted her head back and regarded him, her eyes were laughing.

“Looks like you’re going to have to wash me again.”

Blake lay quietly in Nick’s bed, enjoying the soft linen sheets and the slow whirl of the ceiling fan overhead. She didn’t remember ever feeling this safe, this protected, or this relaxed. She couldn’t sleep, though. Turning her head to the side, she admired the way Nick looked in the soft glow of light coming from the windows, his muscular arm curled beneath his pillow as he slept on his stomach.

His hair was tangled in unruly waves, his mouth slack as he slept the sleep of the truly exhausted. After their shower, he’d dried her gently with a towel so soft she’d wanted to wear it like a blanket and tucked her into his bed. He’d disappeared for a few minutes after that—Blake thought he’d mentioned turning off the fire.