DomNextDoor (3 page)

She could make a few educated guesses. For a moment she felt
his weight shift and fear gripped her as she thought of being left alone like
this.

But he was only shifting positions, sliding up her body
again, this time getting his cock level with her chin. She could feel the heat
and weight of his balls. Instinctively she licked her lips in preparation.

“I want you to do a good job,” he rasped. “Suck me like a
good little slave and maybe I’ll fuck you.”

“Oh yes,” she said more than happy to get into the role.

She felt the tip of his cock at her lips. She kissed it
reverently. He was kneeling astride her.

Obediently she opened and he fed his cock to her. She sucked
it lightly, allowing her tongue to run along the ridge underneath. He sighed in
obvious satisfaction and she could feel him swelling. She wanted to take more,
all of him if she could but he was too big.

She would do her best.

“That’s it, girl. Give me my pleasure.”

She took as much of him as she could, greedily suctioning
his swollen shaft and swallowing it as deep as she could.

He grunted, moving up and down, sliding his cock smoothly
and efficiently in and out of her mouth.

She could feel his raw heat, the built-up tension, the sheer
pleasure he was experiencing.

She’d never been so eager for a man’s come in her life.

But he had something else in mind. Tristy whimpered in
disappointment as he deprived her of her toy. There was a soft suctioning
sound, a popping noise as he pulled out.

It was sheer agony.

She could feel the emptiness, the intense need to remain
connected to him in any fashion possible.

“I’m gonna come on your breasts,” he growled, his voice low
and fierce. “I’m gonna explode all over your beautiful breasts.”

Tristy felt his desire, sensed his need and she latched on
to it, making it her own.

“Yes, please come on me, I am your slave, please…come.”

She could hear his ragged breathing. She tried to imagine
him stroking himself above her, unabashedly giving his body the pleasure he
needed. Oh yes, he was getting what he needed, and she was only too happy to supply
it.

Tristy felt the moments stretch into hours as if it would
last forever and then abruptly he made a loud, victorious roaring noise and she
felt the first of the warm gush, thick and creamy, splashing across her
breasts. There was so much of it. It got on her face, her cheeks. She wanted
more.

“Thank you, thank you,” she groaned. “Your slave thanks
you.” She felt Grant’s muscles tensing and flexing as he finished masturbating,
until finally he collapsed beside her.

Yes. It was everything she had hoped for. He had marked her.

His territory.

His property.

Wow! And this wasn’t supposed to be weird in the morning?

Chapter Three

Grant had never felt that kind of release. It was the most
amazing orgasm of his life and totally unexpected. A few hours ago he had been
minding his own business cleaning one of his old pistols, watching the Yankees
and Red Sox…and thinking about Tristy.

He was always thinking of Tristy.

Worrying about her, wondering about her. Fantasizing. Tristy
was the hottest, most beautiful woman in the building. In his or any other
building.

But it wasn’t about her looks. Plenty of pretty girls
happened across Grant’s path. He was a cop and single and there were always
opportunities.

Even for a man with his specific predilections.

No, Tristy was special. She was a free spirit, this walking
hot mess, so very together in some ways and like a child in others.

He hated the way men took advantage of her. Over and over
she assumed the best of men only to have her heart stomped all over. Men were
jackasses.

They wanted sex. Then they wanted to run.

Up to now he had done everything in his power not to have
sex with Tristy but here she was, nude in his bed, blindfolded and helpless. He
had her in the palm of his hand.

Now what? That was the question.

Grant could hear her soft breathing. She had allowed him to
“work his will”. He had come all over her, covering her gorgeous breasts.

Oh god, he was getting hard again already. He wanted to fuck
her. He needed to fuck her.

The blindfold made her look so hot. He stroked her damp
blonde hair. She moaned softly and called his name. Her legs were wide apart
just as he’d commanded. She belonged to him.

She was his slave.
For the night at least.
Got to
think clearly, Grant.

He needed to send her home before things got much deeper. If
they waited until morning it would be too late.

Tristy sighed. Her soft lips kissed his shoulder. That did
not help.

“We need to get to you a shower, sweetheart.”

“Yes…” she murmured.

Definitely
not helping.

“Come on,” he said. She showed no signs of movement. “You
want me to carry you?”

“Uh-huh,” she replied.

His turn to sigh. He had intended the remark to bring her to
her senses. He would do it, though, as long as it brought her one step closer
to going home. There was no way he would let her stay. She deserved better than
a walk of shame from him.

Grant rose to his feet, giving himself another minute to
enjoy the sight of the blindfold just hugging her cheekbones, the absolute
trust, the sheer beauty.

Her nipples remained peaked. He could smell the scent of her
arousal still. No longer the friend he had loved and trusted but a lover. A
woman who had been to his bed, who had entered his world.

Was she really submissive or just playing at the game? Many
women did—play that is—taking on the role for variety.

But Grant needed more than that. He needed a woman who would
go all the way and allow him the room he needed to be the lion, the sensual
beast who could—would—take a woman for the deepest, most amazing journey of her
life not just once but over and over.

Grant had no patience for “topping from the bottom”, which
meant trying to control one’s own submission. He demanded more. He required
more. Either a woman trusted him or she didn’t. Either she wanted to yield to
him or not.

Tristy was an unknown. She was his friend first and should
have stayed that way. He had felt guilty more than once about being aroused by
her when she in one of her emotional states. Seeing her so hurt would make him
want to take control, to step in and deal with her mess and make it right.
Every time she came to the door it only got harder.

Tonight had been the hardest of all. The way she’d looked in
that cute little party dress, obviously ready to cry her eyes out. That son of
a bitch hadn’t deserved the time of day from her, much less a date.

Why was Tristy so blind to these assholes? She was such a
smart woman. The smartest he had ever known. If she was submissive he might
easily…

But he had to let that go. It was not meant to be.

Grant bent down and removed the blindfold and untied her. He
scooped her up. She was nothing to carry, light as a feather. His heart
clenched as she snuggled against him, naturally resting her cheek on his chest,
so instinctively and unabashedly relying on him. As though she knew he would carry
her to the ends of the earth. And he would too. Without faltering. If it killed
him.

Few were the women who understood or cared about such
commitments anymore and few were the men who wanted to give them. He had known
plenty of guys on the force who were divorced once, twice— had never given it a
second thought what it really meant to make that kind of promise and pledge.

Funny how BDSM was called a kink, a perversion and yet what
it had taught him was how to hold on to his honor, his absolute determination
to do right by a woman.

Tristy’s skin was so soft, her muscles so smooth and slight
in comparison to his own. He couldn’t imagine a finer specimen of femininity, a
better woman.

Grant took her down the hall to the bathroom. It had to be
after three by now. He hadn’t bothered checking the clock in the bedroom. It
didn’t matter now. This was the night time space when two lovers belonged to
each other.

Was it so wrong to want a little more time? A little more
touching, a little more love?

The first time she had come to his door she had just moved
in. She had been wearing a pair of torn jeans shorts and a tank top. She’d had
her lustrous golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, a few strands loose and
gracing her forehead.

“Hi, I’m Tristy, I’m your new neighbor,” she’d said with a
beaming smile, half apology and half mischief. Looking back at it, he had
fallen for her that very first instant. What man wouldn’t have?

“I’m not really sure why this isn’t working,” she had
announced holding up a gooseneck lamp.

His first instinct had been to try comedy. “Have you tried
plugging it in?”

“There’s a thought,” she’d said, not missing a beat. “Could
I be any more blonde?”

As it turned had out, she’d tried the plug and she’d checked
the bulb too. The problem had been a loose wire, which he had promptly fixed.

There had been a million more things after that, all of
which he tended to as well, everything from rearranging furniture to hanging
pictures. He half suspected her of making up stuff just so they could get
together but who was he to complain? They had formed a fast friendship on a
number of levels.

Turned out her dad was on the job, too, along with a couple
of uncles. She never gave out a lot of details but that’s how it was with cop
families. Grant respected that.

He had a feeling there was more to the story about her and
her father but she would tell him when she was ready. For now it was all about
getting her in the shower and then getting her home.

Grant had to drape her about his neck as he set about
turning on the water. She was not helping by kissing him. She was not helping
at all.

“Honey, I can’t do both things at once.”

“So screw the shower,” she breathed hotly in his ear.

Grant’s cock was full again, erect to the bursting point.
Tristy had her fingers on it, playing across the veins crisscrossing the su
rface.

“Damn it, girl.”

“Fuck me?” she begged.

Next thing he knew
she
was tugging
him
down to
the floor.

The shower water poured down on them through the half-open
curtain. Tristy negotiated her body on the smooth tile of the bathroom floor,
getting into place beneath Grant, cushioning him…playing the slave girl.
Grant.
Oh god, just saying his name in her mind felt so good. Was this really
happening? Was she really here in his apartment with him doing this?

As he landed on top of her, she raised her legs, encircled
him and pulled him in. His cock went deep inside her, filling her hard and
fast, her wet sex desperate and needy for his powerfully pulsing heat. His
teeth sank into her shoulder and then he found her breast.

“Have you any idea?” he murmured after suckling to his
heart’s content. “What you are doing?”

“I’ve been to enough sex education classes…”

Grant extracted his cock nearly to the tip.

She whimpered from the emptiness.

“You think you can just control what happens?”

“No…”

“No, Sir.”

“No, Sir.” She wriggled underneath him, trying to impale
herself again.

“Don’t move.” Grant pinched her ass hard.

Tristy squealed in mild protest. “You bastard.”

“Who started this?” he reminded her.

She was panting. Beyond herself, outside herself with
pleasure and deep, utterly mind-blowing need. “Who cares who started it? Just
finish it like a man.”

Grant chuckled. “I’m not like the other men you know,
remember?”

Something about his question put her off. It was a reminder,
maybe to bring her down to reality or maybe it was about coming up for air.
Suddenly she saw herself through his eyes, or at least what she feared she
might look like.

She tried to push him away. “You make me sound like a slut.”

He held her fast. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I
mean that the other guys you’ve known were too scared to start or finish.
You’ve needed love, Tristy, warmth, caring. Have you gotten any of that?”

“None of your business.”

As if he didn’t know her love life as well as she did. Maybe
even better.

“I want to go home,” she said.

He laughed. “So use the safe word.”

“I’m not playing games, Grant.”

Grant’s eyes held something new, something she had never
seen before. Was she hurting his feelings? The rough, tough cop? The sure and
steady neighbor? Suddenly she saw it going down like a house of cards, the
whole basis of their friendship.

“I mean it, Grant, get the fuck off me.”

He swore under his breath. Something about knowing it was a
fucking mistake all along.

It was all she needed to hear.

“I’m not your goddamn mistake! You hear me?” The tears
poured out. He held her until they stopped, which could have been minutes or an
hour later for all the difference it made.

Somehow he had the wisdom not to say anything. As if he knew
a single word would destroy it all.
Damn it, what a good guy he is
. Why
did she have to go and fuck it up with him too? “I want to be alone,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”

“I just need a shower, a little privacy?” She forced a
smile.

He frowned. No need for pretense between them.

“I’ll be just outside the door.”

And that’s where she found him a half hour later, just
standing there, leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

It almost broke her heart to walk away. They didn’t say
another word. It was close to five a.m. when she got back to her apartment. The
first thing she saw was the gooseneck lamp on her nightstand.

Everything else was a blur.

She held on to the lamp, bawling like a child.

What have I done? What have I done?

Then the realization came crashing in.

She loved him.

Yes, she was in love with Grant, she knew that now, but had
she ruined things? Hard to imagine that happening when they’d never had a
chance to begin with.

They’d been buddies. That was it.

Now they were…neighbors. Politely greeting each other in the
hallway every couple of weeks, maybe a hello for Christmas.

Nothing more.

Oh well. Such was life. No biggie.

So why did she feel like a huge corkscrew had just twisted
up her insides? Why was it like losing her daddy all over again?

Except Grant wasn’t a father figure. He was anything but. He
was the man she cared about.

The love of her life.

The thought terrified her. It had to be wrong. Because if it
were true it would mean she was one of those women destined never to be happy.
She would die alone. They would find her wandering the streets one day in her
bathrobe, carrying a gooseneck lamp. That thought made her laugh. Which was a
damn sight better than crying.

Plenty of time for that tomorrow.