The Ex (34 page)

“Lift your hair,” he murmured. My hands trembled as I did, and when the cold band of the collar touched my throat, I held my breath until the clasp locked into place. Then, he stepped back, turned away, and ordered, “Follow me.”

He hadn’t told me to get up, so I crawled behind him on my hands and knees, the jacket falling from my back, leaving me exposed. He paused and turned, leaning down to run his fingertips from the small of my back over the round curve of my ass, following the line of my thong as it slipped between my cheeks.

“You dropped something,” he said. “Go and pick it up.”

I rose onto my knees, and he made an admonishing noise.

“I didn’t tell you to use your hands.”

Oh my sweet fuck, he was going to make me carry his jacket with my
mouth
. It was so perverted and degrading. I squeezed my thighs together and stifled a moan at the anticipation that weighed heavy in my pelvis. When I turned, he got a good look at my ass in my thong. I could feel his stare and practically feel the need radiating from him.

One of the things I find amusing about Dominance and submission is, no matter how much power Neil has over me, I hold his desire in the palm of my hand. While he got off on controlling me, ultimately, he wanted to fuck me. He wasn’t good at denying himself sexual pleasure. He’d only punished me by withholding intercourse a handful of times, and both of those punishments had turned into rewards when he gave in and took me up against a wall or bent over some piece of furniture in the middle of the next day.

Tugging the jacket along with my teeth was tricky business. If I placed a hand or a knee wrong, I pulled the coat from my mouth and, with it, a trickle of humiliating drool. I wondered if it was such a great idea to be smearing saliva, makeup, and floor all over a very expensive tuxedo jacket, but it wasn’t my place to say. Besides, I didn’t want to stop.

Neil led me into the bedroom and halted at the end of the impossibly huge canopy bed. I still held the jacket in my teeth, and he leaned down to take it from me, brushing his fingertips across my cheek. “Good girl. Your knees must be aching by now.”

“They are, Sir.” Though I hadn’t realized the extent of my discomfort until he’d mentioned it.

“Stand up.” He offered me his hand, and I took it. The warmth of his palm against mine made me long for his touch, to have him pressed to me, bare skin to bare skin. The contact was too achingly brief. He released me and went to the head of the bed, took one of the plush cushions,then tossed it unceremoniously on the floor. He snapped his fingers and pointed to it. “That should help ease the pain.”

I dropped to my knees, breathless, and licked my lips as Sir stood in front of me with his hand on his fly. He unzipped with one hand and caught my wrist with the other. He guided my fingers inside his pants, to curl around his hardening length.

“You want to suck my cock.” It wasn’t an order. It was plainspoken truth. “I can hear you begging silently with every breath.”

The flesh beneath my fingers grew firmer.

“Beg me, Sophie. Out loud.” He pushed my hand away and parted his fly, pulling his penis from his boxer briefs. He held it in front of my face with one hand, the head tantalizingly close. He had to feel my rushed breathing against his skin. He had to know that a simple flick of my tongue over my lips would wet us both.

“Beg to suck my cock.”

My body was already pleading with him. My gaze transfixed on the object of my desire, I whispered. “Please, Sir. Please let me suck your cock.”

He took a step back. That simple scrape of his shoe against the marble, the shushing threat of denial, broke me. I threw myself forward, clinging to him, rasping, “Please!”

His laugh held a dark potential that shivered through me. Every time we were together like this, even if we did things we’d done a hundred times before, it felt like something new and dangerous.

“I was only teasing,” he said, sinking his hands in the hair at the back of my head. He gripped it close to my scalp, pulling without hurting. “You don’t think I would withhold on our wedding night?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” My lips were so close to the head of his cock that my lips brushed it when I spoke.

He tightened his grasp on my hair and forced his erection into my mouth. Though not much force was required. I opened, obedient and hungry to please him, and moaned in relief when he hit the back of my throat. He jerked my head back by my hair then slammed me forward again. I gagged and sputtered, and my thighs clenched. I wanted to touch myself so badly, but it wasn’t like I could ask with ten inches of cock rammed down my throat. So, I whimpered and rocked and hoped he would understand my frustrated noises.

And, like the sexual psychic that he is, he ordered, “Touch yourself, Sophie.”

I wriggled my thighs apart and reached eagerly between, rubbing my clit with two fingers while he fucked my face. My throat would be sore in the morning.

He reached down with his free hand to stroke his fingers down my jaw. “Look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so beautiful as you do now.”

My stomach fluttered. I could think of a thousand times I probably looked more beautiful—the exhaustion of our wedding day was certainly not doing anything for my under-eye situation—but I knew exactly how he felt. This wasn’t the most daring we’d ever been together. He wasn’t out to shock me tonight. But everything felt different. The weight of the collar around my neck was nothing compared to the weight of the words inscribed inside it. I truly did belong to him. Now that it was official, I saw that with deeper clarity. I was meant to be with him. From that first, shuddering orgasm he’d given me as I’d lain over his lap in a hotel room eight years ago to the moment we’d stepped into this building, he’d been my Dom. I just hadn’t realized it back then. I hadn’t even consciously known that it was something I would want; I’d just naively asked him to spank me.

Approaching him in that airport had been the first impulsive thing I’d done in my adult life, and it was the best decision I’d ever made.

My fingers sped up, and I gasped around his cock as his thrusts gained speed. My shoulders tensed, and I rose up a bit on my knees. I heard Sir admonish, “Sophie, do
not
come!” but it was far too late to stop. I moaned in relief and dismay. I was never, ever supposed to come without his permission, and definitely not against his direct orders.

He pulled out, and a torrent of drool burbled out of my mouth. I gulped down air and accidentally swallowed spit, coughed, and covered my mouth.

“Are you all right?” Neil asked as he tucked himself away and zipped his fly.

I met his eyes and nodded, dropping the pretense as he had for the moment. “I’m fine.”

“You won’t be when I’m done with you,” he warned. “Stand up.”

Unsteady on my legs, as they had fallen asleep, I was a little slow getting up. He grabbed me and hauled me over to the bed, pushing me off my feet and onto the silk duvet. He grabbed the front of my bra and jerked it hard. I spent major money to get quality lingerie, so it took some force to wreck the hook and eye closures on the back, but the whole thing flew off to land, ruined, on the bed beside me.

I should have specified no ripping tonight. I really liked that bra.

“Take off those panties,” he ordered, and, wanting to preserve them, I moved fast to do as I was told. I pushed them down my legs, and he caught them at my knees, whipping them down the rest of the way and throwing them to the floor.

“Stay put.” The cuffs of his shirt were already unfastened, and he popped each button down his shirtfront one-handed as he gazed down at me. “Did you ask for permission to come?”

“No, Sir.” I watched his hand as it traveled down his chest. Silver and dark curls of hair covered the skin revealed with each undone button.

“Normally, I would say that you deserved some denial-based punishment.” He tossed the shirt to the floor. He kicked his shoes off. “But, in the interest of brevity, I think it will have to be a spanking tonight.”

The low light gleamed on his shoulders, his biceps, his arms. My gaze fell to his hands, his big hands that could grab me and restrain me and dig into my flesh in unbridled possession, and I grew wetter.

He sat beside me on the bed, and I moved to lie over his lap, but he stopped me and slid back to recline on the pillows. “Come here.”

I got to my knees on the bed and crawled toward him. This time, I didn’t presume. I let him position me between his legs, so that I lay back against his chest. He hooked my legs over his and spread them then placed a hand on the inside of each of my thighs.

Oh, a
spanking
. I understood now.

He cupped my mound in one hand, massaging my aroused body with tenderness that mocked the pain he would inflict soon. With one hand tucked between my leg and my body, his thumb spread to stroke over my hipbone. “Who does this belong to?”

“You, Sir.” I wriggled my bottom against him. As far as punishments went, he should have picked one I didn’t like.

Maybe that was the point. It was our wedding night, after all, and he’d said we wouldn’t go hard.

He still tortured me, though, lifting his hand sharply then languidly petting my vulva. Or, raising his palm then letting it fall fast, without ever actually hitting my flesh.

“You’re so jumpy,” he teased. He smoothed his other hand over my pubic bone and pulled back my skin, exposing my clitoris. The air brushing across my skin made me moan, and that’s when he brought his hand down, the tips of his fingers, to slap it.

“Motherfucker!” I screamed, curling up from his chest. I hated such rough, direct contact on my clit, but paradoxically, enjoyed the aftermath. We’d used rubber bands, a flogger, his hand, all sparingly, because it was easy to do too much to such sensitive nerves. His rule, whether we were playing together or I was doing it to myself, was no more than five strikes.

As the stinging pain faded, throbbing pleasure blossomed, and I leaned my head back. If he intended to punish me for the profanity, he would have already. He moved the hand at my mound to my throat, closing over my neck above the collar.

“This is mine,” he growled against my ear, and he slapped me again, hard, across my open, dripping flesh.

“It’s yours, Sir!” I gasped under the pressure on my throat.

Another slap, and I struggled not to close my legs this time. “And every orgasm.” Another slap. “They belong to me, too.”

“Yes! Yes!” I had lost all control now, whipping my head back and forth, scrabbling my pinned feet to find some leverage.

“Who decides when you get off, you filthy little slut?” he demanded.

It was nearly a moot point; the way his stubble brushed my ear and jaw, and his low, wicked voice said such dirty, wonderful things—I could have gone over at another rough word. I cried, “You! You do, Sir!”

“Then, do it again. Come for the man who owns you.” His teeth sank into my shoulder, and his fingers found my clit. It took barely any pressure—just the slightest pinch and roll—and my legs shook, my body bucked. My thighs locked around his hand, but he wouldn’t let me force his fingers away, and I writhed, trembling against him.

When my body relaxed, he eased his hand from between my legs and propped my limp body up to slide from beneath me. I lay against the mound of pillows, breathing heavy, my legs spread, droplets of sweat beading on my brow. He rose from the bed and gazed down, admiring me with open, unabashed desire.

“May I take a picture of you?” He slipped a hand into the pocket of his trousers, adjusting his obvious erection, but in no way disguising it.

I nodded in fervent agreement, but he held up a warning hand. “Don’t move. Not an inch. Not so much as a deep breath. I want to capture exactly this.”

He went to the armoire and retrieved a digital camera. I’d expected him to just use his phone, but I should have known that he wouldn’t have overlooked such an important detail in stocking our special retreat. He stood beside the bed, and I wet my lips, trembling with nerves and excitement. We’d taken plenty of pictures and videos of ourselves in the past. The feeling of vulnerability and exposure was more thrilling than the first drop on a roller coaster, and we loved to look at them later. Maybe we were a little vain, but we looked fantastic fucking each other.

He paused to take me in before framing me in the screen on the back of the camera. He took a long time fiddling with the settings, longer, I thought, than necessary. As in all things, he liked to draw out the suspense. I waited, breathless, and finally, he pushed the button, grinning down at me the whole while. “I want to remember this night forever.” He corrected himself, “I want to remember every night forever, but this one especially.”

“May I offer a suggestion, Sir?” I asked, my fingers flexing, stroking the silk bedspread as though it were my own skin.

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Go ahead.”

The permission to speak freely spiked want through my veins in anticipation of his answer before the question was even spoken. “I could touch myself, and you could make more mementos.”

He leaned his head to one side in mock consideration. “All right, Sophie.”

My hand slid down my chest, between my breasts, skimming the bottom curves of them. He snapped another photo, his eyes darting between the viewfinder and me. I circled the nipple of one breast, wet my fingertip on my tongue, and did it again. I could have teased myself longer, but I gave in and let my fingers travel down my stomach, over the rise of my pubic bone. One fingertip brushed the tip of the hood of my clit, which was swollen and protruding from the slaps Neil had given me. My sore, weary nerves sent conflicting messages to my brain, and in my struggle between feeling too much and wanting to feel so much more, my hand seemed to slip into autopilot. I moaned and tipped my head back on the pillows.