WanttoGoPrivate (7 page)

“I know it’s not,” she replied quickly. Chris releasing her
was the last thing she wanted. Realizing that fact told her all she needed to
know. “I’m nervous, okay? And while you’ve made perfect sense that I should be
more comfortable since I know you, it’s still weird.”

His hand brushed her hair to one side and she shuddered as
his thumb grazed the back of her neck.

“I’m nervous too,” he admitted, his breath warm, as his
fingers trailed down the back of her shirt with a featherlight slowness that
had her insides tightening.

“Don’t tell me that,” she said in a worried tone, holding
her breath in anticipation of his hand retracing its path.

“Breathe. Your spine’s a major trigger. I’ll undoubtedly
spend a lot of time there so get used to my touch. Focus on inhaling and
exhaling. As for being nervous, it would be pretty strange if I wasn’t.”

“But still—”

“I like the skirt.” His hands snaked around the front of her
body, resting just below her bellybutton and, without thinking, she moved her
hips backward until she was touching his body.

“Thank y—”

“Are you that much of a horny little slut?”

Isabel gasped, more from his words than the fact he’d
grabbed her hips and thrust her lower body away. “What?”

“Did you somehow forget I asked you to wear all black? Black
dress, no panties.” Grabbing handfuls of her skirt, he inched the material up
her legs until the hem slid over her ass, baring her cheeks to him. “And you
wore a thong. When I specifically said no panties. You know what that means?”

“My underwear matches,” she replied tersely. She didn’t
appreciate his tone, swore she could hear the smile in his words. She wasn’t
there for his amusement. It hadn’t been this way before. He hadn’t acted like a
dick during their chats. If a stereotypical byplay was happening, it was lost
on her.

“I wore this because it looks less funeralesque.” She tilted
her chin upward, causing her hair to cover the upper portion of her back. She
waited for him to meet her gaze in the mirror but he continued to stare at her
ass and her temper rose. “I don’t want to look as if I am in mourning, I want
to look sexy. And I want to
feel
sexy, despite the fact I am a nervous
wreck. And tiny scraps of silky underwear happen to help me with that. So do
little knit skirts and shirts that—”

“Cling to every curve and scream that you’re in a ‘fuck me’
state of mind?”

“Sexy isn’t the same as ‘fuck me’,” she said hotly.

“Who did you want to look sexy for?” he demanded in a low
voice, moving one hand to the small of her back. He pulled the fabric of her
skirt upward until it was tight against her belly while he ran the fingers of
his other hand under the upper edge of her thong.

“Wh-what?” Her breath hitched as his knuckles followed the
thin strip of black satin downward until their path was blocked by the full
spheres of her ass. She tried to concentrate on what he had just asked.

“Did you want to look like sex-on-a-stick for me? Or for
yourself?”

He pressed a little harder and she stopped shifting her
weight as she considered his words, not sure of the correct answer. But did it
really matter?

“Me,” she finally admitted.

“Wrong answer, Isabel.”

She clenched her glutes, certain that part of her body would
be the obvious recipient for her mistake.

“Not for a woman who says she wants to let all her
responsibilities, all the things she has to be in control of, fall by the
wayside. Just for a while. I was under the impression you wanted a full
experience, but one without intercourse. You opting for easy-access dressing
and cock-hardening lingerie convey a different message, and for now, I can work
with that. But we’re going to talk. In depth. Very soon.”

He pushed her skirt until it was bunched around her waist.
He looked up then and met her gaze in the mirror. She’d fucked up. That much
was clear.

“Open,” he ordered softly, tapping the inside of her right
thigh. Seconds ticked by until she slid her boot along the rail, trying to
ignore the unexpected rush of dampness that tickled her folds.

“That’s far enough,” he said, placing a hand on her hip to
stop her. His palm was warm and smooth and she closed her eyes as he massaged
her flesh.

“Everything we talked about online, you were completely
honest, right?”

She thought back. They’d covered so many things. But she
hadn’t lied. She hadn’t been devious in any way.

“Yes. Completely.”

He nodded, not breaking eye contact. “You said you liked the
crop, but not the whip.”

“Correct.” Her heart missed a beat just thinking about the
two implements and her reaction to each.

“And the last time, the Dom toyed with you and teased you
but he didn’t fuck you?”

“No,” she whispered, forcing her gaze to remain stationary.

“But he watched you and your husband. And you had no issue
with that?”

“I didn’t…at that point…I-I just didn’t care.” She closed
her eyes, suddenly feeling every bit the slut he had accused her of being.

“You had already climaxed?”

His hands cradled the outside of her upper legs and his
thumbs caressed the soft underside of her ass cheeks. He moved his palms in
tiny increments so each sweep brought his digits closer and closer to her anus.

“Yes.” She arched her back, tried to slow her breathing.

“Did you come more than once?”

“Yes.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, jumping when he grabbed her leg
and lifted it upward onto the barstool he had quickly repositioned. The faux
leather cushioned her knee, the angle allowing a brush of air to cool her
heated flesh.

“Can you control your orgasm? If I order you to hold back,
not to come, can you do that?”

The scrape of another stool being moved diverted her
attention and a moment later he had her other leg in a similar position, her
pussy effortlessly on display.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never tried,” she said, sucking in a
breath when he caressed her ass with both hands, the whisper-soft designs
causing goose bumps to rise.

“This time, I’ll allow you to keep your eyes closed, but
know that in the future, you’ll watch me. Agreed?”

She shook her head, unable to muster any other response as
his fingers reached the fabric covering her labia.

“This time, you can just focus on my touch. This isn’t the
place to work out any of your fantasies, although I have to tell you, I’m
looking forward to that one we discussed. The one in the dead of night. It’s
hot. Well thought out on your part. Which is what play dates are all about.
Perfectly orchestrated desires.”

He gave her covered pussy three firm little taps and a
shudder rippled through her body, from her toes all the way to her bound wrists
and she clenched her hands into fists.

“You’ll be punished for the error in clothing, though. But
not here. Not perched how you are. Where one solid swat might send you
careening into the tap. Of course, you could just hold on with your hands to
steady yourself. Maybe we should try that? But it’s probably best if I just
focus right here.”

He flicked her clit and Isabel rocked forward, involuntarily
clenching her muscles.

“Your ass, tightened like that, is a delight. I’m going to
look forward to using it in every way possible but not until I fill you first.
Right here.”

He palmed her fully and a tiny moan escaped her lips. The
contact started a throbbing low in her belly and she leaned forward, trying to
press her abdomen against the bar.

“You’re hot, Isabel. And already wet. What are we going to
do about that?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer so she remained quiet and did
as he said. She focused on his hand. His fingers. The way they stroked her
swollen labia in a slow, random pattern that was quickly driving her upward. It
had been too long, that was the only rational explanation for how terribly hot
he was making her. With great skill and a pace so slow she wanted to cry, he
worked his way to her clit, tracing wide circles around the little nub but not
touching it, even when she did the unthinkable and rocked her hips backward so
he was forced to brush it dead-on.

“Isabel,” he warned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gritting her teeth as she tried to
divert her attention. He wanted her to hang on and that wasn’t going to happen
if she kept thinking of how long his fingers were, of how badly she wanted him
to slip one inside her channel and try to find her G-spot. He could, there was
no doubt about that.

He will. And you’ll love it. And come like a crazy woman.

He picked up the tempo and the change in her breathing
seemed thunderous to her ears. She was sure he heard it, knew how important it
was for men of his temperament to be able to read the women they were
mastering. The thought turned her on even more and she failed to stifle a
groan. A second later her thong bit into her leg as he wrenched the fabric to
one side. She held her breath and waited for his fingers. She wanted them
inside her. Wanted her labia stroked. And it was…with the broad flatness of his
tongue.

“Oh my god.” The ties around her wrists didn’t give an inch
when she pulled at them. She wanted free, wanted to reach back and touch him
even though she was aware that wouldn’t happen. Not until he was damn well
ready to release her.

But now, with his tongue flitting from her clit to her dewy
slit and then delving inside, she wanted to reconsider. He was hot on oh so
many levels. In a moment of brief clarity, she wondered why she hadn’t noticed
it before but then the familiar sensation of impending release was upon her. He
was going to let her come, not make her hold back, and it felt delicious.

“Oh my god, Chris.”

And then he was gone.

His hands, his lips, his warm body.

Her head snapped up and she watched him wipe his mouth on
the back of his hand, watched him inhale deeply before lowering his hands to
his hips with an air of finality.

“No,” she cried, shaking her head as the cool air teased her
wet pussy. “You can’t.”

“I can,” he replied, pulling first one stool and then the
other away so her legs dropped. “Every time you disobey. And every time you use
my real name. When I’m dominating you, you’ll call me Sir or nothing at all. I
won’t demand you try Master. But you will show me respect. It’s a lesson easily
learned, Isabel.”

Her limbs were trembling and she remained on her toes but
brought her thighs close together, intent on shifting her hips back and forth
to alleviate some of the pressure.

“Your pussy’s so swollen, that’s not going to work. Even as
sweetly waxed as you are, and I do love that, by the way. It makes the
tormenting so much easier.”

“Let me come.” Her words came out as a growl.

“Uh-uh-uh. No ordering. What type of hierarchy would that
set? You demanding and me giving in? That might work with other men. You’ve got
the looks, the clout, the tight little box. Any guy would happily do whatever
it was you asked of him. But I’m not any man. You know that now.”

Despite the throbbing in her cunt, Isabel was coherent
enough to know what he was about. She could counter his psychological warfare.

“So you’ll feel less of a man by letting me have my way this
first time?”

He stared at her, his eyes stormy, and Isabel pulled on
every reserve of determination not to look away.

“Mmmm. You’re good, I’ll give you that,” he chuckled.
“You’re a smart woman. You know enough about the game that I think you could
easily be a Domme in your own right.”

“Let me go, Chris.” She’d had enough. He could release her
and she knew exactly what she’d do and she thought he’d be okay with it. Had he
not been keeping his cock away from her gyrating body parts, she’d actually
know if he was interested. If he’d kiss her again and let her hitch a leg over
his hip. Let her undo his belt and drop his zipper. Let her—

“Which do you want? Let you come or let you go?”

“Let me go and I’ll make myself come,” she said brazenly.
She was rewarded with the arch of one of his brows.

“Another challenge. You’re really not implementing anything
you’ve learned over the past few days, are you? Submissive means just that.
Even if it’s for ten minutes. You’re submissive for the session. That’s how it
works when you’re not a lifestyler. And you have to know that I’m impervious to
a challenge. It just makes me want to be more of a prick.”

He cupped his hand over her mons, curling his fingers so
they brushed the opening of her vagina while the heel of his hand exerted just
enough pressure above her clit that Isabel thought she might die.

“Because I love that sparkle in your eyes, I’ll compromise.
You stay tied and I’ll let you get yourself off.”

She eyed him suspiciously but didn’t say a word. She’d never
done anything so bold and he had to know that.

“This,” he flexed his wrist and Isabel eagerly pushed her
body against his hand, “is what I’m offering. If you really want to come that
badly, show me.”

His eyes, his tone, the words. They blended together in an
undeniable challenge she knew she should refuse but the throbbing between her
thighs overrode common sense and she moved her hips, attempting various angles
and small rotations until she maneuvered his fingers where they needed to be.

“Right there,” she whispered, closing her eyes to block out
his intent gaze. She’d praise him later for the way his hand remained stiff,
how he didn’t move his fingers one iota while she pressed against them with
increasing speed and force until the fullness that had receded to just below
the surface rose once again.

Her body ached with raw need when her orgasm hit and she
silently rode the waves, only cognizant of the fact he’d moved away from her
and was back around the bar when he grabbed the loop holding her hands
together. She opened her eyes and watched him produce a pair of scissors and
cut the tie that was looped around the tap. Had he not been holding her, she
might have slid to the floor, but he waited until she eased backward onto one
of the stools before removing the other tie and rubbing her wrists. She
blinked, surprised at the knifelike tingles that shot to her fingers and
offered him a tiny smile.