Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel (41 page)

“Is that what you want to experience right now?” He posed the question seriously.

She shook her head. “I guess I was just curious if that would make you antsy.”

“Who’s in control has nothing to do with clothes. Not for this. Answer the question, Julie. Are you wanting to top right now?”

“No. Definitely no.”

“Then don’t ask me questions to test that. It means you’re feeling nervous. Follow my directions, trust me, and let that go. I’ll take us both where we want to be.”

“Okay.” As always during this, he spoke without irritation. He wasn’t angry with her, just laying down clear rules of engagement. “Question, though. What would you do if I didn’t follow directions on purpose, specifically to test you?”

“Bratting?” His eyes gleamed in a way that caused erotic flutters. “I’d put you on the ground and hogtie you, and I’d attach the rope to a hook so your knees were off the floor and you’d feel the strain. You’d get hot and wet over it, but you’d also have to apologize to me for trying to run things before I let that tension loose.”

“Oh,” she said faintly. “Good to know.”

“Shirt?” he reminded her, eyes sweeping over her breasts straining against the fabric of the T-shirt. “Though seeing your nipples get bigger and stiffer under there is a pleasure, that’s another man’s shirt, and I want it off.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t even thought of it that way. “It’s one Thomas loaned me when I was visiting him and Marcus in North Carolina. It’s his family’s hardware store. He said I could keep it. It reminded me of my visits there when I was back in New York.”

Initially, she’d liked it because it smelled like Thomas, a reinforcement of that reassuring, platonic crush she had on both him and Marcus, her surrogate family and best friends. Something way too hard to explain right now, when the only scent and touch she wanted were from the man in front of her.

Pulling off the shirt, she set it aside. He brought her closer again with a look and caressed her breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb. Then he let her go to detach the pump and open his jeans. He left them that way—a provocative look since there was nothing under them— as he fished a piece of medical tape and the cap for the cannula out of his pocket. He’d started to carry those two things there regularly, so that when they wanted to be intimate he could quickly cap the line and tape it against his body where it wouldn’t distract either of them any more than necessary. It was little different from the pause for a condom, but she was very glad they didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

That taken care of, he pushed the jeans off his bare ass.

He was temptingly erect, but he took control again, continuing to instruct her on how to tie him in the rope. She gave herself the indulgence of caressing his testicles and brushing his cock frequently as he had her run the two ropes between his legs, leaving a fist width of slack beneath his balls.

“It will draw up as we continue. Now let’s do the diamonds.”

She thought how it worked was cool, passing the rope under the bight, as he called it, at the back of his neck, and bringing the ends under either of his arms to thread them between the double strands in front. As she pulled those two strands apart, it created a diamond pattern between the first two knots. Another wrap around back, and then back to the front, creating another diamond, all the way down his upper torso.

He had his head tilted, watching her. On a whim, she let go of the rope to pull the band loose holding his hair and threaded her hands through it, spreading it out on his bare shoulders. He nuzzled her cheek and she closed her eyes, rubbing her cheek in his hair, against his face, showing affection the way animals did, conveying feelings without words. The motion denoted trust, intimacy, connection. He rubbed his sandpaper jaw against her, and she giggled, pushing him away with her nose, but she let her lips caress his throat before returning to the tying.

When she reached his cock and testicles and created a wider diamond that framed them, the horizontal lines running over his hip bones, she caressed his erect shaft, and ensured the lines running between his legs weren’t pinching. He was right. As she’d created the diamond pattern, the slack in the rope had disappeared. She guided the doubled strand between his buttocks, letting her fingers play there, her other palm sliding along his lower back, up to the layers of muscle covering his ribs. Her fingertips traced the bumps of his spine. The man didn’t have a spare ounce on him. Maybe she needed to consider the roofer diet plan, since she liked food so much.

He directed her on how to tie the form off in the crisscross pattern she’d created on his back. She still had some rope left, but he agreed without words on a momentary break, so she could lean full against him, feeling that network of rope press against breasts and nipples, her abdomen against his buttocks. She let her hand roam over him in front, exploring the harness she’d created. She closed her eyes, savoring that powerful connection, just as he’d described, and understanding why the act itself could be as powerful for a sub as for a Dom.

He put his hands over hers, increasing the sense of joining. She dragged her lips over his back. Overwhelmed was the word that so often came to mind when she was with him, but it was like being in a boat alone but not afraid, drifting in the midst of a big, powerful ocean. An ocean she didn’t fear because she belonged to those waters. She could sink deep, deep down in them and never be lost or forgotten, merely held, rocked. Weightless, unbound by anything but the water itself, a hold she never wanted to escape. She slid around to his front, and found his eyes on her.

“Let’s take care of the rest of the rope, all right?”

He directed her on how to draw the strands up his back and forward again, then create a network of rope that framed his shoulders, biceps, elbows and wrists. The excess she wrapped over his hands like an open glove. Every placement of the rope highlighted that part of his body, and she understood what he’d meant, about how rope tying emphasized curves and the molding of flesh. The isolating quality of the rope made her look at his many parts as unique treasures, as well as part of the whole.

She trailed her fingers over his arms and the wraps of rope over his knuckles, before she stepped back to look at her handiwork. Diamond patterns covered his chest and abdomen, while small twists and stopper knots followed the line between his chest wall and collar bone out to the round part of his shoulders. The additional rope framed his strong arms in the lattice design like he’d done on her legs at the party, ending with the triple wraps over his callused hands. Her gaze slid down to the diamond of rope framing his erect cock. Yes, she’d say he’d fully recovered from their ordeal at the theater. He seemed to be having a thrillingly virile post-trauma response to her being threatened.

Her reaction was equally primal. She wanted to go to her knees, take him in her mouth, and he saw it. “You’ll be doing that,” he said with dark pleasure. “But first, it’s your turn. Put your arms above your head and bend your elbows so your hands are at the base of your neck. I’m going to do a two-hand tie behind your head. Curl your fingers up in a half fist facing each other. Not interlaced. Just put the knuckles against each other.”

She did that under his appreciative gaze as her breasts lifted and her rib cage tilted. He went to his table and brought back another coil of rope. As he shook it out, he moved behind her. Her gaze drank in the sight of him moving in that net of rope, the way it slid along his firm flesh and rippling muscles, the framing of his erect cock.

His hands on her were caressing but swift, conveying a male demand and urgency. She felt that urgency, too. She’d never get tired of the tide of feeling—sexual, soothing, exciting, emotional—when he tied her.

He put three wraps beneath her breasts, and used them to anchor the wrist tie that kept her elbows by her ears and pointed toward the ceiling. Her half clasped hands were resting at the base of her neck. Returning to her front, he hooked his fingers in the wrap beneath her upward tilted breasts, displayed for his hot male pleasure.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

His hold steadied her descent and, once she was there, he didn’t waste any time. He fed his cock between her parted lips.

He was demanding, strength fully restored, and she got helplessly hotter and wetter. He’d run the excess rope between her legs, so one knot was pressed up against her clit and two big, thick ones were pushed between her labia, the final ones forming an inescapable friction against her rim. They all rubbed her as he worked his cock in her mouth.

She looked up at him. The rope she tied on him flexed with his movements, which meant he was feeling friction against his flesh from that harness, just as she felt it on her sensitive skin.

As their eyes locked, she couldn’t look away. She was on her knees to him, her mouth stretched by his cock, the picture of total subjugation. She was all his, at his command, but she could tell he cherished and valued that more than the greatest treasure. His obvious desire spiked in a way that only triggered and heightened a thousand similar responses in her. She sucked, nipped and dragged tongue and lips over him. She worshipped his cock, his maleness, everything about him. He was her center, too.

She took him deeper as his thrusts increased, swallowing convulsively to control her gag reflex. She wanted him to be cruel, because he would always reinforce that with tender care. He was the sadistic and protective Dom who brought together the two conflicting things she’d always craved. Up until him, she’d ever only succeeded in finding men who possessed the cruelty, not the care that was supposed to balance it, bringing things full circle within the spectrum of her deepest needs.

He clasped her hair and drew her off of him, despite her moan of protest.

“Drop your head back and close your eyes,” he commanded, framing her jaw, the heel of his hand against her pulsing throat.

Shuddering from what she knew he was about to do, because she saw him grip his cock with the other hand, she obeyed.

Her pulse was crashing, her heart pounding. Her thigh muscles strained from the position and yet she lifted herself even more, presenting her upper torso as his canvas.

He grunted, his hand shifting to clasp her shoulder in a bruising grip that also held her up, giving her something to counterbalance her bowed body. As he began to release, the hot semen splashed against her breasts, throat, over navel and mons. Even in the midst of climax he was spreading that marking over her deliberately, a branding that had her cunt spasming from the possessive act.

The friction of the knots was an unbearable torment with all the other stimulation, her climax as close—and as far away—as her Master’s command.

“Please,” she begged as he finished. She knew he was staring at his handiwork with lust-filled eyes. He knelt before her, curled his hand around her hair and tipped her head back farther, a mute command to open her eyes and meet his demanding gaze. He cupped her breasts, stroking his release into her skin, using the friction of the ropes wrapped over his hands in clever ways as she made whimpering pleas before his unrelenting stare.

Then his hand dipped and he clasped the rope above the knot over her clitoris. He began to pull on it in tiny movements.

“Ssshhh,” he said, gazing into her feverish eyes. “Feel that, love? All that power and response at my fingertips. You’re like a star about to explode, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Please…”

“Sssh…just feel… You want to please me, don’t you?”

She nodded vigorously, and groaned as he sent another jagged shard of pleasure through her. “All right, then. Come, but let it come slow. Work with my fingers, and don’t you look away from my face. I want to see every helpless look of suffering in your gorgeous eyes.”

It rolled up just as he dictated it. In some distant part of her mind, it confounded her that her body’s instincts would comply and obey him as unquestionably as her spinning mind did. A long, low cry split from her lips as she became rigid, her back a crescent against his grip. The climax that started at her clit connected to all those knots, to all the lines caging her body, the ropes, the nerve endings, his touch, his eyes, and she was lost in that ocean forever. She went down willingly in a swirling, somersaulting whirlpool that overtook her and turned cries into long, straining screams, especially as his fingers joined the knots in manipulating her flesh, catapulting her to a whole other level. It went up even higher as he pushed his fingers inside her, filling her, filling her so thick…but not thick enough…

“You,” she gasped. “Please…you inside me. Please. Master.”

She was falling, tumbling down the crest. She didn’t need him inside her to complete the orgasm. She needed him to complete the feeling, make it whole and perfect.

God bless his understanding and his expertise, because the former had him responding immediately, and the latter made short work of loosening the rope between her legs and getting it out of the way. When he sheathed himself, he’d become erect enough again she felt the stretch of her body to accept him. She was an ocean herself, capable of pulling him in without resistance. Once there, she clamped down on him, squeezing him all the way to the hilt.

She moaned, replete. Since her wrists were bound yet no longer held to her back, she put them over his head and dropped them over his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh. She was never letting go. They would swirl through the ocean together.

She could think of nothing better than being lost at sea with him.

“
I
t’s
9 ½ Weeks
, if they’d done it the right way. You know, where a BDSM relationship is exciting, thrilling and healthy, not a spiral into a self-destructive loss of identity. As she wrestles with who she is, we keep the mystery element to him… Oh God, I’m just babbling. Do you think the cast liked it? Do you think the first read-through went well the other night?”

“Lila, I loved it, they loved it. Billie’s here today and has skimmed it. He said he’d clear his schedule to be the torch singer in the night club scene.”

“No way.” Lila hugged her script to her like it was her baby, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

“It’s going to be like
Magic Mike XXL
,” Julie said, beaming at the writer. “They fucked up the first one and they did the second one right. This is fabulous. The BDSM club scene is going to be spectacular. Brace yourself. Harris is friends with the lead singer of Mercury Rising, a really popular rock club band here.” Julie added that, since Lila was from Asheville and might not be familiar with the music scene in Charlotte. “He thinks they’d be interested in doing a cover of ‘Hurts So Good’ as a live music performance during that part. If they agree, it’s going to pump up the awesomeness.”

And bring in even more mainstream people to check out the theater, which had delighted Madison. It hadn’t been bad news to Julie, either.

“Oh my God.” Lila closed her eyes. “I know I’m being an idiot, but I still can’t believe you’re going to do my play. I figured when I first handed Madison the finished thing a few weeks back, that would be it. She’d hate it and I’d crawl under a rock forever.”

“Typical artist.” Julie gave her a droll look. “You get two more seconds to indulge your euphoria, then Harris is going to sit you down and hit you with the full reality of directing a play, which is five million details to accomplish in a six-week timeframe. Make sure you have a wig, because you will tear out your hair. Ulcers are possible. You’ll love every moment of it, even as you’re sure you’ve lost your mind.”

“Sounds fabulous,” Lila said with wholly idealistic enthusiasm, making Julie grin. She did love this business.

“One thing we don’t have to worry about is extras for the club scenes. With the exception of one who’s going on a research diving trip to Panama for three months, all of the
Consent
cast are totally on board for that.”

“Terrific. I’m still so thrilled that Master Horn and his sub Cherry Blossom were such a good fit for the leads. When I saw their scene for
Consent
, I was thinking, oh my God, they would be so perfect as my leads, if they have enough acting experience.”

“They handled the read-through well,” Julie agreed. Gavin, or Master Horn, was a little stiff, but she and Harris would work on his acting skills, smooth those out. No one expected Oscar performances from community theater performers, but there were ways to help them be more natural in their roles.

“Harris, can you sit down with her and start getting the logistics put together?”

“You bet.” As Harris escorted Lila to the front row where they had a table and chairs set up, he tossed an amused look over his shoulder at Julie, because Lila continued to gush.

Julie smiled back. It had been a daring move to make their next offering a play by an unpublished and unknown aspiring playwright within the BDSM community, but it fit with Madison’s mission, so it had been put on their limited spring schedule. The community response to
Consent
had suggested that risk was well-founded. Madison had already decided to offer an eight-performance run of Lila’s show. She’d also, surprisingly, received a small handful of P&Rs—picture and resume—from area community theater players willing to give erotic performance a try. Julie had auditioned a couple of them already for secondary cast members in Lila’s play, and they’d been awarded the parts. They’d participated in the read-through with great results.

Julie jumped as a hand closed around her elbow. Billie chuckled. “Why you so nervous, honey-chile?””

Julie made a face. “You know why. Marcus and Thomas are supposed to arrive today.”

“That doesn’t explain
why
you’re nervous. You’ve said they’re your best friends.”

“I know, I know.” Julie sighed. “I guess it’s because they are my best friends, and I’m worried how they and Des will get along. I could say it doesn’t matter, that I can love them all even if they don’t get along, but we all know things like that do matter and can cause major heartburn.”

“Well, I for one am hoping they get along, but not for the reasons you think. This queen has to hit the road and, if it turns into a fine, macho catfight, I’ll miss quite a sight. Muscles flexing, maybe some shirts torn off.” Billie affected a delighted shudder. “Promise you’ll take video if that happens.”

“If that happens, I’ll have a few bigger concerns.”

Billie went to an impressive full-lipped pout. “Just selfish. Always thinking of yourself.” She winked and gave Julie a strong-armed hug. “It’s going to be fine, honey-chile, you know it will. Glad I stopped in today and heard about your little play. Save me a spot to sing my torch song. If that hair band that Harris knows can’t work it out, I can also shed the sequins and don leather and chains to do a rock piece. I do love me some John Cougar.”

“You are a treasure. I wish you could be part of all our shows, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve already done.” Especially since amateur theater meant all-volunteer, and Billie received nothing but Julie’s gratitude for his participation.

“I have to admit, it was far more fun than I expected. I did it initially as a favor for Logan, that gorgeous piece of sadly straight ass, but here forward, I’d do it for you. You call me if you need anything. If my tour schedule allows, I’ll be here. This is going to be a good place, and a great idea. You didn’t know so much about that when you first came, but you know it now. Our community needs good press, a way for people to understand what we’re all about.”

Billie touched her nose in a whimsical way. “Maybe when you’re in between performances, I can call in some friends and we can offer a one-night show to raise funds for the theater. Or for a community charity. That’s always fabulous press, doing something for charity, and it does good, so it’s a win-win.”

“I love that idea. I so wish you could have stayed to meet Marcus and Thomas, but they’re never on time. I…”

She heard a drifting of voices coming from the front foyer and broke off mid-sentence. Her heart tripped up, that nervousness she couldn’t contain, along with a surge of other feelings. Damn, she really had missed Marcus and Thomas. She’d told them to give her space because she leaned on them too much, and she’d been at a low point when she’d come to Charlotte. But that feeling had passed, and she was ready to explode with happiness at the chance to be around them again.

“Oh my God, they’re here.” She squeezed Billie’s hands, catching his amused glance as she started to dash up the aisle. She sounded as giddy as Lila. “Oh.” She stopped, looked back at him. “You should really sit down somewhere.” She glanced at Lily and Harris, who had overheard the last part of the conversation, probably because her voice had gone up two octaves. “You too,” she told Lila. “Marcus… It’s hard to explain, but just trust me. You want to have a chair nearby.”

"He’s gay, right?" Lila said dryly.

"It won’t matter. Believe me."

"Did I hear gay? Did I hear gay? Oh yay!" Billie combined the cheerleader singsong with a little spin.

"Calm down, baby," Julie advised. "Also married and insanely monogamous. He's married to the one coming in with him, who's a pacemaker advisory of his own."

"You are a cruel woman to dash my fantasies before I can even have them," Billie complained. "I would hate you if I didn't also love you."

With a wicked grin, Julie started to trot up the center aisle, but the two men had circled around and were entering from the stage wings. They’d likely received the direction from one of the contractors working on painting and renovating the front foyer.

Julie wasn’t underselling Thomas, who was ruggedly handsome in his own right. His interestingly rough-hewn face, brown hair and eyes reminded her of a young, intense Colin Farrell. When the two men were together, the energy that bound them to one another was downright overwhelming to the senses. But Marcus…

One of the paintings Thomas had recently completed for his gallery showings showed a virile, black haired angel against a night sky. One arm was clasped around the shoulders of a naked man coiled against his lower torso as they spun through the sky together. The angel’s wings were silver, his one visible eye through a thick fall of hair a vivid green. It was somehow the bull’s eye point, the radiant sun center of the painting, around which everything else revolved. He was an avenger, he was Lucifer, he was the promise of punishment and salvation both.

The male twined around him was an Atlas of his race, layered in muscle. The tattoo of the world on his back enhanced the symbolism. He had his face pressed to the angel’s upper abdomen, his parted lips suggesting he was on the verge of tasting divine flesh.

The original painting had auctioned for nearly fifty thousand dollars, and the dozen limited edition prints sold out at eight thousand apiece. A lot of people in the art world knew that. But most didn’t know that angel had been inspired by the man Thomas loved, coming out of the wings with him now.

Marcus’s dark hair fell to his shoulders, his green eyes vivid. Like Desmond, he had a graceful, panther-like way of moving, but he had more mass and muscle. Not as much as Thomas, who was muscular North Carolina farm boy through and through, but enough to give Marcus a dangerous look that wasn’t entirely because of his physical fitness and regular visits to the boxing gym. He wore his usual tailored and designer clothing, which only enhanced that all-there sharpness he had.

His charisma was a ten foot field around him, and Thomas’s aura intertwined with it, increasing the wattage. The easy-going handsome male artist wore faded jeans and a crisp blue fitted button down shirt that had to be a gift from Marcus, because it was upper scale designer wear. Thomas dressed neatly, a good Southern boy, but he could care less what the tag inside the shirt said, as long as it was comfortable and drew Marcus’s attention.

He didn’t have to worry about that. He’d been the center of Marcus’s attention from the very first. Even now, Thomas was charmingly oblivious to his own appeal, though Julie was glad he’d finally realized just how much Marcus needed and loved him.

That silly line, one person completing another, was never as obvious as when she looked at the two of them. Marcus’s dangerous sharpness had had an empty painfulness to it until he’d married Thomas. Whereas Thomas had nearly driven himself into an early grave when he couldn’t find balance between his love for his family and his love of Marcus and his art. They’d helped one another overcome the obstacles and accept the bond that was inevitable between them.

Ironically, it was also part of why she’d finally had to escape from New York, because looking at what she wanted so much for herself every day and nearing forty without it had been too much.

That decision had brought her here, to Des. It was too convenient, too rom-com, so when she looked at it that way, it was petrifying. And that was what scared her about Thomas and Marcus’s visit, wasn’t it? They were the truth-finders. They would know. They could confirm she was the recipient of a miracle, or prove it a lie, and she’d be back to where she’d been before, vowing she’d never go down this road again.

Look how well that resolve had worked.

“It’s so wonderful to see you two idiots.” She ran up the side steps onto the stage and flung herself into their open arms, a three-way hug so welcoming, unexpected tears choked her. Their tight hold suggested the feeling was mutual. She slid back before she completely made an ass of herself, and dashed at the tears.

“Hey.” Thomas caught her face, his thumb passing over her cheek. She thought he was gently admonishing her for her tears, but when he inadvertently pressed on her sore cheekbone, she flinched, and remembered.

“I told you on the phone I had a mishap on the stage. I’m always getting bumps and bruises.”

“You ran face first into a wall on purpose?” Marcus asked, turning her face to study it. “Even for you, that’s a little extreme.”

“Okay, I didn’t lie.” Or rather, it was almost impossible to lie to Marcus when he pinned someone with that don’t-bullshit-me look. “It
was
a mishap. A guy broke in and attacked me, some lowlife jerk who thought BDSM was an excuse to attack women. Des was here and took care of him.”

“Not soon enough,” Thomas said darkly.

“Well, he wasn’t here when it started, but he was here before it went anywhere. That was the important thing.”

She held onto both of them. It said something about how well Des had helped her get over it that she hadn’t even thought about the lingering bruises on her face, but in the face of their concern and barely veiled desire to murder someone, she realized she needed to cover some ground, fast. “Seriously, guys, I’m all good. I’ll tell you the whole story, but it’s thanks to Des I didn’t even think to mention it. Haven’t even had one nightmare.”

They exchanged a look. She caught the light brush of Thomas’s hand over Marcus’s forearm. Thomas would tear apart anyone that hurt her, but he was the one most likely to rein it back first and hear what she was saying. His touch brought Marcus down a couple notches. Still, she made a mental note to make sure no one told them about the Pablo incident. As scathing and scary as Des had been about it, she expected they’d be equal storm centers about that. And Marcus…forget it. Pablo would need a protection detail for the rest of his life.

“We have so much catching up to do,” she said. “About things way better than that. Let me introduce you to some of my other lifesavers.”

She drew them over to Harris and to Lila, who came up the stairs on the other side of the stage to join them. She explained the woman’s new play to them so that Lila was blushing and fluttering, her already elevated pulse rate around Marcus and Thomas probably skyrocketing. Julie knew she shouldn’t take such pleasure in seeing women so unbalanced by the two, but it was one of her small joys in life.