I sucked at her clit through her panties, drenching them. “Do you want me to stop?”
She couldn’t answer with words, but as she shook her head, she curled a fist into her hair and closed her eyes. Dark victory burned through me. I’d wanted this for so long, it felt like years.
Once I had her underwear soaked, I hoped it would feel like no barrier between us at all. I placed my fingers over the crotch of her panties, stretching the lace tight against her skin until I could make out the swollen bulge of her clit, and went to work.
“Saturday night,” I ordered, lashing her with my tongue.
Her moans were a melody of sex, and I brought on her crescendo when I added, “I want to watch you fuck them.”
“Oh my God,” she moaned. She squirmed against my mouth, reminding me of the first time I’d done this, only then I hadn’t been hindered. I needed it. I wanted that for us.
I flicked over the lace, stoking the fire. “And then you’re mine. They only get to fuck you when I say so.”
She sounded panicked. “You’re going to make me come.”
“Because of what I’m doing? Or because you like the sound of that?”
“Yes,” she cried, then gulped down an enormous swallow of air.
It wasn’t clear if she was answering me or encouraging me to push her over the edge, but I assumed it was both. One last stroke of my tongue, and her thighs locked around my ears. She contracted and flinched, jamming a hand in my hair to hold on as the orgasm roared through her body.
Power rolled down my chest, flooding out to my limbs. Making her come was amazing. Perhaps it was good I hadn’t done it that night at the club. I would have been as hopeless as I was now, halfway in love with her.
The only thing stopping me from falling all the way was my guilt over lying to her. It was another reason why I’d asked to meet them. I’d show her how comfortable I was, and when she came clean about the club, so would I. We could have it all. Sex and love, without shame or judgement. Pleasure and commitment, both kinky and vanilla.
I rested my head on her thigh, content just to listen to her soft sighs while she got her shivers under control.
Finally, she lifted her head and peered down at me over the slope of her body. “Give me another minute,” she said, “and I’ll text them.”
-24-
Grant
When Tara’s alarm went off at four a.m., I was already awake. I didn’t move, pretending to sleep as she rolled out of bed and quietly tiptoed across the dark room to her bathroom. The door shut, light glowed from beneath it, and a shower handle squeaked as it was
turned. Water beat against the porcelain tub and gurgled down the drain.
I wasn’t having second thoughts about this evening.
This couple, Silas and Regan, had invited us over for drinks at Regan’s place, and I was looking forward to it . . . mostly. But I was anxious. Tara had said it would be casual because when you started planning specifics, that was when it became tricky and awkward. If things were supposed to happen, they would.
It didn’t matter if Silas and Regan approved of me when it came to her. Tara reminded me of what she’d said before; if she didn’t like a dom’s rules, she’d find a new one. But I still wanted their approval. They had been a significant part of her life for almost a year.
So, while I was sure I wanted to go through with the meeting, this morning I was wishing I hadn’t been so stupid and asked for it the same night as her audition. I’d added more stress to what would already be a stressful day.
Behind the bathroom door, the shower curtain slid across the rod with a metallic jangle.
The longer I lay in her bed, with the sheets that smelled like her, the more my nerves gnawed at me. She said it didn’t matter, but if Silas and Regan disapproved of me, wouldn’t that give her pause? Our connection was strong, but what if theirs was stronger?
I needed to make a good first impression. That should be easy. I’d done it with Tara.
A dark corner of my mind whispered to me. What about the first time?
There was a black ledger in the drawer, less than a foot away from my head, which could answer that. All I had to do was page to the date and read it.
Doing that would be wrong. Looking in her journal was invasive, but the desire to know what she’d written about me was fierce. I was good at controlling her, but terrible at controlling myself. I reached over and tugged the drawer open. It was too dark in the room to make out what was inside, but my phone rested on the nightstand.
I grabbed it, sat up, and flipped on the flashlight app. It cast light across the leather cover of the journal, and I scowled. Part of me had hoped she’d moved it somewhere else, saving me from myself. But, no. It was right there.