She rattles off a list of typical hard limits, giving me a sultry smile when she’s finished. “I’m open to anything else,” she says, swaying closer to me. “My safe word ismountain.”
“A fan of hiking?” I ask with a smirk as I try to push all thoughts of Saoirse out of my head—the way she’d reacted when I’d taken her up to the private room in London, her nervousness mixed with arousal, the way she’d reacted to me anyway, her body hungry for my touch. Hungry for pleasure that she didn’t even fully understand.
“One of my many hobbies.” The woman finishes her drink, setting the glass aside on a small table. “I’d be happy to demonstrate a few of the others.”
I hold up my left hand so she can see the gold band, and she winces slightly.
“You’re married? Does your wife know you’re here?” It’s the first hesitation I’ve seen from her.
“Yes. And no. We have an arrangement. One that shouldn’t matter much to you since I have a one-night policy.” My voice deepens, taking on a stern note, and from the sudden flush to the woman’s skin and the change in her stance, I can tell instantly that she’s a practiced submissive. “I won’t be fucking you tonight. But we can enjoy—other things.” I let my gaze rake over her, forcing myself not to compare her gorgeous body to Saoirse’s. “Turn around,” I tell her sharply. “Raise your hands over your head.”
She obeys instantly, turning and raising her hands as I reach for the pair of shackles hanging from the ceiling. When I lock them around her wrists, she shivers, the cuffs giving her just enough leverage to stay on the balls of her feet. My hand drifts down her side to her waist, and I feel my cock stiffening with familiar desire.
I have a gorgeous woman bound and at my whim, eager to take anything I want to give her. I shouldn’t think of Saoirse, a woman with whom I’ve done almost nothing but fight and trade angry, cutting words with, except for when we’re fucking or have worn ourselves out. I should be thinking only of the way this woman shudders with anticipation as I yank her skirt up over her round ass, the heat of her soft thighs as I drag her panties down, the scent of her arousal filling my nose. The way she looks over her shoulder, full red lips parted, as I go to the stocked cabinet and take out a leather flogger.
The way her back arches as I step behind her, whip in hand, and bring it down on her luscious ass.
It should be the setup for a perfect night. She shudders and moans and cries out with every crack of the whip over her ass and thighs, legs spreading, arousal glistening on her pussy and inner thighs. She jerks and arches until my cock is rock hard with the nearly pornographic sight, the scent of sex filling the air, and as the flogger comes down on her striped and reddened skin for the twentieth time, she screams and writhes in her cuffs as a powerful orgasm rocks her entire body, without my ever having touched her beyond the strokes of the whip.
Fuck.I’m so fucking hard. I toss the whip aside, reaching for the cuffs in a daze. I’m already thinking ahead to what’s next, ordering her to her knees, her manicured hands pulling out my cock, those red lips stretched around it until I empty my aching balls down her throat. But when I let her down and watch her stagger backward, breathless and red-faced, eyes glazed with pleasure, all I can think about is that I want it to be Saoirse. I don’t want this woman’s hands on me, her mouth on my cock. I want to relive that night when Saoirse sucked me off for the first time, her first cock, and I don’t want to touch this woman, either. I want her gone.
I want my wife.
“Out,” I grind out between my teeth. “You got yours. I’m done.”
She flinches, looking hurt. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I bite back the rest of the words. She doesn’t deserve for me to be cruel to her, no matter how frustrated and angry I am. “It’s not you. But I don’t want to do this. Please, leave.”
“O-okay.” She still looks uncertain, but she fixes her clothes quickly, casting another confused look at me before she leaves the room, closing the door a bit harder than necessary behind her.
I barely wait for her to shut it before I’m fumbling with the fly of my pants, desperate to get my cock out. It’s so hard it’s painful, the memory of Saoirse’s inexperienced lips on me, the look on her face as she swallowed cum for the first time, getting me close to the edge before I’ve even touched myself. My shaft is straining as I jerk it free, hot and throbbing against my palm, and I grip the edge of the nearest table as I stroke it hard and fast, groaning with the desperate need to come.
But it’s not enough.
I don’t want to jerk off. I want Saoirse. I want her mouth, her hands, her body. I want her lips around me, her pussy clenching my cock as I plunge into her. I want to hear her cries of pleasure as I wring orgasm after orgasm out of her just because Ican.
I want all of her. I don’t ever want any other fucking man to touch her. I want her to bemine, and I can’t stop.
I’ve been fighting it ever since she came to London. I tried to fuck Amy, I tried to make a bargain with Saoirse, I let that stripper give me a lap dance on my birthday, I tried to play with the woman tonight, whose name I didn’t even ask. But it’s not enough.
Nothing is except Saoirse. And I can’t fight it anymore.
I let out a pained sound that’s nearly a growl, my hips thrusting forward as I fuck my fist in a desperate attempt to come, but I can’t. It’s not what I want, not what Ineed, and I feel like I’m going insane. I feel as ifshe’sdriving me insane, and I can’t pretend anymore that it’s just the novelty of her.
I’ve been fucking her too long for that. I’d told myself in the beginning that the desire would wear off, that it was just her newness, the novelty of fucking a virgin, of having a wife. The primal urge to get her pregnant. The freedom to fuck her any way I pleased. I made up a dozen excuses, but in the end, here and now, I can’t pretend that it’s anything other than the simple fact that I’ve been avoiding for far too long.
I need my wife.
I need Saoirse. Iwanther. And that’s not the only thing I need.
I shove my aching cock back into my pants, gritting my teeth as I force my erection back behind my zipper, and stride out of the room, locking it behind me and shoving the key fob in my pocket. I grit my teeth against the insistent, painful throb of my arousal as I pinpoint Viktor again by the bar, stalking towards him purposefully.
He catches sight of me as he finishes his vodka, eyes widening a little as he takes in the look on my face. “Connor? Is everything alright? What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” I grit out. “But we need to talk.”
He frowns, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”