Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1 (6 page)

Right. Pushing all thoughts of awkwardness away, he pulled the shirt up and over his head, throwing it on the couch behind him.

“Very nice,” she purred, closing that last centimeter of space between them, sliding her leather-covered breasts over the light dusting of hair on his chest. He was breathing hard now, looking down between them, watching as the dark cleft bobbed up and down over his skin. He reached a hand out to touch her, but she backed away, wagging a finger at him.

“I said no touching. You’re not allowed to do anything unless I command it, remember? And if you continue to misbehave, I won’t touch you, either,” she admonished, and Warren found himself torn between grinning at how hard she was blushing at her own words and admiring how well she’d delivered the threat and managed to make him want to obey.

“Now lie down on the bed, facedown.”

Wait, what?

The very idea made him feel
too
vulnerable, worrying at his nerves. “But—”

“You have the safeword if you need it.
Lie down
.”

She said it softly but firmly, and it gave him the reassurance he needed to walk to the bed and stretch out, feeling strange amidst these lacy, girly linens, but much more eager to see what she was going to do. And, wow, her plush queen-sized bed was amazingly comfortable. Much nicer than his hard double mattress at home.

“Close your eyes.”

Warren did as he was told. He felt the bed dip, then heard a drawer slide open and shut. He heard her flip a cap on something, then close it up again, and in the next moment, she pressed something cool to the skin between his shoulder blades. His eyes fluttered open. “Shhh,” she reassured him. “Relax. And keep your eyes closed. It will warm up as I rub it in.”

He had been prepared to be bound. He was ready to be teased. He had even considered what it would be like to have her strike him, making him beg for mercy. He’d certainly dreamt about her peeling her clothes off in a slow tease so he could finally see what was under those conservative outfits she usually wore. But he hadn’t been prepared for this gentle, soothing touch.

It was unnerving.

His discomfort must have been obvious in the way he held his body, because while one of her hands began to rub the oil in, the other wrapped around his neck, squeezing gently. Part chokehold, part support.

“Relax, Warren. There’s nothing here for you to do. Nothing to control. You have no other responsibility in this place except to
obey
.”

She kept her grip firm, but not pushing, and slowly, slowly, after what felt like
hours
of being held on his neck while being stroked down his back, over and over, he felt the tension seep from his muscles. And she was patient the entire time, waiting quietly, petting him like something precious, for him to finally acquiesce.

It had been more difficult than he’d imagined. And yet, all he could think of now was how he had needed exactly this.

How had she known?

He sank deeper into the bed, and only then did she let go of his neck, bringing her other hand to join the one massaging his skin. Both hands kneaded over his upper back, rubbed hard over his shoulders and pressed into the tight knots in his neck, for a long stretch, until Warren felt boneless.

At least…up top.

Below, his cock pushed against the mattress, as though all the tension she’d massaged out of his upper body had gathered between his legs.

By the time her hands floated away again, he’d completely lost track of time and was on the verge of sleep. But the sound of the cap clicking open and shut once more brought him more alert, waiting for her to resume her massage.

Except this time, instead of leaning over his body, Beatrice rose onto her knees, swung one boot-covered leg over his back and sank back down, the round curves of her ass coming to rest atop his.

He was so relaxed, so warm and comfortable, that the way she was on top of him, pressing down and pushing into him, made him groan and roll his hips against her mattress. Facedown, surrendering to her…

Fucking hell, this was torture. And it was so good.

She leaned forward and slid her hands over the small of his back, the oil cold again, but the rest of him was so hot by now that the shock of it felt like a relief. Those skilled hands worked their way over him, down to the edge of his jeans, and Warren held his breath when her fingers began tracing the waistband, skimming around to the front of his body, slipping down his stomach to pull at the top button of his fly—

It made him nervous again.

He lifted his head off the bed, wanting to ask her what she was doing, but all that managed to do was make Beatrice’s hand slide
into
his jeans, his cock angled directly into her hand. The shock of her fingers where no woman had touched him in years made his brain shut down and his body take over, thrusting his hips down, hard, pinning her hand on his shaft with the weight of his body, making
her
gasp and try to pull away to no avail. In fact, the way she kept trying to yank her arm out from under him only made her hand slide up and down and her ass bounce atop his, threatening to drive him completely crazy.

And holy damn, the rubbing. The friction. A woman’s hand—
Beatrice’s
hand—on his cock and…
oh God
. It was happening. He was going to come. Too fast and unexpected and incredibly welcome, but not here, not
here
. Despite that she was practically giving him a hand job, no matter how inadvertently, climaxing in front of her would somehow be too intimate.

He surged off the bed, making her roll off of him to one side, and he cast his eyes around wildly for the bathroom. The pressure in his groin was too intense now. The slightest touch, and he’d probably lose it in his pants.

“Bathroom. Where is it?” he managed to grit out, and she thrust her arm toward a door immediately past the sofa. He strode toward it, yanking his zipper open even as he walked. The second he pulled the bathroom door shut behind him, he shoved his boxer briefs down, pulled out his throbbing cock and pumped it hard, once, before his orgasm ripped through him.

Chapter Six

Beatrice sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her bent knees. Warren had been shut inside the bathroom for a while now, so she had unlaced her boots and dropped them on the floor, then settled in to wait for him.

She wasn’t sure how to feel. A part of her was disappointed and worried. Would he want to end this now? It felt like she’d done something wrong, like maybe she should have commanded him to stop moving as soon as her hand touched that hot, hard shaft. She should have told him not to run away to the bathroom.
Commanded
him. Wasn’t that what he’d hired her to do?

Instead, she’d let his embarrassment and her panic at her lack of experience get the better of both of them.

On the other hand…another part of her was
thrilled
. He had felt so good beneath her, all those heavy muscles giving way to her touch. She had lost focus, lost herself in the feel of his body under her hands. Who would have guessed Warren Davis had such soft skin? She had stroked over that skin and watched as the tension in him had eased, as he’d relaxed into the bed, and she’d felt so powerful.

The other day, she’d told Michelle she wanted more from herself. At the time, even she hadn’t been sure what that meant. But now…

Now she knew.

Having mastery over Warren, taking care of him and commanding him—she’d felt more confident with him tonight than she did when she was taking photos.

That was, of course, until he’d jumped away from her as though she’d burned him and raced for the bathroom.

She hadn’t been trying to touch him so intimately. She was only trying to unbutton his jeans and pull them down his hips a bit so they wouldn’t get oil all over them when she massaged lower. But somehow, he had shifted, so his big, hard cock had ended up pushing into her hand, and then he had panicked, and that had made
her
panic, and everything went to hell after that.

Had she reached too far? Wanted too much? It wouldn’t be the first time she let herself get carried away by her imagination, but somehow, it felt like the worst kind of rejection.

This must have been one of the things that Mistress Michelle had been talking about when she’d said Dommes have to own their role. Something that Beatrice had tried to do tonight, and thought she’d executed pretty well up until the end. Still. Watching a few online videos and reading up on being a Domme was very different from actually doing it. Maybe she’d messed it up to the point of no repair.

She sighed. She heard the toilet flush, then the water running, and the door swung open. Warren emerged, looking haggard, and stopped short when he saw her on the bed, as though he’d forgotten where he was for a moment.

He couldn’t meet her eyes.
No. Don’t pull away
, she thought, and suddenly she was seventeen years old again, sitting and working on homework with a boy from school at the
Latte e Miele
coffee shop when Mother had walked in and found them.

Ten minutes later, she had been in the car next to her mother, driving away from the coffee shop and a boy she wasn’t supposed to be studying with.

But it had never occurred to her to stand up for what she
did
want—until a month later, when her parents had told her she would go to a college of their choosing or they wouldn’t pay for it at all.

A moment ago with Warren, she had liked being in control. Yes, it had felt a little uncomfortable at first, but now… How could she go back to the old Beatrice? She’d thought she’d been so brave, leaving home that first time, but that was nothing compared to this.

“Hey.” She echoed her earlier greeting, and Warren still wouldn’t look in her direction, but at least he managed not to scowl at her.

“Hey.” He wasn’t short with her, but something in that single word made her panic, thinking he was about to flee and she would never see him again, not even at Ben and Nina’s. She thought about what Mistress Michelle told her.
We issue commands as though it is a foregone conclusion they will be followed.

Own your role. Own your life.

She didn’t want him to go. She wanted to practice pleasing him until she had it perfect.

Beatrice gathered up every last ounce of courage she had and unfolded her legs in front of her, straightening her spine and looking him in the eye. She rubbed the blanket on the bed, in the space between her legs. “Come sit here.”

Warren gave her a strange look, but after a moment, he walked to the bed slowly, as though he were approaching a half-starved lion while holding a bloody steak. But she didn’t break eye contact, no matter how much she wanted to, and after what felt like an eternity, he finally slid his body between her legs, angling himself sideways so he was half leaning over her.

Oh, thank God.

She wanted to cheer. Instead, she grabbed his waist and turned him away from her, putting his back to her chest, then pulled him backward like he was a marionette and not over six feet of hard-muscled man…which meant he had to be helping her.

He was
helping
. Compliant.

He wanted this.

The thought gave her even more confidence.

“Lean on me,” she told him, and this time she didn’t even have to bite back a
please
.

He did as he was ordered, that broad back pinning her to the headboard of her own bed. She lifted her knees and braced her feet on the bed beside his hips, trying to take his weight without suffocating in the process. Better. So much better.

Until he lifted his arms and rested his hands on her shins and she couldn’t breathe, anyway, from the sheer heady rush of feeling that ripped through her when he touched her. He must have felt her breathing speed up, because his back went rigid and he pulled away from her. “I forgot I’m not supposed to touch you.”

Did you also forget I just had your cock in my hand?

But she didn’t say that. It was obviously an accident, and he was obviously not going to talk about it with her. So instead, she gave a soft laugh. “It’s a minute past eight o’clock. Technically, you’re not paying me anymore. No more role-playing, I mean. Lean back.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, as if he were debating whether he should do as she told or simply get up and leave, but she must have sparked something in him that made him want to continue obeying, because after a little bit, he eased back against her.

She wrapped her arms around his chest and prayed he wouldn’t stiffen up again and try to leave. “You didn’t use the safeword, before.”

It was a statement, but he heard the question in it. She could feel the vibration of his voice through his back, sensitizing her breasts even through the leather of her bustier.

“I didn’t need to.”

Several of the things she’d read, including Mistress Michelle’s book, had said that a Domme needed to trust her sub to use the safeword when it was necessary, to know and express their own limits. Still, it felt strange. After so many years of watching her parents’ faces for any sign of displeasure and running to counter it immediately, before they even said a word, simply accepting Warren’s abrupt departure from the bed earlier felt like it took every ounce of restraint she possessed.

“But you forgot that you should not do anything unless I order you to do it.” She was trying hard to get back the role she’d slipped into at the beginning.

His back tensed. “I would have ruined your sheets.”

The confirmation he had climaxed earlier made her light-headed. Now all she could think of was that strong body in the small space of her bathroom, muscles tensing and jerking as he came.
Oh dear.
She had to swallow hard before she could speak again. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

She’d meant it would have been worth the mess to watch him in the throes of an orgasm, but he laughed. “I don’t think even you could have commanded me to hold that one off.”

Even
you? Did he really see her as that powerful? She’d felt it, but it had been fleeting, that sense of mastery. But if he’d thought she’d done it well enough…

She must have been silent for too long, because he spoke again, this time completely changing the subject.

“Have you ever been to Italy?” Warren’s hands were rubbing up and down her legs now, almost unconsciously, but the measured strokes were still making heat gather between her legs. It felt so good to be touched like that. She forced herself, though, to concentrate on what he’d asked.

“No. I’ve always wanted to go, though. I learned Italian in college because one of my jobs was in an Italian restaurant and the waitstaff was made up primarily of twenty-something boys from Italy. They taught me all the dirty words first, of course, but eventually I picked up other stuff too.” She didn’t add that her other job had been as the assistant in a photography studio, but she’d had to quit because the owner was the first man she’d ever slept with, and it hadn’t turned out well.

Instead, she’d found a position at the help desk on campus and managed to scrape by. Her parents had stayed true to their word not to pay for her to go to a college of
her
choice, but they’d called from time to time, and they even came to her graduation. It wasn’t like they hated her, even if sometimes it felt that way. It was more that they didn’t understand. And they definitely didn’t approve. Now, they called a couple of times a year, made stilted small talk and avoided any questions that might yield answers they wouldn’t like.

But Warren didn’t need to know any of that. There was nothing worse than watching someone’s face change from interest to pity in the blink of an eye.

He shifted on the mattress. “I always wanted to go to Italy. My mom is Italian. Well, Italian blood, anyway.” He sighed.

There was a lot behind that sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever gone?” she asked, unable to stop herself from running her hands up and down his muscled arms.

“Obligations,” was all he said, and she was trying to figure out how to respond to that when he spoke again.

“It’s not just Italy. I’ve always wanted to go all over the place. Even when I was ten years old, I remember wanting to get the hell out of Greenbriar and see the world. But we didn’t have a lot of money, and I knew the only way I was going to go anywhere was if I enlisted in the Army. I figured I’d become a military policeman, since my dad was a cop and his dad was a cop and, well, you get the picture. All the way back to the first Warren Davis, we’ve been cops. But I wanted something at least a little different. Something bigger, I guess.”

She nodded. She definitely understood that feeling.

He took a deep breath. “But then, my senior year of high school, Kelly got pregnant, and that was it. No Italy, no Army.” He shrugged, and his back muscles flexed against her breasts. “Things are better now for her and Nate’s a great kid, but last week Kelly started classes for a college degree that I’m helping to pay for. I’ve also got to be at home for Nate when Kelly has to study and stuff, so Italy will have to wait for another few years, at least.”

So much responsibility. He did everything Michelle had described when she talked about the expectations placed on men.
Doling out advice and justice, having to hide their softer feelings, paying the bills and feeding a family.
Everything her family had expected her to look for in a husband and do none of herself. Beatrice couldn’t resist smoothing a hand over his chest, and she heard him suck in a sharp breath.

The feeling of wiry hair under her fingers made her wonder whether it would tickle her lips if she kissed him there. She got so lost in the fantasy his next words surprised her more for the damper they put on her arousal than for the question itself.

“Why do you need this money?”

There was no judgment in his voice, but she could imagine what he must think. A girl who didn’t even ask what a deal like this would involve before she’d so recklessly offered herself, and who dressed up in revealing clothes for a man in exchange for money?

She’d grown up more or less middle-class, with a few tighter years here and there, but it had been a step up from the way Mother had grown up. Mother’s mother—Nana—lived in the same, run-down home where her mother had grown up. Nana wasn’t like Mother at all. Nana had been a single mom, and from everything Nana had told Beatrice, Mother had rebelled against that by marrying a very conservative man and cleaving to beliefs that were old-fashioned and stifling.

Mother talked to Nana about as often as Mother talked to Beatrice.

Usually, Beatrice didn’t share that information with anyone. It was too humiliating to be disliked by one’s own parents.

But with Warren, it was different. She wanted him to know her.

“My grandmother was diagnosed with nerve sheath tumors a few years ago. They did radiation and chemo and it worked—she’s in remission. But it weakened her legs to the point where she had to start using a wheelchair and couldn’t work anymore. Last year, her doctor told her she needed another PET scan, but she’d been in remission for so long that insurance deemed it unnecessary and slapped her with a seven-thousand-dollar bill. I’ve been helping her to pay it down, but the last thousand dollars has taken longer than I expected.”

She held her breath, waiting for him to ask the next question, wanting to know why her parents weren’t helping out. Being the kind of man who had sacrificed so much for his own family, he was probably wondering why Beatrice’s could be so
selfish
.

Maybe they might have helped, if they’d known. But Nana was too proud and still too hurt by Mother’s rejection to tell her.

But Warren surprised her. Instead of criticizing her fractured family, he ran his hands down to her ankles and squeezed gently. “I know how that goes.”

Yes
, she thought. Of course. He did know what it was like, but he wasn’t vocal about it. At all. He’d never said a negative word about his family, at least not publicly enough that she would have heard about it. He might not be the friendliest guy, but he was respectful. That was one of the reasons why she had come to respect
him
so much over the past year. Even if he never did anything except scowl at her.