House Call (Hideaway) (7 page)

Even
so, she cried out when he jabbed into her from behind, filling her with a
single, brutal stroke.  

‘No,
no, no, please stop!’

It
wasn’t a safeword, and she didn’t mean it to be. She clenched around him,
vainly attempting to hold him still, to give her body a chance to adjust. He
rammed into her with punishing thrusts, his words harsh and filthy. He should
be tearing her up inside, but he wasn’t, and it hit her that he must have used
lubricant to make this easier for her. Even when he was taking his own pleasure
to the point where she could barely catch a breath, he took care of her.

She
tried to twist and wriggle free, clenching around him, and too soon a blinding
orgasm overtook her even as she fought to free her hands from his unbreakable
grip. She was utterly helpless to do anything but accept the incredible
pleasure he was giving her. She was his, and he was hers; at least, for
tonight. Warm liquid trickled down her legs, but right then, all she cared
about was
more, harder, yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes.

He
slammed into her and groaned out unintelligible words all tangled up with her
name. Violently, he withdrew, pulling a groan from her as his penis dragged
across her sensitive inner walls and left her body.

Her
face burned. ‘I… I think I might have…’

‘I
know you did.’ He was breathing hard, his voice strained, but he rubbed her
back. ‘Aren’t you full of surprises. Tell me the truth; did you do it on
purpose?’

‘I
don’t… Maybe. It felt… I didn’t try to stop it. I couldn’t stop it…’ Oh, God.
That was weird, wasn’t it?

‘It’s
fine. Damn hot, actually. Like you were marking me as yours. Maybe this is
something we’ll explore a little more in the future.’

Explore
more?
Really? Well, like
anything
should surprise
her now.

Suddenly,
her hands were free, and she automatically went to push herself up, but his
hand on the back of her neck stopped her dead. ‘We’re not done. Remember I
said, some things I do for you, some things you do for me?’

‘Yes,
Sir.’

‘Well,
this is for me. Turn your head and look at me.’

She
swallowed, and slowly turned her head, groggy from her orgasm, a little
unnerved by the whole ‘marking’ thing, and somewhat lightheaded from being bent
over. He was still fully erect, his penis jutting aggressively, more engorged
than she’d ever seen it. Her arousal coated the entire length of his penis. Her
fluids were all over him.

Dazed,
she blinked at him. ‘But… you haven’t…’

He
opened a tube of lubricant and slathered his erection. ‘You’re going to need to
be brave, Sam.’

That
was all the warning she got before he parted her buttocks, clamped his hands
onto her hips, and drove his penis halfway in in a single thrust. A despairing,
wanton cry escaped her as he slowly began to pull back, only to push in again.
One more jab, and he was all the way in.

She
struggled to get away, clenching around his cock, forcing him to really use his
strength to hold her.

‘Yes.
Fight me, sweetheart, come on.’

She
did.

There
was a loud crack as his hand connected hard with her ass. She sobbed with the
pain and the rush of want and adrenalin that followed. Her body went rigid
against the blows that followed, her muscles gripping him tight.  She
winced as his fingers dug bruisingly hard into her hips as he restrained and
penetrated her over and over.

She
couldn’t lunge forward to make his cock fall out of her; she couldn’t push back
to catch him off balance. She could do nothing but surrender as he took her
anally, filling her completely, body and mind. It was immediately obvious that
for her own safety, and if she was to have any chance of enjoying this as well,
she had to will herself to relax, to take everything he gave her and not fight
him.

It
was hard, though; every thrust brought her to the edge of panic and pain, but
not quite over the line. Fear heightened every sensation, however good or bad.

‘Stop,
please stop,’ she moaned, discomfort keeping her orgasm out of reach.

‘Quiet!’
he snapped, and her sex spasmed in response, even as her inner feminist
exploded, and she redoubled her effort to get free, to punish him for that.

‘Don’t
you tell me to –
oh, God!’

His
hand slid from her shoulder blade down to her left breast. He found her nipple
and pinched it hard. At the same time, he did some twisty thing with his hips,
and suddenly pain turned to pleasure. An almost inhuman noise escaped her in a
rush.

‘That’s
better,’ he growled.

So
he’d baited her on purpose. She grabbed a cushion and buried her face in it as
he continued to thrust. She wished the walls were soundproofed so that she
could make as much noise as she longed to.

He
rammed her forward into the sofa. His thrusts were hard, fast, uncompromising.

Shallow.
Deep. Shallow again. Fast, slow; he kept her on edge, kept her straining for
more.

Suddenly,
he sped up. Rapid, brutal strokes drove every thought from her mind. All she
knew was pleasure.

She
momentarily lost her sense of self, soaring through a white explosion of bliss.
The release was incredible. She felt him pulse, and heard his long, ecstatic
groan, ejaculating hard and deep in her body as he alternated the speed and
depth of his thrusts, forcing her into an orgasm of almost unbearable
intensity.

He
showed no mercy, his hard, jabbing thrusts taking her through the pleasure and
out the other side. Only when she whimpered, on the verge of fainting, did he
begin to ease up. She closed her eyes and let herself drift. Dimly, she was
aware of one powerful arm hugging her around her middle, the other taking some
of his weight off her.

Too
soon, he straightened up and slowly, gently, pulled his penis from her.

‘No,’
she said, weakly, wanting nothing more than to have him back inside her. He
inspected his penis, presumably checking for any blood from her, then disposed
of the condom. He helped her up, whispering comfort, and scooped her into his
arms. He was strong.

He
set her down on the sofa, where she drew her legs up underneath her, and leaned
against the armrest, taking pressure off of some sensitive areas. He sat down beside
her, and checked her pulse and pupils.

‘I’m
okay,’ she said.

He
nodded. ‘Stay there, I’m going to get us some water.’ He went into the kitchen
and filled two glass. ‘Sip it slowly,’ he said, sitting back down, close enough
to catch her if she passed out.

He
watched her as she drank. ‘Are you all right? I don’t mean just physically. Was
it too much?’

She
nodded. ‘It was… But I wanted it to be.’

He
smiled, and brushed a hand through her sweaty bangs. ‘So did I.’ He put an arm around
her, and they sipped their water in companionable silence.

‘I’m
going to have to get this sofa cleaned,’ she said.

‘Might
be an idea.’

‘I’d
like to get myself clean, too.’

‘We
can do that.’

Eventually,
they felt ready to move again. He helped her to her feet, and carried her to
the bathroom. Even in the shower, he didn’t release her, but joined her under
the refreshing spray for the second time that evening. She was beginning to
ache in places she’d never ached before. This time he made no moves, but bathed
her with a surprising tenderness. He washed himself as well. She watched him
openly; it was quite a sight. He turned off the water, towelled her off, and
gave her an affectionate grin as he smoothed down some of her more unruly
hairs.

‘Would
you like me to dry it?’ he said.

She
shook her head. ‘Too tired to stay upright, Sir. It’ll dry by itself.’

He
nodded, rubbing himself vigorously with the towel. ‘All right, then. It’s warm
enough that I don’t think you’ll catch a chill, so come and lay down.’

He
stripped the rubber sheet from her bed, and eased her down onto her stomach.
Quickly, efficiently, he pulled on a glove, lubed his finger, and checked her
sore anus for damage. ‘This will help,’ he said, slipping something cool and
soothing into her overheated passage.

She
was asleep in seconds.

*

Sam
woke some hours later, far into the night. After a few seconds, she registered
a funny, but not unpleasant, smell. She sniffed her wrists and shoulders.
Arnica. Gingerly, she touched her bottom. Arnica there too. He’d pulled a light
cotton sheet over them. The Dom’s large, slumbering form beside her was
comforting. She felt safe, protected, and couldn’t help but wonder what it
would be like to have him there every night. Not just for the mind-blowing sex
– it would kill her to have sex like that
every
night – but as a
companion. He was kind, and well-educated, and – she had to roll her eyes at
herself – incredible at what he did… Would he still do that if he was in a
non-work relationship with her? Some Doms did, she knew. Others became
monogamous. She guessed it depended on the relationship. He was funny when he
wanted to be, and he could cook
way
better than she could…

And
he was stirring beside her, his brows drawn tight, his breathing a little
ragged. He appeared to be in the throes of a nightmare. She wasn’t sure what to
do. Were Doms different from other people when it came to this sort of thing?
Was she allowed to comfort him? Would he be angry, or embarrassed? Would it
qualify as some terrible breach of protocol? Wouldn’t he feel he’d made himself
vulnerable enough just by sleeping in her bed?

‘Shh.
It’s okay,’ she whispered. Tentatively, she reached up and brushed a hand over
his forehead, through his tousled hair, and was a little surprised when he nuzzled
into her touch. He muttered something unintelligible, and all she wanted to do
was comfort him.

Okay
then… Still half asleep herself, she didn’t quite know why she did what she did
next, but acted on instinct. She moved up a little, and edged closer to him.
She pushed the sheet down, baring her breast. She cupped it, and pressed her
nipple to his lips.

He
didn’t even open his eyes, but latched on and smiled, the lines in his forehead
smoothing. Whether he was awake at all, she couldn’t tell. She wriggled a
little, and got more comfortable, draping her arm over his side.

‘Thank
you,’ he said around her breast, his voice growly and rough with sleep.

She
smiled, lightly massaging the base of his skull with her fingertips. ‘You’re
very welcome.’

He
moaned softly. ‘That feels
so
good.’

‘Yes,
it does,’ she said. ‘I know you mean the head massage, but I love it when you
nurse from me, Sir.’

‘I
love to do it. I love
this
. What we’re doing here,’ he said.

Warmth
spread through her. ‘So do I.’

He
held her to him, and gently, sleepily, he suckled her.

Her
eyes filled with tears, even as her body throbbed, wanting to take him inside,
drawing his essence as he was doing to her. But this connection felt like more
than the kind of sex she’d had to make appointments for. She could only hope
she wasn’t deluding herself. After all, it was his business to make women feel
comfortable with him, to be attentive to them, and to satisfy needs that half
the time, they probably hadn’t even realized they
had
.

She
didn’t
think
that was what was happening here.

This
was different.

Terrifying.

And
not. There was a
rightness
to this that countered every rational
argument against it. She didn’t move for fear of waking him, of breaking the
spell. Somehow this was the most intimate they had ever been.

‘Sam?’

His
sleep-slow voice reined in her spiralling thoughts. He was looking up at her,
his eyes warm, his expression half amused, and half concerned.

He
reached up and wiped her tears away. ‘You’re crying.’

She
shook her head. ‘Not in a bad way.’

His
eyes searched hers. ‘What do you need, sweetheart?’

‘I
need you inside me. Please. Not rough this time. Just…’

He
nodded. ‘Just you and me, Sammy.’

He
cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her, slow and deep. This too, felt different.
He took her mouth with sensuous tenderness, and after a while his hand drifted
further south. He drew her right leg up over his thigh so that he could reach
between them to gently press a finger between her labia. He rubbed her clit,
and pushed down further to slip his middle finger into her sex.

She
moaned, flexing her hips against his hand.

He
smiled against her mouth. ‘That’s right. Just relax, sweetheart. I’m going to
take good care of you.’