Safeword (28 page)

“Home sweet home,” I agreed.

§§§

BEN COULDN’T keep his hands off me in the car, and the feeling was mutual, though I did try to keep from distracting him to the point of causing an accident. We stumbled through the patio door and into the loud beeps of the alarm system. Ben entered the code to shut the damn thing up, and I clung to his back, kissing his nape above his jacket and pulling at the collar to peel it from his shoulders.

“Hang on, Gavin. I need at least one hand free.”

Instead of removing his jacket, I wound my arms around his waist, yanking his shirt from his pants and pushing my palms up his warm, flat stomach. He hissed when I pinched a nipple at the same time I breathed hotly across his ear.

“Hurry up. I need you to fuck me. Hold me down, tie me up, and make me beg.”

The warning beeps finally silenced, and Ben turned in the circle of my arms, kissing me fiercely, a jarring mass of teeth and probing tongue. I whimpered at the onslaught, especially when he gripped the front of my shirt and yanked it open, the shrapnel of my buttons ticking against the hardwood floor in all directions. It remained buttoned around my neck, beneath my tie, which Ben grabbed and used to pull me in for a controlled kiss.

“Tie you up? You think so?”

I nodded, digging into the knot of his tie with desperation until his hands covered mine, stopping me. I returned his intense stare; his eyes were dilated from chocolate brown to near black. Something in my face must have given him a clue on how to proceed, because he pulled my hands down, encircling my wrists with near brutal force. My heart galloped, and a tug to test my immobility sent fire through my nerve endings. Breath whooshed in and out of my lungs, and an immediate need to break free of him overtook me. I fought it, knowing if the need won out, we’d never reach this point again. We stood in our living room, on a precipice of understanding. The way behind was full of doubt and fear, of tiptoeing around each other and letting our past define us. The way forward was treacherous and exhilarating, full of possibility and risk and awakening. I knew which way I wanted us to tip.

With great effort, I relaxed, the tension of the day—no, the last weeks—slinking reluctantly from my muscles. In his hands and at his mercy was the only place I wanted to be. Damn everything else. Defiance, not for him, but for every obstacle we’d faced, shone from my eyes, in the jut of my jaw. I leaned forward slightly, my lips just brushing his as I spoke.

“Tie. Me. Down.”

His expression softened, and his eyes widened to take in all of me, to drink in my desire for him, my willingness to give in to his play. Whatever said play might entail. I knew he wasn’t going to back off then. With Ben, a soft smile was as dangerous as a cane.

“Bedroom. Undress and lie on your back, arms above your head, feet spread.”

He disappeared upstairs to the loft as I scurried to obey, yanking the knot on my tie loose enough to pull it over my head. My torn shirt went into a ball in the corner, and I draped my pants over his reading chair, the jingle of my belt loud in the quiet. Tossing my socks and boxers toward the bathroom laundry hamper, I crawled onto the bed and assumed the position I’d been ordered to adopt, gripping the headboard not only to keep from fidgeting but to calm the shaking in my limbs.

Ben stopped in the doorway, his hands full of purple hemp rope. Emotion marched over his features, ranging from cautious to aroused and everything in between. I watched the war wage on his face and grinned at him, wiggling my hips in invitation. My half-hard dick gave him a jaunty little wave. He shook his head amusedly, approaching the bed to kneel above me, his hands beneath my armpits and his knees bracketing my hips. I gave in to the vulnerability of being wholly naked while he remained fully-clothed, my breath skating out in short bursts of want and nerves.

“Safe words,” he demanded.

“Thunder to stop, rain to slow down, Sir,” I answered immediately.

He knelt up, the long expanse of his torso stretching over my head as he unwound the rope and leaned forward to capture my left wrist. “I’m leaving a loop for you to get free quickly just by tugging it, if necessary. This is non-negotiable. Depending on how you do tonight, we’ll see about doing this again. I will, however, tie your feet. Just because you
can
get free if you have to doesn’t mean I
want
you to. Ready?” He trailed the rope along the underside of my bicep. The gentle scratch of it made my breath hitch.

“Yes, Sir.”

It was simple. Ben didn’t waste time with elaborate knots, though he did crisscross the rope up and down my arm before securing my wrist. He moved to the other arm, then my feet. When the last whisper of rope sliding against itself ceased, he stood back to admire his work, squeezing my toes in a silent question.

The entire process had lasted maybe ten minutes and left me utterly helpless. A testing tug proved my immobility, and the feathery pull of the edges of subspace flickered at me like inviting candlelight, beckoning with its particular tickle.

“Gavin, answer me.” Ben’s voice broke through as he knelt beside me, both hands on my chest. I hadn’t realized he’d spoken.

“Sir?” I didn’t know how to answer a question I hadn’t heard.

“Does anything feel too tight or tingly?”

“Oh, uh… No,” I replied dreamily. “I’m good.”

“Are you already flying?” He asked, surprised and amused.

“Think so. Want this, so much.”

“Wait for me, baby.” He disappeared into the bathroom, though he made sure his reflection stayed in the mirror while he grabbed something. I never lost sight of him. He returned holding the expensive massage oil I’d gotten him for Christmas. It had been meant as a promise against my touch aversion, that someday, his hands on me would be the magic the bottle boasted. We’d come so far in just a few months, from my being just as likely to panic at his touch as be aroused by it. Now, I was tied with real rope, at his mercy, and relaxed enough to touch subspace within minutes. The separation in my mind between Ben’s restraints and Lane’s had finally taken hold. I’d found it again: complete and wholehearted trust.

Ben rolled up his sleeves and undid a couple buttons at his throat. I watched avidly, loving the contrast of his strong arms with the stuffy work clothes. Grinning at me, Ben mussed his hair, something I did every time he rolled up the sleeves of a dress shirt. He was so hot.

“Since you can’t, I’ll take care of your compulsions for you,” he teased.

“Perfect,” I mumbled.

The closer he moved toward the bed, the slower he got, until I was fidgety in the ropes, straining toward him, canting my hips in his direction, bowing my whole body like a sunflower seeking sunlight.

“What, pet?” He asked when I whimpered at him, resting a hand on the bed, inches from my flank. Close enough to feel the heat, but not enough.

“Touch me, please,” I begged. Subspace had receded, so I was no longer passively accepting what would happen but actively needing it.

Ben had other plans.

“Do you feel those ropes, boy?” I nodded, licking my lips, flexing my hips, anything in the hope of enticing him to put a hand on me. “Do you see how little you can move?” Another vigorous nod. “How completely reliant on me you are?”

“Yes, Sir,” I gritted out. “Please.”

“When I’m ready, Gavin,” he said patiently. With steps that could only be described as meandering, he looked at me from every angle. “You are my display, babe. My art. I want to study you.”

He did just that for very long time, murmuring his thoughts periodically. I followed him with my eyes, intent on everything he did, looking for some hint as to when he would want more than to look. My cock had grown achingly full under the scrutiny, every beat of anticipation a throb of blood in my veins. A pearlescent drop of pre-come dropped to my still-smooth belly, pooling near my naval.

He came close, lowered his mouth, and loosed a cooling breath across the moisture, raising goose bumps on my skin. Then he licked it off.

I almost came right there.

“Gavin?” He asked conversationally.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I see how turned on you are just from me watching you. It makes me wonder if I can make you come without touching. With my voice, maybe. But not tonight.” He swooped down and sucked my shaft into his mouth, eliciting a surprised shout from me, a moment of rapturous joy, and then the wet heaven was gone.

“Sir, please, what can I do to earn more? I need more of you, Ben,” I babbled.

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he crawled to hover over me on all fours. “You can relax and let go. Accept that this
is
what I want, and it’s out of your hands. I shouldn’t have to remind you how to surrender.” He said it lovingly, no censure to his gaze whatsoever, but I still felt the sting of the implied reprimand.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You’re the one who wanted to be tied up,” he reminded me.

“I know,” I agreed, chagrined.

“So you’re going to remember or re-learn what exactly you were asking for.”

“Yes, Sir.” It was the perfect contrast to my earlier realization. We may have come a long way in the last couple months, but I still had some things to master all over again.

“You can’t come until and if I decide to let you.”

I nodded, watching him with open desire as he grabbed the massage oil from his nightstand and tossed it onto the bed with a thump.

Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come,
I chanted to myself as he went down on me again, the slide of his mouth propelling me from aroused to close in a second. Lightning ripped up my spine, crackling along my nerves almost spitefully.

“Oh god,” I moaned. “Your mouth. I just can’t….” I trailed off, using every ounce of energy I had to quell my orgasm.

He changed the suction from swift and deep to a slow, strong, sensual pace, and I knew then I was damned. There was no hope. I arched my back in pleasure and fear both, unable to separate the joy from the impending failure to follow his orders. I was going to come. The ropes prevented me from bending my knees or turning in any way to dislodge his mouth.

He was right; I’d asked for this.

The edges of my vision darkened, my heaving pants loud in the almost silence. The only other sounds were the slick suction Ben dragged over my skin and occasional whimpers I didn’t even try to suppress. The lightning spread, heating my arms and legs, my face. A drop of sweat tickled my temple, and my upper lip was damp. Hyper awareness of every sensation overwhelmed me.

Ben stroked the insides of my thighs, and I gave an uncontrolled shout. He pulled off, gripping the base of my cock with vise-like fingers.

“Went too far,” he murmured. Whether he was talking to me or himself, I didn’t know. I pursed my lips and breathed forcefully through them, concentrating on fighting the crest of the wave that threatened to break and drag me under. It took a bit, but the peak receded, leaving me a sweaty, quivering mess.

Ben smiled. “Beautifully done, Gavin. I want to see that again.” I groaned, my eyes rolling back in my head. The cap popping on the massage oil got my attention, and I watched him coat his fingers liberally. Then he upended the bottle and a thin stream of cold liquid licked across my nut sack and up over my dick. Ben was always liberal with the lube, once telling me he enjoyed the squishy symphony of it, but this was ridiculous. I knew better than to question though. This was Ben’s show. Another piece of my submission puzzle slid into place. When his hand encircled me and stroked lightly, I sighed. It was pleasant, and a gentle hum bounced along my nerve endings, a gallivanting leaf playfully skimming a pond, creating wider and wider ripples of heat and want. Lust puddled in my pelvis, and the small ripples became deliberate splashes, all the while, Ben’s hand never tightened, never sped up, never fully gave me what I craved.

He was edging me.

The realization solicited a whimper from my throat. Hours. Never touching me hard enough, never pumping my cock fast enough. At his mercy, unable to move, to seek more, to come unless he allowed. I writhed, my head thrashing from side to side. My voice jumped the ship of my control and rode waves of its own depth and volume. I floated along, sensation carrying me wherever Ben steered.

He never tired, never changed rhythm, and as time passed, he added his voice to the orchestra he conducted with my body. I rose and fell with the torturous pleasure, accepting it and finally embracing it. I’d coast up to orgasm, only to fall back into steady rhythm again. I gave up chasing it. Ben wouldn’t let me succumb anyway.

Firmly buoyed by my subspace, I didn’t register Ben’s words for a moment.

“Was that your first dry orgasm, Gavin?” At one point, he’d inserted a finger into my ass to add stimulation. I was putty in his hands. Looking down my torso, I saw only the sheen of sweat and massage oil. No semen.

“I didn’t shoot,” I protested, knowing I would have been in trouble if I had.

“No, you didn’t ejaculate, but there were muscle spasms in your cock and ass. Did you not feel that?”

I had felt something beyond the numb bliss I’d been enduring, but I had no words for it. It began to creep up on me again, a burn beneath my skin that ebbed and flowed, carrying me along, gathering in my pelvis like a bright pinpoint of light, a star about to go supernova. It gathered weight, and when I didn’t think I could stand it anymore, a giant spasm rocked from the tip of my dick to the base and all through me, my asshole squeezing and releasing on Ben’s fingers. But no semen.

“There it is,” he coaxed. “Like I said. Dry orgasm. Got another one in there?”

The epitome of surrender, I replied, “If you want me to.”

Ben’s eyes shone as he gazed at me. “Actually, I think I want the wet one. You’ve done admirably tonight, Gavin. For two and a half hours, you’ve persisted through this. You’ve earned the privilege of coming.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said wistfully, encased in subspace. As if merely waiting for the instruction from my Dom, I tensed, and with a soul-shaking gasp and shudder, I came, spewing forth pulse after pulse of spunk that slid through Ben’s fingers and splattered my pubic bone. The room whited out on everything.