The Ex (2 page)

“Have you started without me?”

I smiled slowly. I heard Neil’s footsteps and the scrape of glass on the granite tile. The cool, slender stem of a wine glass pressed against the back of my fingers, and I turned my hand to accept it.

“I haven’t started anything, Sir.” I opened my eyes to bat my lashes at him above the rim of the glass. “Would you like me to?”

He stood and went to the dimmer switch on the wall, lowering the lights. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out his phone, flicked the screen a few times, and “La Femme d’Argent” by Air softly slunk over the room. Despite the steam, I had goose bumps. My nipples hardened, only half hidden by the bubbles. Every movement of the water primed me for his touch.

He turned back to me and took a long sip from his own glass. “Touch yourself,” he said finally.

I drained the rest of my glass in one long swallow and held it out for him to take. Then, wetting my lips, I slid my hand below the water.

It had only taken a few deliberate actions, a subtle shift into his role as my Dom, and I was ready for him. He never took his eyes off me as he took another slow drink of his wine. The movement of his throat above the collar of his sweater drew me in, made me acutely aware of his body. I knew every inch of it, had kissed so many parts. He’d learned all of me, too, so I knew he could visualize my fingertips stroking the hood of my clitoris forward and back. I dipped them down and pressed inside, just enough to coat them in the dense slipperiness that felt wetter than the water. I rolled over my clit again and again, my hips rocking in time and starting a little tide in the tub.

His steady gaze spread a fire in me, raging through my body, tightening my skin and tensing my muscles. I didn’t want to close my eyes, but as I drew nearer and nearer to the apex of my pleasure, I had no choice. My breathing changed, and my thighs moved to clamp around my hand as if to prevent my orgasm.

“Stop.”

I shuddered and whimpered, but I pulled my fingers away from my aching clit.

He knelt beside the tub, rolling up one sleeve. His hand glided through the water, sending silken ripples along my tingling skin. He parted my thighs and sought out my pussy, sliding two fingers inside, finding my g-spot. When he pressed up, hard, the way he knew I liked it, my eyes rolled back in my head.

“You have to tell me before you come, Sophie. So, I can stop.”

I writhed in frustration. I’d been so close, and now, without even moving his hand, he had me on the edge again. He circled his fingers slowly, and my cunt clenched around them. “Please let me come, Sir.”

My pleading fell on pitiless ears, as it usually did. He stood and reached for a towel. While he dried his hands, he instructed, “Finish your bath. Edge two more times, and I want you to watch yourself. Then, come to the den.”

He left me in there, listening to the chill sexiness of the music, surrounded by silky, perfumed water, and I wasn’t supposed to come? I could have had an orgasm just remembering his hands on me.

I did as he’d told me. I washed, careful not to get my hair wet or streak my eyeliner. When I was finished, I stepped out of the tub and dried myself. When he’d introduced this new game a few weeks ago, Neil had put a full-length oval looking glass in our bathroom. He’d placed a small, padded stool in front of it, where I dutifully sat and spread my legs wide. Though he’d made me do this several times already, the novelty hadn’t worn off yet. I watched as my fingertips parted my labia, exposing my glistening sex. I kept my eyes there, concentrated on the soft sucking and popping sounds of my dripping, clutching cunt. My nipples stood out as hard peaks, and my back arched as I neared the crest of my release.

I pulled my fingers away with a little “ah!” of frustration. Beads of perspiration stood out on my forehead as I fought my body to stop myself from coming. I held my own gaze as I waited for my nerves to calm, for the danger to pass before I started all over. As I looked into my reflection’s eyes, I concentrated on losing myself in my role.

In our daily lives, Neil and I were equals. In our roles as Dom and sub, I was his property, glad to fulfill his every command. The body under my hands was not mine. The pleasure I felt was his. The sensual torture he inflicted on me was an expression of our love and trust for each other.

I squirmed and gasped toward the next orgasm that wouldn’t happen. Disobeying him was not an option; it wasn’t my decision to make.

The walk to the den was painfully arousing. My clit throbbed, and every step I took threatened to tip me over the edge. I stopped once and braced myself against the wall, desperate to fulfill what seemed like an impossible command from my Sir.

When I entered the den, a fire burned in the natural stone fireplace, and a thick duvet covered the floor in front of the hearth. A few throw pillows were scattered about. Neil stood before the fire, staring down at the flames and toying with the diamond-studded collar in his hands.

“Sir?” I asked, and he pointed to the floor beside him.

I knelt obediently, my eyes cast down, as he closed the platinum circle around my neck. The latch clicked, and the heavy weight settled around my throat.

He pulled his sweater over his head and let it fall to the floor beside me. Then, he turned, the fly of his jeans at my eye-level, and reached for his zipper.

Neil is the largest guy I’ve ever been with. The largest I’ve ever seen, really. When he pulled himself free and pushed the broad head of his cock over my lips, I had to open wide to take it in. With a gentle hand, he pressed on the back of my head until he went so deep he triggered my gag reflex. I breathed through it and opened my throat, swaying obediently as he slowly entered and withdrew. Sucking when I could, I focused on my breathing and the feeling of his pulse fluttering against my tongue.

“Very good, Sophie.” The praise sent a new wave of lust through me. My thighs were coated with cool wetness, and every brush of my breasts against the hair on his thighs sent electric darts through my body.

He pulled free of my mouth and reached down to hook a finger under my chin and tilt my face up. “Would you like me to fuck you?”

I nodded, my breath frozen in my chest. “Yes. Oh, yes, please, Sir.”

“What do you say?”

“Please fuck me, Sir.”

“More.”

“Please fuck me, Sir. Please fill me up with your big cock and fuck me until I come.” I shifted on my knees, pressing my thighs together hard. “Please.”

He nodded. “Go lie down. Spread your legs and play with your clit. I want you to edge one final time.”

“No!” The cry burst from my lips before I could stop myself.

His crooked smile was one of dark, amused intent. “Did you just refuse a command?”

I froze, my hopes crashing to the ground. I would be punished now. I had been so close to coming, to having him inside me.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “And if I find you’ve moved a single muscle when I return, you won’t come tonight.”

He would do it, too. As our Dom/sub relationship had progressed, our limits had broadened. Neil felt more comfortable inflicting punishments on me, as I had proven I could take it.

Of course, all I had to do was use the safeword, and he wouldn’t be my Sir, but my fiancé. And my fiancé would be more than happy to get me off to ease my discomfort. But, more often than not, I found the consequences just tolerable enough that I would accept them to get the treat at the end. Denial was an easy enough torture to withstand when you knew how great it was going to feel when it was over.

So, I didn’t move. He left the room and returned with our wireless wand-style vibrator. My heart rate skyrocketed.

“Since you wanted to come so badly,” he began, parting my legs to settle between them. “I thought I’d let you come.”

He pulled a length of rope and a small set of bandage scissors from his back pocket. He placed the scissors on the edge of the hearth, within reach, and leaned over me to tie my wrists, my hands clasped together between my breasts.

He turned the vibrator on, and my clit jumped eagerly, despite my knowledge of what he would do. Neil wasn’t going to punish by withholding orgasms. The orgasms were going to be my punishment. Endless, oversensitive, muscle-cramping punishments.

“I won’t gag you this time.” He stroked his fingers down my cheek. The touch was at once tender and a mockery of tenderness. He got a sadistic kick out of tormenting me with pleasure.

When the head of the wand touched my clit, my hips lifted off the duvet. I had gotten so close so many times, my body was eager to complete the journey. He brought me back the way I’d already been until my hips bucked and I writhed, moaning. Just when I thought that the idea of coming too many times wasn’t so bad, he flicked the switch off.

Damn it! He’d tricked me!

I wailed my frustration, my nails digging into the rope that bound my wrists. “I’m sorry, Sir! I’m sorry!”

“I’m sure you are.” He brought the wand back to my clit, teasing me to the first flutters of release again, then pulling it away.

“You said I could come, Sir!” I babbled through my tears, desperately moving my hips against the vibrator until he could only keep it pressed against me for a heartbeat, I was so close.

“Should you have disobeyed me?” he asked, clicking the switch again, killing the vibration and my orgasm in one fell swoop.

“No, Sir!” I shook my head. My mouth was dry from panting. My thighs ached from constant tension. The fire warmed my skin, but I still shivered, caught up in desperation and agony.

“You’ve been disobedient,” he continued, reaching up to catch a tear at the corner of my eye with his thumb. He brought it to his lips and sucked the salty drop from it. “Disobedient girls get what’s coming to them.”

Was that a good thing, or a bad thing?

“Do you know why I didn’t gag you?” He pushed the head of the vibrator against me once more, parting my labia around it, reaching above the slick black silicone ball to hold the hood of my clit back. “Because I love the way you scream.”

He clicked the switch again, and the vibrations buzzed over the exposed, raw tip of my clitoris. There was an unpleasant, sharp point to the sensation, and I rose, straining, and broke with a shout. My entire body bucked, and the noises that wrenched from my throat were half scream, half animalistic groan. He circled the head of the vibrator, and I twisted, but his hand clutching at my thigh reminded me that I wasn’t allowed to move away. His command was the only restraint I truly needed. The rope merely intensified my desire.

After that, orgasms came in an endless circle, until one bled into the other. No matter how much I screamed and begged, I never used the safeword. Not when I was sobbing and too limp to move. Not when it seemed like the pleasure would never end, that I would be trapped in this state of need and dread forever. I reached another searing peak and swore through my sobs, and he pulled the vibrator mercifully away.

“If my count is correct,” he said, tossing the wand aside, “that was sixteen. If you disobey me again tonight, it will be twenty.

He reached for the rope that bound my hands and deftly untied the knot. “Do you need anything before we continue?”

“Drink,” I managed through parched lips and a throat sore from shouting. I motioned toward the wine bottle and glasses on the coffee table. He poured me some, and I sipped it gratefully.

When I was finished and the glass put carefully aside, he slid his jeans and boxer briefs down. “I have been waiting for this all day,” he said, settling between my legs as I lay back.

My heart pounded. This was the moment that would make me complete. When he was inside me, when I could return some of the pleasure and peace he’d just given me. I spread my legs wider as he found my cunt and thrust forward, stretching my swollen tissue and raking along my painfully sensitive g-spot.

His breath tickled my ear, and he moaned a long “mmm” of satisfaction as he filled me. The sound reverberated right to my core. He stroked in and out of me slowly while I wept and clung to him, whimpering, “I love you, I love you,” over and over.

“Come, Sophie,” he ordered me, and I slipped my hand between our bodies. It wasn’t torture now, but pure pleasure. I strove for my climax, wanting it, wanting him, becoming someone other than myself, someone who existed solely for my Sir. My orgasm wasn’t a pain now. It was like coming home. I cried out, lost in the beauty of it.

His steady, easy pace slowed. He breathed hard above me, and I watched, fascinated, as struggle twisted his face into a rictus of concentration. He lost the battle, pumping into me furiously, and came with a groan, his cock buried so deep in me that its twitches and jerks made shocks of pain against my cervix.

Breathing heavily, he pressed his forehead against mine to recover. I smoothed my palms down his back, danced my fingertips over his shoulder blades and down the flexed muscles of his arms. He slipped from me and rolled to his side. “Do you need anything?”

I shook my head with a lazy smile.

“Would you like to take your collar off?”

Another shake of my head. “I want to wear it just a little longer, Sir.”

He drew me into his arms, curving his body protectively around mine. I flattened my palms against his chest and looked up for a kiss.