The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) (17 page)

“Please,” I breathed, embarrassed by my supplication until I saw his hand stutter mid-movement.

He stopped stroking, letting his hands fall to his sides so that I could take control of his pleasure. I let out a breathy little sigh and nuzzled the hot flesh with my cheek. I drew my nose down his long length before taking one of his silky balls into my mouth. I rolled my tongue around it, humming with pleasure as I did so.

My sex was dripping down my open thighs to the cold floor beneath my knees and the front door to my apartment was still slightly open two feet behind me. Someone could catch me like that, wanton and exposed.

“Anyone could come in and find you like this,” Sinclair rasped, reading my mind as only he could. His hands threaded through my hair, pulling slightly but not manipulating the movement of my lips across his shaft. “But you wouldn’t stop, would you?”

I groaned deeply, taking him between my lips, into the very back of my throat in answer.

His hands tightened in my hair, forcibly pulling me off his cock with a popping sound so that I was forced to look up at him from a painful angle. He was so tall, towering over me with a dark gleam in his eyes that thrilled me.

“I want you to get up and go into the kitchen. Take off all of your clothes and wait for me in front of the balcony doors,” he directed, his clipped, cool words trailing across my skin like ice.

I hesitated, old habits overriding my instinctive desire to obey.

“You wanted
your
Sinclair, Elle,” he reminded me. “You only have to say stop to make it all end.”

My gut clenched at the thought of it ending, of him leaving. I needed this, his dominance, almost as much as I needed his love.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured, lowering my gaze respectfully.

His hands pulsed in my hair at my submissive gesture before he let go.

Without another word, I scrambled to my feet and headed into the kitchen. I quickly shucked my clothes, leaving them in a messy pile, and positioned myself before the doors with my head lowered and my hands lightly clasped, my bare back to the kitchen behind me. The sun was setting outside and I became absorbed in the soft colors melting like candle wax between the iron spikes of the city skyline. The contrast reminded me of Sinclair and me, the soft with the hard, the warm and the cold. So opposite but so perfectly matched.

I don’t know how long I was zoned out for, standing nearly pressed to the cool glass, but I startled when Sinclair’s hands skimmed down my arms.

“Trust me.”

He wasn’t asking but I had the power to say no and it was a heady realization.

“Always.”

“If you want me to stop, you need a safe word.”

I’d thought about that while I had been researching the ins and outs of submissive life. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of a safe word. It seemed almost like a prenuptial agreement, it took the edge out of the scene and created a different sort of tension. Would he go far enough for me to have to use it? Would I break his trust by uttering it in a moment of knee-jerk panic before I could adjust to the boundaries he pushed me past? But I knew the serious necessity of it and I was ready with an answer I hoped would please him.  

“Heartbeat.”

There was a question in the way he stilled behind me.

“Because even if I need you to stop, you’ll still own me. When we’re like this, you own every beat of my heart.”

“My siren,” he breathed, planting a delicate kiss on my neck to express his pleasure with me. “You are a constant delight to me but,” he shifted behind me, firm and tall once again, “I am in the mood to punish you.”

I shivered as he raised my arms in front of me and stepped flush against my back, reaching around with a long red scarf to competently bind my hands together. Once I was secured, he looped the end of the fabric over the curtain rod above the doors, jerking it twice to check its stability, before securing it once more to my tied hands. He stepped back, giving me room to test the bonds. I found that even though I couldn’t lower my arms, I could move side to side.

“Legs apart,” he said even as his knee slipped between my thighs and forced them open.

I sighed when his hands came around to cup my breasts, pressing the nipples firmly between his fingers until they burned. Too quickly, he moved on, smoothing his palms over my soft belly, around to the firm flare of my hips and to the inside of my thighs. His chin rested on my shoulder, his lips against my pulse.

“You’ve tortured me. Having this body so close but unable to touch you,” his lips parted and his tongue swept over my skin, “has been torture.” 

He pushed on the inside of my thighs until I spread them even wider, my muscles burning with the effort. I could feel my arousal trickle down one thigh and shivered.

“Did you mean to do that to me, siren? Did you wear those short skirts and lick your pouty mouth knowing how hard it would make me?”

He trailed his fingers in my wetness, running them back and forth like laps in a swimming pool. I throbbed for him, greedily sucking at his finger as he dipped one inside of me. He circled my opening and then entered me to his first knuckle, repeating the movement over and over again until I was a panting mess, writhing in my bonds.

“Hush,” he demanded. “Stay completely still and do not make a sound.”

One hand continued its excruciating rhythm on my sex while the other disappeared beyond my vision. Two seconds later both hands were on my breasts, smearing my wetness across my nipples and rolling them brutally between his fingers.

“You have gorgeous breasts,” he said. “So responsive to the simplest touch.”

He flicked one nipple and then the other, making me gasp despite my vow of silence. His dark chuckle stirred my hair. “Don’t make a sound.”

My body screamed when he snapped two clothespins over my already aching nipples. I wanted to buck and moan wildly at the intense sensation but I wanted to please Sinclair even more. I bit my lip until it pulsed with pain. I needed to be in control of myself just as much as Sinclair was if I wanted to be his sub. This was my audition; this was what I had been planning for since the gala. There was no way in hell I was going to be anything less than perfect.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Do you like being displayed like this for me and for anyone with the good fortune to look out the window across from us?”

I focused on the buildings across the way, on the thin line of sunlight that was fading slowly over the horizon and I shivered. The idea of someone watching us made me flush with pleasure.

“You have to be punished for being such a tease and there are so many sweet ways I can make your body sing.” His hand lifted and came slapping down over my core, the other arm already wrapped around my belly to hold me up when my knees wobbled.

He circled my opening and then entered me to his first knuckle, repeating the movement over and over again until I was a panting mess, writhing in my bonds.

“Hush,” he demanded.

He swatted my heat again, harder this time, jiggling my clamped breasts. I bit off a whimper.

“I said, quiet,” he warned.

He slapped me again and the force radiated through me. I was so close to the edge, my toes on its very precipice, but I had nothing to rub against, no voice to beg with, no power to do anything but accept the pleasure Sinclair doled out to me.

His hands left me for only a second but I immediately missed the contact, my body bowing uncomfortably in an effort to follow his touch.

“I’m going to taste you now, but remember you are being punished. You are not permitted to come and if you do so without my permission…” He trailed off and I knew enough to fill in the blanks.

If I hadn’t wanted to impress him so much, I might have orgasmed on purpose just to see what kind of punishment I would get.

His cool lips fluttered over the inside of my damp thighs, travelling gentle as a breeze to my center and over to the other thigh where he bit down firmly on the flesh. I groaned loudly and was rewarded with a slap on the ass.

“Quiet,” Sin said and then blew cool air across my sex.

His tongue lapped at me carefully, following my folds like a cartographer, and when my knees grew weak, he placed them over his shoulders so that I was practically sitting on him. The sensation of being suspended, reliant on Sinclair for my balance and my ultimate release, was so arousing that I was sweating and grinding my teeth after only thirty seconds to keep from orgasming without his consent.

“Please,” I panted finally, as pins and needles of painful pleasure assaulted my body.

Instead of answering me, he grasped my bottom tightly in both hands and pressed me closer to his mouth. My legs started to shake as I was wracked with pleasure and a scream gathered speed, collecting in my gut and surging through my lungs.

“That’s right, siren,” Sinclair said against the inside of my thigh. “Let go. Show me how much you missed me.”

I was so grateful for his permission that I could have kissed him. But my body reacted before my brain, seizing my pleasure and ripping it from the seams of my body until I spilled open, achingly exposed. I only noticed that I was sobbing when Sinclair stole my breath with a demanding kiss and entered me in one fluid motion. He caught my gasp between his lips, biting my lip and angling his hips as he pumped into me. I tried to lock my legs around his waist but he held them up and out, stretching me until I could feel the delicious burn between my legs.

“The world is watching, Elle,” he panted against my damp neck and my aching sex clenched hard in another brutal orgasm, or maybe the first one had never stopped.

He growled and bit firmly into the base of my neck as he came inside me. I couldn’t see his face but I could sense the impression of it on my closed lids like the imprint of sunlight, glowing so brilliantly it left a scar on my retinas.

Chapter Twelve.

I was glad I had planned a cold supper, because it was after midnight before we dragged ourselves from bed – where we ended up after the kitchen – to refuel. Sinclair carried me to one of the bar stools and retrieved a blanket from the living room to wrap around my naked shoulders so that I wouldn’t be cold. I watched him silently as he moved through the kitchen in only his black boxer briefs, collecting the gazpacho I had made that afternoon, the skewers of prosciutto wrapped melon, a bundle of deep red grapes, a baguette and a gorgeous round of Camembert cheese. His brow was wrinkled in concentration as he arranged everything on two large platters and he frowned further when I laughed at him.

“Yes?”

I covered my mouth with a hand and said, “I won’t judge you on presentation, Sin.”

He shrugged but I caught the sparkles in his eyes before he lowered them back to the work at hand. “You are an artist, of course you will judge me on presentation.”

I tucked my tongue into my cheek and gave his half-nude form a lascivious once over. “Trust me baby, it’s an A+ every time.”

He blinked at me before laughing freely, tipping his golden throat back to bark at the ceiling. I smiled too, and leaned forward to watch him.

“You make a man feel like a God.”

“You are one.”

His eyebrows slammed down and he leaned against the counter to cross his arms, to stare at me disapprovingly. I know it shouldn’t have, but that look always made me wet.

“Don’t put me on a pedestal. I don’t belong up there.”

“I didn’t say you were a God to everyone, Sinclair. Just to me,” I amended.

“After what I just did to you, I’m surprised you would equate me with anything so holy.”

My body tingled with the imprints of his lips, teeth, hands and cock. Even against the softness of the bed our second time round, the sex had been rough, two animals locked in heat and only conquered by the eventual need to sustain themselves on something other than flesh.

He took the plates in hand and placed them at the small table beside the little balcony. I followed with a nearly empty bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio.

“I don’t think there is anything really dirty about what we do together,” I admitted as I popped a grape between my lips. “It’s honest and sometimes a little bit brutal but I think that is what makes it special.”

“You are very poetic.”

I frowned and leaned forward over the table to accept a grape from Sinclair’s fingers. “It doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true.”

“No, I suppose you’re right. It’s been a long time since I heard anyone speak about BDSM like that.” He looked out into the brightly lit nightscape; the glimmer of red and white lights highlighted his puckered forehead and soured mouth.

“When did you start experimenting with it?” I asked, unsure if I was phrasing the question in an insulting way.

His lips twisted and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything.

“I’ve always had the desire to control. A number of therapists have surmised that it has everything to do with being powerless as an orphan and then under the thumb of very authoritarian foster parents.” He rolled his eyes, illustrating how little he thought of their theory. “The truth is much simpler and it might offend you. I have always had the desire to control, to manipulate and weld the will of others into forms of my own making. BDSM is the physical manifestation of those desires.”

“That sounds very super villainy,” I admitted.

His small smile surprised me. “On the contrary, I believe it to be soothing. As the Dom, it’s my responsibility to provide exactly what my sub needs, even if they are unconscious of those desires. It is about finding the balance, that golden edge between pain and pleasure, reluctance and desire. Love and hate. It is on that fine line between those extremes that I might find the true you, the one that no one but me will ever see.”

“You already have that.”

“No, I don’t.” He smiled that small, warped smile that I hated so much. “Only when you really belong to me can I know you like that.”

Silence descended but it wasn’t uncomfortable. These moments were inevitable between us, I thought, because there were so many dead ends in a conversation where the future was not to be discussed or changed. If I was a different person, better maybe or worse, I would have used the moment to tell him that I wanted to belong to him more than I wanted my next breath.

Instead, I slid my hand over his lightly, pulling his attention back to me. “Tell me what it would be like, if we were in an actual relationship type thing.”

Despite myself, I blushed at the thought of discussing such things and despite the dark, Sinclair could see that.

“You can beg me to make you come but you can’t actually say the words Dominant and submissive?” he asked.

I shrugged and spooned a helping of gazpacho into my mouth so that I wouldn’t really have to answer.

His eyes crinkled with suppressed mirth but he sat back in his chair and studied me thoughtfully. I loved that about him, how he took everything I gave him and mulled over it as if I was special, important and worth consideration. 

“Alright, Elle, why don’t we start with the basics? There are different kinds of D/s relationships with varying degrees of control. On one end of the spectrum, there are the slaves and Masters. A slave is expected to obey commands at all times, to be controlled in all aspects of his or her life by the Master.”

“That sounds horrible,” I said, the honesty burst from my lips like the grape between my teeth.

Sinclair chuckled easily and I loved that I could coax that from him. “I think we can safely rule out that kind of relationship. I have no desire to control your life.” He reached across the table to run two calloused fingers along my jaw. “Not when you live so beautifully.”

“Now who’s poetic,” I said softly.

His eyes darkened to wet blue velvet and I gasped when his fingers tightened on my chin. “Submission is poetic too. Get on your knees, siren.”

I was sliding out of my chair before I had even fully absorbed his words.

“Come closer.”

I hesitated. My inclination was to stand up and walk over but I knew what a real submissive would do and the idea of crawling to him lit a fire in my belly. I kept my eyes on the ground as I moved forward on my hands and knees, ass swaying.

When I settled at his side, he spoke again. “This is something we might do in a real relationship. I might have you eat at my feet, only by my hand.”

His fingers appeared in my lowered line of sight, a purple grape in his grasp. I immediately parted my lips and tilted my head back to receive the morsel, taking care to swipe my tongue against his skin as he fed me.

“Behave,” he warned mildly before continuing in an almost bored tone. “There would be rules, of course.”

He waited but I had the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to respond.

I could hear the smile in his voice when he finally said, “Exactly. You would not speak unless expressly ordered to and when you did, how do you think you would address me?”

“With appropriate respect, sir,” I said.

My voice was breathy and he hadn’t even touched me.

“Very good. I cannot count the things I want to do to you, not least of all because you would blush to your toes to hear me give voice to them.”

I could feel that full-bodied blush, how my blood ricocheted through my veins and my heart knocked brutally against my ribs. Idly, I worried about heart failure.

“Please, tell me,” I whispered hoarsely because I was so filled with desire that even my throat was swollen with it.

He studied me dispassionately for what felt like a long time. The more his gaze cooled, the warmer I grew. I couldn’t think when he looked at me like that, not of Elena or the stress of my upcoming showcase, not of my lifelong insecurities or even my own name. When Sinclair looked at me with those aloof and commanding eyes the color of lightening, my very soul felt electrified.

Finally, he stood up, so close to me that my nose was pressed into the inside of his lower thigh. I breathed deeply, so intoxicated by his smoky, masculine scent that I almost felt high.

His hand lowered heavily to the top of my head and he said, “I would rather show you.”

I let out a breathy little sigh before I could help myself. His hand slid over my crown and threaded through my hair, pulling firmly at the roots until my back arched to release some of the tension. Pain prickled deliciously down my spine. Slowly, he tugged my head back until I was looking up at him. With his other hand, he placed his thumb on my bottom lip, rubbing back and forth until my mouth blossomed open under his touch.

He was so masterfully made, his features so perfectly chiseled that they were almost brutal to look upon, especially now when he loomed over me like the statue of a God.
My
God. Oh, how I wanted to devote myself to him, venerate him with everything I had.

I swept my tongue along the ridge of his thumb, staring into his eyes through my eyelashes as I daringly took him into my mouth and scraped my teeth across the pad of his digit. His eyes flared.

“This lifestyle is not always about pain and restraint,” he explained. “It is about worship.”

His ability to read my mind no longer surprised me.

“I worship you,” I breathed.

He pulled his thumb from my mouth and drew two fingers tenderly down my cheek before saying, “And I you.”

Without another word, he reached down to pull me into his arms. Cradled securely against his chest, I let myself listen to the beat of his heart as he led me into the bedroom and gently laid me on the bed. Languidly, I watched as he went into the bathroom, reemerging with a bottle of lavender scented massage oil in his hands and the same red scarf that he had bound me with earlier. Warmth pooled between my legs just at the sight of it.

I studied him silently as he straddled my prone body on the bed and gently secured the fabric around my head so that I was blindfolded. I gasped in disappointment when his body left mine once more but he returned to me quickly after plugging his phone into the music system. Glass Animal’s Toes beat sexily from the speakers.

“This is about you, my siren. I control you to discover you, to unlock the secrets of your heart and the hidden desires in that brilliant mind of yours.” His voice was smooth and warm as the massage oil that he heated between his palms and applied to my shoulders.

I hummed with pleasure as he began to knead my neck and chest, my mind empty of everything but the exquisite pressure of his hands against my skin. His fingers moved down my arms to my very fingertips where he released an uncanny amount of tension just by pinching the pads of each digit. After working his way from my stomach to the ends of my feet, he tenderly rolled me onto my stomach and began to caress my back.

A moan built deep in my gut. It was in no way a sexual massage but I felt restless with desire nonetheless. Each press of his strong fingers into my muscles molded me further and further into a creature of his own making, as supple and easily manipulated as clay beneath his touch.

I was mindless, made only of sensation by the time his thumb found the pronounced curve of my bottom. He pressed hard into the muscles there, almost painfully so that I sucked air between my teeth. I wasn’t sure where the massage oil ended and my own wetness began.

“On your knees.”

His voice slithered into my subconscious. I raised my heavy body as quickly as I could, tucking my knees underneath me, arching my back so that my ass was raised with my hands grasping my ankles and my face pressed into the sheets. Cool air drifted deliciously over my overheated flesh.

The slow, arousing massage continued but this time it was punctuated by the sound of his cool voice washing over me. “I remember the first time you displayed your pussy like this for me. You were so wet.” His thumbs dipped down the crease and pulled apart my lips to expose my wet, pink core. “I could smell you from across the room.”

I groaned softly into the bed and wriggled, desperate for more stimulation.

He punished me with a swift, brutal spank that left my skin singing out for mercy. His hand squeezed the smarting skin, clenching it in under his strong grip until I whimpered.

“I wanted to punish you just like this for bewitching me.”

Another painful slap, my skin even more sensitive under the sheen of oil.

“I wanted to take this perfectly plump ass in my hands, warm these cheeks and spread them open for my tongue.”

I tensed in anticipation as he spanked me twice more, harder than before, and slowly spread my burning cheeks so that my most forbidden place was exposed to his gaze. His thumbs commenced their massage over my abused flesh.

I shuddered when his hot breath wafted over my center. “I’m going to take your ass, Elle. Would you like that?”

My answer was the bestial groan he wrought from me as his hot, velvet tongue stroked heavily over my asshole. I shuddered at the depth of pleasure, the heat of my embarrassment only provided further kindling for the fire raging inside me.

He slapped my ass again. “Use your words, siren.”