Once again, I sincerely want to thank those of you who encouraged me and supported me through that unfortunate Facebook incident last weekend. My filter may be off for the next couple of weeks or so. Wild dreams and bullshit and now, a crazy ass plot bunny has sprung up that may be the birth of a brand new fanfic. I’ll let you know how that goes. In the meantime…
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…
Chapter 12—“Sleeping” With The Enemy
“You are going to cause a goddamn riot,” I say to my wife as she checks her make-up in the back of the SUV.
“No,” she says, matter-of-factly, “just a stir.”
“Well, you’re causing a stir right now in one very precarious place,” I say, running my hand up her thigh. She stops my ascent, to my shock and awe.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she says, tightly grasping my wrist. “I need that extra testosterone and pinned-up aggression for that poser bitch,” she adds. She places my hand back on my own knee before turning her attention back to her compact and vamp lips so dark that they look almost black.
All I can think about are those lips wrapped around my dick.
“Focus, Grey,” she says as if reading my mind. Fuck, I love it when she’s dominant!
Jason pulls in front of a fetish club named C.C.’s where I have arranged to meet one skank, Greta Ellison. I want to kiss my hot wife, but she’s having none of it. I have a feeling she’s trying to get into character, too. When I lean in to kiss her, she squeezes my cheeks together hard so that my lips are caught in an unintentional and uncomfortable pucker.
“Save the charm for the whore,” she says, her voice menacing. My brow furrows.
“You want me to kiss her?” I say, my voice distorted through the pucker.
“Don’t test me, Grey,” she warns. “I’m already trying not to go Rambo.” She releases my face and turns to the window. “Don’t go easy on her,” she says, and nothing else.
She’s not pleased.
I don a Venetian phantom mask and a beaver fur felted Stetson fedora to hide my identity until I get inside the club. We’re purposely early as I want Jason and Chuck in position and I don’t want any surprises. I’m very unhappy that Butterfly must even be exposed to this part of my life, but there was no other way. This cunt wronged my wife, too. I don’t think she would ever forgive me if I didn’t include her in this.
In a black shirt with black jeans and a black suit jacket, I sit in a round booth facing the door and the dance floor waiting for my “guest.” I see my lady enter a few moments after I sit, walking like she owns the place. Her ensemble this evening would have any man in this joint—and probably, many woman—falling at her goddamn feet. Her ample hips sway back and forth in a “tight-as-skin” black leather skirt as she strides to a nearby table. Her hair is pulled up in the front in a smooth, high, flowing ponytail and is loose in the back, cascading over her shoulders and milky white skin. I hardly notice Jason and Chuck—both in black T-shirts and jeans—taking position near each of their charges.
She crosses her legs when she takes her seat, gladiator stilettos wrapping around her calves and inviting hopeful suitors to approach her. She’s looking extremely fuckable and untouchable at the same time and I literally pity the fool that attempts to approach her tonight. Even behind her extra-large, blacked-out Ray Bans, I can tell she’s not looking at me. She’s looking in my direction, but not at me. She’s plotting in a way that makes me worry about her current state of mind—not worried for her, but worried for me… or for anyone else who dares to cross her.
A waitress comes over to her with a fruity drink of some kind and Butterfly gestures for her to sit the drink down. She hands the woman a few bills and says something to her. The waitress walks away and Butterfly never touches her drink. Just when I was thinking that was the fastest service I had ever seen, some guy comes sauntering up to my wife’s table and invites himself to sit next to her. My hairs are up and I’m trying not to charge over to the table. He’s really close to her, caging her in with his arms. She sits still and never flinches, talking to him calmly. Her only movement is to raise her hand, and I notice Chuck halting his approach to her. She’s got it under control, but I still want this leather-clad fucker away from my wife.
The waitress comes back to the table with a black drink in a large martini glass. Apparently, Leather Man sent over the fruity drink which remains untouched on the table, and my wife has ordered a Black Martini instead.
This should be interesting.
Leather Man continues his conversation while closing the space between them and caressing the exposed skin of my wife’s chest, but she doesn’t react in the shocked and appalled manner that I would prefer. Instead, she continues conversing with the asshole and he continues the trek of his fingertips over her skin… and I’m grinding my teeth to keep from leaping from this fucking table.
The conversation appears to continue when suddenly, Leather Man looks a little sick. My wife’s expression hasn’t changed and her mouth is moving, but nothing else is happening. Leather Man moves his hand from her chest and places it on the table, and they stay in that position for maybe another minute or so. My wife then lifts her glass and takes another sip of her martini as Leather Man stands from the table. He says something to her and he appears to be angry. She says something back to him and throws a menacing look over her Ray Bays before he leaves the table.
What did she say to him?
I look over at Chuck who glances at me and shrugs. I get the same response from Jason. I look back at my wife who I can now tell is looking right at me from behind her Ray Bans, still quietly sipping her drink and giving me no clue of her current mood… except that she’s not the happiest camper. I need to loosen up and be ready when the treacherous, thieving cunt gets here, so I gesture to Jason to get a waitress so I can get a Scotch. In his usual efficiency, he returns instead with two fingers of Scotch, single malt, neat.
About ten minutes later, she walks in wearing a slinky, plunging black dress and a collar. She’s ready for action and she wants me to know it. I fight to keep my eyes on her approaching form and not glance over at my wife. She sashays up to the table and stands in front of me like she’s displaying the goods… which she is. If she sneezes, I’ll be able to see if her carpeting matches the drapes, or if there’s any carpeting at all.
“Ms. Ellison,” I say, my voice low and inviting.
“Mr. Grey,” she replies. “I was a bit surprised that you contacted me. Do you normally have your security team set up your dates?”
“As a matter of fact, no—never. This isn’t a date.” She smiles as I sip my drink.
“Of course, it’s not,” she says, coyly. “You haven’t invited me to sit.” I gesture at the bench seat next to me and she sits, sidling in as close to me as she can get.
“So,” she begins, crossing her legs and turning toward me in the bench, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“You’re referring to my intense need to see you?” I respond. She smiles a knowing smile.
“Took you long enough,” she remarks. “Your cute little girl next door not cutting it anymore? You lookin’ for something a little more… tantalizing?”
“You can definitely say that I’m looking for something,” I say, sipping my Scotch.
“Well… Mr. Grey, you’ve definitely come to the right place.” She reaches up to fondle the buttons on my shirt and I catch her hand at the wrist.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” I say. “No one touches me there except the cute little girl next door,” I chide. Her expression is bemused and she snatches her hand away from me.
“What is this?” she hisses. “You asked to meet me! I didn’t come looking for you. So, what the hell do you want?”
“Quiet!” I hiss back, turning on my Dom voice. Her pupils constrict at first, then her eyes widen. I lean back in the booth and put my arms around the back of the seat. “Sit up straight, feet on the floor, hands flat on the table.”
Her brows furrow and she makes no attempt to change position.
“Excuse me?” she says with distaste.
“I said. Sit up. Straight. Feet. On the floor. Hands. Flat. On the table. Don’t make me say it again.”
She blinks a few times and after a pause of about ten seconds, she turns her body and straightens her back, puts her feet on the floor and lays her hands on the table in front of her. I lean closer to her.
“Palms down,” I say in her ear, “and close your eyes.” Her breath quickens and she closes her eyes. I begin to stroke the skin on the back of her hand and I can feel her temperature rise.
“Relax,” I say softly in her ear. “Concentrate on the sound of my voice.”
There’s music blaring around us, but I can tell when her lips part that she can hear only me.
“That’s it,” I say clearly. “I need you to hear me. I need you to concentrate… very carefully.” The dumb bird is panting. I move my fingers down to her wrist. “Do you remember the night we met? How you told me that you liked male Doms better than female Dommes?”
She’s damn near salivating.
“I didn’t choose you that night,” I say. “Maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently.” I close my hand gently around her wrist. The corner of her lips turns up slightly in what looks like triumph.
“Now, I want you to relax and let your mind go back to when you saw me in the marketplace with that good little girl… You were so sure I just needed a push in the right direction, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” she breathes, nearly unable to hide her arousal.
“Good, good. Now think back to that day last February. Think really hard… let your mind go back…” I slightly tighten my grip on her wrist and gently stroke up her back to the nape of her neck just above her collar. “Go back to the day when you let yourself into my fiancée’s condo and stole her Beretta out of her night stand.” Her eyes fly open and she starts to shift, but my grip tightens on her wrist while my other hand grasps a handful of her hair, holding her head steady.
“Move and I’ll break it!” I hiss. “Make a sound other than to tell me what I want to hear and I’ll snap it in pieces! I’ll gladly do the time for this one because that bitch almost killed me with the gun you gave her!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she squeals. I tighten my hand in her hair.
“Well, maybe I can help you remember! And lower your fucking voice!” I growl. She closes her eyes tightly. “That’s right. Play the little victim,” I taunt. “You’ve dressed the part, so anybody here is just going to think I’m disciplining my unruly submissive!” She swallows hard before speaking.
“You don’t know it was me!” she says through clenched teeth after a pause, confirming my suspicions.
“I’ve got you on film!” I hiss in her ear, jerking her head with the phrase. She lets out a small yelp. “You’re a goddamn submissive… a good one, I suspect. You know how to shut the fuck up, so cut that shit out!”
I’m usually not this brutal with women. I think the act of manhandling a woman for any reason other than consensual mutual pleasure is barbaric and something that doesn’t appeal to me at all. However, this creature that was an accessory to the act that could’ve cost my life, that nearly cost me my best friend… yeah, this bitch, I could hang her over a cliff by her hair and watch her squirm.
“You see that guy?” I jerk her head in the direction of a menacing looking Jason cloaked in shadow and leaning against a beam just in front of us and to the left. “A bullet from that gun did hit him; nearly put him out of commission, and he knows exactly who you are and where to find you. So, stop with that whimpering puppy shit before I turn you over to him!” I squeeze her wrist a little tighter. “Now, fucking tell me everything or we’ll both be wearing some not-so-pretty new wrist adornments tonight!”
When she opens her mouth, I tighten my hand in her hair to remind her not to scream.
“She didn’t tell me that she was going to fucking shoot anybody!” she chokes out angrily.
“It was a goddamn gun! What the fuck did you think she was going to do with it—bake cookies?”
“She said she just wanted to scare her; to let Anastasia know that she could get to her.”
“How did you get the key?” I demand.
“You already know how I got the key…”
“Humor me!” I hiss, tightening that hand in her hair again. She groans at the pain and winces.
“She told me to meet up with this guy!” she spits. “Redhead, crazy eyes! She said that he had an inside track and was giving her all the information that she needed to bring you two down.”
“And you were only too happy to help.”
“I had to!” she defends. “She had given me a bonus for securing the contract and wanted it back because I didn’t seal the deal with you. I had already spent some of the money and couldn’t recover it…”
“Cry me a river,” I huff. “What else?”
“What else do you want?” she hisses.
“I want it all!” I retort, snatching her hair again, eliciting an “Ow! Aw fuck!” from her. She’s going to have a splitting headache when this is all said and done.
“I don’t know what else to tell you!”
“How long had she been talking to the redhead?” I growl.
“Fuck!” she complains again. “I don’t know! Since the holidays of the year before, I think!” Fucking hell, this man had been tracking me for a year before he made his move. It would explain how Elena got her information long after Francesca was gone. “You’ve got nothing on me. If you did, you would have turned me over to the police by now. Now, either break my wrist or fucking let me go, because I’m about to scream!”
I release her hair, but not her wrist.
“I’ve got something on you,” I say. “I’ve got you leaving the building with no disguise just as content as you please.”
“So?” she proclaims. “That building has hundreds of units. I could have been visiting anybody.”
“But you weren’t,” I say. “You were visiting Anastasia. I’ll admit that it took a while to figure it out from the camera shots, but keep fucking with me and we’ll find out how circumstantial the police find this evidence if I turn it over,” I say coolly, releasing her wrist with a jolt. “Now get the fuck out of my face. Your presence makes me ill.”
She squirms quickly out of the booth and turns to face me.
“You think you’re so much,” she scowls, attempting to smirk, but close to tears. “You’re not untouchable, Mr. Grey, and I’m just the one to prove it!”
“You give it your best shot,” I taunt. “You seem to know a lot about me. That doesn’t scare me, but it should scare you. Consider what you know of me. Think about it very, very carefully. Of all the people who have ever fucked me over that you know of—since you have so much information—exactly how many of them have gotten away with it?” I say the words coolly, with meticulous calculation, knowing that she can still hear me clearly over the blasting techno music. When her face blanches, I add, “Don’t worry, I’ll wait.” I sit back and put my arms around the back of the seat. “Watch your back, Miss Ellison. You’re now on that list.”
Her eyes narrow, then widen before she turns around and proceeds to march away from the table. She doesn’t get three steps before she runs right into my wife, looking exponentially hotter than Greta in that sexy ass vintage bondage top and leather skirt with vamp make-up. Butterfly squares her shoulders and lands a slap so hard across Greta’s face that it actually rings over the dance music, causing some of the patrons to turn around to see what happened. Greta shrieks a bit and wants to retaliate, but stands down when she sees Jason and Chuck appear behind Butterfly.
“That’s for stealing my gun, you scrawny little cunt!” Butterfly shoots while Greta holds her obviously stinging face. “Don’t let the big bad men stop you. Whenever you want to go toe to toe with this, you name the place. I’ll meet you anytime, anywhere. Just you and me… I’m sure you know how find me.”
My wife’s menacing voice captures the complete attention of her nemesis. A mix of anger and fear flashes through Greta’s eyes as she attempts to stare Butterfly down, but my wife stands her ground—fists clenched through leather and gold slave bracelets and cut biceps bulging from brass upper arm cuffs—waiting for this trick to make a move. She doesn’t and instead, wisely decides to make a hasty getaway. I stroll over to my wife and look down at her, feasting on her appearance while talking to Jason just behind her.
“Put a watch on her—immediately, the works. She’s got more, and I want to know what it is.”
“Yes, sir,” Jason says, and starts talking into his sleeve. I run my hands down my wife’s luscious body and stop at her hips, giving them a squeeze.
“Let’s dance,” I growl in her ear.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replies, leading me to an open spot on the dance floor. She turns around to face me and slides her hands up my chest to my collar. The first button is already open, so she undoes the second button, then the third. Bodies are writhing around us, but she concentrates on the buttons before stroking the light dusting of hair on my chest with her fingertips. I stand stock still as she teases me, looking down at her face even though she doesn’t raise her eyes to meet my gaze. She’s concentrating on my chest. She caresses the skin causing a chill to run through me. She caresses a little longer before sliding her hands back up the shirt and around my collar until her arms are around my neck and resting on my shoulders. She still doesn’t make eye contact with me. She watches my lips as her hips begin to sway. Fuck! I’m so hard so fast that my dick is aching… straining against these damn jeans. She’s moving so sexy against me, so hot—then the music changes and I hear a familiar tune playing.
Shit… it can’t be…
My wife turns around in my arms and moves away from me, only infinitesimally… just enough so that she’s not touching me, but she’s a breath away from me. Her head tilts from one side to the other, and then her arms raise over her head.
Fuck, not this again… please, not this…
Her hips start to move again, back and forth before she bends her knees and grinds toward the floor.
Fuck… this happened before… to this song… and I couldn’t touch her. Hell if I’m not going to touch her now.
I move my body against hers, my front to her back just as she’s rising from the floor, her body writhing against mine as she ascends, her juicy, leather-clad ass grinding right against my dick. I gasp and clench my teeth, allowing my hands to brush against her skin as her body torments mine.
Cum angelis et pueris, fideles inveniamur
Attollite portas, principles, vestras…
She leans back against me and it’s everything I can do not to grab her and fuck her right here on the floor. She slides her arms around my neck behind her and continues her sensual dance against me. I stand stock still as the slightest movement may result in a dry fuck on the dance floor.
I’m transported back to the first time I watched her dance to this song—that night at the McElvoy. I couldn’t touch her and had she known I was there with her, she might have screamed.
Sade, dis-moi, qu’est-ce que tu cas chercher?
Le bien par le mal? La virtue par le vice?
Sade, dis-moi, pourquoi l’evangile du mal?
Quelle est ta religion? Ousnt tes fideles?
She’s transcending in the music now, just like she did that night, except this time, she’s doing it against my body… and I can touch her. I breathe deeply to control this fucking heat that she’s causing inside me right now. I want her so badly and the way that she’s grinding her ass against my hips is cruel and unusual punishment.
The principles of lust are easy to understand.
Do what you feel, feel until the end.
The principles of lust are burned in your mind.
Do what you want, do it until you find love.
I rub my hands up her body like I wanted to do that night. From her hips, up the sides of her torso and her breasts, without touching them. She clamps her arms around my neck and pulls my head down to her until my nose is buried in her neck. I inhale deeply and her smell and essence fill me, breaking down whatever defenses I may have left.
The principles of lust are easy to understand.
Do what you feel, feel until the end.
The principles of lust are burned in your mind.
Do what you want, do it until you find love.
I am to come…
I curl my body into hers, wrapping myself around her like a vine, mimicking her movements and joining her sensual dance. Our bodies move as one as her head lays back on my shoulder and mine lays forward on hers. Her chest jets forward causing her luscious breasts to push out further. It’s everything I can do not to grab one right here in front of all these people. Instead, I put one hand on her hip and one hand around her body just under her breast.
Not a good idea. With my hand on her hip, it feels like we’re fucking.
Sade, dis-moi… Hosanna
Sade, donnes-moi… Hosanna
Sade, dis-moi… Hosanna
I groan mournfully into her neck as I hear the song about to end. I’m fucking aching, ready to blow. No woman has ever been able to just grind against me and make me come—nobody, that is, until Anastasia. I’m panting and hungry and tormented. She turns around in my arms. My lips are parted trying to get air in. I’m watching her mouth and she’s watching mine, and when she licks her lips, I nearly expire. Fuck, she’s killing me.
She grabs a handful of my hair, brings my head down to hers and assaults my mouth with the wettest, most sensual kiss. I snatch her into my arms and return her fervor, feasting on her lips and taking as much as I’m giving with this kiss. I don’t know how long we maul each other on the dance floor, but she pulls her lips away from mine and we’re both out of breath.
“Put me down,” she breathes, and it’s only now that I realize that I’ve lifted her off the ground during our public necking session. I place her gently on her feet and, to my surprise, nobody is paying us any attention. Everyone around us has their own grind session going on. I’m a little dazed as she takes my hand and starts to lead me through the crowd. We’re off the dance floor in a few minutes and headed towards the restrooms. She’s leading the way and stops short as she sees another short hallway with a door at the end on the way to the restrooms. She examines the hallway for a moment. It’s dark at the end and you can barely see the door.
She leads me down the hallway and I’m sure I know what’s on her mind. I just don’t know how she thinks were going to pull it off. When we get to the end of the hallway, she pushes me against the wall… hard! It’s dark down here and I can barely see, but can sure as hell feel her rub her hand against my erection. I grit my teeth as the friction of her hand and the denim is almost unbearable. I can’t fucking stand it. I squeeze her hip as I’m breathing through my teeth. By some stroke of genius, she thinks to try the door with her free hand and it creaks open. She moves her hand from my throbbing dick and goes to investigate.
Thank fuck! I was about to blow in my jeans in a few moments, and there was no way in hell that I was stopping her, but that would have made for a bit of an uncomfortable trip home. I stand there for a moment with my hands on my knees, trying to collect myself. She’s been in there for more than a minute and just as I turn my head to investigate what’s on the other side of that door, she appears and pulls me inside by my jacket. To say that she surprises me is an understatement.
She slams the door behind us and pushes me against it. Then her lips are on mine again. We’re hungrily devouring each other and Greystone is right back up to where he was before she released me on the other side of the door. She kisses me hungry and deep as I feel her reach around me and lock the door. When she releases my lips, I focus on the dimly lit room and discover that we’re in a large storage room or cleaning closet. She takes my hand and leads me to the back around some shelves where I see a two-stair stepstool, a mop bucket with a mop and a utility sink along with some other cleaning supplies. Some lone light flickers in the corner and before I can protest, Butterfly is undoing my pants.
Oh, shit, this is going to be quick.
She releases my dick from my pants and boxers without pulling them down.
“Sit,” she instructs me, “on the step-ladder.” I do as I’m told and in no time flat, those black-red lips are wrapped around my dick.
“Fuuuuuuuck!” I grind out, unprepared for the assault. I lean back, white-knuckle gripping the back of the step-ladder behind me and using my feet on the floor to keep my balance.
“Fuu-uuuuck!” I was already there, but this is insane. She’s doing a hard, slow suck and Greystone is already purple, veiny, and throbbing. She’s sucking so hard that I’m almost lifting off this damn stair every time she pulls back on my dick. And I swear to God that lipstick must be tattooed on because through all the wild kissing, biting, nipping and now sucking, that shit hasn’t smeared once! She looks up at me, sucking hard and slow and I’m watching my dick disappear and reappear in and out of those hot, crimson lips. Oh, God, I’m going to die.
“Uuuuuggghhh!” I groan hard deep within my chest, knowing that these strokes are going to draw out this pleasure but never bring me to orgasm. That’s when she releases my dick with a pop. I’m watching it bob around feverishly, but only for a moment before she slowly raises that leather skirt just to where I can see the triangle of her black thong and the tops of the thigh high stockings along with the garters holding them up. She straddles my lap and I feel the thin silk of her panties rub against my dick.
“You’re wet,” I groan. “You’re fucking soaking.”
“Damn straight,” she growls as she continues to rub against me.
“I can smell you,” I growl back, rocking my hips so that we get more friction. She hisses.
“Do you like it?” she taunts. “You like smelling my wet pussy?” Oh, fuck, she’s going to fucking kill me.
“Yes,” I hiss. “I love the way your pussy smells, when I’m eating you, licking that clit and when you’re about to come…”
“Yeah?” she pants. “How about when that big, fat, hard dick is inside of it?” Lightning fast, she raises up, pulls her thong over and slides down onto me. The breath is fucking snatched out of my lungs as she is so wet that she’s able to slide all the way down to the hilt in one go.
“Shit, baby… shit!” I gasp, still holding on to the back of the step-ladder.
“Don’t move,” she says. “Stay right there.” My head is back and I’m trying to control my dick while she rides it mercilessly. Fuck… Fuck… My eyes are screwed shut and I’m trying to concentrate.
100… 99… 98… 97…
“Open your eyes!” she commands me and my eyes fly open. “That’s it, baby. Let me see you.” Her voice is breathy and full of lust. She puts her feet up on something behind me and intensifies her stroke. She had better hurry up, or else…
“I’m close… I’m real fucking close…” I warn, hardly able to breathe. She quickens the intense stroke. Oh, hell…
“Wait! Wait!” she pants as she rides me hard and fast. Shit! Shit! I fucking can’t….
“Anastasia! Fuck!!” and I’m gone. I can’t hold it. It’s too fucking hot, too fucking good and I’m shooting my load faster than I ever had before.
“So big… so hard… throb… bing… Fuck!” she groans as she tightens her legs around me and throws her head back. She’s grinding hard into me as her neck cranes toward the ceiling, a plastered sex grimace marring her face as she subdues her screams. My teeth are grinding as her tightening pussy grips my dick hard and squeezes out every last bit of semen. Goddamn, that was hot!
When she collapses from her orgasm, I catch her in my arms, both of us sweating and breathless from blinding release.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck!” I pant in her hair. “That shit was so hard, my junk hurts.”
“Oh, God,” she’s panting, too. “Don’t move… please, don’t move.”
“It’s all you, baby,” I promise. “Just… warn me before you get up.”
This fucking asshole can’t be serious!
First, you send me a screaming orgasm, one of the most suggestive drinks in the world in a goddamn fetish club. You couldn’t be more creative than that? They’ve got an interesting sounding drink called “tie me up, tie me down;” another one called “shackles and chains;” and even a not-so-original “leather and lace;” and you send this froufrou fruity shit. I’m so not in the mood for this shit tonight. I reach into the pocket of one of my slave bracelets and pull out some cash.
“For your trouble,” I say, handing her the bills and gesturing to the table for her to set the drink down… away from me. “May I have the Domme’s Delight? That looks delicious.” She smiles.
“Yes, ma’am,” she smiles and goes off towards the bar. About a minute later, the fucking asshole wanders over to my table and invites himself to take a seat. I never even look at his face.
“You’re hot,” he says, confidently, “but you clearly don’t belong here.”
“Is that so?” I respond with as much disinterest as I can muster. “Is that why you sent that Shirley-Temple-ass drink to my table?” He chuckles.
“Feisty, too, I see,” he says, closing the space between us. I continue to stare off into the club, no eye-contact with anyone. I’m looking for this bitch to arrive.
“It’s rude not to at least take a sip when someone buys you a drink,” he says, his voice softening.
“It’s presumptuous to think that woman would accept a drink from a stranger,” I retort.
“Lighten up, hotness,” he says. “Men buy drinks for women all the time. It’s not a crime…” As he’s making his point, the waitress returns with my drink—a large black creation in a martini glass with black sugar or salt crusting the rim and long strings of some kind of black fruit rind curling out of the drink like menacing, long claw-like fingernails.
Now this is more like it.
“Damn, baby. I didn’t know you were into the serious shit!” I don’t respond as I take a sip of my Domme’s Delight. It’s strong… and delicious. I take another sip before setting on the table in front of me. “I see you’re not the typical girl.” I roll my eyes. I’m in a fetish club, you asshole.
“Apparently not,” I respond, still looking for the bitch who stole my gun. I feel his hand brush the skin of my shoulder as he pushes my incredibly long black tassel earring off my chest. I fight not to shiver at his touch, but my blood is boiling.
Motherfucker, who gave me permission to touch me.
“I could teach you a few things,” he says, touching my skin between the splits in my vintage Versace gold hardware-embellished leather bondage top. This time, I can’t avoid the shiver, though I manage to maintain my composure.
“I don’t want to make a scene, so I’m only going to warn you one time to get your fucking hand off me.” He chuckles lightly.
“Don’t be so mean, baby,” he says. “I only want to get to know you. You can’t come into a place like this dressed like that and not expect an admirer or two to come and say ‘hi,’” and he’s still touching me, his fingers now coming dangerously close to my décolletage.
I warned you, fucker.
He reminds me a lot of Edward, speechless in the Marketplace with his mouth hanging open while I have a painful death grip on his family jewels.
“I said. Get. Your fucking. Hand. Off me.” Trying not to gasp for air and look like a crushed puppy, he moves his hand from my chest and places it on the table. I can see Chuck gesture to move toward me, but I raise my hand in an inconspicuous gesture for him to stand down.
“I’m not here alone. My bodyguards are here. I’m not looking for company, and you should’ve taken the hint when I didn’t accept your drink. Just because a female is wearing a sexy dress doesn’t mean that she’s inviting you to accost her. As you will obviously not be partaking in my company this evening, please remember this with the next young lady that you approach tonight. You’re right, this usually isn’t my scene, but the fact that I’m here doesn’t mean that I have a ‘free pussy’ sign stapled to my forehead. Now take what you’ve learned from our encounter and try to approach the next young lady with a little more interest and a little less asshole.” I release his balls and take another sip of my drink. “You can go now.”
My would-be suitor slides carefully out of the booth and adjusts his leather pants, most likely to get a little relief.
“You… crazy fucking… bitch!” he hisses, barely able to speak as he squares off in front of my table.
“Say it while you’re hobbling away,” I hiss back, glaring at him over my glasses.
The few moments that I watched my husband seduce this woman, using his Dom skills to lure her into a false sense of security, were nearly un-fucking-bearable. Not only did I want to scratch her fucking eyes out right there in the goddamn club, but I also had to keep myself from biting through this martini glass or from throwing the whole goddamn drink back in one gulp. I first-hand watched what he does to me—the power that he exercises over women without even trying—being exercised on another woman. It was the most strenuous exercise in control I had ever experienced.
When she scurried away from the table, angry and dejected, it was everything I could do not to snatch her by the hair and beat her to a useless, bloody pulp right there in the middle of the club. Instead, I halted her escape and slapped her so hard that I felt the foundation of the building shake before inviting her to challenge me any fucking time she was ready. Bitch, I will beat you into another decade!
Then, I fucked my husband.
I fucked him well. I fucked him until I felt his dick pounding in my chest and hoped his cum would shoot out of my ears.
Goddamn fucking Greta Ellison!
Taylor and Chuck got the show of their lives—again, because I almost fucked him in the car on the way back to the Crossing. Then he carries me up the stairs by my ass, throws me in the bed and fucks me to damn near unconsciousness once again. I’m wild and tearing at his skin while we fuck and for some reason, I can’t be sated. I come and come and come, but I still need more. I feel like a fucking animal and I don’t know what’s wrong with me! We get to a point where he binds me to the bed and I still feel feral and untamed. He keeps teasing me and bringing me close to orgasm, then letting it wane… and it’s pissing me off!
“If you’re not going to fuck me, don’t fucking touch me!” I growl. He raises his eyes to me, a challenge sparking in his gray irises.
“That didn’t sound like a safeword,” he taunts.
“It’s not!” I reply, my voice menacing. He laughs.
“Poor little Anastasia,” he teases. “You still seem to think you’re in control. I can fuck you all night and keep you right on the edge of orgasm and there wouldn’t be a thing you could do about it.”
“Try it and see,” I respond, cockily. I’m up for a challenge. He smiles wickedly and begins playing his little game of orgasm denial again. I’ve come so many times tonight—hard and hot—that I’ve lost count, and I still want more! I need more! I must have more, and this teasing shit is not fucking working.
Some way still unknown to me, I escape from one of my binds. I use my free hand to release my other wrist and the next time he decides that I’m not going to come, I thrust my own hand into my core and finish the job myself, panting and thrashing wildly as I come from an orgasm denied at least eight to ten times. He grabs both my wrists and pins me down to the bed. His face is breaths away from mine and he. Is. Pissed. He’s breathing like he’s out of breath and glaring at me like I’ve just broken the Cardinal Rule…
Which I have.
I stare back up at him. I’m not afraid. I’m not challenging him, but I’m not afraid. I wait for the backlash. What will it be—the usual spanking? Punishment fuck? That won’t work right now. More denied orgasms? I have a feeling that I’d just Houdini again and work that out on my own. So… what?
“What’s wrong?” he asks. I frown at his words.
“I was ready to come.”
“I know that,” he says, his voice sharp. “But what’s wrong?”
“I was ready to come,” I repeat. “I told you I was ready…”
“No, you didn’t,” he cuts me off. “You demanded that I fuck you. You challenged me to deny your orgasms, but you never said that you were ready to come. So, what the fuck is wrong?”
He’s right. I didn’t tell him that I was ready to come. He knew that I was with that orgasm denial shit, but I didn’t tell him that I was ready. I just slipped out of my binds and jacked myself off, right in the middle of his game. He raises slightly away from me and briefly examines my face.
“Seeing me with her,” he says, “It released something in you, didn’t it?”
I don’t answer. I don’t want to entertain the thoughts going through my head right now. I watched Edward charm woman after woman after woman. Sometimes, they didn’t care if I saw them. Other times, they didn’t think I knew. I was powerless to stop them, or at least it felt that way. I was the butt of the joke, the topic of conversation when our friends got together. It was horrible and cruel and I hated the feeling. The way they touched him; the way they looked at him; the way they treated me. It was emotionally one of the worst times of my life second only to living in Nevada with my mother and the walking moonshine still.
I didn’t really know it until now… feel it until now, but watching him charm that bitch gave me the same powerless feeling. I knew it was different, but it took me back to that time—to that mindset if only for a moment, only I’m not powerless this time. I control what happens to me this time and I’ll never be in that situation again.
“I’m not David,” he says, reading my thoughts like he always does. “I never will be. I’ll never put you in that situation.”
I don’t answer again. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to invite Edward or even Greta Ellison into our bed. I want to shake this shit off and fuck!
“You have to know there’s only you,” he says. “You have to know that by now.”
I still don’t reply. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to reassure him because right now, I’m feeling way too vulnerable. It’s a strange feeling to maneuver when you’re trying to exercise control. He rolls us over so that I’m on top of him, straddling him.
“You must know that you’re the only woman I want,” he says emphatically. “You must!”
It’s not that I don’t believe him. It’s just that I don’t have the strength to debate the topic at all, for lack of a better word. Seeing him charm Greta was just a bit too much on my psyche, no matter how much I tried to prepare myself, no matter how much I knew it was make-believe and that he actually detests the woman. No matter how hot the sex has been tonight, sometimes you can just travel too far down Memory Lane and into the abyss that you just have to find your way back whenever you find your way back.
He holds me close to him, professing his love to me over and over and I just lay on his chest and allow him to caress me and talk to me. It’s soothing and I feel myself begin to relax. He reaches for the olive oil that I keep next to our bed for when my nipples get a little dry. He pours it down my back and starts to gently rub it into my skin. I moan at the massage and he intensifies his caress, from the top of my butt to the bottom of my butt cheeks… and I like it. He cups my ass as he moves back up, his oily fingers sliding between the cheeks and caressing my rosette with each pass. Knowing my body the way he does, he hardens at my response and starts a slide between my legs—against my core and a little between my butt cheeks.
I grunt quietly, trying not to give away how good it feels each time his fingers glide over my anus. God, if he only knew how much I’ve missed this. I know it hasn’t been that long since we’ve had ass play or anal sex, but it sure seems like it for some reason. His breathing quickens and his knees part, causing my legs to open and that incredible dick to reach farther between my ass cheeks. He holds my cheeks open slightly and I feel his head rubbing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth against my rosette. I involuntarily press my hips against him and he groans loudly, then stops, holding his head back and breathing deeply. I hear an expletive or two before he brings fiery gray eyes back to mine.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice thick with arousal. I know what he’s asking and I nod.
“Yes,” I breathe. He slides underneath me, further down on the bed so that we’re now face to face, me looking down into his hungry eyes. He spreads both our legs wider and uses oily hands to grip my thighs right at the base of my ass cheeks.
“Help me,” he nearly growls, and I can see, feel, and hear his anticipation. It fires inside of me and I nearly burst into orgasm before he’s even inside of me. I reach behind me and locate his pulsing and now oily shaft. Feeling my way and tilting my ass, I begin to guide him to my rosette. He releases one cheek and guides the base of his penis while I guide the head. Slowly, we both guide and push—gently—until the very tip of his head is inside the sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasp and swallow.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, his eyes tiny slits of arousal. “That’s it, baby. Take it slow… easy.”
I move my hand and he uses his fingertips to guide himself in as he slowly pushes past the resistance of my anus.
“You can… you can push harder,” I breathe.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he protests at the very edge of his wits. He wants this as badly as I do, so bad that he’s actually shaking.
“You won’t,” I say, trying to work my way onto his cock, to push him deeper into to me. He grabs my ass with both hands and buries his mouth in my neck at my shoulder.
“Still, baby,” he growls. “Let me.” Fuck! That was so hot and so tender at the same time that I grind my teeth to keep my body from exploding. There’s a new phenomenon that has come over me since the babies were born that adds an amazing dimension to our sex life. The right stimulation of my senses—touch, emotion, words, mood—can ignite an orgasm in me. Although clitoral and vaginal stimulation facilitate it immensely, neither has to be present for me to have an orgasm… except with that whole orgasm denial thing. Then he has to wiggle or kiss the bean or fuck me.
But listening to his tortured voice as he pushes into my ass, feeling his strong hands holding my skin and knowing that his dick is pulsing and red and thick behind me, feeling his breath against my neck and shoulder and feeling this wall of man against me, controlling me… sacre bleu! My breath quickens and I tighten my grip on his arms as my teeth find my bottom lip and I try to stay still.
“Settle, baby,” he croons. Well, that’s not helping. Taking my cue, he thrusts harder so that more of him is inside of me—maybe three inches or so, I would think. I gasp again as he stretches me, somehow squeezing my ass without his grip slipping from the oil. He pulls out a bit and thrusts again, even further this time. I whimper at the invasion.
“Gah! Jesus!” he hisses, sucking the skin of my shoulder into his mouth as his dick pulses in my ass. I try to calm my senses, try to calm my thoughts about how hot this is, how this must feel for him. Pleasure causes my body to collapse into his and he groans in his chest, thrusting deeper into me and finally stilling. I gasp and whimper loudly and he starts to move, in and out, in and out, in and out, and I’m already transcending.
“When is the last time I’ve loved you like this?” he breathes. “Have I ever? Held you close to me and looked into your eyes, claiming your ass and loving you this way? I’ve fucked you… but have I ever loved you this way?”
He’s still moving inside of me, slowly thrusting in and out of me, holding my ass solidly in his hand as he pushes up into me again and again and again…
“No,” I gasp, unable to break his penetrating gaze as he deeply loves my ass and gazes into my eye.
“You feel so good, Butterfly,” he confesses. “I feel you everywhere… everywhere! Kiss me… please…”
I bring my lips to his and he immediately takes over. His tongue wraps around mine and he dominates my mouth just like he’s dominating my body, my soul, my ass. His deep, sensual kisses become loud, smacking kisses as he probes into my ass. It seems like it’s been forever and I want this so badly. I relax into him and allow him to do whatever the fuck he wants to my body. I feel his dick get even harder and he releases my butt, moving his large hands so that they control my waist and the top of my hips. His dick is hard enough now so that it can probe on its own without him holding my ass open… and probe it does. His hands guide my hips and waist in a damnable rhythm that gives my ass and my core an unbearable sensation. I feel heat all over my fucking body and the mind trip is insane.
“Christian,” I breathe against his lips, “I going to come…”
“I don’t want you to come yet,” he breathes. “I just want to love you… please…”
I’m panting. It’s been so long since he’s taken me anally and that orgasm is right there waiting to present itself. I focus on him and what he’s doing instead of how this is feeling or this is going to be over really soon.
“Can you do it, baby?” he beseeches. “Can you hold out and let me love you?” He slows his stroke to allow me to get my bearings. “I promise I’ll hold out as long as you do.” I take deep breaths to compose myself.
“Yes,” I say, fighting the pleasure with every fiber of my being. “Yes… I can…”
And I do. I hold out and concentrate on him holding me, kissing me, touching me, saying sweet things to me. He loves me and loves me and loves me, anally, in several positions and when the sun finally breaches the horizon, I surrender to a body-crushing orgasm that has me weeping and weary, exhaustion taking me over before the aftershocks have even finished.
A/N: Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/raising-grey/
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