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She managed three jerky rotations of her hips, then she exploded like that star he'd described. The climax pulled from her inner thighs, ripped through her cunt and into her womb. Her back bowed up farther and the cry that came from her throat was a sound she didn't recognize. A primal scream, a wail in an unbroken firmament. Before anything had ever been created, this was what was there.
It echoed through the theater and came back to her. She was rocking so hard she should have wrenched something out of joint, but now she understood why he'd tied her so securely. He carried her to paradise and back safely, while taking her to a dangerous edge that could destroy her sanity.
When the orgasm at last ebbed away, everything was too bright. She shut her eyes as he rose and dimmed the ghostlight even more, registering her discomfort. He returned to untie her, supporting her so she had no worry about falling as he freed and carried her away from the tarp. He had a piece of carpet behind the table, a blanket spread out on it. Keeping her in his arms until she was laid out on it, he dropped to one knee beside her.
The sheath at his belt held both a knife and a pair of what looked like medical snips that EMTs carried. He flicked open the knife and left the snips. As she watched, he used the flat blade to scrape the wax off her smooth skin in curled, vanilla scented-petals. He followed the movement with his fingers, soothing chafed skin.
All she had the power to do was breathe and stare at him, watch everything he did. It was as if taking her eyes away would break the spell he'd created between them.
After he removed the wax and set it aside in a small pile, he reached for his shirt and threaded her arms through it, lifting her up enough to get the shirt to lie smooth beneath her. Because of the musculature in his shoulders and arms, the sleeves and back were no problem. However, as she'd predicted, the front was problematic, but it didn't faze Des. He buttoned the shirt up to just below her breasts, so the straining fabric above framed them, her nipples and curves exposed. The tails of the shirt split over the juncture between her thighs, leaving her pussy bare to him as well. "Arms above your head, love."
She was like a noodle, with no strength of her own. She raised her trembling arms, but he helped her take them to the position he wanted. He held them there, his fingers curled over her wrists as he bent and brushed his lips along her throat, the top of her breast. When he lifted his head, she could tell he was enthralled by how the shirt barely contained her ample bosom, framing it in such a provocative way.
Normally she would have made some weak joke about how easy men were in their fascination with breasts, but all she could do was shake beneath the weight of his absorption.
"Keep your hands where I put them."
He released her wrists, leaving her arms above her head. He molded his hands over her curves, then buttoned the buttons of his shirt over them, pulling the fabric together as needed to make it work. It was a tight enough hold to create an additional sense of restraint, one she craved. She wanted to be back in the ropes, wanted that feeling again.
With a savage look of lustful pleasure, he ruined his own shirt, tearing it open with one powerful jerk so her breasts spilled forth with a generous bob of reaction. He bent to put his mouth on her again. Suckling, nipping. Despite his initial roughness, now he was gentle. She was spiraling up again as if she hadn't just climaxed, rolling and lifting under his hands. As he moved his way down her body, the fabric of his shirt slid against her back, cloaking her on one side as he cloaked her on her front. When he put his mouth between her legs, she cried out, the sensitive tissues meeting the stubble on his cheeks and jaw. He rubbed it deliberately against her again and nipped at her clit, dragging his tongue over her labia.
She was lost. He was insatiable, and she had no will to stop him. She wanted to tell him to fuck her, take her, drive into her until there was nothing left, but the fear, the tiniest voice in this raw wilderness, kept her silent. Until he sent her over another peak, a level she didn't think she could reach so fast, so hard, clawing at his bare shoulders, a strangled scream burning her throat
"Enough," she gasped as she came down from that. "Enough. You'll kill me."
"It's never enough, love. Not with a gorgeous spirit like yours."
He straightened and drew her into his arms. When he cradled her on his lap, it was
clear how very hard he was. She didn't have the strength to sit up on her own, let alone do anything else, but she wasn't a selfish lover. "If you want me to..."
"Sssh. I'll tell you when I want something from you. Rest. Just rest, love. Let me hold you. This was all to give you your first sub experience. It doesn't need to be anything more than that."
Apparently shattering her universe was more than enough for one night. She closed her eyes, her arms creeping around his back and waist to hold onto him. She tried not to think beyond this moment or resurrect the ludicrous idea she could keep herself detached from this. If she'd had any doubts about her dormant submissive side, he'd just chased them all away. And brought it to full, vibrant life.
She craved surrender. She craved the trust that went with it, this feeling of safety and flying. The feel of being in the arms of a man who knew how to command her heart and soul while cherishing both.
She'd had plenty of loser dates and boyfriends. Yes, they'd hurt her, but she'd recovered, found herself again. Yet she was suddenly, terrifyingly sure she'd met the man capable of breaking her past repair. This was supposed to be a research exercise. Not even a real date.
She was in deep trouble.
Chapter Four
"You know how, when you go to see something like the Grand Canyon, you get this sense of a once-in-a-lifetime experience?" Julie frowned. "You're really grateful for it and everything, but if you look at it from the Grand Canyon's perspective, it probably doesn't see the big deal. It's awesome all the time."
Madison lifted her head from her perusal of a catalog. "Why do adult toy manufacturers put the most hooker-ish looking porn star possible on their packaging?" she asked. "I'm selling these things to women. They want beauty and sensuality, not someone who looks like she just sucked off an entire NFL team. Look at this. Her botoxed lips are stuck in a fish mouth shape."
Julie looked and nodded sagely. "The Grand Canyon's self-introspection and fish-lipped porn stars on vibrator packaging. We should find the overlap. What's that horrible math thing that involves the interlocking circles? Is that trig?"
"You're using a cryptic analogy to avoid talking about what's really bugging you. I'm waiting for you to work your way to the real problem. Maybe they figure men are buying the vibrators for women." Madison continued her musings. "Get your wife this vibrator and she'll turn into a porn star who will want to blow you every hour of the day, except during football."
"She'll do it at half time," Julie suggested. "Which will make you feel awesome, like the Grand Canyon. Or turn your pecker into one of those big rock pilings in the Grand Canyon. See, overlap."
Madison snorted and set aside the catalog. "I want to go shopping. Let's go buy Christmas decorations for the theater."
"It's not Christmas yet. Your theater may flop and be closed by then, and the decorations will make you sad."
"Wow, thanks for the optimism. I want to go to that new year-round Christmas store on Harris Boulevard." Madison offered a plate of scones. "We both need a break. We've been laying out the program, figuring out front-of-house staff, estimating ticket sales against future theater improvements, et cetera, et cetera, for the past three hours. Enough work for a Sunday already. You've been doing nothing but working since you got here. Well, except for that Conservatory date that wasn't a date."
