Ophelia was in the middle of a scene with the new sub from work who I was supposed to be mentoring this month. She seemed to be doing just fine under Ophelia’s tutelage, looking at ease on stage with all this madness happening around her.
I, on the other hand, was crawling out of my skin. Just sitting next to him was making me antsy, the warmth of his big body pulling my attention back from the stage. I wanted him beyond reason.
Ophelia had bound Styx in a harness and suspended her, and now a guy I didn’t recognize was using a toy to bring her to orgasm. It was confusing to know that if Alex hadn’t come into my life, it would likely be me up on that stage, initiating her into the marvel of suspension.
As though reading my mind, Alex asked, “What would you be doing if we weren’t together?”
I tore my eyes from the stage to look at him, seeing the same lust reflected in his expression that was burning through me like wildfire. I thought I was always so tightly in control, but I’d never had to restrain myself before. It was easy to be in control when there were very few limits. It wasn’t until I didn’t have an outlet for my pent-up lust that I became aware of how much I took my pleasure wherever I damn well pleased. If this is what it took to be in control, then I was done with it.
My own traitorous thighs rubbing together were making me feel like I might come if I so much as brushed a finger over my clit.
Alex had asked a question. I just needed to remember what it was.
“If we weren’t…together? I would most likely be up there with Styx, feeling the rush of having pushed her into subspace, coaxing that orgasm out of her. I seem to have a fetish for pushing other people to that mindless place.”
He looked straight ahead as he asked, “Do you take yourself there?”
I almost laughed at the question. I considered masturbation an essential function regardless of whether I had a partner.
“Of course.”
“What’s stopping you now?”
What was stopping me? It would be the tamest sexual act taking place in my immediate vicinity, so it wasn’t fear of judgment that was holding me back. We were currently the looky-loo weirdos who were watching the party instead of participating.
Yes, he was a client of sorts, but I didn’t pretend to be in a relationship with all of my clients and we weren’t at the dungeon, so my usual rules didn’t technically need to apply.
I couldn’t think clearly beyond my own need.
Why did it matter if I got off with him sitting next to me?
I ever so slowly inched my hand across my lap and under my skirt, gasping as I made contact with the place that had been yearning to be touched. It was too sensitive to rub directly, so I worked my way closer and closer to that torturous spot in broad circles, the intensity leaving me breathless.
A few weeks ago, I would’ve called this child’s play, but in that moment it felt like the most taboo thing I’d ever done…because I was doing it in front of him.
I closed my eyes, refusing to check whether he was watching. And fuck, did I want him to watch. I wanted him to do more than watch. I was practically ready to beg him to touch me when he commanded in a low voice, “Open your legs.”
I obeyed instantly, parting my thighs wider, knowing he could now see exactly what I was doing with my hand. I rolled my hips, using my other hand to try to fill the aching emptiness inside me.
I was getting so close to that peak, building to the release I needed more than anything when he growled, “Stop.”
I obeyed, stunned by my own reaction, but I left my fingers where they were. I could only moan helplessly, still feeling close enough that I thought I might come even if I didn’t move. He wrapped his fingers around my left wrist and pulled it towards himself, asking, “May I?”
I nodded, watching mutely as he drew the fingers that had been inside me into his mouth, sliding them between his lips, then circling them with his warm, wet tongue, sucking gently. I groaned, lost to the sensation. I was so close to coming from something as innocent as him sucking my fingers that I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to cry from the agony of needing release.
“Does my temptress need to come?” he asked with my fingers still against his mouth, so I could feel the brush of his full lips.
I nodded again urgently, not trusting myself to speak without begging. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew he wasn’t stopping me, but Iwantedhis permission. Needed to hear his command.
He was the Alpha to my Alpha and I wanted him to take control, to feel what it would be like to surrender to him without being less than myself.
This thing between us felt inevitable.
“Do it,” he growled.
I took his hand that was still holding mine and pulled it down, panting, “Feel me come.”
I arched my hips up to his touch, crying out when he thrust a thick finger inside me.
