Tuesday felt cherished andseenin a way that went far beyond the physical.
On top of their beautiful, exhausting day together, it was too much, but she forced herself to stay in the moment — warm cake on her tongue, his steady presence in front of her.
Maybe they were taking things too far. Maybe today had been a mistake.
But she wasn’t going to think about any of that. Right here, right now, was fucking perfect, and she was going to enjoy it.
Tomorrow would take care of itself.
For tonight, she would let herself be held and fed and cared for by the man who had spent the relatively short evening breaking her open all over again. He wanted to put her back together again, andby damn, she was going to let him.
- - -?- - -
Knife fed her the last bite of cake, her eyes heavy, her body soft and spent. She looked wrecked in the best possible way — lips puffy near the edges from the bit gag, eyes red-rimmed, nipples a deep, deep red, and her clit peeking out between her lips, swollen and possibly a darker crimson than her nipples. She was sitting on the stripes and bruises he’d put onto her ass and thighs, and her asshole was still stretched tightly around the plug. And would remain that way through the night.
She swallowed, looking up at him with those soft, exhausted eyes, and he damned well knew the tenderness between them was fucking dangerous.
Hellfire, what had he been thinking? Making the fancy cake with the frou-frou icing? That’s the kind of thing boyfriends do. Not fuckbuddies.
The answer came as soon as he asked himself the question. He was thinking he had this cruel scene planned, and he wanted her to come back for more, and that meant damned good aftercare. He’d make the damned cake again, given the chance, even if it sent a terrible message.
And the brutal truth was that he’d gone farther with the scene than he’d oh-so-carefully planned ahead of time.
Why? Because after the feelings that kept raising their heads all day like a damned game of whack-a-mole, he wanted to prove sex was still their main attraction. Their fantastic day, he had to admit to himself, fucking scared him.
So he’d tried to prove she was here for the sex. That she was here because she likes what he can do for her. And while that may be true, it wasn’t their whole truth.
He hadn’t been careless with her — never would he do that — but he’d hit harder and longer with the belt, tightened the tit-twine a little shorter, fucked her longer, used a bigger butt plug. And that last forced orgasm? Hadn’t been in the plans until he’d returned with the cake and decided she hadn’t fucking come enough.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d needed to prove to both of them that, even in her current state, she couldn’t deny her pleasure. Couldn’t deny sheneededwhat he could give her. So he’d proved it to both of them.
But it was more than that. He’d wanted their evening to overwhelm everything that came before it. Wanted the intensity to easily beat out the day they’d spent together — the ride, the hike, the country restaurant, the easy conversation, the trail mix, the way she’d looked at the spot where the creek vanished on the way back.
But not even that last, earthshattering orgasm had managed it.
No amount of pain or pleasure he’d poured into her had overshadowed the simple, quiet joy of the day.
He’d made the damn cake with the frou-frou Frangelico glaze because he’d wanted her to come back for more, but watching her lick the last of the glaze from her lip, he knew the truth.
He’d fallen in love with her, and he was going to have to choose between her and his brothers.
His mind spinning, he put the fork on the plate, then the dome, and he walked it to a table near the door so he could take it down the next morning.
For now, she was here, she was his, and nothing else mattered. He’d figure out what to do about his latest revelation later.
Acting on autopilot, he turned the lights off except the one beside the bed, and then looked her over — running careful fingers over the worst of the welts and rope marks, making sure nothing needed immediate attention. She could hurt like a proper masochist through the night, and then he’d make her cunt as sore and raw as her asshole before he plowed back into it all over again. Perhaps he’d belt her ass again while he was at it, for good measure.
He pulled the sheet over her body, then crawled into bed beside her. She turned toward him instinctively, tucking her face against his chest with a small, exhausted sigh. He wrapped an arm around her, palm resting lightly over the worst of the bruises on her ass, and waited until her breathing evened out and her body went heavy with sleep.
Only then did he let himself crash.
Chapter 22
Knife woke with Tuesday spooned against him, her body soft and warm, heavy with sleep. The early-morning light filtered through the trees outside the window, painting soft gold across the room. He lay quiet for a moment, breathing in the mingled scent of her skin, last night’s sex, and the faint rope marks still engraved in her flesh. His own personal stamp, shadowed beautifully in the angled light.
His cock was already hard, and he shifted enough to press the head at her entrance and slide into her pussy from behind in a slow, smooth glide.
And then groaned when her wet heat enveloped him. Squeezed in welcome.
