Page 20 of Just Past Two

Abby had not been expecting Sam to go for this. BDSM was the thing he was going to balk at, the gentle, “Hon, that’s too far” that she expected to hear. Yeah, it was one of her fantasies, but she’d brought it up in the first place because she’d half expected him to draw the line then. The other half of her had been secretly hoping he wouldn’t, but she tried not to delve into that part of her mind that much. He was already shaking up her expectations. She didn’t know how much more “other side of Sam” she was ready for.

Instead of being put off, though, he’d been intrigued. He’d suggested they go to the dungeon, of all places, and then he’d pulled out some grade-A mind fucking without any effort at all. Who the hell was this guy?

Worst of all, he hadn’t brought it up again all week since they’d returned from their weekend in Boston. Every night before bed, he was reading something, and his only answer to her had been, “research.”

Worst of all was not being able to come. She’d been so turned on, going down on him in the dungeon, and he’d forbidden her orgasm, lighting up her kinks like a Christmas tree. It was driving her crazy in the best way, but she was starting to get antsy. It had been a whole week, now, with no signs of him bringing it up again. She didn’t even play with herself that much! Being told not to come, though, made her want it more than ever. Maybe he was waiting for her to ask. She’d considered asking him, last night, when she was lying in bed all twitchy and needy. But that felt like admitting defeat, and she wasn’t about to do that. Instead, she suffered in silence, and had overwhelming sex dreams for the rest of the night. Today, Saturday, she’d been restless all day, and even some time at the pottery studio that morning hadn’t calmed her down. He had to be gearing up for something tonight, right? God, she didn’t want to wait any more days.

After dinner, when they were reading on the couch, he finally looked up from his tablet. His expression was neutral, calm, but her own nerves already had her jumpy. He looked her up and down and then nodded, like he was deciding something.

“Go in the other room, take off your clothes, and play with yourself.”

Abby fumbled her book. Was he serious? She stared hard at him, because it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine him suddenly laughing and telling her he was teasing. His face didn’t imply teasing, though. He looked deadly serious.

“Do you not understand? Or are you not good at following orders?”

She blushed, heat rushing to her face, and set her book aside to go to the bedroom down the hall. He didn’t follow her. Undressing alone, different emotions of embarrassment and curiosity warred for her attention. This felt silly, but she also wanted more of it. She wanted to see where this went. She left her clothes in a pile on the floor and, naked, stretched out on top of the comforter and lay back.

Her pussy was soaking already, and she hadn’t even touched herself. Hadn’t touched herself much at all this week, since touching herself would undoubtedly make it worse. Once or twice, she hadn’t been able to resist, her fingers slipping over her sensitive clit and making her breath catch. Now, ordered to play, she lingered in slow, deliberate circles to draw out the feeling.

He hadn’t given her permission to come. That detail nagged at her as she lay here, trying and failing to keep the thick pull of arousal at bay. He had told her to play with herself and not given any other instructions. He might not come in here at all. He might wait an hour, or more, letting her linger on the edge of orgasm without permission, and then tell her to come watch television. Fuck, he wouldn’t do that, would he? She’d told him she was into that kind of control, so…he might.

The uncertainty sent shivers and tingles all throughout her body, as if the slow circles of her fingers against her clit weren’t already doing that. This might kill her, this kind of anticipation without resolution. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he was better at this than he’d let on. Maybe instead of pushing him to his edge, getting him to admit he was out of his depth, she was the one out of her depth.

She hadn’t even heard him come in until his soft voice said, “Good girl” from the doorway. Her eyes flashed open. He leaned against the doorjamb, calm, self-possessed, looking completely at ease. She lay there naked on the bed, and he stood fully clothed, watching her touch herself in quiet desperation and need. His gaze drew her in, locked with hers, and she couldn’t look away, caught up in the magnetism until he broke the stare to come sit beside her on the bed.

The first touch of his fingertips through her hair hit her like a jolt. He brushed her red hair back from her face, back against the pillow. Her hand slowed between her legs as his actions distracted her. “Keep going,” he said, not breaking eye contact. She obeyed, touching herself again. How could he look this passive, this dispassionate, when she was a worked-up ball of electricity?

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading this week.” Sam continued to stroke Abby’s hair, gentle caresses at odds with the burning need building in her blood. “I’ve been researching this fantasy of yours and how best to fulfill it. I’ve spent days looking into power exchange, reading blogs and stories, investigating different perspectives. You know I’m nothing if not thorough.”

His comment made her smile, a bit of the tension easing. “It’s true.”

“Mmm.” He lifted his chin. “Don’t speak unless I ask you a question.”

Oh fuck. She gasped, a stab of please take me now racing through her. Just that bit of control, being asked not to speak, and she was twitching at the edge of orgasm. She had to back off, slow her fingers on her clit, quiet her breathing. She couldn’t ask to come. He hadn’t given her permission. She was going to explode, and they hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Good girl,” he said again, and she flushed. “Do you like it when I say ‘good girl’? Truthfully.”

“Yes, Sir.” She tried out the words, the honorific, and Sam smiled wider.

“I could get used to that.” He looked her up and down. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful. So flushed. I bet you want to come, don’t you?”

He’d asked her a question. She could answer, but even answering feel like admitting too much. “Yes, Sir.”

“Get close for me. Right to the edge of an orgasm. Tell me when you’re there.”

Being watched like this felt different than it had in the sex club, where she couldn’t see his expression. His intense focus, paying attention to nothing but her, broached a new level of intimacy, like her soul was naked rather than just her body. Tight, firm circles over her clit had her squirming, the pressure of a week’s denial building up inside her until she had to ease up, her pussy already starting to twitch. “I’m there.” Her eyelids slipped closed, her whole body centering in on this heavy pleasure thrumming deep inside her.

“Stay there for a minute. Don’t come.”

She loved and hated this, sitting on the precipice. Floating on the knife-edge of orgasm was a dangerous game. Too much pressure, and she might not be able to pull back in time; too little, and she craved more.

“Hands away.”

Abby froze, opening her eyes to look at him. Really? She dragged her hands away from her soaking pussy, her clit pulsing with her heartbeat. Already, the orgasm ebbed away, fading from her senses, and she could have cried.

“How does that feel?” He picked up her hand by the wrist and held it, her fingers glistening with her wetness.

“Frustrating,” she answered, then paused, because there was more. “Hot.”