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“Kendra,” he said softly, his mouth close to her ear. “Stay where you are. You don’t need to come down. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” His fingers moved lightly over her cheek, her parted lips and along her throat. When he cupped her breasts, her nipples jutted against his palms. He moved closer, the iron bar of his erection pressed against her belly.
His touch awoke the need for more intensity—more erotic pain to send her deeper into the pure bliss in which she floated. “More,” she managed to murmur. “More, please. My breasts. They need the cane. Please, Sir.”
He took a step back. “You’re sure?” The concern in his tone nearly pulled her from subspace. “Your scars…”
“I’m sure,” she managed. She opened her eyes. “Really, it’s fine. They’re healed.” She fixed him with a beseeching gaze. “Please,” she begged.
He took a step back and reached for a shorter, thinner cane from the rack. His touch was light and perfect, the cane kissing her breasts with stinging strokes that sent her eyelids fluttering closed and made her clit throb.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, yes, yes…”
When her breasts were as on fire as her ass, he lowered the cane. She wanted more and nearly opened her mouth to beg for it, but couldn’t quite find the wherewithal to form the words.
“You’ve had enough,” Dylan said, his hand cradling the back of her head as he slowly lifted it.
She opened her eyes, the world clicking back on, sound returning as she came down from her lofty, sacred perch. Dylan’s deep blue eyes glittered and hooded with lust, the bulge clearly visible at his crotch.
“Kiss me,” she said impulsively. What she really wanted was for him to fuck her, then and there. To throw her down on the padded mat and cover her body with his as he thrust inside her. She groaned, lust nearly overwhelming her.
He complied with her spoken command, touching his lips lightly to hers.
She responded by opening her mouth and darting her tongue into his. His kiss became more ardent as he again cradled the back of her head in his hand. They kissed for a long time. He was the first to pull away.
She opened her eyes again, her chest heaving. He was a fabulous kisser and she wanted more.
“You took a lot,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I need to let you down and put some balm on the welts.” He set about releasing first her ankles and then her wrists, catching her arms before they could fall like lead weights to her sides.
He held both her hands in his, his eyes moving over her face. She wished she could read his thoughts. Was he ending the scene? Or would they continue, perhaps in the privacy of his or her room?
You don’t fuck after the first scene, an annoying voice in her head reminded her. Intellectually, she was well aware that the sexual arousal she felt during and just after a scene rarely had that much to do with the actual guy she was with. It was much more about what he had given her—the submissive switches he’d flipped to turn her libido to high.
But this wasn’t just a scene with some stranger at a club, she told the annoying voice. This guy is cool. He’s a pro.
That stopped her in her tracks. Yes. He was a pro. He worked a scene station. He got paid to do this. Who said he even wanted to go back to one of their rooms? Who said he was even allowed to? After all, this was his job.
She stood quietly as he massaged a soothing balm into the heated, throbbing flesh on her ass, thighs and breasts. When he was done, he handed her a small bottle of chilled water, the cap of which he’d loosened for her.
She took a long pull. It felt good going down. “Wow,” she said as she handed the bottle back to Dylan. “That was super intense. I didn’t realize quite how much I needed that. Thank you, Dylan.”
She reached up and stroked his cheek, lightly stubbled along his firm jaw. Every cell in her body leaned toward him with longing. He stared back at her with such naked desire it made her catch her breath. He wanted her. She wanted him. So…
What was she doing? She had a rule…
She took a step back. “I don’t usually take it past this the first time,” she said, hoping he would grasp the subtext. “You know,” she added, “because feelings can run so high after a scene. I’ve found it’s better to cool down a little.”
She waited for him to contradict her. She wanted him to. The slightest indication or word that he didn’t want things to stop and she’d throw her rule straight out the nearest theoretical window. She held her breath, willing him to pull her into his arms and murmur that he couldn’t wait another second—that he had to fuck her. Now.
