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That hand tightened on her hair again. “Yep,” he said. “Definitely a brat.”
Chapter Nineteen
She had an irresistible mouth, and he did put it to work first thing. He’d never seen a woman, even a submissive, have the kind of response she did to oral. He couldn’t deny it tempted a man to keep his cock in her mouth 24/7, except he couldn’t get enough of tasting her body, fucking her, watching her reach her peak and lose control in his arms.
But the shadows were gathering, the fears about what the M&M would unleash. She was still having trouble even thinking about it without a trauma reaction, and tomorrow she’d have to talk about it in front of a roomful of her peers.
She was scared she couldn’t handle it. He knew she could, but to do it, she’d tear herself up from the inside out with anxiety. He wasn’t going to put up with that.
He wouldn’t let her finish him. Instead, he laid her on her stomach and lifted her ass in the air so he could put his mouth between her legs, holding them spread and immobile as he sent one, two orgasms rocketing through her. After that, he turned her back over and lay upon her, surrounding her. He lodged himself deep inside her, in every possible way. He drew another orgasm from her, plus one for him, too.
He'd pushed her as close to the edge of her physical endurance as her still healing bruises could handle. But he knew she’d need more of that. Though he kissed every one of those bruises and let her fall asleep in his arms, he already knew how her morning was going to start. He set the alarm to go off early.
When it started beeping hours later, he was awake. She had slept fitfully, so he’d kept an eye on her. In that merciless way of restless slumber, her deepest sleep came only an hour before the alarm went off. As a result, she started up in bed, struggling to orient herself. He put his hand on her shoulder, reminding her where she was, but he was also watching for that moment where her vision cleared and the realization of what day it was swooped in like a vulture. It would peck and tear at every place that anxiety liked to live.
Not happening. He moved his touch to her hair. As he gathered it up, twisted it in his fist, her attention came right to him. He flipped the covers off himself, revealing his morning erection.
“I think you have a job to finish,” he said. “And you better not let a single thought other than serving your Master inside your head. Else I will stripe your ass with my belt and the question you’ll be most worried about today is someone asking you to sit down.”
Shock crossed her gaze, followed by a tremulous touch of humor. She knew what he was doing, sure, but he also meant every word. The hunger surged forth. Even with an edge of desperation, it was true and real, the same way she responded anytime he took her over and helped her explore her submissive side.
He intended to push that edge until it bled out enough worry that she could think straight. He’d do it by making her totally mindless first.
She braced her hands on either side of him and his grip tightened. “Nope. Clasp your hands behind your back. Hope you know how to relax your gag reflex, or this is going to get tough for you.”
Her lips parted, an excited breath escaping, the flare of arousal in her eyes telling him what his words were doing to the rest of her. Her nipples tightened right up. He’d like to suck on them, draw out another orgasm, but he kept himself on target.
He wasn’t saying it was selfless—pushing her this hard when she so obviously needed it was something the Dom in him enjoyed the hell out of—but his heart had one goal. He would give her the room to stand up and face this day. Get through it, find herself on the other side of it.
He brought her down on his cock, using his other hand to angle it to her mouth. She was smart enough to wet her lips before she stretched them over his head, and then she made a little noise as he pushed her down on him. About halfway, then drawing her back up. Then back down. He did it slow, but he started to take her lower each time. Her back rounded, her throat convulsed, and he stopped where he was as she choked.
“Relax,” he murmured. “Just relax those muscles. You can take me. You will take me. Do it. I know you don’t want to find out what a caning is today.”
He envisioned using his fire cane on her. Tapping it up and down her back and ass, her upper thighs. He’d make her stand on her toes, stretch out that beautiful body with her hands bound above her. He’d tap, tap, tap, make her jump and yelp as he gave her a fiercer slap with it, that sharp strike sound adding to the sensations as it impacted flesh. Her squirming would increase as the heat built over areas he’d be covering multiple times.
However he used fire upon her, he’d pay close attention to the places she’d be more sensitive. Inner thighs, nipples, the thinner skin over her ribs. Behind her knees. She’d moan in that pleading feminine way. He’d blow on the flame, make it billow over her flesh, bathe her in heat.
His cock convulsed as he watched her mouth work on him. His grip in her hair was what held her up when she overbalanced, her hands no help to her. She was helpless against what he wanted from her. Fuck, she had a blessed mouth. His response was building to the point it was going to short circuit his mind, but he managed to growl out the warning. “Here it comes, baby. Don’t you dare stop.”
She did her very best in difficult conditions. When his hips bucked against her, semen jetting into her throat, she choked, coughed, but valiantly kept sucking on him, licking, swallowing, trying to take everything as her eyes watered.
Do. Or do not. There is no try. When Yoda said that, he’d never experienced the precious gift of a sub trying to do the impossible for her Master.
That’s what he damn well was, too. Because she’d told him that was what she wanted. To be his submissive.
When he finished, he made her sit next to him and picked up the damp hand towel he’d slipped out of bed to retrieve before the alarm went off. He used it on her mouth and streaming eyes. She was crying a little, but it was the good kind. She was lost in the service. He lay back down and folded her onto his chest, held her tight.
“It’s going to be fine today,” he told her, stroking her hair.
He thought of that caning again. When the heat and pain were enough, he would cool her down with a damp towel like this one. Maybe rub ice over her skin.
He’d hold her while she shook in the aftermath. Just like this. He would take her to subspace again and again, give her that peace, help her learn to let go. So she could be as brilliant as he knew she was, at whatever she truly wanted, her heart’s desire.
“There’s nothing you can’t handle,” he told her. “And when you get through it, I’ll be there.”
Brick didn’t press her to eat breakfast at his place. When they headed out, he pulled off at a drive-thru, and got himself a biscuit breakfast, plus a bottle of orange juice. If she was curious why he didn’t ask her if she wanted any food, she didn’t show it. But when he pulled into a parking space, he retrieved the small cooler he’d stowed behind the seat. It contained a thick piece of wheat toast with a packet of strawberry jelly, if she wanted a touch of something sweet. Plus a boiled egg. He placed the orange juice in the cup holder near her.
“Try to work on some of that as we drive. You’ll do better if you have something on your stomach.”
