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Wait until you actually put it in your mouth.
The image Brick’s comment had triggered hadn’t come out of a vacuum. The next picture was a woman on her knees, servicing the male’s cock with her mouth. His leather pants were open but clinging to his ass. Her wet eyes were raised to his in adoration as he gripped her hair in a tight fist, her lips stretched over his sizeable organ. A coiled whip was held in his other hand, resting on his hip.
Third photo. The woman was restrained on a tilted table while a man had his mouth between her legs. Her body was bowed up to him, her mouth open on a scream, part anguish, part overwhelming pleasure.
For the fourth picture, a woman squatted gracefully in high heels, her wrists cuffed and fingers resting on the edge of a table. The man sitting at it drank coffee and read his paper. Except for the restraints and shoes, she was naked. He had his free hand in her hair, stroking it idly. It suggested Dominance and submission as something that permeated everything in the private life of the couple, not just beginning and ending with actual sex.
The last one was a black and white still. A long-haired, naked girl knelt in profile, her head dropped down and arms braced. The caption said Waiting on Him.
She didn’t explore too deeply why the pictures captivated her. All she knew was when she looked through them, in a meditative, one-after-another fashion, it calmed her anxieties. Centered her. Even as it turned her on so much, she’d shift restlessly in her chair, feeling the throb of her engorged sex.
She’d resisted the urge to collect more. Everything in moderation. If she was killed in a freak lightning storm, and that password was miraculously cracked, she didn’t want to have more porn on her computer than a teenage boy.
Les closed the file. Time to get back to her studying. As she rotated in her desk chair, she saw herself in her dresser mirror, and the words printed on her sleep shirt, an oversized T-shirt.
I’m the smart one.
It had a cute caricature of a girl with messy hair and oversized glasses perched on her nose. Marcus had given each of the Wilder siblings a similar shirt. Thomas’s said I’m Mom’s favorite, because they always teased him about being the favored firstborn son. Rory’s said, I’m the dickhead, because that was the relationship he and Marcus had. After putting it on, Rory smoothed it over his chest and bared his teeth in a grin. “I’ll wear it with pride,” he informed Marcus. “It’ll be my Pride Day shirt.”
She shook her head, a slight smile on her face. She wrapped her fists in the excess cloth, holding it over the dull ache in her stomach. The word smart was distended by her knuckles. She was getting into dangerous territory. She knew better than to spend too much time thinking when she was by herself.
She settled back with her tablet, one knee propped against the desk, the other leg stretched out by her laptop, bracing herself for a couple hours of exam study for the Psych rotation. She wasn’t too worried about the essay portion, but the oral exam was a different matter. Beulah would help test her. She’d probably make Les laugh with her imitation of a strict German Dr. Freud, firing off questions.
After she passed that exam, she’d start the ER rotation.
She gave herself one more lingering second to imagine Brick’s face, feel the touch of his mouth on hers, his broad shoulders and powerful arms under her hands. Then she banished all of that. She wouldn’t think about him again tonight.
Denial. It was the only way to achieve an impossible goal.
Chapter Four
Present Day
I’m not with the woman I want to be with tonight.
I shouldn’t have agreed to give her this much space.
She needs me. Something’s wrong. I know it. I knew it when I drove away from her, four weeks ago. Fuck.
No matter how emphatic that internal voice was, right now wasn’t the time to deal with it. Brick needed to take care of Tish, and make sure this experience was everything she wanted it to be.
“What are you thinking?” Tish’s voice cracked.
For the past couple months she’d been exploring submission with him and others, under his close supervision. She could do a credible job of staying calm. Even when naked and stretched out on a table while he stood over her, preparing to set her on fire.
But it didn’t matter how strong a woman was, and he’d had some of the most kickass under his control. He knew when they needed reassurance. The challenge was knowing what kind. He took her hand, holding it in a sure grip.
An ADA with an unflappable reputation, she was still grappling with letting go of control. Especially when venturing into a form of play she hadn’t yet tried.
Fireplay.
In her normal armor of trim suits and sensible heels, he teased her about looking like she walked off the set of a crime show, but she was damn good at her job. She had a methodical mind, lining up the information she needed to win a case, preparing for all contingencies.
A lot like someone else he was thinking about too much tonight. “Did you follow my direction?” he asked Tish. “No lotions, perfumes, fancy soaps?”
“Yes. I rinsed off again in the changing room, just to be sure. Will it leave any marks?”
“It’s always possible, but we’ve done what’s needed to avoid it.” He’d checked her over to confirm she had no cuts or abrasions that could make the skin more susceptible to deeper marks from the fireplay’s effect. “You’ll have some redness. You might feel a little rawness under your bra straps for a couple days, like from a sunburn.”
