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“I can see that.” I slide my finger up his cock once more, tracing the vein, giving him one more slow, sucking kiss on the tip before stepping back. “But not tonight.”
Finn stares at me in utter shock. I don’t think he fully comprehends what I mean at first until I undo the cuffs, turning away from him as the leather falls away. “You can keep the cockring,” I tell him carelessly. “It might be the only way you keep your promise to me. After all, you can’t jerk off when you get home, either.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, lass?” Finn retorts, his voice outraged, and I turn slowly as I slide my black slip back over my head, smiling at him with satisfaction.
“You promised that you wouldn’t comeanywhere,” I remind him. “Not until I let you. So there you go. Don’t come. I know you’resohard—but you can’t even touch it. And if you do—” I shrug. “I don’t think you’d lie to me. But if you can’t keep your word, I won’t let you touch me again.”
Finn knows good and well that I might not anyway. That I might get home and come to my senses, remember that we’re supposed to beworkingtogether, not fucking. I expect him to tell me to fuck off, that this is ridiculous, that he made me come over and over, and I’m leaving him throbbing and unfulfilled.
He sucks in a breath, letting it out in a slow, shuddering sigh that I think has a curse buried somewhere in it, muttered as he exhales. But to my surprise, he nods.
“Alright then, lass. It's going to be a bit of an effort getting it back into my trousers. But I’ll manage.”
I stare at him in shock as he crosses the room to gather his clothes, his cock still stiff against the ridged muscles of his belly, gleaming in the low light of the room. He looks like the statue of a god as he gathers his things up, muscled and hard and virile, his eyes sliding over me once more with undisguised lust as he slides on his jeans and t-shirt.
“I’ll be here tomorrow night, lass,” he murmurs, reaching for his keys and wallet. And then, without so much as trying for another touch or asking for a kiss, he turns and leaves me standing there, staring after him.
Finn
Ihonestly don’t know what the hell I was thinking, agreeing to that.
Actually, I do.
I was thinking that when she was with Matvei, she had no control. She was powerless, clearly unsure if he’d even adhere to her safeword, since we had to take precautions just in case he refused to…my presence close by, the bracelet. I can’t imagine how that must have felt for her, someone who typically prefers not to submit in the first place, to have to let a man she despises touch her that way. To have to allow him to order her to do what he pleases, to swallow her pride and obey him.
I couldn’t do it. I can’t even bring myself to let Asha dominate me the way she wants to, and Idowant her. Just not—that way.
Are you sure about that?There’s a voice in the back of my head taunting me as I walk uncomfortably down to my motorcycle, reminding me that I hadn’t lost my erection when she’d cuffed me to that X-shaped thing. I hadn’t so much as felt it flag in the slightest. If anything, I’d gotten harder—if that were possible—thinking about her touching me as I hung there helplessly, cock sticking out and begging for her to do anything she pleased.
Maybe I’m not as averse to all of this as I want to think I am.
Regardless, I wanted to give her back some of that power. I wanted her to get to feel in control again, back in that safe place that I’m beginning to realize she likes to reside in. This world of power plays and kinky sex is new to me, but I’m starting to think it has less to do with her own pleasure, and more to do with the fact that being in charge makes her feel safe and independent. When she’s in control, nothing can hurt her. No one can ignore what she wants, because she’s the one calling the shots.
I’m not insensible to how much trust it took for her to let me cuff her to that bench. I feel vaguely as if I should be angry that she left me hard when I made her come over and over, but knowing what I do about her and Matvei and how it must have all made her feel, I can’t be. I can’t bring myself to be pissed off at her for wanting to reclaim some of what makes her feel safe and powerful.
Even if it’s left me with a hard-on that fuckinghurtsall the way home.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done—no pun intended—not to immediately pull the cock-ring off and stroke myself to a quick, messy orgasm the minute I walk into the house. But if I see Asha tomorrow night, she’s going to ask me—either way, if I tell her that I couldn’t resist or if I try to hide it, it’ll be a lie.
The only way to keep my word is to keep my hands off of my cock.
I’m so aroused that I’m not even sure I can get the ring off without coming just from the touch of my fingers, but I can’t sleep with it on. I’m pretty sure having the circulation to my dick cut off all night is a good way to lose it permanently, and I can’t think of many fates worse than that—so I opt to take a cold shower instead, gritting my teeth as I stand under the spray and reach for the ring, hissing through my teeth as I slowly drag it over my straining cock.
My toes curl against the tile, and for one moment, I think that’s it. I feel the tingling in my balls, that tight unfurling in my abdomen, the throb in my cock, and I expect a spray of cum against the shower wall, my tortured cock letting loose at last. But when I open my eyes slowly, looking down, I’m still achingly hard, and I haven’t come—yet.
But the shower also does absolutely nothing to ease my torment.
I’m not even sure how I’m going to fucking sleep. I end up going to bed naked, the idea of trying to get my stubborn erection into pajama pants too frustrating to contemplate, and lie there for a long while staring at the ceiling and wondering how long a man can have an erection thatisn’tchemically induced before he’s supposed to go to the emergency room anyway.
I’ve certainly never had this problem before, but I’m beginning to think that I’m going to have a constant hard-on for as long as Asha is in my life. Eventually, somehow, I fall asleep. But even asleep, all I can think about is her.
The dreams are odd and disjointed, but it’s all her—her hands, her mouth, her body, rubbing over me in sleek, wet, sinuous ways, tormenting me with heat and wet, spit-slick pleasure, but never enough. She gets me so close, again and again, fingers stroking and tongue lapping and the soft, wet heat of her pussy closing over me for just one shattering moment—and that’s the instant that I come awake gasping, my thighs wet and the sheet sticking to my skin. I realize with a flush of hot embarrassment that I’ve come in my sleep for the first time since I was probably sixteen.
Fuck.The first thing I think is that I’m going to have to tell her the truth when she asks, and that she’ll tell me I lied. I won’t get another night with her again—then I have an idea.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for my phone on the nightstand, flicking to the string of texts we sent last. Quickly, before I change my mind, I tap out a message and hit send, my heart thudding in my chest.
Dreamed about you. So good I lost control in my sleep. I swear I didn’t touch myself, but—you’re just that good, even in my dreams.
