AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The beat of the music was heavy and fast in her blood. It had switched to Elle King’s raspy and edgy “Where the Devil Don’t Go.” Perfect. Taking a handful of his T-shirt, she drew him away from the wall and directed him to drop the mop. She didn’t let him go, though, continuing their walk together until she reached the creeper, the wheeled thing that mechanics used to work under cars.
This one had open slots on the sides for handholds, a very useful idea. She used her foot to pull it away from the work bench. Once it was out on the open floor, she tapped his chest, tugging on the shirt, and pointed to the device.
She wanted the shirt off and him lying on the creeper.
His gaze upon her, he reached for a switch on the wall. It took the garage door back down. As it trundled into place, ensuring their privacy, he removed the shirt. Her gaze covered the terrain he exposed, the furred chest and hard stomach, the broad shoulders. She inhaled the heated scent of him, faint sweat and male skin.
He handed the shirt to her before he lowered himself. The creeper supported his head and torso to just past his backside.He braced his feet on the concrete, knees bent. Ready to push off, if there’d been a car waiting.
Glancing at the pegboard shelf below the speakers, she relocated the bag of foot-long zip ties she’d noted when she’d plugged in her phone. With a satisfied smile, she retrieved a handful and dropped to her heels next to him.
As those blue eyes remained on her, containing the welcome heat of a fire on a winter day, she put his hand over one of the creeper’s open side slots. She zip-tied his wrist to it, leaving enough space for circulation. With some effort, he could also pull his hand free. Honoring his limits of no hard restraints.
She stepped over him, doing the same to the other wrist before she trailed her fingers over his chest. Enjoyed the rise and fall of it, the curls of hair, the skin damp from today’s heat and his exertions. Including dancing.
She liked how he looked at her when she tied him up.Let me please you,his gaze said.His muscles stayed taut when he was restrained, always ready to throw himself against the bonds to break free. It told her even a light restraint was a personal test for his ability to submit to that kind of control. When she wanted him to relax in his restraints, she had to order him to do it.
Right now, she liked the look of those tight muscles.
She stood between his bent legs, the large, braced feet. Today she was wearing a skirt whose black folds were embroidered with feather quills on a shimmering black crinkle voile. She slid her hands beneath it in the back, denying him a view as she brought her panties down. She used the support of his bent knee to step out of them. When she dropped them on his chest, she put her two-inch block heel on his turgid length, applying pressure as a muscle flexed in his jaw.
“Come down here, Mistress,” he rumbled. “I’ll make you feel good. Rub your pussy on my face, on all of me. Mark me as yours.”
Fire rippled through her. He’d talked dirty to her before, but there were deeper things happening here, like that kiss. Requiring a different track.
She unbuttoned her shirt, a pale gold sleeveless cotton blouse with a Mandarin collar and embroidery along the button edge. Parting the fabric, she revealed the matching lace beneath, holding the weight of her breasts. As he watched, she trailed her fingers between them, toying with the mermaid pendant she wore as a necklace. Her earrings were ceramic gold and black ocean waves, teasing her neck.
Dominance and submission were all about the nuances. That was where the poetry was, the adventure, the unfolding of the story.
A female sub might stand over her Master, between his knees, undressing as Skye was doing, for the pleasure of his gaze and to obey his command. A Mistress stood over a bound male, giving him the privilege of watching her undress, a gift subject to her desires, to how well he conveyed his gratitude.
In Tiger’s gaze was the watchful appetite of a wolf and the reverence of a temple guard, worshipping the goddess he protected. A powerful mix. One she wanted to reward, not just as a Mistress, but as a woman whose loins had tightened and whose heart had pounded from passion to pain to joy and laughter, to utter need. All while she watched him dance with a warrior’s power, shout his defiance through the words of a song. She’d let his darkness rise and then fall again under her touch, at her invitation, so he didn’t have to dance alone.
Shut up and dance.
This woman is my destiny.
She’d never thought about being a man’s destiny. She’d had too much going on in her life to prioritize something like that. She suspected it had been the same for Tiger. But just like those D/s nuances, life had its own poetry, its own story to direct. Itseemed to know when it was time for a plot change. To fork off in the direction it was intended to go.
She shrugged out of the shirt, let it flutter to the floor and stood in bra and skirt, the heels she’d worn. She reached into the bra, withdrawing a condom. She dropped that on his abdomen, on top of the panties, enjoying the quiver of response that went through him. When she unfastened the bra and let it slide down her arms, his gaze stayed on her eyes, giving her heart a flutter. Slowly, she nodded. He had her permission to look.
His gaze lowered. When he wet his lips, her nipples tightened, sending another jolt through her lower belly. She cupped her breasts and gave them an easy stroke, showing her appreciation for the body she’d been given, the delight it brought her, that she could share if and when she chose.
Sliding the skirt off her hips, she stepped out of it. She retrieved the panties in a deep bend, her feet spread and upper body braced over him. His gaze followed the movement of her breasts, the teasing rock of the mermaid pendant between them, then the adjustment of her hips as she straightened and moved away. She draped all the clothes over a shop stool, her jewelry on top, and then turned toward him, fully naked except for the shoes.
She’d made the gesture that said he could keep looking, and he did. Thoroughly, appreciating what she was offering him. He lingered at the curve of waist, the thighs, gaze sliding down to her shoes, then coming all the way back up. When he finally reached her eyes, his own reflected strong emotion and physical desire.
“Thank you, Mistress.” He couldn’t hear himself, but the low rumble of his voice said he knew what tone she liked to hear from him. And what words. “I want to touch you.”
She lifted a shoulder, a noncommittal response. She wasn’t ready to give him that. Right now she wanted to ride. Droppingto her heels next to him, she opened his jeans, reaching in to grip and bring him out of navy blue boxer briefs. And stroked.
She liked his cock. As she unrolled the condom down his length, she took her time with it, caressing and squeezing. His arms flexed against his bonds. She straddled him, braced herself on his chest. Locking her gaze with his, she lowered herself down.
They’d taken their time at Athena’s, discovered, explored. In the heat of his garage, she just wanted to take, to bring him to orgasm, to use him. To show him she was using him because she was aroused, because he’d shown her how much pleasure he could bring her. Because he was a hundred percent capable of satisfying her.
She’d seen how it built his confidence, knowing that his sexual self, his appeal to her, wasn’t impacted by his hearing or what had happened. Some portion of his life hadn’t changed.
Though the irony was that it had. It had opened up things between them, making their sexual chemistry more intense. Better.
