He withdrew his hand. "Bring your breasts back to my mouth. I want you to rub yourself against my cock like you're trying to make yourself come. Tell me when you're close, but you won't come."
"No, Master. Not without your permission."
"Damn straight."
She closed her eyes, loving that possessive growl.
"No more talking. Your only focus is my commands."
She leaned down, anticipating his mouth once more. As she did, her clit came against the hard shaft for the first time. It made her internal muscles convulse, milking out more slick fluid to ensure the slide along his length was more pleasurably excruciating. He tortured her the same sensual way as before, teasing her nipple with his breath, then the flick of the tongue, here then gone, followed by a slow lick around the areola. His hands landed back on her hips, their strength aiding her as she slid herself down his length, keeping her back elongated and arched so he had full access to her breasts.
Her pussy pressed against the heavy weight of his testicles, then she was sliding back up again, all the way to the friction of his ridged head. She wanted to keep going, wanted to close over him and sink down, let him penetrate her to the root, but that wasn't what he had commanded.
She cried out as he closed his mouth over her right nipple. It increased the pressure of her grip on her breasts, such that the peaks became even more sensitive, especially the one in the hot cavern of his mouth. When he began to suckle, her hips moved more frenetically against him. He gripped her buttock with the other hand, working her over his cock, not letting her hold back in the least. Her response built hotter, faster. He switched to the other breast, tormenting them equally.
The man definitely knew how to walk and chew gum at the same time. And probably juggle and figure out the theory of relativity. He worked her hard and fast against his cock, then directed her to make slow, sweeping circles over him, her ass rubbing against his upper thighs. Throughout all that, he never stopped suckling, licking, biting at her nipples and breasts. She was rocking on him, moaning, pleading in incoherent little noises. Her body vibrated, coiled . . .
"Master . . . I'm too close . . ."
He clamped both hands on her waist and lifted her, shifting them so quickly and with such impressive strength her breath caught for a whole different reason. He'd lifted himself to a seated position on the side of the bed, and she was face down over his lap, the hinge between her thighs and hips hooked over the thigh of his half leg, her upper body draped over the other leg. One of her hands caught his calf, the fingertips of the other sweeping the floor. Those fingers convulsed as he spanked her hard, the sting and the power of her near climax making her writhe and gasp. His cock was a tempting steel bar against her stomach.
He rubbed firm circles over her abused flesh as he squeezed a breast with the other hand, fondling the nipple where it pressed against the side of his leg. "Who do you belong to, Athena?"
"You."
"And when you climax, who orders that?"
"You do, Master."
"Only when I command it."
"Yes sir." Oh, but she was hurting for it, and him holding it out of reach only made the need worse.
"Spread your legs wider," he said brusquely. "You hold still. No wiggling."
When she complied, he started spanking her again, only now he alternated between her ass and short swats of her wet pussy. Trying not to move was utter torture. She felt like an explosive device, the pressure to detonate unbearable.
"On the floor. On your knees, forehead to the ground, ass in the air. Face away from the bed, but stay close enough your feet are beneath the bedrail."
He helped ease her to the floor, which was a good thing, since she was so aroused she was unsteady. How long could he push her like this? She expected as long as he wished.
She'd seen what he did to Willow, had experienced a taste of it at her home, but she was starting to grasp the full depths of the kind of Master he was. Ruthless, taking her beyond her limits, teaching her to stretch herself to meet his every demand. He could make her his slave in truth, because at the moment she'd do anything for him, anything to relieve this burning need that he had stoked to a full blaze. But it wasn't a matter of mere physical release. She didn't want to put her hands or a vibrator between her legs to ease the pressure. She needed her Master's touch, his cock, his mouth . . . his command. She wanted to please him, wanted her release to belong fully and utterly to him.
She was in the prescribed position, forehead to the floor, haunches in the air, her feet tucked under the bed. He was straddling her, still sitting on the bed, one foot planted by her right calf, the other leg spread so his knee extended over the mattress on her other side.
"Stay like that, Athena. I want to look at what's mine. Pull your hair up over your head so I can see every inch of your beautiful skin."
She did it with clumsy, uncoordinated fingers. She was rewarded by him bending down to slide his hand from her nape to the valley of her spine, then up to her buttocks. He parted them with his thumbs, exploring her there in a way that made it clear no orifice was off-limits to him.
"Have you ever been fucked here?"
She shook her head.
Slap!
"No sir," she yelped. "No, Master."
"Good." His finger traced the rim, setting off a spiral of sensation. "I'll be the first. But not today. That pleasure will be for another time."
She hoped that didn't mean he wasn't planning to take her at all. She needed him filling her so badly it was like a lifelong, fervent wish.
"I want to do wicked things to you, Athena. Your submission brings out the beast in me."
Good. She felt like a wild animal herself.
"I'm going to take you back to Release one day. You'll go there as my slave. I also want to fuck you in your bedroom. You understand? Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day. If you fully surrender yourself to me, there'll be no half measures. Nothing held back. I want to own all of you."
She knew things could get exaggerated in scenes, but this didn't feel like that. The dangerous promise in his voice roused a nervous, uneasy response in her. No. She wasn't ready for those things. But he'd told her not today. Not tomorrow . . . one day. She could work with a forecast. All she needed, truly, was for this moment to go on forever.
"Move on your hands and knees to my closet. Open the door as far as it will go."
It was only a few feet away, but it made her feel so subjugated, in a crazy, thrilling way, walking away from him on all fours. He was seeing her flushed and wet pussy, the weight of her breasts swaying with her movements. When she opened the door, there was a full-length mirror on it. In its reflection, she saw he'd pulled a condom from the night table and was tearing it open. As she watched hungrily, he unrolled it over his thick, hard length, shifting his thighs out wider.
"Come back to me. Still on your hands and knees, moving backwards. When you get here, I want you to stand between my legs and face the mirror."
She'd stopped thinking. It was all feeling now. Heated, needy feeling, an ache in her chest, her lower belly. When she reached him again, she rose, keeping her back to him as he'd required. He gripped her thighs, let his palms glide up her body, caressing her hip with one then sliding across it to between her thighs, making her moan, her body sway, as she watched him do it in the mirror. He steadied her with the other hand on her hip as he worked her clit between his knuckles, stroked her labia with clever fingers, dipped them into her pussy. Her nipples were a dark color, so tight and aroused, her breasts like ripe, full fruit. When he slid both hands up to cradle them, pressing his mouth to her lower back, she whispered his name.
"Master."
His touch dropped back to her hips, and then he was lowering her to his lap. "Keep your thighs together."
He speared the tight opening with the skill of a man who knew a woman's most intimate places . . . pussy, ass, heart. She was being maudlin, but that didn't mean she was wrong. He stretched her, brought her
all the way down onto him, pushing her upper body forward so her nipples brushed her knees. He shifted her as he went, achieving a full and deep penetration. She was folded over an ache growing in her lower belly and chest, at odds with the pleasure she was experiencing. He wound his hands in her hair, gathering it to him, his knuckles grazing her cheek, and then he bent, brushing his lips over the tender protruding bones of her spine. Her heart cracked.
"Shh. You're a treasure, girl. Be with me. All the way with me."
"I am, Master." Her voice broke. "Please, may I touch you? Please." She thought she might die without that contact.
"Yes."
She put her shaking hands on his knees, fingers curving into them, noting that there were some different protrusions in the left one, as if the knee had suffered some damage as well. But she tilted her head toward it, brushed it with her lips, her inner muscles clenching on the length of his cock as she did it. She was simply lost, but in a way hard to define as good or bad. It was all inside his sphere of influence, so she wasn't really lost at all. Just completely out of control, possibly for the first time in her life, relying fully on another to bring her back home.
His fingers tightened in her hair, then he let it go to slide his hands back down to her hips. "Hold on to my legs, Athena. You're going to need the anchor."
He began to thrust. Holding her close this way made his strokes short, intense. With her legs pressed together, it catapulted her reaction to an explosive level in a matter of seconds. But at this angle, the climax so perilously close was not close enough. Just close enough to have her screaming at every stroke.
He kept going, showing admirable control, while she was clawing his legs with no restraint at all. With each full penetration, she pressed the soles of her feet into the floor, her inner muscles squeezing him like a vise. His breathing was harsh, and several times she heard a muttered, reverent curse, which just took her higher.
When he brought them to a halt, she almost wailed, even knowing she wasn't going to get a climax until he was damn good and ready. Using those impressive biceps and stomach muscles, he lay back on the bed, unfolding and taking her with him, shifting her body to adjust to the new angle. He was stretched out with her face up on top of him, back to his front, his foot braced on the floor to anchor them. She kept her thighs tightly closed at his brusque command, the balls of her feet barely reaching the floor between his. The position pushed him up high and tight inside of her. One hand went to her throat, the other to her clit, and his hips pumped up against her, slow, torturous, careful movements for them both. Too wide a range would break the connection. But the moment he started rubbing her clit, things started to unravel.
"Master . . . please . . . may I . . ."
"Yes. Come for me, Athena. Let me hear it."
Because she couldn't move much in this position, the waves kept coming, higher and more intense, so she was crying out in prolonged agony, one of the most extreme climaxes of her life. He released when she was at the height of it, and drove her even higher, his powerful body shuddering beneath her, every muscle going hard to match the rigidity of his cock, so deep inside her.
She was a shaking mess in his arms. When he eased her off him, he shifted them both so they were together on the mattress, his head on his pillow and her turned toward him, cradled in his arms. Her muscles had no strength to help him at all. He was stroking her hair, murmuring to her.
"Shh, girl. It's okay. Easy, love."
She kept jerking a little bit now and then, a combination of aftershocks and nerves. He slid his hands over her, slow, easy strokes, cupping her bottom, teasing the side of her breast with his knuckles, massaging the nape of her neck, pressing kisses to the top of her head. Her nose was running and he had a box of tissues by the bed, but her limbs were too numb to reach for one. Since she hadn't lost enough of her sense of decorum to use his flesh as a handkerchief, she kept sniffling.
He rolled against her so she was squashed with wonderful pressure between him and the mattress. It was a brief moment, allowing him to reach over the side of the bed to the floor. When he caressed her cheek with a soft cloth, an unexpected sob choked her. It was his T-shirt. She pressed her face against it and him, letting the shirt absorb her physical reaction and his chest hide the emotional one.
At length he spoke, with tender amusement. "So, was it good for you?"
She must be on the edge of hysteria, because she started laughing. It was a painful transition, like trying to run after drinking a full glass of water, but he held her tighter, so that whatever was trying to tear her apart, laughter or tears, wouldn't gain the upper hand.
"It's all right, girl. It's all right. Shh."
"Yes," she managed at last. "Quite satisfactory." Her words were slurred, like she was drunk, but she fought to get them out. "We should do it again in a month or so, when I've had a chance to recover."
His chuckle was a soothing balm. "I'm going to want you again, far sooner than that. You're going to have to build up some stamina."
"You're going to kill me."
"No. I promise I won't do that." Another kiss on her forehead, this one lingering. When he lifted his head, she tilted her chin to find him studying her with an unfathomable look, one that went on for some moments as he slid his fingers along her lips, her cheeks, her wet lashes.
"What?" she whispered.
"I was thinking of a song. It's one the kids play at the community center. I don't pay much attention to it usually, but I've caught the chorus a few times. 'You must be the reason I'm alive.' The way you looked at my leg, what you said . . ." He shook his head, tightened his arms around her, pushed her head back to his chest. "It was good for me, too. Athena. Better than anything I've felt in a long time. Thank you."
--
They dozed for a while. At some point Athena realized her two-hour lunch was going to run way over. She didn't have any appointments this afternoon, but she still needed to let Ellen know she hadn't disappeared off the planet. Well, in a way she had, but she didn't want Ellen thinking she'd been kidnapped, since she was obsessively punctual.
She was sprawled over Dale's chest, and when she began to move, his arms tightened around her, his grunt telling her what he thought of her leaving. She whispered she'd be right back, that she needed the bathroom, and those blue-green eyes appeared, lingering on her in a way that warmed her to her toes.
"Don't be long."
She fished her phone out of her purse, then slipped into the bathroom. When she sent Ellen the quick text, letting her know she'd decided to take the rest of the day, the response was instant and brought a smile to her face.
Understood, Mrs. Summers. (you go, girl!)
Shaking her head at her assistant, she set the phone aside and took care of some necessities, including using Dale's brush to comb her hair and his washcloth to clean up her face. His medicine cabinet was typically male. Shaving gear, toothpaste. A couple of prescription meds, including an antibiotic and a painkiller. She assumed the first was for his leg and guessed the latter dealt with days where joint pain might be an issue, though the man gave the impression he was all but invincible. They'd last been refilled about six months ago, so he wasn't regularly taking either one.
Thinking about that, she left the bathroom. When she crawled back on the bed next to him, she folded her legs under her and looked at the truncated limb, those sores at the surgical site.
"Was that why you cancelled our lunch date?" she asked. Though his eyes were closed, she knew he was awake and aware of what she was doing. A man didn't keep a knife like that behind his mattress and sleep deeply. Her gaze touched it briefly, still tangled with her ruined panties.
"Yeah. It was stupid. I'm sorry." His eyes opened then, his hand reaching across the mattress to clasp hers, a loose hold.
She shook her head. "We're still getting to know one another, Dale. Crazy as that sounds. So did we overdo the other day, when we were at my place? Is that what caused them?"
"Yeah. Th
at and taking care of the dogs that same day. I just didn't do some of the things for it I'm supposed to do. It happens every once in a while." Then he got that warning look. "Remember what I said. You're not my nurse, Athena. Don't go there."
"No, I'm not. But I am your submissive. At least as long as you want our sessions to continue."
"These aren't sessions, Athena." He reached up, caught her chin in thumb and forefinger. "Did you call them that because you didn't want to make me feel boxed in, or because you believe that's what they are?"
"You really don't leave a girl anywhere to hide, do you?"
"Not my job." His gaze held hers. "Athena."
"No. I don't feel like they're sessions." She put her hand over his, and he shifted it to take a grip on her fingers as they came to a tangled rest together on her knees. "But I'm afraid to assume too much, too soon. I don't know you well enough and . . . these feelings are pretty new to me. I'm not sure of myself, either."
He nodded. "It's one of the reasons I'm keeping a tight rein on things. You realize that, right? For now, my job is taking care of you. Period."
The words made her feel so strange. She had to breathe in and out a few times before the vise around her chest loosened. "I think I understand that. But I want to serve you as well. It's different from taking care of you, isn't it, even if they look a lot the same?"
"Yeah, it is different, but my understanding of that isn't the concern. No matter what you say, I don't think you're far enough away from the nurse side of it that you recognize the difference."
She could have been insulted by the comment, but he didn't sound patronizing. He was stating flatly what he'd observed, and could she really argue with it? As she'd just said, she was dealing with so many new feelings when it came to this. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if his judgment on her was affected by his own situation. He'd obviously dealt with the painful memories and emotions associated with his injury, accepted his situation and refused to call it a handicap, but he was a proud man who would have no patience with any kind of limitations.
She didn't want to get into another argument today, so she tried to explain it a different way. "When I saw you with Willow, I wasn't sure what kind of Master you were. Since Jimmy said you worked with a variety of submissives, at different levels, I figured you like the challenge of determining what each woman wants, what type of submission she needs. Like you told me, the intense attention to detail, the in-depth understanding that requires . . . each one was a mission, even if that mission extended over a few sessions or only one."