Caught Up In You 4: The Point of No Return (Edgeplay) (7 page)

 Spreading my knees as farther apart, I capture my clit with my left hand. I can feel my pulse there and rub in time to its beat.

 The metal tip absorbs my heat, warming to my body temperature. It feels good where it is poised at my opening but I want it in deeper, want to feel the smooth hardness on the inside. My hips rock in time to my rubbing and I push back into the toy.

 “Connor,” I breathe, imagining it’s not a piece of metal trying to access my body, but my lover’s incredibly hard cock. I can almost feel his hands on my hips, holding me still and slowly pushing the head into my tight opening.

 I’m shocked when the toy slides into place, creating a fullness inside. Twisting the handle I groan as the thing shifts inside me, angling differently.

 Panting, I work two fingers into my wet slit, grinding my heel against my throbbing clit. I should have waited for him because no I want to be fucked, hard and fast. My fingers aren’t enough, neither is the toy filling my ass. I want his cock in me, stretching me, feeling his gift through the walls of my pussy.

 It’s the idea of him slamming home, twisting the butt plug while he drives deeper into my wet sheathe that sends me over. I clamp down on my fingers, press in with my hand, grip the plug desperately as waves of release wash over me. I cry out, not something I’ve ever done on my own before, until my voice is hoarse.

 Slowly I come back down, my breaths returning to normal. I have no idea how long I lay there, sprawled with the plug still lodged securely inside me. My hands shake as I reach for the phone.

 “Hope you’re here for the next act.”

 I press send before I think better of it, then collapse on my bed to wait.

Chapter Five

 
W
hen I wake, Connor looms in the doorway, in the way only a big, sexy man can possibly do. His expression is bland, but the rigid set of his shoulders gives away his true mood. With his arms crossed over his broad chest, revealing the muscles in his forearms I shiver, thinking of his strength, his power.

 And that’s before I remember the butt plug.

 “Did your little performance wear you out?” His voice is rough, almost abrasive and it streaks along my nerves in such a way to unsettle me.

 He’s not taking this in the spirit I intended it. “I just thought—”

 “Did you think? I was at dinner, Baily. With a Senator for God’s sake.”

 Crap. “I’m sure he’s got worse on his phone. Isn’t that a prerequisite?”

 His arms fall to his side. “Do you think this is funny? Do you have any idea what happened? I switched over, right there in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

 My lips part as I take his meaning. No wonder he looks so dangerous. I woke the sleeping Dom.

 He closes in, leaning down over me, trapping me between those sexy forearms. “And now you have to deal with me.

 I scramble backwards, but there’s only so far I can go. “I’m sorry, but how was I to know that would happen? I thought you were on your way back already, that you’d like it.” There’s a little wiggle in my voice, my insecurities rearing back to life. What had I been thinking in making that video? It seemed like a good idea at the time is a really lame response when confront with an angry bear of a man who may or may not eat me alive.

 “Like is too mild a word.” His blazing blue eyes trace over me. “Let me see it.”

 “Connor.” I try but he claps a hand over my mouth.

 “There are two acceptable answers. Use your safeword, or say
Yes, Sir
and comply.” The ice in his blue eyes tells me he’s dead serious.

 My whole body is shaking, whether from fear or anticipation I don’t know. I’d done this, tripped his trigger and now I need to deal with the fallout.

 It’s tight quarters between his arms, but he isn’t giving an inch. I navigate myself onto my belly, then tuck my knees up, raising my ass higher in the air. He doesn’t wait for me to part my flesh, just does it himself without a word.

 Humiliation burns through me as he circles the object stretching my opening with a fingertip. The snap of a plastic lid makes me jump. “What are you doing?”

 His open palm smacks against my backside. I yelp, startled and he swats me again. He isn’t taking it easy on me and every instinct I have is screaming at me to wiggle away and protect myself from his wrath.

 But I know this Connor, understand how his mind works. I crossed a line and he has to punish me for it to set things right. In some ways, he’s so much simpler to deal with than the Connor who left me.

 Three more strikes then he grips my hair in a fist, turning my head to the side. There’s no pain in his touch, only mastery, complete control. His face lowers until his breath caresses my skin.

  “Not without permission,” he growls.

 I’m not clear if he’s talking about the liberties I’ve taken with my body, the video or my asking a question. The confusion must be scrawled across my face.

 “Do not speak without permission. I’ve given you too much leniency in the past, been too easy on you. I gave you enough rope to hang yourself by. That ends tonight. Do not speak without permission or unless I ask you a question or you get five more. Are we clear?”

 “Yes, Sir.”

 He nods and straightens. “You need more lube here, so you’re not too sore for what I have planned. Hold still.”

 I desperately want to ask what he intends but then he’s removing the plug, squirting more cold lube inside me using his finger around the stretched aperture. I jump, surprised and he gives me another open palmed swat, commanding me to stay still.

 I expect him to unzip his pants, thinking he’ll fuck me now, probably in the orifice he’s so carefully preparing. Instead, he reinserts the plug then wraps the comforter around me, securely trapping me inside and lifts me, blanket and all over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

 Grinding my molars together, I barely refrain from asking him if he intends to carry me outside like this. Not only is it freezing, but his security teams are on patrol and I’m scared to death one of them will see. There’s humiliation and then there’s
humiliation
.

 But instead of heading to the front door, Connor strides purposefully to the root cellar. What the heck can he be planning down here? I squirm, trying to look over his shoulder but he swats my blanket covered backside, a wordless command to stay still.

 When Grandma Rose was alive this area was used for canning, pickling and other domestic chores. The trapdoor above leads to the small vegetable garden Pops used to tend, but had overgrown since the decline of his health.

 I notice a bench along the far wall had been moved and another door, one I never noticed before stands open. It’s not really a door, more an opening in the cellar where cement blocks have been removed.

  “What the hell?” I breathe.

 Connor doesn’t discipline me for my statement, merely heads into the passageway.

I expect it to be dark, but tract lighting has been installed beneath the floor, which isn’t dirt at all, but some kind of metal grating. His steps echo in the space and I have no way of telling how long the tunnel extends.

 “Are you afraid?” Connor murmurs, not even winded from carrying my trussed up self for such a distance.

 “No.” I’m uncomfortable and nervous, but I trust him completely. Hopefully that won’t turn out to be a mistake.

 “If you had any idea what’s going through my head right now, you would be.” His tone is flat, lacking inflection. I can tell his control is on a fraying leash, that I’ve pushed him to the edge of his comfort zone and he’s hell bent on returning the favor.

 The tunnel seems to go on forever. Maybe it’s the sameness of the metal grating, the cement pillars providing support, but I have no sense of distance or direction. Blood has long since rushed to my head and my stomach is sore from being bounced against his shoulder. But it’s nothing compared to the apprehension of what waits for me on the other end. I’m hoping the long trek with my heavy self will diminish a bit of Connor’s endless stamina.

 Finally we round a curve up ahead and step through another open door. I blink at the harsh lights. Even a 60 watt bulb seems bright after the dim tunnel.

 Sucking in a sharp breath, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from exclaiming. We are in Connor’s office, the one with the awesome fireplace and bearskin rug. I want to ask if he’s been using the tunnel since the first night he showed up in my bedroom. Explained why the other Connor denied having a key to my place. I have a feeling the other Connor doesn’t know about the tunnel any more than I did.

 He sets me down in the wingback chair and turns toward his desk. Picking up a piece of paper he holds it before my eyes. It’s the safe, sane and consensual contract, the one the other Connor refused to let me sign.

 Slowly I raise my gaze until it locks with his.
 “You have a choice, Baily. One last chance to go back. If you don’t sign this, you can right back through that tunnel and we call it quits. For good.”

 He’s serious. I search his face, a million questions churning through my brain. What will the other Connor say when he finds out I signed this contract against his express wishes? Can Connor the Dom really promise that we’d be through when he’s only at the helm part time? And what exactly does he have planned that is so far beyond what we’ve already done that he needs my signature to verify consent?

 His eyes narrow. “I see it all going through your mind. I left him a note before, I can do it again. I started this and I’ll end it if I have to. Things have gone too far already.”

 A buzzing fills me ears. Is he saying that he doesn’t want to marry me despite his doppelganger’s proposal? Funny with all my lists and questions I never thought to ask that one.  “Is that what you want?” I whisper. “To end it? End us?”

 His harsh features soften as he crouches down before me until we are at eye level. “You know better than that. It’s your insecurity talking, the same reasons you can’t answer him, can’t make up your mind. You don’t trust yourself. I can help you with that, but only if you trust me completely. I want to claim what’s mine, forever.”

 His meaning sank in and I looked to the paper again, seeing it for what it really was. Another proposal, another promise of forever. By signing that piece of paper I was putting myself into his hands completely, trust that whatever he wanted to do to me, he was doing for me. For us.  

 Shrugging off the blanket, I reach for it, my hands shaking. My fear of losing him completely is far greater than any punishment he can dole out. “I need a pen.”

 He doesn’t ask me if I’m sure, gives me enough credit that I know what I’m doing. His confidence in me outdistances my own. Gripping me under the arm, he leads me, naked to the desk. Handing me the pen, he waits.

 I stare at the words, on the page. Safe, sane and consensual. “Permission to speak?”

 “Granted.”

 I turn to him. “Why does the other you not want me to do this? What is he afraid of?”

 “That I’ll fulfill the fantasies we both harbor, the ones he tries to bury, to ignore and pretends he doesn’t have. He’s afraid I’ll hurt you, that I’ll go too far.”

 “Can you be more specific?”

 “I could, but I’m not going to, not until you sign.”

 Sucking in a fortifying breath, I sign my name on the dotted line. A tremor takes me, hoping I didn’t just make a huge mistake.