Comforting Touch (Touch #5) (11 page)

A needy whine slips through my lips as my orgasm threatens to set off, and my arms ache from holding myself up. "May I please come, Master?" A bead of sweat trickles down between my breasts, and my breathing goes from labored to barely there.

"No." He grunts and cups my ass roughly, then slides one hand up my front and pushes down the sheer material of my slave dress. "I can't wait to mark these." Dipping down, he palms one of my tits and sucks the nipple into his mouth. I groan in response, feeling his teeth graze teasingly against my sensitive flesh. "Out of this world," he moans. "Imagine how they'll look with my come on them."

I can't fucking take it. I'm right on the brink.

"Whatever you want." I suck in a shaky breath. My lungs burn, needing more air. "Oh fuck—
please
, Master!" My pussy tightens around his slicked-up cock as he rams forward.

No luck. He tortures me for half an eternity, alternating between quick, shallow thrusts and deep, I-can-soon-feel-you-in-my-throat ones. And what was once an ache in my arms and wrists from holding the rope so tightly is now a fiery throb that pulses and spreads down my neck and back.

When my fingers slip and I nearly lose my grip, I hiss at the rope burn and grit my teeth together. I will
not
fail him, goddammit. But it's clear that two yoga classes a week will soon be three.

"Good girl," he murmurs, outta breath. His eyes are warm with…approval? "You're not one to complain, are you?"

"I wanna be the best I can be for you. Even if my arms die." I manage an impish grin, though it's cut off when he strokes my clit.
Oh God, oh fuck
. My entire being seizes up, and I scream internally in protest at my climax surging forward. Any second, any second—

"
Come
." Rio—
my owner
—buries himself to the hilt and groans against my neck, and the last thing I'm aware of is his cock pulsing deep inside my pussy.

The ecstasy tumbling through me numbs out any pain. I lose my senses and awareness. Spots appear behind my closed eyelids, and I hold my breath for as long as I can, wanting the bliss to go on forever.

I don’t know for how long I space out. Sound by sound, feeling by feeling, I slowly regain consciousness. The delicious soreness between my thighs makes itself known. My arms aching when they're lowered. The music in the background. Screams of pleasure and pain around us.

When I come to enough, I notice we're not even by the spider web anymore. Master's seated in the leather chair, and he's cradling me close to his body. Black shirt and dress pants back in place, but his suit jacket is around me instead.

"My beautiful little rebel," he whispers against my temple.

I sigh blissfully and cuddle closer, pressing my nose into the crook of his neck. Never before have I felt this safe.

"Thank you for giving me a shot, Master." I nuzzle his jaw and press a soft kiss there.

I feel him shaking his head. "Thank
you
for being brave when I wasn’t. We wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it weren't for your determination and faith in us. I've grown cynical enough over the years that I sometimes don’t see a good thing even if it smacks me upside the head. Especially when it's a bright, gorgeous young woman who has her entire life ahead of her."

I smirk drowsily at the image of me smacking him
anywhere
—eeep!
—
and lift my head from his shoulder to look him in the eye. "I've lived enough to know I wanna do the rest of my living with a collar around my neck." I kiss him on the lips.
Kissing his smile
. "And I've experienced enough instability and loneliness to know I wanna achieve the rest of my goals while serving at my Master's feet." Then, to make it playful, I chuff him lightly on the chin and say, "We'll find our balance, champ."

He gives me an incredulous look before barking out a laugh and squeezing me tightly.

Chapter 12

The outside world reminds us of its presence when Evangeline carefully peeks in and says, "Mr. Ford asked me to let you know it's almost time."

Oh!

I'd almost forgotten the birthday party Kayla and I planned for Rio.

"We'll be there in five," I answer. "Thanks, hon."

She grins and disappears again.

Master lifts a brow, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "I believe it's up to me where we'll be in five minutes."

I lean forward and kiss his nose, just 'cause. "You can start bossing me around the second we get there, but you can't say no to this. You're the guest of honor, after all." With that, I hop off his lap, wince slightly at the soreness, and straighten my dress. "You wouldn’t wanna miss your own birthday party, would you? I made the cake myself." And I'm damn proud of it!

"My birth—" He closes his mouth, and his initial confusion is wiped away with a soft smile. "You amaze me."

It's my goal to keep doing that—and to keep that smile on his face.

"Come on, Master. Your friends are waiting." I hold out a hand for him.

*

True to his nature, Master gives me his first instruction right before we enter the Chamber.

"If I tap my thigh, it means I want you to kneel next to me. We'll work on poses later. You're free to speak, but keep in mind you have to ask me before you make any plans with your girlfriends."

Easy enough. Though, the one I'm most anxious to talk to isn't a
girl
friend. At this point, I'm really fucking worried about Dylan, and his face is the first one I seek out the moment we enter the dimly lit Chamber. But he's nowhere to be found. Mr. Ford, Mr. Kingsley, Master Hill, Master Cooper, Mistress Judy, Master Dante, their subs…Gabriella—I'll have to ask her.

Seated with Mistress Judy's sub, Gabriella looks as happy as Mr. Kingsley does across the room—as in, not at-fucking-all.

"Happy early birthday, Master Rio!" Kayla cries out, bouncing in her seat. It's followed by a wince, so I'm guessing Mr. Ford didn’t go easy on her butt earlier. "Daddy, can I go hug him?"

Before friends swarm Master to congratulate him, I ask if I can go over to Gabriella and talk to her about Dylan. Master nods and tells me to hurry back.

I leave his side the second before Kayla and Evangeline run up to hug him.

I smile to myself, happier than ever. It's an amazing and close-knit community I've joined.

Making my way over to Gabriella, who's now alone, I sit down next to her on a couch and peer out over the room and the people around us. I catch Master glancing around, taking in the balloons, the banner attached between the two brass poles in the middle of the floor, the garlands, the small bar that has replaced the wax play station, and I see the smile he directs at the floor before he shakes his head dazedly.

Pleasure fills me.

"Hey." I nudge Gabriella's shoulder with mine. "I know you and I haven't talked much, but are you okay?"

She sends a polite smile my way and tucks a piece of her chin-length hair behind her ear. The shiny, dark hair looks like it's been straightened, not a strand out of place.
"Perfect little girl"
comes to mind with her baby pink dress, light makeup, and huge rock on her ring finger. But for some reason, I think her green eyes should be filled with mischief. The faint freckles on her cheeks and nose should be displayed proudly—not hidden under foundation—to show she just might be the hottest mix between Italian and Irish. 

I wanna muss up her hair and remove the invisible corset that has her sitting stiff like a stick.

"I'm fine, thank you." She flashes her pearly whites. "My Daddy wanted to be here to celebrate Master Kelly, but he was held back at the office."

Uh-huh. According to Dylan, that’s a common occurrence.

"All right, sweets." I drape an arm around her shoulders and lean in a little closer. "We're still strangers, so I get the polite nonsense. But whenever you wanna cut the shit and talk about your Daddy Dom, or, you know, maybe Dylan and Mr. Kingsley, I'm here for you. Deal?" I stick out my hand for her.

Her eyes widen comically, her gaze flicking between my face and my hand. Then she composes herself, but not before I see a glimpse of hesitation and curiosity.

When she averts her eyes, I follow to where she's looking, and what a surprise, Mr. Kingsley's watching us with a small frown.

"Deal." Gabriella shakes my hand quickly and exhales shakily.

Maybe she will, maybe she won't. She's back to her schooled self, so she might be humoring the sub she only recently met.

"I didn’t mean to get pushy," I feel the need to add. "I came over to ask about Dylan, but I saw you lookin' sad, so…"

Another smile, this one more forced.
Pained
. "It's okay, Chelsea. Thank you for your concern." Man, she's formal. "As for Dylan…" There's that pain again. "He left for Texas this morning." That leaves me queasy in an instant. "He told me you two hung out after Master Kelly's party. He likes you." This time her smile is a bit more genuine.

"You can't have too many friends," I respond. "I like him, too." Looking down at my lap, I frown and wonder if Kayla has his email or something.
Wait
. I've friended him on Switch's web forum. I'll try there.

In the extremely short time I've known Dylan, I've already started feeling protective of him in a kid-brother sorta way. He's this cheeky yet vulnerable sweetheart, and a part of me wants to go over to Mr. Kingsley and give him a piece of my mind. But I don’t know enough about their situation, and it's none of my business to interfere.

That's Kayla's domain.

"He didn’t tell me when he's coming back, but he will," she says, nodding firmly. "He has to. He's got the Nationals this summer, the short-course World Championship in December, and then the tryouts for the Olympics next year. He wouldn’t go without his personal trainer for long."

Huh. So when Kayla told me Dylan's a professional swimmer, she really fucking meant it. I mean, the Olympics? Christ on a cracker.

"If you talk to him, tell him to PM me on Switch's site?" I ask, noticing both Mr. Kingsley and Master walking over.

"Of course—" Gabriella nods and purses her lips as the two Doms reach us.

Master taps two fingers on his thigh, at which my heart rate spikes and I quickly remember his instruction. Sliding off the couch, I kneel next to him and direct my gaze downward.

He strokes a hand over my hair.

Shiver
.

"Everything okay here, princess?" Mr. Kingsley asks Gabriella.

"Yes, Sir," she answers demurely. "Master Kelly, my Daddy sends his congrats."

"I'm sure he did, little one." There's a wry smirk in Master's voice. "You're here—that’s what matters. Isn't that right, mate?"

I smile to myself.

"Hell, yeah." Mr. Kingsley's whiskey voice fills with a gruffness, and unless I'm reading too much into it, he's not happy with Gabriella's Daddy Dom. "Now, how about we get these girls some cake?"

*

Rio brings me home with him after Switch, and for the second time in as many nights I've spent at his house, I wake up in his bed alone, the moonlight shining through the wall-sized window.

After rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I see Rio standing by said window, hands in the pockets of his sweats. He's more of a silhouette than a person. His body is shadowed by the night, from his head and broad shoulders, past his narrow hips and muscular thighs, down to his bare feet. His hair sticks out a bit more than usual, either from sleep or from running a hand through it too many times.

Reaching for the black dress shirt he wore earlier, I slip it on and leave the bed. The hardwood creaks quietly under my feet, but other than a small tilt of his head, Rio doesn’t move. He knows I'm awake now, though.

"Can't sleep, Master?" I ask softly.

He hums as I slide my palms down his back and around his middle.

"Just a few things on my mind." He covers my hands with his and brings them up to kiss my knuckles. I rest my forehead between his shoulder blades. "I was trying to remember the last time I felt this way—happy, excited…nervous." I feel his smile against my knuckles with another brush of his lips. "I suppose last time should've been when my fiancée was alive, but it's not. Far from it."

That’s sad.

"Did you leave BDSM for her?" Because I know his fiancée was vanilla, according to Kayla. And though Nicholas's suspicion of
me
being the reason Rio left the scene has wreaked havoc in my thoughts for days now, I can't wrap my head around that. It makes no sense.

"No." With a gentle tug on my hand, he silently tells me to face him. I kiss his back then sneak under his arm and peer up with a smile. "I left because of my reaction to meeting you."

That wipes the smile off my face.

I swallow, suddenly nervous as fuck. "What do you mean?"

He sighs and clasps his hands around me, resting them above my butt. "Like I started telling you before I…well, before I attacked you at the club—"

I can't help but chuckle, and I smack his chest playfully.

His eyes show both mirth and challenge. "
That
," he murmurs and nips at my fingers, "will get you punished when you begin your training."

"Which starts tomorrow, Sir," I point out, not deterred. "But okay. You were saying."

He inclines his head, his hands returning to their previous position behind me. "You're not the only one who remembers every minute of when we first met." He parts his lips to continue then changes his mind. "Come here." Guiding me over to the cushy chair in the corner near his closet, he sits down and draws me onto his lap. "I got into BDSM when I was nineteen, so I considered myself experienced at thirty."
When we met
. "I learned new things frequently, sure, but nothing surprised me anymore. I knew—I
thought
I knew exactly what I wanted. I played often, went to events, and had a few steady—very obedient—partners I scened with. Doctor by day, Master by night."

Inching closer, I rest my cheek on his shoulder and give him a squeeze.

He kisses the side of my head. "Then I went to New York for a seminar, and a few of us went out one night. And there you were." He grows silent for a beat, absently fiddling with the buttons on his shirt I'm wearing. "Back home, I had a sub waiting for me. She never questioned a thing I said. Did everything I ordered. Pleased me. Never bothered me. We played together here and there—alone or with others." Ah. The sharing. "She was the perfect slave, exactly what I was used to—what I thought I wanted."

Thought
he wanted…

"Look at me." He lifts my chin, his gaze penetrating. "You have unforgettable eyes, Chelsea. In every sense of the word. Did you know that?"

I roll them and ignore the blush rising to my cheeks. "Yeah, I know they're weird." My brother had normal eyes—an intense gray color. But I have Central Heterochromia, and in my case it means a dark violet color around the pupil that merges with the gray.

Rio shakes his head slowly and palms my cheek. "Not weird. Unique and exquisite. They kind of sucked the air out of my lungs when I first saw you." He kisses me chastely, and there's no ignoring the heat in my face now. "Even at sixteen, you looked like a goddamn sin." The man has a way with words. "That’s what shook me, too." The light dims from his eyes, and his mouth thins. "You said I reacted differently than the other motherfuckers you hit on, but I didn’t." His hand falls from my face. "I wanted you. You have no
idea
how close I was to bringing you to my hotel and screwing the daylights out of you."

I choke on nothing and sit up straight; however, that gives Rio the wrong idea, and more resignation shadows his features. He thinks I'm grossed out by him.

"You didn’t," I say unnecessarily.

"I wanted to," he repeats. His leans back and grasps the ends of the armrests with both hands. Distancing himself from me. "Even after you confessed your real age. Even though I could clearly see what you needed was stability and—Jesus fucking Christ." He releases a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. "What you needed was a home, a damn meal, and people who cared for you."

Now I'm annoyed, so I straddle him to face him fully, and I fold my arms across my chest. "You could see all that, huh?" I respond dryly. "You've got skills."

"Give me a break." He cocks a brow. "You were sixteen and dressed like a prostitute. You were stick-thin, under the influence, and your friends looked like addicts. It didn’t take a genius to figure out you came from a broken home."

I stare at him a bit longer, his words sinking in, punching me in the gut, and then I look away grudgingly. I guess it
was
fairly obvious.

He gets up close again, a glare fixed in place. "And I still thought with my dick." His jaw tenses. "I still wanted to take you away from all that and make you my personal property."

Wait… My eyes narrow. "Hold up. Either you wanted a quick fuck, or you wanted to make me your sub—slave, whatever. Make up your mind 'cause there's a fucking difference." Especially since he'd been in the BDSM community for close to a decade when we met. He would've known, back then, that owning a sub isn't all about blow jobs whenever you want or having your meals served with a snap of your fingers. It's about nurturing and…so many other things.