No Safeword: Matte - Happily Ever After (Safewords) (20 page)

Now it was his turn to control his breathing and focus on his diaphragm, and he concentrated on staying in control as he pulled air in and pushed it out. When he thought he could speak normally he said, “Relax around me, Samantha. If I don’t think you can handle it we’ll go to Plan B, but I’m not ready to throw in the towel yet.”

Her head hung low and she didn’t respond.

“You with me?” he asked. “I can’t see your face and I need to hear from you. Talk to me, you have permission.”

“It’s a lot, Sir, but I don’t want to stop. I just need a minute. I want you to take me.” She hesitated and corrected herself. “To take my ass. I want us to have this again.”

Her voice was strained enough he pulled back an inch before leaning over, careful to hover without making her bear his weight. He stroked her hair and she turned her head sideways. “We’ll have it again, sweetheart. Maybe today, but if not, soon. If you think it’s too much, tell me. I’ll make the final determination, but I need to know how you’re doing before I can make an informed decision.”

“The nipple clamps are too much, if you really want to know, Sir.”

Perfect. Removing them would take her mind off her ass a moment. He started to reach down and pull, but the sadist in him pulled his hand back. “I’ll give you a choice. I’ll pull them off now, or if you can hold out another two minutes I’ll take them off as easy as possible.”

“Shit, Sir. I don’t know.” She hesitated and ground out, “
Fuck
. Now, please.”

He nodded and centered himself over her again, pulling his cockhead to her entrance before pressing halfway in once more as he re-situated. Her moan held a mixture of pleasure and pain, so he pulled almost all the way out before grasping the chain below her nipples, and drove in as he jerked the chain down.

Sam’s scream filled the room, and Ethan pumped her ass while her mind was on her nipples. He reveled in the feel of her bottom muscles squeezing him as she fought the table, fought him, fought the bungee cords holding her down.

The possessive drive in him was a feral energy, and he ground out, “You’re mine, and you’ll take what I give you, and you’ll give me what I want. I want your submission, and I intend to ream your ass.”

“Yes, God Yes! Yours.
Everything
. Yours.”

Ethan’s heart soared at her declaration, and he felt his entire being take flight as her ramblings continued. She screamed variations of asking him to pound her harder, repeatedly declaring she belonged to him in a wide assortment of phrases, and belting out the usual expletives as she neared orgasm.

He braced his arms around her waist as his hips went onto autopilot, pistoning hard and fast. His voice was ragged as he managed to growl, “Come whenever you’re ready, Samantha. As often as you want.”

He held back during her first orgasm, but heard a worrying hitch in her voice on her second, so he allowed himself to come with her. He’d have taken her through at least a half-dozen climaxes without her injuries, but as much as she’d moved and fought, he thought her shoulder and chest were likely at their limit.

Over the next seven days Sam and Ethan consumed more vegetables each day than most people go through in a month. Instead of running together in the evenings, Sam rode the stationary bike while Ethan ran on the treadmill, and they watched fight movies.

Sam went to the dojo but was so frustrated by the things she could no longer do, she decided to wait a few weeks before trying it again.

She also had to make arrangements to have a new mirror installed in her bathroom, and was ashamed she’d lost her temper.

Ethan helped Sam find ways to keep her lower body limber and strong without stretching her upper body, and Tuesday evening he strapped her left arm to her body so she could kick the heavy bag without jarring her shoulder too much. When he joked, “We need to give you a constructive way to get some of your anger out,” she was even more embarrassed about the mirror, but she knew he was right.

Sam alternated between feeling good about her accomplishments, and sinking into despair at things she could no longer do. She tried to focus on the positive but sometimes it seemed impossible. Sure, she was lucky to be alive, but she wanted her old life back.

* * * *

Kirsten insisted Sam go with her to work out Wednesday while Ethan was at the dojo. She explained where they were going in the car.

“The form of martial arts I learned in China isn’t taught in the U.S. However, wing-chun is more or less a descendent of the style I learned, and I’ve found a wonderful shifu in town. He doesn’t take on just anyone to teach. He doesn’t advertise, and he’ll tell you to pay what you feel his time and experience is worth.” She hesitated and added, “Or, that’s what he tells me.”

“Wing-chun was created by a woman,” Kirsten continued, “the daughter of a general. You can look up the details, but the gist of the fighting form is we get in close, where we can punch with ease but someone taller than us can’t get enough leverage to strike with full force.”

Sam interrupted. “I told you, I tried to go to the dojo and it was just
frustrating
to not be able to do the things I could do before.”

“But you haven’t learned wing-chun before. It’ll be new. You’ll be learning the skills as you heal, and adding more complicated moves as your shoulder allows.”

“Wow, that’s…genius. If you weren’t driving I think I’d hug you.”

“You can hug me later. Fair warning — Luca is big on tradition. Bow before you enter the room, no shoes on the floor, and call him shifu or sir.”

“But normal workout clothes are okay?” Most instructors big on tradition wanted their students to dress traditionally, too.

“Yeah. He told me he doesn’t work with people who are only worried about what color belt they’ve made it to.” She shrugged. “About a year or so after I began working with him, he handed me a black belt and told me I’d earned it. I’ve never worn it, and don’t really care about it, but it was a nice gesture.”

Sam took her shoes off, put them against the wall near Kirsten’s, and followed her friend into an impressive dojo.

“Wow, this is huge.”

“Yeah. Why don’t you step over towards the equipment?”

Sam did as her friend suggested, and practically jumped out of her skin when something flashed across the room and attacked Kirsten.

She soon realized this must be the shifu, and stood behind the plum posts to be sure she was out of the way. Arms and legs flew so fast she could barely keep up, and the action ended as quickly as it started, with Kirsten standing over a man, her arm poised to deliver a killing strike to the throat.

The man on the floor relaxed and laughed, and Kirsten stood and offered her hand to help him up.

They were both breathing hard, and Sam stayed put until they turned their attention to her.

The teacher was maybe late thirties or early forties, thin and wiry, and probably an inch or two shorter than six feet tall. His long brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, giving him the distinctive look of an ex-hippy.

“You must be Samantha?”

“Yes, but Sam is fine.”

“You have experience with martial arts? Show me your favorite kata, the one that soothes you. I know you aren’t at one-hundred percent, so make adjustments as necessary to accommodate your injury.”

Sam looked at Kirsten, who nodded for her to go ahead.

She stepped away from the equipment, settled into her lunge, took a moment to find her center, and let her body flow through the movements.

She finished with a bow and stood, suddenly uncomfortable to have shown so much of herself.

“Excellent. Come to the floor with me and we’ll get started.” He looked at Kirsten. “You know what you need to do with the equipment. The usual drills. I’ll pull you in at the end of class.”

An hour later Sam was exhausted but had a great respect for the new form she was learning. He worked with her on the fundamentals — resting arm positions, stance, and simple punches, before teaching a basic kata.

As promised, he pulled Kirsten onto the floor and had the two of them go through the kata together, and then had Kirsten do the more complicated form as Sam did the simple version.

When they finished, he looked to Kirsten and said, “I’d like some time with your friend alone. I can drive her home if you’d like to leave.”

Kirsten looked at Sam in question, and Sam responded, “Sure, I guess it’s okay.”

She watched her friend leave, and her new shifu motioned Sam to follow him. They walked out a back door into a luscious courtyard, and across the flagstone pathways and through some French doors into a kitchen.

“When we’re in the dojo I’m shifu, everywhere else, I’m Luca.” He waived towards some chairs with a view of the courtyard. “Have a seat and I’ll make us some jasmine tea. Kirsten explained why she thought it a good idea for me to teach you, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“I have a group of people I work out with. I used to say it was a mixed martial arts class, but the term has come to mean something else so I guess it’s better to say it’s a combination of various martial arts styles. We all come from varying traditions, we’re all very adept, and the class is usually more about honing the skills and reflexes we already have than in adding to our knowledge base.”

“You have a place. Why do you want to drop your friends and come here?”

“I’m not dropping my friends. They’re very dear to me and I intend to go back when I can keep up. But for now, not being able to do what I could do before is frustrating. Kirsten thinks if I’m learning a new skillset so it becomes more complicated as I heal, it’ll give me something positive to strive for and will cut down on my frustration.”

He sat beside her and put the tea tray on a small table before them. “And do you think this is the case?”

“I wasn’t sure, but after working with you an hour I’m certain she’s right.” Sam was suddenly afraid he’d turn her down, refuse to work with her. The hour had flown by and she looked forward to stretching her knowledge as she re-tuned her body.

“How often do you wish to come?” He poured tea from the small pot into two teacups, and offered one to her.

Did this mean he was accepting her? She wasn’t sure, but accepted the cup and answered with the truth. “Thank you. Two nights a week would be great if your schedule is open for it.”

“It is. I can see you Monday and Thursday at six o’clock, for an hour on Monday and an hour and a half on Thursday. This will be just you and I, and I’m going to ask you to pay for my time with half of what you charge per hour.”

Wow, that would be around six hundred dollars a week, but she understood his point. She wouldn’t do it forever, but if she could work with him a few months and gain enough skills to be proficient in yet another form, and then go back to Tom’s dojo, it would be worth it.

She held her hand out, thanked him, and took a sip of her tea.

“I expected you to be a martial arts snob,” he said, “but I was pleasantly surprised.”

Sam looked at him in question, not sure what to say, and he added, “National Kung Fu champion? Most people who go for titles are all about what other people think, but you walked in with humility and a will to learn.”

“Competing was more about pushing myself than impressing others.” She looked around the kitchen and outside to the courtyard. “You’ve created a wonderful haven in the middle of downtown. The dojo area was an old warehouse or factory, and it looks like this was the old office building, maybe?”

He nodded. “Yes, I picked it up for little more than a song and spent several years turning it into my dream home.” He laughed. “Wax on, wax off, ad nauseam.”

Sam finished her tea and he said, “I can take you home now, if you’re ready.”

* * * *

Ethan stepped out on the front porch as she was saying goodbye to Luca, and she could tell by the look on her caveman’s face she should have texted him to let him know what was going on.

“Can you step out of the car and let me introduce you to my husband, please?”

“Sure thing.
Wow
, he’s big.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty much everyone’s first reaction.”

“Ethan, this is Luca. He’s Kirsten’s shifu, and she took me to class with her tonight. He teaches wing-chun, and I’ll be seeing him twice a week to learn a new form.”

Ethan shook Luca’s hand without looking at Sam. “My wife makes her own decisions, but you understand I’m a little protective of her, even when she doesn’t want me to be.”

Luca bowed his head a brief moment and raised it to meet Ethan’s gaze. “As you should be. Women are to be treasured and it’s nice to know Samantha has someone who loves her.”

Ethan looked at Sam and she said, “Yeah, I told him he could call me Sam, but...” She shrugged, not sure what to say.

“I don’t use nicknames.” Luca looked to Sam and back to Ethan. “Her range of motion was about four inches wider at the end of the hour. If this isn’t normal you should either put her in a hot tub for a while, or ice it, depending on where she is in the healing process.”

“Four inches? Really?” Ethan looked to Sam. “Overhead or lateral?”

Sam sank into the wing-chun stance, pulled her arms into the resting position, found her center, and performed the middle portion of the kata.

Ethan was to her within seconds of her standing, and pulled her into a bear hug with her legs a foot off the ground.

He twirled her around, put her down and stepped towards Luca, who put his arms up and said, “Oh no, I don’t do hugs.”

Ethan laughed and clapped his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “I don’t know if this was your doing or Kirsten’s, but I’m grateful.”

“Samantha worked hard; I just showed her the way.” He stepped behind his car door and looked at Sam. “I’ll see you Monday?”

She nodded and he looked back to Ethan. “It was nice meeting you. Have a good evening.”

They watched him pull out and Sam said, “You could wait for an explanation before you go all psycho and scary, you know.”

“You told me you were going to work out with Kirsten, and when I see lights in the driveway and step outside to greet you, you’re in an ancient Audi with a strange man.”

“And, I repeat, you could wait for an explanation before you go all psycho and scary.”

They made it into the house and Sam saw Tom and Frisco in the living room, but she didn’t really care at the moment. Apparently, neither did Ethan.

“Nice to know
you
thought I was psycho and scary. Did you note he wasn’t the least bit intimidated?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, I did. He’s kind of a bad-ass, too.” Sam smiled. “He could probably give you a run for your money, and I’ve a feeling you’d both end up bloody.”

“When did you see him fight?”

“He and Kirsten sparred when I first got there.” She hesitated, remembering. “I’ve never seen people fight so
fast
. I had no idea Kirsten was so skilled, either. I mean, I assumed she was good, but…I’m not sure I’d want to take her, even if I weren’t injured.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Well, that gives me a new respect for Kirsten. Okay, tell me about wing-chun.”

Sam looked at their guests and smiled in apology, and Tom took the opportunity to say, “We get the wooden dummy from wing-chun; I’ve only scratched the surface and haven’t gone deep, but we make use of some of their exercises. I think it’ll be good for you to dig into another discipline.”

She turned to Ethan. “Wing-chun was created by a woman — Kirsten said a Chinese general’s daughter, but I need to look up the history. At any rate, it was designed so someone small gets in close enough so a bigger person can’t get enough leverage for a proper strike, but
we
can strike fine, ‘cause our arms are shorter.”

“When are classes?”

She told him, and then added, “Private classes, it’ll just be Luca and I.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows and Sam crossed her arms.

“Maybe it’s time for us to leave,” Frisco said.