No Strings Attached (12 page)

“I can still take care of myself in the meantime?”

“I could say no, but you did mention orgasm denial as one of your hard limits so, yes. Per our terms, you can do whatever you like between now and then.”

“So long as it involves my own hand, you mean.”

“Or a vibrator. I'm not picky.”

I sighed and let my shoulders drop.

Thayre brushed the backs of his fingers on my cheek. “Trust me. I know this is probably frustrating as hell right now, but there's a reason I go slow in the beginning. I need to be sure this is truly what you want, but don't you worry. Pretty soon, you'll be begging me to leave because you'll be sick and tired of me.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“You'll have to wait and see.” He touched a hand to the nape of my neck and, very gently, tilted my head so he could kiss me on the lips.

“I guess I will.”

W
ednesday afternoon, I got a text from Thayre that was enough to turn a horrible day into one wracked with nerves for reasons other than Jay, my trainees or practicing with Transcendence later that evening.

“You happen to have a vibrator?”

I choked on my soda. He must've been taking a lunch break, which for him, was an improvement when he usually didn't eat at all but—

“A little warning would've been nice,”
I texted him once I'd stopped sputtering.
“I almost got Coke all over my cell.”

A moment later, my cell vibrated again.
“Sorry about that. So, do you?”

Looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was around to see the screen, I wrote,
“I have a bullet.”

“I can work with that. You still good for tonight?”

I blinked then read over his last text.
What the hell does a vibrator have to do with playing the violin?

“I get off at six,”
I sent back, my mind reeling with whatever it was Thayre had planned.

“Pick you up at your place?”

Practice wasn't until seven-thirty, which meant we'd have at least half an hour to—
easy, Moyra. Music first. Sex later.

“See you then,”
I replied, turning my cell off completely.

He may have texted me again throughout the afternoon, but if he did, hell if I knew. All I could think about for the rest of the day was what he'd planned for the evening, and not just when it came to playing music, either.

* * * * *

W
earing something that was a little more acceptable than a teddy for practice, I did my best to keep from pacing. In my mind, I tried going over the sheet music I'd played for him, but without a violin, and with way too many thoughts vying for my attention, keeping my focus on one song was impossible.

Like last time, I buzzed him in, surprised when he reached my apartment door in record time, clearly out of breath.

“Took the stairs,” he explained once I'd let him in, crushing his lips to mine a second later.

Something tingled at the base of my spine, and I moaned into his hungry, desperate kiss. He kicked the door shut behind him, and without taking a breath, we edged toward my bedroom. I groaned as my hip hit against a wall. We may have stumbled, but soon we were moving again. I grabbed his lapels. At the back of his shirt.

He broke our kiss the moment we reached my room. “I was going to do this after practice,” he breathed, his voice not nearly as level as I'd expected, “but I don't think I can stand waiting that long.” He kissed me again. Harder. Hard enough to pull all the air from my lungs.

“What...” I tested my voice and tried again. “What happened to that dynamic you were talking about?”

He pushed me through the doorway, toward the center of the room. “I'm getting there.” And in that same instant, he drew away from me, leaving me flustered and off balance. “Strip. Take everything off.
Now.
”

With pleasure.
He didn't ask me to remove his clothing, and when I looked at him, he was getting undressed as fast as I was. Shirt, slacks, shoes—everything landed on the floor in a jumbled mess, and it took every bit of willpower I had not to walk over to him and fall into his arms.

He was hard, and as he stroked his cock with one hand, I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from playing with my clit. I stood, anxiously—patiently—as he settled into his role of being my Dom. He hadn't said anything about our roles shifting from equals outside the room to whatever we were now, but I submitted to him anyway.

“Don't,” he said, stopping me right as I was about to drop to my knees. “I don't want you there. Get on the bed.”

On legs that threatened to buckle, I made my way over to the bed to lay somewhere in the middle of the mattress.

“Ass on the edge.”

My clit throbbed. My pussy was already wet and willing. And remembering the last time he had me lay with my butt on the edge of his bed, I imagined what was to come.
He's going to fuck me.
Hard. Fast. Slow. I didn't care so long as I had him inside me. Soon. Right now.

“Vibrator?” he asked somewhere off to my right.

I licked my lips and closed my eyes. “Dresser. Second drawer from the top.”

His feet shuffled above the carpeting, and he spoke as he went. “What are your safe words?”

“Yellow to slow down. Red to stop. Sir.”

A drawer opened, then closed. “And your limits for tonight?”

Do we even have enough time for this?
“Orgasm control and denial, Sir.”

“Nothing in addition to that?” His voice was closer now, near my feet.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Nothing, Sir.”

“Very good. Lie back and close your eyes. Don't open them again unless I ask you to.”

Setting my head on the mattress, I had about one second of peace before I heard the vibrator turn on, and even less time before Thayre pressed it against my clit. My head flew away from the bed. I gripped at the sheets, arching my back when Thayre started to pull the vibrator away from me.

“Don't...” I exhaled. Whimpered when all I felt on my clit was empty air. “Please, Sir. Don't. Keep going.”

He may have laughed, but soon, my patience was rewarded with the cool vibrator between my pussy lips. Up to my clit. Down again. I followed the rhythm, rocking my hips so he hit my clit when I needed him too, then pulled away when I got too close.

“Moyra, you aren't communicating with me.”

“Sorry, Sir.” I wet my lips. “I'm not used to this.”

“Why do you think I'm using the vibrator and not my hand?”

I squirmed and reached down to finger my clit. Thayre's hold on my wrist stopped me.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”

“No, Sir.” I set my hand on the mattress.

I was so used to using the bullet on my clit on my own, that not having control over it felt strange. Foreign. And the longer I lay there with my eyes closed, the less familiar it became.

“You might be wondering why I'm using the bullet and not my fingers.” His voice lowered. “My
tongue.
”

“
Oh God.
” I shuddered. My legs shook.

He set the tip of the bullet under my clit, which was beginning to get painfully sensitive. “Anytime you use this on yourself, you'll remember everything I've done to you tonight. Does that worry you?”

The vibrator sped up. My heart beat faster.

I screwed my eyes tight. “No, Sir.”

“Are you getting close?”

You could say that.
“Yes, Sir.”

He removed the vibrator but didn't turn it off. He grabbed my wrist. Leaned over the bed. Handed the vibrator to me. “Play with yourself, and don't stop.”

I held the bullet between my thumb and forefinger. “But, Sir, I'll come if I don't.”

“I know. Why do you think I asked?”

The air above me shifted because he stood up. Knowing how close I was, I barely touched the bullet along the side of my clit—as far away from the sensitive tip as I could. It didn't help. Cold fire raced along my spine. Tingled under my fingertips.

I was vaguely aware of Thayre somewhere in the room, but my focus on him was dwindling fast. Faint specks of light danced across my eyes as I neared the very edge of almost too close and too far to stop.

Something slipped inside my pussy, and I gasped for breath.
Thayre's fingers,
I realized, rocking my hips to draw them in deeper, completely forgetting about the vibrator against my clit. I cried from the sudden, sensitive contact and quickly lowered my hips.

This time, Thayre chuckled. I clawed at the mattress with my free hand in hopes of releasing some of the tension. Thayre's fingers hooked against my G-spot. I went to thrust up to meet his palm, but then remembered the vibrator on my clit. The same vibrator that was very nearly touching it.

If I thrust my hips, I'd get overwhelmed by the bullet, and if I didn't, it probably wouldn't matter.

Fuck it.
I dropped the bullet on the bed, and, without thinking, I started to circle my clit with the pad of my thumb. Thayre removed his fingers from my pussy, pinning both of my hands to the bed moments later.

“Did I say you could stop?”

I clawed at the air, whimpering when his cock brushed the inside of my leg. “No, Sir.”

Keeping a hand on my dominate wrist, I sensed him leaning over, but I didn't dare open my eyes.

And in the very same moment the bullet touched my clit, Thayre thrust his cock deep inside me. I cried out. Moaned against his lips when he tried to quiet me. But he didn't let up. He thrust hard and fast, fucking me so violently it
almost
hurt.

My body shuttered. My pussy tightened around him as my orgasm came and went before I could take a breath. And he kept going. Kept the vibrator close to my clit until I begged him to stop.

He set the bullet off to one side, slipped an arm behind my back and sat me up so every thrust hit my G-spot. I opened my eyes to find his were closed. His brow furrowed. He clenched his jaw. And as he slowly unraveled from the inside out, I couldn't decide what was more beautiful: Thayre in a suit, disrobing me with his voice, or seeing him as he was now. On the edge. Losing every ounce of control he had.

Knowing he expected my submission, and I'd promised it to him, I hooked my arms behind his neck anyway. He didn't correct me.

Instead, he growled the four most delicious words I think I'd ever heard him say. “Claw my back. Hard.”

I scratched his shoulders.

He grunted. Nuzzled his face into my neck. “Harder dammit.”

I did. I clawed at his sweat-dampened flesh as hard as I could. He yanked my hair. Bit the side of my neck.

I was dizzy. Light-headed. And I wanted more. So much more.

I ran my nails up his back. He bit my neck again, all the while thrusting hard and fast.

His muscles trembled under my touch. Then, with a catch of breath, he threw his head back and came.

Neither of us moved for a long moment. I hugged him and rested my head on his chest, not knowing or caring what time it was. I knew then, if I ever had to choose between music and having a night like this, being in Thayre's arms would win every single time.

“Feel like taking a shower?” Thayre asked, slowly withdrawing so he could dispose of the condom.

His voice no longer had that edge it usually did when he was my Dom.

“Think we have time?” I was already off the bed, collecting our clothes.

“So long as it's fast.”

With you, naked?
“I doubt it.”

“We'll have to try, because I can't really cancel right before practice, and I certainly can't go in looking like...” He gestured to himself. “Well, this.”

I handed him his clothes, then very slowly, guided him out of my room. “Shower's this way.”

N
o one at practice asked why we both had damp hair that night, or why when I hit a few sour notes, Thayre didn't correct me. In the end, I'm sure they knew, and if not, they would soon. Keeping our personal lives a secret while kissing behind closed doors was bad enough, and it was getting increasingly difficult to choose between sex and music.

By the third week of practice, Thayre invited me to pack a few things to keep at his place so we could get me caught up with everyone else. But when we weren't practicing or writing something new, we were like this—me submitting to Thayre, on my knees, in what would've been his guest room if not for the
unusual
furniture. The first time Thayre had let me in his guest room, I was completely in awe with what he'd managed to get away with.

Similar to the sound studio, his guest room was meant for one thing and one thing only—being a Dom, and doing it well. I always thought kneeling with my hands cuffed behind my back while Bret flogged me was pretty hardcore, but Thayre proved me wrong.

At the far end of the room, he'd set up a massage table, and beside it, a dresser which held a series of towels along with a robe he'd usually have me wear after one of our sessions. But the most interesting piece of decor had to be his Saint Andrew's Cross which stood along one of the sidewalls. There were other things as well, like the extra mattress in the corner, a small fridge which he always had full of water and quick snacks, as well as two sets of cuffs he'd fashioned into the cross itself.

“You ready for this?” Thayre asked, stopping me once I was in the center of the room.

“Like you wouldn't believe.” I rolled my shoulders back. “I've been looking forward to this all day.”

“Take everything off and do your stretches,” Thayre instructed, stepping away from me to grab a few things out of the bottom of his dresser. He returned moments later with a blindfold, ball gag and one of his softer floggers. “Tell me your safe words.”

“Yellow to slow down. Red if I need you to stop, Sir.”

“Good girl. Go on and stand in front of the cross—facing it.”

The cool wood beneath my feet groaned as I approached the cross, and like the few times before this, I spread out my arms and legs so they were parallel with the same on the cross. Thayre brushed my hair over one shoulder and kissed the nape of my neck, forcing my mind to go blank. I knew what was coming next, and yet the anticipation was as strong as ever.