Sexy as Hell Box Set (26 page)

I came, muffled wails stuttering with my breaths. Victor raised his free hand and slapped me across my face, the shock of it—and the pleasure that he’d brought himself to do such a thing—sent spears of knife-sharp bliss through my clit. Oh, fuck, he had a good slap on him, and I opened my mouth to order him to do it again, but was prevented from doing so by a force of sensation so massive it left me speechless.

He obliged my silent request with another ringing smack—same strength, same place. My head jerked to the side from the impact, and I released a quiet cry of delight at how much it hurt yet pleased me at the same time. Easing my fingers out of my cunt, I finished off by furiously going at my clit, my wetness making it a slippery and oh-so-divine rub that had me arching my back. Victor’s cock-tip slid just below my shoulder with pre-cum, and I held my breath for the real deal.

It spurted, hot, searing, Victor gripping the collar and yanking me forward until my brow rested by his navel. I had the brief thought of whether him pushing his cock downwards like that had given him different kinds of feelings, a different feel to coming.

“Oh, yes!” he hissed. “Fucking yes!”

My cheek burned, and as it grew hotter, my orgasm waned. I panted through the aftershocks, each exhalation matching the shove of Victor’s cock into the hollow above my collarbone. He slid it in his cum, and I resisted the urge to turn my head away from him to open my mouth and lick him clean.

“God, Zara, my God…”

I knew what he’d meant, that he couldn’t find the words to express how he felt. My mind was a whirl of questions, me trying to come to terms with the fact that I’d switched—and enjoyed it. The loss of control had brought something new to the equation, and Victor had been so…so damn masterful. And that slap. My cheek was still humming. The glut of shame and surprise at being hit around the face had catapulted me to a new high I wouldn’t say no to if offered it again.

I remained where I was as Victor eased away and returned his cock inside his underwear. Zipped up then stood, looking down at me as I looked up at him. I had to agree with him—damn the darkness.

“Stand,” he said.

I obeyed, my back to the wall. A violent shiver attacked me, rattling up my spine, rippling around my ribs and rising to my jaw.

“Come to me?” he asked.

Not a command. He needed to remember to state that he was coming out of his role, so that I understood that I could come out of mine. I wasn’t sure whether to speak or not.

“Zara, talk to me, be your normal self.”

I walked into his arms, pressed my face to his chest, and wondered whether, due to the naturalness of how I’d accepted his embrace, I was actually being my normal self now. I didn’t feel
Domme or sub. I didn’t feel anything but a woman who wanted closeness, warm, strong arms around me, and a steady heart beating beneath my ear.

Things were getting dangerous.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his cum from my skin. “For doing that.”

I didn’t reply.

“Talk to me. I said you can be you now, Zara.”

“I am, I think.”

I felt his jolt of surprise.

Laughing lightly, I lifted my head from his chest and reached up to cup his face. “I don’t have to be a domineering bitch all the time, you know. I’ve just always preferred to be.”

“But what about now?” He trailed his thumb across my chin.

“I don’t know. I need to sleep on things. Somehow I feel…softer. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it? I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“I think I understand.” He pushed me back gently, one hand on my shoulder, fiddling with the collar with his other.

“Leave it,” I said, surprising myself. Confusing myself. “I need to digest what happened. I think it will help if I keep it on.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel so—”

“No,” I said, pressing one finger to his lips. “You were right to give me a taste of my own medicine. How did I ever think I could draw a person out of themselves if I hadn’t fully been drawn out of
my
self? I thought I had, with
him
teaching me to be a Domme, but you’ve taught me something new. Much as I don’t do sorry or thanks, I have to thank you for that.” I smiled, feeling a bit of my usual snarky self filtering back. “Besides, it’d be rude of me not to be polite.” Again I shivered; this time it tapped my teeth together in an uncontrollable chatter.

“Maybe life is just one long string of lessons,” he said, bending down to collect my clothes.

“Perhaps it is. Thanks.” I took my things and dressed hurriedly, glad to cover my chilled skin and thinking we ought to get out of here before Geoffrey and Helen finished their session. They had served a purpose, and although it hadn’t been the one I’d intended, all was well that ended well, and I could certainly do without them knowing we’d enjoyed their show. “We need to go, Victor.”

“Yes, we do.”

We stepped out into the night and began walking off towards the gates, being sure to keep to the shadows. Our breath hung mistily in our wake and the grass crunched beneath our feet, frost having a tight grip on the night.

After a few strides he caught up with me, slid his hand into mine, and I was surprised, again, that I didn’t mind. The dynamics had changed between us today, and it seemed we’d become friends of a sort, two people who had switched together, knowing that no one else need know. I squeezed his fingers a bit, grinning at his squeeze in return, and, as we reached the gate, I jabbed in the numbers to open it and walked through them a changed woman.

One I needed to get to know all over again.

I drove. Zara was shivering so much—despite the heater on full blast and my coat over her knees—that I wasn’t sure how well she’d concentrate on motorway traffic. Every judder of her body and rattle of her teeth made me feel wretched, like I hadn’t done my job as Dom properly by letting her get so cold.

My first time and I’d royally stuffed up!

There’d been me all snug in my clothes, only my cock exposed, and she’d been naked. Not only that, I’d covered her in my spunk which had, I was sure, quickly cooled. Then I’d taken my sweet time reminding her to get dressed again.

I shook my head, cross with myself, and held her hand when traffic allowed, imagining some of my warmth flowing into her. When we arrived at the end of the M1 and entered the city, I reached over and stroked the back of my finger down her cheek, hoping to find heat in her flesh. There was some, but not much.

She smiled at me, her eyes soft. Something momentous had changed between us. Oh, she was still Zara—feisty, infuriating, bossy, extreme Zara—but that moment of her being obedient, seeing me as the one in charge, had shifted a screen and shown a new dimension to our relationship. It was a dimension I’d enjoyed visiting, very much. I only hoped she had too. Enough to want to do it again before our time was up.

Navigating through Hampstead, I didn’t bother to ask her if she wanted to stay at mine, preferring to take the plunge and just take her to my home. As the late radio show delivered a gentle tune, I pulled into the underground car park.

“Here we are,” I said, turning off the Mini’s engine.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed.

Something inside me melted. The feeling of relief was acute, ridiculous and certainly not expected. She’d obviously become warm and comfortable enough to sleep. That was a good sign.

I turned off the lights, got out of the car, and went around to her side and opened the door.

“Zara,” I whispered, smoothing a thick strand of hair that had wound loose from her ponytail. “We’re home.”

“Mmm?” She shifted and appeared to snuggle even deeper into my coat.

“Zara, wake up.”

Nothing.

“Zara.”

She opened her eyes, looked at me, the grey wall in front of the car, and then down at my coat. “Oh, yes, okay.” She yawned, screwing her eyes up tight again.

“Come on, let’s go.” I didn’t want to give her time to demand to be taken to her place. The thought of not being with her all night wasn’t one I was prepared to contemplate. After what we’d just been through, I needed her with me.

Luckily she didn’t object, and within a few minutes we were riding the elevator to the penthouse level.

“We got here quickly,” she said, tilting her head onto my shoulder and letting out another yawn.

“You must have slept the whole way across London.”

“Yes, I must have.”

“Do you feel warmer now?”

She held out her hand. I took it in mine. Still several degrees lower than my skin temperature.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Not much warmer,” I said, wrapping an arm round her waist and guiding her to my front door. “But we’ll soon sort that.”

She nodded, and in spite of her doze appeared sleepier than ever. I realised that I‘d never seen Zara so acquiescent and pliable. I liked it, this gentle way for us to be; it was softer on the edges, the barbed wire removed, the delicate centre of what we had, for once revealed.

Walking into my apartment was like walking into the tropics despite the cold outside. The solar panels and the state-of-the-art insulating technology meant the place was cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Tonight my innovative design was working to perfection.

“This way,” I said and led her to the bathroom with only one thing on my mind.

Ten minutes later, Zara was naked and immersing herself in strawberry and vanilla bubbles—a Helen leftover. The bathroom was hot and steamy, the mirror fogged and the air sweetly laced. Finally I felt like I was repairing the damage.

“Better?” I asked, kneeling at the side of the bath and rolling up my shirt sleeves.

“Heavenly,” she said with a smile and rested her head back.

Quickly I reached for the ends of her hair, tugged upwards so they didn’t become a sopping mass.

She followed my movements and then with a couple of twists and flicks of her wrists secured the rope of black strands onto the top of her head in a wobbling, bun-like shape.

I reached for a flannel and let my hands, wrists and forearms dangle in the water, near her thigh, as I soaked it.

“Victor,” she said, looking at me through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Yes.” I picked up a new bar of Dove soap and set about lathering up the flannel.

“How did you feel earlier, in the summerhouse?”

“Good.” I grinned, thinking about how it had felt to drag her close, by that collar she was still wearing, and spurt my
jizz all over her skin. It had been a glorious orgasm and one I’d had absolute control over. I’d known what I wanted and had just damn well taken it. “I felt good until I realised how cold you’d got.”

“I’m warm now.” She paused. “But what I meant was, how did you feel about being my Master? I’m really sorry, I should have asked you earlier—you’re still my sub, it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re okay, emotionally and physically.” A frown streaked across her brow. “I just got so caught up in thinking about me.”

“It’s okay, it was an eventful night. I don’t blame you.” And was I really still her sub? I supposed I was; we’d agreed to just
try
me being in charge, it wasn’t a permanent thing. Like all of this, us, it was transient. But she continued to wear the collar which gave me some rights as her Master, didn’t it?

“Victor,” she said. “Answer the question.”

I delved beneath the water and placed the flannel on her belly, rubbing a gentle circle. “Odd. I enjoyed it—can’t deny that, it was fucking great—but it’s very different to how I feel when you’re the Mistress.”

“So what are you? Sub or Dom? Do you even know?”

I slipped the washcloth upwards, wiped it over her breasts, enjoying the way her flesh had slanted slightly, given her reclined position. “Yes,” I said. “I think you were right. I’m a sub—but one who might, on occasion, like to be a Master. I just need to learn that pain can be pleasurable, when both giving and receiving. And I hit you—only because you explained the difference and that you said you wanted it, earlier, in the car. I didn’t like doing it. Not to your face, anyway. But maybe…” I trailed off, a vivid image hitting me the way I wanted to hit her. “Bloody hell.”

“What,” she said, resting her hand over mine as I slid it over her body beneath the water. “What are you thinking?”

I swallowed, my mouth a little dry. “Perhaps, Zara, if you’d like me to, that is, I…” I hesitated, not sure how to put it into words, but then I remembered all the crazy shit we’d done. I should just say it. “Perhaps I could smack your arse one day, with that bat thing you used on me in Eden Street.”

She stared at me, her lips parted.

I stopped swishing the flannel over her body. Had I gone too far?

“You’d really like to do that, Victor? Tell me truthfully, you’re not just saying it, are you?”

“That’s the truth.” And it was. Jesus, my dick was springing to life with me just thinking about bending Zara over my knee, clamping her there with my legs and my arm so that she couldn’t escape, and then swatting her buttocks over and over. Until my muscles ached and my breaths were short and she was red, so red.