Sexy as Hell Box Set (89 page)

But Victor deserved a church wedding and a blushing bride. He deserved to be a father—he would be so bloody good at it. I could see him now, patiently teaching a little boy to ride a bike, buying his daughter a pony, or storming into school if he believed an injustice had been done to his child.

He’d never do any of that if he stayed with me.

“She might be right for you.” I pouted and looked at him, knowing a dare-to-argue glint had flashed in my eyes. “She might make you happier than you ever believed possible.”

“Never.” He reached forwards, grabbed my hands.

I’d been gripping the lip of the table without even realising it.

He tugged me so I leaned nearer to him, the candle heat now rising between our faces, the earthy smell of the wax filtering up my nose.

“Never,” he repeated again, “could I be happier than when I
’m with you. That’s something you’re just going to have to get, Zara. Don’t try and understand it, work it out, calculate it like some arithmetic challenge, that won’t work.” He paused. “Just
get
it.”

I swallowed, stared into the depths of his eyes. The blueness of his irises were on fire; they were heated to a
violent blue.

“Say you believe me,” he said quietly but firmly.

I squeezed his hands. Tried to banish an image of Helen leading Victor on a leash along that corridor from my mind. Felt sick when a vision of me and Geoffrey, pressed up against the wall, masks pushed up, kissing, quickly followed.

“Zara.”

“It’s hard.” I shook my head as if I were dislodging the grip those pictures had on me.

“I know, I’m haunted by thoughts of you and Geoffrey together. I can’t stand it. When we went to his barn and I saw that room, the one he and Helen were in…”

“What?” I had to know. Did it make him feel sick? Did it create an anger, scarily like fury, that built in his chest to a point were only clenching his fists and stomping his feet would help?

He bit his bottom lip, hard, and then continued. “I think of you there with him. All the things you do to me, you doing them to him. Making him cry out in painful pleasure, giving him your attention, forcing him to bend to your will. It’s different somehow.”

“Different to what?”

“Different to other girlfriends I’ve had. Sure they’ve had exes, some of whom I even met, but then, although I wasn’t thrilled they’d shared my girl’s bed, it didn’t screw me up like thinking of you and Geoffrey together does. It didn’t make me want to do everything that they’d done, better, harder, faster.”

I smiled at that. How could I not? “Better, harder, faster is good, and so far I’d say that’s what we’re doing.”

“And so much fucking more.” He shook his head. “Are you sore, you know, from earlier?”

“A little tender. You?”

“Smarting.” He smiled; it was softer now, less weary, less intense. “Helen is not for me, no way. If she was the last woman on
Earth I wouldn’t get back with her. Please believe me when I say I just want you. There is, and won’t be anyone else, not ever.”

A ball of hope ballooned in my chest and I nodded. Just when I thought I had found something to push Victor away
with he always knocked it down. It was as though he was on elastic or something, with a big boulder on the end of the string to crash obstacles out of our path.

“Zara, we have enough fucking issues without throwing jealousy
about our exes into the pot. Let’s leave that one be. It can be particularly potent, ridiculously destructive and yet it serves no purpose.”

I nodded, stared at the trembling flame and thought how well it matched the quiver in my guts. “Okay. Let’s leave the green-eyed monster sleeping.”

“Sleeping? No, let’s not invite him in the first place.”

I laughed at that, glanced at that claw-shaped shadow on the water again and imagined it was the green-eyed monster drowning, disappearing beneath the surface. In a few hours it would be light, the claw gone forever. Yes, jealousy needed to be locked out, the threshold kept secure from its bitter shadow and the garden path devoid of its footsteps.

Victor drew my hand to his lips, lingered over kissing my knuckles, each one separately. “So tell me what the hell pegging is?”

Raising my eyebrows, I turned to him then wriggled free my other hand and reached for my drink. Made a show of taking a long, slow sip and delighted in the fact that Victor had no idea what pegging was.

Oh, I could have so much fun. His virginal innocence was a constant source of delight for me.

I thought of my suitcase upstairs and all the things I had in it. Pegging could definitely be an option. It wasn’t romantic, not in the traditional sense, but then what was romantic that we did?

He straightened, reached for his drink and sat back, adjusting his position so his right buttock was slightly raised off the seat.

“How badly do you want to know?” I asked.

He twisted his mouth, shrugged. “I was thinking how sweet it was sitting here with you in one of the most romantic cities in the world, candlelight, soft music, you in that devastating dress, and now I’m thinking my question may upend all of that.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, and I realised that I knew Victor well enough to know that he wanted it upended. He liked that I threw everything up in the air, watched it fall and then had fun with the chaos my actions produced. He
enjoyed the thrill of the ride, the adrenaline the chase induced, and what’s more, I was damn certain he’d enjoy the high a good pegging would take him to.

That naughty twinkle was back in her eye. The one that said she wanted to play, she wanted to be in charge, she wanted to teach me something new.

How could I resist her? Each moment with her was like turning a corner and not knowing what I’d stumble across, yet it was always exciting, always daring, always throwing me ever more in love with her.

I shifted slightly, the sting on my arse cheeks a pleasant reminder of the fun we’d had in the pain room. I was strangely proud of the hurt; it was an active part of our relationship, visible, tangible, a sign of our love.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said, sitting back and smoothing her finger down her cheek, her throat and to her cleavage, inviting my gaze to follow its trail. “How badly do you want to know what pegging is?”

“Just as much as I’ve yearned for your instruction on everything else we’ve ever done, Mistress.” I let my attention linger on her chest. I could make out the points of her nipples through the silky pink material. I didn’t think she was cold anymore, her hand was warm, so it must mean that she was turned on. Pegging, whatever the hell it was, appealed to my woman.

Damn it, the pair of us were sex crazy. Would we ever do anything else other than drive ourselves wild in bed? Yes, of course we would.

“Because it is, as you say, Victor, romantic sitting here. In fact, it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever done.”

I laughed. “Not that you have much to go on.”

She shrugged and looked out
of the window again; she certainly seemed to be captivated by the dark view.

“True,” she said, “but like when you shoved this inside me.” She switched the hold of our hands so she had her palm and fingers curled over my knuckles. “You still made it romantic.”

“I’m glad you think so.” And I was, it had been one of my aims. Daring, edgy, extreme, yes, but it had also brought us together.

“I do think so, because if romance is mystery and excitement then we certainly have that.” She closed her eyes, her lashes just resting on her cheeks. Long and dark, they were perfectly fan-shaped, absolutely symmetrical.

“Go on,” I encouraged.

“Candlelit meals and walking hand-in-hand on the beach is all very well for some couples—”

“It will be for us too.” I wanted it to be. Desperately wanted those things for us in the future, along with…

She opened her eyes, squeezed my hand. “Yes,” she said, “but we need more. More of everything. We’re not an ordinary couple, we’re not ordinary people.”

“I’d agree with that.” I reached for my drink. Realised it had all gone.

She gestured around the bar. Everyone was immersed in their own conversations and the barman was talking quietly on his phone—I picked up a few Italian words of endearment and then a smile spread on his face as he listened to a similarly sweet reply, or so I assumed.

“These people will never know, understand or experience the things we have, Victor, and that makes us special.” She shook her head. “I don’t mean in a superior way, I’d never think that, but just special different. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yes, we’re in touch with our sexual desires much more strongly than an average couple.”

She smiled. “Yes, and we have less hang-ups, less inhibitions, do you agree with that?”

“Yes, completely.”

“Then you are ready to learn about pegging.” She tilted her chin and a self-satisfied curl formed on her lips. “Right now.”

I huffed in both amusement and surrender. I’d walked into that one, but even so, she was right. I didn’t feel like I had the inhibitions I’d had a few months ago. Hell, I’d just been naked, tied up and flogged in a room full of strangers—more than that I’d come, spectacularly, with not a care for who was watching and hearing my acute pleasure. Ask me last summer if I’d ever do that and I would have both laughed and balked at the obscene idea.

Yet now I loved it. Craved it. Thrived off of it.

“Come on,” she said, standing. “You’ve finished your drink, and I really should put some balm on your arse.”

“Ah, balm time.”

“Yes, what kind of Mistress would I be if I didn’t look after your seared skin?”

I rose from the chair, reached for my jacket and our masks. “Well, I’m not going to complain if it means I have your hands on me again.”

“Oh, Victor,” she said, pressing a light kiss to my cheek and putting her palm over my temple
. Holding me close she whispered, “So much more than my hands on you.”

The maid had been into our suite, shut the curtains, tidied up the debris we’d scattered when getting ready for the ball and she’d also folded down the bed. The two lamps were on, their dark shades giving the light a lazy radiance.

“Go into the bath
room,” Zara said, opening the door to it and flicking the brass light switch. “Take your time, I’ll need five minutes to prepare.”

“Prepare? What do you mean?”

“Are you questioning me?”

Again that feeling of letting go, allowing Zara to take the reins, instruct, make decisions. Why did I like that so much? “No, Mistress. I’m not questioning you.
I would never do that.”

“Good, I’ll call when you can come out. And, when you do, be naked.
I need to get to your arse.”

Excitement trilled through my belly and tapped up and down my spine, making the sore skin on my
buttocks tingle. “Yes, Mistress.”

What was in store for me? Balm yes, but what else?

The bathroom was utterly silent, the window that had been a mosaic of evening sunshine now matt black. I relieved my bladder, washed my hands and face, then set about removing my clothes, placing them neatly over the back of the upholstered chair.

Once naked, I twisted to examine the raised lines on my bu
m.

It was a mishmash of marks all blazing into one heated, inflamed glow. Just looking at it sent blood to my cock as I recalled that moment of coming, Zara grinding her clit against me in a frantic, furious race to orgasm.

Rubbing my hand down the back rise of my hip to my buttocks, I felt some of her dried cum lingering on my skin. It was flaky now, like scales.

I gripped my cock, gave a few languid push-pulls, shut my eyes and sighed. I was ready to go again; despite it all, Zara could just keep pressing my ready-for-action button over and over.

I’d never experienced anything like it.

But I didn’t want to be too ready, and my Mistress would no doubt have plenty to say if she suspected I’d been wanking in the bathroom as I waited for her, so I released my dick.

Holding my hand in front of my face, I stared at it and thought of how I’d pushed into Zara earlier. Fisting. Again, something I’d heard of in the past but never thought I’d do to anyone. It’d had been hot, though, certainly exhilarating, and Zara had come with a wild, frenzied burst of raw, throbbing pleasure. I licked my lips, remembering her mulled-wine-sultry-evening flavour. Fuck, I hoped pegging involved me spending the rest of the night with my face between her legs, lapping on her nectar. I would be a very happy sub if that were the case.

“Virgin, get your red arse out here.”

My Mistress’ voice shook me from my wistful thoughts, and I hurried to the bathroom door, flipped off the light and pulled the handle.

Zara stood in the middle of the room, also naked, except for some dark leather strapping around her hips
. Protruding from her groin was a long, thick, black cock.

My pulse bellowed in my ears, my stomach rolled
, and I clenched my arsehole. Damn, I should have fucking realised what pegging was. Zara loved playing with my anus, penetrating me with plugs, her finger, and she’d looked so thrilled at my innocence over pegging. Yes, I should have guessed. Why the hell hadn’t I?

But then I hadn’t exactly expected her to have a huge strap-on in her luggage.

“I’m guessing by the colour draining from your face, Victor, you’ve figured out what pegging is without me ever having to explain.

I swallowed; there seemed to be a lump of cotton wool in my throat. “
Er, yes.”

“Well don’t look so worried, I’ve never done anything you haven’t loved.”

I was about to deny that I wasn’t worried, but that would have been a lie. That was one seriously big cock, and now that she was walking to the end of the bed, from where she’d been standing silhouetted by the lamp, I could see that the weight of it caused it to bob slowly, as if its heft was dragged back by gravity.

“Come,” she said, pointing to the end of the bed. “I have balm to apply to your sore behind.”

She held up a white tube, and I noticed she wore a clear, tight glove on her right hand.

“Victor, I’m not going to bite you.”

“I know.” The words had come out croaky and I cleared my throat. “I know you’re not.”

“So come,
bend over the bed before me. I have to take care of you.” She frowned. “You wouldn’t disobey your Mistress now, would you?”

“No, absolutely not.” I managed to walk, though my feet felt heavy and the air on my sore arse seemed to whisper over it, enhancing the sting with each breeze my movements produced.

Hesitating at the end of the bed, I swept my gaze down my Mistress. She was stunning—high, taut breasts, deep-rose nipples, and skin that was unblemished and smooth.

She didn’t seem to mind me admiring her. In fact, she cupped her left breast, tweaked the nipple and then ran her hand down her flat stomach to her cock.

“It’s solid,” she said, “and good and hard like yours.”

The way she was caressing the fake dick was the same way she touched mine, like she adored it.

“Wanna feel?” she asked.

Did I want a feel? Touch another cock? No, fuck it, I didn’t.

Yet it wasn’t a man’s cock, it was Zara’s.

“It’s brand-new,” she said. “Never been used.”

“That’s good.” And it was—the thought of this thing penetrating Geoffrey, or Ollie and then me was enough to send the earlier gin and tonic hurtling up my gullet, burning a trail of repulsion.

“It’s just for you,” she murmured, taking my hand and wrapping it around the shaft. “And it’s so solid, just right for hitting the hot spot that will have you coming in a way that feels like it will never end.”

God, she meant it, didn’t she. She really did want to fuck me with this giant dildo.

How come I wasn’t
high-tailing it out of here? And what was it about her, her siren’s voice, her tempting words, that netted me in every fucking time?

It was everything. I was a hopeless case.

Gingerly, I let myself acknowledge what was going to happen and what was in my hand. Solid was the right word, and weighty too. The surface was smooth and cool. There was head detail, a flare that I could, after seeing my own cock enter Zara’s arse, imagine popping in through a sphincter—my sphincter.

“Balm,” she said. “I’ve left it too long already, this should have been done at the club.”

I released the cock and glanced at my erection. Thick and hard, the size was comparable to Zara’s fake one, yet I had a drip of pre-cum glistening in my slit. Hers would never produce that filmy drop of desire.

Zara was touching me, my shoulders, turning me to the bed, encouraging me
to tip over, shove my arse in the air.

“This might sting a little to start with, and it’s cold, but it will help.”

I hung my head and studied the way the blanket had dented around my splayed fingers, glad of the softness against my knees—they were still scratched from the floor of the shed.

“Ah, fuck,” I said, then hissed a breath out around my gritted teeth. The balm was cold and it really did sting.

“Shh, my sweet virgin,” she murmured, spreading the chilly cream over my right buttock in big sweeping movements. “It’ll ease in a second, I promise.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, focused on making the sensation pleasurable, enjoyable, a reminder of what we’d done to reach this stage.

Just as the sting turned to the soothing caress she’d promised, she set to work on my other arse cheek.

Again I swore and this time reached for my cock, played with the tip, massaged glossy pre-cum around my slit.

“You handled your flogging so well,” Zara said, her breath warming my arse. “It was full-on, I didn’t hold back.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“And you did especially well to use your safe word when you’d reached your limit.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“This balm doubles as a lube,” she said, her fingertips tracing the gutter between my arse cheeks. “So just relax as I prep you.”

“Prep me?”

“For pegging.”

“Fuck.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t want me to fuck you with my cock?”

She’d sounded hurt, and I wasn’t sure if she was in character or if she
’d be hugely offended if I wasn’t compliant.

“It’s
er…big.”