Stray (9 page)

I arched my back away from the table, and Dylan made a sound of approval.

“Good, the ropes will hold.”

No shit.
I bit back my frustration as he withdrew his fingers. He was teasing me. Playing with me. I’d lost my mind what felt like hours ago. Dylan dropped his hand onto the curve of my stomach.

“Relax.”

I swallowed hard. Hard enough for him to have heard it.

With his hand on my stomach, Dylan leaned off to one side—possibly to grab something—straightening his posture moments later. Something screeched along the floor, which could’ve either been the chair I’d used to get on the table, or the smaller table moving closer towards me. I could’ve looked. I could’ve cracked an eye and taken a quick glance. But I didn’t.

Below my feet there was a pop, followed by a slow hiss. Two hands swishing against one another.

“Fuck.” The word slipped over my tongue as Dylan’s hands made contact with my skin.

He laughed but didn’t deviate from his work. Time slowed as Dylan rubbed a thick foam between my legs, covering my hair, my clit, my entire pussy with warmth. Something was tingling, but I didn’t care. Each time his fingers crept past my clit, I sucked in a breath.

By now, I knew that between my legs I was completely covered in shaving cream. Dylan didn’t let up, his fingers working against me each time I tried to move. The ropes held fast. There was nothing I could’ve done to stop him.
Safe words.
But I didn’t want him to stop. It was erotic, but without the sex. A tease. A promise. And I wanted more of it. So much more.

Dylan’s hands stopped, lifting away from me. There was more swishing. Dylan drying off his hands. A click. Some swishing water. Wetting the razor. His hand fell against the inside of my right leg, making the skin taut. Dylan didn’t budge after that. He didn’t say a word. And when my world filled with the beat of my own heart, the razor swept over me.

He started where my pubic hair began, working his way down, avoiding all contact with my clit. My pussy lips. Dylan gently glided the razor down my thigh, water that was almost hot dripping down my skin and onto the table.

Dylan cleaned the blade.

Swishing water.

He let out a breath, cool on my skin.

H touched the razor to my skin again, continuing his path along the inside of my hip as he gently stretched the skin that was there, careful not to nick any of it. Hot water pulling my focus away from my clit. Away from how close Dylan’s hands actually were. The dance of hot and cold continued. Once he’d finished shaving the inside of one leg, he started to work on the other one. It felt as if an hour had passed, but the water he used to rinse the razor was still as warm as it had been when we had first begun.

I hissed when his fingers drew even closer to my clit, the razor following the same path, removing the hair he found there. Hot water on my clit. Painful. Lovely. Comforting. I’d been bound and blind for so long, I couldn’t tell if what I felt was real, or if I was imagining it. Another swipe of the razor. More water. More hair gone.

Lightheaded, I lay there, counting each time the blade came into contact with my skin, clipping the hairs without leaving a mark. Swipe. Swish. Hot water on taut skin. Swipe. Swish. The rhythm continued, Dylan’s breath falling onto my skin each time he removed the blade.

“Everything okay up there?” Dylan’s voice pulled me from my delirium. “Alyssa?”

“Y-yes, Master.”

“You aren’t drifting, are you?”

Had I fallen into subspace? I hadn’t blacked out. I was still aware of his presence, his touch. The razor. Hot water. But I’d lost track of time. I couldn’t remember which way I was facing on the table. How long my hands and ankles had been bound.

“Alyssa, answer me.”

“No, Master.” At least, I didn’t think I had.

Dylan’s teasing continued. Razor against skin.
Warm
water. It wasn’t hot anymore. I’d drifted. Water swished to my left as cool air swept over my legs. Footsteps. To the side of me. At the head of the table. The kitchen tap turned on. Turned off.

Footsteps to the left. To the foot of the table. Something soft on my skin. Dylan used a towel to remove what was left of the shaving cream. He paused. Hot water on my skin. Dripping onto the table. Onto the floor. More hot water. More dripping. More drying.

Dylan’s hands away from my skin, and I lifted my head from the table.

“Don’t open your eyes.” His voice was calm, almost playful.

I settled back down, trying to figure out his next move before he did. Granted, he could’ve done just about anything and I would’ve reacted the same way. I waited to feel his lips on mine. On my breasts. My neck.

Nothing happened. There were no vibrations. I couldn’t hear him breathing, and panic swept through my veins. I knew he hadn’t left the room, but because I didn’t know where he was, I had no idea what to expect next.
That’s why he’s the Dom, and you aren’t.
He wasn’t just any Dom either. He’d successfully fucked with my mind more than once, and no matter how much he did it, I couldn’t keep it from happening.

Where was I?
In his kitchen. On a table. Tied up. Shaved. Partially naked.
Outside of that, I had no idea what time it was, how my hands hadn’t gone numb or how my back wasn’t stiff. Somehow, Dylan had made his kitchen table feel like his mattress upstairs. My mind began to wander. Maybe he hadn’t shaved me at all. Maybe it was some sick fantasy. Or a dream.

The more I tried to make sense of things, the more confused I became. Why hadn’t he touched me? Why couldn’t I hear him?
Open your eyes.
I tried to open them and failed. It was still daylight. That much was obvious by the blinding sunlight that had caused me to close my eyes before I’d even had the chance to fully open them.

I flexed my hands, tugging at the ropes.

“Have you lost your mind yet?” Dylan whispered in my ear, moving away as quickly as he’d appeared.

“I—” The rest of the words clung to the back of my throat.

“A speechless sub. I like it.” His fingers pressed against my toes. “Still doing okay?”

I must’ve mumbled something along the lines of ‘yes’ as he moved again, checking my fingers for blood flow. As far as I could tell, all of my fingers…all of my toes were still warm.

Footsteps to my left. A shoe scuffing the floor. A puff of air on my stomach. Dylan’s hands on my hips. His tongue—

“Oh, shit.” I exhaled and arched my back.

I’d had guys eat me out before, but this was the first time I’d been shaved. The first time anyone had shaved me. The first time I’d completely lost my mind before the contact had actually begun. And the things Dylan did with his tongue were far better than I ever could’ve imagined. Just like everything else he’d done thus far.

I swallowed as a shiver shot up my spine. A moan escaped my lips as Dylan traced his tongue in circles around my clit that tightened with each passing cycle. And each time my body tensed, he pulled away, allowing me to catch my breath before he continued.

My toes curled, and by now, the ropes were biting into my skin as I pulled against them. Dylan didn’t stop. Instead, he changed directions, licking at my pussy lips before pressing inside. I sucked in a breath as he kissed my clit, flicking his tongue over the top of it.

His lips lifted from my skin, his soft breaths causing me to shake all over. “You aren’t going to come, are you?”

I pushed past my high for just long enough to answer, “No, Master.”

“And you won’t come until I tell you to. Is that correct?”

“Y-yes, Mas—”

I lost all of my control as his lips wrapped around my clit. He slipped two fingers inside me, accepting my last response as if it had been a challenge to do more. To do better. To try harder. He pressed his fingers deep inside. Withdrew them. Thrust them in again, brushing them against my G-spot while his tongue made lazy circles around my clit.

Heat kissed my cheeks as every single one of my nerve endings lit up. I moved my head from side to side and clenched my fists. Blood pounded in my ears, and I tried to slow my erratic heartbeat. But each time I seemed to gain control over my body and my building orgasm, Dylan would change directions, increase the stroke of his fingers or drive them deep inside.

“Fu—” A tremor stole the words from my lips as I released a hiss of air. “Ma-Master…” I pleaded with him, begged him to stop. To keep going. To let me come.
Oh, God, Master, please let me come.

“You’re right there, aren’t you?”

I moaned a reply as I struggled to move on top of the table.

“If I keep doing this, are you going to come?”

Oh, God, Yes. Yes, Master, yes.

“Alyssa?”

I opened my mouth, but couldn’t form words. I’d forgotten how to speak long ago.
If you don’t say something soon, he’s never going to let you finish.
I was right there. Right on the very edge. All it would take was one final stroke. And as my body begged for release, his fingers taunted me even more. He wouldn’t let me go over. Not until he’d said the word. Until he’d given me his permission.

“Alyssa.”

My eyes shot open. My head flew up off the table. I stared down at him. Meeting his gaze.
Please, Master. Please.

“Come for me.”

My entire body convulsed from just his words. I strained against the ropes, panting for breath as Dylan continued to stroke me. Drawing my orgasm out as far as he could.

When his fingers had stopped and he’d finally let me come back down, he removed the ropes and I sat up. Dylan returned to my side from
somewhere
and
handed me a bottle of water, which I quickly drank before bowing my head between my knees.

“Good girl.” Dylan laughed, rubbing my back. “Very good girl.” He lifted my chin and kissed me on the forehead. “See? Shaving isn’t so bad.”

I took a breath and coughed from the chill of it. “Easy for you to say.”

He smiled at me and took my hand in his. “Of course it is. I had front row seats.” He kissed me on the lips. “I love seeing you tied up. Think you’d be willing to do that again?”

I stared down at the table, then back at him. “The shaving, or the thing you did with your mouth? Because honestly, I prefer the latter.”

“Is that so?”

I bobbed my head and slid off the end of the table with his help. My legs wobbled, and he held me steady.

“Think you can make it home?”

I furrowed my brow and glanced outside. There wasn’t nearly as much light as when we’d begun, and while I could’ve stayed another night, I seriously needed a change of clothes.

“I think so,” I said, putting my skirt and panties on with his help.

He buttoned my blouse as he spoke. “We’ll get your things, and I’ll follow you home.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Sure you’re going to be okay?”

I fixed my blouse. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He pressed a hand against the small of my back, kissing me on the lips.

“Oh, really?”

“Twenty bucks says I can get those clothes off you before you leave.”

“Promise?”

He smiled, deepening our kiss as he guided me to the stairs.
I guess I can stay for one more night. One more
sleepless
night.

Chapter Nine

Dylan’s trip to England couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time.
Two weeks.
Two whole weeks without him. And even though my quota of orgasms for the next year had already been met—and then some—I couldn’t stand it.

It wasn’t just his absence, either. Every time he texted me, each time we talked over the phone, I ached to be with him. I should’ve felt stupid for getting so attached so soon—for falling in love with a Dom who, as far as I knew, didn’t want a sub of his own. But it had happened, and his return home couldn’t come soon enough.

After the first week, I couldn’t concentrate on my work. My thoughts were filled with my memories of him. His naked body. His touch. The way he tasted when he kissed my lips.

Realising I wasn’t going to get anything else done, I saved my progress and shut everything down. I fingered my collar as I eyed the clock. It was nearly eight o’clock. Too early to go to bed. Too late to bother going out.

So when Marnie called and asked if she could come over, I couldn’t say no. Having someone to talk to—someone in the same room—would probably do me some good. After I gave her a list of directions, we hung up and I started a pot of coffee. When she’d called, I’d wondered at first if something had happened. That Dylan’s trip was going to last even longer.

While he hadn’t really explained what it was he did, I’d been able to tell it wasn’t something he enjoyed.
It’s just to help pay the bills.
That was what Marnie had said, and after hearing the edge in Dylan’s voice, I’d known she had been telling the truth. I’d been through some horrible jobs in the past. Rude clients. An asshole for a boss. Long, unexplained hours. Mountains of paperwork. I’d done it all.

If it hadn’t been for a handful of clients giving me an endless supply of articles to write, I’d have been in the same boat as Dylan. And after working for myself for over a year, there was no way in hell I’d go and work for someone else. Sure, the taxes sucked, but I made my own hours. Decided on my own wage. Which projects to accept. Which clients to work with.

Pure freedom. Control. Two things I hadn’t had in any other workplace, and didn’t have when I shared a room with Dylan. The only difference was that I
gave
Dylan that control. Any control outside of that wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.

A knock on my apartment door thrust me from my thoughts, and I quickly stood to open it. Marnie stepped in front of me, her head bowed with her hands locked in front of her. When she finally looked up, we both smiled, and I let her inside.

She paused just inside the doorway, likely to study the very little I had in way of room and personal possessions. By any means, my apartment wasn’t an apartment at all. Especially not when compared to Dylan’s overwhelming amount of space. Some might have called the place cramped, but to me it was comfortable. It had been an escape from Anthony, and my home for the better part of a year.