Sure Thing (25 page)

I taste, then feel his release start to flow. He jerks hard, the movement violent before he stiffens and plunges forward. He growls some obscenity, then my mouth is full of his semen, salty, warm, smooth and thick, clogging my throat. I swallow desperately, clear my airways, manage to suck in air again. He relaxes, is still at last, and I allow my mouth to loosen around him. Slowly he withdraws, rolls to his left and slides down to lie alongside me. He’s on his back, breathing heavily, and neither one of us speaks at first. Then, he rolls to face me, cups my cheek to turn my face to him. He traces my lips with his thumb, smiling softly.

“That was unexpected. You need to be careful what you suggest to me, sweetheart. I’ve no self-control where you’re concerned. And now, maybe I should return the favor…”

I don’t answer, although that does sound like an excellent idea to me. Sure of his welcome he leans in to nuzzle my neck, then swiftly transfers his attention lower, to my nipples. He suckles them, each in turn, then lifts his head to admire their glistening, rosy hardness. He takes the left one between his finger and thumb, pinches it firmly, testing the tension there. Apparently satisfied, he tests the other too, and I know we’re both visualizing silky yellow ribbons. I sigh, close my eyes, remembering.

His finger sliding straight into my pussy no preamble, no warning, has me stiffening, my hips arching forward. I cry out, though not in pain. The sensation is exquisite as he skillfully probes, finding that exact inner spot, and presses hard. My hips gyrate wildly, despite my restricted movement, my head thrashing from side to side. My readiness is confirmed by the sound of my own juices flowing around and against his hand. I feel the boil and surge of my orgasm gathering, then he suddenly stops, withdraws his long, wicked finger.

“Please, please, Tom, don’t tease me. Not now. I can’t, I need…”

My desperate pleas fall on deaf ears as he moves to kneel between my legs, strokes his palms along my inner thighs toward my knees.

“Your clit looks naked, baby. I think we need to fix that. Don’t you?”

My only response is an incoherent growl, which is apparently not nearly good enough.

“Ashley, if you want me to touch you, you’ll have to answer my questions. Tell me what you want. Do you understand? Are you listening?” His voice has hardened, just a fraction, but enough to make the difference.

“Yes. Yes, please…”

“Please what? And you need to be polite. Respectful.”

“Please,
Sir,
I want you to touch me.” The second word is ground out as I writhe in frustration, but it seems I’ve done enough to be rewarded.

He leans over me to snag the clit clip from alongside me on the duvet where it’s fallen during our exertions so far. He reaches behind him to snag a tube of lubricant from the bottom of the bed and proceeds to smear a liberal coating over the clit clip. Satisfied, he glances back at me.

“You look nervous, Ashley. You’re chewing your lip.”

I make a conscious effort not to, but soon abandon it as his eyes drop again to the super sensitive little bud, quivering optimistically between my widely spread legs, shamelessly swollen, unsuspecting. Despite my nervousness my arousal is almost at fever pitch, and very obviously so. Moisture is pooling beneath me on the pillows.

Tom glances back at me, one eyebrow raised. “Your eyes tell me you’re scared, but I’m guessing you’re happy enough so far.”

He draws his finger slowly across the very tip of my clit, so lightly I can barely feel it but enough to bring me to quivering attention. I moan, stretch against his hand, trying to ramp up the friction, desperate for my release which will be instantaneous the moment he touches me again. Really touches me.

And the bastard knows it. He smiles at me, the clip in his hand. He holds it up for me to look at, slippery with the lube. “Would you like to see this hugging your pretty little clit? Let me help you.” He picks up a mirror, the magnifying type you might have in the bathroom, for shaving or makeup. He places it on the pillow just below my bum, angles it, his questioning gaze checking mine until I signal he’s found the perfect position.

And I have a perfect, unrestricted view of my vagina, my clitoris, the glistening lips and sensitive, rosy flesh almost glowing. I study myself in fascination, mesmerized by my naked beauty.

“Wow, I look so, so…” My voice is just a whisper, wondrous.

“So beautiful. Beautiful, sexy, sensual. And very, very ready.” Tom’s tone is low, soft, seductive like deep velvet. He drops his head to kiss my clit, then the lips of my vagina, the gesture reverent rather than arousing, before turning back to me. “You are such a pretty sight, my love. So beautiful…”

He gently cradles my clit between the fingers of his left hand, ready to slide the clip into position. He opens the arms slightly by nudging his right forefinger between them.

“This is meant to enhance, not hurt. If it feels tight, that’s good, but if it’s painful you tell me. Okay?”

I nod, poised, watching in the mirror as he gently, carefully, eases the clip into place and releases the arms to close around me. I gasp, not sure what I was expecting. Pain probably, but not this firm, tight pressure. Tom takes his hands off me, sits back, admires me. I do too, the small beads dangling alongside my pussy as if in welcome. Apparently of the same mind Tom slides first one, then two fingers inside me, careful not to brush against my clit as he twists his fingers and angles them, stretching my inner walls. I watch, admiring the way my lips part to accept him, and conscious that every movement he makes causes the clip to move, to tug and squeeze my clit. The pressure is restricting the blood flow and causing the exposed tip to swell even more. I know, just know, that if Tom touches me there I’ll detonate. Completely unable to help myself I groan Tom hears, knows, and at last takes pity. He leans in and flicks my clit with his tongue.

My world explodes. Literally, shatters. I scream, my ecstasy completely beyond any control or boundaries. Immobile, I can only lie there while wave after wave of intense, scorching pleasure twists and surges through me, my every sense centered on my clitoris as Tom continues to gently massage the exposed bud with his tongue. Always sensitive, already aroused, it now feels to be alight, tingling, electrified, every sensation heightened beyond imagining. I’m convulsing franticly, my pussy clenching hard and sharp around his fingers, three plunged deep as my orgasm goes on, and on, and on.

At last, my world slows, my consciousness returns. I’m aware, once more, of where I am. And Tom’s still touching me, still slowly sliding his fingers in and out of my pussy He glances at me, catches my unfocused gaze, smiles, before returning to his task. He withdraws his fingers only to slide them down to my anus, slowly slipping first one, then two inside there. I gasp, overwhelmed by pleasure and I’m completely beyond any resistance now. I’m his to use as he wishes, and I know he’s about to fuck me there. I can see that the clip is too close to my pussy, and we both need the penetration, the connection.

He comes to kneel between my legs, works more lube into me before placing the head of his cock against my loosening sphincter. He takes no further time to prepare me, just pushes hard and enters me. He plunges deep, embedding himself fully, thrusts once, twice, before trailing his thumb over my clit once more.

And my world simply shatters again. I cry out, clenching madly while he continues to stroke my clit and fuck me, and my body spasms around him. I’m dimly aware of why he so totally immobilized me. The intensity is close to unbearable and if I could move my every instinct would be screaming for escape. But I can’t move, so if I want him to stop, then only my safe word will do it. And that requires a conscious decision, not an instinctive reaction.

So, I remain perfectly still, open, exposed, and fucking loving it.

Chapter Seventeen

“Who’s Louisa Davenport?”

“Excuse me?”

“Louisa Davenport. It’s her Bible in the drawer.”

We’re curled up together on the bed, exhausted, the clit clip now innocuously lying on the bedside table, its work done. Tom pulls me in closer, my bottom snuggled against his now softened penis. As usual he’s cupping my breast with his hand. He kisses my shoulder, nuzzling my loosened hair. I can’t see him but I know he’s smiling. And his mind is most definitely not on Louisa Davenport.

I nudge him gently with my elbow, curious. “Louisa, who is she?”

He groans, but answers me, “Rosie’s mother, I think. Does it matter?”

“Ah.” I have lots more questions but it seems rude to quiz Tom.

He takes pity on my rampant curiosity though and offers a little more. “She died. About five years ago. I guess the Bible’s hers and Nathan kept it. Probably for Rosie when she’s older.”

“She was his wife? Yes?”

“Briefly. It was before I knew him. All I know is she died and he adopted Rosie.”

“Adopted? She’s not his daughter then?”

“Not biologically. But in every way that matters now.”

“I see.” And another thought occurs to me, something that’s been at the fringes of my mind for weeks, ever since I eavesdropped on their conversation in the kitchen at Greystones when they discussed me, and Tom warned Nathan off. “So, who’s Eva then?”

Tom sighs, obviously not keen to dish the dirt on his friend. Can’t say I blame him, but still, who else can I ask? At first I think he’s not going to indulge me, but eventually he relents.

“Eva lived at Black Combe for a few weeks, last summer. Nathan fell for her big style, absolutely adored her from what I could see. And it seemed to be mutual, but suddenly she upped and disappeared. Just left. I’ve no idea why. Nathan might know, but if he does he hasn’t told me. He was devastated, Rosie too. It’s been a few months now and I honestly don’t think she’ll be back, and I’m not sure Nathan’s ever going to get over it. I’m pretty sure he’s not touched another sub since.”

“Oh, she was his… Like me and you?”

“Well, he’s a Dom same as me, so yeah, I’d say so. They spent a lot of time here, so…”

Nathan’s little BDSM hideaway in Leeds—seems pretty conclusive then. And despite our differences in the past I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, suddenly, with no warning, with no chance to say goodbye. Nathan Darke suddenly seems much more human now.

My own Dom, however, is beginning to sound a little tetchy. “Is that the end of the inquisition? Can I get some sleep now? You’re the most demanding submissive I’ve ever come across. Sorry, in. And I’ve got to face
Les Mis
tomorrow.”

I giggle, turn in his arms, snuggle up to him, my breasts squashed against his hard chest. And we sleep.

* * * *

The last few weeks have been some of the best I can ever remember. The second quarterly payment from my investment in Gloucester arrived in April, and sales of my work in Haworth are building up nicely. The initial trickle of interest and occasional sale have developed into a pretty brisk trade, particularly as the tourists have started to flock back by the coachload after the winter. Dozens of my prints are even now gracing living room walls in such far flung places as Tokyo and New York as the Brontës attract their regular flow of international pilgrims ready to buy up local souvenirs. So, I’m well and truly solvent and look like staying that way.

I can’t even find much to spend my newfound wealth on as Tom is incredibly reluctant to let me pay my way at Greystones. I can’t even sneak in occasional bags of shopping as Tom gets Mr Tesco to deliver heavy or not very interesting stuff such as dishwater tablets and toilet rolls about once a fortnight, and the rest of what we need comes from Grace Richardson’s well-stocked larder at Black Combe. Apparently they have some strange arrangement where she buys enough to feed an army, and when he runs short of stuff Tom goes over there, helps himself and leaves a hundred quid on the table. It works, and I know better than to interfere.

My portfolio of West Yorkshire moorland panoramas is pretty much stuffed to overflowing so I’ve started to expand my horizons somewhat. I spent a few days in the Peak District around Easter time, just me touring around a few B&B’s, taking pictures and checking out the tourist hubs for suitable outlets. I’ve now got a few prints in a gallery in Tideswell, and I’m talking to an antiques and fine art dealer in Bakewell. Not sold anything yet, but it’s early days. It looks hopeful, so my business seems to be expanding. A bit more time needed to really establish myself in the Peak, then on to the Yorkshire Dales I think, or maybe the Lakes.

And Tom is wonderful. I am so totally in love it’s soppy. He’s kind to me, generous, gentle, he’s fun, he makes me laugh and he makes me scream. There’s a lot of screaming in truth, and my bum is pleasantly sore much of the time. I can have more orgasms in one good evening with Tom than I did in all the years I spent with Kenny. The sex is inventive, exciting, and off-the-scale kinky. I’ve even built up an impressive collection of my own clit clips, which Tom’s particularly pleased about as it means he gets to fuck my arse. I’d be happy enough to let him clit clips or not, but still…

And now, it’s May. I’ve been living with Tom for about five months, and it’s just getting better and better. My business is going well, my love life even peachier. I’m actually humming to myself as I tinker with some soft focus atmospheric shots of the Derbyshire Dales, looking forward to Tom coming home. He and Nathan had to go to Preston today to meet with their legal team to deal with some final details for the contracts relating to the music festival planned for September. It wasn’t his usual early start so we had an extra couple of hours in bed this morning which we put to good use, although the stripes have faded to almost nothing now. I still can’t work out how he does that, how he can wield a leather strap to extract every last sting and burn of pain, bring me almost to the point of safe wording, then a few hours later my skin is virtually unmarked. I’m just turning this conundrum over in my head when my phone rings. I glance at the tiny screen. It’s Tom.

“Hi.” I’m beaming, just anticipating the sound of his voice is enough to have me grinning like an idiot.