-21-
Tara
When Grant arrived, he wasn’t carrying his black cello case, but a simple brown paper bag, the top folded down. Had he bought liquor? Whatever was inside, it didn’t seem to be bottle shaped.
“Hi,” I said, eyeing him as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on my coatrack. “What’s in the bag?”
His smile was devious, and hot, and I felt a dull throb between my legs. He held the bag down at his side. “Mind if I grab a beer first?”
“Sure.”
He set it on my dining table as he strolled toward the kitchen, leaving me standing in the living room to study the package for a hint of what was inside.
“You want one?” he called from the kitchen.
“No, thank you.” I’d poured myself a big ol’ glass of wine after dinner with my sister—I’d earned it.
He reappeared, beer in hand, and moved to the couch, the bag forgotten. He sat and stared up at me expectantly, and I realized this was a game. He was testing my curiosity, but this was a game I’d win easily. I sauntered over, sank down beside him, and a pleased smile drew across his lips.
“The couple you’re seeing,” his tone was light and conversational, “how did you meet them?”
“At a mutual friend’s wedding.” It was sort of the truth. The first time I’d played with Regan, I’d been working at the club, on the table and blindfolded. Silas had bought an evening with me—but for her—and he’d watched without participating. I hadn’t officially met them as a couple until Payton’s wedding.
Grant’s expression was unsure, and it was a strange look on him. “I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t have to answer, but I’m curious. Whose idea was the arrangement?”
I appreciated that he’d waited this long before bringing it up. I was sure he had a million questions. “It’s okay. The arrangement was their idea, but the first time we had a threesome? That was mine.”
“Really?” It was a question from him, but more of a statement. If he was surprised, it didn’t show.
My tone was straightforward; I didn’t have any shame about this. “I told her she was hot, that her boyfriend was hot, and I wanted to go home with them.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed on a thick swallow. “How was it? It must have gone well enough, because—”
I grinned. “Oh, yeah. It was great. I mean, I was nervous the whole time she was going to change her mind, or things would get weird, but they didn’t. And honestly, that’s part of what made it so exciting. It was a little bit dangerous. Not in a physical sense, but emotionally.”
It was clear he wanted to know more, and I didn’t mind sharing. He seemed so open to everything, just like me.
“So, a few months later, she asked me over to her place to play again. Since they’re both Dominants, it’s fun for them to be able to top at the same time.” I nestled in under his arm and set a hand on his thigh. “We don’t get together often. We’re all busy, and three schedules are hard to work with.”
“But you enjoy it when you do.”
“Yeah.” I traced a pattern on his jeans with my fingertip. “For a long time, I thought sex had these really strict rules I had to obey, like one partner, a committed relationship, man and woman. Then I met Joseph. He showed me the only rules I have to follow are the ones my Dominant gives me. If I don’t like those rules, I go find a different dom.”
“You like their rules, then.”
A half-laugh bubbled out of me. “I don’t love their no sex rule right now, but yes.” I wasn’t working at the club for the next two weeks, and I wasn’t sleeping with anyone. It was going to be a very long fourteen days. Possibly longer.
He smiled, only with his eyes, saying he agreed. His voice dipped low. “Is it strange if I say I think about you with them . . . a lot?”
I sat up and swiveled on the couch cushion to face him. “In a good way, or a bad way?”
His eyes were charged with desire. “Good.”
It wasn’t surprising. It was the classic male fantasy—two girls and one guy. But it was still nice to hear, that he was fantasizing about me.
“I think about watching while you go down on her.” His breath hitched. “I think about watching while he’s fucking you.”
I gasped. In his fantasy, I had assumed he was the guy participating in the threesome, swapping himself for Silas. But, no. He was there watching.
Grant imagined himself as a voyeur.
Before I could say anything, his hands were in my hair, holding me still as his mouth claimed mine. “I think about you coming on his cock,” he spoke in between rough, dominating kisses, “and what that would look like.”
Jesus, his words lit me on fire. I’d never heard anything so erotic. This was another concept I’d let society trick me into thinking was a rule. Men didn’t share their women. Yet, here Grant was, telling me the idea aroused him.
It turned me into liquid.
His lips burned a line down my throat, and I couldn’t slow my heart down. It was beating so hard in my chest, as if it wanted to break out and get closer to him.
“I follow their rules, and you follow mine,” he said. “You like that, right?”
Oh, how I did. I thought it was fan-fucking-tastic.
When I nodded, dark satisfaction streaked across his face. “Take everything off. Once that’s done, go open the bag.”
To illustrate his command, he sat back, stretching one of his powerful-looking arms across the back of the couch, settling in so he could watch.
I sucked in a breath and tried not to stumble to my feet. I was clumsy with anticipation. Excited to be naked and eager to solve the mystery of what was in the bag. The desire was to follow his order as quickly as possible, but also to please him, and his heavy gaze said he didn’t want me to rush.
Off came my shoes and socks, dropping to the floor in a hurried thud, but as I reached for my top, I slowed my movements, peeling the fabric up one inch at a time. I exposed the raspberry colored bra I’d changed into before Grant’s arrival. The demi-cups were cut so low my tits almost spilled over the top. They jiggled a little as I undid my jeans and pushed them down.
The air in my apartment felt weighted. It was heavy to drag in and out of my lungs as he watched me strip, and although I wasn’t exerting myself, I was quickly out of breath. The room was hot and cold, and charged with electricity.
I kept my eyes focused on his while I undid the clasp at the back of my bra. He watched the straps as they slipped down my arms and fell to my bare feet. He also seemed to be short of breath, because his chest rose and fell rapidly, mirroring mine.
It was strange how the more naked and vulnerable I became, the more powerful I felt.
His expression was lethal as his gaze tracked the descent of my matching raspberry lace panties. I flushed with heat, yet shivered under his intense stare. He admired me as fine art, a statue of sex and desire and hedonism, and I lingered for a long moment to let him look his fill.
But I also wanted my reward, and when he nodded, I turned on my heel and scurried to the table. The paper crinkled as I unfolded the top and peered inside. A laugh escaped me, and I pulled the package out to look at it closer.
It was a flesh-colored, eight-inch dildo, complete with balls and a suction cup at the bottom, encased in plastic. “Oh my God, did you go buy this after dinner?”
It seemed amusing to me until I glanced over at him. His eyes were dark, his expression sinful, and I sobered in an instant.
My voice fell to a hush. “I would have gone with you.”
“I know you would have,” he said. “Open it, wash it, and bring it to me.”
Every muscle in me clenched. Grant had said he’d never been in a Dom/sub relationship before me, but he had the authoritarian voice down cold. The edges of the plastic clamshell case bit into my fingers as I carried it into the kitchen. Scissors were grabbed from a drawer and used to cut along the edges. God, why did they make these packages so difficult and precarious to get into? I avoided the sharp edges of the cut plastic as I peeled the sides open and popped the dildo free.
I tried to be an adult about it as I ran the water in the sink and rinsed off the rather realistic-looking dick that included tiny veins along the shaft. It was soft, but firm, and according to the packaging . . . dishwasher-safe—top shelf only.
Once I was finished, the laughter in my head drained away.
I padded out into the living room to find him standing beside the couch, shirtless and barefoot. He’d turned off all the lights in the room except for the small, crystal chandelier that hung over my dining table. The prisms cast tiny rainbows across his chest.
Fucking hell, he was breathtaking. He was thick, and wide, and distinctly male. Powerful muscles stretched and corded around his frame, carving out notches and shadows, hard places beneath soft skin. I wanted to skate my tongue down his perfect chest, but he’d given me a command. I would obey it like it was the law.
I marched to him and offered the silicone toy, but he didn’t take it from me. We had to paint quite the scene—me stark naked and holding out a fake dick, him still in his jeans and the printed waistband of his underwear peeking out the top.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.
I understood how he meant, and the word rushed out of me. “Yes.”
There was a hint of a smile behind his lips as he took the toy from me and we fell deep into the scene. “Get on your knees and make my cock wet.”
I hit the floor so fast, pain shot up through my kneecaps, but it was gone and forgotten as he ringed the dildo around the base with his hand, and positioned it directly over the fly of his jeans.
I peered up at him and made a production of licking my lips. This blowjob wasn’t going to have sensation. It was all about the visual, and I didn’t want to let him down. I could still bring him pleasure; it’d just be a different kind than I was used to.
His gaze was locked on mine as I parted my lips and dragged the tip of my tongue over the head of the cock. Of his cock. Was that why he hadn’t asked me to go with him to buy it? Because he didn’t want some purple, jelly, alien-looking dildo; he wanted one that was him?
We didn’t break eye contact when I opened my mouth wider and closed my lips around the head. It didn’t taste like anything, and the silicone was nice. It had a velvety soft feel against my tongue. I hollowed out my cheeks as I sucked, and Grant’s eyes flared with lust. His shoulders lifted in an enormous breath.
Warmth bloomed in my chest. He didn’t have my mouth on him, but he could see it and imagine what it would feel like, and it clearly gave him satisfaction to watch me slide further down the length.
“Fuck, that looks so good,” he uttered.
I gave my own noise of satisfaction as I established a rhythm. There wasn’t as much give as there was when going down on the real thing, and my jaw began to ache almost immediately, but it was a small price to pay to see how he enjoyed the show. He wound his free hand in my hair and cupped the back of my head, not to push, but to guide. To show me exactly how he wanted it.
I was thrilled to have his direction.
Like it was the real deal, I pulled off and wrapped a hand around his cock, pumping my fist up and down. The muscles in his jaw flexed. He was clenching his teeth, and the realization made me smile.
I gave him a final pass in my mouth, working my way as far down to his fingers as I could get, and then I was abruptly pulled to my feet, so fast it made me dizzy. Grant plodded the half-dozen steps to the dining table and stuck the suction cup right on the closest corner.
He stood beside it, turned his gaze until it was fixed on me, and held out his hand.