Chapter Three
Quinton hoped he wasn’t about to make a huge-ass mistake.
After talking to Cassia for several more hours the night they’d reconnected, he’d spent the past week reading, making plans, talking on the phone with Cassia, and getting a handle on her interests and limits. He’d bounced ideas off of Masters Griffin and Kyler, the two Blasphemy Masters with whom he was closest. He’d sought the advice of Master Alex, who worked as a psychiatrist. And he’d even reached out to Master Hale, the one of the twelve of them who owned the biggest share of Blasphemy. For reasons none of them fully understood, he didn’t play as much anymore, but Quinton figured he’d owed it to the man to keep him in the loop.
And tonight was the night. Quinton’s first scene with Cassia.
Truth be told, he was a little nervous. But he was also really freaking excited. Because if what they did worked, a woman was going to get back the life she wanted, and he’d have played a role in that. Christ, a part of him still couldn’t believe what Cassia had been through—or that it explained why she’d not shown up for their scene two years before. In his mind, he heard Jack Nicholson from A Few Good Men saying, Don’t I feel like the fucking asshole? Because back then, Quinton had been pissed. And here she’d been hurt. And while she hadn’t followed up after the fact, neither had he. So, yeah, on some level he had been the fucking asshole.
But hopefully, he’d make up for that now. And, in the process, they were going to push things to some extremes that had his blood pulsing with anticipation.
But, first, baby steps.
Surveying the room he’d set up over the years specifically for sensory deprivation scenes, Quinton made sure—again—that he had everything ready that he might need. And then he went to find Cassia.
She was already waiting for him at the bar. Fifteen minutes early. He liked that. He liked it a lot. Not just the eagerness, but the demonstration that he could count on her to be in this with him.
Quinton came up behind where she was seated on one of the high chairs at the ornate bar and spent just a moment appreciating the beautiful, bare expanse of her back in the sheer black dress. Dress might’ve been too formal a word for it, actually. Which made him appreciate it even more. Leaning in, he spoke close to her ear. “It’s good to see you, Cassia.”
She gave a little gasp and shivered, and when she turned to him, she was smiling. Her gaze wandered over his shoulders and chest before settling on his face. “It’s good to see you too, Master Quinton.”
He leaned in closer. “Is it now?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, a hint of shyness in her expression as she offered him her wrist. “I rectified this, and I apologize for the error in my judgement, again.”
Pleased to see the black-and-red phobia ribbon on her cuff, Quinton smiled and held out a hand. “Very good. And your apology is accepted, little one. Now, come with me.”
Nodding, she grasped his hand and slipped off the stool. Hand in hand, they made their way through the lighter Tuesday-night crowd on the main club floor. Instead of heading toward the hall of themed rooms, Quinton guided Cassia to a stairwell that led downstairs, where just two playrooms were located—the dungeon and the sensory room, both of which were completely soundproofed.
He led her inside the largely utilitarian-looking room with its concrete floor and gray sound-proofing on the walls and locked them in. “We’re going to talk a little first,” he said, leading her to a leather couch at the side of the room. He sat first and peered up at her. “I want you in my lap, Cassia.”
She lowered herself slowly, carefully.
Quinton hauled her against him. Her chest to his. His face close. Her ass against his cock. “I want to feel you.”
A beautiful pink filtered into her cheeks. “Yes, Sir.”
They’d gone over some of what he wanted to discuss by email, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be sure. “What are your safewords?”
“Green for go or I’m good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop the scene,” she said.
“I need you to use them, Cassia, and use them honestly. We’re going to start slow, and what we’re trying to do here is going to take some time. We’re essentially trying to retrain your senses. Right now, you’re blinded by fear in the darkness. I’m going to blind you with pleasure.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That…that sounds good.”
Quinton chuckled, loving how game she was for all this. And respecting the hell out of her for it, too. Without getting too specific, he’d talked about some of the things he thought might have a chance at doing just that, so he knew just how far she was willing to go.
And it was pretty damn far. His kinda girl.
“Yes, it does.” Slowly, he pressed a finger to her lips. Instinctively, she kissed it, but he wanted more. “Suck it. Make it wet.”
On a quick intake of breath, she did exactly what he said—opened her mouth and sucked in his finger to the middle knuckle. Her tongue bathed his skin, sending blood to his cock. But this wasn’t about him. Not tonight.
When he was satisfied with her response, he withdrew, and drew the wet, shiny point of his finger down her neck to the thin strap of her dress. From there, he traced the loose, low neckline of the dress. Down over the mound of one breast, and back up over the swell of the other. Until he was at her mouth once more. “Again,” he said, watching her mouth oval around his finger. Then he repeated the teasing, pulling the fabric down more in the process. “Close your eyes and silently count. When you reach ten, you may open them.”
With a little shiver, she obeyed immediately. And that slayed him, a little bit, it really did. The trust despite the great well of vulnerability he knew she had. He rewarded her by baring a breast and drawing his fingers around her nipple, gently stroking and pulling.
Her eyelids flipped open, the hazel reflecting desperation back at him.
Watching her closely, he bared the other breast, and her dress pooled around her waist. “Again, little one. Eyes closed and count to ten.” He tormented the other breast and studied her face, watching for any signs of panic, but also taking in how pretty she was. High cheekbones. Full lips. The scars that proved she was a survivor.
Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes, a little smile playing around her lips.
“Good,” he said, giving her the praise she deserved. “We’re going for more now. When your eyes are closed, imagine you’re looking at something or some place that makes you feel safe and secure, that makes you feel good. Okay?”
Studying him, she nodded.
He laid her back against the edge of the black leather couch and leaned in over her. “Then this time, count to twenty-five. Go.”
Her lids fluttered closed, and Quinton replaced his exploring fingers with his tongue. He licked and sucked at her neck, the sensitive tendon of her shoulder, her breasts, zeroing in on her nipple until he drew it into his mouth. Jesus, she was sweet.
“Twenty-five,” she whispered on a gasp.
“Very good,” he said, rewarding her with more praise each and every time, until she could hold her eyes closed for a count of sixty and was starting to drive him insane with the way she was squirming in his lap. She was ready for more. Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Are you aroused, Cassia?” He didn’t really need to ask, but getting her talking was one small part of getting her out of her head.
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.
His tongue flicked over the shell of her ear. “Are you wet?”
“Very,” she said, her head falling to the side as her hand fisted in his tank top.
Then she was definitely ready for more. “Then rise and undress. I want you standing in front of the wall.” He pointed to the far side of the room, where a set of chains dangled from the ceiling. “It’s time to begin.”
* * *
Cassia couldn’t stop shivering, but it was the good kind of trembling. For once.
Because of Master Quinton.
He’d barely touched her, really, but it was the way he’d done it. Guiding her through the darkness behind her closed eyes so that she’d never felt the full impact of the fear stalking around the edges of her mind. Instead, he’d proved to her again and again that he’d still be right there even if she couldn’t see him.
Smart, smart man. And damn if smart wasn’t sexy as hell.
As she undressed and moved to the stark concrete wall, Cassia burned for more. More of his calloused touch, more of the commanding rumble of his voice, more of that intense masculine gaze. It’s been a long time since she’d done a full scene, and never once since the accident.
All of which made it feel like she might vibrate right out of her skin, like she couldn’t possibly bear the anticipation of it, like it was her very first time.
She took position, back to the wall, with her legs spread, her hands at her side, and her head down. And then she waited.
Finally, finally, Master Quinton appeared in front of her. His bare feet stuck out beneath the frayed hems of his jeans. She hadn’t realized just how sexy feet could be before that moment. It almost made her smile.
“Reach up and grasp the bar,” he said in a low voice.
Releasing a shaky breath, Cassia found a spreader bar hanging above her with an open cuff on each end. The metal was cool against her palms, and the position totally exposed every part of her to Master Quinton’s gaze. Which unleashed nervous butterflies inside her because it had been a long time since she’d last been this open, this trusting with another person. But then she realized she could study him in return.
And, holy hell, if she’d thought his feet were sexy, that was nothing compared to the rest of him. He stood there wearing a pair of obviously well-loved blue jeans, his leather Master’s cuff, and nothing else. Somehow, that was hotter than if he’d been totally nude. Master Quinton was defined without being ridged, muscular without being beefy, and he had an absolutely fascinating black tribal tattoo that wrapped around the right side of his ribs—fascinating because it disappeared beneath the waistband of his faded jeans.
“Very nice,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “You look beautiful like that, open and available to my every whim.”
Another shiver raced over Cassia’s skin. “Thank you, Sir.”
“This scene is going to be about learning where the edge of your tolerance is, Cassia,” he said, drawing out her name in a way that made her think of him licking her skin. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, Sir,” she managed. At least, she hoped she was. No, dammit, she was.
With a nod, he held up a circle of sheer black lace. “Then you’ll wear this for me,” he said. Not a question, but she nodded anyway. In a quick movement, he slipped the soft fabric around her head. The stretchy lace was black, but largely see-through. It gave the illusion of darkness, without being dark. He peered down and met her eye-to-eye. “Where are you right now?”
“Green, Sir.”
He nodded and ran his knuckles gently down her cheek. “Brave girl.”
Cassia’s reply was cut off as she gasped, because Master Quinton had pressed a vibrator against her clit.
Fisting his hand in the length of her hair, he brought their faces close. “Come as fast and as often as you can.” The vibrations intensified.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. Because she was already close. From his teasing on the couch. From the fear that already had her body and mind wound tight. From the tormenting sensations.
“Close your eyes, Cassia,” he whispered. “Close them and just feel.”
Oh, God, she did. She closed them. But he held her grounded in the moment. With the warmth of his face against hers. With the tight, commanding hold of his hand in her hair. With the vibrations shoving her hard toward release.
It was the best she’d felt in longer than she could remember. The lightest. The most free.
And that…that was a lot.
Suddenly, she was right there. On the edge, then falling fast. A moan ripped out of her as the orgasm tore through her, her first at another person’s hands in so, so long.
“Don’t let go,” Master Quinton growled. “Because you’re not done yet.” The vibrator pressed more firmly between her legs. “I want more.”
“Oh, shit,” she gasped, shaking her head but holding on tight, just like he’d commanded.
“Blind with pleasure, remember?” The tone was smug, as was the chuckle that followed when she repeated her curse. But she could hardly hold that against him when she was already close again, especially as he released her hair and took to tormenting her nipples instead. One and then the other. Biting squeezes that rocked through her like an electrical charge. Palming the head of the vibrating massager, it was almost as if he were cupping her pussy as he pressed it tighter against her clit. And then he moved it in slippery, taunting circles. “I want my fingers dripping with your pleasure.”
The sensations were destroying her restraint, but it was the blunt words that did it. Eyes clenched tight of her own accord, Cassia came again, and again, before she nearly crumpled as the aftershocks of the orgasms wracked through her.
Master Quinton caught her with an arm around her waist. “Good. So fucking good.” He hugged her against his bare chest, and she soaked in his heat. “Do you need a break?”
“No,” she said, breathing him in. Soap, spicy aftershave, and something all Quinton. “No, I’m good, Sir.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Good. Because we’re just getting started, baby girl. Put those hands back up.”
Lust drunk, Cassia chuckled as she reached upwards. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Oh, you can,” he said, eyebrow arched in a sexy smirk. When she was in position again, he held up another circle of black lace. “Ready for more?”
She shuddered. “Yes, Sir.” The second layer of lace slipped over her head, as sheer as the first, though together, they obscured more of her vision.
“Good?” He stroked a hand down her ribs, making her squirm.
Smiling, she nodded. “Green, Sir.”
“Mmm. Green is good.” Master Quinton stepped out of her line of vision, and all she knew was the odd cranking sound that echoed in the room. Like a spigot turning on.
He returned to stand in front of her, and sure enough, he held a hose with a strange hand-held shower head on the end. The kind with multiple settings…
The evil Dom nailed her with a stare. “Have you ever used a shower head to make yourself come, Cassia?”
Heat roared over her face, which was really frickin’ ridiculous given that she was naked and he’d just given her three orgasms, but the question—and that hose—had just taken her by such surprise. “Um. Yes, Sir.”
He gave her a playful smile—part smirk, and part sex on a stick—and nodded. “Was hoping you’d say that.” He held the shower head near her lips and twisted a nozzle until water trickled out in a slow stream. “Drink.”
Cassia sucked the lukewarm water into her mouth. As she did, some dripped down her front. But she didn’t mind, not when his gaze blazed at the wetness falling from her mouth and running down her neck, over her breasts…
“More?” he asked.
“No, thank you, Sir.” She licked her lips.
He made another adjustment, and the water hit her belly more firmly. Not a hard spray yet, but a soft shower. And warmer now. “Water is going to be our friend in this little endeavor, Cassia. I want to build a strong sensual association to it, for you.”
Warmth rained down over her breasts, her belly, her hips. Ticklish, soft, and comforting, too.
“I want you to associate water with feeling good…” The spray passed over her mound, and she gasped. He trailed it down her legs, down her thighs to her knees to her feet—and then back up again. “I want water to be calming and relaxing, to help get you out of your head and your fears.” Using a little black remote he pulled from his pocket, Master Quinton dimmed the lights. Between the lowered lighting and the layers of black lace, it seemed much darker in the room. Dark enough that he was mostly a silhouette before her. Cassia’s heart tripped into a sprint, and her mind flirted with the desire to flee.
Gritting her teeth, she tried to resist, and then she moaned, “Yellow, Sir.”
The room brightened just a little, but it was enough to help hold the panic at bay. And then the stream of water hit her clit. She went up onto tiptoes as she clutched at the bar above her.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “I’m here. And you’re safe. And you’re going to come to please me.”
Master Quinton held the water right there. And then he turned up the pressure. “Don’t think, Cassia,” he bit out. “Feel.”
She did. God help her, it was nearly all she could do. The spray was almost harsh now, and it nailed her where she was neediest and most sensitive. The water stimulated her senses as it ran down her legs, dripped and splashed against the concrete floor, and drilled into her clit in an inescapable, delicious torture. “Oh, oh, Master Quin—”
The orgasm stole her ability to speak, to think, to breathe. And then he prolonged it by turning the pressure up yet another notch. Cassia screamed her way through two more orgasms, sure she was losing her mind, her sanity, her very self.
The pleasure was so overwhelming, when she’d been adrift in a sea of utter shit for so long, that it was…almost…too much. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch.
On a moan, Cassia broke into a sob as wrenching as it was unexpected. And all she knew was that she wasn’t alone. And that, right now…that was more than she’d had in a long time.