Brielle

 

What am I doing?

I barely know this man, and yet I’ve punched my address into his fancy car’s GPS. Now I’m practically trembling in the leather seat as we drive toward my apartment. Other than asking for my address, he hasn’t said a word, and his silence is unnerving.

I grab my phone and send a text to Julie.

 

Brielle: Shit! I invited him back to my place. Talk me out of this!!

 

Her reply is instant.

 

Julie: Go for it, girl!

 

Not the words of caution I wanted to hear. Then again, she’s always encouraged me to take more risks, so what was I really expecting? I take a deep breath and catch Dom looking at me from the corner of his eye.

“Everything okay over there?” he asks, pulling me from my moment of panic.

“I…yes.”

“Don’t lie to me, Brielle. You’re second-guessing yourself.”

I drop my hands into my lap and stare straight ahead. “Why ask if you already knew that?”

“Tell me why,” he says, his voice firm and commanding.

“It’s not every day I invite a strange man over to my house.”

“I sure as fuck hope not. But you’ve texted your friend that you’re bringing me home, which is exactly what you should do. Just relax, okay?”

It’s unsettling how he can read me so well. Not to mention, his abrupt change in mood is unexpected. I can’t possibly begin to imagine what’s going on inside his head.

“But I thought you were mad at me about earlier…I thought you were going to spank me,” I admit softly.

“Do you want me to spank you?”

My gaze cuts to his large palms curled around the steering wheel, and a warm shiver of anticipation pulses through me.

“No,” I say, but my denial sounds weak and hollow, even to my ears.

His mouth lifts in a lazy smile.

When we reach my apartment, he parallel parks on the street. I lead him inside, fumbling with my keys as I unlock the front door to the building. Inside the elevator, I hit the button for the sixth floor and glance over at him. He’s pinned me with one of those intense, icy stares that I can feel deep inside my body.

“This male friend of yours, Kirby…have you two ever shared a drunken hookup?” he asks, completely surprising me.

“No.”

“A kiss?” he asks, stalking closer.

“Does it matter?” I’ve never done anything remotely sexual with Kirby, but his insistence at knowing these details seems too intimate, since I know nothing of his past.

He makes a low sound in his throat, closes the distance between us, and dips his head to inhale the scent of my neck. “When I ask a question, I expect an honest answer.”

He lingers at my neck, and the heat from his breath warms my skin. For a moment, I worry my heavy breathing will give me away. His dominating side is sexy as sin, and I want to see more of it.

“Never, okay?” I whisper. My feelings and reactions to him confuse me.

The elevator stops, and I lead him to my apartment.

The moment the door closes behind us, I reach for the light switch, but his hand catches my wrist. Somehow I’m pinned against the wall, his large form holding me in place with my wrists locked above my head. My heart jumps into my throat as I wonder what will happen next. Raw sexual chemistry burns hotly between us; there’s no denying the attraction. And I have a feeling things are about to get real.

“I’m going to kiss you. This is your chance to say yes or no.” His grip is firm, yet his voice is soft.

Indecision rips through me. I should say no; we’re working together. This isn’t about romance and flowers. But I want his lips on mine more than I want my next breath.

“Yes.”

The second the word leaves my lips, his mouth is on mine, dominating me with a rush of hungry kisses. His lips move against mine while his hand adjusts my jaw to just the right angle, and when he finds it, his tongue sweeps out and licks at mine.

Damn, the man can kiss. A weakness sweeps over me and my knees nearly give out.

When he releases my hands, I claw at his suit jacket, wanting him closer. His huge, heavy erection presses against my belly, and my inner muscles clench in delicious anticipation.

His hands slide down my body until they find my ass. He grips my butt, one cheek in each rough palm, kneading and squeezing as he groans into my mouth. My panties dampen instantly.

When he pulls his mouth from mine, I gasp for breath, feeling disoriented like I’ve just run a marathon. And fuck, that was from just one kiss.

“Were you going to let that man touch your wet little pussy?” His voice is deep and slightly breathless.

“No!” I gasp.

“That’s right you’re not. He did nothing to earn that privilege. And for the next six weeks, this pussy is mine. Say it, Brielle.”

“For the next six weeks, I’m yours.”

“Not good enough. Say it.”

“My pussy is yours.” My intimate muscles clench as the words leave my mouth.

“That’s right,” he says, moving his hand over the front of my dress to cup my sex through the fabric. “Mine.” When my hips involuntarily push toward his hand, he meets my eyes with a serious expression. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it, peach? Should I let you come so you’re able to focus on our lesson?”

I make a weak, desperate sound in my throat, my lust-fogged brain fighting with myself to hold it together when…oh.

His hands slip beneath the hem of my dress and tug my panties down my hips. The black thong slips to my ankles, stopping at my heels. I must be quite a sight, pinned against the wall with my underwear at my feet.

He pets the seam of my sex, parting me, and when he finds me slick, he glides his fingers through my folds and groans. Then he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes them. My cheeks become warm and I’m overcome with a strange feeling. Reverence? Desire?

“Fuck, you taste good.”

After licking his fingers clean, he lowers his hand again and plunges two fingers deep inside me, causing me to cry out from the sudden and very pleasurable invasion.

“Have to get this ready for me. I don’t want to hurt you,” he growls, thrusting two fingers in and out.

I latch onto his biceps, hanging on for dear life. Pleasure explodes inside me, and nothing has ever felt quite so good. My head thumps back against the wall when his thumb rubs between my thighs. His fingers slide deep inside me, stroking, pleasing me as no man has before.

When his mouth lowers to mine again and he bites my bottom lip, I explode, coming so intensely, I see a burst of white light behind my eyelids. I gasp for air, my eyes opening to find his.

“Do you always come so fast, peach?” he asks.

I don’t answer. I simply stand there, hanging on to him as I fight to catch my breath.

“You’re beautiful when you let go.”

He releases his hold on me and brings one hand to my cheek, where he uses the pad of his thumb to carefully stroke my lower lip. Reminded of how he bit me, I flinch, but he kisses away the sting, murmuring an apology. It’s dizzying how he can be so domineering and rough one moment, and then sweet and tender the next.

He leans in close, as calm and collected as ever. “Go into your bedroom, take off your dress, kneel on the floor, and wait for me.”

Despite my intense release mere moments ago, my body is hungry for more. More of everything. Those skillful kisses, rough hands, and the filthy words meant to make me submit.

I reach down to pull my panties back up, when a firm hand on my wrist stops me.

He shakes his head. “Who said you could put those back on?” He helps me step out of my panties and dangles them from his index finger. “My sexy little peach,” he murmurs.

When he tucks my discarded panties into his pocket, I know I’ve been dismissed.

My shaky legs carry me down the short, dark hallway into my bedroom. I’m unsure if I should turn on the light, but decide to do exactly as he asked. With trembling fingers, I untie the strings at the back of my neck and let the dress pool at my feet, then step out of my heels and place everything beside my dresser.

Once I’m completely nude, I kneel in the center of the room with my gaze trained on the floor and wait. My heartbeat is crashing against my ribs, and I’m filled with a strange sense of longing and anticipation. Sex is never like this. It’s always been in a bed, under the covers, without any dirty talk or forceful commands. Simple and straightforward. I know sex with my Dom is going to be anything but ordinary. And that’s way more exciting than it should be.

As I kneel in my darkened bedroom, naked and wet between my legs, the noise in my brain begins to quiet. I’m singularly focused on him. My gaze never strays from its focus on the floor near the door, on the swath of light that comes from the hall. My heartbeat grows heavy with anticipation.

Minutes pass and I hear a door close. Did he leave?

I fight with myself, wanting to stand up and go to the window and see if he’s left, but my body demands I stay put. So I continue waiting in my spot and several minutes later, I hear him. Footsteps coming closer.

When he enters the room, he’s carrying some type of small black leather bag. My heart riots in my chest.

He calmly crosses the room, all but ignoring me, and sets the bag on my bed. I don’t know if I should watch, but I can’t help my eyes from following him. He removes his suit jacket and neatly folds it, placing it on the table beside my bed. He unzips the bag and removes a black strip of fabric, and then turns to face me.

“Those greedy little eyes want to see everything, to form an opinion on it all, yes?”

I don’t answer. My breathing grows shallow as I continue watching him.

“The only thing I want you focused on is sensation, feeling. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I want to show you what you’re capable of. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I say again. I’m not sure why, but I do. And trust me, I’m aware it’s absolutely insane.

He stands behind me and fastens the silk fabric over my eyes, tying it behind my head. It blocks my vision entirely. My heart rate increases as the realization that I’m in total darkness sinks in.

I listen closely and hear him walk toward the bed. Then I hear a match spark to life, and my entire body stiffens. His footsteps cross the room, and I’m about to ask what’s going on when the faint scent of sandalwood and black currant greets me. He’s lit a candle, I’m pretty sure. Maybe this is all part of a ritual for him. Nothing is rushed, everything is calculated and planned out, and I like that he’s taken so much time and care into planning my lessons.

I hear one loud thud and then another. He’s removed his shoes, I think.

“Hands behind your back.” He’s directly in front of me now. I can feel the heat emanating from his body.

I do as he’s asked and lace my fingers together at the small of my back. The new position pushes my breasts forward and out. I imagine what I must look like naked, blindfolded, and kneeling on the floor, bathed in the soft flicker of candlelight. Well, this is new.

“Such a pretty sight, peach.”

As he strokes my cheek with his thumb, I lean in toward his touch, feeling approval in every stroke of his fingertips. His hands continue their soft caresses, trailing down my neck and through the long tresses of my hair. His touch is gentle, restrained, as if he’s holding himself back. For now, at least.

“We need to discuss your limits. Are there things you’re uncomfortable with, Brielle?”

I’m not sure how to answer, because while there are things that make me nervous, a small voice inside me says that’s the entire point. I want to grow in confidence and in experience, and the only way to grow is to push myself outside my comfort zone.

I recall the quote taped to my fridge: Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.

When he trails his hand down my lower back, I realize I haven’t responded yet. My ass is exposed in this position and he takes full advantage, brushing the pad of his thumb over my backside and stroking me there.

“Is this fair game?” he asks, his voice rough.

His warm finger in a forbidden place causes little fractures of heat to radiate down my spine, and butterflies take flight in my belly. Since I couldn’t form words right now if I wanted to, I merely nod.

“Hmm. Naughty thing,” he says under his breath. He pulls his hand away and lifts my chin, even though eye contact is impossible with the blindfold. But perhaps there’s something he needs to see in my expression, in my reactions to him.

“You need to choose a safe word. Something easy to remember. If I do something you don’t like, use it and I’ll stop. Understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper, the need growing inside me.

“So, what’ll it be?”

“I-I’m not sure. Any suggestions?” I ask.

“It needs to be something easy to remember when you’re getting your ass handed to you—literally.” I can hear the playful smirk in his voice.

The word is on my lips before I have time to process it. “Peach.”

“Perfect,” he says adoringly.

I hear a zipper being tugged down slowly. A faint trace of soap tickles my nose, along with masculine musk. All of my senses are finely tuned in to what’s happening just beyond my reach.

“I’m going to show you how to pleasure a man with your mouth, Brielle. Would you like that?”

The sound of skin rubbing together sends my mind spinning—I imagine he’s freed his cock and his hand is sliding up and down. His breathing grows harsh, and I can feel myself getting wet.

I told him at our first meeting that performing oral sex makes me uncomfortable, which is probably why he’s making that our first lesson. “Y-yes, please.” I don’t know who this woman on the floor begging to suck his cock is, but there’s complete honesty in my reactions to him. It seems his dominant nature brings out a side of me I didn’t know existed until this very moment.

“Open for me,” he says.

I open my mouth wide and wait.

“Wider, sweetheart.” I can hear a hint of dark humor in his voice.

I force my mouth even wider and feel the blunt head of him caress my lips. My tongue darts out instinctively to taste what he’s offering. A grunt pushes past his lips as my tongue swirls around the head of him.

Then he eases forward and fills my mouth. Every sense is heightened with my vision obstructed, and I soak up every detail I can. The vein that runs along the side of his length. The slightly salty taste at the tip of him, the heavy weight of his balls when my tongue ventures lower.

“Take it, sweetheart. Take me deep.”

I swallow him down, my throat closing around his massive girth, and he grunts. Pride surges through me.

Each time he glides over my lower lip, I’m reminded of where he bit me earlier. It’s swollen and sore, but in the best way possible.

“That’s it,” he says to encourage me, his voice impossibly tight. “A man wants to feel how into it you are. He wants to know you’re enjoying yourself too.”

I am into it, more than I’ve ever been. I think the difference is this dominant man and my need to please him. Unlacing my fingers, I grip his impressive length, stroking as I suck him.

His hands slide through my hair, and he gives a firm tug. The sting of pain is slight and dissipates quickly. “Hands behind your back.”

I pull back and instinctively lift my chin to gaze up at him, even though I can’t see him. “I want to touch you.”

“You are touching me. Your mouth feels incredible, pet.”

I soar at his compliment and place my hands behind me again so I can resume where I left off, my open mouth seeking him in the darkness. His hands on either side of my face guide me forward and his hips begin rocking, pushing his thick cock in and out of my mouth. I am a vessel for his pleasure, and nothing could please me more.

As the intoxicating scent of the burning candle fills the room, I’m consumed by him and by all the sensations. This big man looming over me, my mouth open so wide my jaw aches, and my pussy so wet and greedy, it clenches each time he thrusts forward.

“Stop.” His voice is raw, and he pulls his cock from my mouth with a wet sucking sound. Growling out a curse, he leaves me to wonder what I’ve done wrong. “You lied to me, Brielle.”

He strips off my blindfold and the flicker of candlelight greets me, illuminating the fact that I’m on my knees with him standing over me. His cock stands tall, glistening with my saliva. His body is smooth everywhere, sculpted of rock-hard muscle. This man is built for sex.

“What did I do?” I ask as my brain struggles to comprehend what I’ve lied to him about.

Shit. What have I done?

He grips his cock and squeezes, staring down at me with displeasure. “You led me to believe you weren’t good at sucking cock. And you’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”

Pride swells inside me, and I suck my lip into my mouth in an effort to fight off a smile.

“You want to finish me? To feel me lose control in your mouth?” He tilts his head and studies me.

“Yes,” I say confidently, staring straight up at him.

“Bend over. Place your forehead on the carpeting and put that pretty little ass in the air.”

I do as he’s instructed, my body already tingling in anticipation of what’s to come. I am completely exposed, and while normally I’d feel embarrassed and unsure with him, I feel alive.

“Ease your knees apart.”

When I spread my knees apart, I’m completely open for his perusal. I should feel self-conscious, but with my cheek pressed to the floor, I look up and see the longing in his eyes. A hot bolt darts through me. I feel more desirable in this moment than I ever recall feeling before.

“And to think I was going to take it slow with you, ease you into things tonight.” He makes a low tsk-tsking sound under his breath.

Am I being punished? Why does that excite me so much?

“This ass needs to be fucked,” he murmurs, gripping one fleshy cheek before treating it to a sharp swat.

I release a grunt at the unexpected contact.

“Be still. And stay quiet,” he says, his voice devoid of all fun and games.

I wait, my behind on prominent display as I wonder what will happen next.

When he drops to his knees behind me and presses his face between my cheeks, I jump and shout out a little yelp.

He grips my hips. “Quiet. And be still,” he reminds me.

I swallow and ease back into position, feeling his mouth at my core once again. The warmth of his tongue as it sweeps over me, the sharp nip of his teeth raking across my swollen clit—it feels incredible, and his skill at this is enough to make me forget my name. But he doesn’t focus anywhere for long, he licks and caresses me with his tongue, but every time I’m close to the edge, he changes his angle and pressure so I’m left reeling and unsatisfied.

“Please,” I beg, needing a release.

He plunges two fingers deep inside me and focuses all his attention on my oversensitive clit, sending me hurtling toward orgasm in a dizzying rush of excitement.

“Yes, yes,” I beg, right on the edge.

His hand smacks my ass again, a reminder to be quiet for him, but thank God, he doesn’t stop that wicked mouth from devouring me.

My orgasm crashes into me, pulling a low moan from my throat, and my fingers dig into the carpeting, scrambling for purchase.

“That’s it, peach,” he murmurs encouragingly against my backside as he slowly removes his fingers.

My entire world is rocked. I feel spent and used in the most lovely way.

“Up on your knees, pet.”

I couldn’t rise to my feet right now if he demanded it. But he helps me up to my knees and as soon as I’m perched before him again, I open wide, waiting for him to take my mouth again. The admiration in his gaze makes my belly flip. Without direction, he pushes forward, shoving his huge cock into my throat, and he holds my head in place, fucking my mouth as he desires.

I gag slightly and he retreats; his eyes trained on mine flash with something dark. “Don’t stop now,” he warns.

I shake my head; I won’t stop until he makes me. I want to use my hands, and he hasn’t expressly forbid it this time, so with this cock bobbing in and out of my mouth, I test the waters, trailing my fingernails over his solid thighs. When he doesn’t stop me, I grow bold, wrapping both fists firmly around his generous length and stroking him between each thrust.

“Fuck.” The word rumbles from deep in his chest, an almost animalistic sound. Seconds later, his fists tighten in my hair and a hot jet of semen coats my throat.

I swallow him down and once he’s finished, he bends forward and brushes his lips over my forehead, then pulls on black boxer briefs.

My limbs are heavy, and all the blood has settled into my lower half from remaining on my knees for so long. I’m shivering and weak.

“Come here,” he says, gathering me up in his arms and moving me onto the bed. He pulls the quilt over me and holds me quietly. After several minutes, he tilts my chin up as though he’s inspecting me. His eyes are dark and stormy, and I don’t understand why. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out hoarse and rough.

“Would you like some water?” he asks.

I nod.

“I’ll be right back. Just lie back and rest.”

He rises from the bed, and I watch his tight butt as he heads for my kitchen. In the silence, my gaze wanders to the candle he’s placed on my dresser, its flame dancing in the otherwise dark room.

The initial satisfaction fades and a deep shame over what I’ve done—with a perfect stranger, a man I’ve hired—threatens to overwhelm me. Confused by the quick shift in my emotions, I blink back tears.

I rest my eyes for a few moments and when I open them, he’s standing over me wearing nothing more than boxers that barely contain him and the generous swell at the front. His eyes are soulful, and his look is one of concern. He brings a glass of cool water to my lips, and I take a long drink, grateful for his compassion.

“Are you okay with everything that happened?” he asks, noticing my solemn mood.

“Yes, I’m fine.” It was just a blow job, for goodness’ sake. But I think some part of me knows it’s only the tip of the iceberg. Submission. Blindfolds. What’s next? Before I have time to ponder that, his cell phone rings.

He apologizes as he grabs his pants from the floor and fishes his phone from the pocket. As he looks down at the screen, he frowns. “Do you mind if I answer? It might be something important.”

“It’s fine.”

When he hits a button, the sound of feminine voice crying in the otherwise silent room startles us both. In the darkened room, he must have inadvertently activated the speaker phone.

“Hale?” she sobs, her voice frantic.

He quickly takes the phone off speaker and presses it to his ear. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.” His tone is soothing, worried.

Hale…is that his name? What kind of name is that? It’s surprisingly fitting. Its association with the weather, forceful and a little scary, is just like him. I love it. I wonder who the woman is, a sister? A friend? My stomach sinks when I realize she could be another client.

It’s impossible not to listen, and he makes no move to leave the room or prevent me from overhearing. Whoever the woman is, she’s sobbing, and though I can’t make out what she’s saying, he listens attentively, repeatedly telling her that everything will be okay in a solemn and comforting tone. After several minutes of kind encouragements, he tells her that he’s not alone, and that he has to go. He ends the conversation by telling her to run a warm bath and make herself a mug of tea, and that he will check on her later.

When he hangs up, his posture is so rigid he looks like he could crush the phone in his hand. He releases a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry about that.”

Of course I want to ask who the mystery woman is, but remember we’ve made an agreement not to delve into each other’s personal lives. “Is…is she okay?”

“Do you know what aftercare is, Brielle?”

“No.”

“Chrissy is a submissive at a club I belong to. She was shaken up after a rough scene with a Dom tonight, and he left before she could talk with him about what she had just experienced.”

“And she trusted you to talk her through it?”

“Yes.” He places his hand against mine and meets my eyes. “We will always talk about how you’re feeling after a lesson. I won’t leave until I know you’re okay. And if you have questions, or unexpected emotions pop up afterward, you can call me. I have a cell phone number for clients that I’ll give you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry tonight’s lesson got cut short. I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

“That’s okay. It sounds like she needed you.”

I wonder what that means, a submissive at a club he belongs to. A sex club? Does he play with her too? A pang of jealousy flares inside me, but I ignore it. He’s a Dominant hired by scores of women for sexual instruction, yet there’s no denying he’s a caring partner. I’m not mad; I’m more curious than anything.

“How many women are you mentoring?”

His hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “You’re the only one I’m concerned with.”

His non-answer sets me at ease more than it should. “So, what does aftercare usually involve?”

He hands me my glass of water, encouraging me to drink more. “It can be discussion over what just happened, cuddling, kissing, or even vanilla intercourse if the scene didn’t involve sex.” He waits while I consider everything I’ve learned tonight, and tucks the quilt tighter around me. “Any other questions?”

I meet his eyes and smile. “Now that I know your name…can I call you Hale?”

He chuckles and nods his head. “You may.”