Nature Of Desire: Worth The Wait Part 19

He let her feet down outside the open stall door. Julie heard a whicker from the shadows and drew back, startled, as a gold and white head emerged in front of her. However, the liquid brown eyes blinked at her so compellingly she overcame her initial trepidation and petted the horse's forelock and muscled neck. "Oh, she's wonderful."

"Have you ever petted a horse before?" Des had noted her hesitation.

"Rarely," she admitted. "Cop horses in New York, the occasional carriage horse at Christmas. That kind of thing. Never ridden one."

"We'll have to fix that. Miss Thing is a gentle lady."

Julie liked the idea. Still muzzy, she closed her eyes, using Des as a prop as she scratched Miss Thing's forehead and caressed her velvety soft nose. He chuckled indulgently and lifted her again.

"Gotta go to bed, Miss Thing. I wore my baby out." If I plan to take advantage of her again, I have to get her some sleep." He brushed his lips across Julie's forehead. "And I sure as h.e.l.l plan to do that."

"Don't I get any say in it?"

"Sure. As long as it's an unqualified 'Yes, Des, that's exactly what I want.'"

He took them back up the path, reclaimed the tote and pack from the truck hood and ascended his small porch. He let her stand on her feet again as he fished out his key. She had a brief impression of a potted vegetable garden, tomatoes and some herbs to the left of the door, along with a folding chair and small table. A rusted set of chimes with a faded painted metal b.u.t.terfly at the top offered a pleasant music.

Des opened his door and gestured her over the threshold. "It's basically a one-room apartment, but I'm fond of it, so be kind."

"I'm living in the back room of a theater. I'm hardly going to judge."

Though she was sleepy, she was curious about where he lived. When he snapped on a lamp, she saw he was right about the cozy size. The main living area s.p.a.ce had a futon, easy chair and small flat screen TV. Several bookcases were stacked with magazines, books, notebooks. A file cabinet and a desk were tucked in a corner with a computer. The kitchen, separated from the living area by an L-shaped counter, had a compact set of the expected appliances. A two-seat bistro set was pushed against a pair of windows to the right of the counter, allowing a small pa.s.sage to squeeze into the kitchen area.

As her gaze drifted back across the living area, she saw a double bed, partially revealed behind a standing wooden screen, hung with a variety of colorful ropes. One door behind the bed led to a small bathroom, because she saw a section of a vanity sink and a blue shower curtain with seagulls printed on it, diving and swooping. There was a second door she a.s.sumed was another room or closet, but it was closed.

Unlike most bachelors she knew, Des hadn't hesitated to bring her to his home without notice, but he didn't fit her single guy stereotype in a lot of ways. The living s.p.a.ce was inviting, clean and well-ordered, not because he expected guests but because it matched the man's preferences. A brown, black and blue diamond pattern afghan was draped over the sofa, and the fabrics and accents of the living room meshed with that masculine but pleasing color scheme. The bed cover was dark blue with blue and green throw pillows against blue-cased bed pillows. He didn't care for knickknacks, no surprise there, but he had pottery pieces to hold several orchids and a cl.u.s.ter of interesting houseplant choices lined the bookcases. The room smelled faintly of peppermint, making her think of Christmas.

He had few possessions compared to most men his same age, but he had the things a man like him might need. Her gaze went back to the shower curtain. "Everything makes me think of forests but that," she said.

"Yeah. I like seagulls. I like the beach. And if everything matched, you'd figure I bat for the other team."

She considered. "It is true that straight single men rarely present such a well-coordinated interior decorating scheme, unless they've enlisted a professional designer to attract women to their lair."

"Yeah, I thought about it, but I already have to beat them off with a stick. I didn't want to cause myself more aggravation. I bought the mismatching shower curtain to thin out the pack."

"Of course." Her snort became a surprised sound as he lifted her again. He wasn't kidding; he really did like carrying her. He took her to the bed, put her on her feet to turn it down and untied her robe, sliding it off her shoulders. She held onto his biceps, blinking up at him as he stroked her hair back from her face and regarded her from head to toe.

"A fine-looking naked woman in my home. And not just any naked woman. You're the only thing my place has been missing."

He had a way of saying things that should sound hokey but made her knees weak. After he settled her in the bed, he seemed like he was going to leave her there, so she held onto his hand until he relented and sat down next to her.

"Where were you going?" she asked.

"Nowhere. I'm going to let you sleep while I do a couple things. I'm a little keyed up."

"Could I help with that?" She dropped her hand to his thigh and caressed him. Yeah, she could barely lift her head, but for the chance to give him more pleasure, she'd find some energy.

He smiled, clasping her seeking hand. "You sure can, but not right now. Not when I've asked so much of you. Sleep first."

"The shower curtain... It's not just because you like seagulls."

He c.o.c.ked his head. "Even in a post-coital stupor, the girl is sharp."

"Not in a stupor. Get over yourself."

He grinned as she deliberately slurred her words, but as she trailed her fingers up and down his arm and fixed her eyes on him, he became more serious.

"When I was a kid at the boys' home, they took us to North Myrtle Beach one weekend. I was really looking forward to it, but I contracted a high fever and couldn't go. Betty, she was the nurse at the boys' home then. She bought a couple of shower curtains with seagulls on it and hung them around my bed in the infirmary. Bought me a tape of the ocean and played it so I could imagine I was there."

He glanced toward the bathroom. "That's not one of the original curtains, but having one like it reminds me there's something far more important than life not going your way. It's how you and those around you handle that, and knowing you can discover even better things than a beach trip because of it."

"Like friendship, and love. Loyalty." She supplied the unspoken words and thought one more in her mind. Kindness. She already loved this Betty, and was intrigued that his landlady was also his childhood nurse. "Did you ever get to the ocean?"

"No. I've never been." A hard-to-read expression crossed his face. "It's a bucket list thing."

Her brows raised. "It's only four hours from here."

"I know. More backstory. Let's not worry about it tonight."

"I need the missing piece before I can sleep, or I won't. Half a bedtime story just keeps me awake." She let her fingers drift across his chest, moving up to tangle in his loose hair. "You're handsome, you know. Really handsome."

"I'm knotty, like a brown stick with too much hair."

She laughed, as she was sure he intended, but she clung to the front of his T-shirt. "I don't want to make you sad, but I want to know you. Will you finish the story?"

He touched her face. Sighed. "Okay. If you show me your b.o.o.bs."

"G.o.d, men are easy." She tugged the covers down, flashed her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s at him, then her laugh caught in her throat as he gripped her wrist to keep her from pulling the blankets back up. Leaning down, he breathed heated air over one nipple, watching it crinkle under the attention. She quivered as he played the tip of his tongue over the areola, curled around it, then gave it his whole mouth. The deep, easy suckling had her sighing, folding both arms around his shoulders. In her languorous state, the desire unfurling inside of her was like being in a sauna. All of her was so loose and relaxed. When he lifted his head, she tried to keep him close.

"If you joined me under the covers," she whispered, "You'd slide into me like a steam bath. All slick and easy. I don't want you to spare me or let me rest, Des. I want you to have me as often as you want."

His eyes sharpened, as did the planes of his face, telling her the effect her words had on him. He loosened her arms, but his grip on her was urgent. "I want that to build, for both of us," he said. "I used you hard, Julie. Trust your Dom. I know what you need. If I take you now, I won't be gentle about it. Again."

She saw the truth in his eyes, which caused a tiny little shiver in her. "If you think that makes me want you any less, it's the wrong tactic."

His lips twisted ruefully. "I know. It's why you're like a drug. One of the reasons. Go to sleep."

"Finish the story first. Please."

He relented, though she noticed he shifted his gaze back to the shower curtain, as if he wasn't entirely comfortable. It was something people did when it was easier to pretend they were telling a story, rather than being the story themselves.

"When my mother took off from the hospital, she left behind a postcard of the ocean for me. Cherry Grove, North Myrtle Beach. It had four words on the back. 'Sorry. This is better.' I threw the d.a.m.n thing away about a million times growing up. Every time, Betty would fish it from the trash and hold onto it until I regretted it and wanted it back. I guess I always counted on that, since I never threw it away where she couldn't get to it. I did tear it into three pieces once, and she taped them back together."

He tilted his head back and forth as if he was releasing tension in his neck. He was sitting up again, so she couldn't reach high enough to ma.s.sage the area, but she did stroke the leg he had bent on the bed next to her. "Then one day Betty said: 'Maybe instead of focusing on what's on the back, focus on what's on the front. Your mother must have liked the ocean.' That message stuck with me. I could focus on the dark side or the light. Focusing on the dark brought me nothing. When I focused on the light, I found I liked seagulls."

"I like seagulls, too. Maybe we could go to the beach together one weekend. I bet I could make a better sandcastle than you."

"I bet you couldn't."

"You're on. Loser has to paint the other's toenails."

"I prefer pa.s.sion pink," he said seriously. He tugged the covers up again, with a last gratifying, lingering look at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s before he brushed her lips with his. "Go to sleep, crazy, gorgeous woman. So I can f.u.c.k you all over again."

Julie slowly became aware of her surroundings. It wasn't quite dawn, but thanks to the glow of an outdoor light on the property, she had enough light that the furniture was silhouetted in the living room. Des had eventually come to bed, so they could sleep with comfortably tangled limbs, but he was no longer in the bed with her. He wasn't far away, though. He was bent over her, looping rope around her wrists. Her heart and libido gave a simultaneous leap, making her twitch restlessly. He made a quelling noise, gentle but firm. Then he resumed the humming that had brought her so agreeably back to the surface.

It took a moment to figure out the slow-beat song with his off-tune cadence, but when she did, it gave her heart a little twist. "Oh Girl", by the Chi-Lites. She didn't think Des had chosen it lightly. Oh girl, I'd be in trouble if you left me now... how I depend on you...

"Making sure I can't leave?" she said.

She was on her side, her hands curled together like an infant in the womb. When she'd fallen asleep, Des had been flush against her, cradling her body inside the shelter of his, that spooning sensation that was the universally acknowledged best part of having someone in your bed. When the person was special, beginning to mean something, it was almost better than s.e.x. Which with Des was saying something, since s.e.x with him basically realigned her solar system.

She'd experienced just the opposite a few times, having s.e.x with a guy and afterward just wanting him to go away so she could forget the mistake that had led to that decision. Spooning with someone in those circ.u.mstances was like being trapped together in a well where the water depth promised death by drowning.

Drowning with Des was a decidedly better experience. With him she became a mermaid, able to breathe underwater and see all the wonders of the deepest levels of the ocean.

My, hadn't she woken in a poetic frame of mind? She was also fast moving toward arousal, thanks to her Master's expert touch. She was still naked, and suddenly even more aware of it with her wrists tied. He was wrapping rope around her thighs, attaching her bound wrists to them with a short length so that her hands had to stay below her navel. Now he'd moved down to execute a loose figure eight wrap around her ankles. He overlapped her feet so her ankle bones weren't rubbing together.

The wrists-to-thigh tether also kept her knees pulled up to waist level, as if she were sitting in a chair, only lying on her side.

"Des."

He lithely moved over her body, settling in behind her, and she drew in a breath when he wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. Not a yank, but a firm tug that got her attention as he put his mouth over hers. He'd been chewing a piece of the cinnamon gum he favored, which made her self-conscious about morning breath, but he didn't seem put off by it. He curled his tongue around hers, stroking her with cinnamon heat and delving deep, his hand cradling her jaw as he pressed a turgid c.o.c.k against her bare a.s.s.

"Hate to waste a morning hard-on," he muttered against her mouth. "Especially when I've got a tight, warm p.u.s.s.y for it first thing. Like going down the rabbit hole to pure mind-blowing f.u.c.king bliss, all before breakfast."

He made an adjustment, tightening the rope around her thighs, and she made a small noise of discomfort. "More or less?" he asked, his breath along her cheek.

With the constriction had come a throb of need that settled between her legs. How did he do that to her? Or was it already in her, and he'd merely revealed it, opening all the paths not taken but suddenly so appealing? Down the rabbit hole was the perfect way to describe it.

"More," she whispered.

"Good girl," he said, his approval and pleasure obvious. He adjusted it, let the rope bite into her skin. "That'll leave a pretty mark. Now be quiet, because I want to concentrate on f.u.c.king you."

He guided his c.o.c.k into her slow, working his way forward. Though he'd introduced pain into the restraints, he didn't rush or force himself into her tender folds, so as he made his way into the channel his ropes had constricted into an even tighter fit, his penetration was all the more excruciatingly pleasurable. Her c.u.n.t contracted on him and she moaned, her wrists flexing in the bonds, forearms jerking against the length of rope holding them to her thighs, a reminder that she had to stay in this position because that was how he'd bound her.

"f.u.c.king heaven," he groaned, gripping her b.u.t.tock in one strong hand. "Gorgeous round a.s.s, tight p.u.s.s.y, and this..."

Both hands slipped in front of her to cradle her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, fingers finding sensitive nipples to pluck, pinch and play. She writhed, crying out in involuntary reaction, the sensations shooting through her like starbursts. "Gorgeous t.i.ts. Firm and full and f.u.c.king G.o.d..."

"Des," she pleaded, though she had no clue for what, since her body was being stormed, invaded, overwhelmed, conquered. All she wanted and needed was more of the same feeling.

"Suck it up, love," he said mercilessly, his voice a caress. "You're taking everything I want to do to you this morning. I want you sore inside and out, hoa.r.s.e from screaming, and wearing a mile-wide grin thinking of me taking you like this. I'm reinforcing the lesson we went over last night. You're mine. The only woman I want."

He was all the way to the b.a.l.l.s now. He dropped his hold to her hips as he began to thrust, making it clear her purpose was to service his need, his thick, pounding need. Her p.u.s.s.y spasmed, but without the c.l.i.toral stimulation, the response built and built, holding her on that edge. He was hammering another lesson home. He would let her come when he was good and ready, when she was willing to abandon all dignity and beg for it.

It kept scaring her, the way he did this. She told herself over and over it was the whole hypnotic, addictive power of BDSM dynamics, which could captivate like a siren while meaning nothing. But it didn't feel like nothing. Not in the slightest. And he was telling her in no uncertain terms that it didn't feel like nothing to him, either. He was pulling her so deeply into him, she couldn't, didn't want to say no. To anything.

When he released, she shrieked at the sensation, so near climax but not quite there. He flooded her inside and she felt the seed trickling out around his length and against her l.a.b.i.a. Curving himself tight around her, he recaptured her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, teeth sc.r.a.ping her neck. She was so needy, ready to beg, but he chose to be merciful.

"Your turn, baby," he said. He lengthened the tether between thighs and wrists and turned her so she was on her elbows, her body still coupled together with rope so her a.s.s was in the air. He steadied her on her bound knees. Wrapping an additional rope around her wrists, he looped it over her neck and cinched it down so her forehead couldn't lift more than an inch or two from her knuckles.

"Des..." She kept speaking his name, and only his name, but each time she uttered it possessed a wealth of different meanings. The climax was so close, but other things as well, a panic roaring up. Trembling had become shaking. She'd been alone for too long, and he took away every shield, every st.i.tch of emotional clothing when he did all of this. She did believe him, she did, but a betrayal by him would literally kill her.

She couldn't put that on him. Things were closing in, she needed to get loose, she needed to stay this way forever, she needed a climax...she needed him, in every definition of the word "need" there was.

"Help..."

"Hey.... Sshh..." He was over her, covering her, his hand cupped over the top of her head, and that gesture alone helped. It said, I'm here, I've got you. You're under my protection.

He banded his lean, strong arm around her waist and molded himself against her hips. He was still semi erect, and he reached back to guide himself into her again, her tight fit making it possible to hold him, even when he wasn't at full mast. "See, love? I'm right here. Calm down. Just breathe."

She breathed, pressed her head to her hands and felt his body thrumming with life against and inside her. It was okay. She was okay.

He felt the shift, murmured his approval. Then he was sliding from her, his palm stroking along her spine as he moved behind her, bent and put his mouth on her c.u.n.t, framed by her bound thighs. He plunged his tongue in deep to eat her p.u.s.s.y. He attended to it with the same thoroughness with which he kissed her, taking her over, taking his time, tasting her fully. Sucking on the swollen tissues, he lapped at the moist pockets of her thighs, then put his mouth over her c.l.i.t to ma.s.sage it with his lips while his tongue darted back into her c.u.n.t to lick and play, swirl and stab.

He had his arm banded around her thighs to hold her up, because balance disappeared as the o.r.g.a.s.m seized her. It was on the upward rise when the intensity of it wrested the first scream from her, and that cry built into shrieks, a composition of yearning, strident notes as he kept going down on her. He relentlessly took her past sanity, the longest roller coaster she'd ever experienced. She clawed the sheets with her restricted range and sobbed over the screams. Her body shuddered, pulling so the ropes bit into her thighs with a burning ache.

As she was coming down, he slammed his c.o.c.k into her again, her response obviously having accelerated his recuperation time. He was the best combination of selfishly demanding and generously giving lover she'd ever had. Her cries became animal noises, grunts and guttural whimpers as his hips pounded her a.s.s, t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es slapping her c.l.i.t. He kept her there until he'd come again, and then he flipped her over, held her knees to her chest with one capable hand on the back of her thighs. He sucked on her c.l.i.t until he wrested another intense, almost painful o.r.g.a.s.m out of her.

At the end of that one, she was a mindless mess. Even the aftershocks had the same intensity as a climax.

He was speaking to her in that calming tone again, though she heard an erratic note that told her he'd been as affected by what had just happened as she was. But he would take control, take care of her, because that was part of what drove him, as much as her surrender to him was driven by her own deepest needs.

He loosened the rope over her neck and removed the tether between her wrists and thighs. When he took off the wraps around her thighs, he soothed the abrasions he'd deliberately put upon her. After wrapping her up in a blanket, he shifted to hold her against him. Both of them reclined on the bed, his head bent over hers, arms sure and strong around her. She clung to his forearms over her chest, twitched and jerked, made little noises he answered with peaceful crooning, holding her even closer. Since her body kept convulsing, she wondered if some of her neurons had shorted out.

"It's all right," he said, many times, in different ways. He spread kisses over her jaw, her throat, her lips. He stroked her body, long, soothing pa.s.ses that helped bring her back to earth. She realized he'd left her wrists bound, and her fingers were curled in the blanket.

"It helps with the aftercare, to leave at least one restraint on," he said, noticing her awareness. "For some subs in particular, like you."

It spotlighted that this was a normal thing for him, rocking some woman's universe. Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Did she think he'd done his wedding dress routine with every sub? She wasn't going to require him to rea.s.sure her over and over again about something he'd made clear. It was her problem to figure out how to trust, how to get past a bunch of baggage from past a.s.sholes. She wasn't going to make him responsible for unpacking all that debris and incinerating the suitcases.

"You remember what I told you?" he asked. "That I'm not much into the whole call me Master or Sir thing?"

Had she called him that in her pa.s.sion? She wouldn't be surprised, but had it bothered him? He squeezed her, dissipating her sudden tension. He untied her wrists but kept one, putting his mouth on her pulse, then her forearm, the crook of her elbow, tickling her biceps with his morning beard, an intimate reminder that he'd spent the night with her in his bed.

When he shifted to her throat, releasing her wrist, she gripped his arm over her chest, holding on as tingles shot through her, up, down, spiraling, somersaulting in her heart, stomach, loins.

He cupped the side of her throat, holding her fast, letting her feel the pressure of his callused palm against her frantic pulse. Then his mouth was against her ear.

"Just because I don't tell you to call me that, doesn't mean that's not what I am. Right?"

"Yes." She breathed it, closed her eyes. "G.o.d, yes."

He drew back, caressing her as he did, and pressed another kiss to the top of her head. "You don't have to call me that, either."

She snuffled over a part chuckle, part sob, and hit him with a half-hearted fist. He chided her with a tsking noise, recaptured and kissed it. He sobered, though, touching her cheek and drawing her eyes to his face. "I know you've been hurt, love. I can tell you're having a hard time letting go of the shields, no matter what a.s.surance I give you. I get it. We've known each other what, less than a month?"

She grimaced. "I really want to, but..."