34. Chapter 34
Chapter 34
Caroline
W eston’s hazel eyes blow wide, and I have to roll my lips to stop myself from bursting out in laughter. When I said that I wanted to fuck him, I meant that I wanted to be the one in control—I wanted to be on top. But judging from the look on his face, I’m pretty sure he thinks I meant using a strap-on, or something.
“Uh—” he stammers, trying to decide if I’m serious.
“What? You don’t think I can be a domme?” I drag a single finger down his chest, enjoying the way he tenses beneath my touch. “How small-minded of you.”
Huh . . . maybe I could be into this.
Weston gives me a skeptical look as he watches my hand disappear between us. “I think you can do anything you put your mind to, princess.”
“But?” I ask, cupping his sizable erection in my hand.
He winces when I squeeze a little too hard, meeting my gaze. “You’re not going to like it.”
Maybe it’s because I’m dressed for the part, or because Morgan put the idea in my head, but now I want nothing more than to prove him wrong.To show him that I can be an even better top than I am as a bottom.
I let go of his cock and start walking toward the master bedroom.“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
The sound of my stiletto heels on the hardwood floors is barely loud enough to conceal the rapid pounding of my pulse as I confidently strut down the halls. I’ve never done anything remotely like this before, and I have no idea what happens next.
Do I boss him around? Do I make him lick my boot? What’s the procedure here?
A storm of unease is swirling in my mind as I reach his bedroom, but before I can go inside, Weston stops me. He spins me around and pushes me up against the door, bracketing my face with his hands.
“No toys,” he growls in warning as he stares at me like I’m his next meal.“And nothing goes in my ass. Got it?”
If I wasn’t playing a part here, I would say that I’d rather retake my board exam than go anywhere near his ass—it’s just not my thing—but I rein myself in and stay in character.
My lips twist into a smirk. “Can’t promise that.”
“Caroline,” Weston warns, his tone dropping to that commanding level that makes my core ache with desire. “Either you respect my limits, or we don’t do this.”
“Madame,” I correct.
There’s the brat in me coming out to play.
Weston cocks his head. “Try again.”
I can tell that he’s about a second away from losing control and turning the tables on our dynamic. And while I’d love nothing more than to experience my favorite version of him, I’m also stubborn as hell and determined to see this through.
“Fine,” I sigh and reach up to grab his forearm.“I promise to respect your limits.”
An all-American grin spreads across his face like he’s just won. “Was that—”
I press my finger to his lips, silencing him. “I wasn’t finished. I’ll respect your limits, but you’ll respect my rules. And the first rule is that you’re going to call me Madame, tonight. Got it ?”
I copy his tone with the last two words, mocking him.
Weston gawks at me for a moment like he can’t figure out how to respond.
So what do I decide to do? Taunt him a little more . . . obviously.
“ Got it ?” I repeat, holding his gaze.
His eyes flare with a furious blaze, but he grits his teeth. “Yes, Madame.”
I pat his chiseled jaw twice before opening the door to his bedroom. “I knew you could be a good boy for me.”
A thrill races up my spine as I walk into the dark room, not because I enjoy this dynamic but because I know that he’s struggling to maintain his composure right now. And I’d much rather push him to break first than admit he was right—I can already tell that I don’t enjoy being in a dominant role.
Yeah, I feel sexy as hell in this outfit. My tits are so pushed up that they look two sizes bigger, my ass is half-covered by a piece of shiny fabric, and my legs feel a mile long thanks to the thigh-high boots. But just because I feel good, and I’m capable of taking charge of situations outside of the bedroom, doesn’t mean that’s what I’m looking for when it comes to sex.
I want to turn my brain off—to be told what to do and when to do it. I want to not be able to anticipate what’s going to happen next and to rely on someone else to give me what I need.
I want to let go.
But tonight, I want to win.
“Leave your shoes at the door,” I command, focusing on my freshly painted black fingernails as I lean against the wall. “Then I want you to pull the bench out and put it in front of the fireplace.”
Weston mutters something under his breath as he walks toward his king bed.
I glance up.
“What was that?” I ask, crossing my arms authoritatively.
He doesn’t respond as he moves the bench like I asked, his eyes shooting daggers in my direction once he finishes.
“Nothing . . . Madame.”
I bite back my amusement as I dim the lights in the room and move toward him, purposely swaying my hips and taking my time because I like the way it feels when he watches me.
My hand rests on his shoulder as I move around his broad frame, stopping just out of his view. I lean in, dusting my lips over his earlobe.
“Let’s get this off of you,” I whisper, pulling his navy windbreaker and scrub top over his head and tossing them to the floor beside us.
Weston keeps his eyes glued straight ahead as I begin to circle him again, admiring his half-naked body. I can totally understand the doctor fetish that some people have now, especially if those doctors look like the man in front of me.
I pause in his line of sight, reaching for the waistband of his scrubs.“You won’t need pants for what I have planned tonight,” I tease, watching his defined chest muscles flex as I pull the drawstring free and let his pants fall to his bare feet.
A quiet gasp leaves my lips when I lower my gaze because I expect to find him in his boxer briefs. But instead, his rock-hard cock is pointing straight at me.
“Uh.” I wet my lips, caught off guard. “Care to tell me why you don’t have any underwear on?”
Weston shrugs, still staring at the wall. “Laundry day, Madame.”
Damn—he’s catching on.
I take a single step closer, gripping his chin to get his attention.
His golden eyes lock on mine, the color darker than normal because his pupils are blown wide with arousal. Either he’s more into this than he lets on, or he’s about to pounce on me, and I might as well enjoy this for as long as I possibly can.
I drop my voice into the most serious tone I can muster. “If you ever purposely tease me like that again, I’ll punish you. And it won’t be for your enjoyment. Do you understand me?”
It takes all of my control not to burst out laughing because I’m using the very same line he threw at me the night I wore his button-down shirt around the house.
He must remember because his lips thin like he’s stifling a smile.
“Yes, Madame.”
“Good boy.” I gently stroke his jaw with my thumb, stealing another play out of his playbook. “Go lie down on the bench. Stroke that cock for me while you wait like a good boy.”
Weston narrows his gaze but doesn’t protest as he steps out of his scrub pants and follows my instructions.
I know I should pretend to be disinterested, but I can't bring myself to look away as he sits on the edge of the black leather bench because I want to know exactly how he’s going to touch himself.
He leans back, lacing one hand through his dirty-blond hair to prop his head up while the other fists the base of his shaft. I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep my attention locked on his cock as he begins to lazily pump himself.
Whenever Weston and I have hooked up, it’s always been about me. Even the night that I gave him a blow job, he made me touch myself while he fucked my face, so I’ve never gotten to see how he likes it—what he prefers.
His grip is looser than I expect, more sloppy and fluid. It strikes me as odd that he enjoys it like this because he’s so precise and meticulous with everything else in his life. But I guess that’s on brand with Weston—he’s a walking, talking contradiction.
The day I showed up at his house to bring him to the lake, I expected the same guy that I knew from previous summers. But he surprised me. And he’s continued to surprise me ever since. Because he’s so much more than the person he led me to believe he was all of those years ago—he’s the man of my dreams. The man I’m falling for.
“Wes,” I whisper, feeling my lower lip tremble as a sudden surge of emotion rushes through me.
I want to say more. To tell him that I’m sorry for treating him like he was a dick for years. To tell him how much I appreciate him for waiting until I was ready. To tell him how much he means to me.
But I don’t have to because he knows—he always knows.
“Come here, princess,” he says, his expression full of understanding as he sits up and pats his thigh.
I walk over to him, straddling his legs and lowering myself to his lap.
His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me so close that his erection is the only thing separating us.
Fuck, that feels good.
“You were right,” I huff as his finger traces the zipper along my spine.
Despite my lack of enjoyment over being in control, I could have probably kept the dynamic going until he snapped. But that didn’t feel right, given the magnitude of this moment—the magnitude of this night.
The first time we have sex is a big deal for both of us and shouldn’t be treated like a game or role-play situation because it’s not just about physical pleasure—it’s an admission that what’s happening between us is serious. An admission that we’re both ready for more.
Weston chuckles warmly. “That happens occasionally. Do you want to keep going?”
I nod. “No more Madame Med Student, though. Just us.”
“I kind of like the name,” he teases before giving me a quick kiss. “But I agree. Go grab a condom from the bedside table.”
My lips press together even though I shouldn’t be disappointed. I have two-and-a-half years of school left, so using additional protection is definitely the wise choice. But it just feels wrong with him.
I stand from his lap and cross the room to grab the condom.
Twirling the foil packet in my fingers as I shuffle back, I blurt, “I’m on birth control if you want to—”
Weston’s smirk transforms into an excited grin. “Fuck yeah, I want to . . . but if we do that, I’m going to need to pull out. And there’s no chance I’m pulling out tonight. No chance in hell.”
Every inch of me feels like it’s on fire as his eyes slowly descend, like he’s taking in my outfit for the first time, even though I’ve been wearing it all night. His jaw ticks as he drags his attention back to my face.
“Come here.” He curls his finger at me. “But don’t sit yet. I want you to stand over me.”
My core pulses as I take a step forward so that I’m straddling his knees on the bench.
Weston wraps his large hands around my hips, positioning me where he wants me. He digs his fingertips into my skin while his other hand gently traces the crease of my thigh.
I place my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, feeling heat pool between my legs as he slowly inches closer to the place I need him the most. When he reaches my sex, he presses two fingers against the fabric directly above my clit. A shudder of pleasure races through my body, and I let out a moan as I squirm beneath his touch.
He clicks his tongue in warning, increasing the pressure to hold me still as his other hand travels up my stomach. His fingers toy with the zipper covering the center of my left breast before he pulls it down, exposing one of my aching nipples.
“One day we’re going to have to try using toys on these,” he drawls as he rolls the sensitive bud between two fingers. “Clamps. Clips. All of it.”
I hum in approval as he leans forward. If the toys feel half as good as his teeth do when they graze my nipple, I’m definitely interested in trying them.
Weston repeats his torment on the other side, and I can’t figure out where to focus because he’s still maintaining his pressure on my clit, and it’s killing me to wait.
“Please,” I whine, trying to grind against his hand. “I need more. I need to feel you.”
He stops what he’s doing and glances up at me.
“You think you’re ready?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly as he flicks the zipper between my legs.
My fingernails dig into his shoulders. “So ready.”
Weston’s hazel eyes flare with wild hunger as he slides open the zipper between my legs. He traces the edge of my entrance before he slips two fingers inside me.
I don’t have to ask to know that I’m soaked because I can feel my arousal coating my inner thighs, no longer held in by the tight bodysuit.
He quickly finds the spot at the top of my inner wall that makes me nearly convulse, and I whimper because I can only imagine what it will feel like if his cock can do the same thing.
“Fuck yeah, you’re ready,” he groans, giving my clit a pinch as he pulls his hand free. “Roll that condom down my shaft, princess.”
Weston’s abs clench as I step back and rip open the foil packet.
I bite my lower lip to help me focus as I position the rubber over his leaky tip.
My free hand wraps around the base of his thick shaft, holding him steady as I slide the condom over his length. I give him a few strokes and straighten, waiting for my next instruction.
He pulls me close so that our bodies are flush and cranes his neck to meet my gaze, his eyes shining with a mixture of loving tenderness and sinful lust. “Sit on this thick cock, princess. Let me finally feel you. Let me finally own you.”
His words are confident but there’s a subtle question on his face, like he’s waiting for me to argue with what he just said.
But I can’t.
Because Weston Southerland owns me in every meaning of the word—mind, body, and soul.
And I own him too.
“You already do,” I promise, holding his gaze as I place my hands on his broad shoulders and sink onto him.
I gasp as his tip slides into me, feeling a jolt of pleasure as I stretch around his astonishing length. I know he said that the dildo he used on me was identical in size, but this feels so different. It feels . . . better.
Weston’s brows knit when I fully seat myself on him, his hands squeezing my hips to hold me down.
I frown as he closes his eyes and sucks in a breath so harsh that it sounds like a hiss. “Wes?”
After a second I begin to wonder if I broke his dick because he doesn’t answer me. Maybe I went too fast and the angle was wrong? I honestly wasn’t paying attention because I was focused on the delicious sparks of pleasure igniting through my core.
“Sorry,” he finally answers, his voice strained as he slowly focuses on me. “I’m just savoring this. I’m savoring you.”
A smile sweeps across my lips, and I lean in, letting him kiss me for as long as he wants. My fingers drift higher, sliding through his hair as I focus on how he tastes as he dives deeper. How he feels as we fit together. How he sounds as he groans into my mouth.
“Lean back a little,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my lips.
I nod, planting my hands on his knees for support.
The new angle gives him room to slip his fingers between us, and he starts rubbing my clit with one hand while holding me still with the other.
I try to bounce myself on his cock because I want to make him feel good too, but he growls at me and pinches my clit, making me whimper as a mixture of pleasure and pain dance up my spine.
“No, no, princess,” he tuts, rubbing the sting away. “You’re not going to fuck me yet. You’re going to keep my cock warm with this wet little pussy until I feel you come.”
When I don’t immediately respond, he narrows his eyes.
“Got it?”
I swallow because it’s not going to take long at this rate.
“Got it.”
My legs start to tremble as he increases his pace, massaging my clit in a way that will without a doubt send me over the edge. His dick flexes inside me, hitting that delicious spot he massaged earlier, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to avoid crying out.
“Wes,” I moan, feeling the familiar tightening of my belly as fiery heat burns through my sex. “I’m close. I can’t . . .”
“Shhhh.” He lifts his hand to my mouth as he continues to rub me. “Suck.”
I part my lips, allowing his fingertips to glide to the back of my throat as my release barrels closer.
“That’s my girl,” he coos as I close my lips. “You’re soaking my cock so well, princess. Let go for me. I know you can let go for me.”
His plea breaks the tight coil of tension in my body, spurring my orgasm like he simply snapped his fingers and commanded me to come.
I drop my head back and close my eyes, shuddering around his hard length as I ride out the overwhelming sense of fullness that I’m experiencing.
Weston praises me through it, and when I finally feel like I can breathe again, I drop my gaze to him.
“Worth the wait,” I whisper, offering him a satiated grin.
He hooks his fingers in my mouth, tugging me forward. His teeth nip my ear. “We’re not done yet.”
I’m in too much of a pleasure-filled haze to respond as he lowers his head to the bench. Before I realize what’s happening, his hands cup my ass and he starts bouncing me on his cock, using his grip to support my weight. I feel him even deeper in this position and have to gasp for air as he impales me again and again.
“These tits.” He groans, almost like he’s in a trance.
“This body.”He tilts his hips to hammer into me from both sides.
I press my hands to his chest for support as my core starts to throb with greedy desperation.
“Perfect,” he continues, pistoning into me as he slams me onto his length. “So fucking perfect.”
“Wes,” I whine because I want to come again, but I don’t know how to make it happen.
Like always, he knows what I need before I have to ask. “Arch that back for me, princess. I have you.”
The instant I roll my hips, a string of curse words flies from my mouth because he begins to pound against that spot inside me that no man has ever found before. It only takes a few seconds before I’m erupting in pleasure, my body crashing around him like a tsunami hitting the shore.
Weston cradles me in his arms as I fall forward, giving me a final pump as he groans against my ear, my orgasm triggering his own.
He rubs my back as we catch our breath, content in each other’s arms. My mind should be filled with the buzz of bliss, but the only thing I can think about is how I have another thing to be happy about.
Not shaking the snow globe