Chapter Thirty-Six
Sadie
“He’s not sleeping in my bed.”
I cross my arms, facing off with James. “Do you expect me to sleep in your bed?”
His scowl is priceless. I wish I could snap a picture of his face to frame. “Of course, you’re sleeping in my bed.”
“Then so is Soot.”
“Sadie—”
“I’ll clean your sheets for you.”
“Can’t he sleep on the floor?”
“I already told you, I have no problem sleeping in the guest room with him. I’ll respect your preferences in your bedroom.”
“My preferences are to have you next to me.”
I can’t help the soft smile that tugs on my lips. He looks so adorable, angrily telling me he wants to cuddle. “Babe, I’m sorry, but Soot got here first. He’s been sleeping in my bed for five years.”
“And he can’t handle one night away?”
“How about this: we lay down a spare blanket for him to lay on.”
“Will he stay on it?”
“If I tell him to.”
He pauses, eyes moving from me to the bed. I almost change my mind, but I keep my lips pressed together. With everything happening, I want my dog close. I don’t want to lock him out of the room all night, and if he’s in the room, he’ll get on the bed.
The moment James relents is obvious. He sighs and looks up at the ceiling before saying, “Fine. But we’re using one of Theo’s blankets.”
Victorious, I skip from the room, Soot following on my heels.
He plops down in the kitchen and watches me retrieve a blanket from the hallway closet.
Leaving him to enjoy the cool tile, I return to the bedroom and barely cross the threshold when the blanket is ripped from my hands and I’m pressed against the wall.
A puff of air escapes and my heart trips over itself when I see a dark look on his face.
“Wha—”
He interrupts me by slamming his lips to mine, breathing me in through a kiss I feel in my toes.
Our tongues tangle and teeth click together as he pours his desperation and grief into me.
I swallow it all like it’s my personal ambrosia.
Pulling back, he presses his forehead to mine, his eyes shut and jaw clearly tense.
Carefully, I reach up and run a hand through his hair, studying the way the corner of his mouth twitches almost in pain as he leans into my touch.
“What do you need, baby?”
He breathes in through his nose, holds it for several long seconds, and lets it out before reluctantly requesting, “I need to not think. If it’s not something you’re into, that’s okay, I…”
It only takes a second for me to read between the lines. As soon as I know what he’s asking for, I tighten my grip in his hair, pull his head back, and straighten my spine.
“You want to be my good boy, do you?”
The struggle is still clear in his pinched expression. Obviously, subbing is a rarity for him. I imagine the evening was so overwhelming that he craves a release. The kind of exhalation that only sinking into subspace can provide.
Good thing I’ve spent the last several years refusing to submit for a man in the bedroom.
“Don’t get used to it,” he grunts out.
“It’s okay. This’ll stay between us. No one will know the big bad biker likes to lick the shoes of his mistress.”
There’s a hitch in his breath and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I feel deep in my bones his desire to submit his pleasure and choices to someone else. When everything is too much, sometimes you want to be told what to do.
Even if what you’re told is to get on your knees and lick their shoes.
“Close the door. Strip to your underwear. Then get on your knees next to the bed.”
He quickly moves to obey. While he starts ridding himself of clothing, I venture to his closet, where I pick out his longest tie.
Turning back to the room, I smirk when I see him lowered to the floor, eyes following my every move.
A warmth expands in my chest, stretching wider the longer he stares at me with a mixture of nervous excitement, adoration, and a touch of apprehension.
I allow myself a beat to stand and enjoy the sight, plotting my next move.
“Safe word?” I ask.
“Funky monkey.”
It’s a miracle I manage not to laugh. A fucking Nickelback reference.
Well, that’ll be easy to remember and sufficiently kill the mood if he uses it.
Which I highly doubt will happen. Not when his world already feels like it’s collapsing.
This thing with James might be new, but I doubt I’ll be pushing any hard boundaries tonight.
Circling him, I drop to a crouch and bind his hands behind his back with the tie. It’s not the world’s best knot, and he could probably get free with little effort.
Still squatting, I lean closer so my words brush over his ears. “Remove this or touch me without permission, and you won’t come at all tonight. Understand?”
He nods. “Yes.”
Hand shooting up, I snatch a handful of his hair and yank his head back. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, mistress.”
I smile and release his hair. “Good boy.”
Satisfied, I stand and walk around him again, allowing my gaze to drag as slowly as possible so he feels each passing moment like a physical ache.
Stopping in front of him, I bend at the waist, grip his chin over the beard, and tilt his head back and forth, as if examining every inch.
Then, I pat his cheek and step back. While he watches, I pull off my small sleep shorts, silk bikini panties, and T-shirt.
I’d already taken off my bra, so now I’m standing before him completely nude.
His entire body tenses as he strains to fight the impulse to grab me.
His emerald eyes lift to mine, almost pleading. Pressing my lips together, I slowly sink onto the bed so I’m perching on the edge. Then I lift one leg and trail my toes up his thighs to where the briefs cling to his skin. He shivers at my touch, neck and jaw flexing with barely controlled need.
When my foot reaches his shoulder, I leave it there, lean back, and repeat the process with my other leg before resting both on his shoulders, heels digging into his back.
“Come closer.”
Once again, he obeys without hesitation. Inching on his knees, he crawls to the edge of the bed, between my legs. His head is positioned perfectly in front of my pussy, so I’m sure he can smell me.
“You look so good on your knees for me, baby. Do you want a taste?”
He nods.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, mistress. Please, let me taste you.”
A shock of gratification runs through my entire body at hearing James Hartley beg for me. Knowing how rare this moment is only makes me savor it even more. “Go ahead, James. Worship me.”
And he does. With blown pupils, he dives forward. The addicting feeling of his beard scratching my inner thighs has me grinding down on him. I run my hands through his hair, scratching his scalp and tugging at his locks as he licks and sucks.
“Good boy. Just like that. Worship your mistress.”
His groan vibrates through my center and I bite my lip to keep an answering sound from escaping.
I keep up a stream of praise, murmuring curses when he teases my clit with his teeth.
When my orgasm starts to crest, I tighten my hold in his hair, enough that I know it’ll be painful and pull him even deeper.
I ride out the orgasm on his tongue, and when his touch becomes too much, I use my grip on his hair to pull him back.
He looks at me with unmasked need, his lips and beard shining.
“Did you like that? Drowning in my pussy?”
“Yes, so much.”
“Good. But I think I deserve at least two more orgasms before you get what you really want. Do you agree?"
His nostrils flare, and I can see the war to take back control and the relief from giving it up waging in his eyes. Eventually, he says, “Yes, mistress. Of course.”
With carefully controlled movements, I lower my legs from his shoulders and stand. Looking down at him, I gently cup his cheek. Then I step aside and say, “Get on the bed. Sitting with your back against the headboard.”
His movements are slightly stilted, since his hands are still tied behind his back, but he quickly settles at the head of the bed as instructed.
I consider untying his hands and making him finger me to climax, then I think that a much more delicious torture would be forcing him to watch and not touch.
“Do you have any toys?”
By the flexing of his jaw and heated glare he gives me, I was right. Watching me fuck myself and being unable to do anything about it or find his own relief will be a delicious agony.
“Your mistress asked a question,” I say when he doesn’t instantly answer.
“In the bottom drawer in my bathroom, mistress,” he says, the words barely filtering through gritted teeth.
The drawer in question has a purple ribbed dildo, bullet vibrator, nipple clamps, and, most surprisingly, a cock ring. I briefly consider grabbing the cock ring but decide to save it for the next time he needs to relinquish control.
Choosing the dildo and vibrator, I return to the bedroom, grinning down at him with pleased malice when his expression fills with torment.
I kneel out of reach on the foot of the bed and hold the dildo on display.
It’s easily eight inches, but with the handle at the end, it’ll be closer to six inches that actually go in.
“Afraid to provide a toy bigger than you? Don’t want to lose your whores to something that will better satisfy them? ”
The desire to give a snarky reply is so obvious in his eyes. But clearly, when James needs to sub, he does so completely. I guess I’m the only bratty sub in this relationship.
“No, mistress. That wasn’t my intention,” he answers earnestly. “If you’d like something bigger, I think Theo has—”
I cut off his sentence by reaching forward and squeezing the bulge in his boxers. “Don’t forget our rule. No mentions of other men while one or both of us is naked. Maybe you’re looking for a punishment?”
“No, mistress. I apologize.”