Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
IVEY
An hour in the hot tub, a bottle of wine from Dalton’s suitcase, and zero orgasms later, my head was fuzzy for a thousand different reasons, alcohol being the least of them. Dalton was half on top of me, his fingers dancing through the bubbles between my legs, always inches shy of touching me in the place that burned hotter than the water ever could.
“You’ve been spending too much time with Archie,” I complained, fighting hard to stop from chasing after his touch.
“And you with Grayson,” he murmured into my neck. “You never used to argue this much.”
I groaned, tipping my head back to stare up at the sky, which was a mistake because Dalton’s mouth was there before I could exhale. His lips were hot and wet against the side of my neck as he kissed and sucked his way up to my ear. I closed my eyes, focusing on breathing, focusing on trying to not combust.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered into my ear, lips curled into a cruel smile. “I love the way you shake.”
“Please just put me out of my misery.”
“Ask me nicely.”
“Please put me out of my misery.” I swallowed hard, ready to snap. “Sir.”
“Go dry off, lay some towels on the bed, and get on your back.”
Climbing out of the hot tub, I moved like a newborn horse, knees locking and joints unsure what to do with themselves. I made it into the room, into the bathroom, then onto the bed, chest heaving as I watched Dalton saunter back in naked from the patio. He eyed me like a predator and I blinked hard up at the beams in the ceiling, wondering how there’d ever been a time in our lives when I’d managed to walk away from him.
Ignoring me, Dalton opened his suitcase, digging under his clothes before pulling out a set of four familiar leather cuffs and two stretches of rope. He made quick work of fastening the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, then with a creative bit of rope work under and around the bed, I was spread open like a starfish with bent knees, otherwise trapped and at his mercy.
Then he was back in the bag, pulling out delicate-looking nipple clamps and a solid leather paddle with holes down the length. He dumped it all on the bed, managed to find a bottle of lube in there, then climbed onto the bed between my spread legs.
Taking the spare pillow, he slid it beneath my hips, putting me at an incline that made it impossible to hide myself from him. Not that I ever would. He owned me, body and soul, and he’d marked himself permanently with the proof of it. The tattoo sat dark and steady against his ring finger, a reminder of his devotion to me and mine to him.
“I can’t believe you married me,” he murmured, tongue trailing across his lower lip thoughtfully.
“Twice.”
He hummed his approval.
“It’s always been you, though. Hasn’t it?” He picked up the nipple clamps and dropped them on my stomach, then set to tweaking and twisting my nipples into matching hard and painful peaks. Heat centralized across three points in my body, two on my chest and one between my legs, and then he clamped one nipple, then the other. The pinch hurt, drawing the breath straight out of my lungs, but the tension settled and I exhaled softly against his hand.
Dalton cursed under his breath and reached for the paddle, testing the strength of the leather against his hand a couple of times before frowning. His stare fell to the matching purple and red bruises on the insides of my thighs left from our scene at Rapture, and without thinking, I went tense.
“Too much maybe,” he said more to himself than to me.
“Try,” I rasped, but the word was barely out of my mouth before he did just that. The leather corrected hard and sure against my already tender leg, and there was no stopping the cry that wrenched itself out of the deepest parts of me. I sucked it down halfway out of my mouth, choking on air and spit as I willed myself to settle back into the sheets.
“That bad?” He tapped the other thigh gently before tossing the paddle onto the floor. “I love how hard you play, but I do hate to put you out of commission.”
“I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know what else to say, and Dalton answered with a disapproving tut of his tongue. “It’s not your fault. You’re perfect, and I can improvise.”
He reached back into the bag and pulled out a toy I’d never seen before—a clear pink silicone dildo that had to be at least a foot long. It flopped against my thigh with a sickeningly heavy-sounding plop , and then Dalton situated himself again between my legs.
In the year we’d been together, Dalton and I played more than I had in the years that preceded him. He had an innate sense of what I needed and when, and it was that knowing that often left me with various smatterings of bruises and bite marks across my body. He liked to stretch my hole while we played, liked to tease my nipples, and tighten his hand around my throat. Sometimes he would pinch my nostrils closed while shoving his cock into my mouth, and sometimes he would leave me bound to strategically-placed eyebolts around the apartment while he cooked me dinner and then fed it to me. Dalton was unpredictable in the best ways, so him coming home with new toys was far from surprising.
Him coming home with a cock bigger than his, though…
I hadn’t seen that one coming.
“You suck the best cock,” Dalton said, getting a handle around the see-through balls of the massive phallus. “I love coming in your mouth, but I need you to work on taking me deeper.”
I knew where he was going with this and heat flared at the base of my spine. “Sir.”
“I’m going to spell it out so you understand,” he said softly, one hand bracketed around my hip like he was holding me down to the bed, the other still tight around the toy. “I am going to use this dildo to open up your throat. I’m going to put it so far back that you’re going to choke, Ivey. It’s probably going to hurt. It will definitely get difficult to breathe.”
His warnings were a drug, making me harder with every second.
“Yes, Sir,” I rasped.
“I’m not going to stop if you cry and I won’t stop if you start to choke,” he said next, arousal leaking out of his dick. “And I frankly don’t even care if it makes you throw up.”
The threat of humiliation sent another wave of pleasure up the length of my body, from my toes to my already tender and clamped nipples. I groaned, lashes fluttering. I was still so desperate to come, I’d have given him anything.
“I’m going to fuck you through it, Ivey. Going to stretch both of your holes open and listen to you gag for me until I fill you up with so much cum it leaks down the backs of your thighs.”
“Please,” I whimpered, curling my fingers around the clips on my wrist cuffs to keep myself steady against the mattress.
“Hold on tight and if you want to stop, let go.” He tapped my fingers to confirm his understanding of the new nonverbal safe word.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Just the tip for now,” he proposed, dropping the dildo on the center of my chest so the tip landed against my bottom lip. I opened and stuck out my tongue, tasting the silicone while he opened the lube and poured a generous amount down his shaft and his fingers. When he was suitably slick, he took the dildo back in hand and fed an inch into my mouth at the same time he slipped two fingers into my ass.
I had to remind myself to keep my fingers clamped around the chains because I knew as soon as my grip weakened, he would stop. Dalton was so constantly aware of my body and my pleasure. It was his knowing of me and my trust of him that allowed us to play the way we did.
Harder and more intense than most.
Precum smeared across my stomach as he worked my hole open with his fingers, holding the dildo just beyond the entrance to my mouth. He worked me skillfully with his fingers, stretching and scissoring until he finally eased out of me to make room for his cock. The difference between it and two of his talented fingers was definitely noticeable, and I grunted in pain as he sank into me with one measured snap of his hips.
“You’re so tight,” he murmured, petting his lube-slick fingers up my stomach, ignoring my cock but swirling around the mess my arousal had left. He worked his fingers further toward the chain that connected the nipple clamps, giving a slow and curious pull. I arched off the bed with an aborted whimper, and Dalton smiled down at me like the sadist he was.
“Swallow it,” he said next, tapping his fingers against the underside of my chin. I tried to swallow, but the toy was still barely in my mouth. Lifting my head off the pillow, I chased inch after inch until my tongue was depressed and my mouth was full.
Dalton made a pleased sound, vibrating through him when I was finally able to try and swallow around the dildo to take it into the front of my throat. It was thick and intrusive, and I choked around the silicone just as he knew I would.
“Do you need help, Ivey?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before funneling another inch and then another into my mouth. The urge to gag grew more intense, and Dalton pushed my lips closed, with his thumb under my chin and his fingers splayed across my face.
He pushed more of the toy into my mouth and my cheeks puffed out against his hand. Breathing was near impossible and tears streaked freely down my temples as he adamantly fed as much of the cock into me as my throat would allow. I choked, but he only smiled at me, ignoring the way snot bubbled out of my right nostril.
“You get so fucking tight when you do that,” he said, tipping his head back and giving a short thrust of his hips. His cock dragged over my prostate and I wanted to moan for him, but all I could do was try to stay conscious as the pink toy worked its way deeper into my throat.
There was a time that I had a gag reflex, but it had softened into something barely noticeable over the years. But with Dalton inching that plastic dick straight toward my stomach, he was testing my body’s resolve to keep it together. I tightened my fingers around the clips on the cuffs. The sound of metal caught his attention and he glanced up quick as lightning to make sure I hadn’t used our safe word.
He readjusted his hold on my face, his grip around the end of the shaft of the toy, dropping another fraction of the length past my lips. I tried to suck in a breath, but it rattled and I choked on my own spit, nearly thrashing both of us off the bed. The whole time, I kept myself down solely by the strength of my fingers around the chain clips. When I settled, Dalton leaned down, brushing my sweaty hair back from my face.
I must have been a mess for him, covered in sweat and tears and snot…spit. I felt disgusting and revered at the same time, in the same breath, if he would give me one. I didn’t want to see myself come apart for him, but I did just the same, reflected in the love that poured out of him as he pressed a wet kiss against my upper lip and the silicone cock that stretched my mouth and my throat.
“I love you, husband,” he whispered, rocking his hips and pushing himself deeper into me. “But it’s time for you to figure out how to make me come.”