Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
IVEY
My vision went white with shock as Dalton fucked his whole hand into my body, and then fireworks exploded against the backs of my eyelids. I was crying, I realized, violent and bone-wrenching sobs. The cause of them, I didn’t know. His hand inside me didn’t hurt so much more than anything else he’d ever done to me.
Was it the intimacy of the act?
The newness of it?
I didn’t know. I didn’t think I’d ever know.
“Ivey.” Dalton’s mouth burned hot against my hip, the shape and press of his lips the only thing holding me down against the sheets. He pushed his hand deeper into me, the stretch now around his wrist, which was easy compared to the thick spread of his hand. “Ivey. Ivey. Ivey.”
I swallowed, looking for words I couldn’t find.
“Goddamn,” he cursed under his breath and dragged his mouth lower, kissing and licking my rim and his wrist, worshipping the place he entered me while my heart rate returned to normal.
“S’good,” I managed, nodding even though he couldn’t see the movement.”
“You’re a vision,” he whispered, fucking me slow and soft with his wrist, the bottom of his forearm. The stretch was big and it burned, but not in a way I wanted to stop.
“More lube,” I whispered, and he was quick to oblige, dumping what had to be half the bottle between my cheeks. His hand moved easier after that, fingers twirling and spreading inside of me as he inched his arm into my body. I forced my neck up enough so I could see him down there between my legs, and he looked up at me with hearts in his eyes.
“Every time I think I can’t love you more,” he said gently.
I moaned, falling back against the pillows.
Dalton explored my ass, then swiftly curled his other hand around my cock and started to stroke. My pleasure was a tireless thing I had no control over, no say. Dalton’s fingers worked up and down my shaft like it was an instrument he’d spent his entire life learning how to play. My body shook, violently, of its own accord, and then my orgasm slammed into me like a tidal wave.
I might not have felt the first one, but I was painfully aware of the second as cum shot out of my cock in a valiant burst of arousal. A sound I didn’t recognize ripped out of my throat, and Dalton had to be inside of me up to his elbow. I screamed through the aftershocks of my orgasm, body and mouth no longer under my control.
A searing heat as he pulled the thickest part of his hand out of me, and then his body was over me, his lips slanted against mine. Dalton kissed me until I recognized my voice as my own, until the sobs turned to whimpers, whimpers turned to sighs. As he always did, Dalton had thoroughly taken me apart and somehow without me noticing, put me back together again.
“I’m so in love with you,” he whispered against my mouth, sinking his cock into my slick, loose, and open ass.
I wanted to hold him, to tell him the same, but I was still bound to the bed, spread open for his use and his whim. I shivered instead, the tremble ripping through me with enough force that it made him shudder above me.
“Happy anniversary,” I managed to tell him.
Dalton groaned, dropping his forehead on the soaking wet pillow beneath me. I was familiar with the way his body moved through his own pleasure, and I knew without being told that he’d also had a second orgasm. After he’d emptied into me, he kissed his way up the curve of my jaw before rocking back onto his heels. The tip of his dick was still inside me, crown testing against my very well-stretched rim.
He teased the chain on the nipple clamps I’d forgotten I was wearing, and I wanted to protest. I needed to tell him no, not yet, I couldn’t handle it, but the words escaped me and then the clamps were off and I shouted another hoarse cry toward the ceiling. My vision went dark around the edges, then black entirely, and when I finally blinked my eyes open, Dalton was busy uncuffing me from the bed and working loose the leather from around my wrists and ankles.
He’d never admit the ways he loved aftercare, and I’d never call it out, so I lay there quietly, content to let him massage his fingers around the places the cuffs had rubbed too hard, pleased with every kiss he left against the places the leather had touched. When my body had passed his inspection, he reached for the champagne on the nightstand and poured a stream of it into his mouth before offering the bottle to me.
I smiled my agreement, and Dalton helped me into a sitting position, slow and steady so I didn’t get a head rush. He raised the bottle to my mouth and trickled some bubbles past my lips. I swallowed the champagne down hungrily, chasing after the bottle when he pulled it away and replaced it with his mouth.
His tongue tasted sweet like prosecco, and I licked the taste from the backs of his teeth while he explored my body with his hands like it was the first time we’d gotten into bed together. Dalton kissed me deeper, harder, kissed me until I’d forgotten the ache between my ass cheeks and the throbbing points of agony on my chest. He kissed me until I wanted him again, until we were both hard, and then he took both of our dicks into his hand and brought us both off that way.
After I finished, I collapsed against him, the pulse in his shaft against mine a metronome ready to send me right into oblivion. Dalton took us both down onto the mess of the bed, cocks still in hand, then he kissed my closed eyelids and held me until I fell asleep. Which was, admittedly, no time at all.
When I found consciousness again, a fiery orange light streamed in through the still open patio door, and I rolled onto my back with a groan and a wince. Dalton was awake beside me, scrolling through something on his phone. At the sound of me, he turned off the screen and gently traced his fingers across my throat.
“Welcome back,” he said with a smile.
The sight of him was breathtaking as always, but there was something extra special about him when he was completely taken apart. With red marks on his jaw from our scruff rubbing together while we kissed and his dark hair—normally coiffed to perfection—tangled and pointing every which way, he was a vision to behold.
“How long was I out?”
He chuckled, lifted my hand and kissed my fingertips, kissed my wedding band. “A few hours at least.”
“How long have you been up?”
“Not long,” he promised. “I was just catching up with the group chat.”
I exhaled loudly out of my nose. “Did the Trophy Doms have anything worthwhile to say?”
“Often and somehow also never.” Dalton set his phone on the nightstand and bent down low to brush a kiss across my mouth. “Do you think your legs work?”
“Maybe, but why?”
In response, his stomach growled, and his stare flickered up toward the patio door.
“It’s getting toward dinner time,” he said. “I should get you cleaned up and fed so I can do that all over again.”
“I don’t know if my body can handle that,” I murmured, circling my fingers around the point on his forearm that I imagined he’d gotten inside of me.
Dalton huffed, pulling my fingers another inch closer to his wrist, somewhere near the midpoint. “I know you can’t. That was a special occasion thing.”
“Special occasion fisting,” I repeated, rolling onto my back and stretching out my legs. My hip popped, and I grunted at the surprise of it.
“Best reserved for birthdays and anniversaries,” he agreed sagely, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s get you into the shower now.”
My legs, it turned out, didn’t work as well as either of us had hoped, and the journey to the shower was a hard-fought thing. But so was our relationship, and we’d gotten that to work. A shower wasn’t going to take us out. Dalton propped me against the wall while he got the water to the right temperature, and by the time it was warm enough for his liking, I’d regained most of the control over my limbs.
I stepped into the shower behind him, humming thoughtfully as he moved out of the spray to make room for me. There were a hundred different ways Dalton took his role in our relationship seriously, a thousand more than he took care of me in ways no one else would ever notice. I loved him for every single one of them. He made quick work of using his hands to lather some soap, and slow work of using that lather to clean my body. Paying painstaking levels of attention to the tender places between my legs, it took nearly twenty minutes for my body to be clean enough for him to rinse me off.
“Wait,” he said next, kissing my nose and taking a fraction of the time to clean himself off. Then the water was off and he was out of the shower with a towel around his waist and another one held open for me.
“I can dry myself off,” I told him when he wrapped the thick and soft terrycloth around my shoulders.
“You can do lots of things by yourself,” he said, ignoring the implication of my statement and drying me off himself. After he wiped dry the tops of my feet, Dalton ushered me back into the bedroom, took one look at the state of the bed, then gently set me down in one of the chairs.
I didn’t bother telling him I could get myself dressed. He knew. Instead, I let myself find comfort in the seat while he knocked over my suitcase and unzipped it. He dug out clean underwear, fresh socks, a pair of light wash jeans and a light blue button-up. Squatting on the floor in front of me, Dalton offered me the underwear, one leg hole at a time. And we both tried to ignore the way my cock was half-hard by the time he got my jeans on. He tucked the bulge safely behind the fly, patting it for good measure and smiling gently at me when I moaned.
Dalton was gracious enough to let me put my shirt on myself, and he took the opportunity to get himself dressed—a dark pair of pants and a white button-up. I watched him get dressed from the corner of my eye, rolling up my sleeves as he adjusted the cinch on his belt, my mind providing me a dozen other uses for the thick strap of leather that would have been better than keeping my husband in his pants.
“Are you good for company?” he asked after we’d both gotten shoes and socks on.
“Company?” I arched a brow.
His cheeks burned. “I meant the public. Dinner and all that.”
Something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on where the lie sat.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, closing the space between us and kissing the underside of his lip , encouraging him to tilt his chin up so I had access to his throat. It was so infrequent that I had time to pay that part of him attention, I planned to kiss him across the underside of his jaw and the length of his throat until he stopped me. I made it to the swell of his clavicle before he curled his fingers into my waist and dragged me to a stop.
“Dinner, Ivey,” he said.
I kissed his Adam’s apple, then nodded my consent.
“Dinner. Thank you.”