CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
He withdrew his fingers, and then his mouth was on me. His tongue slid through my folds, circling my clit, dipping inside. The sensation was so intense I pulled against the restraints, back arching.
He devoured me. He explored every fold with his tongue, a thoroughness that bordered on obsessive. As his mouth enveloped my clit, a scream nearly escaped my lips.
"Please," I begged. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need." His tongue flattened against my clit, applying steady pressure. "Come for me, Ava. Now."
The orgasm hit like a freight train. The waves radiated throughout my entire body. I came hard, crying out, hands fisting in the silk restraints.
He didn't stop. His mouth stayed on me, gentler now, working me through the aftershocks until I was trembling and gasping.
"Good girl," he murmured, pressing kisses to my inner thigh. "So fucking beautiful when you let go."
Fabric rustled behind me—a zipper. My mind was hazy with pleasure, but anticipation made me clench with need.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he said, his hand stroking down my spine. "And you're going to take every inch.” He became serious. “Are you protected? I'm clean, regular testing."
"IUD," I managed. "And I'm clean too."
"Thank fuck." The blunt head of his cock pressed against my entrance. "Because I need to feel you. All of you."
He entered me in one long, slow thrust that made both of us groan. He was big, stretching me in a way that bordered on too much but was exactly right.
"Jesus," he breathed, hands gripping my hips. "You feel… fuck, Ava, you're so tight."
He withdrew almost completely, then thrust back in harder this time. I cried out, pleasure and pressure mixing.
"That's it," he said, setting a rhythm that was deliberately slow, torturously thorough. "Take it. Take all of me."
Each thrust hit deeper, his hips slamming against my ass with a force that made the bench shift.
"You're so fucking wet," he groaned, one hand sliding around to find my clit. "Dripping. Is this what you needed? To be fucked hard?"
"Yes," I gasped. "Don't stop."
He didn't. His pace increased. Deep, powerful thrusts that made me see stars. The hand on my clit rubbed in steady circles.
"I've thought about this," he said, voice ragged. "Since I saw your profile. Thought about having you like this. Thought about making you scream."
Each word was punctuated with a thrust, and I was climbing again.
"I'm—" I couldn't finish, couldn't think.
"I know," he said. "I can feel you getting tighter. Come for me, Ava. Come on my cock."
His fingers pressed harder on my clit, and I shattered. The orgasm ripped through me with even more intensity than the first. I screamed, my body convulsing around him.
"Fuck yes," he groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Just like that."
He thrust twice more, then buried himself deep, his whole body going rigid as he came. I felt him pulsing inside me, and the sensation triggered another wave of aftershocks.
We stayed like that for a long moment. Both of us were breathing hard while his body draped over mine. Then, with surprising gentleness, he withdrew and began untying the restraints.
"Let me get you loose," he said, hands shaking slightly as he worked the silk knots. He freed my wrists first, massaging them gently. Then my ankles. When I was free, he helped me stand on unsteady legs.
"You okay?" he asked, voice rough with concern. "Was that too much?"
"I'm perfect," I said, and meant it. My body felt boneless, sated in a way I hadn't experienced in years. Maybe ever.
He grabbed the blanket from the side table and wrapped it around us both, guiding us to the small couch.
For a moment, we just breathed together with his arm around my shoulders, my head tucked against his chest. His heartbeat was steady under my ear, grounding me as the aftershocks slowly faded.
"How do you feel?" he asked quietly. His voice had changed to a softer tone now, the command stripped away.
"I don't know," I admitted. My voice sounded small, uncertain.
"That's okay." His hand stroked my hair, gently. "You don't have to know yet. Sometimes it takes time to process."
He shifted, adjusting the blanket more securely around us. One hand came up to my wrist, and he turned my arm gently, examining where the silk had been.
"Any marks?" he asked.
I looked. The skin was slightly pink, but not damaged. "No. I'm fine."
"Good." His thumb traced the delicate skin there, soothing. "If you'd been in the restraints longer, I would have used lotion. Next time…" He stopped himself. "If there is a next time."
Next time.
Something in my chest tightened at those words. There wouldn't be a next time. Couldn't be. That was the rule.
"You did so well," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. Not sexual but tender. "Trusting me like that. Letting go. That takes real courage."
Tears pricked my eyes without warning. I blinked them back, but he must have felt me tense.
"Hey." His hand cupped my face, tilting it up gently. Even with the masks, I could feel his eyes on mine. "What is it? Did I hurt you? Push too hard?"
"No." My voice cracked. "No, you were… perfect. That's the problem."
He was quiet for a moment, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. "Talk to me, Ava."
"I came here not to think," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Or to feel anything complicated. Just… physical release. My control taken away so I could stop carrying everything."
His thumb moved over the inside of my wrist in a soothing motion. "And?"
"And it worked." A tear escaped, sliding down my cheek. "Too well. Because now I feel safe, and I shouldn't. I don't even know you."
His hand stilled. "Safety isn't a bad thing."
"It is when it's not real." I pulled back slightly, wrapping my arms around myself under the blanket. "This is a moment outside of time. When we leave this room, it's over. We don't know each other. We never will."
"Is that what you want?"
The question hung in the air between us.
I didn't know how to answer. What I wanted was impossible.
"I need a minute," I said finally, voice shaking. "Just… a minute to pull myself together."
"Of course." He stood, giving me space. "Take all the time you need. I'll clean up."
As he moved toward the bathroom, I heard the familiar sound of water splashing. The sound felt far away, muffled by the ringing in my ears.
This was my chance.
I grabbed my clothes with shaking hands and dressed quickly in my bra, panties, and the black dress I could barely zip on my own. My fingers fumbled with the clasp, my hair was a mess, but I didn't care.
I could slip out now. Leave before we had to do the awkward after-talk. Before the spell broke completely.
Before I had to face what we'd just done.
I grabbed my purse, checked that my mask was secure, and moved to the door. The water was still running in the bathroom.
My hand was on the doorknob.
I didn't look back.
Easton
I heard the outer door click shut while I was washing my hands.
For a second, I froze, certain I'd imagined it. Then, I stepped into the main room.
Empty.
Her perfume still hung in the air. The silk restraints were slightly askew where I'd untied them. The blanket we'd shared was rumpled on the couch.
But she was gone.
"Fuck."
I checked the hallway.
Nothing.
She'd vanished like smoke.
My phone buzzed with a notification from Sassy's automated system.
Your guest has checked out. Thank you for your professionalism.
I sank onto the bench, dropping my head into my hands.
She'd bolted during aftercare.
That wasn't just running from an awkward conversation; that was breaking protocol. Something fundamental to how these scenes were supposed to work. Aftercare wasn't a nicety. It was essential. A responsibility we both shared.
Had I pushed too hard? Missed a signal? She hadn't used her safe word, hadn't even used yellow. During the scene, she'd been perfect. Responsive, engaged, and surrendering exactly the way someone who truly wanted this would surrender.
But leaving during aftercare meant something had gone wrong. Either I'd fucked up somehow, and she'd been too shaken to tell me, or she'd panicked when reality set in.
Either way, she'd left me here wondering. Second-guessing every choice I'd made. That uncertainty, that not knowing if I'd hurt someone, was worse than any criticism she could have given me.
And that's what aftercare was supposed to prevent.
Maybe that was the point of anonymity. No messy aftermath. No complicated feelings. Just the scene, then nothing.
Except I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew her somehow. Something about the way she moved. The sound of her voice, even disguised by breathlessness and moans. The scent of her skin.
I poured myself a glass of the champagne she'd never touched and stared at the empty room.
Ava.
Whoever she was, I wouldn't see her again. That was the rule. That was the point.
But some irrational part of me wished I could.