chapter twenty-four
Wren
“The cameras,” he rasps, and looks up at the one in the corner of the kitchen.
“You are in a blind spot,” I say smugly.
Jay pulls away from me with a disbelieving look as he takes out his phone. I watch as he opens the camera app while I pour myself another glass of wine. He looks around him in the kitchen before I hand him a Sharpie marker from the drawer below me. The cameras are mostly aimed at the doorways and the view of the room is mostly reflection in the windows, but only a minimal window is completely blind to the cameras.
“Mark the blind spot you’re in,” I prompt.
He only raises one dark blond eyebrow as he takes the marker from me and gets to work.
I have an idea. A devious idea. When I looked up degradation kink earlier, I amassed a few mental notes of things to do to Jay. And he certainly deserves it today.
While he discreetly marks off on the floor where the camera no longer sees him, I get out my recipe for blueberry streusel muffins. When he finishes, he looks at me, confusion and wariness in his eyes.
“You forgot to undress.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says and lifts his shirt over his head, careful not to move his mask.
“Mistress,” I coach.
“Sorry, Mistress,” he says and drops his black henley on the floor. I’d seen him without his shirt many times now, but something about the way the golden light of my kitchen shines in his chest hair has me crossing my legs. I’d never been partial to body hair on a man before, but here I am, wanting to lick along the dark blond path down his chest, over his stomach, and below his pants.
He unbuckles his belt while I feign disinterest and pull out the stand mixer. I hear the rustle of fabric and I look over to see him in a pair of navy blue boxer briefs. His pants and socks are in a pile with his shirt.
“Those, too,” I say simply.
“Wren.”
“What?”
“Are you sure?”
“Why? Do you have a weird penis?”
“No! I just thought… I don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Oh, you wanted the first time you strip for me to be special?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says, and spots of a blush stand out on his chest, creeping up under his mask.
“You seem to forget this isn’t a special time. You’re being punished ,” I say stonily as I pull the glass flour container from the cupboard.
He removes his underwear, and I don’t turn to look at him until all of my ingredients are arranged on the counter. Making him wait five minutes while I work is supposed to be embarrassing torture for only him, but I also feel the ache of anticipation. His body is spectacular. His abdominal muscles have a soft band of comfort and when standing at attention, his thighs touch. Neither trait takes away from the fact the man is an absolute unit. Knowing for sure now he was in the armed forces, I realize his body is a carefully honed weapon. Despite weeks of tasty food and lots of video game time, his Adonis belt still points to his cock. A shiver of desire drips down my spine as I take him in, keeping an impassive expression on my face with great effort. When I’d rode his pajama covered cock last night, it was difficult to assess his size. I’d assumed big because, well, everything else on him is big. And that hypothesis is proven correct. Thick and long, it appears to be proportional to the rest of him, but still massive compared to the average man.
“Good. Now wait a moment, I need to get something,” I say and pass by him and up the stairs.
With a gleeful excitement, I rummage through my room to find my remote controlled bullet vibrator, a bandana, and a hair scrunchie. I need to improvise just a little. I stop in to check on Angelica momentarily. Her door is open, as she has free rein in the house, but she most often hangs out in the sunroom or her room.
“Hi bitch,” she greets.
“Hi baby girl,” I say. I check her water and her food bowls. “How are you?”
“Good girl,” she croons.
I smile at her. “Want a sweet potato treat?”
“Berries,” Angelical replies. “Big Bitch.”
She makes a Blue Jay cry and I laugh. “I can have him come and give you a berry treat later. He’s busy.”
“Get the hell out of my shower, bird!” Angelica repeats in a near perfect imitation of Jay’s angry voice.
I snort. “Yup, he’s busy.”
Leaving her with a sweet potato treat anyway, I head back downstairs. Jay is waiting in the same place I left him, and his eyes track me down the stairs and to where I kneel in front of him. He’s no longer hard, and he places a protective hand over his cock.
“Let go of it. It’s mine,” I snap.
He slowly removes his hands to clench at his sides. His cock twitches as it hardens before me. I watch with one raised eyebrow and my head tilted like I’m critiquing an art display. I hum with curious intrigue as it lifts. He huffs out a self-conscious laugh, but his cock still hardens. He shifts his stance slightly and his hands clench tighter at his sides.
“Are you having a hard time not shoving that fat cock down my throat?” I tease and look up at him.
His blue eyes are on me, bright like sapphires, as he nods slowly.
“Hm, too bad I have other plans,” I say, and unveil the bandana, vibrator, and hair scrunchie.
“What are you doing?” he asks, hesitant humor in his voice as he looks over my tools.
I don’t respond verbally. Instead, I get to work fastening the bullet vibrator to him with the hair scrunchie. It’s not the easiest job, but I get it held in place, and he chuckles breathlessly. Then I use the bandana to tie a, for lack of a better word, hammock for his balls. It holds them tightly up to his cock. I barely touch his skin as I work. Likely a disappointment for both of us, but I have things to do.
When I finish, I stand and lean against the counter. I sip my wine and look at him. The sight of all his muscles, his hard and eager cock, and his piercing blue eyes have me contemplating running him up to my bedroom. From the pocket of my leggings, I take out the remote control. I only used this toy once with Maxwell and it wasn’t as fun for him as it was for me. Now, with it simply strapped to my bodyguard, I am having more fun than its previous use. I switch it on, and he grunts and jerks his hips.
I giggle and then bark out, “Kneel!”
He obeys immediately, his hands gripping his thighs. I switch off the vibrator.
“Does that feel good?” I ask him. It’s an honest question.
“Mmhm,” he sighs and nods.
I turn it off and his body visibly relaxes.
“Could you come from that?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Stay there, and watch me bake,” I direct, feeling powerful.
“Do I get a taste?” he taunts, his double meaning clear.
“If you’re a good boy.”
He shifts on his knees and looks at me with an irritated expression. I narrow my eyes at him moving around, but then I remember he’s older than me. Kneeling for an extended period probably hurts his thirty-four-year-old knees. If I listen closer, I could probably hear them popping and cracking like Rice Krispies. I smirk and go get him two cushions from the dining room chairs. I plop them down in front of him.
“For your old man knees,” I state airily.
He scoffs, but moves them into place. I flit about the kitchen, beginning the preparation of the blueberry streusel muffins I promised the birdwatching group. The click of the oven turning on is one of my favorite sounds. I love baking in this kitchen. I especially love baking in this kitchen while my bodyguard is kneeling, naked, and waiting for me. I switch on the vibrator and listen carefully for his sharp intake of breath. I can’t help but grin when I hear it. As the buzz and his breathing fill the room, I slowly tie a floral apron over my tank top and leggings. I switch off the vibrator and slip the controller into my apron pocket.
I hear his hands slide across his skin and I spin to see him gripping the base of his cock not covered by the bandana. “Let go.”
“Fuck.”
“Hands behind your back.”
He rolls his neck while he looks at me with an intense glare. It’s like he is barely controlling himself from jumping up, ripping off the toy, and taking back control. Hard.
Instead, he listens like a good little soldier. I give him a small smile as he obeys my command.
While the oven preheats, I wash my hands and then mix some sugar, flour, a touch of cinnamon, and melted butter together and set aside the sandy mixture for the streusel topping. I wipe my hands off on my apron and switch on the toy. He whimpers and I bite my lip. I open a package of butter I had coming up to room temp and dump it into the bowl of my stand mixer. His second whimper ends in a growl and I switch off the toy. Can’t have him coming yet. I measure out some sugar for the bowl and set the mixer to cream the butter and sugar together. While it’s mixing, I sneer at Jay and imitate his whimper.
“You sound like a pussy,” I taunt.
He rolls his eyes.
“What the fuck was that?” I snap angrily. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
He doesn’t respond, only stares defiantly at me.
I stomp to him and see he has precum leaking from the tip of his cock. I reach down and swipe it up with my index finger and lift his mask with my other hand. “Suck,” I direct and shove my wet finger in his mouth.
He glares at me, but obeys. The feel of his tongue swirling over the pad of my finger has my pussy clenching around nothing. The palm of my hand is pressed against his chin by the mask and I feel the stubble of his facial hair. I want to rip the mask off and see if it grows in blond. But I don’t.
I pull my finger from his mouth with a pop and move to the sink to wash my hands.
The butter and sugar are well creamed together now, so I add in the eggs, vanilla extract, and milk. Flour, baking soda, and salt are next. I switch on the vibrator and listen to the sounds he groans out while I make sure the ingredients get mixed properly.
It sounds like he’s just about to come. This is the longest the toy has been on and he’s moaning low in his throat like he’s already lost to the pleasure. He barks out a growl of anger and disbelief when I switch it off. I’ve never heard a man growl before. I have him reduced to animal sounds and I have barely touched him.
Pride and power drive me to keep the edging going. I don’t even look at him as I pour the fat and juicy blueberries into the mixer bowl. I let the mixer give a few rotations of the paddle to fold in the blueberries. Switching back on the toy, I pluck out a blueberry covered in batter.
He is slightly leaned forward as the toy buzzes against his skin. His chest heaves for breath as his abs contract and release over and over. Though his body seems to be lost in the sensation, his eyes are on me as I approach him. I put the batter covered blueberry on the floor in front of him.
“Eat it.”
His eyes flash with disgust. He doesn’t know, but I had Sparrows come in and deep clean the house after the break in. He doesn’t know I had them bleach the absolute life out of the house in every room the intruders had touched. So, his disgust is warranted. I switch off the toy.
“Oh, do you think you’re worth a plate?”
“No, Mistress.”
“That’s right. Eat.”
He lifts his mask to uncover his mouth and leans to pick up the berry.
“Ah, no hands.”
He exhales sharply before bending down further and using his tongue and lips to pick up the berry. I see a flash of the side of his pink tongue as his lips surround the berry. He slurps up the berry and sits back on his heels, chewing. He licks the batter from his full lips and I’m treated to the sight of them wet and pouty.
Fuck.
“Are these the berries from the farmer’s market?” He asks.
“Yes,” I say lightly and spin back to my baking. My blueberry plants along the stone path in the backyard are still too young to produce anything other than little sour berries.
“They’re very juicy.”
I don’t respond. With a flourish, I switch on the toy and he groans low and long.
While humming a song I heard on the radio earlier, I put the lacy, paper cupcake liners into the pan. The sun is setting and bathes the entire kitchen in an orangey, golden light. As a stream if it shines in, I rotate the little pothos clipping in water I am hoping to pot soon on the windowsill. Behind me, Jay swears repeatedly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck,” he says while panting.
“No.” I turn off the toy.
He slumps over and his head and sweaty shoulder rest against the door frame. He can’t go very far in any direction. The cameras would see him in their periphery. His ability to relax is very limited.
I give him just a minute to breathe while I spoon the batter into the cupcake liners. After putting the mixing bowl in the sink, I turn to him. “Beg for it.”
“What?”
“Beg. Did I stutter? Have you never heard that word before?”
“Beg for what? What will you give me?” His voice is gruff, like he’s been running on the basement treadmill.
I drop the spoon into the sink with a clatter and run to him. Stopping short of bowling him over, I grip his face hard between my hands and give him a mean look. “If you kneel before me and you see how good I’ve treated you. If you tell me how much you love this and need to come, then I’ll let you. You’re being punished for getting me into danger and for making the neighbors mad. I want to see this pretty boy beg for it.”
His eyes flash with something like excitement and relief before he closes them and catches his breath. “Please let me come. I’m sorry for putting you in danger. You are so kind and beautiful and—ah!—perfect. You allow me to live in your home and be in your presence—fuck—please, let me come. Please , I’ll do anything for you to let me c-come!”
I switched on the vibrator as soon as he called me beautiful. I let him continue to whimper and beg until I remember the muffins. Turning off the toy, I return to my work.
Once the streusel is on top of the muffins, I put them in the oven with a timer set for twenty minutes. Jay is still panting when I return to him, but this time I bring a chair with me. He eyes it warily until I stand in front of it, drop my leggings and pull aside the flowered apron.
I’m barely within the blind zone of the cameras. I’m not stupid enough to think that if any Crows were watching they wouldn’t know what was happening. But I’m hoping they aren’t watching so closely that they will notice. Every time I’ve encountered Crows in the Nest, they’re scrolling on their phones, watching a movie, or reading. That’s what the door and perimeter alarms and codes are for. We set off an alarm and then they’ll look. Someone comes on the property, then they’ll look. They’re not watching me like TV. And I’m kind of banking on that.
The wood of the chair is cold against my bare ass as I sit facing Jay. His eyes zero in on my pussy as I open my legs. “Show me how much you think I’m kind and beautiful and perfect,” I taunt.
He lunges at me while ripping his mask up to his nose. His lips and tongue on me are a shock to my system, even though I saw them coming and even asked for them. He licks one flat and firm stripe up my slit and then takes the full of me in his mouth and sucks. I squeal and grip his head with one hand and reach blindly for the remote with the other. Locating the remote, I turn on the vibrator and look down to see his eyes roll back. He groans against me, muffled by my body.
“Show me how good it feels,” I moan and grip him harder.
A finger swirls at my entrance, and I gasp as he pushes into me. His knuckle bottoms out and he curls a second finger to my entrance, pushing even slower than the last time. I buck against him. Just two fingers and I feel stretched. Fuck, this man is massive.
“Jay!”
“Please don’t stop the vibrator!” he begs, voice cracking. It’s a real beg, too. Not just platitudes and role play. It’s a genuine plea from my absolutely wrecked bodyguard.
“Why should I listen?” I try to taunt through my mewling moans.
“Please, Wre-Mistress. Oh, God! Please don’t stop!” he continues, and I swear I see his eyes watering.
I look down at his cock and see the vibrator is still in place. A line of precum has leaked out in his desperation. The sight of him undone but still under my control and his face slick with my arousal has me rocking my hips against his eager tongue and lips until I explode. I flood his hand and mouth as I writhe and moan. Even at the height of my orgasm, I have enough awareness to hear him reaching his own peak.
He cries out against my skin and his eyes screw shut. The hand not touching my pussy is clenched tightly in my tank top as come shoots from his cock and coats my legs. He shouts out his release and then rests his head against my thigh.
We both relax against each other and I stroke over the top of his mask as if it was his hair. I want it to be his hair. I want it to be his skin against my leg and not his mask. I want to see the face of the man that just had me seeing stars in the kitchen.
Jay reaches down with a grunt and yanks on the hair scrunchie holding the vibrator in place until it slides off, buzzing loudly against the floor. I giggle and press the off button while he chuckles and unties his balls.
He sits back on his haunches and we stare at each other. I don’t know what to say other than for the roles to reverse and for me to start begging. Begging him to take off his mask, to let me know him, to let me love him. Because even after bullying him and making him move out of the city, making him give up time with his friends and family, forcing him to be anonymous almost twenty-four seven, he remains by my side. Loyal. Willing to defend me. Willing to take a bullet for me. Willing to kill for me. Because I am deluded enough to think that if his job didn’t require him to follow me to bird watching and through failed bakes and gardening chores, he would choose to continue to be with me. I want him and that reality so desperately it breaks my heart to not be allowed to have it. To have him.
“Jay,” I whisper.
He must sense my heartbreak and my desperation because he nods and pulls me off the chair to kneel in front of him. He wraps me in his still trembling arms, and I do my best not to cry into his chest. The scent of him, warm, salty, and clean, is the most comforting scent to me. He kisses my head as he holds me, stroking over my arms.
I pull back and look up into his sad eyes and cup his masked jaw in both hands. He swallows and knocks his forehead against mine. I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say.
“I know, baby. I know,” he murmurs.
But how could he know I have been falling for him? That this was supposed to be a celebration of our attraction and sexual chemistry, but could instead be the crash and annihilation of my heart? How could he know?
I need air.
The timer goes off for the muffins.