Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Damien takes my hand and leads me to a padded bench with grips on the sides and cushioned lengths to support my knees and lower legs, should I choose to bend over this thing, to rest my weight on it and let him punish me. A spanking bench.
This may be my first visit to a sex club, but some things are self-explanatory. He watches my face for a reaction, his own expression questioning.
If I were to bend over, it’s not him I’d want behind me. But there’s no way I’m letting him handcuff me to the wall either, and I don’t even know how to begin to climb into that suspended mass of ropes and restraints in the corner.
Gareth is watching me, his expression as curious as Damien’s. He isn’t asking Athena which apparatus she’d like to engage with. She’s on her knees in front of him, unbuttoning his pants, preparing to suck his dick.
I give Damien a gentle shake of my head and he doesn’t ask why or attempt to coax me into trying the bench.
“I just don’t want another man to spank me right now,” I blurt.
“Then I won’t spank you,” he says. His smirk is a little too arrogant for any setting other than this one, but I wouldn’t find him attractive here if he weren’t giving off such dominant vibes.
With Gareth so close, I know I don’t have anything to fear.
I’ll be safe if I drape my body over this bench and let this sexy stranger do things to me while Gareth watches. While we watch each other.
Oh, fuck. This is twisted, but the sudden rush of warmth between my legs is all the encouragement I need to give in to it.
I reach back and unhook my bra, let the straps fall down my arms, and drop it to the floor. Damien’s smile heats up. He steps closer and lowers his head to kiss the nipple he played with earlier. When he draws it into his mouth, I draw in a pronounced breath and weave my fingers into his hair.
I’m still sore there from Gareth.
Damien releases my nipple and kisses his way back up my chest and neck until he’s facing me. He nods at the bench, his expression questioning if I’d like to try it, anyway.
It doesn’t take much imagination at all to realization the bench can be used for much more than spanking.
I mount the narrow, padded supports, lie down, and hold on to the handles, keeping my eyes on Gareth and Athena. She’s sliding her mouth slowly up and down his erection, and his eyes are glazed like any man’s when he’s having his dick sucked like that, but they’re fixed on me.
The bench has a slight forward angle that leaves me no choice but to arch my lower back and jut my ass upward. Damien’s hand massages my cheeks, and I remember the bruises there. All the more reason for him not to spank me.
He lowers his hand and cups my pussy before he begins toying with my thong, pulling it aside and letting the backs of his fingers graze my swollen tenderness. His hand skates feather-light figure eights over my seam, and I desperately want him to part it and slip his fingers inside me.
My trickling juices coat his skin, and he spreads them over me, creating an effortless glide when friction is what I want. I rock my hips, but he denies my attempts to increase his pressure.
Gareth’s eyes are blue flames. The glimpse of his engorged cock when Athena pulls off and teases the head with her pink tongue stokes my burning need to feel it inside me. His cock, her tongue, Damien’s fingers—fuck, anything would be better than this torture.
When I thrust my pelvis back to increase Damien’s access, he slowly slides two fingers into me and begins to leisurely probe, knowing that’s not how I want it, teasing me, no doubt savoring the torture he’s inflicting.
God, he could spank me at this point, anything to light up my sensors. Some form of actual relief. Athena is throating Gareth’s perfect dick right now, and I need Damien to take a fucking cue already, to give me more, too.
He takes his hand away completely, and I want to cry out, but he drops to his knees and replaces it with his hot mouth. And then he gives me his fingers again, faster and harder this time while his tongue teases my clit.
I relax into the contrasting sensations, and he sucks on my clit to bring me back into a heightened state of tension.
My eyes meet Gareth’s, and I can see how close he is to coming inside Athena’s beautiful lips while her partner’s strong tongue ignites my nerves and sets me teetering on a narrow edge. Our gazes lock and we come together on the mouths of strangers.
And I am so done with this man on his knees between my legs. I want to push him off me like shedding a jacket when the sun comes out. Gareth walks toward me, and Athena and Damien connect as if they couldn’t care less that we no longer want anything to do with them.
“I don’t think they need us anymore,” Gareth says as he helps me up from the bench, making it clear he isn’t going to fuck me here.
We’re going back to the car, to the lake house to finish a more crucial scene.
He picks my bra up off the floor and hands it to me.
I stumble into my jeans while he refastens his.
My shirt buttons don’t seem right. I think I’ve missed one somewhere but it doesn’t matter. I’m dressed enough to walk out of here.
If it was truly his plan to have this place put a layer of distance between us, it didn’t work. Not for me, anyway. I’ve never felt a deeper connection to any man than I do to him right now.
But I’m not kidding myself; I know exactly what this is. And I’ll walk away clean when we’re done. We’re just not done yet.
I turn the music up loud in his car, and he doesn’t object. He drives fast, and my heart beats faster. Everything is up-tempo and pounding.
My misaligned buttons don’t slow Gareth down once he slams the front door behind us. He rips my shirt open, sending more than one of the plastic discs flying, ensuring this shirt will never be buttoned correctly again.
The shirt follows its buttons to the floor, and my bra lands on top of it. I kick off my shoes, and he peels my jeans down my legs before he walks away from me and sits at the kitchen table.
It’s still daylight out but all the lights inside are off.
Showtime. I understand.
I walk softly into the kitchen, keeping my eyes averted as if I don’t know he’s there, watching me, drinking in my bare legs and the curve of my ass as I reach for a glass, the silhouette of my hardening nipples—not even covered by thin fabric this time—when my hand touches the cold metal of the faucet handle.
His heat shrouds me as cool water spills over my lips, the first sip nearly drowning me when his arms encircle my waist and his hand glides inside my panties. We slip so easily into the roles of our past trespassing selves, our moral compasses recalibrated by trepidation and raw lust.
He gasps when he finds me waxed bare and wet, increasingly wet as his fingers move inside me. I hold the glass suspended in mid-air, forget my thirst in the wake of his touch.
No words pass between us for fear the spell will be broken. I’m her again, no need to act. All I have to do is close my eyes and the room goes dark. It’s late at night. We are quiet. I am quivering. He is everything.
I come on his hand, swallowing the moans and whimpers that want to escape, the sounds that could get us caught and ruin everything, staying silent like the good girl I was for him back then.
Except this time, he doesn’t yank his hand away like my clit has become a lit candle, doesn’t let a flurry of shame swirl between us until we’re both cloaked in it and scurrying in different directions—him back to his drink, and me down the hall to the twin bed where I won’t sleep, not for the remainder of that night or ever again.
But this is the juncture where the fantasy pivots, and we don’t have to worry about anyone else because we are all alone this time.
This is where the past meets the present and he is allowed to fuck me and I know how to fuck him, but proceeding right now won’t erase the history that binds us.
I had it all wrong in my head. We can’t rewrite the past, can’t pick up where we left off because that ended for us before it ever began.
That ended . . . because that was never anything more than a moment in time.
But this, what we’re doing with each other now, it’s not a continuation of that. It’s something else entirely.
As if he can read my mind, he picks me up and carries me toward the hallway.
“You’re not the ghost of that girl anymore, Jewel. She’s haunted me here for a long time, but it’s you, this grown woman in my arms that I need to fuck in this house, not her.”
“I know. But I was her again, for a little while. For long enough. If you carry me out of this kitchen, I promise it won’t be her fucking you, and I won’t see you as him. Take me to bed, Daddy.”
I grab the doorjamb as he attempts to carry me into his room. “No,” I say. “I used to fantasize about being in your bed here, but I was lying in a smaller one while I did it.”
I jerk my head down the hall, toward the twin beds of Shandy’s room.
“We relived our defining moment in this house, Gareth, and if I’m ever back here again, we’ll fuck in your bed. Hell, maybe we’ll go for round two in here today, but first, I need you to take me there. I’m not asking you to pretend I’m her. I very much want it to be me enjoying what she never got.”
“Jewel, I don’t know if I—”
I twirl a curl on his chest between my thumb and forefinger, turning my eyes up to him. “Look at me and tell me you never thought about sneaking down this hall and slipping into that bed with me.”
“Thank God you grew up and came back around.” He changes course.
“Second chances are a fucking gift.”
“Goddamn right.”
He lowers me to the bed, and tears his clothes off. I lie with my legs open, thrumming with desire for him, fully me in the present tense, but there are whispers of the girl I left here ten years ago, lingering in the stale air of this room.
This is where we fuck away the last vestiges of her.
His hesitation is gone entirely when he lowers his body over mine and sinks his full length deep into my hot wet heat. I clench to hold him inside a second longer, and he groans as he withdraws, his strength overpowering mine.
I moan at the pressure when he buries his cock in me again. And then he picks up his pace, creating that hot friction I crave, despite the fact that I’m flooding the sheet beneath us. He grasps both my wrists in one of his hands and pins them above my head.
“You are such a good little cockslut. Tell me what you are.”
“Daddy’s dirty little cockslut.”
“Fuck yes. Pull your knees up, sweet girl. Show me that tight ass.”
He doesn’t release my hands, so I bend my knees and rock my hips forward to lift my legs for him. His thumb pulls my arousal down to coat my asshole and circles a few times. I anticipate the initial sting of his thumb stretching me there, but instead, he presses two fingers inside at once.
The fullness is overwhelming. I shudder beneath him, and he shifts his weight to drag his cock along my clit, shortening his strokes to rub against it continuously. His grin is wickedly self-assured, and entirely justified.
There is nothing quiet about this orgasm for either of us.
I have to fight not to doze off with my head on his chest. He tugs a section of my hair as if he knows I’m drifting.
“Let’s take a shower and grab an early dinner before we head back,” he says. “I skipped lunch. I assume you did as well.”
“I did. But I need to lie here for a while longer. Shower without me.”
“I’ll start without you. You’ve got two minutes.”
I wait for him to get in the shower before I climb out of bed and cross the room.
The white paint inside the frame of the closet door still bears our stats.
Two columns, one crowned with an S and the other with a J, both boasting a series of hashmarks to tally our lake hookups. We always used the same pink pen.
The gel ink has dulled and turned darker, giving the illusion of rust around the edges. I take a thin marker from the desk and increase the count on my side. Blue ink. Vibrant and distinct.
Gareth calls out for me to join him. He says I better hurry, so I drop the marker back in the plastic cup, but I leave the closet door ajar. It’s the closest I can come to telling her.
Someday she’ll notice the new entry and wonder. Maybe she’ll think one of her kids made the mark, not realizing what they were adding to.
I will always know exactly what’s been altered. And I’ll never regret a moment of it.
“Jewel! If I have to call your name a third time, you’re going to regret it!”
Never.