Chapter Thirty-Four
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CLAIR E
Walking through the black door on the back wall feels like yet another step away from the girl I was before and one step closer to who I have the opportunity to become.
The hallways are dark, but there’s an undercurrent of muted sounds and energy filling the space that leaves no question about what’s back here. My head is on a swivel as we pass different rooms without stopping, but I’m trusting Mark to lead me to places I’ll enjoy or at least appreciate.
We stop in front of a window that shows not just a couple, but three people in the room on the other side of the glass. Two men and a woman, all of them a tangle of limbs, touching each other with reckless abandon. They don’t seem to care that anyone else is watching as they pull clothes off of each other in a slow, sensual sort of way. It’s raw and intense and erotic.
After quite a few minutes of watching, Mark leads me to a larger room. It’s like the previous scene we watched times ten. There are multiple couples and groups all playing together in various states of undress. Some people linger along the edges of the room, simply watching.
Nobody is ashamed about owning their desire, though. Whether participating or watching, it’s clear that this is a safe place for everyone to express themselves sexually, and it warms my heart in an odd sort of way. I probably shouldn’t be feeling a sense of profundity at watching groups of people have sex, but it’s enlightening to see evidence of sexual liberation in so many forms.
Again observing but not participating, we move on down the hall, occasionally stopping at a window to watch people.
"What’s that room?" I ask as we pass what looks to be a larger room filled with different items that I can’t quite identify.
"That’s the dungeon," Mark says. "A lot of what happens in there is heavier pain play. If that’s something you’re interested in seeing, we can go watch."
I shake my head and shudder involuntarily at the idea of being hurt for sexual reasons. "No thanks." He said a little while ago that he’s not interested in any of that, which was more relieving than it should have been. "Though," I add, "you did say something earlier about showing me different ‘sensations."
He smirks. "I remember."
"And do you plan on actually showing me?" I challenge, giving him a sweet smile when he looks down at me and raises an eyebrow.
"I didn’t know you could get so feisty," he teases. "I think I like it. Come on, let’s find a room."
We pass a couple of occupied rooms until we find a small, simple one that doesn’t have a window for others to watch. Mark sets his drink—now empty aside from the ice cubes clinking around the bottom—on the bedside table as I take in the dimly lit room. There are a few implements on the walls that look intimidating, but I have a feeling Mark won’t be using those. At least, hopefully not.
My confidence that he won’t use any of those items is shattered when he makes his way over to the wall and grabs something, though his body obstructs my view of whatever he takes off the wall. My heart rate ratchets up as he turns back toward me with a mischievous smile.
"Turn around."
I do as he says, turning to face the bed. A pair of padded leather cuffs lands on the bed in front of me, along with a small, black candle and a blindfold. Interesting. The cuffs, I can handle. The other two items, I’m a little wary of.
Mark brushes my hair over my shoulder and slowly pulls down the zipper of my dress, his fingers trailing behind it on my bare skin. I shiver in response, goosebumps forming on my arms. Once unzipped, my dress falls to the floor, and I gingerly step out of the circle of fabric at my feet.
"So perfect," Mark breathes, taking in my exposed skin. "Lie down on the bed for me and let me look at you."
Following his directions, I climb onto the bed and lie back as his gaze consumes me.
"Good girl. I’m going to put these cuffs on you now."
I nod.
Mark loops the chain between the cuffs behind the bar of the headboard before securing each one to my wrists. I pull against them once he’s done, testing the strength. As expected, it holds.
"Are the cuffs too tight?" he asks.
"No, they’re fine."
Content with how I’m restrained and at his mercy, Mark traces my bare skin with his fingers, following the dips and curves of my collarbone, my breasts, my waist.
I close my eyes and surrender to his touch.
Moments later, it’s gone, and I open my eyes to see him reaching to the side of the bed and sipping an ice cube from his drink before setting the glass back down with a soft clink . He sucks on the ice cube for a moment before pulling it from his mouth between his thumb and forefinger and looking down at me.
I realize what he’s about to do seconds before he does it.
His fingertips drip with water as he brings the ice to my skin. My breath hitches as the sharp coldness hits the place where my neck meets my collarbone before trailing down over my chest. Mark circles the ice around my nipple, and my back arches off the bed as I squirm beneath the frigid touch.
"You like that?" Mark asks in a low, taunting tone.
My voice is breathy when I answer, "Yes."
"Good." He moves the ice again, dragging it to my other nipple and repeating the process on this side, hardening both nipples to sensitive peaks. The cold is intense but not painful, bringing every nerve in my body to life.
The ice melts quickly as he traces it down over my stomach, and I tense as it gets closer to the space between my thighs. Is he really going to…?
He answers my unspoken question by popping the cube back in his mouth and sucking before leaning over and using his mouth to cover my pussy. I cry out at the tingling cold, though it quickly morphs to warmth as the ice melts and his tongue keeps working my clit.
When he pulls away, his breath is warm on my skin. He blows softly on the trails of water left by the ice, sending another shiver through me.
"How did that feel?"
"Different… but I liked it."
He chuckles. "It gets better."
He reaches over to grab the candle he had tossed at the foot of the bed earlier, then pulls a lighter from his pocket.
He lights the candle with a soft snick of the lighter, and the flame flickers, casting a glow in the dim room. I watch as Mark tilts the candle back and forth, letting wax pool in the middle before he blows out the flame.
His eyes glint as he looks down at me. "Are you ready?"
"Yes."
He tips the candle, letting the melted wax drip onto my chest, and I gasp at the sensation, the heat a stark contrast to the coolness of my skin where the ice had been only a minute ago. I tense, waiting for the burning sensation to come in full-force, but it doesn’t. It’s hot enough that it feels like an almost-burn, but it cools quickly, hardening into a small, smooth dot that stands out against my pale skin.
Mark continues to drip the wax over my chest, my stomach, my thighs. Each drop puts me on edge, the anticipation building with each passing second.
Just as I'm beginning to grow accustomed to the droplets of heat falling across my body, Mark sets the candle aside and picks up the blindfold. He slips it over my eyes, and everything goes dark.
The bed dips as he moves again, and I hear the clink of the ice in his glass seconds before he sends a shock to my system by using it in the places he had just dripped wax.
But then, there’s the tell-tale click of the lighter. A pause. Something hits my skin, and for a half-second, I’m not sure if it’s the cold bite of the ice or the subtle burn of wax.
It keeps me on edge, wondering what’s coming next as he alternates between wax and ice, heat and cold, sending my mind and body into sensory overload. Every sensation is heightened by awaiting whatever comes next, every shift in temperature, every slight touch from Mark. Every time he stops, I’m buzzing with unbearable anticipation.
I don’t even realize I’m shaking until Mark points it out, asking if I’m okay. I assure him I am, but my voice sounds just as tremulous as I feel.
Seconds later, Mark pulls off my blindfold and cuffs after setting his implements of perfect torture on the bedside table.
My skin is dotted with dried wax, and Mark kisses me gently before getting up, walking across the room, and coming back with wipes.
I reach for one, but he pulls back.
"I got it," he says. "Let me take care of you."
I lean back and watch, though I do pick some spots of wax off with my fingernail.
Mark speaks again as he finishes cleaning me up. "You did so well for me. Did you enjoy that?"
"It was a lot," I admit. "But I really liked it." I don’t add the fact that I’m incredibly turned on right now, because I’m sure he knows. The bulge in his pants tells me he’s on the same page I am.
Once the wax is mostly off my skin, Mark explores my body with his hands once again. He lingers on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, trailing slowly to my center.
I gasp as his fingers slip through my wetness and find my clit, circling slowly and emphasizing the desperate need I’m feeling. After the intensity of everything tonight, it doesn’t take much to get me close to coming .
Then, he pushes two fingers inside me without warning, the sensation so quick and intense it sends me spiraling over the edge. I cry out as I come, my body convulsing and my inner muscles clenching around his fingers. I’m overcome by the suddenness of the orgasm, rolling my hips against his hand until I’m a limp, whimpering mess.
But Mark isn't done with me yet. He continues to stroke me, his fingers moving in and out, his thumb circling my clit. The sensation is almost too much, the pleasure bordering on pain. He doesn't let up, doesn't stop. He pushes me, driving me higher and higher, forcing me to ride the wave of warring sensations.
"It's too much," I gasp. I’m shaking more than I was even before the orgasm.
"Tell me to stop," he growls.
I shake my head. It’s all-consuming, and I’m so sensitive I can hardly handle it, but I still don’t want him to stop.
"Good girl. You can take it."
His words spur me on, pushing me closer to the edge once more.
He withdraws his fingers, and I hear the rustle of fabric then the tear of a condom wrapper. And then Mark is back, his body covering mine, his cock pressing against my entrance. He slides into me slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely.
He begins to move his hips, thrusting at a quick, rhythmic pace. It’s less gentle than he has been before, and I love it.
I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, my body moving in time with his. He fucks me harder and faster, and his breathing become erratic. Heat spreads through my veins as tension builds, and I wonder offhandedly how anyone might ever possibly be able to live up to this. I could do this for the rest of my life and never get tired of it .
My body tenses as pleasure builds and builds, my second orgasm of the night getting closer by the second. I lower my feet to the bed and rock my hips in time with Mark’s punishing thrusts to chase the release that’s just out of reach.
"That's it, Claire," Mark groans. "Come on, baby girl. Come with me."
And I do. I moan as I come again, loving the way his massive body covers mine, as he takes control of my pleasure so completely. He lets out a low groan as he pulses inside me.
"Fuck, you feel good," he growls.
We collapse together, our bodies slick with sweat, our chests rising and falling with heavy breaths. When he smiles at me, it feels as if everything clicks into place. I want him so much more than I care to admit.
Mark reaches over to brush his thumb against my cheek. It’s such a gentle, affectionate gesture that makes my heart constrict with emotion. "There’s much more where that came from."
I smile, and Mark pulls me into his arms and holds me close, his body warm and comforting against mine. I melt into him, wondering how things just keep getting better and better. It’s all impossibly perfect.
We lie there for a long while before deciding to go back home. Tonight’s been a good introduction to the club for me, but I now have barely enough energy left to walk out of here, let alone explore anything else here.
We make our way back down the wide, dark hallway, and there are even more people milling about than before. It makes sense that this would be the type of place that grows busier the later it gets. A man’s eyes light up with recognition when he sees Mark.
"Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while!" the man says. His eyes flick to me, then back to Mark. He wears a playful smile, adding, "Got a girlfriend keeping you occupied nowadays?"
"Not a girlfriend. But this is my friend, Claire. It’s her first time at the club, so don’t scare her off yet," he chuckles.
"Nice to meet you, Claire," the man says.
"You too."
But the warm, happy feeling I’d had moments ago has vanished, replaced by a nagging sense of disappointment and hurt. His friend. He had gone out of his way to correct the man about me being his girlfriend and called me his friend .
The man raises an eyebrow at Mark before moving on in the direction he was headed, and Mark guides me back to the front room as if nothing has happened.
And to be fair, nothing has happened for him. It was a quick remark he made, and technically a true one, but it pierced my daze of contentment like a knife, the sting of subtle rejection catching me off guard.
The worst part is, I don’t have any right to be upset. We made an agreement when this started, and that agreement was to keep things strictly physical, no emotions involved. But that’s been easier said than done, so I’ve been simmering in an ever-growing affection for him without voicing it.
I just thought maybe he’d feel the same. There’s no way this is still purely physical for him.
Would it really be so terrible if we were a couple? Why is he so against it in the first place?
When we step outside, I can’t keep my thoughts to myself anymore. "Why are you so against relationships?" I blurt.
He turns toward me, startled, and assesses me with a furrowed brow. "What makes you ask that?"
"Because you clearly have some sort of hang-up when it comes to relationships, even before I came along, and I don’t get it." I cross my arms and hold his gaze as we stand in front of his parked car in the cool night air.
"It’s not that simple," he says, as if that’s a suitable explanation for anything.
"Then tell me. Why is the idea of me being your girlfriend so terrible? It’s not like we don’t already act like a couple in every way that matters."
He sighs in defeat, knowing I won’t drop the conversation so easily. "The idea of you being mine is not terrible. But you have so much more to experience in life."
I can tell he’s not saying everything he’s thinking, so I press. "So?"
"So, I won’t be the one to hold you back, and once you realize how much more is out there, you’ll leave. Your life—your freedom—has just begun. I won’t be the one to hold you back."
His expression falls, and all the anger that had been thrumming through my veins seeps out of me. The defeated look on his face just makes me feel sorry for him.
"You’re wrong," I say in a softer voice. "My freedom may have just begun, but no matter how much I experience, there’s one constant: I always look forward to coming home to you."
There’s a flicker of hope in his eyes before his forlorn expression returns. "We’ll see," is all he says.
"Yes, we will."
He may not believe me, but I’m determined to prove from here on out that he doesn’t have to worry about losing me once I see what else the world has to offer. I wasn’t lying when I said that being with him is what I look forward to most every day. I don’t know who in his life made him believe that he isn’t worth loving, isn’t worth staying for, but I’ll spend every single day proving him wrong until he believes me.