CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX #2
Another zap to the other nipple and an untethered whimper from me.
“Breathtaking.” His timbre is rough and sensual, full of savage yearnings and reverence. “You should see them, mesmerized by you. An entire club of people, rooting for their queen to come for me.”
I nearly forgot we were being watched. But at the mention, the soupy air swells with longings I was never safe to express. My hips buck with a plea as I grow wetter and more ravenous, eager for more.
And Axel delivers.
More pumps. More swirls. More zaps.
Until I’m shaking and gasping for breath. My limbs rebel against the restraints. Pressure builds in my core and licks up my spine. And silver streaks flit behind my lids, like a voyage of celestial awe.
My cells and veins and muscles coil tighter, winding me up for the flight. Liberated and levitating in a euphoric haze.
Bound and free. Undercover to seen.
Alone to chosen.
And if that wasn’t enough, a rumble of satisfaction thunders from Axel’s chest. “A goddamn masterpiece. I’m so proud that you’re mine.”
His declaration unlocks so many twisted notions inside me.
I’ve been a ghost since I was nine, clinging to the shadows with a name that wasn’t my own and memories I wasn’t permitted to carry.
To the world, I was invisible. But to the Noire king, I’m worthy to not only share his bed, but to be the lover, the woman, the wife he boasts about.
The queen he claims.
His presence retreats, the lights beam a tad brighter from the seam of the blindfold, and there is a faint hum of mutterings beyond the glass. Though I’m still dangling from a blissful cliff, I remember to punch my clicker.
“One.” He chuckles. “Very good.”
The strap tethering one of my bra cups is sliced, my entire breast bouncing and full and bared. A hoopla of aahs hits my ears.
And then he’s on me. His lips and tongue and teeth and fingers.
A vibrator is shoved into my pussy, turned to a warped speed that catapults me from that already-elevated rapturous suspension to a realm of blurry ecstasy.
It’s been less than a minute since I came, and I’m quaking, on the verge of a magnificent precipice.
When he bites the slope of my neck for a distracting prickle, a jolt of frenzied current whizzes my clit.
It hurts and emboldens. Like a slap that unleashes years of pent-up rhapsodies.
I shudder and scream and mumble nonsensical pleas as I soar through another climax. It hits me like a bolt of lightning—this one metaphorical. But still, my back bows, my hips writhe to deepen the dildo, and my core throbs with excruciating elation.
Tense and loose and pain and pleasure.
Blindness to anything that isn’t stars and flutters and the man who bestows it all.
Click. Two.
Another strap on my lingerie is sliced. The other breast falls to freedom.
And a sheen of sweat glazes my skin.
My limbs are lead. My lungs are empty. My heart is a battering ram.
But Axel is merciless.
He dusts some sticky strands of my hair away from my face, brushing his lips against mine, but withholding a kiss—perhaps to keep his wits about him.
“You’re doing so good, darling, seizing what’s yours.
You’ve got a few more in you. This time, if you need to stop, you’ll drop the counter. Repeat it back to me.”
My palm grips the metal clicker tighter. “I’ll drop the counter if I need to stop.”
On my final word, he utters some praise, whips the vibrating dildo out of my pussy, and shoves it into my mouth with a command. “Show them how beautifully you suck, Zar.”
The whole scene is humiliating in the most exhilarating way.
I’m splayed open for all to see. But thrilling energy from the voyeur hall leaks through the glass and reverberates around our room.
And it’s only intensified when Axel’s tongue laves my opening.
He curls three fingers inside me and swirls my clit before sucking it with a furious vehemence.
He’s on his knees, in front of his empire. For me. Flaunting his skill after I’m already satiated. It’s haughty and humble in a single sultry lick. Another reminder that I’m his in ways no one ever has been.
It rallies another orgasm to brim in my core. Each swipe of his languid tongue, each hollow of my cheeks on my cum-coated dildo, each juddering tremor in my bone-weary thighs—every touch and tease and nip and pinch—intensifies my sensitivity, rocketing my pleasure and driving me closer to the edge.
Until, without electro stimulation, my husband suffuses my entire being with a dynamic charge.
Sparks and sizzle and bolts of jubilation.
Velvet and sandpaper and satin serenity.
Worshipped by a god who holds the heavens and imparts the divine.
Click. Three.
I am disrobed, void of clothing, shoes, sight, and privacy. And perhaps anything that isn’t a high. The amber glow is brighter now. My hands flop lazily from the cuffs, my joints relax, my mouth is freed, and my mind pours every ounce of effort into reminding me not to drop my metal counter.
“I don’t know if I can,” I mutter, half delirious. Yanked in opposing directions—rest or rapture.
“You have a safe word,” Axel reminds me. “Otherwise, I decide when you’re done.”
He returns the vibrator to my pussy—pumping it in and out while I squirm—before he bestows another boneless blast of euphoria by heightening my senses again.
He rakes a spiky, electrified wheel across the inside of my thighs and over the flat plane of my stomach and into the valley of my chest, encircling my breasts and torturing my nipples.
A balm and a burn.
All my nerve endings are awakened, blistering with glee and aching for more.
I’m panting and pleading and letting go. Again.
Click. Four.
He cradles my chin, like he does so often, pecking my nose so that I can envision the adoration illuminating his handsome face. “You’re doing so good, my precious Thorn. You need to give me one more.”
I’m exhausted, but it’s an invigorating depletion—one that siphons all the intrusive thoughts and worries and fears from my chaotic mind, one that leaves me hungry to please him.
“I will,” I vow before remembering the other part of how I earn him baring himself alongside me. “Then can I taste you? Please.”
He doesn’t answer. But my wrists are unbound and cuffed behind my back.
He lifts me, depositing me on the floor in a kneeling position.
The spreader bar is still stretched between my ankles, so my legs are shoulder-width apart.
He yanks the vibrator out of my pussy, and a new one is thrust inside.
It has a lip that teases my clit, and within a second, an unbidden moan emanates from my lungs.
I’m an addict.
“I am helpless to your pleas. Ask for anything you want, and it will be yours. Anything.” He strokes my head and refocuses on safety. “If you need to stop, you’ll drop your clicker. Understood?”
“Yes,” I mutter. “I’ll drop it.”
With that confirmation, a chorus of awe wafts from the hall, and Axel’s cock slams into my throat.
He fists my hair and pumps with a punishing cadence, but he rasps sentiments like, “So gorgeous,” and, “This perfect mouth, baby,” and, “My royal bride, greedy for my cock and bare for all to see.”
His words drape me in confidence and tear down any resistance I had left in me.
With his king’s crown scoring my tonsils and my overly sensitive core being teased, I come embarrassingly fast. But he doesn’t seem to mind.
While I’m still quivering with aftershocks, he sweeps me into his arms and sets me back on the bed.
The clicker is forgotten. He uncuffs my wrists, soothes my fingers, removes the vibrator, and leaves me there.
Time is a blur, so I can’t be sure how long it takes him, but there is a celebratory din beyond the wall and then Axel’s skin dusting mine.
His palms frame my face, and our lips collide. It’s a kiss like our first one. Wanton and feral and full of promises. Tongues and teeth and nips and swallows. Champagne toasts and vows before family. Ballroom dancing and exhibitionism trysts.
The scent of first snow and the flavor of fallen souls.
He lifts my legs, stations himself between my thighs so the spreader bar rests on his upper back, whips off my blindfold, and thrusts inside me in one all-consuming plunge.
The lights must be all the way up because despite the golden hue, the brightness is obliterating. I shut my lids and simply revel in him filling me, in his piercing scraping deep crevices in my core, purrs of contentment pouring out of me.
He rolls my peaked nipples between his fingers, massages my sore muscles, and circles my too-sensitive bundle of nerves, all while pounding into me to the tempo of a future I am zealous for.
“It’s just you and me, Zara.” His voice is a husky, lust-strained lullaby. “No matter what else we’re facing, no matter what kind of fishbowl we’re in, no matter who is glaring at us, it’s only us.” His finger traces the outline of my face, compelling me to open my eyes.
And I do. To the savage spectators who are foaming at the sight of us and ravaging one another. To the lights that leave nothing concealed. To the union I’m desperate to protect because despite Axel’s romantic oaths, the forces against us are magnanimous.
To him—to the vulnerability he’s extending to me and to his club. To the path we’re forging. To his tats that are works of art from a man he raised. And the pecs, abs, and forearms that are sculpted from a fire he can’t escape. And his deep-ocean blues that spear me with fortitude.
To the ring on his finger, declaring he’s mine.
We get lost in the rhythm, our bodies thriving in unison, our muscles slick with sweat, our moans a theme song for our climb to the summit.
And when we are merely steps away from our peak—murky clouds curtaining my vision, my breaths puffing out, my bones abuzz with the greed he often accuses me of—he lies atop me.
His elbows bracket my head, my heavy ankles drop to rest the bar on his lower back, and his glimmering eyes latch to mine.
“You, my radiant wife, are my favorite part of every heartbeat. Everything I am, everything I have, and every dream you hold—it’s all yours now.
Tell me you’re mine. That’s all I need.”
My chest constricts with a warning, as if my intuition seeks to rob me of this tranquility, to remind me that just today, I was threatened with all the ways this could be ripped away from me. But I choke it down and permit myself to be fully devoted to this victorious fusion.
“I’m yours, Axel. And you’re mine. My best friend, my husband, my home. My Atlas.”
“That’s my girl,” he coos, picking up his pace and swirling my clit until he sees I’m teetering on the edge for the sixth time tonight.
And as his pumps grow ragged and his breaths become choppy, he glances from me to our voracious audience with a delighted smirk and issues his final command of the night. “Come for your kingdom, my darling queen.”