32. Chapter 26
Dashiell
Excuse me? I want to say. I don’t get to cum tonight? But I know the rules. This is my punishment, and I’ll take it like I deserve.
“Yes, daddy.”
I work the dildo inside me. Long and thick, it would only be more perfect if it were real. It’s doing the job almost as well as the real thing, though. Even without touching my cock, I’m pretty damn close to cumming.
I slow my work with the dildo to make sure that doesn’t happen.
“What about you, sir? Are you going to cum?”
“Of course I am. I like seeing you like this. See what it does to me?”
Hell yes, I see what it does to him.
He’s so fucking hot in that chair, still clothed (which I find hot all on its own—him clothed and me naked), but his thick cock is free. He pumps it generously in his hand, working his precum around his glans and down his shaft.
“You want to see what you really do to me, Dash?” he murmurs. “To see what happens to me when I think about all the depraved things I want to do to you?”
“Yes.”
His hand quickens with his breathing. “This,” he says, his head tipping back slightly, that strong Adam’s apple of his jutting forward. “This is what happens when I picture bending you over, fucking you in that tight hole. Or when I picture my cum”—he grunts—“across your back.”
He is flushed, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his slacks shoved just low enough.
It’s obvious that he’s close—and that I’ve brought him there.
His breathing is ragged, and then with that, he cums. He spills over his own fist, and his eyes never leave mine.
I watch every second of it as the tension and the release of his orgasm flash across his face.
Fuck, his orgasm face is hot.
And, double fuck, the fact that he’s orgasming after watching me is even hotter.
He wipes his hand on his shirt and nods at me. “Take it out. Slowly.”
I do, my hands shaking. The drag of the silicone out of my body is its own small torment, arousal spiking hard just before it exits.
It’s done.
Lorenzo nods toward the ground before him. “Come here.”
Obediently, I climb off the bed on unsteady legs, cross the room, and kneel before him. Lorenzo cups my jaw, tilting my face up to study me. I recognize the safe, solid tenderness from when he cared for my scraped arm.
“Very good,” he whispers, and the praise is almost better than the dildo.
Lorenzo says nothing when he picks me up off the floor, one arm under my knees, one beneath my back, like I weigh nothing.
He carries me easily to the bathroom. The lights come on, soft and dimmed. He sets me down in the shower stall and turns the water on before stepping in with me, still fully dressed.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
But I really, really want you to, I don’t add.
Aftercare—possibly one of the best parts of BDSM, in my opinion. All that intensity softened into something tender, intimate.
“I’m going to.”
He washes me carefully and thoroughly, starting with my shoulders and working his way down.
His hands are gentle and methodical as they go about their work.
Water sluices over us both, soaking his shirt and plastering it to his chest. I want to run my hands over his wet chest hair, press my face to it, but my body is exhausted.
I find myself wishing that he would kiss me.
The realization is almost enough to have me slipping in the shower. Normally, I don’t ever want someone to kiss me after sex. That’s a huge part of the appeal of casual sex: clean lines, no expected intimacy afterwards. You got what you came for and now you’re out.
But now…I want it.
He turns the shower off, grabs a towel, and scrubs me dry, then wraps me in it and carries me—not to his bed—but down the hall and to mine.
I check the clock on my nightstand when he opens the door. It’s almost two in the morning.
“You did very well tonight, Dash,” he says, laying me down naked in the bed.
The praise warms me as I snuggle into the covers.
Kiss me, I want to beg. Or lie with me here.
He’s still wet from the shower, but I’d let him into my bed, even like that.
“Thanks,” I murmur. “So did you.”
He smiles at that. “Good to know.” Briefly, he hesitates, like he wants to say more. Instead, he straightens and nods once. “Get some sleep tonight. Goodnight, Dash.”
“Goodnight.”
I watch, covers drawn to my chin, as he leaves and shuts the bedroom door behind him.
When he’s gone, my breath releases.
It fucking happened—well, almost.
My cock still aches for release, and even though I know the scene we just did is done and I no longer need Lorenzo’s permission to cum, I decide I’m going to wait.
Because now that I know what it feels like to please him, I think I want to keep doing it.