Epilogue #2
And he can just be with me, because for all the bullshit he’s put me through, there’s no one on earth I’d rather be with.
With his old bruises fading at last, he is brave.
Without anyone but himself to dictate his happiness, he’s the doting and warm person I always thought he was and knew he could be, deep down, when he would let go.
Throw away all the awful lessons he’d been taught in the harshest ways, work through the trauma dealt to him in those tender fledgling years.
Since he’s started going to therapy himself he’s made so much progress, unpacked all these things that have damaged him.
No one’s perfect. I know that best of all.
Luca flicks off all the lights in the house and the living room is bathed in the fire’s warm glow.
The dogs make themselves scarce; Bunny is afraid of fire, we’ve discovered, and Amelia tends to shadow her everywhere.
Disappointing, if you want a cuddle in front of the fireplace. Tonight it’s convenient.
“Take off your clothes,” he instructs me. Never harsh, but with that firm edge in his voice that gives me goosebumps whenever he busts it out. Just a hint of that feral, dominant creature that only I seem to bring out in him.
I undress as he watches me, fumbling to remove my sweatshirt and jeans with fingers that tremble with arousal and anticipation both because I’ve been waiting for this all damn day and I knew he’d make it special.
I toss my clothes aside, far from the fireplace, before I fold my hands obediently behind me, gripping my wrist with my other hand as I wait for him.
I am, of course, already hard, the tip of my cock sweeping my taut belly like an exclamation point.
“Not going to fold your clothes?” He raises his eyebrows.
I lift my chin. “Nope.”
The corner of his mouth twitches a little before he comes to stand before me. He takes my face in one hand, fingers caressing the underside of my jaw. “Brat,” he says softly. “You want to play rough?”
As if my aching boner wasn’t indication enough, and I even chance shifting forward to brush it against him. He doesn’t concede an inch to me but he doesn’t make me stop, either. Not yet. “Yes,” I say. “Daddy.”
His fingers dig into my face. Not hard, just enough to make my lips part, and from there he slides his thumb into my mouth.
Oh, it’s tempting to bite him, but I just manage to resist. My tongue just flicks the pad of his thumb, my eyes locking onto his as I do.
I want so badly to climb into his skin, I want to be on him and in him and wrapped all around him.
“You’re being very bad tonight,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine.
His pupils are blown wide by desire, leaving only the thinnest pale green ring to encircle them.
He’s close enough to kiss, close enough to rub myself on to a messy finish if he let me and god it’s tempting.
I feel like I’ve been edging myself all day, waiting for this. “Stay here,” he tells me. “Don’t move.”
I open my mouth to answer with something snide—because I do want him to hurt me, I want to push him, it is my birthday after all—before he suddenly lets me go and steps back, and I nearly fall forward into the empty space he once occupied.
I watch him disappear around the corner and down the hall, and when he comes back he’s got a bunch of black ribbon in his hands.
“Oh,” I say.
“Yeah, oh. Face forward.”
He walks behind me, first knotting my arms together—he’s been practicing—and then his fingers ruffle through my hair.
He brushes back all the loose strands behind my ears before he loops the ribbon around my eyes.
It’s a throwback to my last birthday. I huff and evade him by turning my head and rubbing my cheek on my shoulder.
“Cut it out.” His voice is warm, amused, and I just want to melt back into him. I almost do before he corrects me with a sharp, quick slap to my ass, and I draw in a sharp breath. “Behave, baby.”
I do, reluctantly facing forward once more. “I don’t want to be blindfolded. I wanna see you.”
“But you’ll do it for me, won’t you?”
I pout. “Yes,” I say sullenly.
He catches me by surprise when his lips touch the side of my neck, unseen. I make a soft sound in the back of my throat. “Good boy.”
I suck my lower lip between my teeth. Just the addition of the blindfold has heightened all my senses times a million.
Air currents stir as he moves around me and the fire seems even warmer than it did before at my back, licking at my skin.
Every single inch of me is erupting in goosebumps.
I think I hear him take off his clothes, the sound of fabric rustling and a zipper running down, and that only ratchets up my arousal, if possible, knowing he’s prowling around naked and not touching me but could touch me at any time, in any kind of way.
“You look so gorgeous in the firelight.” His voice comes from off to the side, somewhere, further away than I’d like.
“Everyone looks good in firelight,” I retort.
The lash comes from fucking nowhere and it’s all the more shocking because I didn’t even know he’d gotten the crop out, didn’t see it in his hands.
Right on the meat of my right asscheek, the slap of leather against my flesh deafening somehow, and my resulting gasp even louder.
I flinch violently as he presses the tip of the crop against the sore spot, but that’s all he does.
“I didn’t ask,” he says mildly.
I bite my lip again, nostrils flaring like a winded racehorse, and try not to make another sound.
A keening whimper wells up in my throat, but I don’t release it.
I raise my chin slightly as he runs the lash down the back of my leg and then up the inside of my thigh and god, it takes everything in me to be still and quiet.
We’ve done impact play before but never like this, blindfolded and tied up.
“How’s it feel, stunt girl?” Luca asks me. “Floating yet?”
My voice seems to come up from somewhere distant and deep, echoing. A well. “Not yet.”
He smacks my inner thigh and I do whimper this time, squirming in place.
I resist the urge to press my knees together.
Instead, as the lash trails higher, I spread my legs further apart.
When I feel the leather trace the underside of my tender cock I can’t stifle my moan, nor the ensuing thoughts that race through my brain.
The possibility that he might hit me there—what would I do?
Do I want that? Should I safe word? Am I too curious to?
And just in so thinking I’m tormented, wriggling, biting back sounds that still escape my throat.
He flicks the tip. Not hard, not mean, just enough to shock me and it gets the reaction he wants, I’m sure. Another gasp, breathy and high, back arching and head tipping back. “I bet you’d like that,” he says softly. “If I did it harder.”
“Mm.” Why deny it? Or, if not like, at least I am very intrigued.
He does that low, sexy laugh of his, all rolling and husky with his own need, and if I could be more aroused I would.
The crop traces my hip bone, curves around to my rear end.
I think he draws a heart there. “You have such a cute ass, baby,” he remarks before smacking me across both cheeks, and it’s such a lovely, stingy pain, one that leaves me writhing and wanting so bad to go to my knees before they give out entirely.
Luca’s behind me now and that’s confirmed when he takes the crop across my hips and pulls me back against his bare body. His dick nestles perfectly against me and for a moment I think he might bend me over right here.
“Don’t move,” he whispers in my ear, and then kisses begin to rain down my neck, between my shoulder blades and down my spine, to the small of my back and then my sore ass.
I know what he’s about to do, but I’m still not prepared for when he licks a wet stripe right between my cheeks.
Or even when he does it again, and again, tonguing the cleft of my ass, prodding my hole, leaving me shivering and moaning helplessly.
My knees are literally weak, legs about to give out and god it feels fucking good to be eaten out this unapologetically, too good, walking this side of misery because I just need so, so bad.
I’m a fucking raw nerve ending by the time he takes us both to the floor, a live wire, shuddering and gasping like something about to combust because I am, so painfully close to the edge that the edge itself is pain.
His naked body pressed to mine is almost too much to bear.
Being in his lap while his wet fingers slip over my ass and between my thighs is just more torture.
I’m being drawn and quartered, I’m being flayed the fuck alive.
And I fucking love it.
“I love it when you’re like this,” he croons to me, my whimpers muffled into his shoulder as his fingers tease and circle that oh-so-sensitive spot deep inside me.
It is a miracle I haven’t come yet but fuck if I’m not close.
My belly is a mess of pre-come; I can feel it, sticky and wet, my slick cock pinned between us. “You’re a gorgeous mess, stunt girl.”
“Please. Daddy.” Pleasepleaseplease. I’m barely coherent at this point. I’m all want, all need, throbbing and overripe and I can’t hold out much longer. I might be crying from desperation. My blindfold feels wet. “God, please.”
“Please what?” He noses my ear and even that’s too much, sends another ripple down my spine.
“Fuck me.” It comes out so pathetically emphatic and I don’t care. Not too proud to beg. Not too proud for anything right now. “Please,” I add again, just in case.
“On your knees.”