Chapter 15
I wake on Sunday morning feeling thoroughly refreshed and rejuvenated, but as I’m stretching languidly in bed it occurs to me that I probably shouldn’t be.
Sure, I actually managed to get to bed before midnight for once but considering that bathroom stall FaceTime interlude ended without an orgasm I would have expected to wake up frustrated and horny as fuck.
Curious, I reach for my phone, letting out a soft laugh as I scroll through the string of decidedly un-sexy texts about the Iron Man I did ten years ago.
I was confused as fuck at the time by such a random segue, but once I’d started to chill out and my arousal had dampened it finally dawned on me that was Jazz’s intention.
And I can’t help feeling a grudging sense of appreciation that’s oddly similar to the way I felt on Friday night after he indulged my sudden and incredibly bizarre transformation into a cat. I guess it’s all part of the Dom service…
Me
I feel weird
He clearly has his phone close by because it’s only about thirty seconds later that mine is buzzing with a FaceTime call.
When I answer, it’s to find a mix of concern and curiosity in Jazz’s expression. “In what way?”
“I feel…light,” I tell him. “And invigorated. Like I’ve been at a fucking spa or something.”
He lets out a soft laugh, his brows shooting up in question. “And this is a bad thing?”
“I’m not complaining,” I rush to clarify. “It’s just weird. You didn’t let me come last night—I should be frustrated as hell.”
He offers a wry smirk. “You didn’t need to come, dirty boy—you needed to be dominated. That’s what you got.”
“But…I really needed to come as well.”
He lets out a huff of laughter. “No, you really wanted to come—you didn’t actually need to. And if I’d given in and let you instead of enforcing the rules we’d established it wouldn’t have been that satisfying and you wouldn’t feel as mentally refreshed as you do right now.”
I eye him dubiously. “That makes no sense.”
“How to explain this…” he murmurs, rubbing a hand over his jaw in thought. Then he glances up, eyes alight. “Okay, it’s like this—you’ve always thought of orgasm as the icing on the cake, right? I mean, no one wants to eat a cake without frosting…”
I screw my face up in distaste. “On the rare occasions I eat cake I always scrape the frosting off. It’s just butter and sugar. It makes me want to hurl.”
Jazz rolls his eyes, letting out a weary sigh. “Work with me here.”
I motion for him to continue. “Fine, yeah. I’m familiar with the idiom.”
“Well, kink isn’t your regular cake,” he explains. “It’s decadent and textured and multi-layered—like a German chocolate cake. And the orgasm is like the whipped cream served on the side of a slice. It complements the cake but it’s not an essential ingredient.”
I narrow my eyes at him in suspicion. “And since you’re the one serving up the cake I’m guessing you always get to have cream with your slice…”
His lips curve in a self-satisfied smirk. “Actually, you guess wrong. I didn’t even touch my dick last night. Or last Saturday during our other phone call.”
I blink in confusion. Seriously? He was watching me get myself off—or attempt to, at least—and he didn’t want to…? “But…why? H-how?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t want to miss anything.
” Letting out a soft laugh, he adds, “There’s no need to pout, dirty boy—it was hot as fuck.
I’ve replayed that phone call from last week multiple times.
And as for last night…well, the satisfaction of seeing you snatch defeat from the jaws of victory was better than any orgasm. ”
I scowl at him. “Sadist.”
He chuckles. “Yep.”
I let out a sigh as I notice the clock in the top corner of my phone tick over to nine am. “I have to go. The twins are leaving in a few hours.”
Jazz arches a brow in question. “A few hours?”
I frown in puzzlement at his interest but quickly shrug it off. “Ava’s got a one pm train and I’m driving Joel back to Princeton once we see her off.”
“Hmm…I was going to send you another naughty treat but now I’m not sure there’ll be time…”
“More pastries?” I ask dryly.
He offers a teasing smirk. “No, this one’s naughty in the explicit sense. It’s a celebration of your sluttiness.”
“Jazz, my kids are here,” I remind him sternly, issuing him with a narrow-eyed glare.
The corner of his mouth curves up as his dark brows rise. “I’m assuming you have a lock on your phone?”
I let out a sigh of relief. So whatever this treat is it won’t be arriving at the front door like yesterday. “What is it?” I ask curiously. “A link to a movie or something?”
“Close… It’s a ten-second video.”
I frown in puzzlement. “If it’s only ten seconds why don’t you just send it?” I ask. “Why would you think there’s not enough time?”
He lets out a breath of laughter. “Because I think you might become a little…pre-occupied when you see it.”
I roll my eyes. “Fucking hell, just send it.” Whatever it is, I’m sure—
I don’t have time to finish the thought before a video message appears on my screen prompting my eyes to practically bug out of their sockets. Fucking hell. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it sure as fuck wasn’t this…
The video is of me splayed out naked on the bar, moaning wildly and begging to be fucked like a whore.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, unable to tear my eyes from the screen. I turn up the volume on my phone and play the video through again, my face flaming and my cock twitching at the sound of those filthy words spoken in my own voice.
“…get in me. Fuck me like a dirty whore.”
“Put a dance beat behind that and the EDM crowd would go crazy for it,” Jazz drawls, jolting me out of my rapture. I’d completely forgotten he was still on the call.
I minimize the video so I can issue him with a flinty look. “Why do I get the impression that’s something you’d actually consider doing?”
“Nah, the sound quality’s pretty shit on that video. Even if I managed to strip out the background noise it’d take a ton of rendering to get a passably clear sample.” He offers a wry smirk. “Maybe next time you could try annunciating a little better and lose some of the panting and gasping?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll get right on that.”
He lets out a huff of amusement. “I know you’re dying to jerk off to a video of yourself behaving like a filthy whore so I’ll let you get to it. You might want to set an alarm, though,” he suggests, “remember you’ve only got a few hours left with your little cherubs.”
Before I can issue any kind of retort he ends the call, which causes the video to once again fill the screen.
I play it a few more times, squirming embarrassment mixing with giddy excitement and shameless gratification to send arousal burning through me.
But before I can get too carried away I force myself to close out of the video and toss my phone aside.
I can wait until this afternoon to indulge in this.
Feeling immensely proud of myself, I climb out of bed and take a shower before heading down to the main kitchen. And my sacrifice is rewarded in the form of Blake’s home-made crepes.
“Did you guys have a good night last night?” I ask Joel, pulling up a stool next to him at the counter.
He nods. “Yeah, it was cool. We did an escape room with Jamie and a couple of his friends and then saw some movies.”
I arch a curious brow. “Some movies?” They were home when Blake and I got back at around eleven thirty so they can’t have done much of a marathon.
Joel shrugs. “We couldn’t decide so Ava and Mac saw that Ryan Reynolds one and the rest of us went to the new Marvel one.”
I offer a wry smile. “I think you guys made the right choice.”
He lets out a snort of derision. “Yeah, no shit.”
I sweep my gaze around the kitchen and dining area in search of my daughter but all I see is Owen sitting at the table scrolling through his iPad, MJ lapping water from her bowl, and Blake whisking batter at the stove.
“I guess Ava hasn’t surfaced yet?” I ask no one in particular.
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time once I start cooking,” Blake says wryly.
The crepes are, of course, incredible and once we’re done eating the kids and I take care of the clean-up.
“I hope you guys are all packed,” I comment, my gaze flicking to the wall clock as I tug the crepe pan from the sudsy water and hand it to Ava to dry. “We’ll need to leave for the station in—”
“Hey, Damon!” I hear Blake calling from down in the foyer. “Can you come down here a minute?”
I frown in confusion; the doorbell rang a minute ago but I can’t imagine who the hell would be at the door for me…
Shaking my head, I tug off my rubber gloves and exit the kitchen, dashing down the stairs to the foyer.
My confusion grows as I near the bottom and fail to catch sight of any visitor. Or Blake for that matter.
“Where the fuck are you?” I demand, swiveling my head back and forth as I wander the foyer area.
“Here,” Blake says, prompting me to almost jump out of my skin when I flick my gaze to find he’s leaning against the edge of the wall that opens into the living room. I swear to god he wasn’t there a few seconds ago when I last looked in that direction.
“What the fuck? Why are you hiding?”
“I wasn’t hiding, I was waiting.” He lifts a hand and gestures for me to come forward. “Over here. I need to talk to you.”
Wariness curls inside me as I slowly close the distance between us.
The easy, open expression I’m so used to seeing on Blake’s face is missing at the moment, and it makes me feel as though he’s about to call me out for something.
Shit—what if he knows what I’ve been getting up to with Jazz?
Maybe someone’s managed to get a hold of that video and is trying to blackmail Blake?
Jesus Christ.
“What’s going on?” I press, glad when my voice comes out far steadier than I feel right now. “Who was at the door?”
“A woman delivering the order you made today,” he says gruffly. “The extra special one that absolutely had to arrive today.”
“Huh?”