Chapter 23
Pet Names
LANIE
I tossed my trench coat, unveiling the unflattering way my sweater hung over a tight-laced corset.
I was used to the look and feel of it, but it didn’t lay well under thin, modern garments without attracting the wrong type of attention.
Baz’s curious, investigative side took over as a cheeky grin crossed his face.
It wasn’t thirst as much as interest in the way I looked.
Suddenly, I felt shaken out of whatever funk I fell into. I loved that look.
Baz approached, pulling me towards him forcefully by the hips. I kissed him—slowly and almost delicately. The more it continued, the hungrier I got. Baz’s hands lowered until they held my ass firmly, holding my body tightly to his. He pulled away, taking in my face.
“And you have to wear this all the time—without me around to bother you?”
“I’d get nothing done like this,” I said.
“No, I suppose not.”
“You wouldn’t either.”
“I don’t care to right now. I’d rather devour you,” Baz said.
I started to pull off my top, only to have him assist me by whipping it off and tossing it to the floor with a sense of finality.
He backed me against the wall, pinning my arms behind my head.
As his lips grazed my ear, then my neck, I shivered and pressed my pelvis into him—needy and desperate for him to have me.
“Fuck me,” I moaned.
“Why should I?”
“Because you cannot resist watching me cum.”
Gaze locked, Baz said, “You’re too greedy, darling. I don’t want to spoil you.”
“You love spoiling me.” I bit my lip.
In response, Baz flipped me around, pinning me to the wall. I moaned.
He spanked my ass and held my head against the wall. “I don’t want this to be about you. I am enjoying you right now.”
Baz separated my legs and pressed his erection against my ass.
He ran his hand over my leggings and whispered in my ear with hot breath, “Take these off. Take it all off—everything but the corset.”
“That’s not everything then,” I argued, fighting his hand on my head.
He pressed me against the wall with force. “Do as I say or you won’t get off.”
Fuck! My whole body vibrated as he released me, stepping back to watch me disrobe in the entryway.
I played coy, both because I liked the reaction I got and because I was overwhelmed.
I liked being roughed up—something he knew a little about.
He unlocked more of my urge to be subordinated.
I loved that he could have such self-control and restrain himself when he watched me play with others, but now he could ratchet it up to eleven and be the steely, demanding alpha who wanted to use me like a plaything.
“Satisfied?” I asked, standing half-naked.
I felt a little silly in this period-accurate garment, but thirsted for his approval.
“Touch yourself,” Baz said. “I want to watch you get yourself off first. Cum for me and I will make you cum again.”
“Oh… okay,” I said.
The request threw me. I’d never had a man ask me to pleasure myself like this—out in the open and for seemingly his benefit. If anyone else had asked, I’d be worried I was walking into a trap, but if I could trust him to watch his good friend fuck me and not misbehave, I could trust him now.
I was already wet, so I dipped my fingers inside my center.
Now lubricated, I rubbed them over my clit, slowly.
As I did, I met Baz’s gaze. He perched on the sofa arm, arms crossed defiantly.
It was as if he were my teacher and I was a naughty student turning in a makeup assignment.
My urge to please him was almost as great as my need to get off.
I pressed my ass against the wall harder, spreading my legs more.
My fingers sped up, my clit more swollen now.
I was close, but I rarely got off without penetration.
I slipped two fingers inside myself, shuddering with the pleasure that it brought.
My head rolled back a moment, then came forward once more.
I stared at Baz who now tossed his trousers aside and freed his cock from his boxers just enough to be useful.
He played with himself as I moved my fingers in, my thumb slamming into my clit.
The sight of his cock only added to the fun.
My nostrils flared and the heat crept up my chest, neck, and finally my face as I began to seize and tighten.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, God!” I moaned, moving faster. “Fuck! Oh yes!”
And then, I came—panting and letting out a high squeal. My fingers felt my pulsing orgasm. Wetness ran down my hand. I wasn’t satisfied yet, but I was quite happy. I wanted him to fuck me so badly.
“Does that… please you?” I asked.
“Does it please you?” Baz asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I faked it?”
“No, you didn’t. You came—and you came hard.” Baz leaned to grab his wallet.
He found a condom and popped back up, still staring as I tried hard to compose myself. I tried to wipe the wetness from my hands on my hips.
“No. I want you to lick it off,” Baz demanded. “I want to look at you as you taste yourself.”
It could have been humiliating, but I gave him what he wanted—face defiant.
Baz approached with a condom and took my face in his free hand forcefully. “Don’t try me, Lanie.”
He dropped his hand and sheathed himself.
“Are you going to leave these boxers on?”
“I want to know I had you for the rest of the day,” Baz said.
My nostrils flared. Baz flipped me against the wall, pressing his cock into my back. He pressed my head against it, thoroughly destroying my hair. It pulled—hard—but all I could do was moan in sheer pleasure at the feeling.
“You and I should get tested,” Baz said. “So, I don’t have to do this anymore.”
“Who says I’ll let you stop doing that?”
“Well, you’ll be my wife, Lanie, so I think it’s fitting.”
My wife. In this moment, that sounded hot. We played the game. He owned me for a few minutes, and I let him have that much. Outside this space and moment, the idea of being someone’s wife under these circumstances felt odd. Here, though, I lusted after the thought of having him bare inside me.
“Oh… okay,” I said.
Baz released me from his grasp.
I turned, but he pointed. “Go. Get on the table. Lean over it so I can fuck you from behind. I want to punish you for all your naughty behavior.”
I couldn’t have raced faster. Baz pressed me over it, again smashing my face down with one hand and pulling my hair.
He parted my legs, played with my clit for a minute, then thrust inside so hard that the table moved.
His demands and hunger made me want to lose myself.
Baz thrust slow at first, ensuring I was okay.
As moans of pleasure, then pleas for release overtook me, he sped up.
“I want to cum, Baz. Please.”
“Cum for me, then, baby,” Baz said.
Each thrust got me closer to the inevitable pleasure of the moment. I was out of breath—the corset not helping—and desperate. The roll of pleasure finally won out as I dug my nails into the table runner and shouted.
“Baz, oh, fuck me! Own me!” I screamed.
Baz thrust harder and faster until finally, he gripped my hips and came with a loud, hungry growl.
He let my head go, but I remained on the table as he collected himself, then pulled out.
I turned, staring at him as he tucked his still-hard cock away, condom in his hand.
He tossed it in the kitchen trash, then returned, staring at me. This, time, though, he looked nervous.
“Are you alright? Or was that… too much. You could always say no or tell me to stop something—”
“No,” I said. “I’m just catching my breath. That was… so hot. I’m… spent. Never apologize for that. I may be your wife someday soon, but I needed that—and I probably always will. I’m not a demure flower, Baz. I’m a demanding woman.”
Baz pulled his trousers on and zipped them with some finality. “You are. I admire that about you, Miss Delphine. Or is it Miss Day when we’re in here?”
“I think when we’re here and completely beside ourselves, I want you to call me Mrs. Osgoode—and only when we are here.”
“You will not be Lady Osgoode, then?” Baz asked. “Because that would be your correct title, darling.”
I pulled back, “Really?”
“Yes. Unless you are opposed. I’m not asking you to do it unless you want to, love.
It’s just that when the old fucker dies, you’ll be Baroness Oban and you already have the courtesy title of Lady.
It will anger Alex and Nessa to no end, and I’m dying to see that as well.
I’m not asking you to legally change your name if you do not want to.
Nor am I asking you to drop your stage name. ”
“Oh,” I said. “I will think about it.”
I hadn’t considered that I would have a title.
My mother would have slapped me upside the head over it.
I always said I wouldn’t change my name.
Even my own sister and Cal had chosen to hyphenate both their names to Delphine-Markham.
They were a political brand. And, in due course, I thought maybe Baz and I would be our own brand of power couple—at least for our public face.
“Where did Day even come from? Lanie makes sense. Day doesn’t. It works, but where is that from?”
“I liked the sound of it. I wanted to give a nod back to my dad since he supported my idiotic insistence that I be an actress. Mum has never liked it. But Lanie Davina or Lanie David didn’t quite work.
I ended up with Day because I love Doris Day and Day is what my Mum sometimes called my dad.
They had all these embarrassing pet names for one another.
I found them cringe at the time, but now I miss them so much.
They grew old together—but not as old as any of us wanted.
I’m glad I included that bit in my stage name, though. It means even more now.”
“I’m not much for pet names,” Baz admitted. “I won’t promise you any of that.”
“You already call me darling. You just called me love.”
“Nothing inventive, I mean. I’ve never been that way.”
“Nor have I,” I admitted. “But I think when you’re with someone for forty years, things change.”
Baz wrapped his arms around my waist. “That is entirely possible. And if we can follow through with this, almost anything is?”
I grinned. “Yeah, I guess.”
He kissed my forehead tenderly, before stepping back. “I will drop you off at work. I just saw my mobile. The driver has the food and should be here any minute.”
“Great,” I said. “Before then, can you free me from my stays? I’m pretty used to wearing one of these by now, but my tits are begging for mercy, Baz.”
“I was only marveling at how lovely they looked pushed clear up to your chin,” Baz chuckled. “You’re even more precious when you’re so prim and proper like that.”
I smacked him on the arm. “Get me out of this thing.”
BAZ
“I’m giving up on this,” Lanie sighed, trying to straighten herself in the reflection of the kitchen’s double-hob.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My bra is back at the studio. And this sweater is a disaster without one.”
I snickered. “Is it? Or is it just right?”
Lanie rolled her eyes. Hands on hips, she said, “I don’t want to walk around with my boobs so obvious. It’s clinging in the worst way.”
“I disagree. It’s a gift.”
“One you didn’t earn, Baz.”
“I also disagree. I think I proved my worth several times there.”
She strode out of the kitchen with a torturous sway in her hips. The more I invested my time in her, the more I enjoyed Lanie. She didn’t care if she offended me.
“Lanie, what are you doing?”
“Solving my own fucking problem!”
The door buzzer rang. I saw my driver waiting below. I buzzed him up to deliver our lunch—Thai food from Lanie’s preferred place.
“The food has arrived!” I called as the driver handed it over.
I remained befuddled as I portioned it out on the countertop. Lanie finally emerged in one of my shirts—one I very much liked. The light blue pinstripe was well-worn until perfectly soft. I debated telling her to choose another.
Lanie explained, “It’s baggy. I blame you for the corset issue, and I can wear it when I am stuck getting in and out of things all afternoon. After all, I won’t always have you there to undress me.”
“If only I could,” I murmured. “But of all my shirts… that one?”
“What? I cannot have this one?”
“It is perhaps my favorite shirt, Lanie.”
“Well, than you should be so lucky for it to grace my body.” Lanie opened the plastic cutlery pouch.
“You think you’re quite special, Lanie.”
“I am. And the shirt will come back to you—I promise. You owe me for what you just pulled.”
“What was that?”
“I’ve never just gone along with anyone telling me to get myself off in front of them.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Why does that do it for you, Baz? Honestly?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“You don’t seem like a man who would take second place in any competition. So, why wait for me to pleasure myself first—or let someone pleasure me? What does that do for you?”
I cocked my head. “You think I am losing? Or coming in second?”
“You let Caleb fuck me—for a while. You let that rando go down on me—”
“The verb you use tells you all you need to know, Lanie.”
“What?”
“I let you. I let him. I controlled the whole thing through my rules.”
She bit her noodles, mulling it.
“Lanie, it works because what I get off on—what I crave—is a woman getting off. And I get the pride and satisfaction of knowing you never cum harder than you do with me.”
Lanie coughed, choking. “And how do you know that?”
“Because you scream my name and you enjoy it. You like performing for me. I encourage you, yes, but you are desperate to get off for my benefit. I live for that. You’re such a good little performer.”
Lanie bit her lip.
“And I wanted to watch you get yourself off for my own selfish reasons,” I said.
“Why?”
“So, I could more effectively do it,” I said. “And in hopes that maybe I’d find a way to make you squirt, since you haven’t done that for me yet.”
“I hate to break it to you, baby, but that isn’t something I do.”
“Maybe you just haven’t had the right partner?” I raised my eyebrows. “You should never say never.”
Lanie smiled slightly. “Fine. Again, I’d never done with anyone. It’s a little odd. Most men even get offended to know you own a fucking vibrator—and everyone owns a vibe. I’m a lot more efficient with one. Who isn’t?”
“If I was intimidated by a sex toy, I should hang up my boots,” I said.
Lanie smiled. “It bothers you I’m wearing this shirt, doesn’t it?”
“A little, but you look damn good in it,” I said. “You can steal my clothes, Lanie, as long as you come back to me and play the game.”