Chapter 15“Trace… But you can call me God.”
FIFTEEN
“Trace… But you can call me God.”
Ivy
“It’s your first solo session today!” Dolly squeaks, jumping up and down while holding her pregnant belly. “I’m so excited!”
“Me too!” Juni adds, both of them coming to my sides, making an Ivy sandwich.
“Okayyy,” I draw out, shimmying from their grasps. My fingers inch their way around the collar of my hoodie, beneath the fleece. I sigh when I connect with the cool metal of the small key. “I’m excited, too. Nervous, of course, but… overall,” I say, privately stroking the key beneath my sweatshirt. “Really excited.”
“You’re gonna crush it. Let me see the dick trap sketches again,” Juni says, dragging a knife over a piece of toast, leaving Strawbarb jam in its wake. Strawbarb is her strawberry and rhubarb blend, and it’s my favorite.
I snatch the sketch pad up and pass it off. Juni, while eating toast, and Dolly, while rubbing her pregnant belly, nod and coo as they take in my sketch of a male chastity cage.
Gotta love that support.
“Wow, it’s gorgeous,” Juni sighs, shaking her head, eyes full of pride. “Truly beautiful, Ivy.”
Dolly dusts her fingertip over the sketch, biting into her bottom lip before she says, “It’s so pretty, Ivy. It’s going to be a beautiful tattoo.”
Another hug is needed and while my eyes don’t mist over, my heart threatens to explode. A knot clogs in my throat but I swallow it down, offering them a smile instead of tears. “Thank you, guys.” I look down at the chastity cage, and imagine Trace this morning. The sketch is great— it’s probably my best work. Ever.
The shading is perfect. The keyhole is subtly visible, starting an interest in how the device works. That was on purpose. The sleek dip of metal that curves a man’s penis is shining brightly under lights. It’s both ominous and curious, and the detail is hard not to appreciate.
I’m so proud.
Even with all of that… I’ve got dick on the brain.
I see through the sketch, into my memories, where Trace’s aggravatingly beautiful cock is locked tight in that chastity cage. And again, I touch the key on my neck before pushing hair off my shoulder and grabbing my lunch bag.
“I’m gonna head in and print the stencil and get the station ready,” I tell them, and while all that’s true, I just need… a minute.
Alone.
“Let us know how it goes,” Juni says, waving me off with a sweet smile.
“I can’t wait to see pictures,” Dolly adds, waddling her way across the yard, back to her and Hudson’s place.
I get in Trace’s car and slip the key in the ignition, hitting the main road quicker than ever. When I’m a mile away, I pull over, grip the steering wheel, and freak the fuck out.
“Oh Jesus. Oh my God.” I shake my head, trying to remember all the tricks Juni has taught me.
Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.
Slowly, I take a deep breath in.
I touched his naked body. I put his penis in a metal cage and locked it.
I’m pretty sure in some way that’s probably illegal.
Itchiness spreads over me as I cling to the wheel, whimpering about my own rash, aggressive stupidity.
I could go to jail.
Prison even, maybe.
Who the fuck knows.
My heart is racing so fast that my head grows spacy, and I lie back on the headrest and let go of the wheel, focusing on my breathing. My long hair clings to my sweaty neck as I force air out and suck air in.
It’s going to be okay. He’s not going to report you to the police. When you pass out nude and subject the world to your naked body, things might happen.
Okay, that’s shitty.
I’ll own up to it whenever I need to. Take full accountability that I truly had no real reason that I should have felt justified to put my hands on him.
I can only imagine the grin on his face when he realizes the lengths I went to touch him. He’d just love that I didn’t let anything stop me, that arrogant asshole.
My lower half pulses and I draw my thighs together to ease the sudden ache, just thinking of his smile and his cock in that cage.
It was wrong to do.
But it needed to be done.
He won’t get me arrested, of that I can reasonably be sure.
Fired, though? Maybe. I hadn’t thought of that until now. I shamefully spent last night masturbating instead of freaking out. In hindsight, those could have reasonably switched order.
I send a huge puff of air out of my chest, and take the steering wheel again. After a moment of smoother breathing, I roll down the window, turn on my blinker, and get back to it.
I don’t want to be late today, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Trace will be on time.
Normally I like to have protein in my coffee but this morning, my stomach was so uneasy that I didn’t have it. Now, though, I feel sick. Nibbling at the inside of my mouth as I take in nosefuls of fresh air, it hits me.
This is it.
I have to come clean about how I feel for him.
You don’t put your nemesis in a chastity cage.
You don’t stay at an apprenticeship with a man you honestly hate.
We bicker. He’s an asshole.
But I know he’s a good guy. His fractured, unhealed heart shows itself in every second glance, flared nostril and snotty quip. I see his defenses, and understand they were built from pain. I also know that he and I have something rare and precious. I feel our connection in every argument, every moment of pulse-spiking banter. I feel it in the way his eyes linger a moment longer than necessary, searching mine, like he wants to win when we battle but also needs to know that I’m okay. I felt it long before we met, when electricity struck my chest when I looked at his sketches. Truly. I knew it then.
Now I have to make him know it.
Ink Time comes into view, and I have no idea if I killed someone on that drive or not. It was one of those commutes where my mind was so hyper focused elsewhere, I couldn’t tell you a detail of anything if my life depended on it.
I’m driving his car. Obviously my car is already at Ink Time, but I know he’s already there. I can see him inside, standing with his back to the window, chatting with someone. Deuce, maybe. Or maybe the client. Some clients do that—come really early because they’re nervous. Either way, I put the car in park next to my own, take a deep breath and step out. Carefully I place my boot on the door and just as Trace turns, his eyes meeting mine, I thrust, sending the door shut.
It didn’t hurt his precious car, but it might look like it did.
Not a great start to the day where I’m supposed to admit how I feel but just being here again reminds me of last night and how he behaved. He didn’t let that woman blow him but… he called her there.
He drank.
I make a choice for him: he’s done with that bullshit behavior.
Now he has me. And I won’t allow him to fall back to bad habits. He’s too talented and too good for that.
But his car is meaningless. Just like the money. All that shit is only cool if he is. And lately, he’s been a total turd.
I may have some ownership in that, too.
But he started it.
I pull open the door, my nipples hardening at the rush of his pine scent, and the faint notes of shampoo. His hair is down and damp, and he’s wearing my favorite things: black jeans with his brown boots, and a slightly fitted and very worn crop t-shirt from Metallica in 1998. His chiseled, artful arms on full display, leading down to those sexy, massive hands of his. Hands that make me wet just looking at them.
I really wish we were alone right now. But I’ll make do.
I’m glad I brought a change of panties, though. When our eyes meet, heat pours from my slick pussy, and I clench my thighs.
“Good morning, Ivy,” he greets with no smile. He almost seems… detached. But then his eyes skim my bodysuit along the curve of my breasts and the pinch of my nipples. Stopping, I drop my lunch bag, and put my hoodie back on. I’d taken it off after my little meltdown but now, fuck this.
I pull the key on the chain out from the sweatshirt, dropping it over the top, garnering Trace’s attention. He blinks a few times, transfixed by the key until his eyes lift to mine.
“I want to talk to you in private,” he growls, nostrils flaring. I notice, though, while his nostrils threaten me with puffs of air, he steps apart. He shifts on his feet.
And that means things are happening inside that cage. Things that are making him squirm.
I lick my lips and drop my voice to a smoky roar. “I bet you do.”
“Trace,” Deuce says, setting in motion a pre-debated plan, clearly. Trace smiles at me, his eyes roaring with unruly heat, his lips tight with control. A wild juxtaposition but one he embodies well. It enthralls and terrifies me how much I want this man.
“I’m sorry for everything, Ivy. Last night was my fault, I take responsibility, and I’m sorry for putting you in a position where you weren’t safe.” His jaw twitches and his chest rises quickly, and I realize he means it.
“Thank you,” I say, my words crawling out of me a weakened whisper.
Deuce clears his throat and I drag my misty eyes to him. He blinks, making me blink, and it’s then I realize he’s buying me a moment. A second to gather myself before emotion slips and Trace sees. I take a short breath and nod, thanking him in a way he hopefully understands.
“I’m fine. I’m ready to get to my session today,” I say, shimmying my shoulders, moving the conversation forward. Deuce seems satisfied that I’m satisfied, and I am.
It’s not Deuce’s fault what happened. It’s Trace’s fault. And he knows it.
“She’s actually here,” Deuce adds, tipping his head to the small set of chairs tucked next to reception. “Your client is waiting.”
I smile tightly at Deuce, then at Trace. “Cool.”
Internally, I want to squeal with joy and take a selfie because— my first solo client! Holy shit!
But another part of me is achy between my legs, soaking my panties, leaving my thighs covered in needy goosebumps, chilled from my unsated arousal.
That part of me is going a bit wild right now, knowing the key to his freedom is on a chain around my throat, nothing more than an accessory for the day. Like a mood ring or a scrunchie. A dick cage key.
Deuce walks my client, Rochelle, back and we spend the next ten minutes slowly getting reacquainted. She’s been in twice before in preparation of today, but it’s been a few weeks. We have coffee, catch her up on my apprenticeship status, explaining to her that I’m near the end. And that she’s essentially my first client. Trace is quiet most of the time, adding a few encouraging words here and there when my client expresses her nerves for such a private thing about their lives to be made public.
He’s great with her, but tense and standoffish with me. But I deserve that.
After she’s in the chair, the stencil is printed and the design is on Rochelle, Trace decides to get chatty. My stomach clenches as I bring the needle to her skin and begin.
“So, Rochelle,” Trace starts, sipping on a cup of dark roast black coffee. God that is so him.
But so hot, too.
“Yes?” she asks, and I love Rochelle so much for knowing who Trace is, and not giving a shit. She asked me privately if I could confirm that he is that Trace Calhoun and that it isn’t a strange coincidence. Once I told her it’s him, she waved it all off. “Eh, he can prove to me he isn’t the stereotypical, self-involved, pseudo-famous hypocritical male before I swoon.” We bumped fists on that.
“I don’t understand men who don’t want control.” He nods to her upper thigh where I’m currently inking the design. Alluding to the chastity cage—the one Rochelle doesn’t know he’s currently wearing—he says, “I want control of my cock. And I want to be in control during sex.” He shakes his head before taking a sip of his coffee. “All the control.” I feel his eyes burning holes through me.
Rochelle smiles, her eyes soft and tender. “Are you single?”
My face falls. Holy shit. He’s not going to like where this is going.
“I am,” he grumbles.
“Relationship issues?” she asks, her voice still so soft that he can’t help but answer honestly. He doesn’t want to give in to this. He doesn’t want her to be right.
“Yeah, maybe.” He narrows his gaze and my pulse skips.
“So how’s that control working out for you?” Rochelle asks, tipping her chin to the side just slightly, in a position that can only be described as a satisfied power player.
But he’s silent, because he and I both know that Rochelle has a very good point.
My first session went incredibly well. We took photos of it afterward—lots of photos. With the shop camera, Connor got some on his phone, Deuce even on his, and Trace? He took photos with my phone, making sure they were perfect. He held Rochelle there an extra twenty five minutes taking photos.
I called Juniper and Dolly and told them the good news, promising that as soon as Dolly isn’t pregnant, we’d all share a bottle of champagne to celebrate. After I got off the phone, Deuce, Connor, Trace and I went across the street and had root beer floats. It was a glorious hour, and the rest of the day has been a blur.
Avoiding Trace so that we don’t have to have the serious talk just yet has been… kinda fun, if I’m being honest. His serious looks and chest-rumbling growls have me hot and bothered, but knowing there will be a time to come clean? I don’t know how he’s going to react so I don’t let myself think about it.
That’s future Ivy’s problem.
But my epic session with Rochelle this morning and my horndog haze from last night is either about to pay off or make me look like a complete creep. Weeks back, after presenting her new tattoo design to her partner, Rochelle was so happy with his reaction she came back and gave me a gift.
It’s sitting in a bag in the supply cupboard, because I didn’t exactly know what to do with it. The note attached said, “Because you’re good at cages, you may be good at other things, too. XO, Ms. R.”
I knew exactly what it was by just looking in the bag.
And I have to say, that domme kinda saved me today because I didn’t have a great plan until now.
“Heading out to have sundaes with Ev and Ace,” Deuce says, clapping a proud hand across my shoulders. “Good job today, Ivy.”
Trace appears next to Deuce. “Heading out?”
Deuce glances at his watch. “Yeah. The shop has another hour of daylight. Think you can manage not to get blackout drunk and get us robbed? Or should I stay?”
“Har har,” Trace mocks. “Tell Ev I said hi.”
“We’re neighbors,” Deuce reminds him. “You could come by and say hi yourself.”
Deuce smiles at me. “See you tomorrow, Ivy.”
“Later, Deuce.”
From the back door, Connor and Sandi call their goodbyes. I tip my head their way as the door seals shut. “Everyone’s taking off?”
Trace smiles, and my stomach flutters. “I told them to go. I told them,” he says, stepping toward me, eating up my personal space. I’d give him the damn fork if he wanted. “I said, I need some alone time with my apprentice .”
I swallow thickly, my heart racing. “Yeah?” I’m suddenly aware of the key at my throat.
He outstretches his hand, palm up. His solid fingers wiggle as he silently coaxes me, but all that does is make my pussy clench, imagining those digits slipping inside of me. With one fell swoop, his face is mere inches from mine, and I don’t know when he found the time to slip away and brush his teeth, but mint stings my lips. “Give it to me.”
I fight the urge to finger the edges of the small key, to show him and torture him with how close his freedom is. But this is my time. I may never have Trace Calhoun as captivated as I have him now, with his cock locked and the key to it in my possession.
“Not until you’re ready.”
His eyes flick between mine but he stays close to my face, unmoving. “Not until I’m ready?” he repeats, drawing the words out as if he’ll find the subtext in them. But he won’t because there is none.
I nod. “Yep. Not until you’re ready.” I lick my lips and love that his gaze follows the tip of my tongue as it slides along my mouth. “Not until you learn.”
“Learn?” To his credit, his face only slightly bunches, his wrinkled nose calling attention to his piercing. My stomach flutters each time I notice another wild detail about Trace.
Putting on a shield of confident indifference, I smile at him as I get to my feet, bringing our faces and bodies even closer than a moment ago. “You’ll learn that you don’t use your cock as a weapon to hurt the woman you care about.”
He opens his mouth but I press my finger to his lips. “No matter what she does, you don’t use your body as a weapon.” With my heart in my throat and my hands clammy as shit, I lean forward, take a breath, and press my lips to his.
They’re soft, so much softer than I’d ever imagined. And I have imagined. Many times alone in my room with his sketches on my phone in my hand, my other hand pinching my clit as I ease the ache of wanting him.
I’d envision him dusting his lips against mine, pushing his way inside of me as he warned me of his size, warned me of the upcoming twist of pleasure and pain.
And even though my plan is a soft, slow kiss with the right amount of pressure and promise, I veer off course within the first few seconds, moaning into his mouth, past his soft lips.
He groans, reaching behind me, surprising me with a hand in my hair, his fingers gripping me passionately. His other hand falls to my hip, and suddenly, our kiss transforms from soft and timid to wild and frantic.
“You’ll learn,” I breathe as his lips slide from my mouth to my cheek, along the curve of my chin and down my throat. He sucks at my pulse point, causing my hands to fall to his shoulders, gripping and slapping him.
“Fuck, Ivy, you make me fucking crazy,” he groans, pressing his groin against mine. Suddenly, he jerks back, his lips swollen from journeying over my body. My nipples ache beneath my bodysuit and sweatshirt as my pussy weeps for him. “Now’s when I’d have you cup my cock and feel just what you do to me.”
I tug my off my sweatshirt and toss it aside, grabbing the key at my throat. I hold it until he looks, and he growls his arousal and frustration, taking me by the hips. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” he says, pressing his lips to my throat, sucking the key onto his tongue.
My head falls back and my legs spread, allowing Trace to take me by the hips and sit me atop the table. “Am I?” I breathe, fishing my fingers through his hair as he moves his mouth all over my body. His kisses trail my shoulders and down my arms, along my belly and thighs, too. Finally, he finds my breast, sealing his mouth over my covered nipple, making me moan.
“God,” I breathe, loving the feel of his soft hair between my fingers as he sucks my clothed breast. It’d feel better with no clothing between us, but as it is, this is questionable enough for being on camera.
“Trace,” he murmurs, moving his mouth to my other covered breast to suck that nipple. “But you can call me God.”
“Oh, shut up,” I breathe, my chest heaving as his large hands skate up my sides, causing another rush of arousal to gush from my core. “And stop—” I press against him, trying to get him to stop. I don’t want him to stop, but I do want him to learn.
He rises, panting, still standing between my legs. “Stop?”
Pushing to my elbows, I blink up at him, our simmering eye contact dousing my nerves with cold water. “I had a great day here,” I whisper, “and now I’m going to have a great orgasm to end it.”
He reaches for his belt, but I shake my head, telling him to stop. My lower half vibrates when he immediately ceases on command. “I need the key,” he breathes, and for a split second, I realize he thinks he’s getting out.
He thinks that the words are the lesson, that simply telling him his cock isn’t a device is where it ends. If he lets me, I will teach him. But that involves him staying in chastity.
“No, you don’t. You need to get me the bag from the floor and take your pants off.”
With his hair around his shoulders and his chest heaving, the sight of a horny Trace, lips swollen from kissing me, a feral instinct claws up my legs and grabs control. I get off the table and grab his hand just as he snatches the bag from the ground. By the wrist, I lead him into the back office.
The only place where there are no cameras.
“Get undressed and I’m going to lock the door and set the code,” I tell him, happy that we’re at least at closing time. Closing the shop up to fuck feels scummy, and not something I’d ever envisioned doing when finally at a studio. Then again, Trace is in chastity and getting naked for me.
After locking the door, I swipe the economy tub of petroleum jelly from the supply closet, and kick open the office with my boot. Trace startles but doesn’t move to hide himself, which only turns me on that much more.
I like a bold man, one unafraid of new things, and one not ashamed to be vulnerable for someone he cares about.
I stare at his balls, pink and purple with strain, hanging from the metal cage. His cock swells beneath the frame, pushing out of the slats, and his large hands hang down obediently at his sides. His chest and groin, chiseled and covered in ink, flex as he twists his body, pushing aside the office chair to make room for me.
I close the door behind us and reach into the bag, pulling out the strap and dildo.
“Fuck no,” he grounds out, shaking his head, pointing a wobbly finger at the toy. “You are not fucking me with that.”
We stand in silence, the strap-on held out between us, a physical and metaphorical barrier.
After a moment he says, “You at least gonna be naked?”
A smirk curls my lips. “I’m not fucking you, I’m fucking myself.” Stepping toward him I rise to my toes to steal a kiss from his lips, one he hungrily leans into. God, I love that. “But I will fuck you with this one day. And you’ll be moaning for me to make you come in my hand as I jack you.” I lick my lips, tasting our kiss. “ Fuck me, baby, fuck me and jack me ,” I crow, mimicking how he’ll sound.
His eyes widen and one hand falls to his caged cock. “Fuck, Ivy. You’re so… hot.”
He glances down at the strap while watching me step into the harness, adjusting the nylon at my hips so it fits well. “You’re… fucking yourself?”
I nod. “I told you, I want to celebrate my great day. But I’m smart, Trace. I’m a multitasker. I can come all over this dildo,” I tell him, stroking my fist down the rubber cock bobbing from my center, “and I can teach you a lesson. Teach you that your cock isn’t a tool to get revenge or to give you a temporary high. From here on out, your cock isn’t even yours.”
“No?” he asks, his voice a baited whisper.
I shake my head. “It’s mine. And my cock is going to learn how to find pleasure without being a total whore.” I slap his caged cock, making him jolt and groan. “Look at me,” I tell him, but he wallows in the cock slap so much that I have to reach out and take ownership of his jaw, forcing his eyes to come to mine.
“It was a tiny slap, you’re fine,” I tell him, decidedly. “Now, look at me in this strap-on. Look,” I command, heat blooming behind my ribs as his dark eyes roam over my body. “See how it fits?”
He nods.
“Good.” I unclip the nylon straps at each hip and shimmy out of it. “Now put it on.”
“Wh—” he starts but I cut him off by pulling down the straps of my bodysuit, revealing my naked breasts for the first time. I look down at my nipples, pink and plucky, and up at Trace. His mouth is parted, eyes hooded, locked on my breasts. I kick out of my leggings easily.
“Your tits are fucking perfect, Ivy,” he breathes, raspy and tender.
“I know,” I agree, cupping my bare hands to them. “And I’ll let you hold them and suck on them if you learn your lesson.” The strap is stagnant at his calves as he stays half bent over, eyes on me. I snap. “Stay focused, Trace Calhoun.”
Saying his full name sends a shiver up my spine, causing bumps to sear my flesh. I can’t believe this is happening. This is the first and only time I allow myself a moment to be starstruck. But after he secures the strap over his chastity cage, my mind goes to one thing: riding him and taking the orgasm I’ve been masturbating to for years.
I nod to the large table that’s been turned into a makeshift desk. “Get on your back.”
Trace begins moving the few items on top of the desk to the filing cabinet adjacent, stealing moments to take in my naked body. He drags the blunt end of his fingertip along my pubic bone, making me shudder. “Ink would look good here.”
My mouth is dry, but I pretend that it isn’t. I pretend I’m not nervous to climb on top of the man I’ve been dreaming about for ages and take a wet, messy orgasm from him. “What kind?”
His eyes lift to mine. “My name.”
I smirk, knowing he’s teasing but envisioning just how hot it would be to have his name on me. I nod to his cock before reaching out and cupping the heavy cage and swollen balls in my palm. “Or this. I’d love ink to remember this forever.”
He groans. “Fuck, that feels… good. Aggravating because I can’t get hard and I can’t fucking touch my cock, but still… it feels good.”
I drag my fingertip over his cock jutting from between his hips, using my other hand to gently stroke the seam of his balls.
“Goddamnit, why does it feel like you’re jacking me off right now?” he rasps, sitting on his elbows as he watches me coat the dildo and tease his sack.
“Because you wish I was, so this is playing tricks on you,” I whisper, coming off like an experienced domme. But I’m not. It’s just… doing this with him feels natural. I feel as in my element with his caged cock in my hand as I do with a pencil in it.
“Tell me, last night when you told that woman to get on her knees,” I start, climbing onto the desk, throwing one leg around him. I hover above the dildo, and Trace reaches out, touching my cunt for the first time.
My head falls back. “God that feels good,” I groan, allowing myself just a moment of pleasure before it’s back to business. I lift my head and meet his eyes. “Tell me how you had your way with her mouth.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as his hands move to my hips. Slowly, I work my way down his body, toward his groin. My face hovers over the glistening cock, which bobs as I stroke it. Smiling, I say, “Tell me, Trace. Tell me what you were going to say to her.”
He eyes the cock just inches from my mouth. “Say it again,” I command, my lips dusting the crown.
“Open up and choke on this cock you’ve been dying to taste,” he whispers, and like a good girl hell-bent on reforming her broken boy, I lower my mouth until the cock slides onto my tongue.
He feeds his fingers through my hair, jerking my head deeper. Tilting his hips, the dildo fills my throat, making both of us groan. I lift my gaze from his groin, finding his eyes already on me.
“Choke on my cock, Ivy,” he whispers, thrusting his hips impatiently, sending the cock down my throat, impaling me in short thrusts. His eyes widen as I choke, but I stay down on the cock, using my free hand to tease his balls. “Choke on me, choke on what I know you’ve been dying to taste,” he murmurs, my lips forming a tight seal around the cock. He groans something feral and fierce, my throat bobbing with my first swallow of thick saliva. He holds my head and fucks my face for another minute or two, but the pressure is building, and I know if I don’t get fucked soon, I’ll come anyway.
And that’s where I need him , not me.
I pop off and swat his hands away, making him grumble and groan, pushing back up to his elbows. Poor Deuce. I’m sure he doesn’t want anyone’s bare ass on his desk.
“It’s time for me to fuck this cock you want me to choke on so badly,” I breathe, biting into my bottom lip as I position myself at his groin, one foot on either side of his thighs. “So talk me through it, Trace,” I whisper, aligning the glistening, spit-coated rubber cock at my swollen, slick pussy lips. “Tell me how you’d have fucked her.”
Sweat glistens along his hairline as he reaches out, dragging his fingers along the seam of my cunt, exploring my arousal. There’s so much of it, so many signs that I’m throbbing for him, for this. He groans, bringing his fingers to his mouth, driving them inside as his eyes flutter closed.
“Fucking hell, Ivy,” he moans as his eyes open, finding mine, laced with need. “I could taste your pussy every day, you’re so sweet.”
I slap his face, making his eyes widen. “Did I say taste me or did I say tell me how you’d have fucked her?”
Leaning over, I grab the petroleum and unscrew the lid. Dipping my hand in, I scoop some up and slather it down the shaft of the cock.
Reaching down, I hold the cock steady and I drop down on it, impaling myself in one swift push. I gasp, I press a palm low to my belly, I moan, I cling to his chest and squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself to accept the swift intrusion.
“So. Full,” I manage, wiggling my hips as I slowly open my eyes again. His are everywhere. On the place where the toy fills me. On my nipples. At my throat.
Holding my eyes.
“I’d tell her to bounce. I’d tell her to bounce on my cock until I was close, and then I’d tell her to grind hard when I come. Grind that tight, wet cunt against me to send me over the edge, to make me leave my cum urgently, deep inside of her,” he says hoarsely.
With my hands on his chest, I grip him and move, working my hips in a slow pattern that makes his eyes roll back. He sucks his lip beneath his teeth as sweat slides down his temple.
“This is fucking torture,” he groans.
I slap his face again. “Watch me as I torture you. Keep your eyes open, Trace.”
I ride him faster. “God I love the way my name sounds when you say it.”
My hips move, my thighs tighten around his hips and I drop a hand to my clit and stroke the swollen bud. “Why?” I breathe, my body flooding with urgent electricity, jolts of energy that press against my belly and pussy, an explosion growing.
“You make it sound good,” he moans as I reach back, stroking his swollen sack with the tips of my fingers. “You make me sound good.”
With his hot sack in my palm, I roll him around, all while gyrating my hips so that the dildo nudges the sweet spot. My stomach clenches and my thighs tighten as Trace sucks in a heated breath through his teeth. His jaw is tight, restraint etched into his handsome features. The knife-wielding octopus comes to my throat, his thumb pressing the key to my body.
He holds me there while I ride the dildo, fucking myself harder and faster as the sight of Trace beneath me starts to take hold. His nostrils flare as his fingers sink into my throat, touching my pulse.
“What do you tell them when you come?” I rasp, my orgasm spearing through my thighs, twisting in a knot in my pussy. I’m so close. Dangerously close.
“To take it,” he utters, his dark eyes set on mine. His focus unfurls the orgasm inside me, bringing it to full bloom. With the hand behind my ass, I grab his caged cock and squeeze just as the first wave hits me. Clenching around the toy, I keep my eyes pinned on him as I moan, “Take it, take it, Trace.”
Grinding my body against his, only a trace of the dildo can be seen as I fuck myself hard, coming in relentless, powerful waves.
“Fucking fuck!” Trace howls, still holding my throat, his other hand on my hip as a hot stream tears from the slit in the cage, coating my fingers, falling onto the desk with a thud. My eyes widen as I rock through my orgasm, realizing that Trace is coming as I fuck myself on top of him.
“You,” I breathe, rocking and clenching, grinding and moaning. I can’t finish my thought because there’s more warm cream coating my fingers and palm and for a million dollars, I can’t take my eyes off of him.
Intensely, he holds my gaze as he comes, his body pulsing and thrumming beneath me as I drench the toy. He’s breathing hard and so am I, but I don’t try to finish that sentence, and he doesn’t ask. When the last of the electric orgasm has torn free from me, and from him, I rise up, watching the dildo slide out of me slowly. It’s coated in me, and before I even climb off of him, he’s dragging his thumb against it, bringing it to his lips.
Once I’m on my feet, I take his hand and help him sit up on the desk. We survey the scene.
Thick, white ribbons of cum streak the desk, and I have the strongest urge to take a photo, to remember the way I made him explode. But I don't. Instead, I grab a roll of paper towels and wipe up the dildo, carefully cleaning up the desk with disinfectant, and he steps out of the harness.
“I’ll wash it at home. Don’t really wanna be on camera washing sex toys at work,” I say to Trace, our first post-coital conversation.
He scratches the back of his head as he swings his legs off the desk. We take a moment to redress, awkwardly bumping our heads together as we both bend to put our pants back on. When we’re redressed, Trace outstretches his palm to me.
My gaze ping-pongs over it. “What?”
“The key,” he says.
I tuck my hair behind my ears, and adjust the crotch of my bodysuit before rolling the waist of my leggings. “Were you going to fuck her because you were angry?”
I shove my foot into one of my boots, keeping my eyes on him. He opens his mouth, dragging his hand over it, searching for words he can’t find. But the answer is simple.
“You invited those women to Ink Time last night. Were you going to fuck one of them out of anger?”
He swallows. “Yes.”
I walk my fingers up his chest, coming to grip the neckline of his t-shirt, dragging his mouth to mine. We don’t kiss but we’re close when I ask, “You were angry at me?”
He nods, barely. “Yes.”
“Because you didn’t like me going out with Jeremy.”
Another nod, another “Yes.”
“Because you like me.”
This time, nothing. I reach down and twist his trapped balls through his jeans, still swollen despite the release. He sucks in a breath. “Yes.”
I let go, rock to my toes and press my lips to his. “One lesson isn’t enough. You really need to learn. Because we’re worth more than pissing it all away if you don’t get your way one night.” I kiss him again. “You wouldn’t let me tattoo someone after just one lesson, would you?”
He groans.
But he takes my face in both of his hands and kisses me so long and deep, I’m lightheaded. When he releases me he says, “You did good today, Firecracker. On your first session and with me.”
I want to kiss him again, but the closeness of the moment is vacuumed out when he opens the office door and breaks the spell. “You get to me like no one else has, in the best ways.”
I touch the key on my neck and he winks. “See you bright and early tomorrow.” I watch him walk through the studio toward the door where he stops and turns, facing me. “How’d you feel in my car?”
I smile. “Pompous.”
He rolls his eyes. “Liar.”