4. Naz
FOUR
NAZ
Okay, well this is not exactly what I had in mind when I told Scott he could have anything he wants from me tonight. I kind of thought he’d want to tie me up and take his frustration out on my ass. Or make me crawl around on all fours wearing a muzzle again.
But no. That’s apparently not what Scott Riley had in mind when I told him he could use me as he pleases.
“Go Fish.”
“Bullshit you don’t have any twos!” I shriek, slamming my cards face down and staring at Scott incredulously.
“I don’t have any twos.”
“You’re lying.”
“I would never!”
“You’re a goddamn cheater. Show me your cards.”
“You’re just mad you’re losing by, like, a lot.”
I huff a laugh and lean back against the end of the bed. “Why are we doing this?”
“Because you’re a sore loser.”
“No, I mean this,” I say, gesturing to the box of children’s card games, empty bowl of popcorn, and basically every kind of candy we could find in the hotel convenience shop.
“Because it’s fun. And because you said I can use you however I want, and after today, I kind of just want to chill.”
My defenses melt a little. I suppose that makes sense.
We haven’t had any sessions or so much as touched each other since that first night at the beach house.
I was worried he’d gotten tired of my bullshit.
It was a stressful day, more so for him.
Our sessions are what help me when I’m feeling too much, but maybe that’s not the case for him. That’s not what he needs right now.
I can’t believe he ran straight at some guy with a fucking knife. He could have been hurt. More than that, I’ve never seen him look so upset before. In the conference room when he was talking about it, he looked like he might crack a molar or throw the table through the wall, or both.
“Are you okay?”
Scott mirrors my pose, leaning back against the chaise lounge on the other side of the small coffee table covered in our games and snacks, and gives me his signature smile. “Yeah, pet. I’m alright.”
My skin tingles. He called me pet. Does that mean we’re going to get to the play finally?
Of course Scott notices my change in demeanor. He always notices every little thing about me. Rather than initiate anything, he chuckles and gestures towards my cards with his chin. The sound of his rich laugh makes heat pool in my belly.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I pick up my handful of cards that I’m so close to getting rid of. If I could just pick up a two this round, I’d have a set and then just a few left. But Cheaty McCheaterson over there always seems to call whatever number I have almost a full set for every time.
Ugh. An eight.
“Do you have any fives?”
I toss him the two fives I have with a scowl that makes him snort, and I have to admit I like being able to make him laugh when he’s had a rough day.
His phone pings. He looks down at it and frowns, tapping the screen before tossing it away.
“Fucking spammers,” he huffs.
I manage to get two eights from him and send him fishing on his next try. On my next round, I have to add yet another card to my ever-growing collection of random ass numbers that aren’t doing anything to help me win.
When Scott doesn’t take his next turn right away, I look up and find him making hard eye contact. My breath shallows and my cock perks up, because that’s usually a sign that a very different kind of game has begun.
I swallow hard and wait for him to give me some kind of instruction, already feeling myself sink into that heavy sensation at the base of my skull. He opens his mouth to speak, the words dripping from his lips like honey, slow and sensual…
“Do you have any twos?”
That snaps me right out of my lust haze. I gawk at him and shoot to my feet. “You’re fucking kidding me!”
Scott cracks up, laughing so hard his eyes are barely open, and he’s not even making sound. His big body shakes with it, and a tear falls from one of his squinted eyes.
I toss all my cards in the air. And then, for good measure, I pick up what’s left of the draw deck and do the same to those cards.
I have no idea what gets into me when I’m around him.
Usually I’m very level-headed and couldn’t care less if I win or lose.
Hell, I’m always calm and observant enough that I win nearly every game I play.
The guys stopped playing poker with me years ago because I kick their asses every time, but one game of Go Fish with my bodyguard, and I want to throw things and stomp my feet.
Maybe because this isn’t the game I want to play.
“I’m done. Fuck me now.”
Scott’s laughter has tapered down, but he looks up at me with barely disguised amusement, cocking an eyebrow.
“And since when do you tell me what to do, pet?”
“Since you’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”
“I see you every day.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
“You needed space, and then we got busy with the tour. You’ve been exhausted.”
“That never stopped you before. You’re punishing me for the beach house.”
“That’s not it.” He sighs. “Not really. It’s not a punishment. I just… I don’t want to go overboard.”
“What does that mean?”
Scott pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the chaise and puts his elbows on his knees. I lean my back against the foot of the bed, the scattered cards forgotten.
“The crazier things get out there, the heavier protecting you becomes. Possessing you in here takes the edge off, because when I have you like that, I know I have control and nothing bad can happen to you. But the heavier things get, the more that need bleeds into the outside world.”
Subtext: He wants more.
He won't say it outright because he knows I can’t give it to him. We had an agreement and he’s honoring my boundaries like he always does, but he’s easy to read.
Standing upright, I circle around to the side of the coffee table and push it out of the way, then sink to my knees in front of him.
My legs part. My hands rest on the tops of my thighs.
I don’t look down. That’s not what he wants from me.
I give him the direct eye contact he wants, and wait, trying to slow my breathing to not betray just how rapidly my heart is beating.
I can’t give him everything he wants, but I can give him this one thing he needs.
What we both need.
“What do you want, pet?”
“What I want doesn’t matter, because while we’re in here, behind closed doors, I’m yours. Yours to command. Yours to control. Yours to use however you see fit. What matters is what you want.”
“I want to own you,” he says, the words so low I’m not sure they were meant for me to hear.
“So take me.”
Scott stares down at me contemplatively for several long, drawn out heartbeats before standing. He looms above me, removing his belt.
I’m expecting him to undo his pants, pull out his cock, and make me suck him, but he doesn’t.
Once he removes his belt, he sits back down, setting it next to him on the chaise and assessing me.
I’m wearing a pair of thin black athletic shorts and a ripped muscle tee that would look way better on him.
I’m fit, but compared to him my arms might as well be noodles.
“Strip.”
With a quick nod, I stand in front of him and do as he says, dropping my clothes on the floor.
I’m a pretty clean and organized person, but when we’re like this, I don’t do anything he doesn’t expressly tell me to do.
And Scott couldn’t give fewer fucks about my clothes all over the floor, as long as they’re not on my body.
Once I’m bare before him, standing so close my jutting cock nearly touches his chin, he tells me to turn around and put my hands behind my back.
This is one of my favorite things because it reminds me of that first night. Of how afraid I was, but how much I wanted it all the same. The way he read me, knew just how to touch me and draw me out of my head.
Reading has always been my way to dissociate, but this?
This is better than any fictional world.
This is real. Tangible. It bites and smacks and soothes and draws me out of my mortal existence and lets me float there above my body until I’m slammed back into my consciousness by an earth-shattering orgasm.
After securing my hands behind my back with his belt, Scott takes my ass in both his big hands and kneads the flesh.
He digs into the muscle and massages me, spreads my cheeks apart and pushes them back together, toying with me to his heart’s content.
I stay completely still, forcing myself not to push back into his hands or beg for anything. Not yet.
“I think I want to play with this for a while. Why don’t you come lie over here and be a good little toy,” he suggests, guiding me to sit, then straddle the furniture facing away from him.
With my arms behind my back, Scott pushes at the center of my back until I’m face and chest down, ass spread because of the wide position of my legs.
When I adjust my hips to get more comfortable, the slide of my cock and balls against the soft, velvety texture of the upholstery sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
“Do that again,” Scott says appreciatively. “Rub yourself on the furniture like that again. Hump it like a dog. I want to watch.”
My cheeks heat, but I do what he says, chasing any friction I can get on my sensitive dick. I wiggle and undulate my hips until I’m practically humping the cushioned seat exactly like a dog.
Scott’s hands grip my hips and slow their movement, guiding me into a slow roll that sends chills up and down my spine. Keeping his hands on my hips, he moves until he’s straddling the very end of the chaise so he’s directly behind me, just far enough back to get a good vantage point.
His mouth on me is unexpected, driving a surprised shout from me, but I quickly relax into the sensations rocking through me. The soft fabric dragging against my cock. His fingers digging into my hips. The warm, wet slide of his tongue up my crack and swirling around my hole.
I’m panting like the dog I am, whimpering and drooling like one too.