Chapter 3 #3
More rewarding.
“Pick one,” I said. “Something easy for you to remember.”
Her brow furrowed in thought, and I found the expression endearing despite myself.
Here she was, standing in a sex club with a stranger’s hand on her throat, about to embark on something that would change her forever, and she was giving the question serious consideration. Like it was an exam she wanted to pass.
“Taffeta,” she finally said. “My safeword is taffeta.”
“Taffeta,” I repeated, amused that she’d chosen a fabric textile and wondered what significance it held for her. “Say it, and everything stops. No questions, no judgments, no hesitation. Do you trust me to honor that?”
“Yes.” No indecision. No wavering. Just that single syllable, offered up like a gift.
Christ. This woman was going to destroy me.
“Good girl,” I murmured, and watched her shiver at the words.
I stepped back, creating space between us that I could see she didn’t want. Her body swayed toward mine instinctively, chasing my warmth, and I had to clench my fists to keep from pulling her back in.
Patience. Control. Give her what she needs, not what the beast inside of you is howling for.
“Turn around,” I ordered softly. “Face the room again.”
She obeyed without question, presenting me with the vulnerable expanse of her bare back. That goddamn dress—the way it exposed so much of her skin—was going to haunt my dreams for months.
I moved closer, not quite touching her yet. Close enough that she could feel the heat of me, the promise of contact, the anticipation building between us like static before a storm.
“Watch them,” I instructed, my voice low near her ear. “And tell me what you see.”
On the bed before us, the couple had shifted positions.
The woman was on her back now, wrists bound to the headboard with red silk, while the man knelt between her spread thighs.
He wasn’t inside her yet. He was deliberately holding back, making her wait, making her beg.
His fingers traced patterns on her inner thighs while she writhed and pleaded.
“He’s... teasing her,” Stella said, her voice unsteady. “Making her wait.”
“Mmm.” I let my fingers brush against her bare shoulder, featherlight, and felt her tremble. “Why do you think he’s doing that?”
“Because...” She swallowed. “Because the anticipation makes it better?”
“Partly.” I trailed my hand down her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. “Anticipation is its own kind of pleasure. But there’s more to it than that. What else?”
She was quiet for a moment, her breath coming faster as my hand settled on her waist before slowly, leisurely, skimming along the curve of her hip. “Because... because she asked for it?”
“Closer.” I reached the lowest point of her dress, where fabric gave way to a slit and the bare skin of her thigh.
I let my palm rest there, warm and possessive.
“She needs his control. Needs to be overwhelmed. Needs to be taken out of her own head, her own worries, her own endless thoughts. He’s not just teasing her, he’s earning her surrender.
Every second she waits for his touch she’s choosing to stay.
Choosing to trust him. By the time he fucks her, she’ll have given herself over to him completely. ”
Stella made a soft sound that might have been agreement or might have been want. Probably both.
“Is that what you need, kitten?” I asked, letting my other hand come up to rest on her other hip.
I was bracketing her now, surrounding her with my presence without fully trapping her.
Giving her the illusion of escape while making it clear I had no intention of letting her go. “To be taken out of your head?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never—I don’t know what I need.”
“Then let’s find out together.”
I pressed forward, closing the last bit of distance between us until her back was flush against my chest. She gasped at the contact—at all the hard planes of my body against her soft curves, at the unmistakable evidence of my arousal pressing against her lower back.
“Feel that?” I murmured against her ear. “That’s what watching you does to me. What being this close to you does to me. You’re not the only one affected here, Stella. You’re not the only one who wants this.”
She shuddered, her head falling back against my shoulder. The position bared her throat to me, a gesture of submission so instinctive she probably didn’t even realize she’d done it.
Mine, the beast growled.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I commanded.
“I—” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Hot. Everywhere. Like I’m going to fly apart if you don’t—” She cut herself off, as if she was too embarrassed to ask for what she wanted, what she needed.
“If I don’t what?”
“Touch me.” The words came out desperate, pleading. “Please, Tate. Touch me.”
Fuck. My name in that breathy voice, wrapped in such a soft plea—it nearly undid me. The beast inside me rattled its chains, demanding I take her right here, right now, bend her over the nearest surface and show her exactly what she was asking for.
But that wasn’t what she needed. Not yet.
What she needed was to be unwrapped slowly. Savored. Shown that her pleasure mattered, that her desires were valid and someone was paying attention to every response, every gasp, every subtle unraveling of her body.
“I am touching you,” I pointed out, her whole body going taut as my fingers traced up her inner thigh.
Her skin was silk-smooth, heated, trembling under my touch.
I could feel the warmth radiating from her core, could smell her arousal in the air between us, rich and heady and intoxicating.
“I’ve been touching you. And you’ve been so good, so responsive, so patient.
” I let my thumb graze a spot an inch below her panties, teasing her. “But you want more, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she moaned, nodding almost frantically. “Yes, I want more.”
“More what?” I demanded. “Tell me specifically. Use your words.”
She made a frustrated sound that was half moan, half whimper. “I don’t—I don’t know how to—”
“Yes, you do.” I nipped at her earlobe, a tiny sting of pain that made her jolt against me.
“You know exactly what you want. You’ve probably thought about it a thousand times, late at night, alone in your bed.
Imagined hands on your body, touching you in all the places you were too shy to ask for. Haven’t you?”
A pause. Then, a barely audible, “yes.”
“So tell me, where do you want my hands and fingers, kitten? Where have you imagined being touched?”
Her breath was coming in shallow pants now, her chest heaving as she squirmed back against me. On the bed before us, the man had finally entered the woman, her cry of relief echoing through the room as he began moving inside her. Stella’s thighs pressed together, seeking friction she couldn’t find.
“Between my legs,” she finally whispered, and the admission clearly cost her. I could hear the embarrassment in her voice, the vulnerability of saying something so explicit out loud. “I want your hands between my legs.”
“Good girl,” I murmured huskily. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Asking for what you want?”
“It was terrifying,” she admitted breathlessly.
“I know.” I pressed a kiss to her temple, soft and at odds with the possessive grip I had on her body and the way I wanted to fucking ravish her.
“And you did it anyway. That’s what courage looks like, Stella.
Not the absence of fear but the choice to move forward despite it.
Now, spread your legs for me. Just a little. Let me in.”
She obeyed, shifting her feet apart to give me access, and the trust implicit in that simple movement made something fierce and protective surge through my chest. This woman—this beautiful, trembling, brave woman—was giving herself to me.
Trusting me with her body and her pleasure and all the secret desires she’d kept locked away.
I was going to fucking worship her for it.
My fingers found the edge of her underwear—silk, and already damp with her arousal. I traced along the elastic, not yet slipping beneath, and she whimpered at the teasing contact.
“Please,” she breathed, her hand gripping my forearm while her hips gyrated toward my hand. “Please, Tate.”
“Please what?” I wanted to hear her say it again. Wanted her to get used to asking, to vocalizing her needs, to understanding that her pleasure was something worth demanding.
“Touch me. Really touch me. I need—” Her voice broke on a moan and she shuddered as I let one finger slide beneath the silk, grazing against slick, heated flesh. “Oh God.”
She was soaked. Absolutely drenched. My finger slipped through her folds with no resistance, gliding through the evidence of her desire, and my cock throbbed painfully against the confines of my slacks.
“Fuck,” I groaned against her ear, my control fraying at the edges. “You’re so wet, kitten. So ready. Is this all from watching those couples? Or is this from me?”
“You,” she gasped. “It’s you. It’s been you since you first spoke to me.”
Christ. This woman. This fucking woman.
I found her clit, swollen and sensitive, and circled it with the pad of my finger. She jerked in my arms, a strangled cry escaping her lips, and I lifted the hand from her hip to her throat, gripping just tight enough to remind her who was in control.
“Easy,” I soothed, even as I continued that maddening circular motion. “I’ve got you. Let yourself feel it. Let yourself have this.”
“I can’t—it’s too much.” She was trembling violently now, her nails biting into my arm. Not pushing me away but holding on, like I was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. “Everyone will see—”
“No one’s watching us.” It was true. The alcove was shadowed, secluded, positioned so that we could see the room but the room couldn’t easily see us. “And even if they were, would that be so bad? Letting them see how beautiful you look when you come apart for me?”
She moaned at that, her head thrashing against my shoulder. I filed that reaction away too. Exhibitionism. Yeah, she seemed to like that idea, but for now, I focused on taking her higher.
I slipped one finger inside her, groaning at how tight she was, how hot, how her inner walls clenched around me like they never wanted to let go. She cried out, the sound muffled when I used the hand at her throat to turn her head and captured her mouth with mine for the first time.
She tasted like champagne and desire and something sweeter underneath, something uniquely her. I kissed her deep and thorough, my tongue stroking against hers in the same rhythm my finger was stroking inside her pussy. I swallowed her moans as I added a second finger and curled them forward.
She tore her mouth from mine, gasping. “Oh—oh God—Tate, I’m going to—I want to—but I can’t—”
“You can.” I increased the pressure on her clit, my fingers pumping steadily inside her while my thumb worked that swollen bundle of nerves. “Let go, kitten. Come for me. Show me what you look like when you shatter.”
“I’ve never—not like this—not with someone else—”
The admission hit me like a punch to the gut. She’d never come with a partner before. Never let anyone see her in this most vulnerable moment. And she was about to give that to me, this stranger she’d met an hour ago in a sex club, this man who had no business touching something so precious.
“Then let me be your first,” I growled against her ear. “Get out of your head and come on my fingers, Stella. Now,” I commanded, and three strokes later she broke beautifully for me.
I felt it happen, the sudden tension in every muscle, the way her inner walls clamped down on my fingers, the strangled cry that tore from her throat as the orgasm crashed through her.
She convulsed in my arms, her body arching back against mine and I held her through it, working her through every wave, prolonging her pleasure until she was sobbing with it.
“That’s it,” I murmured, my voice rough with my own barely-leashed desire. “That’s my good girl. So beautiful. So fucking perfect. Give me everything you’ve got.”
She did, trembling and crying out and clinging to me like I was the only solid thing in a world that had liquified around her. And I took it all, greedy for every gasp and moan and broken whisper of my name.
When she finally stilled, sagging back against me like her bones had dissolved, I gentled my touch. I withdrew my fingers slowly, pressing soft kisses to her temple as she came back to herself.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
She laughed, a breathless, incredulous sound. She turned in my arms, and when she looked up at me, her eyes were dazed and still dark with lingering pleasure. “That was... I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
“That was just the beginning, kitten.” I cupped her face in my hands, tilting it up so I could brush my lips across hers. A gentle kiss, at odds with the filthy things I’d just done to her. “There’s so much more I want to show you. If you’ll let me.”
She searched my face for a long moment. I didn’t know what she was looking for—reassurance maybe, or sincerity, or some sign that she could trust me with the rest of her body.
Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her. “I want you to show me everything.”
The beast inside me howled with triumph, not that he’d be unleashed to play with her tonight.
No, I wouldn’t risk it. Not with someone as sweet and guileless as her.
The darkness I kept chained—the need to hunt, to dominate completely, to take her to the edge of fear and hold her there—that wasn’t something you introduced to a woman still learning the taste of her own desire.
Instead of answering with words, I took her hand and brought it to my lips. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles. A promise and a claim all at once.
“Then let’s get out of this room,” I said, my voice rough with want. “Because the things I want to do to you next require a flat, soft surface.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t look afraid. She looked so damn eager for me to corrupt her further.
“Lead the way,” she breathed.
I did. And as I guided her into the room she’d just been peering into, her hand small and trusting in mine, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing about this night, nothing about us, was going to be simple.
But looking at her and remembering the way she’d come apart so beautifully in my arms...I told myself that simple was overrated anyway.