Chapter Fourteen #2
She shook her head. She didn’t know where her panties had ended up, and she was too messy to sit bare-assed on anything with fabric. “Floor.”
“You sure?”
She nodded, and he lowered her down carefully. She flinched when her bare ass met hardwood—fuck, that was cold—then just curled up on her side and closed her eyes.
Footsteps sounded, paused, then sounded again, and a cold bottle was pushed into her hand. “Here.”
She forced her eyes open. He’d removed the cap—so thoughtful—so she pushed herself up on her elbow and drank. When it was empty, she lay back down and aimed a baleful stare at him and his shit-eating grin. “You smug bastard.”
He just grinned wider. “What, you didn’t enjoy that?”
She refused to dignify that with an answer. “And stop looking at my ass.”
“Okay,” he said agreeably and shifted his gaze to her face. “You need help getting up?”
Her legs felt like rubber, her right hand had a cramp, and the room was still gently spinning. “Yes.”
He stepped forward, widening his stance to plant a foot on either side of her. Reaching down, he stuck his hands into her armpits and hauled her up. “Alley-oop.”
“Whoa.”
He set her on her feet and, holding her steady, bent to peer into her face. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She smiled, forgetting she was mad at him. “I’m super.”
He snorted out a laugh. “You’re fuck drunk.”
“I’m forced to agree.” She pressed one shaky hand to her forehead, the other to the back of the chair he’d righted. “That was…”
“Really fucking hot?” he suggested.
“Mean,” she finished.
He shrugged. “Potato, tomato.”
“That’s not how that goes.”
“Close enough. You still pissed at me?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Or I will be, when my pussy stops throbbing.”
Heat joined the humor flickering in his dark eyes. “Well, while you’re still in a post-orgasmic haze, let me tell you about the other things you need to do to prepare.”
She was struggling to bring her brain online. “Other things?”
“You need to buy an enema kit.”
Her pussy gave a warning twitch at the reminder. Down, girl. “You said that already.”
“Just reminding you. And a butt plug.”
“I already have one.”
“Color me shocked,” he teased. “How big is it?”
“Um.” She fought to focus. All this butt talk was getting her worked up again. “Medium. I’d call it medium.”
He nodded. “Wear it.”
“Excuse me?”
“All day—except to re-lube and other practical concerns—until Sunday morning,” he continued. “We’re gonna train your pretty little asshole.”
“For what?” Desperate to regain the upper hand, she worked up a sneer. “I can take you, Nash.”
“I know,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But you don’t just have to worry about me. And I want you so ready I could get my fist in you.”
This time the alarm bells registered. “I am Bananarama-ing any attempt to put a fist in me. Anywhere.”
“Relax,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s just a metaphor.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You did that on purpose to scare me.”
“What’s your point?”
She ignored that. “I am not wearing a butt plug for a week.”
His eyes gleamed. “Why, because you’re afraid you’ll like it? Or because you like your anal with a little ouch?”
This was the trouble with exes, she thought sourly. They already knew every damn thing—like how much she loved that first delicious pinch and agonizing stretch of a dick in her ass.
“Okay, you’ll only wear it through Friday,” he decided. “And we’ll cut it down to say, two hours a day. That ought to keep things plenty tight.”
“Why wear it at all, then?”
“Because you’re not just wearing it to get that snug little hole ready for fucking.” He tapped a gentle finger on her scowling mouth. “Extra aroused, remember?”
She just sighed when her pussy twitched again. “I hate you.”
He patted her arm consolingly. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.”
She did trust him, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. “Fine. Enema kit, daily butt plug wear. Anything else?”
“And no masturbating.”
Dammit, she was hoping he’d forgotten. “And no masturbating. Does that go for you, too?”
“Hell, no.”
She slapped her hands on her hips. “Why not?”
“Because I’m in charge,” he said simply. “Aren’t I?”
She reminded herself once again that she didn’t have to go along with any of this.
It was all part of the game, and she could quit playing at any time.
She could just say no—that she didn’t want to wear a butt plug for two hours, that she’d masturbate whenever she felt like it, thank you very much.
He might be disappointed—okay, he’d definitely be disappointed—but he’d go along with it.
Whatever you want, Bailey, he’d said, and he’d meant it.
And that right there was why she wasn’t going to say no, or Bananarama, or anything else that would stop the runaway train they were on. Because it was for her, all of it for her, and she didn’t want to disappoint either of them.
So she’d go along with the whole absurd mess, and maybe when it was over, she’d have shed this strange need for him.
Because as good as the orgasm she’d just had was, it hadn’t come close to matching what he could do to her.
Shoving that uncomfortable truth aside, she smiled into his expectant face. “Yes, Nash,” she said, making sure to put just enough sass into her tone that he couldn’t mistake it for actual obedience. “You’re in charge, Nash.”
He seemed to get the message. “Brat.”
“Sadist,” she returned.
“I know!” he said with cheerful wonder. “Who’d have thought, huh?”
She choked back a laugh. “Can I go take a shower now, Mister In Charge?”