Chapter 22
Phantom. Then.
It’d been four days since I’d seen the sun.
Three back-to-back night shifts. As much as I liked the work—and I loved being a paramedic—it did something to the brain to go without daylight for so long.
I lost all sense of time, for one. I ate breakfast under moonlight and had to strongarm my body to bed when it wanted to rise.
But it was more than that. Nightshift work removed you from society in a way that was hard to explain to people.
It was a challenge, if not impossible, to maintain the natural rhythm of friendships and relationships.
My closest compatriots became the guys who operated the twenty-four-hour bodega down the street, and even they regarded me with a shifty-eyed stare.
The point was, it’d been such a long week, I’d genuinely forgotten it was Friday until I woke up to the low beat of music, punctuated intermittently by the sounds of moans and slaps.
The club I’d built from the ground up was thumping and bumping above me. I closed my eyes, getting a couple more minutes of shut-eye.
I slept in the basement apartment for the simple reason that it was the darkest room in the house.
Plus, it had everything I needed. A bed, a bookshelf, a kitchenette, and a bathroom.
It was the perfect apartment for an out-of-town tourist, a college kid, or a paramedic workaholic who just needed a bed to crash into now and again.
Plus, it allowed me to lock myself away for a little solitary time before engaging with the club upstairs.
I checked my phone, opening the Seekers Club app. As an admin, I could open the app and see who had checked in for the night. Carver, Jekyll, Zero, and…
Ophelia.
Ophelia had punched in her code forty-three minutes ago.
Nearly two years into our arrangement and, still, just the sight of her name was all it took to get me up and out of bed. I shuffled into the bathroom, and washed up. I rinsed off, dried off, put on deodorant, and changed into a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.
Immediately, I felt myself coming back to life.
But I wasn’t done.
I flattened my palms on the bathroom counter and closed my eyes. I could feel the lingering steam from the shower. The cold, hard marble underneath my hands. I bowed my head in front of the mirror and took in a couple slow, intentional breaths.
I entered play the way many people enter prayer. With intention.
Grounded, I headed upstairs. The noises didn’t sound so much like ruckus anymore.
They sounded more like the sweet melody of pleasure and pain.
I nodded to a few familiar faces, and frowned at one particular familiar face.
Carver was in the lounge, messily eating a sandwich over greasy paper like he lived here.
“Carver,” I told him, “If you get mayo on my carpet, so help me god.”
He frowned. “What, so I can cum on your carpet, but mayo is off limits?”
He had a point.
I shot him a stern look anyway and he lowered the sandwich back onto its wrapper.
Princess perked up from behind her desk when I approached. “Hey. Good morning.”
“Morning. Any problems?”
She shook her head. “All quiet on the home front.”
“Where’s Ophelia?”
Princess cocked her head. “Upstairs,” she said. She hesitated, then clarified, “Third floor.”
Ah. Third floor. So Ophelia was enjoying herself already.
Why the hell did that excite me?
I scaled the steps to the second floor, then the third. The door to the main bedroom had a red ribbon tied around the doorknob. It meant, scene in progress, do not disturb. Benefits to being the club owner; I entered anyway.
Ophelia’s moans hit my ears, and immediately, my blood diverted from my brain to my groin.
The sound of her pleasure cured me of all my ills. It was better than daylight. Whatever stress and heaviness I’d carried through the week fled in an instant. Alexander’s ghosts were gone.
Here—now—I was nothing but hers.
God, I chased that feeling.
My eyes adjusted to the dim light and the scene that unfolded in front of me was a wonderfully depraved sight to behold.
The room was centered around a custom king-sized bed with an elaborate frame.
Ophelia was bound to an O-ring hook bolted into the ceiling.
Her body was stretched long, her arms tied together above her head as though she was reaching for the sky.
Her eyes were blindfolded, but her expression was twisted in ecstasy, those full lips open and emitting small, needy moans as Zero and Jekyll worked her into a frenzy.
Zero didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He was on his back, hands and feet cuffed to the bedframe. He wore nothing but a leather mask, which only muffled the pleasured sounds that left him as Ophelia rode his cock, wiggling and twisting over him.
Jekyll knelt at the foot of the bed. She’d dropped the baseboard so she had full access to Ophelia. Head bowed between her legs, Jekyll gripped Ophelia’s thighs and worked Ophelia into a trembling mess with her tongue.
It was something to watch, the way Ophelia writhed between the two, overloaded with pleasure and yet—
She wouldn’t cum. She couldn’t. Not without me.
My conditioning had trained her far too well for that. They could fuck her and lick her all night and she still wouldn’t be able to do anything but whine and hang on the edge.
And, for a moment, I let her suffer in it.
I owned this place, but Ophelia was the queen. People loved her. Respected her. Wanted her. I never had to worry about her being lonely, or unhappy, or un-fucked. Here, she could have it all. I thought I’d built this club for myself. I was wrong.
It was hers.
Moments like these reminded me of that. It warmed something in that place where I used to have a heart. And made me unbearably, agonizingly hard.
The door clicked shut behind me. Jekyll lifted her head at the sound. She turned, licking her shiny lips, and blinked in surprise, but relaxed when she saw that it was only me.
I gave her a small, quiet nod. We spent a minute conferring telepathically (yes, this is something that all dominants can do once they know each other well enough). The conversation went something like:
Me: Your scene, your rules. Mind if I step in?
Jekyll: Your sub, your rules. Knock yourself out.
Me: Thank you. Delicious, isn’t she?
Jekyll: Sweet as sin.
Jekyll gave me a smile, then returned to her onslaught on Ophelia’s sensitive sex. Ophelia whimpered, and the sound nearly undid me.
Quietly, I stepped forward. She was naked, her breasts were exposed, and a delicate chain hung from two clamps, one for each nipple. The sadistic Jekyll had outdone herself.
Ophelia’s cheeks were blood-blushed. I moved my hand a hairsbreadth away from the sweat on her abdomen. Without touching her, I drew my fingers up. I could feel the heat emanating from her body. Wordlessly, I took her by the chin, securing her in my grip.
Was I being an asshole in this moment?
Yes.
But did I also love the way she gasped in surprise, tilted her chin up towards me like a sunflower hunting for daylight, and whimpered in that way that told me her cunt just got tighter?
Also, yes.
“Sir,” Ophelia breathed. “You’re here.”
I hadn’t announced myself, but she recognized me immediately by touch alone.
“I’m here,” I confirmed. “Are you having fun?”
“Yes, Sir…” She was in subspace. Deep. I could tell by her voice. It had gone all soft and hazy, as though she were speaking to me through a dream. She whined and my blood roared. “But…”
“But?”
She whimpered. Her body gave a sudden, shuddery jerk, and I knew if she didn’t have the rope holding her up, she’d be a puddle on the floor.
“Please…” she begged. “I…I need it…oh…God…I need to cum so bad…”
A devious thrill whipped through me.
It was his cock she was riding.
Her tongue she was grinding against.
But it was me she needed to cum.
Me.
A man should not crave this much control.
And yet…
I was so hard, my cock had a heartbeat. I encircled my hand around her throat and pulled her in so I could hear each tortured, ragged breath. I grazed my mouth against hers and trapped her plump bottom lip between my teeth until I heard that delicious whine.
I knew what she needed.
One word. One single word from me to end her ache.
“Please,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse. She looked close to tears.
She was begging for it. She didn’t have to.
I’d give her what she craved.
And I’d remind her who she belonged to.
“Give, Ophelia,” I growled in her ear. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
She came immediately. Ophelia threw her head back and cried out, a sound of both relief and agony.
I was peripherally aware of the other people in the room.
Jekyll let out a pleased noise as Ophelia flooded her mouth.
She didn’t cease until Ophelia’s entire body was trembling.
Zero moaned, but he knew better than to beg.
Jekyll never put up with that. He’d take what she gave him, and be lucky for it.
Truly, I liked them. But their needs didn’t concern me.
Every atom of me was focused on Ophelia.
I kept my hand on her throat, stroking the column of it with my thumb. “Good,” I coaxed her through it. “There’s my good girl.”
I watched every change in her face, the way her mouth twisted, her eyebrows furrowing. The way she whimpered and moaned. The way the chain on her tits shimmered as her body trembled in the aftershocks.
I pulled the blindfold back against her hairline. Ophelia’s eyes were bright when they met mine. She broke into a euphoric smile.
One thing I loved about Ophelia: she loved playing.
Truly, deeply, loved it.
Even in the most intense scenes, I’d catch her smiling. And right now, with her makeup washed away and tears streaming down her blushing face, she was grinning like she was the luckiest woman alive.
Her joy was contagious.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi, baby.”
“How was…your day?”
“Better by the second.”
Jekyll got up from her knees and cuddled up next to Zero. I reached up to the hook above Ophelia’s head and pulled the rope off of it. Her hands were still bound together, but she was free to drop them now. She collapsed like something boneless into my arms.
“Thank you for taking care of my girl,” I told Jekyll.
Jekyll looked pleased. She sprawled on top of Zero, lightly petting the hair on his chest. “She’s a joy. Anytime.”
“Do you two need anything? Water? Snacks?”
She shook her head. “We’re good.” Like my Ophelia, the pair looked sex-dazed and content.
I tucked Ophelia’s hair back. “I appreciate you for warming her up for me.”
Ophelia’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean, warming up?” I lifted her into my arms. She squeaked, legs kicking. “Sir! What do you mean?”
Ophelia and I closed the club down that night.
We played and fucked for hours. Dawn’s sunlight was breaking through the heavy curtains by time I carried Ophelia downstairs to the aftercare room. Ophelia sighed, content as a milk-fed kitten in my arms, and I made her comfortable in a cocoon of blankets.
Everyone had left. Princess had gone to bed. It was just the two of us now.
I got Ophelia a cup and carafe of warm water.
I sat on the pillows beneath us, cradled her in my lap, and fed her from the cup first, small sips at a time.
Then, I took a cloth, dabbed it in the bathing water, and I began cleaning her skin.
I washed the streaks from her face. The damp sweat from her skin.
I took the cloth between her legs and gently wiped the cum and fluids from her puffy sex and her sticky thighs.
Ophelia leaned into every touch, tilting this way and that to give me better access, spreading her thighs wide when I moved lower.
“Did you know Zero is pierced?” she asked.
“I’m aware. Did you enjoy it?”
She bit her lip. “Yeah. A lot.”
“Then I’m glad you got to experience that once in your life, because you’re not getting it from me.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “What if I ask really pretty?”
“Ask for something else.”
I dunked the washcloth again. I’d cleaned her, and now I was just getting those spots that felt good. I wiped the cloth over the back of her neck. Behind her ears. She hummed. “I love mandatory pamper Ophelia time.”
“I thought it was mandatory cuddle time?”
“The title’s been upgraded. Try to keep up, Sir.”
She rested her head on my chest. She looked up at me with those wide, trusting eyes. She was so sweet like this, so soft, and I—
I love her.
I almost said it. The words almost tumbled out.
My hard shell almost cracked completely.
Instead, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket.
“Don’t move,” I instructed her.
I held my phone up. Ophelia followed the camera’s eye, smiling at it as I snap a picture of her.
“Blackmail material?” She asked.
“The opposite.” I held my phone to her. “Can you make this my lock screen?”
Ophelia blinked, surprised, then a small smile settled across her mouth. She took my phone, and I watched her fingers fly across the screen. Then she turned it to face me.
“Like that?”
She dimmed the screen. When I tapped it, there she was. Ophelia and her beautiful smile and those big, trusting, sub-space eyes.
“Perfect,” I said. I tucked my phone away again.
But her smile dimmed suddenly. I could see a conflict rustling behind her eyes. “What is it?” I asked.
She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch. “I like this.”
“I know. So do I.”
“No, I mean…what if I like this too much?”
The confession broke my heart.
Tell her you love her. Tell her she’s not alone in this feeling. Tell her—
But I couldn’t. My tongue trapped itself behind my teeth.
“It’s late,” I told her.
She yawned. “I’m too wired to sleep.”
I put my hand over her eyes. “Drop,” I commanded.
Ophelia sighed—the loveliest, softest sigh—and her eyelashes flutter against my palm before she settled into a deep, sound sleep in my lap.