Worth The Wait: A Nature Of Desire Series Novel (33 page)

He held her close to answer. “Desmond Arthurius Hayes.”

Humor penetrated her haze of lust, reflected in the twinkle of his brown eyes. In the mix of shadows and light, the irises were molasses-colored with flecks of gold. “Betty named me after her uncle. He died a month before I arrived. She said I had his smile.”

So his mother had refused to even give him a name. The thought gripped Julie with a fierce anger and protectiveness that, combined with her arousal, almost made her dizzy. Curving her fingers over his hold on her, she lifted onto her toes to press a kiss, soft and urgent at once, against his lips.
She may not have wanted you, but I do. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

The kiss said all that and more. His expression flickered as if he heard the message, his jaw flexing and eyes briefly flashing with emotions just as strong.

Taking her elbow, he drew them to a section of wall flanking the rigging area. The green light spotlighted the different forms being tied on naked flesh, the intense concentration of the riggers. There were different colored ropes and clips. Some of the Doms used frames to suspend their subjects. Others used hooks dropped from the ceiling beams. Others worked entirely on mats on the floor or on chairs or against poles.

The lighting allowed a lot of shadows in the corners. Des maneuvered her into one, so the only thing in her vision was him, with some ambient glimpses of bound and suspended subs twisting in the background. He slid his fingers under her skirt and she grabbed his shoulders as he pushed past her barely-there thong and thrust two fingers into her soaked cunt.

“Just what I thought,” he said softly. “Wet enough to satisfy a parched throat. You want to come, love.”

She nodded and he thrust a little deeper. “Wasn’t a question. Beg for it, in that sexy, pleading voice you have when you’re hot and wet.”

“Yes…please.”

His eyes glittered with pleasure as she sounded as he’d predicted, a shiver of longing through her words.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” He idly rubbed his thumb over her clit and she jerked up off the wall like he’d touched her with electrical current. “I like to see you suffer like this,” he said ruthlessly. “I bet you’d give me one hell of a blowjob right now. Enough to convince me you deserve to come.”

She remembered he liked her to use her words. “Yes, please. Let me do that.”

His brown eyes were firelight. “No. It’s enough to know that you would drop to your knees and suck me off without question if I told you to do it. I want to see you come. Now.”

He was rubbing her again, and the climax came at his command, her hips working against his touch. He caught her nape and jerked her to him to kiss her hard and deep as she cried out her release in his mouth. Tears spilled out, that surfeit of emotion that always surged from her subconscious when he commanded her body in new and unexpected ways. It was a painful, perfect edge between ecstasy and heartbreak, between getting everything she’d ever wanted and knowing she was giving him the power to take it all away.

He worked her through the full range of sensation, until she was sensitive and his fingertips were barely brushing her, yet still she convulsed against him, her weak fingers over his wrist. She didn’t pull him away, but pressed closer, and he understood, adjusting so his palm cupped her cunt, sealing in aftershocks that coursed through her like rippling water.

He massaged her, taking her down easy. He didn’t neglect aftercare, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and back, letting her burrow against him. He kissed her hair, her ears, soothing her as she shook in his arms. She imagined how it must look, his body sheltering hers in the corner. Surrounded by the whole world but alone together. In what real-world place could they have done what they’d just done without interruption, without censure or judgment? Those around them wouldn’t cross into their personal space until they were ready to rejoin the world again.

“Know where I’m going to take you when we leave tonight?” His voice was a vibrating bass through her ear, where she rested her face against his chest and shoulder.

“Anywhere you want. Frequently.”

He paused. “I’ll remind you of that when we’re on the I-85 overpass. I’m going to take you to Steak ‘n Shake for a milkshake. They have great ones.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling into his shirt front even as she blotted her tears there. “But, um, can I do something for you first?”

“You’ll take care of that later.” He tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “When we’re alone.”

“But it was okay to do this to me in front of the masses? A dominance, ‘this bitch is mine’ kind of thing?”

His teeth flashed. “If you like, love.” He kissed her, cradling her face, devastatingly tender where he’d been demanding a heartbeat earlier.

“I would have done what you were just implying here and now,” she said, “but I kind of knew you’d want to wait. So I was asking for something else.”

“Oh. Typical thickheaded Dom, assuming I know every damn thing.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “What is it you want, Julie? Ask me.”

He could chastise himself as he’d just done, be self-deprecating, and in the same breath hold onto the reins. He meant it; he wanted her to request permission to do whatever it was she wanted to do for him. It sent another hot little thrill through her. Despite his claim that he preferred private one-on-one time with subs, a public venue brought out a side to him she liked.

“May I touch you? Just touch you.”

In answer, he gripped her hand and guided it under the kilt. It was only him beneath. She closed her fingers over a cock that was thick and impressively hard. She stroked him lightly, running her thumb over the slit to gather the pre-come on the pad. “Are you sure about waiting?”

She wanted to take him in her mouth. She didn’t care who saw, even though she still wasn’t into public sex. This didn’t feel like that to her.

“Yes. And no.” He gave her a wry look as he removed her hand from around his cock and beneath the kilt, giving her a reproving squeeze. “The way you just licked your pretty lips tempts me beyond description. But I want to watch you get all spun up again. Then I’m going to take you to Steak ‘n Shake and home. Once it’s just the two of us, I’ll use you so hard you’ll need a walker tomorrow. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.” She needed the teasing, because things were pulsing between her legs, telling her that her normal recovery time was going to get a serious upgrade tonight, thanks to Des’s skills.

As they turned their focus back to the rope area, she found Logan wasn’t the only one whose skills were in demand. Once some of the riggers realized he was watching, they called out to Des to come out on the floor and give them a demonstration of his skills. She was moved when he declined politely with the simple explanation, “I’m here for Julie tonight.”

What she liked as much as that was the others let it go immediately, respecting his decision. She didn’t want to see his hands on another sub tonight, and she wasn’t comfortable with being tied up in front of a bunch of people.

Or so she thought.

The experienced riggers did everything so smoothly their subs went into a bound trance almost effortlessly, bodies sculpted into graceful shapes from the knots and wraps of the rope. Yet the less experienced riggers could still tap into that magic, building a similar connection with murmured communication and reverent strokes of their fingertips along a rapt submissive’s face, tracing parted, eager lips.

The key seemed to be the connection between each pair. Julie was particularly pulled into the devotion and intensity between committed couples. She could tell which ones were scene hookups and those in a long term relationship. In the latter, the sub was telegraphing
I trust my Master or Mistress. I love him/her. I want to be seen as theirs
. This was a place where it was safe to make that declaration, where it would be respected, appreciated. Understood and validated.

She glanced up at Des. He’d been explaining things to her when needed, soliciting her reaction and opinions, making sure she wasn’t getting tired of it and wanting to look at other things. On the contrary. They’d been here for the past thirty minutes, so they’d decided to sit on the floor at the edge of the action. She was turned on her hip, curled up against him, his arms around her and her cheek on his chest as they watched.

“Des.” She put her hand on his arm to draw his full attention to her.

“Hmm?” He stroked a wisp of hair off her face, thumb caressing her bottom lip. His thick tail of hair was draped over his right shoulder and she combed her fingers through it, feeling the hard straightness of his collar bone beneath.

“If you wanted to do something, I think I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His look could x-ray stone, but whatever he saw satisfied him, because he lifted her off of him to help her to her feet. “All right. Stay right here. I’ll be back in a second.”

She liked that he didn’t question her decision. He’d convinced her that he genuinely wanted her own feelings to lead her wherever she wanted to go. As such, he was respecting her understanding of her own desires. Even as she was sure he’d pay close attention to any indication she was getting cold feet.

He could exert an unyielding will that melted her every reservation into full surrender. He also possessed a sensitivity to her needs that surpassed her own understanding of them at times. Maybe that was what Logan meant about an experienced Dom. If so, God bless them. And wow. What a freaking miracle of nature. Her freaking Dom-wizard. She chuckled inside, wondering if she’d ever share the nickname with him.

As he disappeared in the crowd, the thought was replaced with some anxiety. The enchantment that made her want him to bind her in his rope was strongest with his proximity. Yet, the main reason she wanted him to do it wasn’t sexual, though the idea of it was certainly tempting. She wanted him to do it because it was a critical part of what made Des himself. She wanted to be part of that identity. She wanted to be what was caught in Spiderman’s web.

She wasn’t bothered by anyone. Those watching were as absorbed by the rigging as she’d been. Then Des was back, his rigger’s duffle bag in hand. “Still sure?” he asked.

His thorough look said it wouldn’t be what came out of her mouth that made up his mind. She slipped her hand into his free one.

“Yes. I’m glad you’re not one of those Doms who’s a stickler about not being touched unless the sub asks permission.”

“You wouldn’t find that arousing?”

She shook her head. “It would make me feel alone.”

He kissed her forehead. “I like the feel of your body, your hands, your lips. As I said from the beginning, love, when I need you to keep your hands to yourself, I’ll just tie you up. On that note…”

Still holding her hand, he drew her toward a set of empty hooks. As soon as he took her there, she noticed a lot of the riggers shifted to a better position to watch him. It made her proud on his behalf, that they admired his skill and technique and learned from it. It helped reduce her nervous flutter as that audience shift became less subtle. Body language, exchanged comments and a lot of speculative eyes were all directed toward them.

“Hey.” Des took both her hands in his as she looked up at him. “It’s just us, Julie. You and me. Remember? We can stop if you want. We don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” As she was held by his gaze, she calmed. Things got quiet inside, because she saw and found the stillness inside him. He cupped her nape, drawing her forward as he bent to put his forehead against hers. Her fingers curled in his shirt at his waist, over the rope and chain holding the sporran, but her knuckles brushed the firm heat of him beneath.

Realizing with surprise what he’d initiated was contact between their third eye energy points, an effective and meditative way to establish intimacy, she breathed with him, and that stillness expanded around them. When he at last shifted his grip and found the hook of the dress at her nape, they might have been back in the theater again, just the two of them on stage.

As he took the dress off, he helped her step out of it. The dress’s bodice took the place of a bra, so beneath the garment she wore only a gold lace thong, the garters and the stockings. His pause told her he hadn’t expected that, and he held the dress at her breasts an additional moment.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” She studied the unexpected pensiveness in his gaze. “How about you?”

“Yeah.” His knuckles slid along the bare curve of her full breast, the dress still partially concealing it. “Just not sure these bastards deserve to see something as gorgeous as your breasts.”

Her cheeks warmed. “The only one looking at them is you. At least in my mind.”

His gaze lifted to hers, his eyes flashing with hot approval. Then he set the dress aside. He detached the garters and touched her face, showing her his callused palm, a reminder that his work-hardened hands would snag the stockings if he tried to remove them himself.

“I’d leave them on you, because you look so damn sexy, but rope wouldn’t be kind to them. Hold on, love. Step out of the shoes first.”

In her lustful haze, she’d started to roll the stockings down without removing the shoes. Flushing a little, she stepped out of the heels, holding onto his shoulders. Taking off the stockings was a two-handed affair, but he held her at waist and hip with strong hands as she removed and tucked the filmy sheer fabric carefully into the shoes. When she set them down next to his bag, he caressed her buttocks bared by the thong. The front of his kilt brushed the backs of her thighs, he stood so close to her. As she straightened, he had his first coil of rope in hand.

He held the fall over her throat, the coil resting against her chest. At his pause, she noticed him glancing down at her shoes. She’d placed them toes out as she always did.

“It’s so they can look at different scenery, since they’ve been looking at each other all night.”

His lips quirked. He guided her head back against his shoulder, and began to run the coil of rope over her flesh. Neck, sternum, the rise of her breasts. She turned her face toward his throat, feeling his pulse against her nose and lips. His other hand stroked her body, knuckles sliding along her rib cage, the nip of her waist, the flare of her hip, and playing with the thong. He didn’t seem in a particular hurry, and she lost breath and sense of time when he uncoiled the rope and wrapped it around her.