TWENTY-TWO
Mmm. I shifted beneath the covers, my legs sliding languidly through the luxurious linens as my mind drifted in that haze between sleeping and wakefulness. Pitch-black darkness pressed against my eyelids, and I felt as if I were floating in a sun-heated ocean, the waves rocking me gently. My skin had gone warm all over, and some sound was drifting from my lips, but I couldn’t quite grab on to what I was trying to say.
“Time to wake up, angel.” The statement was quiet, as if coming from a place just out of my reach.
Wake up . . . wake up . . . But before my mind could grab on to the words or their meaning, something warm and wet moved between my thighs, stroking me. That vaulted me right to the surface of consciousness. My eyelids flew open in the darkness, and I automatically tried to reach out, but my arms jerked backward—bound to something behind me.
Teeth nibbled.
“Oh, God.”
Foster laughed softly, his puffs of breath coasting over my already damp skin. “There you are. I was starting to wonder if you were going to come in your sleep.”
He licked me again right along my cleft, and I tried to push my knees together. But, of course, my legs didn’t cooperate. “I can’t move.”
“Kind of the point.” His tongue circled my clit, teasing and tasting like he was exploring me for the first time even though he’d been deep inside me only a few hours ago. A languid rush of oh yes went through my nerve endings, my body responding as if I’d never come before, everything stirring to life and aching already.
I moaned and he tucked fingers inside me while laving at my sensitized skin. My back curved upward off the bed, and my gaze rolled toward the ceiling. Everything was so black, the windowless room providing no relief—an abyss of pleasure and feeling without the distraction of sight. But before my eyes shut again, a small red dot in the far corner of the room snagged my attention.
“Foster,” I whispered.
“Hmm” he said, obviously distracted with his strategic destruction of every bit of my self-control. Because even as anxiety was welling, my muscles were tightening and my hips were rocking toward him, urging him on.
“What’s that red light for?”
There was the sound of sheets rustling and then little sparks—the dark so absolute that I could see the static electricity firing. He kissed the inside of my knee, and I could sense he was looking at me now, his gaze holding weight even in the void. “It’s a camera, angel. A lot of the rooms here are monitored.”
My heart jumped in my throat and lodged there. “People are watching us.”
“Shh,” he said, kissing down my thigh again. “It’s not for public viewing—we could open the window by the door if we wanted that. It’s only dungeon monitors who keep an eye on things for safety reasons.”
“Can they see us in the dark?” I asked, my voice sounding tiny in the cavernous room.
“I imagine so. Grant doesn’t spare expense on equipment.” His hand gripped my thigh with gentle pressure. “But relax, Cela. You’re safe here with me. Your privacy is protected.”
“How can I know that for sure?” I suddenly felt beyond vulnerable—naked and tied down in the dark.
“Because you trust me,” he said simply. “That’s your only job with me—to trust. I would never put you at risk. And I promise you, that if you’re going to be mine, you’re going to need to get used to being exposed at times. Remember that laundry list of mine I told you about?”
“Yes.” His fingers were working inside me again, and I was having trouble holding on to my fear, the rhythmic, mind-melting motion drawing all of my energy toward the need for release.
“Being watched kind of turns me on, angel.”
I writhed as he curled his fingers to rub on that spot that made everything want to break open inside me. “Oh . . .”
“And I suspect, if you really let yourself think about it—let yourself imagine someone on the other side of that camera getting hot because you’re so fucking sexy spread out like this for me, you might kinda like it, too.”
I whimpered.
“And even if you don’t, you’ll do it because it pleases me.”
His mouth settled over me again, and white light leaked into the dark behind my eyelids. I bowed up and the images drifted from my mind. All that was left was Foster, in the dark, his tongue and fingers bringing me past the point of shame. A stadium could’ve been watching at the moment, and I probably wouldn’t have cared.
He sucked on my clit and moved a third finger inside me. My control splintered, and I cried out, bucking against the bindings and rocketing into the arc of release. He held on to me, his mouth working me with expert precision as I turned into some mindless, begging thing.
Then, as if attuned to my body in a way even I wasn’t, he slowly backed off, easing me down from the orgasm with soft touches and words until I stopped writhing. Then he was unhooking an ankle and a wrist and rolling me onto my side. The sound of a foil wrapper being torn open registered in my buzzing brain. Hot naked skin pressed against my back, the coarse hair on his chest brushing me, and a hand gripped me below the knee. “Open for me, Cela. I need you.”
Foster guided my knee toward my chest. The arm and leg of the side I was lying on were still tethered, so I could do nothing but let him put me in position. Then he was sliding deep, his thick heat pushing over tender, needy tissues. I moaned again, not sure I could handle more stimulation. But as he banded an arm around me and stroked me with gentler fingers than before, I knew there was no fighting it. This man knew exactly how to wring every drop of pleasure out of me, whether I was exhausted or not. My body wanted to give it to him.
He was in no hurry, no sprint to his own finish line. Instead, he seemed to be savoring and drinking in the sensation with every long, lazy stroke. A dream lover sneaking into my dreams and slaying me with murmured words and sure hands.
And I knew it was because we were both tired.
And it was late.
And dark.
But it felt different. Special. Like making love instead of just sex. Or what I imagined making love would feel like.
And even though I knew it was too soon, I wanted it to be so. Those feelings.
Without being able to hold it back, another orgasm rushed toward me—languid and lush. Hitched breaths passed my lips, and his arm tightened around me. Then Foster was groaning and thrusting to the hilt, filling me with his own release and holding me against him like he was afraid I’d vaporize and disappear.
Minutes later, he remained buried in me. He kissed my shoulder, my neck—the scent of his shampoo, sweat, and my own arousal drifting over me. His stubble scraped across my cheek as he laid his head against mine. “I should probably move.”
“Mmm,” I mumbled, not ready for him to go anywhere. “Moving is so overrated.”
He murmured an agreement but slid out of me anyway and rolled away briefly, probably taking care of the condom. But before I could even catch the chill of the room, his heat was back against me, cocooning me. He unhooked my arm from the cuff and rubbed my wrist gently. “We’ll have to leave once it’s morning. The room isn’t ours to keep.”
“Boo.”
He tucked me closer to him and pulled the covers fully over us now that our heated skin was cooling. “I know. You make me not want to return to the real world.”
“It won’t be so bad,” I said sleepily, feeling as content and calm as I could ever remember.
“I hope you’re right, angel,” he said, his words featherlight touches against my ear. “I really do.”
But the grimness etching his tone spoke loudly in the quiet night. He didn’t think this was real. He didn’t expect it to work.
I was only temporary. I laced my fingers with his and closed my eyes, wondering, not for the first time, if I didn’t believe the exact same thing.
He shifted behind me with a silent sigh. “Get some rest. Dawn will be here soon.”
—
“Where are we going?” I asked Foster as I stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in a robe that guy Colby had given me the night before.
Foster was gathering the rest of our things from the armoire on the far side of the room. “Breakfast and then we need to pay someone a visit before we head out.”
I had no idea who we could possibly have to visit, but I kept that opinion to myself. “Did you see my phone? I need to let Andre know I’m okay. I promised him I’d text him this morning. He said he was going to stay the night in case I needed a ride back home.”
Foster walked over to the bedside table, the soft leather of his pants molding over his backside with every step. Hmm, I was beginning to see the appeal of leather. He grabbed my phone and walked it back over to me. “Tell Andre that I’ll make sure you get home safely. Then get dressed. Normally, if we’re here together, you won’t be wearing much. But even I’m not sadistic enough to take the chance of you running into your brother wearing lingerie.”
I grimaced at the thought and grabbed my things from him. After tapping out a text message to my brother, I pulled on my skirt and blouse from the night before and slipped into my strappy sandals. My phone dinged and I picked it up. “Andre said he’s heading out.”
Foster wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and peered over my shoulder at my phone. “And that if I hurt you, he’ll kill me. Nice.”
I dropped my phone into my bag and turned around in his embrace. “Yeah, you should know he’s entirely serious. The guy does carry a Taser and a gun.”
“I don’t doubt it. He stopped by my apartment that morning we ran into him coming back from the hotel to give me the stay-away message.”
I gaped. “He did what?”
“Don’t worry about it. I respect that.” Foster cupped my chin and pressed a quick kiss to my lips before stepping back and letting me go. “A brother should be overprotective of his sister. It’s his job.”
Something in his tone made me frown. It was like one moment there was comfortable intimacy between us and the next there was this instant distance, like he’d vaulted onto the other side of some wall. But before I could ask him what was wrong, he was heading toward the door.
“Come on, angel,” he said, holding out his hand. “Don’t want to be late for what I have planned this morning.”
My throat tightened at the thought. I hadn’t seen much of what lay outside these doors. Andre had introduced me to his friend, Master Colby, and had set up the plan, but then Colby had led me straight here through a bunch of hallways. Now that I’d raced here to try this with Foster, my nerves at the unknown were catching up. Here, between four walls, just me and Foster was comfortable. But I knew there was a whole other world outside—a world I knew nothing about, really. “What exactly do you have planned?”
Foster’s brows lowered as his hand closed around mine. “First lesson. When we’re here or in this mode at home, you don’t get to question every move I make. You have to learn to trust me. If something truly frightens you or goes to a place you don’t want, you use your safe word. But other than that, I’m in charge. Do you understand?”
I bit my lip at his gentle admonishment. “Yes . . . sir. Wait, am I supposed to call you master?”
Somehow the word didn’t sound right in my mouth. It made it seem like a game, and that’s not what this felt like.
He considered me a moment, his blue eyes evaluating. “Everyone here calls me Master Ian.”
“Oh, right,” I said, looking down at our linked hands. “The other women here.”
The last part was out before I realized I’d spoken the thought. And I hated that it came out sounding so petulant. Grow up, Cela.
He sighed. “No, not just the women. It’s how doms are addressed here. But I also can’t stand here and say that I’ve never been with other submissives here.”
My stomach felt like it was made of knotted rubber bands, snapping and popping. “I know.”
“Look at me,” he said. Reluctantly, I did. “While we’re together, you have my absolute word that I won’t touch another woman. And I expect the same faithfulness from you. But I can’t pretend that I don’t have a past. I’m not a kid, Cela.”
“Right,” I said, irritation welling in me. “Like me, you mean.”
Displeasure shadowed his features. “Don’t put words in my mouth. All I’m saying is getting jealous over people I was with before I knew you is a waste of energy. If they were that spectacular, I’d be with them now, right?”
Logically, I knew that. But it didn’t stop the ugly emotion from brewing in me like some poison. I tried to tamp it down. “So why Ian and not Foster?”
“Because it gives me some sense of privacy. No one in my everyday life calls me Ian. But I don’t want you calling me what other submissives have. You are going to be part of my life outside of here. So call me what you’ve always called me. Foster.”
Something relaxed in me at that. I was different than those other women. I needed to hear that, needed to believe it. “So no ‘master’?”
He smirked. “You hate that idea, don’t you?”
I tried to fight my smile—to no avail. “Honestly, I think I’d have trouble keeping a straight face. It makes me think of a hunchbacked Igor. Yessss, Masssster.”
He shook his head, but I could tell he was amused. “Well, we can’t have that. Though after you’re exposed to the lifestyle for a while, it may begin to take on a different connotation for you. But like I said, call me by name. And if sir feels natural to you, use it. If it doesn’t, then don’t. I’m not that concerned about semantics.”
Sir did come surprisingly easy to me, even that first night. I blew out a breath. “Thank you.”
His eyebrow lifted. “You seem surprised.”
I pushed an escaped lock of hair behind my ear. “I guess I’m not sure what to expect yet, how much say I have in . . . this kind of thing.”
“Which is exactly why you need to come with me,” he said, opening the door. “If we’re going to do this. Let’s get those eyes wide open.”
Oh, boy.