Page 269 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Ow.” I arch off the bench.
“What’s wrong?”
“The nipple clamps.”
“Well, you should have thought of that before, unless you want to safeword, that is?” His hand is still placed on my back, yet there’s no pressure until I give my consent.
“I’ll endure.” I lie flat and brace.
“Yes, yes, you will.” He smoothes his hand over my arse and strikes, hard. The sting explodes across my skin with instant heat. His palm rains down on me again and again. I’m thrumming, alive and on fire. I knew he wouldn’t get the cane; it’s really only used in an extreme session; nevertheless, he seems pretty set on me not being able to sit down for not just Christmas dinner, but maybe New Year, too.
He drags his fingers along my centre. A deep satisfied grumble rumbles from his chest, and I cry out in sweet euphoria when he easily slides his fingers inside me.
“I wanted to keep you waiting a little longer, but damn, Sam, you feel too good.” His lips briefly kiss the back of my neck, his hands stroke down my spine until he grabs fistfuls of my cheeks and squeezes, massaging and rubbing the length of his rock-hard cock along the crack until the tip just nudges at my entrance. This slow pace is divine torture, and it’s killing me.
“You feel amazing.” The strain in his voice makes me smile. I’m always reassured that he seems as affected today as he did the very first time. He thrusts deep inside me, one slick move that makes me arch off the bench and too many stars to count fill my vision.
“You feel pretty amazing yourself.” I exhale a blissful moan.
He groans and pulls back, only to slam inside again, deeper, harder. I buck. The pain feels good, so damn good. I push back to meet each of his deep feral thrusts with my own greedy movement. I can’t ever get enough when he loses it like this. One of his hands moves from my hip to my throat, and he pulls me further into the perfect arc, slamming everything he has deep into my willing body. His other hand slips around the front to where my clit is throbbing for his attention, and when his fingers slide on either side of the swollen nub, I instantly start to tremble.
His firm yet light touch is perfectly combined with the relentless pounding from behind. The first threat of my imminent climax crackles at the base of my spine. It takes hold, and even if I wanted to, there is not a damn thing I can do to stop this tidal wave of carnal pleasure from crashing over me. I explode; a deep build of pressure detonates, leaving me weak and shuddering and barely aware of him pushing to chase his own release. It could be seconds or minutes. I’m gone, lost,floating on my own cloud of erotic euphoria. He makes the sexiest sound known to woman and collapses onto me. His full body weight pressing me flat against the bench and causing me to wince with the fresh spike of pain in my nipples. He instantly braces his weight and helps me up.
His hands sweep my face, my skin. His eyes search my face for any sign of distress, and when he sees there is none, he scoops me in his arms and carries me over to the bed. Pulling the cover back, he lays me down, carefully removes the clamps and does what he does best, gives me all the aftercare I need. Well, the second best thing he does.
We lie together, and wrapped in his strong embrace, I haven’t a care in the world until he mentions the one I aired earlier.
“So, are you going to tell me what that was all about?” His fingers thread into my hair, and he drags the strands through and repeats the movement in a rhythmic and slightly hypnotic fashion. I feel I may fall asleep.
“What was what all about?” I yawn, feigning ignorance.
“You want me to get the ropes and give you a Shibari session? Because that takes hours, and I know how much you love being restrained for that length of time. I can call Will and tell him to get a take-out for one.”
“No, let’s not do that.” I’m not a fan. I’ve gotten better over the years. Still, it’s not quite made it on to my top ten list of things to do with Jason in the dungeon. I let out a heavy sigh and try to not let my emotions get the best of me. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just about the school we’ve applied to for Roman next year. The board met last week, and Mary told me the other day how difficult it is to get a place. She told me how thorough they are with checking potential pupils’ families. Anyway, I worry that maybe they’ve done a background check, and my past will ruin Roman’s chance for a good education.”
“Whoa, whoa, back up there, crazy lady. Roman is five years old. His education should be about making mud pies, having fun, and making friends. He’s a bright boy; it won’t matter where he goes to school. He’ll do great.”
“But I want him to go to St. Michaels. All his friends go there, and—”
He interrupts, first by silencing me with a kiss and then by being very level-headed and rational. “The friends he sees at swimming club, tumble tots, and at the park, you mean? Are those friends going to suddenly vanish if he went to a different school?”
“No, of course not.”
“No, he’d just make more friends. Now let’s get back to the background check. So what if they do? You’re a successful solicitor working for a charity that helps the homeless. I work for a Fortune 500 company, and if they look hard enough, they’ll also see that it was Daniel’s company that donated a shit tonne of IT equipment for their new tech centre, along with all the other schools in the area. But the fact that they got any donation at all is because of me. They hardly need donations, what with the fees they charge,” he mutters, and I totally understand. It’s an extremely well-funded school, and the pupils there come from money and privilege.
“It’s the best school, Jason.” We’ve had this conversation many times, and it pretty much always ends with yes, I agree, and no, it doesn’t make a difference; I still want him to go there.
“And that’s why I haven’t said anything, but I won’t have you getting yourself all worked up or worse, being ashamed of how fucking amazing you were and are. We own a sex club, Sam. If they are going to reject our application for anything, it will be that, but since the chairman of their PTA is a platinum member, I really don’t think our private lives have anything to do with it.”
“He’s a member? Really?”
“Yes, and that goes no further.”
“Of course. I didn’t need to be told that, Jason.” I’m rightly affronted, and he’s quick to diffuse my agitation with a tender knowing smile. He softens the accusation with an insightful observation.
“Not normally, no. But when you get all ‘mama bear', rules and protocol seem to take a back seat.”
“Just protecting my cubs.” I can’t exactly argue; he’s spot on with his comment.
