Page 28 of The Secret Life of a Stepford Wife

I ledSeptus down the back hallway and into an aftercare room I had reserved. The door barely had time to close behind me when he spoke.

“I want to kiss you.” It was a statement, a plea of pure need and desire that shot through me like lightning, shocking me and setting my arousal to a near inferno. I spun on my heel, turning to face him in shock. The sultry heat in his voice had knocked off kilter, and the scene we had just explored had left me shaken and needy — something I was not used to in the slightest.

“That is a limit.” I was unsure if I was reminding him or reminding myself in that moment, but regardless, the words needed to be spoken. Boundaries were boundaries, but fuck, Ididwant to kiss him. It was a new feeling, something foreign and unknown to me, and I did not know how to process that emotion.

“I am well aware that it is,” he said in a deep, near growling voice. He stood across the room, his back almost pressed into the wall. But his eyes — his eyes roved up and down my body with a hunger I had never seen before. My thighs clenched together, my clit desperate for friction, for an orgasm to rival all orgasms, all at this man’s hands. I wanted him. Pure and simple. And that scared the fucking hell out of me.

“Then why did you say that?” I asked quietly, cursing inwardly at the way my voice trembled slightly. I didn’t move a muscle. Neither did he. We simply stood there, staring at one another, devouring each other with only our eyes.

“Because it’s the truth,” he answered. That fucking voice of his was curling inside of me, the lust lapping at my need and driving it higher.

“But it’s a boundary.” I reiterated my earlier statement, this time definitely more for my benefit than for his. My toes curled into the points of my shoes as I forced myself to stay put, to not cross the room and give into the temptation that was purely him, purely Septus, purely Thatcher Wells.

“And that is theonlyreason I am over here and not pressing you into that door kissing the ever loving fuck out of you.”

I groaned. I didn’t mean to, but I fucking groaned out loud, my eyes closing as I pushed myself back into the door, as though the fraction of an inch of added distance would do a damned thing.

“Don’t. Do. That.” He spoke with a chilling, warning edge to his voice, one that echoed in my body as I forced myself into stillness, into immobility.

“Why do you want to kiss me?” I asked, like a damned fool. I was playing with fire. Suddenly, it wasn’t Septus who risked being burned, but me.

“Because you are the most infuriating, intense and most goddess like Domme I have ever had the pleasure of scening with.” His answer floored me, stunned me into silence. My mouth hung open, my breaths near panting as I struggled to get my head together and treat this aftercare as a Dominant should and was required to do.

That last thought, the requirement of a Dominant, was what finally shook me out of my lust-induced stupor. I took a deep breath. And then another. And then another, until I felt more in control of myself. I ignored the aching demands of my pussy and focused on my responsibility as the Dominant in this room and in this situation.

“Septus, take a breath.” It was a command, and I was back in control. He, however, was not.

“I want to kiss every inch of your body.”

“I need you to take a breath and remember our boundaries, Septus. Now.” This time, my tone and my words hit home. He was pushing, yes, but he was a good submissive, just as he said he was. He did not cross a line. I could not blame him for his words or his desires. I shared them. Though I would never admit that, least of all to him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he finally answered, his breathing still ragged and harsh. He closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose and exhaling out through his mouth as he struggled to control his urges.

“Count to ten.”

“One. Two. Three.” He began counting slowly, using the mantra to calm him and control himself. It worked. I watched as he visibly relaxed and then began to tremble.

“Come here.” I urged him to come closer as I sat on the edge of the bed. I was in control, and he had already shown me he would respect the boundaries laid forth. He stood there silently for a moment, the only sound in the room his harsh breathing, his hands fisted at his sides as he regained his own control. After a moment, he obeyed, sitting down on the bed next to me.

I placed my arm around him, comforting him for a moment as we both found a bit of balance in the post-scene mayhem of our senses.

“Thank you,” he whispered after a long moment.

“Of course. Would you like to shower first?” I asked, fully prepared for him to want to get the feel of waxy film off of his skin.

“Join me.” His plea was barely more than a breath. I wanted to. I wanted to bathe him more than words could say, but being naked with him in a steaming shower sounded like a recipe for disaster. To be honest, I was barely holding on to my control as it was.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Septus.”

“I understand.” I could hear the utter, painful rejection in his voice. He was dejected, and in aftercare, in this headspace, that was not a good thing.

“Let’s make a compromise, then. I’ll bathe you, but I won’t join you in the shower.” I hoped my offer would suffice. The pull to give him all the care I possibly could cut through me like a knife.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Then let me show you.” I stood up from the bed, taking his hand and guiding him to the attached bathroom, where I started the shower. I let it run for a few moments, letting the water warm up. It was only then that I realized he was still naked. How I had missed that during this entire exchange, I was unsure. “The hot water will help melt the waxy film from your skin.”

He stepped under the spray, but when he started to close the fabric curtain, I stopped him.

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