The Drazen World: The Tryst (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 3

  "Let's get back inside. The view's not going anywhere. We can enjoy it when we're more appropriately dressed. That's an order." I delivered that command with a smile and a slap on the ass, but it was damn cold and I was serious about getting inside. It felt as though it had gotten ten degrees colder since we walked over from Kovac's. "I'd like to get your ritual established tonight, and then there's the little matter of your punishment."

  "Punishment? What punishment? You've only been my Dom for twenty minutes."

  "It's been more like an hour, but who's counting? The fact remains that you snuck off last Sunday without regard to my peace of mind, and potentially put yourself at risk. You know that your safety is your Dom's, and therefore my, responsibility, and wandering around Philadelphia at five in the morning puts you at risk. We had an agreement last weekend, even if it was only supposed to be for the night, and you disregarded that. You were thoughtless, and therefore, you've earned a punishment."

  "Yes, Sir. I owed you more respect than that, even if that agreement was only for a single scene." She allowed me to lead her inside, subtly submitting with her posture and her tone.

  I locked up and went back down to the living room. I stoked the fire in the fireplace, kicked off my shoes, stripped off my shirt, and undid my jeans as I moved around the room, lowering the lights. I motioned Missy to the middle of the floor. "What greeting ritual have you been trained in?"

  "I enter the room, strip off and fold my clothes, kneel, and prostrate myself."

  "Show me."

  She did so, but I didn't find it especially enticing. For me, it wasn't the economy of movement or business-like manner in which she peeled off her "armor" that sent my cock into hiding. It was the way her posture obscured rather than enhanced her best qualities. Cowering just wasn't sexy to me.

  "Lena, I'd prefer if you kneel, resting your ass on your heels, your hands clasped at your lower back. Tits out, spine straight, chin up, and eyes down. Your hair will be down. Always."

  "Yes, Jonathan."

  And with that, we’re in our first scene.

  "Lena, sneaking out like a thief in the night was disrespectful. You usurped my control, which is far worse than topping from the bottom. I lost sleep over that. That's worth at least fifteen strokes. You agree."

  "Yes, Jonathan. I was inconsiderate, and that warrants punishment."

  "Position yourself over the chaise. I'm invoking the Rule of Three."

  MISSY

  "The Rule of Three? I mean the Rule of Three, Sir?" He may be new at this, but I have a feeling he's going to be very creative. I don't know if that's a good thing or bad thing.

  "The punishment isn't complete until there are three orgasms. Shall we begin?"

  Jonathan positioned me over the chaise—hips against the chair frame, breasts flush against the pony skin. He took one hand, then the other, and bit the fleshy part of each hard enough to sting before he wrapped my fingers around the chair frame.

  "Are you familiar with honor bondage?" He searched into me with those glittering tourmaline eyes, pressing my bitten hands so tight against the frame, I was sure he saw the pain flash through me as I nodded. "Good. Don't let go."

  Barehanded slaps rained down on my ass and brought a bloom of heat to the surface of my skin.

  I could feel but not see Jonathan stepping away as he said, "I think we're ready to begin."

  The force of the first crack of the paddle landed squarely on my ass and took me by surprise, propelling me forward with a gasp. The friction of the pony skin made my nipples rock hard and super sensitive. I don't know how I'm going to make it through fourteen more. Three orgasms. That’s how.

  The second and third strikes landed near the tops of my thighs, hitting that sweet spot that set my pussy on fire. I heard the paddle drop, and Jonathan's mouth was all over my ass and cunt, biting and sucking, using his thumbs to pull me apart, feasting as he worked me over with his tongue and teeth. I could actually feel the bruises coming to life, his hands were so strong and insistent. My orgasm was building, thanks to Jonathan's relentless hunger, but I wasn't quite there and he knew it.

  He smacked me twice more with his bare hand and shoved three fingers inside me, pressing against my sweet spot so hard that the rush of feeling he caused kept building and building until I snapped like a rubber band. I doubled over and clamped down on his hand, holding on for dear life as I rode out the orgasm crashing through my body.

  He hit me with the paddle again and again. Somehow, I managed to keep the count. My ass was on fire by the time we got to eleven, then I felt the sting of the denim and zipper as his hips pressed into my burning flesh, and he held me down with the weight of his body as he leaned over me. He placed the heels of his hands in the cradle of my pelvis, teasing me with both hands, touching all around my clit and lips but never making direct contact. He was soothing and stimulating all at once, building into a lovely, sweet pressure at my core as he murmured filthy things in what I took to be Russian in my ear.

  Jonathan suddenly filled my cunt with his fingers, forcing me wide open as he relentlessly worked my clit with his thumbs, kneading my swollen flesh. His whole body followed the rhythm set by his hands, creating this relentless pattern of sensation moving through me. Like Newton's cradle, his touch elicited waves of responses that traveled through my body. I was engulfed in it, the weight of him rubbing my nipples into the pony skin on the chaise and rocking my ass into the evil teeth of his zipper. Why couldn't he wear button-fly jeans?

  All the rocking and kneading and tugging turned into this cacophony of need with Jonathan literally prying orgasms out of me like a pearl from an oyster. My cunt was full of his fingers and he was working every bit of tender flesh until he made me burst—not once but twice.

  The orgasm was still ripping through me when he abandoned my cunt for my mouth. "You're going to suck these clean while we finish, and I better not feel even the hint of teeth."

  I gladly welcomed the source of so much pleasure, sucking his fingers with vigor. I grunted out the count as he dealt out the last four strokes of my punishment, which brought me right back to the brink.

  "Good girl. One orgasm to go, and it's all mine. On your knees and suck until I say you're done. No hands. No coming for you either."

  Five minutes of sucking his cock and I may be in big trouble. I was that primed.

  And my God—he finally pulled out his cock, and it was a thing of beauty, long and heavy and defying gravity. The crown was velvety smooth and glistening with pre-cum. He was commando, as if there was any doubt, and made short work of kicking off his jeans. He looked like some ancient pagan god from the Celtic mythology books I’d devoured in my childhood. The firelight accentuated how muscular his lean body was, and made his copper hair gleam.

  I was still basking in the view when he grabbed me by the hair and filled my mouth full of cock—no preliminaries—straight to deep throat. Despite the watering eyes, gagging, and drool, I found my groove quickly because I so desperately wanted to please—my master. The rhythm grew more punishing as I took Jonathan's cock deeper into my throat with each stroke. I felt the telltale tightening at the base of his cock as Jonathan fucked my face, holding my hair so tightly I still managed to whimper around the thrusts. This only egged him on to thrust deeper until he came so fast and hard, my lips and chin were painted with his cum.

  He stepped back, pulling his cock out of my mouth, which finally allowed me to swallow. He helped me up from my knees and tipped up my chin, forcing our eyes to meet. "You're my masterpiece. Broken open. My marks on your body. My seed on your lips."

  The kiss was punishing. All tongue and lips and teeth. Sucking and biting. And my taste on him. There was a wildness to his control like nothing I had ever experienced, and I reveled in it. It went on and on, even as he scooped me in his arms and carried me back to the bedroom.

  "That was probably closer to funishment than punishment, but have I made my point, pet? What have you learned?"

  H
e tweaked my nipple, which hurled me toward orgasm and delayed my answer. I struggled to put words together. "I won't sneak out again. Our scene is not complete until my aftercare is done and you see me safely home."

  "Speaking of aftercare . . ."

  Jon deposited me on the vanity counter and fussed with the shower. It looked like mission control. It wasn't just a question of hot or cold. There were more sprays than a car wash, and what looked like a steam function. Once he’d adjusted it to his liking, he checked for broken skin on my hands, pulled me across the cool marble of the counter, and into the shower we went. The swirling steam in the rain forest shower made it that much more erotic and otherworldly.

  It would've been heaven if it hadn't been for the slick mass of want nestled in my pelvis. Jonathan standing a hair's breath away gave it a life all its own.

  "Don't forget. You have something that belongs to me. Don't you dare take it." He cupped my pussy with one strong hand and clamped down, nipping my earlobe under the steamy spray and sending a jolt through my clit. "Not yet. Patience. Hands on the tile and don't move."

  He gave me the sexiest pat down ever, his hands full of creamy, frothy body wash. He painted my whole body with the suds, setting every nerve ablaze. "Close your eyes and just feel."

  He worked his way up my body while crouched behind me. As he ran his hands up my leg to my secret place, his hot breath caressed my pussy. When his hands moved higher, he gathered my body to his, pressing his cock against my ass. He lathered my breasts, swirling the bubbly foam around my rock-hard nipples, creating a cascade of sensation that sent me climbing higher. He reveled in the slickness that the bubbles created, caressing me with his whole body.

  He stepped back just as my trembling reached a fever pitch. "Rinse."

  While I wallowed in the tropical heat created by the combination of steam and the rain forest shower head, Jonathan quickly cleaned off and hopped out, slinging a towel around his slim hips.

  He beckoned me out of the shower with a towel of my own, and he wrapped me tightly. "Kneel at the side of the bed. I'll be there to take care of you in a minute."

  When he approached me at the bedside with a hairbrush in his hand, I got even wetter, anticipating more attention for my cherry-red ass. Color me shocked when he briskly brushed my damp hair, pulling at the roots and feeding the fire smoldering in my veins. It certainly wasn't what I’d expected, especially the reaction of my body. Much more of this, and I would orgasm. But I couldn't. Jonathan forbade it.

  My breathing grew shallow, turning into pants as I struggled to keep my rebelling body under control. None of it was lost on Jonathan. Controlling me by my hair, he forced my face into the soft sheepskin rug beside the bed, smacked my ass, and thrust into me, balls deep. The sound and feel of our skin slapping sent me to the brink. He was the barbarian at the gate, battering his way into my core, yanking on my hair for better leverage, his unrelenting thrusts forcing the body to acquiesce and surrender his property.

  The pleasure and pain coalesced just as Jonathan half grunted, half roared, "Now."

  That permission sent me flying, my world going bright then black as waves of sensation rolled through my body, emanating from the spot where our bodies joined. It was all I could do to ride out the aftershocks.

  The next I knew, I was all tucked in, Jonathan cradling me close to his side and lazily combing his fingers through my hair. "Sleep. You've done well, blackbird."

  JON

  I had sent her out to the bedroom because I needed a second to get my head together. It was all I could do not to take her against the tile in the shower, but we had agreed on condoms until we’d exchanged clean health checks. I focused on my reflection as I tried to get myself under control. God, I'm fucking this up. She's giving me control because she trusts me to use it wisely and keep her safe. What does it say about me if I lose track of something as simple as getting my dick wrapped up? I grabbed some condoms out of the drawer, and as I was rolling one on, I spotted a hairbrush Leanne had left behind on one of her visits. May as well take that too.

  Once I flipped off the bathroom light, the moonlight from the windows painted the bedroom and Lena in a shimmering gray light. It was the most erotic version of bedtime prayers you could ever imagine. I was all set to administer another spanking with the hairbrush in my hand, but the idea of her hair wrapped around my hands was far more appealing.

  At the sight of the brush, her eyes grew wide and her pupils dilated. But when I came from behind her and grabbed her hair, her body gave way. Maybe later, blackbird. I ran the brush and my fingers through her hair, the pressure and tugging coaxing a breathy whine out of her. The act of brushing her hair was soothing and hypnotic, but the soft sounds of pain and frustration coming from her and the caress of her hair against my thighs put me on edge and ready to give her what her body's been begging for.

  Without warning or preamble, I doubled her over, her face in the rug and her ass in the air. My cock found its way home through the hot slick mess of her thighs with a single thrust. I pummeled her hard and fast, burying myself deep inside. The smack of skin on skin marked every stroke. My grip on her hair grew tighter, bringing tears to her eyes.

  It wasn't long until my balls tightened and I let loose a guttural, "Now."

  Her cunt clamped down on my cock, wringing me out. I collapsed on top of her, willing breath back into my body as I rode out the waves. Where we joined was a throbbing, hot mass of sensation, then pleasure, and finally, relief. When I finally rolled off of her, breaking her connection, she moaned at the loss, hovering somewhere at the edges of subspace. I took care of the condom then gathered her in my arms, taking care not rouse her. I settled her into bed, carefully joined her, and pulled her close to me. Words of praise were the last thing I remembered as I finally drifted off to sleep.

  MISSY

  Tuesday mornings had already turned into a beatdown. I had an upper-level seminar on art of the twentieth century—essentially impressionism through neoexpressionism and postminimalism. It wasn’t really my cup of tea, but if I was going to work for UNESCO, my knowledge of early twentieth-century art would be critical, so there was no avoiding it. The class met for two hours twice a week. It was a nine o'clock class and the professor was annoyingly prompt, so I made a point to get there early with the largest coffee I could find, sit down front, and force myself to pay attention. Sitting down front also got me a bit more room to spread out. Seats at the back were at a premium. Most of the class was under the mistaken impression that they could hide from, or at least postpone, the grilling that Professor Fabian was sure to subject them to at some point during the semester.

  Just as she was launching into a long-winded discussion of the Salon des Refusés of 1863, the door at the top of the lecture hall clattered open. Someone's late. It'll be hell to pay. A swirl of whispers spread through the room, but I refused to be sucked into the drama and kept my eyes on Professor Fabian.

  To my surprise, rather than continue with her lecture, she motioned the cause of the disruption down to the front. "Mr. Drazen, please take a seat down front. I'm sure Ms. Corradi will be happy to bring you up to speed in the class. Isn't it her job to babysit you and your teammates?"

  "What the—Mr. Drazen?" I went from bewilderment to fury in about a second. Fuck my life.

  "I heard that. May I? I don't bite." Jon's sotto voce purr tickled my ear.

  The Drazen smirk was out in full force as he settled in next to me. One look at my glare wiped it right off of his face. I stared straight ahead, knowing the rest of the class was waiting for drama to ensue. Most of them were art history majors, like me, and had little interest in sports per se. Even so, the fact that a campus celebrity like Jonathan Drazen was in their midst would set them buzzing. I wasn't going to throw gasoline on that particular fire.

  “Cicero” was on the tip of my tongue. I should safe word out before this whole thing turned into a massive clusterfuck. The most important hard limit of them all was keeping our arr
angement under wraps, and he left out the fact that he was in my class? A fact that would have made me approach his proposal differently. Duplicitous bastard. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. All of those shady business stories about his family must be true. I was still fuming when a note slid into my field of vision.

  I had no idea you would be in this class. Please let me explain

  before you blow everything up.

  I took a deep breath, schooled my expression, and tried to silently tell him to drop it until the class was done. Fabian would not tolerate note passing in class. The rest of the lecture crawled along. Knowing that Jon was a foot away set my every nerve on edge. The energy between us felt like this bright, palpable thing. In my head, every eye was on me and they all somehow knew. Lucius and I had attended departmental events during our time together, and while he had a way of asserting dominion whenever I was in proximity, I’d never felt so raw and vital and exposed. Was this what chemistry felt like?

  By the end of the class, Professor Fabian had finally moved on from the impressionists. As I packed my book bag, she stopped directly in front of us.

  “I wasn't kidding, Miss Corradi. You make whatever arrangements are necessary to get Mr. Drazen up to date. I'll notify the academic liaison to the athletic department to expect a tutor request." Her tone and expression wouldn't brook any arguments, and she continued down the hall without giving us a second glance or an opportunity for any response at all.

  As she walked, her path dispersed the remaining gawkers at the back of the lecture hall. Class may have been over, but that had never stopped her from cornering students she felt hadn't lived up to her expectations, so it was best not to be in her path. I zipped my pack shut, and it was only as I struggled with my coat that I allowed our eyes to meet. He came to the rescue, straightening my collar and fixing my scarf.