Authors: Lena Black
“Yes, but it’s late, and we’ve had a long, trying day. I want to crawl into bed and fall asleep with you in my arms. Is that too much to ask?”
I ease when I realize he needs me.
“No, actually, that’s perfect.”
He rises from his chair, does a long stretch, cracking his neck and twisting his back.
Once he’s good and limber, he walks about the desk toward me, and I rise to meet him.
“After you, Elle.” He gives me a shy grin, placing his hand on the small of my back and guides me to the bedroom. I jump in on the right, and he slides in beside me. I turn away, and he coils his arm around my waist, culling me into his firm body. I rest my head on the bicep of his outstretched arm.
“Sleep now, angel.”
I take a few calming breaths, and
he kisses me on the crown of my head as I fade into an ocean of darkness.
I
can’t sleep. I woke up an hour ago, and I’ve been lying here with my eyes open, alert, glued to Hunt. He’s sleeping sound, breathing steadily. His pouty lips are slightly hanging open, relaxed, face calm. He’s lying on his stomach, arms spread and bent, framing his head. I love watching him in such a vulnerable position, a rare treat I savor. I want to touch him, feel him, but I wouldn’t want to wake him and ruin this lovely, sporadic moment of bliss.
I lie there for a few more minutes, relishing the tranquility, basking in its comforting glow. My body is peaceful, tired, but my mind is racing, wide-awake. I can’t lie here any longer, I’m growing restless, and I don’t want to stir Damian out of his serene sleep. I gently lean in and kiss his cheek. I notice a hint of a smile grace his perfect lips and grin broadly, doing an inner victory dance.
I slowly crawl out of bed backwards, but he stirs when my weight shifts the mattress, and I pause, frozen in an awkward pose, naked. Let’s just say it isn’t pretty.
He adjusts himself onto his back, flings an arm over his face, and does a few adorable lip smacks before returning to his peaceful state of rest. I let out a held breath, finishing my descent off the bed. I grab my white silk robe off the end and throw it on as I creep softly out of the room, shutting the door behind me.
I head downstairs to the game room, where I spotted a desktop computer. I decide to do a little research on my new lifestyle, get an idea of what I’m going up against. I only have notions of what this all is. I used to believe what I experienced with Nicholas was the definition of this choice in lifestyle. I thought it was the rule, not the exception, but it’s not, and I desire a better understanding of what it truly means.
I wander into the game room and head to the dark wood desk towards the back.
The contrast of the antique artisanship of the room’s furniture mixed with the sleek, contemporary styling of the electronic gadgets is oddly charming.
I take a seat at the desk, scoot
ing the burgundy leather chair closer, and turn on the computer. I scroll through pages on contracts, rules, requirements, roles, commands, and expectations of both Dom and sub. I learn such terminology as hard and soft limits, vanilla, switch, top, bottom, 24/7, collared, aftercare, subspace, and subdrop. I study with total fascination, from the different levels of dedication to types of play. There’s impact, sensation, which seems to be tamer than most acts like ravishment (fake rape), knife, fire, and scat. I’m in a fog, dazed by the many facets of being a sub.
“What are you doing down here?” Hunt startles me, and I let out a high-pitched shriek.
My hand flies to my chest, over my rapidly beating heart, and I exhale. I find him leaning on the doorframe with his arms firmly crossed over his bare chest, face impassive. He’s wearing a pair of loose, black sweats, hanging seductively low off his hips, his hair a sexy mess.
“I was looking somethi
ng up,” I reply with a quaver in my voice.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I reply, going to shut off the computer, but he makes it over to me and snatches my hand before I reach the power button. He stares stunned at the screen.
There are various pictures of women trussed up, gaged, bound, and enduring severe corporal punishment, positioned in extreme poses. I look away, suddenly embarrassed by my curiosity.
Hunt scoops me up and takes a seat in the chair, cradling me in his lap. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, Gabrielle. I’m pleased you’re curious. It shows you’re interested in what I do.”
“We do,” I correct him in a low tone, face still turned away.
“Yes, we do.” He pinches my chin between his thumb and pointer and shifts my face to look at him. “Do you have any questions?”
Do I have questions? Where do I start?
“Yes, but…” I trail off.
“What do you want to ask me? You’ve no reason to be shy, Gabrielle.”
“I’m not sure where to start.”
“What do you think of what you saw?”
“I’m not fond of certain things, but as a whole, I’m interested in exploring it further.”
“Would you like to elucidate?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Gabrielle, how do you expect us to further in the bedroom, if you
don’t communicate what you want or don’t want? I’m not a mind reader. You must tell me what you desire or I can’t give it to you.”
“You’re doing an exceptional job this far.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Gabrielle, please.”
“I know, but it’s early in the morning, and I would like time to compose my questions. I have so many, and they’re all rushing about my head. I can’t get a grip on any one in particular.”
“I’m here when you’re ready.” He sweeps a
chunk of loose strands from my face, tucking them behind my ear, and grazes my cheek with his knuckle. “Are you tired? Would you like to go back to bed?”
“No, I can’t sleep.”
“I could fix that for you.”
I
scan the room, and when I set sight on the videogame consoles I get an idea.
“Want to play a game?”
“What kind of game?” he asks with a dark tone. “I know a two player game we could play.”
“Get your
filthy mind out of the gutter. I was referring to that,” I remark, nodding at the entertainment system.
His tone is youthful, surprised. “You play?”
“Hell yeah! I played constantly in college with Chase and the boys in my hall. I mopped the floor with their asses.”
“I would love to play a game. Ladies choice.”
He releases me, and I hop up, skipping over to the wall crammed full of games. I scan and study the immense collection with awe and frustration.
How am I going to pick a game out of all this?
“Got any zombie games?” I ask, turning back to look at him.
He rises and saunters over to the wall, taking only an instant before reaching up and snagging a neon green game case off the shelf. He takes it over to the 360, pops the disk in, and turns on the TV.
I curl up on the black leather couch
, adjacent to the extravagant set up, and tuck my legs into my chest. He flops down beside me and hands over a controller. The game’s title flashes across the screen, and we start it up.
We
’re standing in a dimly lit room, guns firmly clasped in our hands, immersed into a post-apocalyptic world. Zombies come at us from everywhere, busting through the windows and doors, with their putrid mouths open wide, ready to devour us to the bone.
We blast through them, wiping them out in gory masses, kicking ass. I hold my own, blasting their mangled heads right off their shoulders and stomachs out through their backs. Gore fills the room as we take them out one by one.
We make it out of the room and hit the dilapidated streets strewed with rusted, busted cars and decomposing dead bodies. We shoot our way through the swarms as they come running at us, and even though I get my fair share, Hunt is taking them down in a fiery blaze of flashes. The bullets wiz through the air, hitting their marks with perfect precision, causing zombies heads to explode in a glorious display of his competency and skill.
He’s flawless. Everything he touches turns to gold as if he were
King Midas. It’s turning me on, my cleft warms as the blood rushes down to my clit, causing it to pulsate with each beat of my heart. However, I’m also extremely competitive and I don’t like to be beaten. Well, not in the driven sense anyway. I feel my face burn and wrench as I focus all my efforts into taking out my stumbling quarry.
I think Hunt notices what I’m attempting to do and takes out his machine gun. He starts taking them out in droves, so I bust out mine and do the same. We run
through the streets of New York taking out the decaying hell spawn. His numbers rise, and so do mine, back and forth we go, working our way through gurgling hoards of the walking dead.
I’m doing really well until I run out of ammo. He laughs, taunting me as he keeps at the swarms. I smack his arm, but he only laugh
s harder, blowing through them and racking up his numbers. I shove my shoulder into him and try to get his controller, but he moves his hands out of reach, still going at the decrepit zombies.
I lunge over him, grabbing at the device, but miss it, landing across his lap. I extend my hand out,
reaching for the controller, but he drops it and attacks my sides instead. He tickles wildly, causing me to squirm violently, kicking my legs and using my arms in a failed attempt to block his hands. I squeal and let out forced giggles, begging him to stop.
Why does he insist on torturing me?
My prayers are answered when I snort loudly. He laughs uproariously; head thrown back, mouth open wide as he takes amusement in my gawkiness. I poke his side, trying to jolt him, but he’s too hard, and I end up hurting my finger. I clasp my injured digit tight, and he stops his hysterics. I stick the tip into my mouth, sucking and hissing.
He grabs my hand, yanking it out of my mouth, and places the fingertip to his lips, kissing it gently.
“Better?”
I stare wide-eyed at him, shaking my head sluggishly from side-to-side. He smiles seductively down at me, and I quiver.
“I could fix that for you,” he purrs, lifting up my robe, exposing my bare bottom and rubbing it softly. His penetrating gaze pierces mine; he’s fucking me with his eyes. His hands knead leisurely, fingers clasping onto the soft, plump flesh of my behind, digging hungrily. I moan, shutting my eyes and resting my head on the couch.
He gives me a quick tap,
and my head flies up, eyes returning to his. He stares down at me with desire, shadowy emerald eyes burning desperately for me. I turn over, revealing my naked sex to him, stretching my arms above my head with my hands clasped, fingers entwined. I’m sprawled out across his lap for the taking. His solid erection pokes into my ass, and I wiggle, grinding into his remarkable length. He moans, tilting his head back, licking his supple lips.
He looks back down at me, and with no warning, he flips us over so I’m astride him. I reach through my trembling thighs, shoving my hand into the opening of his black sweats and free him. He rips open my robe, exposing my breasts to him
, and sits up, latching his warm, moist mouth onto the tender nipple. I moan, thrusting my head back as I sink onto his stiff, upright cock and proceed to fuck him until I’m too tired to go on. I pass out on his sweat-slicked torso while he’s still nestled deep inside me.
I
t’s still dark when I’m lulled awake by soft kisses on my exposed breasts, robe flung open, revealing my naked front. The sweet, slow serenade of a piano compliments the soulful, lilting of a female voice as it envelopes my ears. It’s one of mine. A beautifully moving ballad by Zola Jesus called ‘Skin’.
Hunt’s delectable tongue coax’s me into blissful conscious
ness. I become vaguely aware of the fact were back in his bed but extremely aware of him.
Hmmm…My dark Prince wakes me with an erotic kiss.
I thrust eager hands through his disheveled hair, yanking on it as his yummy mouth rouses me.
“This is a great wake up call,” I say with a raspy, sleepy voice.
Damian’s lips crawl up my neck and chin, then finally to wanting lips. He tucks his arms around me and holds me against
him, devouring me with a heart-stirring oral caress. His stubble is prickly, giving his lip-lock an abrasive touch, a touch that resonates far inside me, in a place only he can get to. I return his impassioned kiss and soothe his tongue with mine. He moans through our pressed lips, eyes shut as he fully takes in the sensations.
Our bodies writhe and arc as hands roam greedily. I pull at the bottom of his shirt and lift it off his otherwise still clothed body. He moves back onto his knees to help me along. He’s stupefying, the sheer brilliance of his beauty is blinding. Then something happens
to remind me he’s a mere mortal like all the rest. He gets caught up in the shirt with arms outstretched. It covers his head and leaves his perfect pecks and abs bare. We start laughing at the adorable mishap.
“This isn’t funny.” He half-laughs out.
“It really is,” I giggle out.