Читать книгу: «Teach Me / Getting Dirty», страница 5

CHAPTER FIVE

ERIKA MIGHT HAVE thought she was on the verge of being sick, if it weren’t for that blazing fire in her pussy that made a lie out of all the other sensations that sloshed around inside her. Her heart jolted, her stomach dropped, her skin felt stretched too tight… But still she burned.

And all Dorian did was sit there, almost lazily, watching her intently as she battled herself.

He did nothing to encourage her. He did nothing to hurry her along.

He only waited as if he was in absolutely no doubt that no matter her struggle, she would do exactly what he’d told her to do.

Because you want to do it, something in her whispered.

She was that hard, small stone in his palm, and he would make a fist only if she admitted it. If she allowed it. If she laid herself across his lap and submitted the way she wanted to, with every last part of the melty, swoony thing currently burning up inside her.

“Were my instructions unclear?” Dorian asked, mildly enough.

But nothing about the intensity in his dark gaze was mild.

Erika let out a breath that turned into something like a sob, and then she lowered herself over him.

It was awkward. His thighs were much too hard, and she was too…aware of everything. The way her breasts pressed into the leather cushion and how weird it was to crawl over another person like this in the first place. Much less for the reason she was doing it.

“I want you to lace your hands behind your head,” Dorian said, and she instantly felt calmer and more on fire at the same time.

It was like the more she melted, the more of her there was to melt.

And it was a lot different to hear him talk now. In this position. She shifted, and his hand came down to the small of her back, holding her there. Firmly, yet light enough that if she’d wanted to, she could have rolled away from him. Thrown herself on the floor, run for the door—

But she only exhaled. Loudly.

And stayed where she was.

“Hands, please,” he said calmly. But there was no mistaking the power in his voice.

God, that power.

Erika had spent her whole life careening about from one so-called authority figure to the next, always laughing when they tried to control her, because they couldn’t. They always backed down, or lost track of her, or proved easy enough for her to control. They had the position of authority, but not the power to back it up.

Dorian had the power. And she’d given him the authority, hadn’t she?

And she knew without having to ask that there was no possibility that she was going to control this, or him, or anything at all unless and until she uttered that safe word.

But she really didn’t want to do that.

Her skin was so oversensitized she thought she might come from the faintest breeze, and it seemed to get worse with every breath. Or maybe she meant better. She threaded her fingers together behind her head, and that changed things all over again. It thrust her breasts into the leather cushion beneath her, abrading her nipples through the strappy top she wore and making them pull tighter.

But she was far more focused on Dorian. His rock-hard thighs beneath her, muscle like stone, that made her feel deliciously weak. And that hand in the small of her back, holding her in place so easily—though it felt like a heavy length of chain to her. She could feel his heat. His strength. That power that she’d already spent two years chasing. She felt surrounded by him, and it made her body shudder in reaction. Or longing. It was hard to tell.

It was all the same, and she melted, and everything was much too hot—

He smoothed his other hand over her ass, flipping up that tiny skirt. She tried to imagine what he saw. Her bright red lacy thong stuck between her ass cheeks, painting him a picture. She could see herself and it made her hips rock a little, as if that could help her aching clit.

It didn’t. Especially when he widened his legs, effectively preventing her from rocking herself against him for any kind of relief.

More than that it reminded her, wordlessly, that he was in control. Complete and utter control, and saw everything. Every little wriggle she tried to make. Every expression on her face. Every flush that stained her skin.

For someone who had spent a whole life being both too visible and yet forever ignored, it was…gratifying. Terrifying. Electrifying.

“I’m going to pull your thong down,” he told her matter-of-factly, as if he was narrating the weather to a disinterested party. “I want your ass entirely exposed. It looks as if it’s never been touched. Has it?”

“No one’s ever really spanked me, sir,” she said to the leather beneath her. “If that’s what you mean.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” he said with what she thought might be a measure of satisfaction. “You’ve needed a good spanking as long as I’ve known you.”

She shuddered at that, and his hand moved, rolling her thong down over her hips. She expected him to pull it all the way off her, but he only left it tangled there above her knees.

Confining her, she realized. Making her feel dirty, tied down and, for some reason, so turned-on she wanted to cry.

Then he didn’t say anything. He stroked her ass in silence, warming each cheek with his palms. Roughly. He explored her, running his hands where he pleased, even delving into the furrow between her cheeks to press against the opening there.

Something arced through her, white-hot and greedy, a dark little gas fire of fear and longing.

“Has anyone taken you in the ass before?” he asked with that damned calm.

“N-no.”

“What a shame. Why not? Is it a hard limit for you?”

She wanted to kick him, but she couldn’t seem to move. “No. I don’t know.”

“Pick one or the other.”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” she said, scowling at the cushion beneath her. “Why do something that hurts?”

Though it occurred to her that the question was pretty silly, given her current situation. To his credit, though she had the sense he smiled, Dorian didn’t laugh.

“Because pain is temporary and, if employed deliberately and well, enhances pleasure.” He pressed against her tight bud again, then moved on. He rubbed his palms restlessly over her upturned cheeks, laying in a pinch here, there, then holding her down when she jumped. “I promise you that if I hurt you, when I hurt you, I’ll also make you come. Eventually. You may thank me.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” she managed to say, while she melted and burned, raged and wanted to sob.

“And you didn’t answer my question. Is anal play a hard limit for you?”

Erika felt the strangest trickle of something like relief then, when that didn’t make any sense. Why would she feel relieved when she was still waiting for a spanking of all things? And he was going out of his way to make sure she knew he never forgot a damned thing?

But in the next too-quick breath, she understood. That was why. He didn’t forget. He didn’t let things go. If he asked her a question, he expected her to answer.

He would not forget her or any detail about her, down to the dress she’d worn two years ago at a party in Greece.

He would not, for example, swan off to Cap Ferrat for the season as her mother had done one winter, forgetting that she’d left Erika alone on the estate south of Melbourne where they’d spent a span of years. She’d been seven. The staff had been lovely, but her mother hadn’t deigned to return until Erika lit a fire in one of the old, empty barns and the butler had finally given his notice, as he wasn’t a babysitter.

Erika had no idea why that weird, old memory was cropping up now. While she was close enough to naked and tossed over Dorian’s lap all these years later and in Berlin.

“Erika. Don’t make me ask you again.”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not a limit. I would try it.”

“If I asked.”

“If you asked,” she agreed, her heart so loud inside her it hurt. “Sir.”

She felt humiliated and excited in turn, and the contrast lurched around inside her, making her squirm. And pant. And want to die—but not before he kept that promise that any hurt he dished out would come with a hefty dollop of pleasure, too.

Erika thought she might die if he didn’t keep his promise.

And then, to her horror and her delight, he reached beneath her and cupped her pussy in his hand. That was all he did. He simply…held her there.

She was the one who was quivering, sensitive and sweating with the force of a need that felt like madness.

“Look at this,” he said, sounding dark and approving all at once. “You can’t wait, can you? You’re desperate. Soaking wet. As if you’ve been waiting your whole life for someone to finally take you in hand. Is that what you want, Erika?”

She wanted to fight. She wanted to argue. And more than both of those things, she wanted to thrust herself backward and somehow make him move his palm hard against her, because she knew it would take only the slightest graze of her clit against him to make her explode.

But she didn’t dare misbehave like that. And he didn’t move his palm. As if he knew exactly what it was she wanted most.

“Yes, sir,” she made herself say, squeezing her eyes shut as storm after storm rampaged through her. She kept her cheek pressed hard against the leather, gripping her own fingers behind her neck—even though all that did was press her breasts harder against the sofa beneath her.

Everything she did made it worse. Or better.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said again, desperation making her voice shake. “I’ve waited my whole life for someone to take me in hand.”

“Not someone. Me. You want me, specifically, to teach you boundaries. To demand respect. To be the only person you’ve ever met who doesn’t allow your insolence to go unheeded. Don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

And it came out a moan, though he hadn’t really done anything yet.

All she was doing was lying here, in this remarkably exposed position, with his hand resting gently in almost the perfect place. And yet she was as turned-on as if he was fucking her. She’d had orgasms that were less intense than this. She was stretched out, gripping her own hands too tightly behind her neck, every part of her tense and waiting and so, so needy—

“You are in luck, little girl,” he told her, with a certain erotic menace that made her pulse kick at her even as she melted all the more. “Because I have no intention of going easy on you. I’m going to spank you. You’re going to count. You can sob, but you will lie still. You can cry out, but you will not fight me. If you use words, they will be of gratitude or your safe word and nothing else. Do you understand me?”

It was all storms and riot inside her. Why wasn’t she calling this off? Why wasn’t she rolling away from him, protecting herself, doing something to stop this?

Erika had played games before, with handcuffs and funny little floggers that tickled, and she’d thought she was practicing for this. But she’d never doubted that she was in complete control. Not once. The men she was with had teased her, but never hurt her.

This was different. Dorian wanted to hurt her. And would.

Or maybe it wasn’t that simple. He wanted her to allow him to hurt her, because the crazy thing was, she wanted him to do just that.

He saw her. He could list her sins, and had. He was the only one who could punish her for them—and then grant her absolution, too.

She might not be in control of him. But she was here because she wanted to be here.

It was as simple and as wildly, impossibly convoluted as that.

“Yes, sir,” she said and shuddered with the force of what she was agreeing to—but it felt as if she needed this. As if he was right, and she’d been looking for it all her life.

“Are you a reckless, thoughtless, selfish girl who needs this punishment?”

It was as if he could read her mind. She tried to control her breathing, and failed miserably. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you trust me to punish you as you deserve?”

She gave up on her breath, because she was sobbing. Big racking sobs rolled up from somewhere deep inside her, and made her body convulse. Her eyes were wet, her fingers so tight they were cramping behind her neck.

And still, all she could focus on was that blazing heat between her legs.

And him. Dorian.

At this moment, he was the whole of her world.

“Yes,” she managed to get out. “Yes, sir.”

He moved his hand from her pussy, and did it without so much as grazing a single part of her that would have kicked her deeper into that fire. And when his hand moved over her ass again, she could feel her own wetness.

The first smack shocked her.

It hurt.

“Count, please,” he ordered her.

“One,” she managed to get out. “Thank you, sir.”

“Excellent,” he said, and he was already rubbing the place where he’d smacked her, almost soothing it. But not quite enough to keep that deep red ache at bay. “Just like that.”

And then he got to work.

It was shocking. Excruciating. His hand was big and impossibly hard. And he was thorough. The pain of each precise smack jolted through her, making her kick her legs, but she didn’t roll off him. She stayed where she was, no matter the sting and the ache of it.

Erika counted. And thanked him.

And cried.

And he kept going. First he spanked one cheek, then the other. He smacked her in the crease where her ass met her thighs. He continued until her whole butt felt bright red and agonized, and then he started the same painful pattern all over again.

Again and again, until she wasn’t even pretending that she was doing anything but sobbing her eyes out.

She sobbed and she sobbed and he spanked her, and it fucking hurt. And she was strung out somewhere between the white noise in her head and the way her nipples were still too hard as they moved with the force of his smacks against the leather beneath her. Her ass was on fire, the pain outrageous and bright, and still, her clit ached and her pussy was so wet she hardly knew what to do with herself.

Dorian, by contrast, did not thrash about. He spanked her, that was all, but he did it in the same calm, considered rhythm as when he’d started. He didn’t speed up. He didn’t hit her harder or taper off into something lighter. He was laying down a lesson.

And all Erika could do was count. And sob for all the memories she didn’t want in her head right now, but seemed lodged in her chest anyway.

Though Dorian seemed determined to spank them right out of her.

When she counted all the way to twenty, he stopped.

It took her a moment to realize that, because she was still sobbing. He picked her up, so easily that it occurred to her he’d wanted her to crawl into that position with as much strained awkwardness as it took.

But that was something she would have to think about later, when she wasn’t so beside herself. He pulled her to him, cradling her against his chest. And then he murmured words that didn’t quite penetrate as he held her there, her ass sore and hot against his thighs and her face tucked against his collarbone.

For a long time, Erika cried. And it wasn’t until she was sniffling and calming herself, that it actually hit her that she was in Dorian’s arms.

And not only that, all the pain in her ass seemed to be radiating out and setting that raging fire in her pussy into some kind of inferno.

“If you keep squirming against me like that,” Dorian said, his voice so close, so dark, it made her shudder, “I will take it as an invitation to continue the lesson.”

She shuddered out a breath and stopped.

And then he lifted her, gripping her by the upper arms and holding her just far enough away from him that he could stare directly into her eyes.

The world outside had disappeared. There was only sensation, Dorian and that intense gleam in his eyes.

“You please me, Erika,” he told her, his voice grave. “You took that well.”

She couldn’t seem to think. Or speak. All she could do was hold his words close, unexpected light that made her heart feel bigger than it had been.

She pleased him.

Maybe that was enough.

And then, all she could focus on was that ache between her legs, made ravenous by the hot red ache he’d given her.

He set her on her feet then, there between his legs. Erika cast her eyes down without being asked, but she could feel the smile in his voice when he spoke.

“Turn around, please. I want to admire my work.”

She shuddered, but obeyed.

“Hold up your skirt, please.”

And she could hear her own breathing again—not quite a sob any longer, not simply a breath—as she stood there, staring at those books again. Pretending she wasn’t holding her skirt up high, her thong still tangled around her knees, baring the ass he’d spanked to his view. And also unable to think of anything else.

She knew he sat forward when he gripped her hips, then moved his hands painfully over her ass cheeks again.

“Stay still,” he ordered her.

And she tried. She really did try.

“Your ass is beautifully red and hot,” he told her after a moment. “I like all those tears on your face, Erika. I’m feeling magnanimous and very well pleased. Ask me for what you want. I might just grant it to you.”

She didn’t even think. She didn’t have to think. She knew exactly what she wanted.

Erika couldn’t have imagined that it would all go down like this, that he would scare her, then spank her and make her purge herself of some ugliness she wasn’t sure she even wanted to look at straight. But she knew what she wanted.

She’d only ever wanted one thing from him, above everything else. It was funny how clear it was now. All the world had seemed to narrow down to just one thing.

“Look at me,” he said, and she did.

She looked back over her shoulder to find his dark eyes blazing with the same intense heat she could feel coiled so tightly inside her.

“Ask me,” he ordered.

“Please, sir,” Erika said softly in a voice that sounded like belonged to someone else, but she couldn’t think about that now. “Please. Fuck me.”

CHAPTER SIX

DORIAN HADN’T MEANT to do anything but scare her.

But then she’d stuck her chin in the air, gave him that challenging look, talked about finding herself a different kinky club and… No.

He couldn’t allow it.

And somewhere in there, it had all changed from a lesson he could have imparted to anyone who needed to understand what a firm hand and some discipline could do, to…this.

His cock was so hard he thought he might burst. When he was never, ever out of control. Never with submissives. Never anywhere, for that matter.

She’s different, something in him whispered, but she was Conrad’s little sister, so that was impossible.

But at the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to think about all the ways he had already betrayed his oldest and best friend tonight, because he wasn’t done yet. He had made Erika a promise.

And Dorian did not break his promises.

She couldn’t possibly know the picture she made, Dorian thought as he gazed at her now, or how badly he wanted her.

He had spanked her hard and she’d pinkened beautifully, so that high, round ass of hers was bright and getting redder by the second. He could see the pouting lips of her pussy when she bent forward slightly, still holding up that skirt to give him a better view. Her blond hair was a tousled mess from all that thrashing around on the couch, her face was tearstained, and her eyes were wide and glazed.

But best of all, bratty little Erika Vanderburg was looking at him as if she’d seen God. And better still, wanted some hard, wild communion.

He was so hard it hurt.

He’d never intended to do more than spank her. Teach her a lesson.

Liar, something in him laughed.

But she was looking at him with awe and greed and he felt the same thing return—and then some. And he couldn’t think about all the reasons why he shouldn’t do exactly what she’d asked him to do.

“Hands and knees,” he ordered her in a growl. “Right there.”

She rushed to obey him, and he almost laughed at the sight. She was so wound up, it hadn’t yet occurred to her how much she’d changed between the hallway at the club and here. How eager she was to obey him, with her pupils dilated and her pulse wild.

Erika liked a hard hand, he’d discovered. She bloomed under discipline. He made a note of that as if he planned to expand on that discovery—

But this wasn’t the time to second-guess himself.

Dorian reached into the drawer in his side table and pulled out a condom. He knelt behind her, freed his aching cock from his trousers and sheathed himself. Then he gripped her lush hips, making sure his hands pressed into her reddened flesh. She made a whimpering sound, but pushed back to get closer to him.

It made him smile.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he told her, wanting to sound cool but coming out gravelly instead. But that worked, too. “You may come whenever you like, but if you do not, you’re out of luck. You can’t touch your clit. You can’t rub yourself against me. I want you to submit, take it and see what happens. Do you understand me?”

Her head fell forward, as if she could no longer hold it up. As if the idea of submission on that scale made her weak.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Dorian lined himself up with the entrance to her pussy, pressing his fingers into the curves of her ass because he knew it would sting. And remind her what she’d already taken. She shuddered, and he could smell how wet she was. How ready.

God help him, but she was a wonder.

He took a split second to admire her, there on her hands and knees, her ass red from his hand and her pretty pussy on display and ready to be split wide-open by him.

It was almost perfect.

“Put your face on the floor,” he told her. “Hands behind your back, please.”

She blew out a breath, then obeyed with a certain graceless alacrity that pleased him more than studied grace would have—because it meant she was too excited to contain herself. And better still, his grip on her meant he kept her pussy right there, pressed against his wide cockhead. As she shifted, he coated himself in her and had to hold himself back, hard.

When her hands were behind her back and her forehead was nestled against the oversoft, cushy rug beneath them, he wrapped one hand around her wrists and held them there. Maybe a little higher than she would have naturally, to make it fun.

“Thank me,” he commanded her. “For showing you this consideration and allowing for the possibility of your pleasure in the midst of this punishment.”

He felt the shudder work its way through her, and he loved the way goose bumps prickled all over her skin. She was so responsive. He was already thinking of all the wicked things he could do to make her shudder like that, over and over again.

Dorian hadn’t been this pleased and impressed by a submissive in a long, long while.

“Thank you, sir,” Erika moaned. “Thank you, thank you.”

And with absolutely no warning, he slammed himself home.

She came instantly, violently, with a scream that was like music to him.

He didn’t wait for her to ride it out. Dorian pounded into her, hard and deep, claiming her and taking her over and over. He fucked her through the wallop of that first orgasm, then straight on into a second one.

Erika kept screaming, prettier every time.

And still he kept fucking her at the same, ferocious pace, until her sobs and screams changed. And turned into his name.

“Please, Dorian. Please, sir. Please—please—please—”

He couldn’t have said what she begged for. Only that he took it.

Again and again, he took and she gave, and that was the beauty they made between them. That was the discipline and the desire, the coming together of two halves to make something much hotter, much brighter than either one of them alone.

Dorian made her come once more, and then, with a roar, he took his own pleasure at last.

And as he fell, he had the distinct notion that this time, he was well and truly damned.

Dorian did not typically spend a lot of his time questioning himself, his motives or his actions, because he’d spent a lifetime committed to honesty and openness in all things and that generally meant there was very little to question.

He was renowned for ferreting out secrets in the club and in the boardroom by dint of…simply asking. Then demanding honesty in return.

It was amazing how rare that was. So rare, in fact, that he’d heard it discussed in his office as his superpower. He’d always rolled his eyes at that, because if he had a superpower, he was pretty sure it had more to do with the kind of sex he preferred than a simple round of honest conversation.

Some people liked to claim he had been born confident, and he couldn’t dispute that. Dorian had always had a deep, invariable sense of who he was, what he wanted and what he was prepared to do to get it. That had come to him honestly. His father had been the disappointment in the Alexander family, lazy and addicted and good for nothing at all—but his inability to live up to the standards set by Dorian’s grandfather had merely given Dorian a good example of what best to avoid.

He did not lie because that was all his father ever did. He did not cheat because he had seen the pain his father’s various forms of cheating had caused, whether in his relationships or in the business. He was bracingly honest with everyone he came into contact with—especially himself.

But that was before his best friend’s little sister had turned up in his favorite club, sank to her knees and made something deep inside him hum.

As if he’d been waiting all this time to truly come alive.

He shook that unsettling notion off. And he concentrated on the practicalities instead.

Erika lay on the floor in a heap. Her eyes were closed, her face was still flushed, and her lips were parted. She was in the position he’d left her, as if she’d simply…folded into herself. Fully surrendered, fully his.

The woman of your dreams, a voice inside him pronounced.

Dorian rubbed a hand over his face, amazed to find he was less steady than he ought to have been.

He tucked himself back into his trousers, amazed that he had come so hard. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had gotten to him like that. And he didn’t feel empty and restless the way he did more and more these days, especially after sex. He wasn’t already thinking about the work he had to do or what his next extreme BDSM feat would be should he find a willing submissive to test it with him. He wasn’t already thinking about who that might be.

He wasn’t thinking about anything except Erika and that was…new. Like the feeling of deep stillness inside him that he knew he’d never felt before—and yet recognized, somehow.

Dorian didn’t know where the hell to put all that yet, so he shoved it aside. He reached down and plucked her up from the floor, shifting her to hold her in his arms. Then he carried her up the stairs to the master suite that took up most of the second floor. Her head was a soft and welcome weight tucked there into the crook of his neck, making the stillness in him feel like something else. Like religion, maybe.

He moved down the hall past his study, personal gym and sauna, and he didn’t bother to turn on any lights. Berlin was bright outside the many windows, casting the room in a dim kind of glow. And when he looked, he could see the first signs of dawn in the sky.

It should have been no more than another well-spent night in this anything-goes city. But that wasn’t how it felt.

Not when she was still groggy as he set her on her feet, there against the side of his bed with its four steel posters that he would very much like to tie her to. So groggy she hadn’t arranged her features in the usual way. She looked sweet. Defenseless. Wide-open and guileless, and Dorian’s ribs seemed to shrink. It was hard to breathe for a moment.

He couldn’t say he liked that at all.

Erika murmured something incoherent as he stripped her few clothes from her body. He laid her out on the mattress and left her there, murmuring a quiet order for her to stay where she was.

And she was exactly where he’d left her when he came back. He’d gone downstairs to the kitchen to fix her a little snack and a glass of water, with an electrolyte powder mixed in for when she was recovered sufficiently to tend to the inevitable postscene drop. He’d also found his preferred salve in the play bag he brought to the club, though he hadn’t used it in a while.

But that was one more thing he didn’t want to think about, because it felt…fraught. Fragile, almost, in this strange blue light of almost-morning with a woman he shouldn’t have touched soft and undeniably his in his bed.

Dorian shouldn’t have touched her, but he had. And that meant he had responsibilities. The kind of sex—and sex games—he liked meant there was no hit-it-then-quit-it option afterward. Especially not when things had gotten so intense between them.

Some submissives didn’t like to be touched afterward, but Erika had snuggled into him as he’d carried her. He wondered if she would feel that way with one of the fantasy dominants she’d imagined she’d find in the sex clubs he had every intention of banning her from—or if it was specific to him. To them, because she knew him.

Dorian really didn’t want to think about how he knew her, or how long he’d known her, and he was all too aware that the things he didn’t want to think about were starting to feel a lot like lying to himself. He wasn’t all the way there yet, but he had the creeping suspicion it was gaining on him. His jaw clenched on its own accord and he made himself loosen up as he sat down next to her on the bed.