San Francisco: The Complete Trilogy Read online

  “You may relax,” he told her.

  She dropped her arms and swayed into him, still caught in the warm-honey feeling of completion. “Thank you, Sir,” she whispered against his neck.

  He stroked her hair, her back. “You’re welcome, my sweet.”

  “I like that.”

  “What?”

  “When you call me ‘my sweet.’”

  “You are.” He raised her chin, meeting her gaze. “You are sweet, but more importantly, you are mine, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, James, I’m yours.” She laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He’d wanted honesty, and that had been honest.

  She would never be the same after what she’d been through these three nights with James. And deep down, she suspected that some part of her would always belong to James.

  “I don’t want it to be over,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t see her face, didn’t know her heart was breaking. He chuckled softly. “We’re not done yet, and a month will pass quickly.”

  She swallowed and forced her sadness and self-loathing down into a box in the back of her mind. “We’re not done yet?”

  “Did you forget about the clamps?”

  She leaned back to look at him. “I’ve never worn clamps…like those.” Half truth, half lie.

  “Ah, then you’re in for a treat.” He slid the hand that wasn’t holding the brush down her back, rubbing her ass. “How do you feel after the spanking?”

  “A bit sore. Hot.”

  He slid the smooth back of the brush down her side, then rubbed it over her ass. She tensed, waiting for another spanking, but it didn’t come.

  Instead he flipped the brush and repeated the caress with the bristles, which lightly scratched her skin. She shivered.

  “I think we’ll spend some time with abrasion play next time,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Abrasion play?” she asked, remembering a moment too late she should pretend to know what that was.

  “Not something I’ve ever thought was particularly appealing, but I’m having a very vivid fantasy about tying you down and spending an hour stroking every inch of your skin with various textures—this brush to start.” He took a half step back, and this time ran the brush down the center of her body, lightly scratching her skin from breastbone down to the naked mound of her sex. He held it there. “Then maybe a soft fur glove.”

  “That sounds very good,” she moaned.

  “Spread your legs, Christiana.”

  She did so without hesitation, even though some part of her expected what would come next. James raised the brush between her legs, pressing the bristles against her pussy. Christiana gasped as hundreds of thin, stiff points dug into her hot, wet flesh. He pressed harder, and a few stabbed against her clit.

  She arched her back, mouth open in a soundless reaction to the stimulation. He gathered her hair, wrapping it around his fist, and tugged, forcing her to arch back even farther. She swayed, her ass hitting the back of the chair.

  “Lean back,” he commanded. “I want you to just feel, just accept my control, my command of your body.”

  Christiana braced the heels of her hands on the back of the chair, rested her still-smarting ass there too, and leaned back until she was balanced on the edge of the chair. He held and controlled her with one hand at her head and the other between her legs, manipulating the brush.

  He pulled back, then tapped the bristle side of the brush against her pussy in a bouncing motion. Each time it made contact the tips of the bristles hit different places.

  She couldn’t stop herself from gasping and twitching in reaction as he stimulated her labia and clit in this strange and forbidden way.

  It took a moment for the feeling to crystalize enough for her to make sense of it. Somehow, the fact that he could use a simple hairbrush in such a darkly erotic way seemed to increase his power, his command. It was as if before now she’d assumed that at least some of her reaction to him was due to the situation—the illicit club, all the sex toys. Certainly, last night he’d spanked her with nothing more than his hand, but this was different. He’d turned a hairbrush into an integral part of one of her most outrageous sexual moments.

  Through it all, she was aware of the plug still inside her, heavy and thick, never letting her forget that he’d put it there.

  “Sir, Sir, James, I…I…”

  “What, Christiana?”

  “I’m…I don’t know.”

  “Are you going to come?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but…but I feel.” Her words failed her and she lifted one hand, reaching out blindly for him.

  He stepped into her, and her grasping hand found his shirt. She held on as if he were a lifeline.

  “I haven’t forgotten that you’ve only come once,” he murmured.

  The brush clattered to the floor and he released her hair. For a moment she teetered on the back of the chair, her balance thrown off, but he caught her by the waist, steadying her and making sure her toes were on the ground.

  “Spread your legs.”

  His voice was full of promise, and she obeyed. He dropped to his knees in front of her. Her hair slid forward over her shoulders in cool ribbons and she looked down at him, her blood heating with need. For one wild moment, she wanted to take control, to fist her hand in his hair and pull his head to her, press her pussy against his face, and demand he lick her until she came.

  “When you’re close, say edge,” he commanded.

  “Yes, Sir.” Her urge to take charge faded and she relaxed into his control.

  His hands closed over the insides of her thighs, close enough to the apex that he was able to stroke her vulva with his thumbs. She nearly whimpered, she was so wet and ready.

  He bent lower and then his mouth was on her, greedy and demanding. He nibbled the plump mound at the top of her pussy and then opened her with his thumbs, exposing her wet inner folds and clit. His tongue stroked the valley of her sex up to her clit. Then he settled in, working her clit with his tongue and teeth, first rubbing her with the broad flat of his tongue, then nipping her gently. The contrast of smooth and sharp feelings, the heat of his mouth, the brush of his silky hair against her thighs…each sensation built on the one before, adding to the already towering heights of her arousal.

  He used the tip of his tongue to circle her clit. “Edge!” she gasped.

  James surged to his feet, and Christiana bit down on a scream of frustration.

  He reached past her, scooping something up, then took one nipple in his mouth. He grasped the other with his fingers and pinched it tightly. Pain and pleasure mingled, making it hard for her to think. Need thrummed in her, nearly overwhelming any other sensation.

  He released her nipples and stepped back, examining her with a hot, hungry gaze. He held up one clamp, using both hands to open it fully, wedging the tip of his thumb in it to keep it that way.

  The clamps. That’s what he’d reached for. She’d forgotten about them.

  She heaved a breath, her breasts bouncing. He flicked the nipple that had been in his mouth with his free hand, studying the tip of her breast intently. He rolled, plucked, and tugged until the tip of her breast was aching and hard. Then he brought the clamp to her nipple, positioning the spread balls on either side. He withdrew his thumb and the clamp closed.

  It pinched down, squeezing the tip of her breast between the balls, but not crushing it. Her nipple throbbed, and when she took a breath, the bell jingled softly.

  “Lovely,” he murmured.

  “I don’t know how much…” she bit her lip.

  He frowned. “Is it too tight?”

  She shook her head, hair flying, the short chain dangling from the clamp swaying so the bell went wild.

  His frown smoothed out. “You don’t know how much longer you can hold off your orgasm.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, Sir, please.”

  “You will wear the other clamp, and you will not come. If you
get very close, you say edge.”

  The stern voice and command helped her gather some control. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Well done, my sweet.” James played with her other nipple, and if she were the suspicious type she would swear he was even more deliberate and thorough with this breast—teasing the nipples with such exquisite precision that once or twice she was on the verge of saying edge. Every pinch and pluck to her nipple caused a spasm in her pussy, as if there were a direct connection between the nerves.

  Finally, he opened the second clamp, positioning it on either side of her nipple, and releasing it. The sweet bite of pain and pleasure was both welcome and almost too intense for her highly aroused body.

  James wasted no time dropping to his knees, and despite the need burning within her, she waited obediently, her legs spread, plug filling her ass, nipples held in clamps. It was as if she were inside one of her own fantasies, but the reality was so much more than what she could imagine.

  His thumbs parted her pussy once more, exposing her to his mouth and tongue, which took immediate and ruthless advantage of the opportunity. He licked her clit, then grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up to sit on the back of the chair. Her spanked ass stung, the plug was shoved in deeper, but she liked it; it felt good. He put her thighs on his shoulders and buried his face in her pussy.

  Now the precision was gone in favor of raw need. She could feel him trembling from the effort of holding himself back. She wished he wouldn’t. She wished he would rip off his pants and slide that wonderful cock into her pussy. She might have said that, if she’d been able to hold onto a thought, or a breath, but his mouth on her sex had her panting and gasping as he worked her clit with his lips and tongue, then rubbed it with his nose as he tongue-fucked her entrance.

  “Edge, edge!” she screamed

  He squeezed her thighs once, and she took that as permission to come.

  The orgasm ripped through her, wild and almost feral. She screamed between clenched teeth, one of her hands fisted in his hair, the other dug into the back of the couch. The clamps on her nipples swung, her ass spasmed around the plug, and the pleasure kept going. He didn’t stop, not after the first peak, and not after the second. She sobbed his name as his tongue moved in a gentle but relentless circle over her clit, which now felt like a raw bundle of nerves. A third peak claimed her, and she squeezed her eyes closed so tightly that she saw stars. Her breathing was a labored sob, the bells now jingling constantly.

  Finally, James pulled back. His lips, nose, and cheeks were wet, his eyes hot with need.

  Her mouth was dry and she felt limp and languid post-multiple-orgasms, but she was hyper-aware that this feeling was one-sided.

  “Please,” she begged. “I need to feel you in me.”

  He surged to his feet, and urged her off the back of the chair. He spun her around with hot, hard hands, forcing her to bend over the back of the chair once more. He pushed her down until her forehead touched the seat, treating her more roughly than he had before now. She liked that, liked that he seemed to be as on edge and controlled by need and lust as she was.

  He grabbed the base of the plug and with no warning started to pull it out. Her body was forced to stretch, to yield, and she whimpered against the leather, the pain of the thick plug withdrawing causing the residual shudders of pleasure to continue.

  She heard the clack as he dropped the plug, and she was sure the next thing she’d feel was his cock taking the plug’s place. She wanted it, needed it.

  Yet he didn’t fuck her, at least not in that way

  Lube dripped onto her ass, and then she felt the hard length of his cock between the cheeks. He pressed in on the globes of her ass and then started to move, fucking the crease of her bottom, but not entering her.

  Even that sensation, odd at first, was pleasurable—his hands against her abused bottom, the underside of his cock rubbing over her stretched asshole. In a matter of moments she heard him grunt, then felt the hot ropes of his come splattering on her back.

  James groaned, hands kneading her ass as he finished. They stayed that way, her bent over the back of the chair, well used and marked, him above her, heavy breaths slowing as he came down from the orgasm.

  When he finally helped her stand, she turned into his chest, sliding her arms around his waist and burying her face against his neck.

  “My sweet,” he murmured, kissing her head. “My Christiana.” He lifted her into his arms, carrying her to a nearby, unoccupied couch. “Mine.”

  She lay in his arms, and prayed the dawn wouldn’t come.

  She had to tell him. The sky was now vaguely visible through the skylight as a wash of deep gray-blue rather than black.

  Christiana looked at the last bit of champagne in her glass. It was her second glass in an hour, the hour she’d spent sitting half sprawled on James’s lap while he casually played with her naked body.

  His left hand cupped one breast in a casually possessive gesture, while his right was buried between her legs, two fingers on either side of her clit. She’d come three or four times while he’d done no more than toy with her, though these had been small, quick orgasms that were no less wonderful for their brevity. The most memorable of the small orgasms had come from when he yanked the nipple jewelry off while stroking her clit.

  He’d paused only to get them fresh drinks, and each time he’d come back he’d resumed the intimate, possessive touching. Her head lay on his shoulder as they watched a scene that was winding down in the next seating area over.

  She was working up her courage to tell him the truth. She actually had a plan. They’d wait until everyone else was gone, then she’d take him over to the curtain wall, lift it up, and show him the hole. When he asked how she knew about it, she’d tell him that’s how she’d gotten in. She’d tell him she was sorry for lying, explain that she had meant only to watch.

  If she was wrong about him, this could go very, terribly, badly—the types of people who thought they had every right to take over whole buildings probably had ways of dealing with those who found out their secrets. She knew it was melodramatic to imagine that her life was in danger, but that thought had crossed her mind. More realistically they’d blackmail her into keeping quiet, which was fine with her. Who would she tell? Who would believe her?

  What really mattered was how James would react. Would he be angry enough to walk away?

  That thought made her stomach clench, and she snuggled closer to him.

  “Cold?” he asked quietly.

  “A bit.”

  “Take my shirt.” He urged her off his lap, then shrugged out of his dress shirt. Christiana slipped it on, holding it closed over her breasts. He raised a single brow, then fastened one of the lower buttons before reaching up and pushing her hands and the fabric aside, exposing her breasts. “I like to look at what’s mine.”

  She didn’t protest or try to cover up. “I like you looking.”

  People were starting to wander downstairs, most appearing satisfied and sleepy. She glanced up at the skylight. “It’s almost dawn.”

  “Almost. Sit with me for a little while more.”

  She wanted to. She did, but there was a very mundane reason she couldn’t. Damned champagne. “Actually, I need to use the facilities.”

  He smiled. “I’ve had to go for the past twenty minutes.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He rose, rubbing her arms. “I was enjoying myself.”

  She looked up into his face. Her dark prince. She realized she hadn’t called him Sir, and he hadn’t corrected her.

  “Let’s go downstairs.” He offered his arm, as he had the first night, and she slid her hand around his forearm.

  With a formality that was offset by her odd attire, they descended the staircase. James escorted her to the door of the submissives’ changing room. “I’ll wait for you. We’ll ride together.” He paused, smiled ruefully. “If you’re okay with that, of course. I don’t want to invade your privacy.
”

  She raised her eyebrows, glanced down at her exposed breasts, his shirt that dangled around her thighs. “You…don’t want to invade my privacy?”

  His soft laugh made her feel warm. She didn’t want to lose him.

  “I mean your privacy outside of the club.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the candlelit hall.

  There was probably some rule she didn’t know about. She glanced at the stairs. It would be weird to go back up now. Maybe they could talk about it on the ride home.

  She could have the car take her to her apartment. Instead of telling him, she could show him who she really was. Then he would drive off in disgust.

  Or maybe he’d sweep her up in his arms, say that didn’t matter and he forgave her for lying—though he’d have to punish her in some sexy way.

  She really wanted it to be that second option.

  Stop hoping for some fantasy ending. Tell him the truth.

  “I’ll see you back here in ten minutes,” she said.

  “Ten minutes?” He laughed. “Honesty, remember?”

  Christiana smiled, but it was forced. She could be ready in ten minutes, but based on his reaction, that was yet another thing that set her apart.

  She slipped into the dressing room, heading first for the bathroom. Once she was out, she went to her locker, only then remembering that her leather and lace garment lay discarded upstairs. It hardly mattered—she would never wear it again. Even if her dreams came true and James still wanted to be with her, he seemed to prefer her naked.

  She slid out of his dress shirt, taking a moment to ball it up and smell it. It smelled like him—expensive cologne and man.

  Somehow his scent empowered her, firming her resolve to tell him the truth when they got in the car.

  She shook out her opera gown. It was the same one she’d worn last night, but again had been the only thing she had that felt right for the ride to the warehouse. Hopefully no one would notice the duplication.

  The woman getting dressed beside her had long yellow-blond hair, which based on her black eyebrows and dark skin wasn’t natural, though it was beautifully done, and a regal face with high cheekbones. She was flicking her phone screen, chatting quietly to a thin black woman who was pulling on over-the-knee boots while sitting on a chair.