But the next sensation I feel is a leisurely, cold drizzle of lubricant on my asshole, trickling down my taint. His hand follows, the warmth of it welcome, as he smooths it over me, resumes his fingering. By the time he’s four fingers deep, I’m wondering if I’d be able to take his fist tonight; I’m relaxed and open enough, my cock dripping at the thought.
He stops pre-fist. I feel him pressing up behind me instead, the blunt, insistent tip of his cock finding easy passage. There’s no resistance at all as he slides in, and we both give a long sigh.
I’ve found my purpose in life, I think feverishly, my thoughts little bubbles that surface and break. My whole life so far I’ve been looking forhim, the great gravity-pull at the center of my subspace.
But this isn’t subspace as I know it. It’s much deeper than I’ve ever been, a floating, falling sensation, a sure knowledge that I’m safe. When he withdraws his cock and rolls me over, I search out his eyes and am reassured to see them there, two dark points of reference for my entire existence.
The rest of the world can go to hell, as long as he keeps looking at me like that.
He pushes back into me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, letting him in deep. But he pauses. “I did promise to fuck your brains out,” he pants, leaning down to bite gently at my lips. “But you seem rather far away from me, dear heart. Are you alright?”
A surge of euphoria makes me arch up, my hard cock leaking between us. “Fuckme,” I gasp. “Fill me up.”
The dark eyes sharpen, harden, as he hears the challenge in my voice. “Ask me again,” he says, with a swivel of his hips that make his cockhead drag overthatspot. Every nerve ending in my body is sparkling as he grabs my wrists and holds them down with one hand, dragging the fingers of the other over my mask as though he’s tempted to simply pull it off.
“Fuck me. Elliot,fuck me—”
His mouth crashes onto mine and hedoes, he fucks into me ruthlessly until I’m begging again, this time for him to let me come. Those long fingers close around my dick, caress me, tease me, until finally he pulls me into a sweet, aching climax. He keeps his hand on my softening cock, squeezing the dregs out of me until I wince, and only then does he let go himself, fills me with lashings of his cream until IswearI can taste it.
We both take a long time to come down from our joint bliss, and then there’s all the cleanup, the aftercare… It’s the middle of the night by the time we’re snuggling down to sleep, but by the time we do, my mind is racing again, because I’ve finally reached an epiphany.
Despite all my defenses, I’m falling for Elliot.
And that makes him much more dangerous to me than any other Dom in LA.
CHAPTER30
Elliot
We’ve slept in.
That’s the first thought that comes to me when I open my eyes to a room that seems lighter than it usually does when I wake. Oliver is still deeply in dreams, his mouth slack, the occasional snuffle against the pillow.
His mask is slightly askew, pushed up because of the way he’s sleeping with half his face pressed into the pillow, and my fingers move of their own accord to the edge of the silk. With one flick I could remove it, destroy that last, flimsy wall remaining between us…
I snatch my hand away. What am Ithinking? No matter how much I might be tempted, I am bound to certain protocols—by contract, by house rules, byhonor.
But none of that seems important when I look down at him, sleeping so soundly and peacefully. My heart aches a little, just as it did last night, a tenderness I have not felt for a very long time—
Oh.
Oh, dear.
His eyes crack open, as though he can feel me staring at him. “Good morning,” I say. “I’m afraid we’ve slept in.”
At that, the golden-brown eyes go wide. “Oh,shit. What time is it?”
With a sinking heart, I say, “Past nine, I believe.”
He scrambles out of the bed, swearing loudly, then remembers himself. “Shit. Sorry, Elliot—my lord—shit. Listen, I have to go. My schedule changed this week—”
That goddamnedschedule.
I take a breath. “Of course. Off you go. Don’t worry about breakfast; I’ll go down alone.”
He’s running from the room, calling, “Thank you, Elliot!” over his shoulder even before I’ve finished my sentence.
I bite down on the instinctive, sharp reprimand about protocols, and take another deep breath. The truth is, it’s not Oliver’s lack of protocol that disturbs me.
