The Bride (The Boss) Page 41

  “Surrender?” His brow creased as he tried to decide if I were teasing him. “Submission?”

  “Tonight, I think they might be one and the same.”

  Aside from the bedroom, my favorite room of the house is my den. Sleek, modern cabinetry, all in dark wood, held a respectable collection of media. A terrifically long, orange couch with structured square cushions wrapped into an L at the end of the room. The single window was covered with a blackout shade, and tray lighting around the ceiling gave the perfect diffuse glow, so as to not interfere with the television’s projection, when it was on.

  If Sophie could have inappropriate feelings for her bathtub, I most certainly could excuse my flagrant lust for my den.

  Emir and I were on the couch, lounging, both of us slightly giddy at our discussion. We’d covered safe words, our expectations and preferences, and Emir had made impressive mental notes.

  “So, you do not wish to be bound,” he ticked off on his fingers. “You do not wish for anything too painful… may I spank you?”

  I paused. “I wouldn’t mind a light one, I don’t think. But I wouldn’t like to be spanked. Not repeatedly and as the sole purpose of the activity.”

  He nodded, as though he understood perfectly. “About intercourse. I enjoy it, but it is not necessary, so do not feel pushed to do anything you don’t enjoy. I do love receptive anal sex, but I’m not sure I can accommodate your… size.”

  “Ah.” This wasn’t the first time I’d run into this particular dilemma. To be fair, I wasn’t certain I would give it a go with a man as endowed as I was, either. “And are you averse to topping?”

  His eyes lifted in surprise. “No, not averse at all.”

  “You look as though I’ve shocked you.” It shouldn’t have been possible, I didn’t think, to surprise a wealthly man who frequented sex clubs. Especially the club to which we both belonged.

  Then again, I’d been surprised more than once lately.

  I tried to cover my slight embarrassment. “I only thought, because you would be Domming me… I’m not sure how submissive it would be for me to fuck you in the ass.”

  We both laughed at that, until Emir said, “Yes, well. You might be surprised at how submissive a top can be. Have you ever considered letting Chloe fuck you?”

  “No.” My god, I could feel myself blushing. “I’m not sure how one works that into a conversation, to be perfectly frank.”

  “Maybe if we are all together another time, I could teach her?” Emir grinned broadly, the way I was certain Sophie would when I broached the subject with her.

  “I sense I am already defeated before I protest.” I chuckled and leaned back, propping my arm on the top of the couch.

  “I only ask that you keep your expectations lowered. I know I may seem…”

  “Confident? Outspoken?” Emir sniffed a laugh. “Slightly arrogant?”

  “I was going to say dashing and handsome, but yours work very well,” I admitted. “Joking aside, I worry that what happened to me the last time I put myself in a submissive role will happen again. That I’ll be… too hung up on protocol, afraid to do the wrong thing, and I’ll put myself in a bad situation. But I would like to sub for you tonight, Emir. I’ve been in intimate circumstances with you before, and if I were ever going to do it with anyone, you’d be on the top of my list.”

  “That’s very sweet.” He set his wine glass on the end table. “I value your trust. I won’t do anything to harm it.”

  When he leaned toward me, I met him half-way, tilting my face to adjust as his mouth met mine. It had been a long time since I’d kissed a man, and a thrill shot to my groin at the unexpected brush of sharp stubble around his soft lips.

  He pulled back a little. “Should we go somewhere…”

  “Let’s go upstairs,” my voice was a desperate rasp, startling me. I’d had no idea I wanted Emir so fervently, until the moment it seemed the possible would become reality.

  Every step we took to the bedroom sent urgent, pounding desire through me, but I kept myself restrained. Though there would be nothing I’d like more than to grab him and force him up against the wall, the way I would Sophie, Emir wasn’t submissive to me.

  On the last flight of stairs, he had already pulled his t-shirt over his head. To say the man was in shape would have been akin to saying the Louvre had a few paintings in it. I had the sudden, unpleasant urge to make comparisons that were terribly unfair to myself. I had fifteen years and a harrowing experience with cancer in my column. Obviously, I couldn’t expect to have the physique of a male model, but it was a bit daunting to imagine getting naked with someone who did.

  We stopped beside the bedroom door, and he reached for the handle with me, his big hand covering my own. “Nothing that you don’t want to do tonight. And I mean that.”

  An electric chill, the full force of my lust toward him, snapped through me at that contact. Now that it was awakened, that wicked, purely sexual part of my mind would not be denied, would not make any apologies for seeking pleasure and reveling in it.

  Inside, I dimmed the lights and motioned toward the bed. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I went through the dressing room, into the bathroom, where my first stop was the medicine chest. The last thing I’d want would be to get out there and be unable to… maintain. It had happened a few times with Sophie, post-transplant, and I’d been so utterly embarrassed, dire countermeasures had been needed. Though I didn’t appreciate the reminder of my rapidly advancing age, I took out the bottle of little blue pills and swallowed one with a handful of water from the tap. I hoped the food and wine wouldn’t put as large a dent in the medicine’s effectiveness as the pamphlet had indicated.

  I slipped off my shoes and socks and put them away, and paused in front of the toy cupboard. Though some of the contents had migrated to New York with us, some necessities remained. I took a variety of condoms, a bottle of lube, gloves, and some dental dams; it didn’t seem presumptuous to be prepared for anything.

  Emir sat on the edge of the bed, his shoes and socks slipped off, leaving him in his jeans and nothing else. His olive skin was burnished by the low, warm light, and he grinned at me as I placed our supplies on the bedside table. His hand caught my wrist, and I let him pull me down. He tilted his face up, and I took that for the invitation it was.

  Our lips met, and I leaned him back, following him to the bed. I sank my fingers into his soft, dark hair and tugged gently, pulling his head back to bare his throat as my mouth wandered from his, across the stubble on his face. He moaned, and his fingers dug into my back through my shirt.

  “I thought you were the submissive tonight,” he reminded me with a laugh I felt beneath my palm.

  Emir’s body was a symphony of contradiction; satiny skin stretched over rock-hard muscle, a hairless chest in defiance of the thick dark hair on his arms. His cologne was faint and spicy, and I nuzzled my face into his neck to breathe deep.

  Next to touch, scent was my favorite erotic sense. Some mornings, just smelling the lingering hint of Sophie’s shampoo in the shower was enough to make me desperately horny. I didn’t know what aftershave Emir wore, but it would be seared into my scent memory in a similar manner.

  Emir’s hand slipped into my collar, and he tugged on the buttons of my shirt. “Take this off,” he growled against my ear, and the command was shockingly erotic.

  I sat up and unbuttoned just the top few buttons and pulled the shirt and my undershirt over my head. I didn’t have a spare moment to worry about my physique or compare it to his before he drew me back down. Emir was a man who knew what he wanted.

  He wasn’t the only one. I kissed down his neck, across the smooth expanse of his broad chest, and lightly grazed one tight brown nipple with the edges of my teeth. His breath hitched, and his body rose against mine as he dove his fingers into my hair.

  “Stand up.”

  I did, waiting awkwardly beside the bed. And oh, how he made me wait, wa
tching me wordlessly, letting the tension mount in tiny increments. He inhaled audibly, long and slow, making a decision. “I want you naked. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

  Emir could command me to do whatever he wished, so long as it didn’t break our agreed upon terms, and I would obey him. Because of the control I’d already exerted in our negotiations, there was nothing left for me to decide. It was exhilarating.

  I did as he’d asked and kicked my pants and boxers aside. Standing naked in front of him, I couldn’t help but mentally tabulate every one of my physical faults in comparison to his model-quality perfection.

  He said my name, or I thought he had. I asked, “What?” in reply, and he laughed softly.

  “No, Leif. Kneel. On your knees. On the floor, beside the bed. I should have been more clear.”

  “Oh. Um.” I did as he asked, but added, “What’s the appropriate response in this situation?”

  “From a well-trained sub, I would expect the only response would be to obey my command.” His lips quirked, hinting at his amusement. “But you could say ‘Yes, Sir,’ as your Chloe does.”

  That felt intimately wrong. “No, I couldn’t do that. Can we find another word?”

  He leaned down, his lips a millimeter from mine, his breath teasing me until it felt as though he would steal my own. “You could call me… Monsieur. It is fitting, is it not? Since we met in Paris?”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” Oh, he was very, very good. It was a struggle to tell the difference between my nerves and my anticipation now. He touched my shoulder, and I jumped.

  “Relax.” His strong hand glided down my arm, then back to my neck.

  How many times had I ordered Sophie to do the very same thing? I’d thought that my experiences as a Dom would make submission easy. I knelt there, the carpet biting into my shins, my skin chilled, even the rise of my chest with my deliberately slow breaths seeming as though I were moving too much. I hadn’t a clue how difficult truly submitting would be.

  Sophie had been correct; this entire experience terrified me.

  Emir said nothing, asked nothing of me, for what seemed an eternity. I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, occasionally closing my eyes to try and retain my focus on what I was meant to be doing. When he gave me another command, gently voiced though it was, I flinched.

  “Clasp your arms at the small of your back.”

  I wasn’t sure I knew what my arms were, anymore. I’d been to Bikram yoga classes that were less physically and mentally challenging than simply kneeling there, waiting for instruction.

  Somehow, I managed to get my hands behind me, my clammy palms gripping my wrists. With my shoulders back and my chest raised, I felt even more vulnerable than before.

  Emir stepped in front of me, idly toying with his zipper in the space between us. I wanted to look down, to see if he would unzip, but it seemed like something I shouldn’t do without an invitation.

  He reached out, trailing his fingers down my cheek to cup my chin and lift my face up to meet his gaze. It was more uncomfortable than I would have imagined, being in such a, well, a submissive position. Was this what appealed to Sophie and the other partners I’d been with?

  As quickly as my mind began to stray, the thoughts evaporated, lost under my responsibility to stay where I was and await instruction.

  Beneath the tenderness in his gaze, I recognized a spark of the Dom. The same perverted, mean edge that was so funny and enjoyable to me when I was in charge. It was exciting, seeing it from this perspective, and comfortingly familiar. You and he are just alike, it promised me. There’s no real danger here.

  I’d never felt that with Stephen.

  When it seemed the silence and the waiting would be too much, Emir pulled his hand back and unzipped his jeans. “Would you like to suck my cock?”

  My breath stalled, longing building painfully in my chest as he pulled himself free. Emir had a penis that was really, objectively, beautiful. In length and girth, he was above average, but not ridiculously so, as I’m sometimes embarrassed of being. His skin was smooth, and although I preferred uncircumcised men, he was exquisitely shaped.

  Would I like to suck his cock? What a needless question with a painfully obvious answer.

  I watched, my mouth dry from anticipation, as Emir took one of the condoms and tore open the packet. He took his time inspecting it, as though he were considering a diamond he was about to purchase. Then, with the same intent focus, he clicked open the top of the lube bottle and added a few small drops to the inside of the condom, before rolling it on. He smoothed it down with a firm hand, and my fingers ached to touch him.

  I leaned forward, reaching out to steady myself against his knees, and he pushed my hands away.

  “Arms behind your back, and I asked you a question,” he admonished. “Follow the rules.”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” I liked that phrase; it was apology and submission together, like one of Sophie’s whimpered Yes, Sirs. I was proud of myself that I was capable of it. I added, “I would love to suck your cock.”

  Emir sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned me closer. It was awkward, shuffling toward him on my knees, but that was the point. I wondered if Sophie could see all the strings in the puppet show when we were doing a scene, or if it was merely that I’d had so much experience being the puppeteer.

  “No hands,” Emir said, slowly stroking the length of his erection. “You may only use your mouth.”

  I looked down at his cock, wondering how in the hell I was going to perform oral sex without touching him. I’d like to think I give very good head, but it’s a combination of stroking with the hand as well as the pressure of lips and a purposeful tongue. This would interfere with my technique. I glanced up at him, hoping he could read my preemptive apology in my expression, wetted my lips and leaned down.

  To my relief, Emir took himself in his hand and helped me meet him; I pulled the wide tip into my mouth and almost groaned in relief, my own cock twitching as I imagined how Emir felt. His hiss of indrawn breath painted those imaginings with sharper clarity, and his other hand fell to the back of my head. I didn’t slip further down, but took my time swirling the loose, lubricated latex with my tongue. Quite considerately, he’d used a flavored condom, and the strawberry taste helped mask the rubber.

  I tilted my head to slide my lips and tongue down the underside of his shaft, teased at the apex where the two curves of the rolled edge of his glans met. I tapped my tongue down the straining ridge there, and sucked, drawing the condom back and forth over the sensitive area.

  I stole a glance at his face, and found his eyes closed, a small vertical crease between his eyebrows as they drew together. The sight of him enjoying my work sent my arousal into the red; I was painfully hard, and I knew my release wouldn’t come soon.

  Lifting my head, I took him into my mouth fully, as much as I could manage. I don’t have my girlfriend’s particular talents where the act is concerned, but I did get about half of him in before he hit my soft palate, and I gagged slightly.

  He moaned at the sound, the hand on my head pushing me gently down, choking me a bit more, just enough to color my reaction with a touch of fear. When he stopped exerting pressure, it was to grip my short hair as best he could to lift me off. I gasped for breath, drooling onto his cock, and he rubbed my neck in gentle circles as he tapped himself against my panting mouth. “How are you, Leif? Do you need me to slow down?”

  While what sounded like a rational part of my mind argued that I should be frightened, because I had been frightened before, with Stephen, I couldn’t bring myself to dampen my excitement. “No, Monsieur. I’m enjoying myself.”

  “Good.” His fingers curled over the nape of my neck, and he looked into my eyes with such earnest tenderness that had I not already been so completely in love with Sophie, I might have had room to fall for Emir, as well.

  He guided my head down, and I went back to work, slow and steady, alternating sucking and releasing with the bobbing rhythm of m
y head. I swirled my tongue around him when I could, and tapped the underside of his shaft and head the rest of the time. I knew I was doing well when he began lifting his hips in time to my motions, and short, sharp “ahs” of pleasure burst from him.

  “That’s enough,” he said finally, when his erection was as hard as iron and twitching against the roof of my mouth. Any longer, and he would have come; I felt it in the insistent throb of his pulse against my tongue. I released him and sat back on my heels while he slipped off the condom and tossed it into the trash.

  Emir tucked himself away and zipped up. “You have plugs, yes?”

  I nodded. “In a cupboard in the closet. Would you like me go and get one?”

  His expression didn’t change, but I felt his silent reminder.

  “Would you like me to go and get one, Monsieur?”

  “No. I will go. You will bend over the bed and wait for me.”

  I did as he commanded, though my knees were beginning to ache. Perhaps submission was a younger man’s game.

  Listening to him rummage through the toy cabinet was damned difficult. All I wanted to do was call out suggestions, but the evening was entirely out of my hands. My body seemed unable to come to a decision on holding my breath versus breathing at an alarmingly fast pace.

  I’d hoped I wouldn’t pass out. It would have been a ridiculous thing to have to explain to the ambulance drivers.

  The longer he made me wait, the more ultra-aware I became. It was a technique I used with Sophie sometimes. Anticipation sharpens the senses, tunes them in on their goal. At that moment, my goal was do whatever it took to get Emir to let me come.

  His soles made a zip-shush, zip-shush sound against the carpet, and I marveled that I could hear it at all over the pounding of my heart. He gently toed my calves apart and stood between my naked legs, his jeans brushing the backs of my thighs.

  “You have an impressive collection,” he said with a note of humor in his voice.