Page 129 of At Her Pleasure

She picked up the lubricant and eased the tip inside him to apply more. She chose her anal lubricants like cooking spice. Her mildest form still had a faint burn. She considered it a “hair of the dog” thing, so the sub would be gradually prepped for her “hotter” oils.

Kissing the middle of his back, she put the head of the dildo back at his opening and began doing that circling again, the slight press forward.

“Just do it,” he said, a hoarse growl.

“Keep trying to order me about,” she purred. “I’ll go slower.”

She slid her nails over his buttocks, scraping his flesh, leaving more marks. She let the dildo slide out, then rubbed it up and down the channel between his buttocks, teasing his rim. Setting her teeth to his nape, she bit him, just as he’d asked her to do. A gentle, small nip.

A huff of frustration broke from his lips. She was able to push her arm between his bound body and the table, sliding across his chest, fingertips teasing his nipple and tugging chest hair. “Mistress…Cyn…”

“Shut up, Mick. No more talking. No hiding, no trying to direct things. What’s boiling up inside of you is painful, terrifying. You want to prove you serve me? That you’re committed to me, now and always? It’s more than words. You accept it, face it, let it happen. And trust that as you go down that well, I’m holding the rope. I won’t let it go.”

A note vibrated from him, an erratic hum. It was from that song Gone, gone, gone… and then a snippet of that other one. So caught up in you… 38 Special.

Not wanting to get himself free of the “little girl” who had him down on his knees.

Her man used music to help him get through things. That was acceptable. She liked hearing the strain in the mash-up of notes.

She adjusted the dildo at his rectum once more and began to ease in. She’d had sessions where she’d forced it, torn sensitive but healable tissue. But that wasn’t what he needed. More importantly, it wasn’t what she wanted.

Fucking hell, he was tight. But it made sense. He had superhuman stress management skills, and that stress had to go somewhere. Apparently, it went into having an ass so tight it would give a pencil claustrophobia.

She started matching him with her own song. “Rainbow” by Kacey Musgrave. One night, while they all sat on Ros’s back porch, Neil had been holding Abby on his lap. She hadn’t had a particularly good day, and he’d been crooning it to her as the others talked and relaxed, cocooning her with the comforting proximity of family.

No matter how terrible life could get, no matter how many times the storms came back, there would always be the rainbow, there was always a port in the storm, even if you had to look for it a really long time.

Like ten years.

She made it that last inch, spikes pressed against his buttocks. “I’m inside you, Mick.” She leaned against his back and gripped his strong throat, stroking his windpipe, squeezing as she drew back and returned, easing in. His powerful body was trembling, partly because his ass would be burning, partly for far deeper reasons. When she adjusted to put her other hand around his cock, he was stiffer and thicker than when she’d started.

She increased the force of her penetration and the spikes on the strap-on’s panel pushed against flesh. Just like the cane or switch, a pause between pain and relief could intensify both. Now, at last, she’d give him pain, and see what battle it set off inside him.

She wanted a grid of her puncture marks on his ass when she was done. She started to thrust harder, short, firm strokes. It changed the impact of those studs on sensitive nerve endings. His breath got ragged as her arousal built, his back bowing as he pushed into it, head down.

“Christ…Mistress. Fucking hell…”

She put a palm in the center of his back, and he stopped pushing against her, registering the warning.

She pumped his considerable size in her hand as she kept fucking him. “You better not come, Mick. Not until I say so. No condom. You’ll spew all over your nice couch and this floor. You’ll be cleaning long after I go to bed to dream nice dreams of you.”

That same desperate half chuckle answered her, but the note of it said he was floundering in the waters she’d stirred up. The spikes would help restore the tether back to himself, but what she wanted was him tethered to her. She slowed down, eased back so he couldn’t feel the spikes and trailed her fingers down his spine. Slow and easy again.

His body stiffened at the decision, but rather than snarling at her, this time he drew that deep breath. It caught, shuddered, but he managed it.

“Good man,” she murmured. “Rest. Just let it rest. I’m going to enjoy you, enjoy how close you are.”

She drove in a little deeper, stroking her knuckles down his sides, and watched them heave like he’d been running. “Beautiful man. Gorgeous man. Heroic, strong, brave.”

He froze. “Stop it. Don’t do that shit.”

“Would it be easier if I was mocking you? It’s me believing it that bothers you?”

“It’s not true. You know it’s not…don’t. Please.” His back flattened out as he lowered his head, pressed it to the table. “Cyn…please don’t.”

She held him as tight as the length of her arm and the barrel size of his torso would allow as he shuddered.

It would have been better if he’d been at least a partially shitty person. Like she was. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t even a tenth of a shitty person. What was it Tyler had said, about how Mick handled truth and lies?