Dominion Trust Series - Vol.1 (97 page)
Once again, she was out of luck. Just thinking of how she’d acted that morning — like a total whore — had her shuddering with mortification.
You’re like a bitch in heat.
“If the shoe fits,” Kirsten whispered, shaking her head.
She had to get hold of herself. She was a grown, professional, mature woman — acting like a hormonal teenager. No matter how good it might feel, it needed to stop. At least at work. Could she control herself that long? Yes, she could do it — but Keihl was going to have his hands full when she got home each day. Was it possible to fuck your husband to death?
She heard the squeak of the hinge at the door, and she hunched further over, as if whoever it was might see what she were up to in that lonely stall. One of the other stall doors slammed, and Kirsten jumped, holding a hand to her mouth.
Oh my God.
The hiss of urine from the next stall made her wince.
She’d already raised her ass off the lid, hiking her skirt up, her face burning hot. Almost as hot as the throbbing of her sex. Her hand muffled her gasp as her bare buttocks pressed to the cold lid of the toilet.
Jesus, you’re not really going to do this are you?
Her head fell back, her lower lip clamped between her teeth as she pressed her fingers deep, fluttering them in just the right spot, the spot he so enjoyed tormenting her with until she screamed out with it.
She was so wet, juices coursed down her fingers, a drop collecting on her knuckle, the smell of her sex filling the stall.
Please don’t let her…
The toilet in the other stall flushed, the bolt on the door thrown, heels clacking over to the sinks.
As the sound of running water drowned out all other sound, Kirsten couldn’t help but stroke that spot once again, her teeth clamping harder to her lip, the flare of pain keeping her grounded — barely. Thankfully she managed to stay quiet, despite a moan that threatened to burst from her lips, the pleasure of simply her fingers inside her making her eyes roll back in her head.
Her phone buzzed again, its frame vibrating loudly against her wedding ring. Kirsten cursed silently.
There was a light, knowing giggle from the sink area. “They can’t even let us pee in peace, can they?”
Kirsten swallowed, trying to keep the quaver from her voice. “God, don’t I know it.”
She waited, frozen, fingers still within the clutch of her sex, the sound of her heartbeat loud in her ears. Then came the blessed sound of the heels again, receding, the squeal of that door hinge one of the sweetest things Kirsten had ever heard in her life. She looked at the text.
Shit.
Pulling those soaked fingers from her sex, she stared at them, willing herself to do it, needing to do it. But for long, terrible moments she was paralyzed, the thought of what she was about to do sending a shiver through her. Then she did it, hoping her shaking hand didn’t blur the picture, the flash unexpectedly bright in the confines of the stall. She didn’t look directly at it as she attached it to a text message, but she saw enough, heat flaring in her face once again. Her thumb hovered over ‘send’.
Do it, idiot.
It shouldn’t have mattered, really. He’d seen everything she had to offer. But this was different — it was pure, naked control. He was testing her, and they both knew it. Would she really do whatever he told her? Did she have the courage to explore The Game as far as it might go? She hit send, and pressed the phone to her forehead, the beat of the pulse in her neck in perfect time with the throb of her lonely, swollen clit.
Oh no.
It was easier to think about how good it was going to feel, than it was to fully acknowledge the mortification — and the dark arousal — she felt at his words. This was … well it was more than she’d ever thought herself capable of. Yet, here she was considering whether to obey or to call off the whole fucking thing. What if she were caught? Could she stay quiet enough? What if she came? She knew he’d be angry with her, even though he’d only just now made the no-orgasm pronouncement. No doubt he’d been thinking about it for some time, only needing the perfect moment, the instant to most fully realize her embarrassment, to inform her of this latest restriction. Shouldn’t this have been too much? A line finally crossed? It should’ve been … but it wasn’t.
She couldn’t quite bite back the moan as her fingers slipped between her slick folds once more.
Texting and stroking her g-spot were apparently incompatible pastimes, her typos making her groan in frustration, her shaking thumb erasing, fucking up, then erasing again.
The sound her fingers made as they stroked through her juices, was loud in the quiet bathroom, and Kirsten silently thanked God no one else was there to hear it. Too soon, she was right at the edge, her thighs visibly trembling, her belly clenching with the unique, powerful pleasure she got from stroking that spot. The urge to pee was already upon her, the last sign before she reached the point of no return. She groaned aloud as she pulled her fingers from her pussy, every
atom
of her being not wanting to stop.
Damn him!
She plunged her wet fingers into her mouth, sucking them, her scent filling her nostrils, tasting the tang of her own juices.
Kirsten could feel the very air currents on her inflamed, throbbing clit.
She wanted to scream, the urge to touch her pussy again so strong, her hand seemed to move of its own volition, sliding down her belly.
It took shamefully little time, a few strokes of her fingers, and she was nearly panting again, her hip flexors screaming from the tension in her body, her need to orgasm thrumming through her body like an electrical current.
Twice more, he ordered her right to the precipice, then pulled her back, each time more torturous than the last. On the last one it was a very close run thing, Kirsten panting into her palm, her sex pulsing, on the knife’s edge of orgasm, her body held rigid, silent, as someone else walked in, the loud sound of the running water at one of the sinks taking an eternity.
She waited for his next text, hoping, dreading. A bead of sweat left its wet, itchy trail as it coursed down the valley between her breasts. The door hinge finally squeaked — salvation — and Kirsten blew out a breath, feeling as if she might collapse.
With cheeks burning, a rushing sound in her ears, she typed.
“Thank God,” she murmured, her hands shaking now. Her pussy ached though, her clit throbbing insistently. The thought crossed her mind that the humiliation of squirting all over that bathroom floor was almost worth being allowed to come. Almost.
Slut.
But Keihl didn’t give her that option, leaving her equal parts frustrated and grateful. The knowledge that he didn’t even give her a choice just turned her on more, that fact holding a dark allure she still didn’t quite understand yet.
How was she possibly going to get through the rest of the day?
She didn’t know whether to jump for joy or burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty Three
K
eihl hunched over in the rain as he walked out to his truck, cursing under his breath as the downpour suddenly increased, soaking his shirt.
“Check the weather once in a while, asshole,” he muttered, scowling up at the gray.
His mind was elsewhere these days though. Kirsten occupied more and more of his thoughts, his idle time. She’d taken to things faster than he’d ever imagined, but that wasn’t what really surprised him, what still had him puzzled.
It was his
own
reaction.
Rather than things cooling down as the pregnancy progressed, they were heating up. She’d never looked more beautiful, her sex drive was through the fucking roof — which he couldn’t help but respond to — and they’d drawn even closer. He was starting to wonder if it was The Game that had done it, or the fact that she was pregnant. Did the distinction matter anymore? Increasingly, in his mind, the two were now almost inextricably linked, both playing upon, enhancing the other. How could pregnancy make D/s even better? He’d have never believed it before, but now it was something akin to pouring kerosene on a fire. Everything just burned that much hotter.
Nothing else had ever brought out the now almost obsessive protectiveness he felt for her — and the baby. He really understood now the old saw about putting the woman carrying your child up on a pedestal, safe, sound. Increasingly, it just didn’t
feel
right leaving her side. Not being there to watch over her, to keep her safe, gnawed at him every minute he was away. He wanted to be there all the time now — and not just because he had an almost perpetual hard-on around her either. Gone were the Happy Hours, the late nights trying to impress the partners. Instead, it was rushing home as fast as he could, eager to be at Kirsten’s side, to touch her again, kiss her again, renew that connection. Just to have her there with him, on his lap, in his arms, in his bed.
His.
Contradictory to that sentiment though, was his lust for her — and his need to control her, to give her orders, to see what he could get her to do, to test her obedience. That alone held a dizzying, cock-hardening power he’d never suspected he had within himself. She got off on being given orders, on obeying — but he got off every bit as much on
giving
those orders, on compelling her obedience.
He thought back to that day on the tennis court, at his visceral need to flee what he was seeing — and what he was feeling. He’d thought it was too much for even him — and something he feared would be overwhelming for his wife. He’d been sure it was something she’d never go for, let alone understand.
It was too much, too soon.
Now, he wasn’t at all sure. Seeing the way she’d blossomed under this new dynamic though, the way she responded physically, emotionally, psychologically to what their marriage had evolved into, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Now, he suspected part of his need to run that day was more than that. Was he fleeing the truth, the suppressed needs within him he didn’t yet know how to articulate? Maybe he just didn’t know how to handle them — so he’d run from it, run from something he could never change?
But he knew now. And so did Kirsten.
Yes, definitely time to talk to Tom.
Faint thunder rumbled in the distance as he walked, no longer rushing, resigned to the fact that he was already drenched. He stepped off the curb, glancing at the sleek black stretched BMW idling there, white exhaust billowing lazily in the rain. It wasn’t a car he’d seen there before. A client? Ella would probably know. His little researcher secret weapon knew everything.