Manties in a Twist (The Subs Club Book 3) (3 page)

“I know. You say that every time.”

“‘The horses are restless and the men are quiet.’”

“Shut up.”

I rested my chin on the top of his head. Glanced across the room at my laptop. “Did we seriously just spend two hundred and fifty dollars on Etsy?”

“It’s for a good cause.”

I grinned. I was really fucking excited about the clothes we’d bought. This, like, fifties dress with flowers on it. A garter belt and stockings. Four pairs of lace underwear made by that French place Amanda’s underwear was from. A bra. I guess I was nervous too. I didn’t know if I’d really look good in women’s clothes. And was this just about wearing a dress, or did Ryan want me to do makeup and stuff? Because I would probably look like a zombie drag queen if I wore eyeshadow.

He turned his head and kissed between two of my ribs. I squeezed him tighter.

“Do you feel a special kinship with the hobbits? Because you’re so short?”

“Kamen.”

I made sure to sound real freaking innocent when I replied, “What?”

He slapped my chest, not taking his eyes from the screen. “Watch yourself.”

I was getting hard looking at his tiny bird shoulders, the curve of his back. I didn’t even think he realized how often he did this to me: I looked at him or smelled him or heard his voice, and suddenly all I wanted to do was fuck. Like, if he knew the actual number of times I’d be willing to fuck per day, he’d be scared.

“I just feel like we could start going around with you on my shoulders. Like
Freak the Mighty
.”

“One more short joke. Just one . . .”

I laughed. “Okay. Okay.” I snuggled closer. “I’m done.”

We watched in silence for a few more minutes.

“What about with dwarves? Do you relate to the—”

“I’m for real gonna take you over my knee if you don’t stop.”

I always felt a little weird when he said things like that. I got that he was kidding around. Just, for whatever reason, it hurt my feelings when he threatened punishment for real stuff, even as a joke.

The first time I’d met him, he’d spanked me. I’d made some dig about how he was too small to be a dom, and he’d volunteered to show me how someone his size could dominate someone my size. It had been really fucking hot, but mostly because I’d liked
him
—not because I’d
loved
being spanked. I got turned on by guys pulling rank the same way I got turned on by basically everything. But, I dunno.

If I were gonna therapize myself, I’d say this hang-up came from my childhood. Because people hardly ever criticized me when I was growing up. I don’t mean I’m so awesome there was nothing to criticize. But my mom loved everything I did, and teachers thought I was dumb but charming, and I was really good at sports. So now it was weird to me when some dom was like,
You’re not doing this right
, or
You talk back too much
, or whatever the fuck. I liked BDSM, but I wanted it to be fun, and where was the fun if someone was always gonna tell you what you were doing wrong? Even if it was just a game?

Plus with Ryan, I wouldn’t purposely do anything to disappoint that fucker, ever. Except call him short.

He and I hadn’t actually done much dom/sub stuff yet. We’d spent the first few months of our relationship dating and having mostly regular sex, except for some bondage-y moments, and then the move had taken up a lot of our energy. Only in the past couple of weeks had we really started getting our freak on, but we still hadn’t hit on the exact kind of thing we wanted.

I nuzzled him. “I’m just playing.”

Ryan gripped my hair and shook my head gently. “I know.”

I looked at him for a few seconds. “Can we not do the punishing thing?”

He glanced at me. “What punishing thing?”

I grabbed the remote and muted the movie. “I get that punishing a sub is, like, part of being a dom. But I don’t like it. Even when you’re just joking about it. It hurts my feelings.”

He sat up, frowning. “Really?”

“Kinda.” I was pretty embarrassed all at once.

He studied me a moment more, then grinned, scrubbing my scalp with his knuckles. “Aww. Kamen. I didn’t know that.”

I grinned and tried to bite him. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.”

“Well, I do have feelings. I’m not just some big, dumb buffoon.”

“Hey. You know I don’t think that.”

I knew
he
didn’t. “Everyone else kinda does, though.”

He pulled me closer. “They don’t matter.”

I twisted my neck to stare up at him. “Is that okay?” I asked finally. “Will it make you feel, like, not dominant enough if you don’t get to punish me?”

“Well, I never actually
do
punish you when I say stuff like that, so clearly I’ll survive without bending you to my will.”

“One time you spanked me for not keeping my head down when I was kneeling.”

“That wasn’t meant to be serious.”

“I know! It was fun. But maybe I’d rather just . . . not.”

He kissed my cheek. “Sorry. I had no idea.”

“I just kinda figured it out now.”

“You can have whatever you want.” He ran a hand up my chest.

We watched the movie with the automatic captions on for a few minutes.

He tapped my shoulder with one finger. “Maybe you could earn rewards instead.”

“Huh?”

“If I tell you to do something. Instead of punishing you if you don’t do it right, I’d give you good things when you
do
get it right.”

My mouth hung open slightly. “Like what kind of things?” Everything that came to mind had hot sauce on it. If I could get spicy wings for giving an awesome blowjob or whatever, my life would be pretty much the ultimate.

“Hmm.” He pretended to think. “I’m not sure what you like.” He ran his fingers up my thigh.

I wriggled a little, knocking a sham to the floor.

He gripped my dick. Stroked slowly.

“Do you like this?” He was smirking. “I forget.”

I whimpered and nodded, lifting my hips.

“And you’d probably like it, too, if I did this.” He scooted onto the ottoman on all fours, and then bent and put my dick down his throat like a fuckin’ boss.

My head tipped back, and I made this sound that was kind of like when you choke on soda and it comes out your nose a little bit.

He pulled his mouth off my dick and gazed at me mock-seriously. “You’d like that?”

“Mm-hmm.” My voice was high and tight. My hips were kinda doing their own thing, and my dick bumped his chin.

He sat back. Picked up my right foot, pressed his thumbs into the instep, and massaged. “And this?”

Oh God. Foot rubs were my favorite thing
in the world
.

Besides wings.

I groaned.

“And I know you love putting your tongue in my ass.”

I pressed my legs together and arched my back. “Don’t . . .” My thighs quivered as he swept one hand up to cup between my legs. He made circles on my balls with his thumb, and I moaned again.

“What’s the matter? You
don’t
like rimming me?”

More than wings. More than wings, I liked eating his ass. And he knew it.

He stopped touching me. “I can think of something else you
really
like.”

He reached for one of our organic shams, and I watched in shock as he ripped the gold cord off the border. “Our shams!”

“It’s fine. We’ve still got one more gift card.” He pushed me onto my back and wound the cord around my wrists.

Oh fuck.

He tied the rope and let go. “You know what to do.”

I got in my favorite position, arms over my head and knees against my chest, and stared up at him. He stroked my sides with his fingertips, which gave me that kind of
whoa
tingly feeling like when I used to stand on ice cubes with my bare feet to see how long they’d take to melt.

“Okay, please, please, please . . .” I whispered as he trailed one finger through my crack.

He brushed my hole, and I tensed, grunting. Tried to shift to get his finger there again.

He grinned smugly. “There we go. There’s lots of things I can give you when you’re good.”

“Ryan . . .”

He leaned forward, one hand by my shoulder. “But you have to earn them.” Normally, around other people, he spoke kind of loud and fast, like he was talking in shouty caps. He also sent emails and texts in literal shouty caps. But when it was just him and me, his voice got all low and soft in a way that made me basically giddy.

I’ll earn them. Oh my God, I’ll fucking earn them.

“How?” I closed my eyes and swallowed as he skimmed my hole again.

“First . . .” He did a finger-circle around my belly button, making my stomach suck in. I pulled against the sham cord around my wrists, but it didn’t give. “I want to know where you put those panties.”

I tried to bring my knees closer to my chest. “On the floor. Behind us.”

He got up and went around to the back of the couch. Returned with the ripped panties. He climbed back onto the cushions and said, “Open your mouth.”

Oh my God.
This
dude.

I opened my mouth, and he stuffed the panties in there. They smelled like cum, and the lace was rough against my tongue.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He said it kinda nervous, like he wasn’t sure I’d still be into the girl stuff.

But I was totally into it.

I nodded, making a soft sound into the lace. Stretched my arms high above my head and spread my legs as wide as I could, given couch wideness limitations and such.

He stroked my sides again, then my stomach. I was breathing hard as he kissed just below my belly button. “You gorgeous, gorgeous fucker.” He pinched both my nipples until I gasped. “I just want to suck these tits all night.”

I spat the panties out before I could even think. “Fuck my cunt.”

He let go of my nipples. The spit-soaked panties rested on my collarbone.

We stared at each other.

I raised my brows slightly.

His jaw twitched.

I let out a long breath and laughed. “That word just keeps popping out when we’re doing things like this.”

He nodded. “So maybe we should . . . let ourselves say it.”

It was a girl word. And not a nice girl word. But it was so fucking hot. I’d always lived my life very, like, just do what feels good and don’t worry about what people think. But over the past few years, my friends had gotten me to consider how the things that felt good to me could hurt other people in ways I didn’t even realize.

But Ryan and I were alone. Who was “cunt” gonna hurt?

“Touch my cunt,” I whispered.

The smile he gave me was huge and magnificent. It was like the Chrysler Building of smiles. He picked up the panties and pushed them back into my mouth.

My dick jerked as I bit down.

“Wait, hold on.” He took the panties out of my mouth and replaced them with his fingers. “Get ’em as wet as you want ’em.”

I sucked, getting them real slobbery. Then I licked between them until I could tell it was making him crazy. I beejed the fuck out of his fingers, and his dick was standing straight out by the time I was done.

He withdrew his hand and stuck the panties back in my mouth. He put his wet middle finger against my hole, circled, and then started pushing it in. I wanted to maybe warn him that the Chips Ahoy was creating a situation down in sector twelve, but the fingering felt really good and my mouth was full of panties, so I let it happen.

Wouldn’t be the first time I’d farted on his fingers.

I tightened up at first, because I loved doing that: you made it hurt like fuck for a few seconds, and then you relaxed suddenly and whatever was on its way up there just shot in and nailed your prostate and it was literally the best.

He worked his ring finger in too and slid both fingers out, then in again, leaning forward between my raised legs to kiss me. Then he moved his mouth lower, and sucked my, uh . . . tits. He worked on one nipple first, sucking and licking and scraping it with his stubble. Then he switched sides, and I got to feel the ache of the first one, the wetness left by his mouth, while he moved on to the other one.

He wasn’t great at multitasking, and his fingers weren’t really moving inside me. So I rolled my hips, trying to get that going again while he went all Master of the Imaginary Boob Sucking Universe on me.

He pressed down on my hip and scissored his fingers inside me. “You hot little bitch,” he whispered against my chest.

Okayokayokayokay
. . . More bad girl words. But I loved it. And being called “little” by someone a hundred times smaller than me was the absolute shit.

He bit my right nipple and pulled up with his teeth. At the same time, he started rubbing my prostate really fast. I grabbed the sham. He used his thumb and forefinger to stroke my taint as he thrust.

“Tight fucking bitch. I love fingering your cunt.”

Who even
said
shit like that? But Ryan was, like, Philip Seymour Hoffman–committed to this role. I bit the lace until my jaw ached. His fingers moved back and forth, stretching me. Then he started grinding his dick against my ass.

I couldn’t really describe what happened. I sort of imagined I was a woman, but sort of didn’t. Like, it was hard for me to ignore that I had giant muscles, plus body hair, plus a dick. But then I closed my eyes and started imagining that I had giant breasts, and that my ass was a cunt, which sounds weird, but it was really working for me. I moaned around the panties.

“You wet little slut.”

I opened my eyes and came in his face.

He stopped and wiped his cheek with his free hand. “Seriously?”

I spat the panties out again, heaving. Let my legs drop. “Ssss . . . so fucking . . . hot.”

He smiled like he was kinda embarrassed but mostly proud of himself. He still had a little cum on his cheek. “I know.”

He pulled his fingers out of my ass, untied me with his other hand, and went to the bathroom.

I listened to him wash his hands. He came back in, face and hands dripping water. He jumped back on the couch between my legs. He was hard. I tried to move my foot so I could press down on his dick and then watch it spring up again, which was generally a great thing to do with boners. But I missed.