Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2) (23 page)

“I told you.
 
That won’t happen again.
 
I misread you.
 
Badly.”
 

“I only want
you
to touch me, but I want you to do it absolutely anywhere you like, in front of anyone you please.”
 

I took a few deep breaths, then tugged her to the nearest vacant sofa.
 
“Lie on your back, and put your hands above your head.”
 

She obeyed, and I sat down at her hip, my hand rubbing her stomach through her dress.
 
“Now, no matter what happens, who you feel watching us, I don’t want you looking at their faces.
 
You understand?
 
If you make eye contact with any of them, I’m going to punish you.”

She cleared her throat, her eyes on my hand.
 
“I understand, Mistress Abelli.”
 

That was uncharacteristically proper for her, and I smiled.
 
She was learning.
 

I inched her dress up over her hips, and then her chest.
 
She was completely bare underneath.
 

“Keep your hands where they are.
 
If you move them, I’ll stop what I’m doing it.
 
Understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Abelli.”
 

I moved down her body, parting her legs wide, fitting my shoulders between them.

I ate her out, leisurely and thoroughly, teasing her until she moaned loud enough to draw the crowd.
 

I felt someone hovering too close to us and then heard James speak, authority in his voice.
 
“Don’t touch her.
 
She belongs to Frankie.”
 

“Oh, I apologize,” a very polite male voice responded.
 
“I thought she was available.”
 

“She’s not available now,” James replied, sounding amused.
 
“And won’t be again, I’d wager.”
 
He was nothing if not perceptive.
 

“Well, she has magnificent tits,” the other man mused.
 

I played her with my experienced tongue until she was begging me to make her come, pulling back to nuzzle her thigh every time I thought she was close.
 
I was torturing her, a delicious sort of torture, the torture of unrequited passion.
 
I wanted badly to tie her up, but I refused to do something to her in front of a crowd that we’d never even tried before in private.
 

I didn’t let up until I heard a tiny sob escape her throat.
 
Then I pulled back to look up at her.
 
I climbed up her body until I was straddling her waist.
 
I fondled her breasts and watched the tears trail down her face, her lush lips trembling, turned on by the sight.
   

“Why are you crying, my sweet?” I asked her.
 

“It’s too much, Mistress.
 
I need…I need
—
“

“To get off?”
 

“Yes, I need it,” she sobbed.
 

“Imagine how I feel, touching you like this.
 
You think
I
don’t need to get off?”
 

“Please do.
 
Do it.
 
Whatever you need to do to me.
 
I want it.”
 
Her lovely accent made the words into poetry.

I patted her cheek, then wiped away each tear.
 
“Later.
 
Later I’ll take what I need from you.
 
For now I’ll let you have your pleasure.”
 
I climbed back down her body.
 

When I finally let her come, she sobbed and keened, her body jerking.
 

Our audience cheered enthusiastically.
 

We were driving home in silence when Estella burst out with, “I don’t want you to share me.
 
I want you to be mine, just mine, and moreover,” she swallowed, her accent noticeably thickening, “I want you to want me all for yourself.
 
I don’t just want to be exclusive.
 
I want you to want it as badly as I do.”

“Well, if you’re bi
—
“

“I’m not a confused little bi girl, Frankie.
 
I haven’t been with a man since I was too young to know better.
 
James, that man you made me kiss, is the first man to have his mouth on me since I was fifteen.”

“You were looking at him like…”

“He was lovely.
 
Beauty is beauty, but that doesn’t mean I
wanted
him.”

“Okay,” I allowed, not really believing her, not wanting to.
 
I already felt too in over my head.
 
“When you say you don’t want me to share you, does that mean you’d like to avoid the exhibitionism, as well?
 
Was that too much for you?”
 

Her hand slid over my thigh.
 
“No, I don’t want to avoid that, and it wasn’t too much.”
 

“Good.
 
I’d have done more to you, but there are some things I’d like to try in private with you first.
 
And yes, I’d very much like to become exclusive.
 
I’ve wanted you to myself from the start, Estella.”
 
I meant it, and I realized that I didn’t really have a choice but to try with her, even at the risk of being hurt.
 
I was already in too deep.

She was suddenly plastered to my side, nearly making me swerve off the road.
 
She kissed my cheek, again and again, saying something fast in Portuguese and then in English, “I love you.
 
I’m in love with you.”
 

I pulled over, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing over her, until we were face to face.
 
“Well, now you’ve done it, my sweet.
 
We can’t go back now.
 
I’m keeping you.”
 
I kissed her, feeling happier than I could remember.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DANIKA

“A surprise?” I asked him as he led me to his bedroom.
 
We’d been apart for five days, but as always with our separations, it felt like longer.
 

I gasped in delight as I saw the picture hanging above his bed.
 

It had been taken on our wedding day.
 
I was clutching my bouquet of white roses, wearing my little yellow dress.
 
Tristan had his arm around me, and we were both grinning like fools.

He’d blown it up and had it framed.
 
He could be so sweet.
 
The sweetest.
   

“What a wonderful surprise!” I exclaimed.

“That wasn’t the surprise,” he said into my ear.
 
His tone alone made me shiver in delighted anticipation.
 

I didn’t have to ask, as he was fitting a blindfold over my eyes.
 
It had been a while since we’d played like this, and I’d found myself fixating on it when we were apart, fantasizing about it more than any of the other things we did.
 

I held perfectly still as he stripped me down to nothing and took control.

He pulled me to the bed, pushing me down onto my back.
 
His hands were gentle but firm as he pulled my legs wide apart and began to tie both ankles to his bedposts.
 
He kissed the arch of each foot when he was done, and moved on to my hands.
 
He bound my wrists, then kissed the tip of every finger, making me shiver, my breasts tightening.

He moved away and even through my blindfold, I could see the slight change when the light in the room was dimmed.

I heard him light a match.
 
Almost immediately, the sweet scent of almonds filled the air.
 

The bed dipped as I felt him sit beside my hip, his hand going to my stomach, rubbing, kneading.
 
I couldn’t help myself; I moaned.
 

He fondled me.
 
He stroked my thighs, rubbing close but staying just shy of my sex.
 
He used his magic hands to play with my body, but only to tease, until I was gasping and begging him in short little breaths for
more
.
 

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice thick with some emotion that’s root eluded me.
 

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
 
Like this, under his hands, Tristan had taught me that he would always take care of me, pleasure me, satisfy me.
 

Under his hands, I felt healed of all of the fear for this act that had once defined me.
 
So when tied to his bed, yes, I trusted him implicitly.
 

“Good,” he said, and moved away.
 

He was gone for a few minutes, and the sweet almond scent became stronger, permeating the room in a delicious, invasive way.
 

He came back, the bed dipping with his weight again, and he set something warm and metal onto my stomach.
 

I gasped.
 

He chuckled.
 

“What is that?” I asked.
 

“I’m not going to tell you.
 
I’m going to show you.”

The blindfold was secure, but I could see dancing light just bleeding through the bottom.
 
He’d brought the candle close.
 

I sucked in another hard gasp as I felt hot liquid dribble onto my collarbone.
 
It didn’t hurt, but it was shocking.
 

“What is that?” I asked.
 

“It’s hot wax.”
 

I was trembling as I waited for him to do it again.
 

It landed on my stomach that time, and I writhed, pulling against the restraints.
 
It still wasn’t painful, just so intense I could hardly stand it.
 

I moaned as he poured a few drops onto my inner thigh, my upper arm, the inside of my knee, alternating to the sensitive spots on my body, but avoiding all of the blatantly sexual ones.
 

He trickled more wax onto my neck, my wrists, my open palms, and the tops of my feet.
 

I panted, in a state.
 

He dripped tiny amounts onto my fingers, my ankles, my hips, my ribs.
 

I was close to begging for just one touch of his fingers.
   

He drizzled just drops onto my knees, the bend of my arms, the valley between my breasts.
 

“Please,” I uttered, wanting, needing anything beyond this delicious teasing game of his.
 

His answer was to drip a generous amount onto my quivering breasts.
 
I cried out.
 
It still wasn’t a cry of pain, but one of want.
 

He splashed some directly onto my pelvis, making my hips jerk, then circle in a plea.
 

Finally, mercifully, he put his hands on me, rubbing the soft wax into my skin, massaging, caressing, squeezing, working.
 

His hands were reverent, worshipful, devoted, loving; magic.
 

When he finally moved on top of me, and pushed his hips between my thighs, I was primed.
 

He buried himself to the hilt with one deep thrust.
 
I’d already been on the edge, and I came, crying out, with a few heavy thrusts.
 

He pulled out of me, and I moaned a protest, but he returned to me quickly.
 

I stilled, listening intently as I heard the faintest buzzing sound from directly in front of me.
 

He positioned himself at my entrance again, working himself in more slowly this time, but just as deep, and when he was buried, I felt what the buzzing sound had been.
 
Some sort of vibrator that was attached to a cock ring, I assumed, because it left me as he pulled out, then made startling contact again when he was buried home, making direct and perfect contact with my clit.
 

He was relentless, taking me over the edge again before he took his pleasure, spilling deep inside of me and staying buried deep for a long time, kissing my neck, my mouth, murmuring the sweetest things to me.
 
“I love you, Danika.
 
You being mine is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yes.
 
Yours. Every one of my heartbeats is for you.
 
Every breath, Tristan.”

“Oh, boo.
 
You beautiful girl,” he groaned.
 
“You’re giving me too much.”
 
He trembled.
 
“You’re spoiling me rotten.”
 

“Every heartbeat.
 
Every breath, Tristan.
 
Yours.”
 

After, as we lazed in the bath and scrubbed the excess wax off, he asked me, “Did you like that?”

“Yes.
 
I’d have guessed that it would hurt more.”
 

“It’s a low temperature candle, very soft wax.
 
I know you don’t like pain, so I thought it would be a good balance.
 
Frankie suggested it.”

“And what about the other?”
 

“The vibrating cock ring?”
 
His grin was a wicked white flash of teeth.
 
“That one was my idea.”

I grinned back.
 
“I figured.”
 

TRISTAN

I was late again.
 

I felt like a jerk, as I’d missed her last two performances, and I seemed to be late to everything these days.