Twice Upon a Blue Moon (13 page)

“What are you thinking, Hazel?” He sounded ragged, as if it was taking everything he had not to press inside.

“I—I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t play coy. Tell me what you’re thinking. Do you want this?”

She didn’t need to think about that. Her sopping pussy should’ve clued him in. “Yeah. God, yeah, please…”

“How?”

The litany of pleas brimming on the tip of her tongue came to a screeching halt. Of course Dylan wouldn’t want her begging. That would’ve been too easy.

“However you want, Sir—”

She thought she heard Dylan suck in a breath at the stray honorific, but before she could figure out if he was pleased or enraged, he pulled away. No, not just away. His shoes clicked as he stepped back, the distance between them widening by the second.

Hazel twisted around at the waist. “Wait, no… What did I do?” Hot tears brimmed in her eyes. She struggled to blink them away. “Dylan, come back. I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey… You’re okay. Look at me.” Dylan caught her by the shoulders, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Hazel, stop.”

She heard the order and clamped down on the raging, aching bruise inside her. She raised her gaze to his. “I’m a hot mess.”

“Do you need a break?”

“No, just—tell me what I did wrong?” She reasoned that it was safe to ask now that Dylan was with her, holding her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Nothing. Here. Do you want to sit—?”

Hazel shook her head, resisting when he made to pull her up. The underfloor heating made it comfortable to stay where she was. “What did you want to hear?”

“An answer—a
real
answer would have been nice,” Dylan said, smiling crookedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you freak out.”

You think
that
was a freak-out?
Hazel blew out a throaty laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Dylan wasn’t so easily persuaded. “Sure you don’t want to take a break?”

“I want to do this—with you.” She slid a hand over his thigh, the soft wool of his slacks bunching up beneath her fingers. “Please?”

He considered the request for a long beat, the wrinkle between his eyebrows spelling out his hesitation. As soon as he raised his gaze to hers, Hazel knew she’d won.

“Straight answers from now on.”

She nodded, already slipping back into the familiar routine of command and compliance. The tight pull of Dylan’s hand in her hair helped in that regard. She went down a little deeper, tucking her heels and settling her racing heartbeat. It felt good to stop fighting.

Dylan gave her a few breaths to get herself under control, then tugged her to her feet. This time she went, rocking a little on wobbly legs.

“On the swing.”

It was a welcome directive. Hazel oriented herself toward the steel frame nailed into the floor and gripped the metal chains on either side. A broad strip of leather drooped loosely from the frame. It swayed as she turned and gingerly dropped her weight back. She tamped down a flash of worry at the thought of bringing the whole contraption down beneath her.

Dylan was waiting. She’d delayed long enough.

The leather chains clicked with every twist and wriggle. Hazel anchored her hands into the two that stretched above her head. Her heart was pounding, a syncopated rhythm that had less to do with fear than anticipation. It got louder when Dylan took hold of her ankle and slid her foot through a leather strap.

There were no cuffs, but Hazel didn’t need to be tied down to feel trapped. She flexed her toes.

“Cramp?” Dylan dug his thumbs into the balls of her feet before she could shake her head. It felt good.

Christ, he could pick lint off my shoulder and I’d probably go weak in the knees.

If Dylan noticed, he was too good at this to let it show. He walked his fingertips over her bare legs, around the leather straps and down, along her quivering inner thighs. Hazel sucked in a breath as he grazed her labia with his thumbs. Not stroking, not slapping—which she knew she shouldn’t have wished for but did anyway—just tracing her slick folds while expectation mounted in her breast.

Hazel sucked her lips between her teeth to smother a plea for more, for faster. Her cheeks flamed. If he didn’t do something soon, there was a good chance she’d come like this, untouched, every inch of her exposed to his greedy eyes. Much as she wanted an orgasm, it wouldn’t feel right. She wanted more.

Dylan traced her pussy with a fingertip before entering her in one smooth, delicious press.

“Fuck…” Hazel threw her head back, chains clinking around her as the swing swayed back and forth. Her inner muscles clenched, grasping at him as he made to withdraw.

“You’re so tight,” she heard him murmur. “Been a while, has it?”

Hazel didn’t want to admit it, but Dylan had asked her for straight answers. She nodded hastily.

“Don’t worry,” Dylan growled, “I won’t go easy on you.”

He lent action to words a moment later, making short work of the fastenings on his slacks and sliding on a condom. Hazel’s addled brain snagged on that flimsy detail. An objection that rose up in her throat—
I’m on the pill. It’s okay
—thoughts spiraling from one end of the spectrum to the other. But this wasn’t about thinking or offering input.

You’re his submissive. You don’t demur.

Dylan seized her hip in a sure hand, as though in reminder. He didn’t pound into her—
that
would’ve hurt, and probably not in a good way—but he gave her little to no time to adjust to the steady pressure of his cock inside her before withdrawing and entering her again.

He set a punishing pace, control unflagging even as the tendons in his neck pulled taut.

For all that Hazel tried to anchor herself, the swing offered no purchase. She swayed back and forth at his urging, the slick, vulgar echo of skin on skin soft at first, but rapidly gaining in volume. Dylan was merciless. He stayed inside her after the first few dozen thrusts, barely letting her slip away more than an inch before pulling her down again. There would be bruises where he gripped her waist so tightly, Hazel was sure, and red welts where her abused backside scraped the leather swing. It was a delicious sort of pain—the kind that grounded her.

The kind she wanted more of.

Dylan must have sensed it. He grabbed her throat as he buried himself inside her on a particularly arduous thrust. Hazel cried out. She was a long way from choking, but that didn’t make her feel any less aroused at the possibility. Dylan could squeeze down at a moment’s notice. If the fancy took him, he could have her thrashing, blue in the face, gasping, gasping—

Climax slammed into her without warning, a wave of pleasure racing down her hips and thighs to pool into her toes, then bouncing back up, vibrating tight behind her pulsing clit. Her legs jerked in the straps, body practically jackknifing in the sling. The clutch of her inner muscles squeezed Dylan tight as his rhythm fell apart.

Within a handful of ragged thrusts, he came, too, grunting through his orgasm as Hazel whimpered, pitiful in his grasp.

It wasn’t until she felt him palm her cheek that she noticed he’d fucked her to the brink of tears. His face swam above her, features blurry around the edges.

“You okay?”

He sounded so concerned. Hazel nodded and turned her head to press a kiss to the crease of his lifeline. Her hands ached from gripping the chains for dear life, her hips were bruised and she was sure to be sore tomorrow, but none of those things mattered. She felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. She was better than okay.

She’d made it through the scene without falling apart.

Chapter Nine

The bathroom door opened smoothly, a cloud of steam rushing out as Dylan emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I could get used to that view,” Hazel teased from the bed. She scooted a little to the center of the mattress in silent invitation.

“It’s certainly doing wonders for my ego.” Dylan crawled up beside her, his chest warm and shower damp where it brushed her arm. “How are you feeling?”

Too soon to tell. My freak-outs need time to marinate.

“Good.” It was close enough to the truth. She craned her neck, tangled hair spilling across the pillow as she glanced up at Dylan. His smooth-shaven cheeks were dark with a rosy flush. She couldn’t help but feel gratified to notice that he had a hard time
not
staring at her naked body. “Is this the part where you debrief me like a good Dominant?”

“How predictable you make me sound!”

“I don’t mind predictable…” She certainly hadn’t minded when she was clutching the spanking horse to her chest or swinging back and forth while Dylan rutted against her. Nothing about that had been concrete in her mind’s eye when she had rung his doorbell, but she was pleased with how everything had turned out.

Dylan cupped her breast with a gentle hand, stroking his thumb over her nipple as if to say
Predictable enough for you?
A tremor rippled across Hazel’s flesh. Afterglow was often pitted with little bursts of startled pleasure, but she’d never been the type to push past exhaustion unless she absolutely had to.

“You didn’t tell me that you’d done this before last night,” Dylan noted, shaking her from the fog of tactile pleasure.

“You didn’t ask.”

Dylan met her gaze. “We don’t have to talk about it if it’s painful. I was just curious…”

Of course you were. You and Ward are all about poking sleeping dogs.

“There’s not much to talk about,” Hazel retorted. This time, it was a bald-faced lie. It was also the lesser of two evils. She didn’t want to invite that part of her past into her present, much less inform Dylan of her neuroses when he was just beginning to warm to her.

“Was he your first Dom?” Dylan prodded gently.

“Was Ward yours?” It wasn’t what she’d meant to ask, but she couldn’t deny wanting to know. Ward’s hold on Dylan confused as much as it annoyed her. Envy might have played a part, too.

Dylan’s expression shuttered, but he didn’t pull away. “He was,” he admitted.

“And now?”
Give an inch…

“And now—” Dylan sighed. “He’s my friend.”

Hazel wanted to ask for details—the why and how of it—but she could feel Dylan becoming closed off and grim beside her, so she changed the subject. “He was a pretty good teacher. You’re good at this.”

“Yeah?” The rueful tilt to Dylan’s lips made all the hoop jumping worthwhile.

“Very good. You’re
Thank heavens I don’t have a desk job
good.”

“Always with the ego stroking…” Dylan dug a knuckle into her flank. Hazel squirmed, but she could read no heat into the rebuke. “You’re good, too,” he said. “Even if… Would I be correct in guessing it’s been a while?”

Hazel nodded, although it should’ve been obvious. “I’m out of practice, I know. If you just give me a chance—”

Dylan shushed her with a kiss. When he pulled away, he was grinning, eyes bright and giddy. “I intend to give you all the chances you want.”

“Right, because practice makes perfect.”

Scoffing, Dylan traced the dip in her chin with his thumb. “Not just that. I like you.”

Hazel’s heart slowly dropped back into the cage of her ribs, making it easy to breathe again. She thought about telling him about the time she fell off Buddy’s bike into a wooden fence, about blood gushing over her chin like a font and everyone treating her like she’d gotten what she deserved. She thought about Dylan holding her in thrall like this, night after night, until they tired of each other.

In the end, she made do with returning the smile, some complicated, fanciful muscle pulling back flips in her chest.

* * * *

Dylan asked her to spend the night, but his flight was at six in the morning and Hazel didn’t want to be around for the long, drawn-out goodbyes. “Keeping me up all night isn’t goodbye,” Dylan countered with a dazzling, indolent smile.

She caught his hand before he could reach beneath the covers and cup her sex. His touch was electric. Hazel didn’t fool herself into thinking she could resist him for long.

“Some of us have to work in the morning.”

The drudgery of a morning shift aside, she didn’t want to be there when Ward finally crawled out of his room—if he was even at the loft—or came back home, if he was not. She’d sooner avoid seeing him again altogether if she could help it. Ward Parrish was the timer on the bomb. The more time she spent fiddling with the wires, the more likely it was that the block of TNT would detonate.

Dylan insisted on seeing her off. He walked her down to the car in a pair of loose-fitting sleep pants and a thin T-shirt. Hazel let him press her into the hood of the Volvo and kiss her with icy lips. The once familiar lilt of cicadas was absent in the over-paved, concrete-everywhere suburbs that had enveloped Aulden Way. The night seemed to be holding its breath.

“Go back inside before you catch your death…”

“I’m fine where I am,” he murmured against her lips.

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I’m feeling some shrinkage.”

His laugh was warm and generous, and Hazel told herself that it was genuine, too. She’d never been very good at spotting liars.

Dylan pecked her on the cheek before he withdrew, hugging his sides.

“You’re not going to do that thing where you stand on the curb and watch me drive off, are you?” Hazel wanted to know.

He shook his head, grinning. “Absolutely not.”

“Because that would be lame.”

“Totally lame,” he agreed.

Hazel got behind the wheel and clicked the door shut. It took a couple of tries to get the key into the ignition. Her fingers felt big and clumsy, a side effect of wallowing in bed for the better part of two hours. She had to concentrate to gun the engine. The Volvo sputtered a couple of times before roaring to life. Dylan was still on the sidewalk when she glanced up, rocking on his heels.

“It’s just two weeks, right?” Hazel asked, then repeated the question once she’d rolled down the window. She had to pitch her voice over the rumble of the car to make herself heard.