I swung a leg over the rope, straddling it. Alexander pulled me forward until my * rested against a thick knot of cotton rope. It wasn’t harsh and it wouldn’t chafe at my skin, at least, not immediately. In a few minutes of rubbing at the knot though, I was going to be at the edge of a climax once again.
He gave me an assessing look. “Kick off your shoes,” he ordered finally.
I whimpered, but obeyed. They weren’t high heels, just sandals that added an inch or two to my height but with them gone, my body sank deeper into the rope and the knot nestled into my folds. I was very, very aware of it.
“Hands in front of you,” he ordered and I obediently clasped my wrists as he’d indicated, my fingers grazing the rope. His fingers tugged at my hair till my neck was exposed. He kissed the hollow of my throat, his eyes steady and warm. “You are so very eager, aren’t you?”
I nodded. What could I say? The prickles of pain on my scalp as he tugged at my hair, the softness of his lips against my skin, the heat in his eyes - all of these things had sent desire rushing back into my body. I rubbed myself furtively against the knot, knowing that if Alexander saw me, he’d stop me.
He caught me. His eyes narrowed and I gulped. Damn it. “You want to come, Jenny?” he asked me smoothly, one eyebrow raised. “Okay.”
His fingers pinched my nipples into erect buds, then fastened nipple clamps on them. I hissed at the familiar spike of pain, but it quickly faded to a background ache. He grinned with sadistic relish. “Come anytime you want,” he said.
Then he picked up a flogger and swung it at my ass.
There were no words to describe the tidal wave of sensation I was flung into. Each time I swung forward from the stroke of the flogger, the clamps swayed and tugged at my nipples. My * ground into the knot of rope, the cotton drenched from my juices. I was standing on tip-toe, dancing from foot to foot as the thousands of pinpricks of heat from the flogger caressed my ass and my back.
I lost track of how long he flogged me. I lost count of how many times I came.
When I finally slumped, unable to swim in the sea of sensation any more without risking drowning, his hands were there to catch me and to keep me safe. He wrapped his shirt around me and led me with infinite tenderness into the master bathroom, holding me close while he ran a bath for me in the large porcelain bathtub that was big enough for both of us. “Join me,” I whispered to him when the water was almost to the brim.
He undressed and my gaze dropped to his cock. He was still hard and even though I was tired and sated, I needed to go down on him. Complex emotions guided me, trust and gratitude, need and want, maybe even an emotion that was more tender.
Somewhere, along the way, some switch had clicked in me and I wanted to bring him the same pleasure he brought me.
I wanted him to moan out my name when he came. Not Ellie - he couldn’t call me that, because I wouldn’t risk my revenge, not even for him. But when he called me cherie, something stirred inside me and I would have done anything for him.
“Please, Alexander,” I begged him. “I want you in my mouth. Please let me make you come.”
He went down on me a generous number of times, but he so rarely let me reciprocate. It was a far cry from Abeokuta, where uncaring cocks had been thrust down my throat, more times than I cared to count.
“I thought you wanted me in the tub,” he teased.
“I changed my mind,” I replied, sinking to my knees on the bathroom floor. He didn’t stop me and that was permission enough. My lips closed around him and I felt his fingers wind through my hair, but he didn’t fuck my face. He just touched me while I gave him pleasure.
“Ah, Jenny,” he groaned as I took as much of his cock into my mouth as I could. I licked and sucked and exulted in each moan, each grunt, each hiss of pleasure I took from him. In this moment, I felt wanted in a way I’d never been.
When he came, I swallowed every last drop, licking my lips as I looked up at him smugly through my eyelashes. His fingers tightened in my hair and he smiled affectionately at me. “Are you being a brat again?” he accused me. “You aren’t cut out for demureness.”
We got into the tub, Alexander leaning against the cool porcelain. I rested against him. “What am I cut out for, in that case?”
I heard the smile in his voice. “Fishing for compliments, cherie? You aren’t meant to be coy, either.” He kissed my neck and when he spoke next, his voice was very quiet. “You are a warrior, aren’t you, Jenny?” His arms wrapped me in his embrace. “But even warriors need to find a place to rest once in a while.”
He could read me so well that it was terrifying. “Is that what Provence is to you?” I asked him. “A place to rest?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps true rest is in this moment. In the warmth of this bathtub, with you leaning against me.”
I was rarely at a loss for words, but in that moment, I couldn’t find anything that could be a suitable reply to that.
Dylan, I reminded myself fiercely, ordering myself to feel nothing. As if it were that easy to control my emotions. You are only here because of Dylan.
Chapter 9