The message of their Friday ritual was as arousing as the act. She belonged to him, and he’d claim every orifice, every part of her, every week, to reinforce the message.
“Did you like that, last night? With the feather.” He brought her back to the present, his voice a melodious rumble against her ear. The deep timbre always reminded her of a midnight DJ, speaking to his listeners in the loneliest part of the night, reassuring them he was there with them. Sometimes his voice alone could make her wet, tremble, need.
“Yes.” Goddess, she had. But…
“But you liked it even better when it was just my mouth.”
She put her hands over his, still curved over her breasts. He was kneading again, lightly plucking her nipples, which tagged her words with breathy little notes. “I love the things you can create,” she managed. “I love you using me to test them. But the in-between times, when you use only your hand, your mouth…your body…it’s like you step inside of me so deeply.”
She thought of the dinner ritual, the last time he took her body, when they were pressed skin to skin, the weight of their love held between their gazes. She closed her eyes again as his hands slid to her upper abdomen, his arms crossing over her to hold. It only reinforced her next words. “I feel so safe and loved.”
He turned her toward him. As she gazed up into his dark blue eyes she thought how they, too, were sometimes like the darkest part of night, only over a sea, where even the night picked up the blue and held it. When she slid her hands up toward his shoulders, he gripped one wrist and dipped his head to drop a kiss on her knuckles. “Such pretty nails,” he observed. “But I’m going to risk them. I want to have you in the grotto, and see if I can make you lose your mind enough you’ll rake those pretty nails up my back.”
She smiled, even as she trembled. Sometimes it scared her, how much she loved their life together. She’d never had what she had with Jon. But she knew how quickly time passed, and what it could take away from a person. Every moment needed to be valued, instead of its loss feared. He’d helped her with that, because sometimes the fear came back. Like now.
If she could change anything about their first several years together, it would be that. As much as she loved Jon, and wanted to be his wife and submissive more than anything, the emotional fallout of two decades of psychological abuse and the attendant destruction of her confidence and self-esteem, couldn’t be eradicated overnight or merely by wishing.
She had healed, grown stronger, but it hadn’t been a short road. She needed to touch his mouth. Her fingers flexed in his hold and his eyes darkened. “What is it, Rachel?”
“Just…ghosts walking over my grave.”
He knew it frustrated her, how those specters of the past could still ambush her, though admittedly far less than before. She hoped. That distracting mouth firmed, and he cradled her face, a thumb stroking along her lips. “I’ll have to talk to them about doing that. Into the pool.”
She stepped in obediently, taking his hand to steady her as she went up the steps on one side and down the opposite, into the pool. The water was blissfully warm. When he was with her here, there was another ritual they observed, one that went all the way back to the first time he’d made his feelings for her known.
There was a raised platform on the pool floor that looked like rock, blending in with the rest, but the rock was a sturdy foam that cushioned the knees. She sank down on it, and clasped her hands behind her back, straightening her back and raising her chin. The posture lifted her breasts, the shoulder-width kneeling position opening herself to him however he desired to touch her.
She remembered his words then as if he’d just said them.
“You’d stay in that position, knowing nothing was required but to sit like that while I took my fill of viewing what was mine. And it would drive you as crazy as it would drive me, until I’d be so hard I’d have to fuck you against the wall.”
Jon stripped off his clothes. Though her lashes were lowered as was appropriate, she could feel his gaze upon her. Fortunately, she could see his naked torso from feet to waist. The light coating of dark hair on calves and thighs, around his sex. He was already partially erect and growing harder, thicker.
He stepped into the water. For the next few moments, he tended to himself, using the soap and shampoo from those convenient niches to clean his skin, wash his hair. When he ducked beneath the water and came up, she dared a short peek to see him slick his dark hair back against his skull. When it was wet, it came past his shoulders. He was not as broad or muscular as the others of the K&A team, but every inch of his lean body was taut, and she knew firsthand the strength in it. He could hold yoga positions almost as long as the masters under whom she’d trained.
He had pale skin, smooth like marble. Though he worked out regularly, running the paths around and near their property daily, he was a nighttime exerciser, and his work and hobbies all centered around the extensive shop where he invented things not only for work, but for pleasure. Like that incredible oil.
“What are you thinking about, sweet girl?” He had drawn closer to her, his hand settling on one of her knees. He feathered his touch over her skin under the water. When he found her cunt, she caught a moan in her throat as two lubricated fingers slid in. He also kept a water-resistant oil in one of those crevices, and had apparently utilized it to counter the water’s non-lubricating effect.
How can I please you? It was the first thought she had when he touched her, driving everything else away, but since she knew he was wanting what she’d been thinking about a moment ago, she pulled those thoughts back to the forefront, with effort. He didn’t like to repeat himself, and though the consequences of him having to do so could be quite memorable in the right ways, she didn’t brat on purpose.
“Your skin. How pale it is, but how smooth, like a marble statue.”
“Lucas says he always expects me to burst into flame at the touch of the sun.”
She smiled, but a whimper escaped her as he rubbed her inside with those partially curled fingers. Sensation unfolded in her, making her hands tighten in their clasp on one another on her lower back. “Master,” she breathed.
“I can make you come the first time just like this. It would build slow, and you’d be making those little pleading noises in your throat I like so damn much.”
His voice got even deeper, rougher, when he took control of her, and she could get lost in it.
He slid his fingers from her and took her elbow, bringing her off the dais. He moved her to the pool wall and put a palm on her back, exerting pressure to bend her forward.
“Hands where you know I want them.”
There were two stones at shoulder width, the perfect size to mold her palm over each one. No restraint this time. He would require her to restrain herself, which was far harder.