“Limits?” He laughed at that, but it wasn’t a wholly happy thing. “Babe, I don’t have limits. I’ve been beaten to within an inch of my life, fucked, fisted, DPed, cut, burned, a bit of electro stim, tied up, tied down, edged until I thought I was gonna go insane, choked, staked out and had a train pulled on me, and pissed on. No fucking scat though. That’s probably it—my one limit. Oh, and I don’t want to die.”
I was dizzied by that list, each one providing me with a myriad of mental images to go with, plenty making me recoil, but I tried to keep that behind the mask. It took a bit, the shock value was real, but I realised something about the way he’d phrased his experiences.
“That’s what’s been done to you. What do you want?”
Those eyes jerked up at that, a tension filling his body that wasn’t there before. I saw fear, plain and simple, rise inside him. He swallowed, then sat back on his heels.
“Order him to reply,” Marlow said.
“Jake?” I said, not letting my gaze shift and holding his at the same time.
I saw the slight frown, his lips falling open. I saw the twitch of his fingers, then them raking through his hair. I saw him straighten and then square his shoulders.
“You want to know.”
“Answer me, Jake, or I’m cleaning up, putting on a pair of knickers, and getting out of here. If the show’s over, Jen will be waiting for me. I don’t have time for games.”
His eyes slid to the slit in my dress, as if he could see beyond it, even though I knew the voluminous fabric hid everything.
“What I want…” His head dropped down. “I want…I want someone to worship, Kira. I want to be their fucking slave. I want to give them everything I have, and for them to hold that and use that, use me, want me, hold me…” His voice grew hoarse as it trailed away. “I want to worship you, Kira, and I want you to want me to do that.”
Going on tour, Liam’s high-handed attempts to force all of us together…I never in my wildest of dreams would have thought this would be where I’d end up. I had assumed the forced proximity would have been to try and get me hot for them, willing to let them closer due to unbearable sexual tension, but I had been completely outplayed. I was just reacting, to them, to who they were, to all the fucking amazing things they kept on offering. Jake looked so beautiful, sitting there, looking totally destroyed by saying those words, and I just wanted to swoop in and put the pieces back together.
Fuck the dress, I thought and moved in closer, placing a hand on his cheek, something that had his eyes closing, his face turning into my palm and nuzzling it. Who knew all this need was simmering under that bright, mad façade?
“What do you want right now, Jake?” I asked, my voice much gentler.
“I want to get closer to you. I want to touch you. Let me do it—lick you clean and get you ready for tonight, and then…collar me. Make me yours, take me into court, show everyone you claimed me.”
I didn’t answer him, simply pulling the fabric to one side. He shuffled forward, giving me a few questioning looks, but then satisfied, he moved under my skirt. I parted my legs, feeling weird and uncomfortable and turned on all at the same time. I was so far out of my lane, I was in another country.
But his hands, tentative at first, went where Marlow’s went, then his tongue did the same. Just kittenish little licks, sensitising my skin, drawing my attention to his movements, then emboldened, he covered my cunt with his mouth.
The sounds were fucking lewd—a hungry, slurping, feasting that had me shuddering in his grip. He wasn’t finessing this at all, tugging on my still twitching flesh. He thrust his fingers inside me, scooping out what he wanted and then sucking them clean, if the noises were anything to go by. Then he slowed.
The relentless assault became much gentler and more considered. He pressed his lips into my thigh, the groan reverberating through my flesh. His kisses moved up and up, covering every aching part of me, and then he parted my seam with his tongue.
He licked my cunt like he was trying to draw every fold, every crevice with the tip. Marlow’s ministrations had been hot, but there had been something a little desperate in it all, on both sides. I wasn’t sure how Jake felt about this all. He ate me like other men kiss, as if this was the only place he could show that emotion. It was a strange thing, getting that slow, heartfelt kiss somewhere else entirely.
I almost thought I wouldn’t come. He didn’t flick my clit harder, thrust himself inside me, instead, he just wallowed in me. When I heard the harsh sound of his breath, felt the twist and pause of his skull as he shifted, I reached through the fabric and ran my hands through his hair. He stopped for a second, purring, the vibrations sending a thrill through me, then pulled away from my hand, and I clamped my fingers down on him when I was about to let him go.
I was beginning to see this was it—a perfect illustration of what he was. He might pull or push, but he expected me to keep ahold of him when he did. I dug my fingers into his hair, scoring the scalp, then wrenched a handful of hair back.
“Yes…” he hissed. He muttered incredibly garbled nonsense words as I pushed his head inexorably back to where I needed it. He didn’t let up now, hands digging into my hips the harder I twisted on his hair. Despite the way I was hurting him, he was endlessly gentle, lavishing caress after caress without pause, until finally it happened.
When I opened my eyes, I saw those golden motes of light from court spiralling down from the ceiling, and each time they touched my skin, explosions of teeth-achingly intense pleasure spiked through me. It was like a whole body orgasm, erupting over and over and over, until I was forced to push him away.
I teetered on my heels and stared down at him, the fabric of my dress forming a cape over his shoulders, his eyes wide, a smear of me across his chin. And then quick as a flash, he was up and on me, arm around my waist, pulling me to him, mouth on mine.
“Kira…love…”
“Skin to skin,” Marlow said, putting our arms around each other, being drawn in when we wouldn’t let him go. When we finally did, he put a bundle of leather in my hand. Jake just stared at me when I took a look at it, realising what it was. He dropped down into a crouch, his back to me, his throat bared.
“You’re not…marrying him or anything, but this has a meaning to it,” Marlow said when I moved to collar him.
I nodded, thanking him, but he seemed relieved when I stepped up and put the thick red collar around Jake’s throat. I buckled it, causing the man to moan in pleasure. I slid fingers between his flesh and the leather, making sure it wasn’t too tight, which just had him twisting to increase the pressure. I pulled away, clipped on the lead that came with it, and tugged him to his feet.
I found myself staring at him. There was something completely odd about seeing a person wearing a collar like that, yet so beautiful. I needed my camera, I realised. This was exactly what Rutherglen wanted. Decadent, revealing, frankly sexual. They could sell images of Jake like this to every kink site on the internet.
“Here,” Marlow said, passing me a phone. I clicked through to the camera app and fixed him in the display, my thumb feeling the absence of a tangible button. Jake smiled slowly, something I caught, hand drifting down.
“So what do you want tonight, Jake?” I asked as I captured all the contrasts between the harsh red leather and his pale skin.