I didn’t move. Couldn’t, actually. I was wrung out from the multiple orgasms.
“I need you to take a deep breath, precious girl. I’m going to remove the clamps.”
I focused on breathing as he eased one clamp off.
“Oh, shit,” I hissed, the pain intense.
His mouth was instantly on me, soothing the throb that ignited as the blood flowed back into my tortured nipple. He then did the same for the other nipple. And once he was finished, he removed the restraints and massaged my limbs until I was once again boneless and sated.
When he pulled me into his lap while he sat in his chair, I wrapped my arms around his neck and inhaled his sexy scent. I could get used to being with him. In fact, I looked forward to it more than I ever thought I would.
“How do you feel?” he whispered, brushing my hair back with his hand.
“I’m sorry for coming without permission,” I replied.
“Next time you’ll realize I’m serious when I say that.”
Yes, I definitely knew that now.
“Tonight, I want you to take a warm bath.”
“Yes, Mr. Snowden.”
He tilted my chin up and his lips pressed to mine. “I enjoyed that very much, precious. And I look forward to spending more time with you.”
My heart swelled in my chest at those words. I’d learned a long time ago to disassociate my feelings and sex. They weren’t one and the same and one didn’t equal the other. However, when it came to Mr. Snowden and Mr. Parker, there was something more at play. Something more powerful than mere sex, something more intense than simple lust.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this white-hot feeling in my chest was the most powerful feeling of all. One I’d never felt before.
But more importantly, if it was, how in the world would they react if they found out…
I was falling in love with them?
Twenty-Five
JUSTIN
“HOW’RE THINGS WITH BEN?” ZEKE asked as we sipped our drinks, waiting for our food to be brought out. The restaurant was crowded, but we had been seated immediately, two glasses of scotch ready and waiting.
My mind instantly drifted back to the scene in Ben’s office earlier today. I’d been quite surprised that he had taken the initiative with Addison. I thought for sure he was waiting for me, but it appeared that wasn’t the case. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Very well,” I told him.
“I heard the two of you recently took on another submissive.”
Zeke wasn’t the type of man to gossip, so his words surprised me somewhat. As for him finding out about us taking a submissive…that was quite the hot topic in our circles right now. When we’d taken her to the club for her shift, I’d felt eyes on us. And I knew people were questioning what she was doing working for us.
“We did,” I confirmed. There was no sense denying it.
“Addison Hayes is a nice girl,” Zeke said absently. “I scened with her once.”
Really? That admission caught my attention. Sure, I knew the girl was somewhat into pain, but I didn’t get the impression she was a masochist. And Zeke was likely the most revered sadist at Dichotomy. Submissives who weren’t into pain feared him and masochists practically begged for his attention.
“Nothing too intense,” he continued. “But I will admit, she has a rather high pain threshold.”
“She’s mentioned enjoying it.”
“Not quite to my level,” he said with a smirk. “However, I remember that night fondly.”
Based on what Greg had told me, Addison had played with a few Doms at the club, but he had specified that she didn’t have sex with them. I believed that, which perhaps was why there wasn’t any jealousy on my part.
“You still handling the new Doms?” I asked.
Zeke’s dark eyebrow lifted. “No. Edge cut me loose. Said I was too hard on them.”
“You did seem to take your job rather seriously.” Personally, I’d experienced a few beatings at the hands of Zeke. Trent felt it was necessary for Doms to experience the various tools used on submissives. His theory was that a Dom should understand what it feels like before he was allowed to use it. I didn’t necessarily agree, but I could admit it was a learning experience.
“Pain isn’t for the faint of heart,” Zeke said. “And if a Dom wants to dish it out, it’s fair that they experience it first.”
“I’m not arguing with you there.” I took a sip of my scotch. “You looking for a new submissive?”
“I don’t need a submissive,” he stated, holding his glass. “I need a slave. And no, I’m not in the market for one.”
For as long as I’d known Zeke—which was roughly five years now—he’d never had a submissive or slave. There were a few he played with frequently at the clubs—mostly male masochists—but never anything serious. I knew he had played with a few females over the years, but never sexually, much to their disappointment. There was no way to predict, but if I were to make an educated guess, I’d go so far as to say that Zeke would end up with two male slaves when it was all said and done. It would likely take two to handle the man.
