She wanted to give him anything he needed.
He just didn’t know it wasn’t what he needed.
Not yet.
Amélie had to show him.
She moved to him, touched his chest, and the simple touch forced up a guttural growl she felt deep in her womb, he was so sensitized. She lifted up to his mouth to brush her lips against his, and he tried to deepen the kiss.
She pulled half an inch away and his lips curled back in a snarl.
“Not quite yet, my steed,” she whispered.
The snarl went feral.
She increased the vibrations.
His jaw turned to stone and his head rolled back.
Amélie again fought against climaxing, just watching him.
Again and again she brought him close to orgasm and when she was on the way to building him up yet again, she commanded, “I’m going to unshackle you. When I do, you may drop your arms and I want you on your knees. Once there, don’t move another muscle, Olivier. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he gritted between his teeth.
She unshackled him, legs then arms.
He dropped his arms and went to his knees.
Beautiful.
She moved in front of him, taking the vibrations up a note, watching him battle the pleasure pulsing up his ass, his muscles straining, his hands fists, perhaps so he wouldn’t tackle her, rip her clothes from her, throw her on her belly and mount her.
Oh, how she’d glory in that. Breaking his control. Experiencing firsthand that wild.
And she continued her torture, slowly taking off one boot, the other, then rolling down her pants, taking her panties with them.
He watched avidly, and when she revealed it, his eyes locked on her glistening pussy, his lips again pulled back in a snarl, growl rolling up his throat.
She moved in front of him.
And made her second mistake with him, her second mistake with anyone in years.
She’d pushed her beast far and her mistake was feeling she could push him further.
Lifting her leg to throw it over his shoulder, allowing him to smell her, see her, she did this saying, “You may now eat—”
She got not another word out.
One of his arms closed around the hip of her upraised leg. The other hand went to the inside of her other thigh and she cried out as he lifted her and swung that leg over his other shoulder. Shoving his face in her pussy, his hands going from her ass up her back, his long arms on either side of her spine as he fell forward, controlling her, holding him to her.
She had the presence of mind to keep her head lifted so when she hit floor, she didn’t bang it against the wood.
But she had no time to recover or get control.
He clamped down on her hips by curving his long forearms around them, crossed at her lower belly, and in random, effective, mind-boggling jerks, he forced her to ride his face while on her back as he ate her, no finesse. Sucking her clit, fucking her with his tongue, dragging his teeth down the sensitive sides.
He kept rocking her against him as he took one arm from around her and put his hand between her legs. He drove two long fingers inside her, fucking her mercilessly.
Oh yes, he reached places others could not go with those long fingers.
Fuck.
Luscious.
“Olivier—” she whimpered, arching into him, rocking into his pulls. Not a demand to stop, a demand never to stop.
“You want a finger up your ass?” he growled into her flesh.
“Yes,” she gasped.
He adjusted, his fingers gathering her wet and fucking her pussy and ass as he continued eating.
In no time at all, he drove her there and as she went, she had it together only enough to turn the vibrations up her steed’s ass all the way to high.
The explosive growl he forced up her pussy sent her flying. She dropped the remote and grasped his head, holding him to her, shoving him deeper even if there was nowhere to go, calling out his name in soft mews, fighting for breath.
This was it. She’d never been there before.
Nirvana. A miracle. Arriving in heaven on an explosion with Olivier’s mouth to her cunt, she never wanted to leave.
“Baby,” he groaned between her legs.
“Come on me,” she pushed out, still climaxing.
She lost his mouth but her waning orgasm waxed when she was dragged across the floor between his legs. He put his weight in one hand at her side, gripped his big dick in the other, and arched back, shooting his cum over her belly and chest.
Still experiencing a colossal aftermath, she almost didn’t notice his body stayed arched, his head back at a straining angle, his jaw so hard it looked like it would shatter, and his hips were giving desperate thrusts as faint spurts shot from his cock.
She felt frantically around for the remote, took it up, and turned off his plug.
He collapsed on her in a bone-crushing heap, giving her all of his weight.
Obviously recognizing he was cutting off her oxygen, about to suffocate her after giving her the best orgasm of her life (and she was unable to decide if she didn’t mind that end), he lifted some of his weight up to a forearm at her side but kept covering her with his body.
She wrapped her arms around his waist.
He was panting into her neck.
Amélie was also panting, doing it holding him loosely and staring at the ceiling.
Then she said, “You lifted me up.”
His body tensed.
“You lifted me up,” she repeated.
Slowly, his face came out of her neck.
She saw his guarded eyes.
“You lifted me up and wrapped my pussy around your face,” she told him something he was there to experience since he did it.
“Mistress, I—”
She burst out laughing.
Too caught in her hilarity, she didn’t fully register his relief as she asked, “How many people in the history of the world could do that? You and an East German female shot putter, circa the 1970s?”
He grinned. “I thought you’d be pissed.”
She moved a hand to cup the side of his face. “Darling, I’ll paddle you some other time, when I haven’t just been eaten out fucking amazingly by my beast.”
He kept grinning.
“I’m not certain I can move,” she shared. “We might need to curl up on our clothes and sleep here.”
“Works for me.”
She lost her humor and reflexively dug her fingers in his skin.
So easy, his ability to share he wanted more time with her.
Which for her meant time with Olly.
Sleeping with Olly.
Waking up with Olly.
God.
A magnificent dream to share all that with her magnificent beast.
He caught her mood change and dropped his head so his mouth was at her ear and he shoved an arm under her to hold her close even if the only way they could get closer was if they were connected.
And there he whispered fiercely, “I wanna fuck you, Leigh-Leigh. I wanna bury my cock inside you, fill you full, force you to release, give you what you just gave me.”
Feeling everything at once, all the good things of life crushing down on her in that warm, exquisite, unrestrained way Olivier had just given her his weight, she slid her hand up his back, turning her head slightly, and whispered back, “Olly.”
He paused before he kissed her neck and finished, “Think about it.”
She didn’t need to think about it.
She was taking his cock inside her on Friday.
He lifted his head and his somber mood was not gone. “I hurt you?”
“Um … no,” she said firmly on a gentle smile.
“Baby, I’m a big guy and you took all my weight.”
“For only a few moments.”
“And I slammed you to the floor.”
“It was a controlled fall.”
“Amélie—”<
br />
She moved both hands so they were holding his face. “I’m fine, mon chou.”
The somber stayed but it shifted, intensified, before he growled in a tone that vibrated in her soul, “Marked you.”
She drifted her hands down to his neck and stroked his jaw. “Yes, you did, Olivier.”
“You wanted that.”
It was not a question.
It was a declaration.
“Yes, Olly,” she whispered.
His stare stayed locked on hers as he announced, “I’m yours, you can claim me, but get me now, Amélie, or we gotta have another conversation. You claim me, I claim you. I get my place. I get you make this decision. But I’m fuckin’ sayin’ it anyway. You’re mine.”
She was his.
No Domme allowed her sub to claim her. Not like that.
But she already knew it.
She actually knew it the first time she’d had him.
He would be hers, and now he was.
And she would be his.
And now she was.
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
He bent his head and took her mouth.
They kissed for a long time before he slid his lips to her ear and said, “You were right. I got off huge, but I gotta ask my Mistress to slide this thing outta my ass.”
“Get up, darling, let me take care of you.”
He got up, pulling her up with him, both of them holding on to stay steady, doing this several beats before he said, “You get this thing outta me, I’ll get the wipes. You cool with that?”
She nodded.
They cleaned up. Dressed. As they did, vaguely, she caught the people outside floating away; the only one she focused on was Aryas smiling at her arrogantly.
She didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t do anything. She had to concentrate on what she was doing as she could barely move.
She needed a bath and bed.
She just wished both would happen with Olly.
It was at the door when he curved an arm around her waist, pulled her close, bent his face to hers, and made that hope she was struggling with controlling burst forth in a blaze of glory.
“Babe, didn’t know when you wanted me here tonight, didn’t know how to get hold of you. We need to share numbers, yeah?”
“Yes, Olly,” she agreed, shocked to her soul she didn’t sound breathless to panting, such was her glee.
“Right, do that now?”
“My purse is at the front desk. We’ll do it before we leave.”
“Gotcha,” he said, opened the door, and guided her through.
Their audience was gone.
Except one.
Stellan was standing there, looking beyond peeved straight to angry.
“Get rid of your stud,” he ordered angrily.
Irritation flashed through her and she opened her mouth to speak.
Before she could, Olivier used his arm still around her waist to pull her behind him and he stepped in front of her, his aggression clear.
So was his possession.
And his protection.
She lost all thought, only had feelings, and two words drifted into her mind.
Oh my.
She came back to the situation when, pushing his shoulders off the glass of the room across the hall, dropping his crossed arms, Stellan ordered, “Stand down, slave, and run along.”
An intolerable order for a Dom to give.
Olivier was hers.
“I said, run along, rutting steed,” Stellan clipped when Olivier didn’t move.
“And I say fuck you, asshole,” Olivier returned.
Oh no.
Stellan’s face turned to granite.
She put her hand on Olivier’s arm.
“Get rid of him, Leigh,” Stellan ordered her.
“She gives me my orders, not you, and I like what she gives me. But you know that, don’t you, Master?” Olivier asked maliciously. “You’re always on hand to watch.”
So he wasn’t totally oblivious to his audience.
“Olivier, mon chou, meet me in the foyer, please.”
He jerked his head to look down at her.
“Please, the foyer,” she reiterated. “I’ll speak with Master Stellan and meet you there.”
His eyes were communicating. He didn’t like leaving her and she had reason to believe that it wasn’t just protective possessiveness but that he felt he had reason to feel protectively possessive with what all three of them knew.
Olivier was right.
Stellan was always on hand to watch.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed he held an interest, but not this much.
In fact, he’d never been so interested in her work with her toys.
“Mistress—” Olivier started.
“Olivier,” she interrupted firmly, also speaking with her eyes and the hand she was using to squeeze his arm reassuringly.
It was a command he needed to obey, but still communicating she understood him and she’d be fine.
He hesitated magnificently then dipped his head respectfully to her in a way that was a thing of beauty before he sliced a scowl through Stellan and sauntered away, delivering his final cut to Stellan by doing it turning his back to the Dom without hesitation.
Amélie knew she shouldn’t feel this way, what her beast had done in these hallways was not right.
But still, she couldn’t help but feel Olivier’s show of rebellion and disgust for Stellan’s behavior was glorious.
“You allow a slave to talk to a Master that way?” Stellan asked.
“What I don’t allow is a Master to talk to my sub that way,” Amélie shot back.
Her point was more valid than his but he didn’t give it to her.
He decreed, “You’re in too deep with that one, Leigh.”
“I think I can decide where I am and if I want to be there, Stellan,” she retorted.
“He’s wrapping you around his little finger. Fuck, you both made out after you worked him your second go.” He lifted a hand high and stabbed his index finger over her head to indicate the room behind her. “And tonight.”
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t noticed you didn’t kiss your toys,” she returned.
His jaw got hard.
That was a point conceded.
That didn’t mean he was finished.
“He’s dragging you under, topping from below, and I’d never thought I’d see this from you but it’s right in front of me every time you work him.”
“Then you haven’t been watching closely,” she replied.
“Leigh—”
“No,” she hissed, taking a quick step so she was in his space. “Your commentary on what happens in the playrooms is not welcome. It’s highly unsuitable. And it’s infuriating. Your commentary on where I am with the toys I play with is even more of the three. How you can feel you have a say in either is beyond me but let’s get that point clear, shall we? You don’t.”
“You can be affectionate with your slaves—”
“Not can be, Stellan, I always am and you know that.”
He speared her with his gaze. “Yes. In there.” He jabbed his finger to the room behind her again. “But you’re practically fucking cuddling him in the hunting ground. This is more and you know that.”
She drew in a steadying breath and agreed, “Indeed I do.”
His anger grew; his eyes flashing to the room she and Olivier had just shared and back to her, he stated, “Guy like that will chew you up and spit you out.”
Her heart clenched.
“Really, your commentary on your assessment of his intentions isn’t welcome either,” she fired back.
“Not the slave,” he stated, getting closer to her, too, looking down into her eyes from the superior height she’d always found so attractive. “The guy. The man he is. You’re falling for him, Leigh, and you’ve had him, what? Five times?”
“You would know, you seem to be marking them closely.”
He continued
to appear furious before his face warmed.
“Leigh—”
“Oh no, Stellan. I’m not one of your toys. You don’t get to be a stern tyrant, bending me to your will, seeing I’m not going to break, noting the challenge and going in with the sweet. Fuck that. And as Olly said, fuck you.”
She turned on her boot to march away but turned back.
“And if you ever speak to Olly or anyone’s sub like that without their owner’s permission, swear to Christ, I’ll note that in your fucking profile, Stellan. That was not on. And you,” she jabbed her finger at him, “know that.”
“A slave is a slave,” he bit out. “And you know that.”
“Indeed, but do not pretend with your avid observation of all that has happened between Olivier and me that you don’t get what I’m saying. Aryas would lose his mind if he heard you speak that way to Shane, in front of Penn or not. My beast is owned and you fucking know it so stand the fuck back.”
He looked like he’d paled when he said quietly, “Penn and Shane?”
She’d given too much away for he did not miss her meaning in the slightest at her mention of Penn and Shane, indicating openly where she was wishing things would go with Olivier.
She also didn’t reply. She marched away, trying to deep breathe, calm herself, not wanting to get back to an angry Olivier, who’d shown, and admitted, he had a bad temper, while she was still so very angry.
A desire thwarted for she turned a corner and rammed right into him.
His arms wrapped around her and her head jerked back.
Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her hands and curled them on his biceps.
“I ordered—” she began.
“Spank me, paddle me, whip me, I don’t fuckin’ care. Do it for hours, gorgeous. It’ll be worth it, seeing that and hearing that.”
She snapped her mouth shut, terrified now of what she’d exposed with her words.
He smiled down at her hugely.
“Stand the fuck back,” he quoted though his big grin.
“Olly,” she said.
“That was not on and you know that,” he kept quoting.
Relief swept through her at his teasing, she slapped his biceps, got up on her toes, and hissed, “Olivier!”
“He stalked off in the direction of the Dom lounge, baby. He can’t hear.”
She had to admit, that gave even more relief.