15. Fifteen

Fifteen

T he false smile I've worn for most of the night returns to my face as we say good-bye to Barbara. As soon as I climb into the car, it vanishes. I can't keep the pretence up any longer—that I was completely unaffected by her being here tonight and what she said to me hasn't rattled me at all. Aisling was dead right about one thing—pretence does eat away at you.

Art pulls the car away at speed, sending gravel flying against the bodywork. His broad shoulders are stiff with tension. He's anticipating an argument. So am I. I stare out the window, mentally dissecting every part of my conversation with Aisling. By the time he speaks, we're on the edge of the city.

"Why are you so pissed off? Is it because I spoke to her? Is it because I agreed to help her?" He glances at me. "What?"

His accusatory tone annoys me.

"You think I'm being unreasonable. "

"Yes."

I shake my head. "How dare you think that."

"What?"

I look at him. "How would you react if you were in my position?"

He frowns. "I don't know what you mean."

I twist round in the seat to face him. "Okay, how about I spell it out for you? How would you react if a guy I'd had sex with suddenly reappeared in my life, wanting my help, calling me up, rocking up to our engagement party?" My voice rises in anger. "Flirted with me in front of you."

His jaw twitches with tension at the thought. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

"You've punched guys I don't even know for less. Tell me, Art, how would you react if you were me in this situation?"

He still doesn't answer. There's no need. We both know he'd go mental.

"I think I'm allowed to be a little pissed off, don't you?"

"I'm the irrational fuck, not you."

"Is that meant to make me feel better? Because it doesn't," I snap. "I can't help it where she's concerned. Saying I don't like her is the understatement of the century."

"I don't really expect you to like her. I don't like your ex."

My stomach twists. "So, she's your ex, is she?"

"No, not in the way you think I mean."

"She said you were lovers."

"We weren't lovers. We fucked. She's an ex-fuck."

"I suppose you were lovers. You used to meet her every week to fuck her. Behind her husband's back."

He exhales deeply and pushes his head back into the seat. "I can't keep having the same argument. It was just sex for me. I used her for sex, to fulfil a sexual need, nothing more."

"She still likes you."

Art changes gears and takes a left, keeping his eyes on the road .

"She admitted she cares about you, that you're special to her." I take a deep breath. "I think she's in love with you."

"I think she needs my help and hasn't got anyone else to ask because she's desperate."

"You didn't hear what she said to me."

"Why? What did she say to you?"

"She seems to think I owe her." I worriedly chew my bottom lip. "That you wouldn't be here if you hadn't met her. Like she saved you or something."

"She's wrong. There's only one woman who saved me." He looks at me. "And that's you."

His attempt to reassure me doesn't hit the mark. "She said I wasn't right for you."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"She insinuated you weren't being yourself with me."

He frowns and shoots me a look. "How?"

"Sexually." I can barely say the next bit. "That she let you do whatever you wanted to her and that made you truly happy."

The car comes to a halt at a set of traffic lights.

He rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. "She shouldn't have said that. I'll speak to her."

"But you like being sexually dominant."

"You know I do."

"Did you … were you much more controlling with her? Have you held back with me?"

The light changes to green, and we pull away. He stares out the window and avoids my gaze once again.

"Answer me," I demand.

"I don't like talking about this … with you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but your ex brought it up," I snap.

His eyes glitter with anger. "Fine. Yes, okay? Some of the stuff was more … intense. "

I feel sick. "You have held back with me, haven't you?"

He drags a hand across his jaw and looks uneasy. "It's complicated."

We arrive outside the apartment. Art cuts the engine. An uncomfortable silence ensues. I stare up at our apartment through the window. I thought we were done with surprises. I thought I knew every part of him. But I don't.

I hate what I'm about to say. "Aisling was right."

He puts a warm hand on top of mine, but I carry on staring out the window, unable to look at him. I'm not sure how to feel. If Aisling was right about this, what else was she right about?

"I'm not the same guy who went to the club or who went to therapy. Back then, I was cold and detached. It was how I coped with everything that was going on at the time. I hated the way I was. That's why I've held back. I don't want you seeing that side of me. When I said what I did at the club is so far from what we have, I meant it. When we're together … when we make love and we're one …"

I look at him, willing him to continue.

He smiles and links his fingers through mine. "I feel complete. I've never felt that before."

My heart turns over. I curl my hand around the back of his neck and kiss him. "I know. I know you're not the person you were back then, but I hate the thought that she's seen a part of you that I haven't," I admit, resting my forehead against his.

"You know me. Better than anyone else."

"I want to know all of you. The darkness and the light."

He frowns in confusion. "What are you saying?

There are things we still need to talk about, like the wedding-venue thing, but right now, I need to do this. I need him to do this—with me.

"I want you to show me … I want you to show me what it's like to be with the Art that went to the club. I want you to control me in the way he would. No holding back. No going easy. "

The crease in his brow deepens. He pulls away, out of my grasp. His face twists with concern, and he drags his gaze to the window. "We should go inside. You're freezing. And you need to understand why that's a terrible fucking idea."

The door to the apartment slams closed. Art heads for the living room. He hasn't spoken since we left the car, and I'm still waiting for an explanation.

"So?" I demand.

He stops in his tracks.

"Are you going to tell me why it's 'a terrible fucking idea'?"

He turns to face me. "You don't understand what you're asking."

"Of course I do. I want you to show me your past. I want to step into that world for a night."

"You don't. You haven't seen that side of me before. I was a total bastard."

The look of concern in his eyes is almost enough to put me off. Almost.

"You know everything about me, the good and the bad. You know what my favourite memories are and my most painful. And you're there to kiss away the nightmares and make it all better. Let me do that for you. Show me all of you because I want to love every part."

"Sophie." His voice falters.

"And if I do think you're a bastard, we can stop, can't we?"

My attempt to lighten the mood falls flat.

He walks up to me. "Of course. If we were going to do this, but we're not."

His jaw works as he stares deep into my eyes. And then I see it. The real reason why he's holding back.

"What are you afraid of?

"The same thing I'll always be afraid of … losing you. "

"You won't lose me." I lift my finger and waggle my engagement ring. "I'm here for the long haul. That's why I want to know every part of you. The good and the bad. Let me in. Let me in completely."

He shakes his head and fixes me with a firm look. "When you go to a club like Savage, there are contracts you sign. You have to be clear what your own limits are and the limits of the person you're with, so you don't overstep the mark. There's no softness and warmth about any of it. I'm not sure whether I can be like that with you."

He's not scaring me off that easily.

"I have a safe word. I know what I'm asking. We can stop at any time. I want to experience this with you. I trust you. I'm asking you to show me."

He glances at the bedroom door and then warily back at me. "I don't want to hurt you …"

"You won't. I know the real you. The one who loves me."

"I'm not sure, Sophie."

I look him straight in the eye. "I want to see the dark side to Art Black."

"Sophie, you don't know …"

"There are no boundaries. No limits. No holding back. My body belongs to you. Do whatever you want, and I won't stop you. Because I trust you."

I see the fight in his eyes as he wrestles with himself. His head's telling him no, but his body's deceiving him. His breathing's uneven, and his jeans are pulled tight across his groin from his erection. He wants this as much as I do. I'm going to end this once and for all.

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him deeply, raking my fingers through his hair and making him groan with need.

He exhales slowly in defeat, pulling his lips from mine a fraction and looking straight into my eyes. "If you're sure about this …"

"I'm sure."

"If at any time either of us wants to stop, we use the safe word—red. Okay?"

I nod .

"You need to give me a minute."

"Okay."

He gives me one last kiss and disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

I chew my thumbnail while I wait in the hall, listening carefully for any clues as to what he's doing in there, but there's nothing but silence. A few moments later, the door opens an inch. Intrigued, I push it open and step inside.

One of the bedside lamps is on, bathing the room in a faint light. Two black neckties are looped around the wooden slats of the headboard, and a pair of handcuffs lies on the covers at the bottom of the bed. Art stands, facing the door, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. His face is set in a mask-like expression, which I haven't seen before, and there's a hard look in his eye.

"Take off your clothes," he orders in a harsher tone than I'm accustomed to.

My defiance streak springs to life at his rudeness, and I'm about to tell him to ask nicely, but I suddenly realise that's not what this game's about. I need to get used to doing as I'm told—for a little while at least.

"Take. Off. Your. Clothes," he demands, walking right up to me. "If you're not naked in ten seconds, I'll fucking tear them off myself."

His rudeness puts me on the back foot. Cold, dark eyes bore into me. He's right. He is a bastard. I don't know this man. I bite my tongue to stop myself from telling him to fuck off. I should be appalled at how he's talking to me, but the throb of desire shooting through my body says otherwise.

I unfasten the side zip of my dress and let it fall to the floor, and then I unfasten the clasp of my bra and toss it aside. Art tilts his head, running his eyes up and down my body as he walks around me while I undress like he's inspecting a gift being unwrapped. I suppose I am. I've offered my body up to him. There's no look of awe or admiration this time. His gaze is scrutinising and lustful. I feel exposed.

He stops behind me. His warm breath against the back of my neck tells me how close he is. My skin prickles with knowing. I shut my eyes, waiting for him to touch me, but he doesn't .

"I want to make a few rules clear. Firstly, you only speak when I ask you a question directly. When I do, you'll answer with yes or no unless I ask you a specific question. Understood?"

I nod. "Yes."

"You must obey my instructions at all times. Understood?"

I feel nervous. But this is what I've agreed to. Total submission. "Yes."

"Very good."

He brushes his lips against my neck, rewarding my good behaviour. I jump at the unexpected contact. I'm wired. And we've not even begun.

"Take off your shoes and lie on the bed with your feet at the headboard."

I step out of my heels and slide onto the sheets. Art walks around to the left side of the headboard, picks up my foot from the pillows, and slips the tie around my ankle before threading the silky material through the slats of the headboard, securing my foot in place.

"Is that too tight?"

"No."

"Does it feel okay?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He walks around the other side of the bed and does the same with my right foot, tying it in place, so my legs are wide open. I feel a stab of unease. This is new. He's never restrained my legs before. I can't decide whether I'm nervous or turned on.

"Does that feel okay?" His question brings me back.

"Yes."

"Remember, use your safe word if the restraints begin to feel uncomfortable."

"Okay, yes."

"Yes only," he barks, reminding me of the rules.

His rudeness is beginning to grate on me, and I bite my lip to stop myself from responding .

He finishes securing my foot, and then he walks to the bottom of the bed and looks at me.

"Clasp your hands together and raise them above your head."

I do as I was told. Art picks up the handcuffs and secures them around my wrists, clicking them in place. His touch is gentle and soft, but that's the only bit of him I recognise. There's a permanent furrow in his brow and a cold look in his eye. His voice is hard and brusque. He's right; there's no softness and warmth to him. He's never restrained me to this degree before either. He's totally in control. I'm completely at his mercy. Just the way he likes it.

"Does this hurt?"

"No."

"They're not too tight?"

"No."

"Good. Keep your arms above your head at all times. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Remember, if you want to stop at any time, use the safe word. Okay?"

He's reminding me about the safe word a lot. Like he expects me to need to use it.

Unease runs through me. I briefly close my eyes. What the fuck is he going to do to me?

"Yes."

"Tell me the safe word, Sophie."

"Red."

"Good. There might be a time when you can't speak, but I'll provide you with an alternative way of letting me know if you want to stop. Understood?"

What the fuck does that mean?

"Yes."

He picks up a pillow from the other end of the bed. "Lift."

I lift my head, and he slides the pillow underneath.

Art climbs onto the bed and straddles my thighs, fixing me with his dark gaze. He slides a finger along my slit, causing me to suck in a long breath. He tilts his head to the side, studying my reaction intently. "You're wet." A smile curls at the edges of his lips as he parts my folds with his fingers and sinks one deep inside me, making me writhe against the bed. "Very wet." He lifts an eyebrow and removes his finger. "You need to calm down; otherwise, you'll be in for a long night."

Shit.

He locks eyes with me and smirks as he sucks his finger, wet from my arousal. I draw in a ragged breath as the ache between my legs builds. He knows exactly what this is doing to me. And to prove it, he reaches behind his back and rips his T-shirt over his head with a wicked smile. I close my eyes. I dare not look at him.

"Look at me." There's a warning tone to his voice.

But I can't. He lit the fuse of desire before we left the party. He said he was going to make me beg when he got me home. And I think he's right. One look at his ripped, golden torso …

"Do as you're told," he snaps.

I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling, giving myself a few seconds before I tentatively look at him. My insides fizz.

Shit.

"I'm going to bring you to the edge," he says in a measured voice that I've never heard him use before. "Do you know what that means?"

My mouth dries. I've got a good idea, but I don't know for certain. "No."

"It means I'm going to pleasure you and bring you right to the edge of climax. Five times. If you're able to control yourself, I'll let you come. But if you make any noise at all, I'll just keep going until you do as you're told."

Fucking hell. I'm in trouble.

He strokes his fingers across my throbbing clit, and my eyes snap shut. I'm not going to be able to do this. I'm already turned on. I'm going to last about five seconds. And he knows it.

He carries on with the lazy sweeps of his fingers, and my hips jerk.

"Do you understand, Sophie?"

I don't open my eyes. The sight of him pleasuring me will be too much .

"Yes," I gasp.

The ache in between my legs grows, and I grind against him, seeking out my climax. He knows what I'm doing and removes his hand.

"Shall we ramp things up a little?" He doesn't want me to reply. He's already made his mind up.

I groan and snap open my eyes, yanking on the foot restraints as he sinks two fingers inside me.

"Tut-tut. We're back to five, I'm afraid, and you were doing so well." He flashes a wicked smile and strokes the front wall of my vagina.

Heat clings to my back as I wriggle beneath his hand. I'm not sure whether I'm going to be able to take this. His sole focus is on providing and denying me pleasure in equal measure. This time, there's no equipment; it's just him and his body. A lethal combination.

The sound of my breathing and the slickness of my arousal as his fingers tease my sensitive spot fill the silence. My muscles tighten around his fingers, and he withdraws them before I can tip over the edge.

"Four left."

This time, I know he's going to up the ante, and I brace myself for the unknown. He slides his fingers back inside me and raises the stakes by caressing my clit with his thumb.

Fucking hell.

I bury my face against my arm and press my lips tight together to stop myself from making a noise. Within seconds, I reach my peak, and I'm grinding myself against his palm again. Just like before, he slides his fingers out of me before I can come.

I'm going to lose my mind if he keeps this up.

"You're so close." There's a hint of softness to his voice, which gives me hope.

Maybe he's cracking. Maybe he can't do it. But when I open my eyes, my hopes are dashed.

Cold, hard eyes stare at me as he climbs off the bed and walks round to my head. His steely mask fixes in place. The bulge of his erection is in my eyeline .

"I'm going to fuck your mouth."

Fuck.

"Open your hands."

I do as he asked, and he presses a cold, hard object into my palm. I can't see what it is, but it feels like metal.

"Hold the keys. If you want me to stop, drop them on the floor. Okay?"

"Yes."

"Good. Lower your arms."

I do as I was told. He unfastens his jeans and pushes them down. His thick erection stands flat against his stomach, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He's just as turned on as I am despite his cool fa?ade.

"Open your mouth."

I'm not sure how this is going to work with me being upside down, but I trust him. He stands at the foot of the bed and gently cradles my head in his hands, tilting it back slightly. I take him slowly, and he stops partway and withdraws, giving me time to get used to the position. I tell myself to relax as he inches himself forwards once more, and I take him as deep as I can. His hands grip my head as he exhales deeply and stills for a second, twitching in my mouth. He sets the pace, guiding my head up to meet his thrusts. Slowly at first, then quicker, forcing himself deeper, making me slacken my jaw so I take all of him. He's in total control, and the tension in my core spikes at the thought. Within six thrusts, he explodes. The steely fa?ade slips momentarily as he loses himself, moaning my name and telling me how good I am at doing this as I swallow his seed. And I want to be the best—for him.

Once he's finished, he carefully lowers my head back down on the pillow. He takes the keys from my hands and puts them on the bedside table, and then he steps out of his jeans and climbs back onto the bed.

"Raise your arms back above your head."

My muscles throb at the sight of him as he returns to his position between my legs, totally naked.

I've been given a moment's reprieve, but now, I'm back in the line of fire .

He lowers his gaze between my legs, and when he looks at me again, the coldness has thawed.

"You're soaking." His voice is barely a rasp.

His breathing deepens as he runs his hands up the inside of my thighs, parts my folds with his thumbs, and dips his fingertips inside me. I arch into his touch as he slides his hands up my body, caressing my breasts and smoothing his hands across my collarbone. I'm burning up beneath his touch, which is enough to tip me over the edge. If he keeps this up, I'm sure to lose control.

He presses a wet thumb against my lips. "Open." His voice is hoarse with lust as he kneels over me, waiting for me to obey.

I know this turns him on—me being ready for him.

Maybe I can make him crack.

I hold his gaze and part my lips.

He slides a finger into my mouth. "Suck."

I do as I was told, keeping my eyes locked on his as they burn into me.

"Taste how wet you are."

I swirl my tongue around the tip and graze my teeth along his finger as he slides it from between my lips.

The fire in his eyes remains, but he smirks. "I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work."

Shit! He's onto me.

He drags his gaze down my body. "It seems I'm not the only one who enjoyed me fucking your mouth."

I lower my eyes. From where he ran his hands up my body, streaks of my arousal coat my stomach and breasts and glint in the lamplight. My skin is flushed, and my nipples are hard. Evidence that I love him controlling my body just as much as he loves controlling me.

He lifts his eyes to mine once more and dips his head, licking the remains of my wetness from my breasts. I can't watch him do this. My eyes flutter closed as he runs his tongue down the valley in between my breasts and across the curves of my stomach. I feel the bed dip beneath his weight as he kneels between my legs. I tense because there's no way I'm going to hold out if he's going to do that!

My breathing quickens as he loops his arms around my thighs, and I'm waiting, waiting, waiting …

"Look at me, Sophie."

I can't. I'll be a goner.

"You've three more left, but if you don't look at me, I'll double it," he warns.

I lie there for a few seconds, debating whether or not it's worth the risk.

"Open your fucking eyes," he barks.

I snap open my eyes in surprise at his harshness.

His detached, mask-like expression from earlier is back and, with it, the cold, hard stare.

"When I said earlier that you must do everything I say, I meant it. Now, as punishment, I'm going to fuck you with my tongue, and you're going to watch. And if you stop or make a sound … well, you know what'll happen."

Bastard!

But even as the anger rises in my chest at the way he's acting, it's not enough for me to want this to stop. Even if I weren't tied down, I wouldn't walk. Because I want him to do this to me. And as his gaze hones in on mine and he buries his face between my legs, my mind blanks. And I fail. No sooner does he start than my eyes shutter closed, and I cry out as his tongue snakes into my vagina.

He stops. I open my eyes at the loss of contact to find him looking up at me. The scruff of his jaw and cheekbones are glistening with my arousal, and there's a smug smile on his face.

"We're still on three, I'm afraid, because you can't control yourself. Don't you want to come, Sophie?" That annoying measured tone is back in his voice.

Fucking bastard!

"Yes," I snap.

His tone becomes firm to match mine. "Then, you need to control yourself. Do you want me to do this to you all night? "

Jesus, no!

"No."

The longer this carries on, the harder it's becoming to control myself. But I'm determined to see this through. I dig deep, find the last bit of self-control I've got left, and cling on to it tight.

"Three more." He doesn't give me time to prepare and pushes two fingers inside me, lapping at my clitoris with his tongue.

I squirm and bite the inside of my cheek to silence myself as pleasure soars through me. He withdraws his fingers, leaving me panting.

"Two more."

I close my eyes. The ache in my centre spikes to uncomfortable as he thrusts his fingers in and out of me. Hard, deep, curling round my sweet spot.

Don't focus on it.

I prickle with heat from head to toe and tense muscles I didn't know I had to stop myself from tipping over the edge.

"Are you okay, Sophie?"

I'm not sure whether he's asking out of genuine concern or if it's a ruse to break my focus and get me to fail. But I won't.

I keep my eyes firmly closed. "Yes," I gasp in a voice that's not my own. I can barely speak.

"Good. One more." He sounds impressed.

Impressed that I've come this far? Have I done better than the others? Then her?

All thoughts are wiped from my mind within seconds. My mouth falls open, and I give a silent cry as he slides two fingers inside me and then a third, filling me and hitting just the right spot. My spine arches, and I dig my fingernails into my hands, drawing blood.

"Very good."

Thank fuck for that.

My body sags against the bed. My legs and arms burn from being taut with tension. I'm a hot mess. Relieved that it's over but far from satiated .

Art climbs off the bed and uncuffs my hands. "Flex them. They've been in that position for a while."

I sigh with relief, flexing my wrists whilst he unties my right foot and then my left.

I bend my knees slightly and waggle my feet, thankful for having movement back. I look down at the back of my hand and see the scratch marks from where I dug my nails into my flesh to stop myself from moaning.

Art climbs back on the bed and takes my hand. He peers down at the scratch marks with a frown and then presses his lips against the back of my hand, lifting his eyes to mine. His mouth opens, and his hot tongue darts across the cuts as he tastes me. I draw in a shaky breath, hypnotised by what he's doing, and watch as he gently places my hand on my stomach and shifts onto his heels.

"Because you did as I'd asked, I'll let you come."

Thank God.

He slides his hungry eyes down my body, lingering in between my thighs. "Pleasure yourself."

He's teased me with his hands and mouth for the past thirty minutes, and now, he wants me to pleasure myself. It's not what I want. Not at all. I want him—inside me.

"Can I speak yet?"

He frowns, clearly annoyed that I've dared to. "No," he snaps. "Do as you're told and pleasure yourself. Then, if you behave, I'll give you what you really want." His eyes drift down to his erection and then back to my face, and he lifts his eyebrows knowingly.

This is just another form of control. He's letting me come but on his terms.

I bite back the urge to speak. The hot, burning ache between my legs is making my mind cloudy with need. I'm struggling to focus on anything other than my release … however it might arrive.

Fine .

I slide my hand between my legs and close my eyes, slipping my fingers inside me. A groan falls from my lips as I snake them higher, and my muscles tighten. And I forget where I am. This is going to take about five seconds.

I sense movement but don't register what's happening. I'm too focussed on pleasuring myself, and then suddenly, it's gone. A hand grabs my wrist and roughly yanks my fingers out of me.

I open my eyes. Art's face is inches above mine. Dark eyes, burning with hunger, stare down at me.

"Red," he grinds out the word through gritted teeth and rests his forearms on either side of my head, lowering himself between my legs.

I blink in confusion. "What?"

"Red … fucking red. I need to be inside you. Right fucking now."

Yes.

He kisses me deep and hard, so we both can't breathe, and he slams into me, forcing me down the bed. His mouth glues to mine, silencing my scream as he fucks me. This is going to be the quickest sex ever. And we both need it to be. I hold on to him with trembling limbs and dig my heels into his buttocks, trying to keep my grip as he rams into me. My muscles throb around his cock as he slams into me again, and I bite down on his shoulder, making him growl.

"I'm so close," I pant.

"One more."

He pulls out of me an inch and then drives deep inside me. And that's all it takes. The tension in my body overspills. The climax I've been denied all evening hits me full force, consuming me, and I scream. My arms shake; I can barely keep hold of him as the heat courses through my body. He wraps an arm around my back and crushes me to his chest, steadying me through as his hips stutter, and he comes, moaning into my hair and holding me until we've both stopped shaking.

He lowers me to the bed, and I close my eyes. I'm worn out—in every sense.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

I nod. Too exhausted to string a sentence together .

He moves off me. Soft sheets cover my body. He drapes a strong arm around my waist. Warm skin slides against mine. I fall asleep.