28. Talia

Chapter 28

Talia

M y hands tremble as I cap the tube of red lipstick and set it on the counter. I adjust the clip holding the top half of my hair back, then pull the remainder over my shoulders until the strands frame my breasts. There’s nothing else to do but leave the guest bathroom and walk down the hallway to Kieran’s bedroom.

Gripping the counter, I stare into the reflection of my wide eyes. “Remember who you are. You’ve been called Mistress, Goddess, Master, and Queen. You are a Domme. He’s given consent. He trusts you to care for him. He’s yours to tease and command. Yours to use. Yours to please.”

Natural Dominant or not, Kieran wants me to take control. He made it abundantly clear this morning and again this evening, and there’s an inescapable logic to it I can’t ignore. Finally and fully cognizant of the mental load he’s been carrying for years, he craves freedom from that crushing pressure. And while as a doctor I’m aware this isn’t a lasting solution for him, as a Dominant I know I can give him temporary relief.

“You will give him what he needs,” I finish in a whisper.

Slowly, the panicked beat of my heart calms. My breaths grow fuller, my shoulders straighter. Then I think about our conversation an hour ago and my pulse ramps up again. Not with anxiety, though. With excitement. Anticipation.

This time, when I draw the mantel of the Professor fully over my shoulders and let it sink into my psyche, I do it without hesitation. There will be no consequences, no dissonance. This isn’t a sacrifice but a homecoming. After nearly two decades of waiting, I am exactly myself with exactly the right man.

With a final, deep breath, I leave the guest room. Except for the measured click from my heels, the house is quiet as I walk down the airy hallway toward the distant end. Time is fluid, stretching and constricting. I’m walking forever; I’m turning the doorknob and opening the door to his bedroom.

A small sigh escapes me as I take in the spacious, tranquil sanctum where Kieran rests his head at night. Thick, dark curtains are drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows to my right. Candles flicker on surfaces throughout: a table before a cozy seating area, nightstands, a floating shelf over a dark fireplace. The dancing lights play across wood floors and creamy area rugs, across pale gray walls interspersed with framed artwork and a massive bed stripped of everything but the fitted sheet.

Across him.

He’s exactly where I told him to be, sitting on his heels on the floor at the foot of the bed. Freshly showered. Naked. His head bowed, eyes closed.

A king on his knees.

For me.

“Beautiful, Kieran. Thank you.”

I watch as he processes my arrival, my voice. His chest begins to rise and fall at a faster pace. A tremble moves through his frame. As I walk toward him, my gaze roams his shoulders, his arms, the hands that hang loosely at his sides. I’m looking for signs of tension, but there are none. He’s relaxed everywhere except one place—his cock is hard against his thigh, flushed with blood. Pre-cum glistens on the tip and on his skin where it dripped.

Elation soars in my veins.

“Have you touched yourself?”

“No, Talia.”

Dear God , his voice. Smooth whiskey. Lilting, soft music. Reverent. Almost euphoric. I’ve heard the tone before, many times, but it’s never affected me this way. Because it’s him.

“Do you remember the rules?”

He nods.

I move even closer, the tips of my stilettos a few inches from his knees. “Repeat them.”

His throat moves in a heavy swallow. “You give, I receive. I’m not to speak unless spoken to. No touching you unless invited. No coming without permission. If you ask me for my color, Green is continue, Yellow is slow down. Red is my safe word and means stop.”

“Very good,” I purr.

He shudders, a noisy breath escaping his mouth. I reach forward, stroking a hand over his soft, damp hair, fingering the strands and tugging them lightly. He grunts, his hips shifting forward, his cock twitching.

My other hand joins the first. I grab fistfuls of his hair and jerk his head up. His eyelashes flutter, staying closed with effort.

“You have permission to open your eyes.”

He blinks, blue eyes focusing, features sharpening as he takes me in. His mouth opens, then closes, his lips thinning as he struggles against the impulse to speak. Dilated pupils tell me the challenge of obedience is only heightening his arousal. The pulse in his throat is a living creature seeking escape.

“Are you pleased?” I ask, scraping my fingernails over his scalp.

“Yes,” he whispers hoarsely.

I’m wearing the exact outfit that elicited such a strong reaction from him weeks ago: black pencil skirt, white blouse buttoned to my neck, my tallest heels. My lips are red as blood.

“Before you left my office that day, I put you in your place. It aroused you, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm. Did you jack off when you got home, Kieran?”

He makes a small, rough noise. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you were thinking about while you stroked yourself.”

The muscles of his arms bunch, then relax. “I thought about bending you over that too-small chair you made me sit in. Pulling up that fucking skirt and shoving inside you. Wrapping my hand around your throat. Making you come no matter how badly you tried not to.”

Arousal slicks my thighs at the visual. My hand falls to his neck. It’s too wide for me to grip completely, but I apply pressure with my palm and a teasing threat with my nails.

“Do you know what I was thinking about that night? When I rubbed my clit until I came?”

He groans softly, eyes closing. “Tell me.” My hand tightens on his throat. “Please.”

“Since you asked nicely.” I lean forward, my hair brushing over his shoulder and chest. Angling my mouth to his ear, I whisper, “I thought about bending you over. I thought about fucking you. And tonight, I’m going to do just that.”

He jerks. I glance down at his lap and snap, “Don’t come.”

He sucks in a breath and releases it slowly. One by one, his muscles relax. I lick his earlobe. Squeeze his neck one more time, then release it.

“Good, Kieran. Very good. Before I fuck you, I’ll give you something you want. When I step away, get up and lay on your back on the bed. Clasp your hands above your head.”

Denying myself the pleasure of watching him move at my command, I walk to the door to retrieve the black case I gave him earlier. Behind me, I hear the friction of skin on soft sheets. It makes me smile as I unzip the case and retrieve what I need, but I wipe my expression as I turn and approach the bed.

I set the rope, lube, and silicone toy on the mattress beside him, then let my eyes roam over every beautiful inch displayed before me. His jutting cock. Heaving chest. Heels that dig into the mattress, thick thigh muscles clenching. Fingers that curl and relax over his head. Tight jaw. Dark, glittering eyes—almost angry as they flicker between me and the items. The dildo and lube are by far the hardest for him to accept.

My control shivers as the one submissive bone inside me—so newly awakened—balks at the notion of asking such a powerful man to submit. I want to tell him about the toy, that it’s made specifically for male anatomy, the best product money can buy, and is perfect for beginners. That it will blow his mind.

But I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath. My headspace calms. Recenters. You are in control. Reestablish trust. Bring him back to you.

“Color?”

His jaw works for a few seconds. “Green.”

“Hmm. Let’s try that again.” Pulling my skirt over my knees, I climb onto the bed. Once I’m within reach, I grab his cock and squeeze. He jackknifes, gasping out my name.

“Tell me again what color you are, Kieran.”

“Green! So fucking green.”

I release him and shimmy my skirt over my waist. He groans when he sees my bare pussy. My touch, and now the sight of his ultimate reward, land him back in the present. He licks his lips, causing an answering pulse inside me.

“Eyes on my face.”

He obeys. I tuck two fingers in my mouth and suck, then swirl my tongue around them. He pants, hands clenching but not moving. Lowering my fingers between my legs, I find my swollen clit, gasping a little at the electric contact. His eyes stay on my face—burning with desire, all resistance wiped away.

I tuck my fingers back into my mouth, tasting myself. As expected, the tease is too much for him. Animalistic need alights in his eyes. His arms start to lift, abs clenching as he begins to sit. I slap his stomach hard, then grab his balls. He grunts, freezing, eyes wide on my face. Dropping my middle finger to the skin behind his sack, I apply pressure.

He makes a soft sound of protest. “Fingernail,” he rasps out.

“Excuse me?” I squeeze harder, push a little deeper. His chin lifts, eyes rolling up as the sting of pain blends with pleasure.

Air gusts from his lungs. “I take it back,” he gasps out.

“Color? ”

“Green.”

“Good,” I croon, releasing his balls. Grabbing the spool of rope, I crawl up his body. “I’m going to bind your arms now. If you touch me without permission or speak out of turn again, I’ll wrap your cock, too.”

He makes a choked noise, his eyes squeezing closed.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The rope is bamboo, silky and soft but with reliable hold. Perfect for low-risk sensual play. I take my time wrapping his wrists and forearms, bending lower than necessary so my hair and breasts graze his face. Besides flaring nostrils and twitching lips, he stays perfectly still.

“I’m so proud of you,” I say as I sit back on my heels. “You look so beautiful with my knots on you.”

I unbutton my blouse, exposing my braless breasts, then lean forward again with my hands braced to either side of his head. Arching downward, I drag a peaked nipple across his lips. His brow furrows in agony.

“Suck,” I demand. “No biting.”

Wet heat surrounds my nipple. He sucks hard, his tongue swirling. A delicious current forms between my breast and pussy. I give it a few seconds, then offer him the other nipple.

“Again.”

He complies eagerly—so eagerly that my head falls forward and the ache between my legs grows distracting.

“Stop.”

He releases me. “Thank you,” he whispers .

“You’re welcome.” Smiling, I trail a fingernail down his forehead, follow the proud peak of his nose, the indent beneath, and finally press against his full lower lip. “Are you ready for your first reward?”

His eyes drift over my flushed face. “God, yes.”

I tap his lip and warn, “If you come, I’ll punish you.”

I don’t give him a chance to reply, swinging my leg across him so I’m on my knees above his face. “Make it good, Kieran,” I say as I lower myself to his mouth.

With a greedy moan, he devours my offering. Within seconds, I’m rocking against him, soaking his chin and whimpering as his tongue alternates between fucking me and lashing my clit. When he finds a rhythm that makes my legs shake, he doesn’t deviate from it. Not until I have to grab the headboard so I don’t fall over, not until I buck and cry out as searing waves of pleasure liquify my limbs. He flattens his tongue against my clit as I ride the orgasm to its trembling end.

As hard as it is, I drag myself off him, sinking onto my heels next to his shoulder. His eyes follow me, roaming my exposed breasts, my glistening pussy beneath the skirt bunched around my waist.

“Are you pleased, Talia?”

I consider punishment, then decide to give him a pass—I feel too good at the moment. “Yes. Are you?”

He licks his wet lips. “Very.”

Our gazes connect and hold. I can’t help the smile that curves over my face. His eyes crinkle, a precursor to the main event: crooked grin.

I love you.

I swallow the words with effort. His eyes soften like he heard them anyway, and our smiles slowly fade. I breathe through the unfamiliar sensation in my chest, the deep burn of an intimacy I’ve never felt before when dominating someone.

“Mo ghrá,” he whispers.

Snapping out of it, I twist his nipple. He grimaces, then laughs shortly.

“Sorry, sorry.”

I soothe the reddened skin with my fingertip, then trail my hands down his ridged stomach to his pelvis. Keeping my eyes on his face, I give his pubic hair a tug—he winces—then wrap my fingers around him. He shudders in relief. I stroke him up and down, my grip loose. When my thumb grazes sensitive nerves, his hips come off the bed.

“You’ve been very patient,” I murmur. “Was it hard not to come with my delicious cunt on your face?”

He swells even more in my hand, a vein throbbing against my palm. Tortured eyes meet mine. “You have no idea.”

I squeeze him once, then back off the bed and stand. He groans in protest, the sound cutting off abruptly as I step out of my shoes and shuck off my clothes.

“Open your legs for me. Wider. One knee up, heel on the bed. Yes, like that.”

When I pick up the toy and lube, his brows draw together again. Another struggle commences. His breathing becomes choppy, anxiety tightening the skin around his eyes. I crawl to him, settling between his legs and stroking his warm, tense thighs.

Then I lean up and grab his jaw. “Look at me, Kieran.”

Once I have his gaze, I hold it mercilessly, letting him see and feel my control. My calm. My desire that equals his. My absolute certainty that he will enjoy what I’m about to do to him.

His agitation fades. Arousal surges. Desperation peaks.

He’s ready.

“Do you trust me?”

His eyes bore into mine. “With my heart and life.”

My mouth falls open; I take a steadying breath so my voice doesn’t waver. “Thank you. I promise I won’t abuse that trust.”

Resuming my position between his legs, I uncap the small bottle of lube and pour a generous pool into my hand, then draw the front half of the dildo across my palm until it’s completely coated. With a push of my thumb, it begins to vibrate. I lower it to his cock, running it along the underside of his shaft, then lightly across his balls.

He groans, eyes closing. A stream of Gaelic words hisses through his teeth. I don’t admonish him, too riveted by the involuntary jerks of his hips. When his lower abdomen tenses, I back off until he relaxes again. I repeat the process until he’s glistening with sweat, in that lovely space between agony and ecstasy. Only then do I lift his tight, heavy sack and run my thickly lubed fingers down to his asshole.

Triumph fills me as his bent knee instantly widens, his hips lifting to give me more access. I massage the tight ring of muscle with the pads of my fingers, my other hand stroking his shaft, squeezing every time my finger pressure increases. All the while, I watch his face carefully for signs of true discomfort. But his eyes, open now and on my face, reflect only trust. Commitment. Adoration and desperation.

His surrender is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.

“Say the magic word,” I whisper.

He licks his lips. “Please, my love.”

A tornado of heat overtakes my lungs, my heart. “Your wish is my command.”

I replace my fingers with the toy, pushing vibration first to the space behind his balls, then to his asshole. There’s so much lube already there, and he’s so willing and ready, that a gentle push sinks the toy inside him up to the flared middle. He cries out in rapture. Tightening my grip on the base, I draw the toy out, then slide it back in, slowly increasing the rhythm.

More Gaelic fills the air—a raw appeal that ends with, “Talia! Please .”

I don’t make him wait. Seating the toy inside him so that its vibration is centered on his prostate, I wrap my other hand around his engorged cock.

“I give you permission to come,” I say right before covering him with my mouth. I suck hard and fast, my throat relaxed for his erratic thrusts.

When he stiffens with a strangled shout, I turn off the toy and slip it out, then devote myself to his orgasm. His cock jumps against my tongue, pulsing and throbbing. I drink him down to the very last twitch and finally release him with a kiss.

Kieran’s legs sprawl listlessly, his bound forearms tucked against his face, his stomach flexing as he gasps for air. I crawl up the bed and swiftly untie my knots, unwinding the rope and tossing it off the bed. I massage the reddened skin, then stroke his torso and arms with firm pressure until his breathing slows and evens out. His arms eventually relax and fall to his sides. His gaze is unfocused, his expression tellingly blank.

I stretch out beside him, throwing a leg over his hips and tugging him toward me. He rolls, his arms snaking around me, his head tucked against my chest.

It starts slow—a hitch in his breath, a twitch of muscles. I hold him tightly, wrapping as much of myself around him as I can.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking his hair, his back. “I’m here. You’re safe. Thank you for trusting me. I won’t leave you, Kieran. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

I whisper comfort through his first silent sob, his first hot tear, and through the tsunami that follows. I hold him until the storm fades. Until he falls asleep and until he wakes, stretching in my arms. Even then, it’s hard for me to let go. So hard, in fact, that he ends up having to carry me into the bathroom.

Setting me on my feet, he keeps a strong arm around my waist as he turns on the water in the giant soaker tub.

“I’m sorry,” I say helplessly, blinking through sudden, tearful exhaustion. “I should be taking care of you right now.”

He gazes down at me with a soft smile and peaceful eyes. “You gave me everything I needed and more, mo ghrá. We do this together—we take care of each other. Okay?”

My heartbeat skips. “Okay.”

When the water reaches the halfway point, he guides me into the bath and settles behind me. His arms encircle my waist, heavy and stabilizing. My head drops to his shoulder, a sigh leaving me as his lips trail down my neck.

“How do you feel?” I ask at length.

“Amazing. That orgasm suffocated half of my brain cells, though. I’ll have to learn to live with only moderate intelligence.”

I laugh. “You poor man.”

He smiles against my shoulder. “Worth it.”

“I’m glad.” I rub my foot over his calf. “I’ve never heard you speak in full-on Gaelic like that. Are you actually fluent?”

He nods. “There aren’t many opportunities to use it anymore, sadly. The language isn’t dead, but it’s definitely on life support.”

“That’s tragic. Even if it sounds like gibberish, it’s lovely to listen to.”

“Tá grá agam duit, Talia.”

I shift so I can look at him. “What does that mean?” When he only smiles at me, I scowl. “At least tell me what you said tonight.”

His low laugh vibrates my back. “I honestly don’t recall. Probably something along the lines of, ‘my brain cells are dying and I don’t care,’ or possibly, ‘I’ve discovered Heaven on Earth is being fucked in the ass by a goddess.’”

I laugh, unreasonably happy even if he’s lying. “Did you teach yourself the language?”

He shakes his head. “My gran did—my dad’s mother. She lived with us until she passed when I was fourteen. Taught me Gaelic alongside English. Alistair didn’t take to it like I did, and my parents didn’t speak it, so it became our special bond.” He smiles softly. “She was a strange, wonderful woman. People called her a witch behind her back because she had a habit of prophesying, usually loudly and without invitation. Things like pregnancies, deaths, divorces, and the like. Didn’t win her any friends, that’s for sure.”

I smile. “Was she ever right?”

He grins, but it fades fast. “Pretty often, actually. She even predicted her own death. The day it happened, I was home sick with a fever. She told me what was coming and said she was sorry I’d have to be the one to find her and tell my parents. I didn’t believe her, of course, but knew better than to argue when she had that gleam in her eye. She brought me a cup of tea and sang to me until I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found her in her rocker.” He clears his throat. “It was a stroke. Took her at exactly two o’clock, just like she said it would.”

Goose bumps prickle my skin. “I’m sorry, Kieran. That must have been so hard.”

He strokes my jaw. “It’s all right, mo ghrá. She was buried not far from our old flat back in Galway. I spent a lot of time at her grave growing up, just talking to her. And I still visit. It’s a lovely spot near the sea. Most of the graves are framed with stone and gravel, but she wanted grass to grow above her so we could sit close. Maybe I’ll take you there one day.”

My vision sparkles. I face forward quickly as adrenaline sends sizzling rivers into my limbs. Memory assaults me—my stumbling journey through the graveyard, all the gravel-boxed graves, then the beckoning patch of soft grass. I don’t remember the name on the headstone, just the rise of wings from the sturdy base and a feeling of comfort.

His grandmother’s grave.

Belatedly, I mumble, “That would be nice.”

He nuzzles his nose into the back of my head. “I think Gran’s magic lingers. One time—this was ages ago, right before I left for Oxford—I even found a drunk American girl nearly passed out on her grave. I had the weirdest feeling that Gran brought her there for a reason. We had the most interesting conversation. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

My muscles spasm, sending water sloshing against the sides of the tub .

He remembers.

“Cold?” he asks, scooping hot water over my chest and arms.

“A little,” I say weakly, even though I’m burning from the inside out. “What, uh—what was so interesting about the conversation?”

“Every second of it, but especially something she said when we parted. I’d told her that equals didn’t kneel. She said they did, but only to each other.” He pauses, voice softening. “I wish I could tell her she was right, but I never saw her again. Wherever she is, I hope she’s found what I have. An equal for whom kneeling is the greatest privilege.”