Ten Dirty Demands (Dirty Duet #2.5) Page 2
“Stay still. Don’t make a sound,” I whisper-demand in her ear.
“That’s four,” she whispers back.
“I said don’t make a sound.” I pinch her sensitive skin in reprimand, and good girl that she is, her lips part, but she’s silent.
Of course I have to torture her. The tip of my finger slides easily inside her. Has she been wet all night in anticipation of whatever I’d make her do next?
My dick jumps at the thought, and when the photographer prompts us all to say, “Be Merry!” instead of the traditional “Cheese”, it’s a real smile I deliver.
She shivers, but she manages to suppress sound, even when I insist on several more shots, “Just to be sure we got a good one,” before agreeing with Roxie that we probably did.
Sabrina—and my finger—are soaked when I allow her to stand. “Well played,” she says.
“Well taken,” I say in return, despite the fact that she bobbles when she tries to take a step.
I stand up, but I’m not quick enough to catch her. Fortunately, Nate is. “Whoa there. You okay, Sabrina?”
“Got up too fast,” she lies. Her blush would only give her away to someone who’s good at spotting dirty goings-on.
As it happens, Nate is particularly talented in that area.
It’s not him, however, that calls her out. “I’ve used that excuse a time or two myself,” Trish says with a wink.
Sabrina’s blush deepens, and I have to bite back a smirk before I greet my partner and his…well, his Trish.
The two aren’t married. They don’t even like the term “partners”, but they’re together. She claims she’ll never live with anyone, but Nate bought the place right next to her, and last I’d heard, they were breaking down a wall to connect the two.
He’s head over heels for her, and she’s as devoted to him as she’ll ever be to anyone. Of course, they’re also regular members at the city’s most elite sex club, and more than once, Nate has invited me and Sabrina into their bed.
To which I’ve said no thank you.
No shame on open relationships, but I’m not keen on sharing, and I don’t believe anyone else can give Sabrina what she needs like I can. If I did, if she wanted something more, then I’d have to revisit my reservations. Thankfully, I don’t foresee it as an issue.
Meantime, I don’t see any harm in using their sexual proclivities to our advantage. After looking to be sure no one else is in earshot, I pull out my next demand. “Sabrina, why don’t you tell our friends just what you’re blushing about?”
She throws me a look of outrage that suggests that maybe she isn’t quite as on board with sharing her shame as I thought she would be.
Nate reads it as such, anyway. “She doesn’t have to—”
“Actually,” I interrupt. “She does. If I demand it.”
“Ah, it’s that kind of game.” Nate pulls Trish into his side. “We were playing a game like that earlier, weren’t we, Trish?”
She nods. “Except in our version of the game, I got to be Santa. If Santa is synonymous with Sir.”
“How else do you think she got me in this suit?” I’m staring right at Sabrina, looking for any cues that tell me I’m pushing her too far, divulging too much. Her breathing has picked up. Her pupils have darkened. She swallows. Yes, she’s into this. Timid about it, perhaps, but into it.
“Trish makes a wicked Domme. If you need any ideas,” Nate offers.
But I don’t need ideas, and the panicked flit of Sabrina’s eyes says that’s out of her comfort zone. “We’re good, thanks. Or we will be good as soon as Sabrina tells you what we were doing. Unless you’d rather we show them?” I address the last part to her. It’s an empty threat, but one meant to push her into action, and it does the job.
“Santa did bad things to me while I was sitting on his lap.” She keeps her gaze locked on mine.
“Oh, I love stories that start with bad things and laps.” Trish waggles her brows. “Tell me more.”
Knowing Sabrina won’t be specific if I don’t prod her, I add, “Be specific.”
She narrows her eyes, and I feel that adrenaline rush that accompanies so much of our sex—the thrill of pushing her to her limits of humiliation or degradation. The joy from knowing that she’ll go there with me. Of knowing that I’m the one she trusts to take her there.
Bravely, she tells them. “He put his finger inside me while the photographer took pictures.”
Put that way, it sounds even dirtier than it was.
I don’t bother to clarify. “Inside you…where? Use your words, Sabrina. Even if they’re naughty.”
“Especially if they’re naughty,” Nate agrees, then seems to reconsider. “Is this considered creating a toxic work environment?”
“Yes. Definitely. I’ll give her all my shares if she decides to divorce me because of it.”
She doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, though, since she responds with, “Donovan slipped his hand under my skirt, put his finger in my pussy, and told me not to make a sound.”
“And did she?” Trish seems genuinely interested in the answer.
“Not a peep,” I say, proudly.
She flashes her hand at me, fingers spread, and it takes a second before I realize she’s telling me that was my fifth demand.
“You’re about to get number six,” I say quietly so that only she can hear as I pull her to my side and rest my hand on her hip. I love how it makes me feel like she’s mine, and of course she is mine, but there’s a part of me that is still surprised everyday that I wake up with her next to me. I’ll never tire of claiming her with these small gestures. “I believe I promised you something that would make this night worth your while, Nate.”
“That you did. Is it hiding in there?” Nate nods to the now empty Santa bag at the side of my abandoned chair.
“Worth too much to leave it there. Sabrina, would you mind going out to the coat check and get the box of Cubans I stowed in there earlier?” She turns toward me, her brow wrinkled at the request, having expected a demand, not realizing it’s still to come until I dip my mouth to her ear and whisper. “Grab three, but before you come back, put one of them—the one that you intend to give to me—inside your pussy first. I want to be able to taste you when I light it up.”
She gives me a half-scandalized, half-exhilarated look, and I’m half-expecting she’ll push back, but she surprises me and just says, “Okay.”
Then, with her body angled so that no one can see, she puts her hand directly on my already half-stiff cock—not an easy feat to find under the baggy suit—and squeezes before going on her way.
God, she’s filthy. How the hell did I get so lucky?
My mind is already ten steps ahead of where she is physically. Twenty. Imagining her slip into the coatroom, her apology to the attendant who lets her in because of her credentials, Sabrina’s furtive glances toward him as she waits until he’s distracted before taking a thick cigar out of the box and slipping it quickly inside her. Imagining how much the entire scenario turns her on.
“She’s coming along,” Nate says, pulling me from the fantasy.
I bristle at his words. Coming along.
As though she’s an animal who needs training.
As though she’s playing tonight simply for my benefit.
As though she’s not already exactly who she should be.
I level a stern stare at my partner. “The game is for her,” I say, even though I don’t owe him any explanation, and I certainly don’t expect him to understand. For him, love is about both partners exercising their passions together.
For me, it’s about Sabrina.
“You’re good at giving her what she wants.” I suspect Trish says it in an attempt to smooth my feathers.
I don’t need validation, but I’m not the type to play humble. “I try,” I say in a tone that says I know.
“How good is she at giving you what you want?” Nate asks, and the way he seamlessly picks up where his…Trish…left off, I almost feel ganged up on.
I pivot my whole body when I turn toward him this time. “What are you suggesting, Nate? That there’s something lacking in our relationship? There’s not.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. You can back down.”
Telling me to back down is the best way to get me to do the exact opposite, but because of the occasion—because Nate is my friend, and I know he means no harm—I convince myself to take a breath before I respond. “What, then, are you saying? I’m interested.”
“I’m saying that you give all you are to making sure her every passion is met. You look after her in every way possible—look after all the people you care about, for that matter. It’s admirable how much you sacrifice for us, leading us all to what we want most. I’m just curious if she takes care of you? If you’d let her.”
It’s a fair enough question, though the point is moot. The thing I want most, the thing I care about most—it’s her. Keeping her is all I need.
“She would take care of me,” I assure him. “If I—”
“Needed taking care of,” he finishes for me, correctly predicting my thought. “Got it.” He manages not to roll his eyes, but I can still hear the hint of it in his tone. He’s the type who believes everyone needs taking care of. He’s not wrong about that.
He’s just wrong to include me with everyone.
Sabrina returns with a clipped pace that I am certain is attributed to excitement. “Delivery on Santa’s behest!” She’s the perfect little elf as she hands Nate and Trish each a cigar, her smile widening when she gets to me.
There are two left in her hand, and I’m impressed. Not just because my wife is not usually fond of joining in on my smoking habit, but because I have no doubts that she’s “prepared” each of them the way I asked.
I choose one and copy Nate, bringing it in for a sniff. It’s woody and sweet and Sabrina all wrapped up in one scent, and fuck if it isn’t the most glorious thing I’ve ever put to my nose.
“Cohibe Behikes,” he says. “Excellent taste.”
He has no idea.
I’d prefer to drag Sabrina off to a dark corner at this point, but I’d never dream of offering a cigar without offering to smoke. And I’m particularly eager to smoke this particular puro myself.
I’m equally eager to see Sabrina put a stick between her lips, so I make the only suggestion that makes sense: “To the balcony, then?”
FOUR
It’s cold outside, which isn’t a surprise on a December night in New York City, not that I can feel it with the Santa suit still on. I’d be concerned about Sabrina dressed in her skimpy outfit if she hadn’t requested high-power heaters to be set out.
That party planning detail was specifically because she knew I’d want to come out here at some point for just this reason. See, Nate? She does take care of me.
Of course, I only knew she’d prepared it because I’d been told when I went to put in the request myself and discovered she’d already done it.
Not the point.
Nate, thankfully, has a lighter in his pocket and a straight cutter on his keychain, which means I don’t have to fumble with my costume to find mine. Soon enough, the ends are trimmed and lit, and I take my first puff and sigh.
“It’s really good,” Trish says while I’m still savoring the first draw.
“Best cigar I’ve ever tasted.” I’m aware that it sounds self-complimentary, but I only care that Sabrina hears it.
Even in the poor light of the heaters, I can tell her cheeks pink.
Nate’s a fellow connoisseur, and it takes a moment to assess the flavor. “It’s rustic and dry and do I detect a floral note?”
“Definitely a floral note,” I say, eyes pinned on Sabrina. It’s all I can do not to lick my lips, the taste of her is so powerful that I don’t even mind that it’s tainted the purity of the Cuban.
I’m aroused, of course. But I tend to live my life with a constant semi since Sabrina’s been around, so I’m used to the mild discomfort of being turned on. Knowing she’s also aroused, that she’s on the edge with anticipation, makes it all the more bearable.
Until she pulls her cigar from her mouth and sweeps her tongue around her lips. Then she says, “I’m not usually a fan of cigars, and even I like this one.”
…and my cock officially decides it’s time to whittle this party down to two and move it elsewhere. “That’s it. I’m going upstairs to change out of this costume.” I put out my cigar first, then take Sabrina’s from her and put it out as well, which causes her to gape in surprise.
“I was enjoying that,” she exclaims.
“No, you weren’t. You were enjoying how much I was enjoying it.” I manage to locate my tux pocket inside the Santa suit and stuff the cigars inside. “In case you aren’t here when we return,” if we return, “Trish, Nate, always a pleasure. Sabrina, let’s go.”
After somehow being persuaded to take Nate’s camera to his office for him—why he brought his own down when there was a hired photographer is beyond me; that’s artist’s for you—I grab Sabrina by her elbow and direct her inside and through the ballroom.
She quibbles with me the entire time about whether her leaving with me counts as a demand or not:
“Doesn’t count if it’s not dirty,” I remind her.
“It’s going to get dirty soon enough.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, right I don’t.”
“Not to mention that if it were a demand, you would have to actually do the thing I asked, which from my standpoint, you haven’t, since I’m dragging you along.”
“You’re only dragging me because you’re too impatient to let me walk at my own speed. It’s seven. It counts.”
By the time we reach the elevator, I’m done with the argument. Once the doors close and I’ve pushed the button to our floor, I slam her against the back wall and pin her there with my hand on her throat. “It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t cross off number seven. With or without it, you aren’t any safer from what’s to come.”
She swallows and her pulse picks up, and even though I’ve given into her, I consider it a win. The whole point of the demand setup is that she enjoys being forced to do naughty things. The hand I have pressed against her windpipe is a reminder to us both that I don’t need words for that.
Now that I have her attention, I let my gaze drift down to her mouth. I trace her bottom lip with my thumb. “Could you taste yourself like I could? When you puffed on that stick, did you enjoy the flavor of your cunt?”
She nods as well as she can with my hand keeping her in place.
“Please say you didn’t go to the ladies’ room to get them wet.”
A smile appears as she shakes her head no.
“Tell me what you did.”
“The attendant recognized me so he let me in without question. He kept chatting with me while I looked for the cigars, but as soon as I found them, a couple came to the window with their coat tickets. While they were talking, I turned my back to him, lifted my skirt, and put both cigars inside me at once.”
My hand wanders lower as she talks, sneaking inside her dress to play with her nipple, and when she reaches the end of her story, I have to fight back a groan. “Santa’s going to have to put you on the bad list, I’m afraid, Sabrina. Because that was so very, very bad.”
“Does that mean I won’t be getting anything for Christmas?”
“Not a chance.” I’m ready to give her a thick steel rod right then and there.
Except then the elevator dings, and the doors open on our floor. “Telling me what happened in the coatroom—that counts as seven,” I say, then release my hand from her neck. “After you, my dear.”
She pouts in my direction for a full beat before she moves to leave. I follow behind, grinning at her frustration. It’s not that it’s not real—I’m sure it is. I’m sure that she’s pissed that I’m the one who gets to decide what counts as a demand and what doesn’t. Pissed that I’ve taken her from her party before it’s ended. Pissed that I didn’t push the emergency button fuck her in the elevator.
But I also know that people can be wired to be many contradictory things at once. Sabrina’s wired to get pleasure from being pissed. Or scared. Or degraded. Her fury right now is her favorite form of foreplay, and what she needs will follow soon enough.
She’s only two steps down the hallway when she stops. “Where are we going?”
I’d planned to send her to my office, but the camera sling on my shoulder gives me an idea. “Nate’s office.”
My master will unlock his door, but I’m glad when I see he’s left it open, and I don’t have to dig around for my keys. Sabrina walks past the threshold and leans a shoulder against the wall, seemingly waiting for me to return the camera and then usher her elsewhere.
Instead, I turn on a lamp to illuminate the dark room without having the brightness of the overheads, and gesture toward the desk. “Hop up, helper.”
I haven’t forgotten I’m still in my costume. There’s nothing sexy about the Santa situation, and I’m burning up inside the stifling fabric, but I have one more demand before it can come off. “Keep the dress on, but get your tits out where I can see them.”
“Is this eight?” she asks coyly, as though she wants to agree upon the terms this time before following through.
“It’s eight if you do it before I come over there and do it for you.”
She doesn’t hesitate after that, pulling both the dress and her bra down to expose her breasts. The cinched material acts like a bustier, pushing her tits up and out in an obscene display. Her nipples are sharp and pimpled and practically begging to be sucked, and it takes me a second or two before I remember what I want to do next.