Big Love Abroad Page 15

  "Oh Nina. So clever. So beautiful." He sounded proud of me for tricking him into letting me orgasm.

  "Lucas...untie me. Let me see you. I want to touch you."

  "No, I don't think so. There's more."

  "More?" I sounded skeptical.

  "Oh yes. Quite a bit more."

  "Does more involve the blindfold coming off?"

  A long moment without a reply. Verbal, at least. There was an oral reply, though. Meaning, his mouth, at my breast. Tongue flicking, licking, teasing. Then a finger, slipping into me. Curling, nudging, searching, testing, teasing. Nipple hardening between lips and teeth and against his flattened tongue.

  "Do you want the blindfold off?" Lucas asked, his mouth on my opening, both hands busily tweaking my nipples. He was everywhere, it felt like, and I never felt him move or shift. "Are you sure?"

  I couldn't answer. I was torn. I wanted him to take it off, and yet I didn't. Being blind, being bound, being powerless, was intoxicating. Frightening, and exhilarating.

  "Do you, Nina?" This was spoken as a demand, but in his soft, gentle voice.

  I could only roll my head from side to side, a silent negative. Capitulating to darker, baser desires.

  Tie me up. Blindfold me. Spank me. Fuck me.

  The Nina Herrera who wanted these things, was it really me? Had I stepped through some kind of rip in the space-time continuum and accidentally inhabited some other alternate, sex-crazed, sexual deviant version of myself? Nina Herrera didn't have sex with men she'd just met. Nina Herrera didn't let those near-perfect strangers spank her, or come on her, or fuck her in the ass, or tie her up and blindfold her. Nina Herrera wasn't that kind of girl.

  Except....

  I was.

  Clearly. I didn't believe in rips in the space-time continuum, didn't believe in alternate selves. There was only one explanation and, as Occam so eloquently insisted, it was the simplest explanation. Of course, my current situation wasn't really the kind of scientific or philosophical context in which Occam's Razor is meant to be applied, but whatever. Semantics. Blah.

  The reality is that Nina Herrera, at some point since arriving in England and meeting Ian, had gained a new facet to her personality: sex freak. Okay, maybe freak was too strong a word, because none of this was exactly truly freakish territory; but, for me, coming from my strict and staid and buttoned-up background, it was way outside every box I was used to inhabiting.

  A low, buzzing hum brought me up out of my floating thoughts. No, he wouldn't. No way.

  Yup.

  Holy fucking shit. He had a vibrator, and he was using it to tease my clit, brushing the little button of nerve endings with the humming device until I let out an involuntary gasp, and then removing it, waiting a moment, and touching me with it again. And again. And again. Until I was writhing on the bed and panting through gritted teeth and fighting the urge to beg Lucas for the mercy-killing of an orgasm.

  "Lucas! Please!" I sounded desperate.

  So maybe I didn't fight the urge all that hard. I mean, what did I have to prove by not begging? I was putting myself at his mercy, so why not indulge in the game?

  "Please what, Nina?"

  "Let me come!"

  "No, I don't think I will yet. I'd planned to draw it out a while longer, get you really wild with the need, but you tricked me. So now you're going to have to endure a bit more torture."

  I was already going nuts. He'd brought me to the bleeding edge of need several times already, and he'd only had the vibrator on for a few minutes. If he insisted on dragging this out, I might just snap and really go ballistic. I wasn't sure what that would look like, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. There might be ugly crying. Possibly some abject pleading. Nothing attractive, at any rate.

  "Don't, please. Just...just have sex with me."

  He laughed. "Oh, Nina. I wouldn't go so far as to say that just having sex is...boring, per se. But it is best when used as the coup de grace to a much more involved process." He touched the vibrator to my clit and held it there until I was moaning and grinding against it. "If you're crazy for it, you'll enjoy it that much more when you finally get it."

  "What about...what about you?" I was right there, right there, sweating, thrashing.

  He pulled it away. "Me?" Another swift touch, not enough to even feel, almost. "Nina, you sexy thing. I've got you naked and tied up in my bed. You're all flushed and sweating and so beautiful it's absurd. You're begging me to let you come, begging me to make love to you. I would wager my first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice that I'm getting far, far more out of this than you are."

  The only thing that penetrated my orgasm-needy haze was the terms of the wager. "You have a first edition Pride and Prejudice?"

  "That's what you seize on, out of all that I said?" He laughed, a bark of raw amusement. "Yes, I do. And...if you can last another twenty minutes without uttering my last name, I'll give it to you."

  "Twenty minutes?"

  "Twenty minutes."

  I blinked hard behind the silk, felt sweat trickle down my temple, felt the clench in my gut and the tightening of my vaginal muscles as Lucas touched the vibrator to my clitoris again, kept it there, brought me to the edge, and....stopped. Twenty minutes? I wasn't sure I could last twenty fucking seconds. But a first edition Jane Austen? I might just voluntarily subject myself to actual torture for that prize.

  "Do we have a deal?"

  "Deal," I agreed, against my better judgment.

  "Twenty minutes starting..." a pause as he set some sort of timer, presumably, "now."

  As soon as he said the word "now", Lucas pressed the vibrator against my clit and left it there until I shattered. I screamed, I cried, I came and came and came, and all the while Lucas kept the madly buzzing vibrator against me until every thread of my being was white-hot and exploding and shredding.

  And then he brought it away, and I fell back against the bed, gasping for air--a momentary respite, a single lungful of sweet oxygen, and then he touched me with it, pressed it against my clit and this time he slid the fingers of his other hand inside me, two long fingers sliding and curling inside me as the vibrator hummed against me, and I discovered that there was only one thing more madness-inducing than being held at the edge of orgasm.

  He made me come four times within a matter of moments. Touch--come; touch--come; touch--come; touch--come. Each one was more potent and more destructive than the last. It hurt. Physically, the pleasure was becoming pain. Sensitivity became something else entirely. Hypersensitivity wasn't even accurate. Something beyond even that. I could feel the smooth rubber of the vibrator head, could feel it as it approached and feel each individual infinitesimal tremor of its vibration, as if in slow motion. When Lucas's fingers curled inside me, I could feel his short, manicured fingernails as they scraped my inner walls with delicious pressure, could feel his breath as it spread across my skin, feel the texture of his lips as he kissed my neck, my throat, my cheek, my lips...

  I heard a click, and the buzzing sound went faster, as if the device had just been made to vibrate more wildly. No. Please no. If he touched me with it going that high, I would--

  Thrash, scream, come so hard I saw stars in the darkness behind my closed eyes, so hard I bowed up off the bed, every muscle tensing, sweat beading and instantly cooling on my superheated skin. The vibrations receded, and I went limp, sweat pouring off my forehead, and Lucas wiped it away with his palm, smearing it across my temple, touching my upper lip, my chin, brushing flyaway strands of hair out of my eyes and mouth. His lips slid down my sweat-slick skin, kissing the valley between my breasts, and I was about to beg him not to even touch me, I was so sensitive even the air on my skin was too much, but he flicked his tongue across my rigid nipple and I shivered, nearly came from just that soft, wet, brief contact.

  The buzzing touched my nipple, and I did come.

  I couldn't take any more.

  Mercy. Please, just...just let me breathe for a moment--

  I
didn't say it, but I thought it.

  Orgasm.

  Again.

  Again.

  All he had to do now was brush my clit with the vibrator and I'd come apart instantly, like a spark touching gunpowder.

  I was gasping nonstop now, thrashing and bucking, twisting, curling forward and then kicking out, trying to get away from the agony of ecstasy.

  He gave me a moment of respite, a moment to catch my breath, but a long enough moment. And the next time he touched me with the vibrator, he left it there again, and as I came, his mouth crashed down on mine and his tongue slashed between my lips and sought mine.

  "Lucas...god, please..."

  "What's my name?"

  "Lucas..."

  Touch--come.

  "What is it?"

  "Lucas!"

  Lips scraping across my nipple, vibrator at my clit, fingers in my pussy, stimulation blasting through me, orgasm after orgasm crashing through me like the tide of waves smashing against a shore, over and over and over and over.

  And then, abruptly, all contact was gone, the buzzing silenced. I heard harsh breathing. "Fuck it, I can't--I can't wait any longer."

  Next came the rattle of a belt buckle, a whisper of cloth against skin, clothes hitting the floor, then silence; a drawer opening, foil crinkling. I was gasping for breath, dragging great lungfuls of air in and huffing out again, and I could feel my my breasts lifting and falling with each gust of oxygen. I was panting, heart hammering with anticipation. The bed dipped. Hands skated over my ankles, alerting me to his presence. Palms on my thighs, pausing at my hips, then arcing up my belly and cupping my breasts, lifting, kneading, letting their weight fall again. Lips, touch-touch-touching my skin at hip, belly, breast. Weight hovering over me, anticipation blazing in my veins where blood had once run.

  A low male moan in my ear, a warm nudge at my core. I opened, breathed out, focused every sense I possessed on Lucas as he slid into me, inch by inch.

  Like everything about Lucas, he was long and lean, filling but not stretching, plunging deep and sliding between my slick labia in slow, measured thrusts. He was so long there was no movement, even at the apex of withdrawal, that he wasn't sliding inside me, present within me.

  I felt him, god, did I feel him. Robbed of sight, all I could do was feel. His skin on mine, his breath on my neck, his hands in the pillow on either side of my face, his hips over mine, bumping with his unhurried thrusts. I smelled him, too, sweat and musk, wine and male essence. I wanted to hold him, to wrap my heels around his waist, wanted to dig my fingers into his shoulder, but I couldn't. All I could do was feel, was take.

  That was, perhaps, the greatest torture. Feeling him move, going so slowly, even when I felt the ache begin inside me, when he altered the angle of his hips, drew his knees up and leaned back, stretching himself and thrusting so his cock slid and scraped up against my inner walls, stuttering along my clit, pushing my orgasm-weak body to yet another climax. I shuddered, ached, gasped, fought my bonds.

  "Lucas!"

  "Nina, Jesus, Nina. You feel so good, so tight and warm. Come for me once more, won't you? I know you're close, I can feel you trembling beneath me. You want to touch me, don't you? But you can't. It's making you crazy, isn't it?" He punctuated his words with slow thrusts, driving in, pausing, withdrawing, plunging back in.

  I began to meet his thrusts with arching lifts of my hips, curving my spine and rising off the mattress to crush my hips against his. More. I needed more. More. More.

  But more I did not get. He continued his unhurried pace, ignoring my frantically bucking hips, ignoring my gasps of desperation, my thrashing against the ties binding me. It was infuriating and crazy-making and delicious but not quite enough.

  And then I felt the pressure that had been slowly building all the while burgeon, expand, balloon, turn hot and wild. I couldn't contain it.

  When people say "I'm going to lose it!" or "I'm going to go crazy!", it's usually just an expression. I mean, what does losing it or going crazy really look like? Have you ever thought about that? Most of us haven't. We just mean we're going to be really upset until whatever it is making us upset is over.

  But if you really do lose it, really do go crazy...it's not pretty.

  Blindfolded, hands tied together, feet tied to the bed. Tortured into more orgasms than I could count or remember, fucked slowly and into madness...I lost it.

  I screamed, I fought, I thrashed, I cursed. I wept.

  What I did not do was say Lucas's last name.

  I should have. I really should have.

  This was a wildness I had no control over. I felt violent, unhinged.

  I bucked against Lucas as hard as I could, seeking more. Trying to get him to let go, to untie me or fuck me proper, or anything other than the slow, controlled, measured thrusting.

  "Nina, god Nina, you're really wild for this, aren't you?" He sounded pleased with himself.

  Problem was, I was incoherent, needing to see, needing to be free, needing more, and unable to vocalize any of it. You really can come too many times, and it really is a form of torture. Everything inside me ached, everything inside me was screaming, fighting, panting, begging. Yet all I could do was thrash and move and make wordless sounds of craziness.

  And still he moved slowly, as if he could fuck all day.

  The climax receded, finally. It had been what felt like an eternity of madness blasting through me, setting me afire, pushing thoughts into the ether and replacing them with insanity.

  When it faded, I could think. I could make words.

  And then Lucas came. It was like he had done everything else, in control, measured, intense. His thrusts did not come any faster, only more intensely, shuddering, achingly slow, as if savoring every inch of thrust in and pull out.

  And all I could do was go taut, every muscle tensed, so hypersensitive then that each slide of cock in and out of me was too much, too much.

  I heard him gasp, grunt, groan, felt his forehead touch mine, tasted his wine-sour/sweet breath on my lips.

  Even after he'd come, he continued to move slowly, and that was when I could take no more.

  "Killian! Lucas, please, no more. I can't take any more--Killian." I sounded...desperate. Broken.

  His hand brushed the tie off my eyes, and he was off me, tugging at knots, freeing me. Long hair tangled around his shoulders. Skin damp with sweat, chest heaving. As soon as the knots were freed, I sat up, shaking all over, sweat-wet and sex-slick and feeling unstable.

  "Nina? Are you okay?"

  I didn't answer immediately. I wasn't sure I was. I tugged the sheet up and tucked it under my arms, felt my face pulled into a frown, eyebrows drawn down, bridge pinched, breath coming in ragged gasps. Knees drawn up. I scraped hair away from my face, and then I stared at my hand which was still trembling slightly.

  "I need a drink. Can you pour me a glass of wine, please? Nothing fancy. Just wine." I was proud of how steady I sounded, when everything inside me was rebelling and heaving and wondering and confused and wild.

  Lucas gave me a long, searching look, and then rose, naked still, and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the sounds of him cleaning himself off, disposing of the condom, and then he emerged wearing a simple black cotton robe, knotting it around his waist as he moved into the kitchen. A few moments later he returned bearing two wineglasses full of a blush wine. He handed me one, sat on the edge of the bed next to me, and we sipped in silence.

  Or, well, he sipped. I gulped. Both hands clutching the cool glass, fighting for calm breaths, gulping huge mouthfuls of the not-quite-sweet wine.

  Lucas, intelligently, remained silent until I'd finished the entire glass and handed it back to him. "More?"

  I could only nod. I still had no clue what I even felt, much less what to say. Was I upset? Mad? Unsatisfied in some weird, fucked up way? Overly-sated? Was that last one even possible? So much was going through my mind and heart with such machine-gun rapidity that I couldn't catch one single
thought or emotion to name it or express it.

  Lucas returned with another glassful of the blush wine, the glass not filled to the proper barely-halfway level, but to woman-in-crisis full, enough to nearly slosh over the rim as he handed it to me.

  Smart man.

  When I'd downed half that glass--considering the size of the glass, probably a good half a bottle's worth--I finally felt capable of possibly forming words, of looking directly at Lucas.

  But he spoke first. "Too much, yeah?"

  I nodded. "A little, maybe."

  "I probably should have...eased into things, maybe."

  "Yeah, maybe."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Getting there, I think." I glanced at him, saw concern, maybe embarrassment, worry, a little fear. "It was just...I don't know."

  Another four large swallows, and the glass was empty.

  "Nina, I--"

  I held up my hand. "Lucas, it's okay. I just...I need to--to process. I think...I think I'd like to go home, if that's okay."

  "Sure." He set his glass down, gathered my clothing for me, handed it to me in a pile.

  Apologies were bright in his eyes, and I couldn't handle that, so I went into the bathroom to dress. I wasn't sure I wanted apologies anyway. It hadn't been bad, just...intense. A lot. New, different, a little scary. A lot scary.

  When I emerged with my dress on, my hair pulled back, Lucas was waiting for me, dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt, hair still down, wearing frameless eyeglasses. He adjusted them on his face, grinning. "The glasses, they're for driving at night."

  I shrugged, because whether he wore glasses or not was the last thing on my mind. My tumultuous emotions consumed every synapse firing, consumed my everything.

  On the way out the door, Lucas grabbed a USB flash drive off the counter. When we got into the car, he inserted the drive into a slot covered by a flip-up cap. A few taps on the infotainment screen, and music filled the air.

  Bjork.

  "Pagan Poetry."

  Ian.

  Fuck.

  Had I just fucked up?

  I didn't ask him to change it. I should have, but I didn't. I also didn't cry, but that was a close one as well. Post-sex emotions, the questions, the intensity, it was blazing in me. Lucas had rocked my world. Literally, I felt like something in my universe had been knocked out of alignment.

  And let me tell you, when that really truly happens, it's not entirely pleasant or easy to digest.