Laurell Hamilton - 16 Blood Noir

How sturdy is the coffee table?

Not that sturdy, Nathaniel said.

Id caught on. No, not sturdy enough to have sex on.

Start in the living room, move to the bedroom? Jason said, making it a question.

I looked at Nathaniel. He nodded, and gave a little shrug.

Deal, I said.

T HEY HAD A disagreement on whether I should leave my heels on or take them off. Nathaniel voted for on; Jason wanted off. Jasons point was, I want to go down on her, and the heels will hurt.

Nathaniels point was, Yeah, the heels hurt, whats your point?

I settled the argument this way. Whoever is doing the oral sex on me gets his preference on the shoes.

Lose the shoes, Jason said, and there was a look in his face that tightened things low in my body without him touching me at all.

I lost the shoes. They lay on their side in the dimness of the living room. The only light was what spilled in from the kitchen doorway. I stood in front of the couch, while they moved the coffee table far to one side of the room.

Jason came back and dropped to his knees in front of me. He gazed up at me with one half of his face lit, the other in darkness. The look in the one eye I could clearly see made me shiver.

Nathaniel came to the end of the couch and took his shorts off in one smooth motion. My pulse was in my throat at the sight of him nude in the darkened room. He let the shorts fall to the floor.

Jasons hands slid up my legs, underneath my skirt, and I was back to staring down at him. His hands caressed the hose up to my thighs, went up, oh, so gently, until he found the lace tops of the thigh highs. He traced the very top of the lace, trailing fingertips over the rise and fall of the fabric. He rolled fingers back and forth where the hose elastic had rolled down in back. No matter how careful you were, if you had any thighs at all, the hose always did that. But he treated it like what it was, not an imperfection, but something different to play with.

His fingers slid around that edge, brushing the very upper edges of my thighs. He rubbed his thumbs on that warm inside hollow that frames a womans groin. He massaged my thighs, but it was the pressure of his thumbs that helped draw my legs farther apart. So he could reach what he wanted, and what I wanted him to reach.

Nathaniel came in behind me. Without the coffee table there was room enough between me and the couch. His arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms against my upper body. The feel of his nakedness pressed against the back of my skirt was amazing. Then he let me feel the strength in his body, as he held me, held me so tight. It sped my pulse faster, caught my breath in my throat.

So strong, I whispered.

So trapped, he breathed against my face. He squeezed harder, just this side of bruising my arms against me. But I didnt tell him to stop. I loved knowing that I was trapped. If he had meant me harm, I couldnt have stopped him. My gun was trapped under my arm, digging into my body. All it would take was Jason to grab my legs and I was trapped.

I hadnt much liked that I enjoyed things like this. In fact, Id hated it. But lately, thanks in part to sharing emotions with Nathaniel, who loved bondage and submission, I was acknowledging that fantasy was okay. That I didnt need to analyze why in real life being trapped made me fight like hell and do all in my power to destroy the ones trapping me, but in sexual fantasy I liked being trapped, a little. In a safe place, with people I trusted, it was more than just exciting.

What are you doing up there to make her react like that? Jason asked. His hands had gone still against my thighs.

Holding her, very, very, tightly, Nathaniel said in a voice that showed the strain of holding me tight.

Jasons fingers suddenly dug into my flesh, from gentle to bruising in an instant.

I whispered, Yes.

Is that the game we want to play? he asked, and his voice had changed, too, deeper, darker, for lack of a better word.

I do, Nathaniel said.

Jasons fingers pressed harder into my thighs, so that I cried out, and told him, Enough, enough.

Thats her safe word, Nathaniel said.

Ive already stopped, Jason said.

But I havent stopped, have I? Nathaniel whispered.

No, I said, voice breathy. He was holding tight enough to be trapped, but not quite tight enough to hurt. It was a fine edge to walk, but Nathaniel knew how to walk it.

Do I rip the panties off, or take them off? Jason asked.

Rip, Nathaniel said, and it was almost a growl.

I said, Please.

Please what? Jason asked.

Off, I whispered.

He ripped the satin panties in one harsh move that jerked my body. Nathaniel tightened his grip on me, until it was hard to breathe.

I whispered, Ease up.

He eased until he was back where hed been. Tight, but not too tight. Trapped, but not hurt. Of all forms of sex that Id found, BDSM took the most trust, the most communication.

Jason pushed my skirt up until he bared me to the light from the kitchen. How rough can I be? There was no sex in the tone of his voice; he was truly asking.

Start easy, Nathaniel said, shell let you know.

I realized that Jason had never given me oral sex before. Id gone down on him, but hed never had a chance to return the favor. He used his hands to spread my thighs wider. He let me feel the strength in his hands, but not as hard as hed been when I told him to ease up. The sensation of being bound by the sheer strength of him was amazing. There was no need of ropes or chains when you could feel how terribly strong they both were.

Jasons hands were harsh, but he leaned in toward me as if he were going to give the gentlest of kisses. The juxtaposition of the harsh and the gentle left my mind not knowing how to react. Then his tongue slid across me, and there was no conflict, there was only sensation.

He dug his fingers into that space inside my thighs, so harsh, I cried out. He forced my legs farther apart. Nathaniel lifted me. I could feel his shoulders and chest flex until I was suddenly off the ground. It allowed Jason to spread my legs more, use the strength of his fingers to force me wider.

Jason plunged his tongue inside me, sudden and abrupt. I cried out for him, and he leaned back enough to gaze up the line of my body.

It was as if I could feel the weight of his gaze, because it made me look down at the same time he looked up.

God, he said, that look.

What look? I managed to say before Nathaniel squeezed harder and I had no breath to talk.

That look, Jason whispered, and lowered his mouth to my body. He kissed there as he had kissed my mouth, maybe a dozen times before. Most men dont kiss between your legs the same way they kiss your mouth, but Jason did. He kissed me just as thoroughly, as completely, as expertly. Then he began to do things that you couldnt do when you kiss a mouth. He licked and explored, trying different things, judging his progress by the sounds I made, and how much I writhed.

He didnt just find the spot and stay on it like it was a button; he explored every inch of me, biting the inside of my thighs between attentions.

Nathaniel held me through it all, sometimes so tight I couldnt breathe, sometimes just tight enough to let me feel his strength, and then he squeezed hard enough that my gun cut into me, and it felt as if he were trying to crush me. I cried out while I had breath, then all I could do was writhe.

Jason drew back enough to ask, Am I doing that, or you?

Me, Nathaniel said, and eased up so my breath came in a ragged gasp.

I managed to say, So strong.

I need to try harder, Jason said. He pulled down my hose and bit me, not a love bite, but bit me on the thigh.

I screamed for him.

He plunged his mouth between my legs, rougher this time. I writhed and cried out. He pressed teeth into the most intimate part of me. When I didnt tell him to stop, he worried at me with his mouth, his teeth, pulling and biting and licking. The pleasure began to build between my legs, like heat and pressure and the beginning flickers of orgasm like previews of the pleasure to come.