Waking Kiss Read online

  She swallowed hard and arched her back. The delicate chain between the nipple clamps slid across her chest.

  I watched her touch herself, tentatively at first, then more boldly. After a few minutes, she eased down into the naughtiness of it, her hips moving in concert with her fingers. Our eyes met and held. “How does that feel, baby?” I asked. “Does it feel good?”

  “Yes,” she said, then, “No. The clamps hurt.”

  “If you want them off, you have to come, don’t you? Like a good girl.”

  “Yes. Yes, Sir, but…it hurts.”

  Her fingers were working harder now, faster. “How much does it hurt? Tell me. Does your pussy feel full and wet? Does the pain make you hot? Is it an aching, needy throb?”

  “Yes,” she gasped. “It feels so good. I want to come so badly.”

  “Come on, baby. I’m not letting you close your legs. Not ever. Not until you come for me. Close your eyes and think about what you have coming to you. This is going to be a long afternoon for poor little Ashleigh.” Don’t call her a bad girl. Don’t call her a bad girl. My cock was rock hard in my fist. What little control I had was focused on not plunging into her pussy. “You can come, but that’s just going to be the beginning for you. I want you to come for me now. I’m not taking those clamps off until you’re gushing against my hand.”

  “Oh…”

  She was almost there, lost in the throes of fantasy and pleasure and pain, a combination I loved myself. I took a risk then… I touched her. I cupped her mons and slipped one finger inside her, up inside the tight wetness I wanted more than life itself. Make me. Just make me do it. God, I wanted to, so badly. “Come on,” I gasped. “Come for me, so I can give you what you deserve.”

  She cried out and screwed her eyes shut, arching her chest. I pumped my finger in and out of her spasming pussy, kneeling over her braced on my arms, and I stayed that way through her luscious orgasm. She opened her eyes and stared up at me. I was fully over her, my legs braced over her legs, practically mounting her. She went very still. I stroked her pussy one last time. “So beautiful,” I said. “That was so beautiful.” I stroked a hand down her face. “Are you afraid?”

  She thought a moment and shook her head. “Not right now. No, sir.”

  My lips spread in a wide smile. “That’s progress then. Good girl.”

  *** *** ***

  I stared at Liam above me with a kind of wonder. Good girl. I loved being his good girl. It was such a relief not to feel like the bad girl anymore. He was over me, naked, and I wasn’t freaking out, not in the slightest. I was getting better.

  I was also getting a spanking.

  With silent, stern determination, he rocked back and pulled me across his legs, and smacked my butt with his big slab of a hand. I was so dazed from the afterglow of my orgasm, all I noticed was that it hurt. Then he spanked my ass again and I realized that it really fucking hurt. “Oh. Ow!”

  I tried to roll away from him but he only caught me and delivered another spank.

  “Owwww… Please, that’s so painful.”

  “Oh? Not what you fantasized about?”

  Oh my God. Ouch. He never made punishments feel good. Not only was his hand the size of a tennis racket, but he wasn’t letting me catch my breath between smacks. I wailed and bucked off of him, for all the good it did me. When I reached back to block his hand, he trapped it and secured it up between my shoulder blades.

  “You earned this punishment by being snarky and sassy to me, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I didn’t realize—” I gasped. “I didn’t think—” I went limp over his lap. “I didn’t think your hand would hurt this much.”

  He caressed over my blazing ass, squeezing it like he owned it. “I have big, evil hands, Ash. But we can try a paddle if you like. Paddle punishments are good for curing smart mouths.”

  He helped me to my feet. I rubbed my bottom, feeling dazed and concerned and weirdly horny for a woman who’d just gotten off a few minutes ago. My breasts ached. Now that I’d come, the nipple clamps turned from sexy to torturous. “Please, can I take off the clamps?” I asked in my most respectful and begging submissive voice.

  “You never take off the clamps. I take them off when I think you’ve had enough. Bend over the bed. Arms out to the side, legs spread.”

  I parted them a little on my own, hoping he wouldn’t spread them more if I obeyed him promptly. But when he put his hands on me, it wasn’t to spread my legs, but to grope through the wetness at my center. I muffled a cry against the bedcover, but I wasn’t really protesting. I was trying to understand. Or trying to come to terms with the fact that this powerful, kind of scary man was touching me sexually, almost violently while I was powerless, and I only wanted more.

  He left me and went to the dresser, returning with a small paddle. Or maybe it just looked small compared to him. I moaned as he leaned over me and pulled my arms out straighter.

  He stepped back. I buried my head in the covers, afraid to look.

  “Ready?”

  “No, not reall— Oh God!” The paddle hurt every bit as much as his hand. I was never, ever, ever being a smartass to him again. I was going to be the poster-child for respectful submissives. “Oh, please,” I cried as he whacked me. The sting was a solid burn across my backside, fading away to a throbbing afterglow. My ass was already on fire from the spanking and my nipples hurt worse now that they were pressed against the bed.

  “Oh, no more, please,” I cried.

  “A few more,” he said. “To really drive the point home.”

  “But really…please. Liam… Owww!” I squeezed my eyes shut against the spreading pain. “I have really learned my lesson. Absolutely learned it. It’s not worth it to smart off to you.”

  “I’m glad you’ve realized that. You can smart off to me”—Crack!—“just not in this room, when we’re doing a session.”

  “I won’t! Ow!”

  “Because this is about you getting better. It’s serious. It’s a matter we both need to approach with respect.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I cried out as two or three smacks fell in succession. Yes, yes, I’ll respect you forever. Just, please, that really hurts.

  He paused and rubbed my ass, intensifying the burn. I wanted him to grope me again but at the same time I knew this wasn’t sexy time. This was time for Ashleigh to pay the price for real and imagined faults.

  “Five more,” he said. “I want you to count them.”

  The last five just about pushed me past my limit, by design, I’m sure. By the time he finished I was bawling onto the pristine blue bedspread, and both my hands were full of scrunched up, sweaty fabric.

  He put the paddle away and eased onto the bed next to me. “Come here,” he said, his legs tangling with mine. I lay in his arms, a limp, sniffling, ass-aching submissive. He turned me onto my back when I tried to shrink into him.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  I did at once, chastened sub that I was. He took off the nipple clamps and tingling discomfort flooded my breasts. I put my hands over my nipples. “Ow.”

  “Okay,” he said, gathering me against him. “The punishment’s all done.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered into the hollow of his neck. “I’m sorry for being bratty.”

  He reached down and grabbed a handful of my sore ass cheeks. “Don’t be too sorry. I enjoy punishing you. You know that, right?” He eased a gentle fingertip between us to tweak my nipple. “Tender?”

  I was, but I deserved it. I didn’t know why I’d pulled the attitude with him. I guess because I was falling for him and I wasn’t supposed to. My tears had mostly dried up, replaced with a relaxed, wrung-out feeling. I cuddled closer to him, nestling my thigh against his half-erect cock. I loved how careful he was with me. I loved that he didn’t pressure me, that he was waiting so patiently for me to be ready.

  I knew we were supposed to be focused on my sex issues, on fixing me, but more and more, I fantasized about h
im in more than a fixing way. I fantasized about him falling in love with me and swearing off his playboy habits. I fantasized about a life with him, about pleasure like this for the rest of my days. If he knew, he’d probably laugh at me. Liam, who slept with four or five women a week, who shared “sluts” with Rubio and participated in orgies at his BDSM parties.

  I had to stop daydreaming about impossible things, no matter how much I wanted them. I pressed my nipples against his chest, just to hurt them some more. He drew away from me and propped his head on his hand.

  “You know what I think, Ash? I think the BDSM part is the key. I think you’re super kinky. I think you’ll have more success at sex if you stir a little kink into the mix. The bad news is that being kinky narrows your dating pool quite a bit. Especially if you’re looking for relationships and marriage and all that crap.” He stroked my tummy. “What do you think?”

  I think you’re kinky. I think we could get married. “I think… Yes. I think the BDSM part of it really turns me on. I like when you dominate me.” I looked down at his hand, then back at him. “I wish I was a better sub. You know, more experienced, like the other girls you’re used to.”

  “I like that you aren’t like the other girls. I dreaded having to teach you all the lifestyle stuff but it’s been fun playing with you so far.”

  “So, are we still going to try to have sex?”

  He looked over at me in surprise. “Of course we are. That’s what we’re working toward, right? You seem a lot more comfortable with me now, and a lot more at ease in your body.”

  “I am.”

  He thought for a long moment, his fingers trailing over the smattering of hair on his chest. “Why don’t we go away next weekend, after your Sunday performance? Go somewhere peaceful and comfortable and spend a couple days naked together? See what develops?”

  He meant, see if we can have sex. I didn’t feel the least bit afraid, not in this moment, with him warm and strong beside me, looking at me with so much affection in his gaze. “I’d like that.”

  “No pressure,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel like it has to happen while we’re there. This is all to help you, so it’s whatever you feel comfortable with.”

  “What about after?” I asked. “After I’m…better?”

  “You mean, will we keep having sex?” He looked away, just for a second, then back at me. He looked so distant I almost flinched. “I guess that’s up to you. It’s your life, you know? But it’s pointless to talk about it now, when we haven’t accomplished it even one time.”

  “Yes. I guess so.” I swallowed hard, feeling abandoned even though he was lying right next to me.

  “Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked. “Have some breakfast in the morning before you go?”

  I said yes because I could tell he didn’t feel like taking me home, but really, I should have gone back to my bed of branches. That was where I belonged, behind the wooded barrier, sleeping. I wished my prince would kiss me, but after a few more moments, he got up and went to sleep in his own room.

  Chapter Fourteen: Now, Please

  On Wednesday I was called to Mr. Thibault’s office between rehearsal and the evening performance. As soon as I arrived he handed me an embossed envelope with a Cheyenne postmark.

  “This arrived at the City Ballet offices addressed to you.”

  I looked down at the return address. “It’s from my old dance teacher.”

  “How delightful. When you write her back, you can convey the good news—Mr. Rubio has decided to cast you as the female lead in his new ballet.”

  “He just told you that now?”

  Mr. Thibault laughed. “Don’t look so nervous. There are merely contracts to sign. A pay raise, although not as much as I’d like to give you.”

  He gestured to his desk and slid some papers over for me to read and sign. I tried to concentrate on the small print and legal phrases, but my mind was on the letter. I hadn’t spoken to Miss Melanie in years, even though I owed her everything. Life circumstances had separated us by an ocean. I hoped she was okay. As soon as I finished signing all the papers, Mr. Thibault drew me into a conversation about Rubio and the ballet, and my ambitions within the company.

  Ambitions? Me?

  But it was ambitious to dance with Rubio. Now I’d be part of the shark-tank crew, the sharp, scrabbling dancers who were always trying to get ahead, usually by stabbing each other in the back over roles and partnerships.

  “I’m not sure what my plans are for next year,” I told him honestly. “I wasn’t considering trying out for soloist.”

  He gave me the same look Rubio had given me the day I almost turned down the role. Whut? Why you dance then?

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “Things are kind of crazy now.” Yes, because I was apparently going to the country with Liam for the weekend, to a picturesque little cottage he owned a couple hours north of London. I wanted to have sex with him there, but I was afraid it wouldn’t work and he’d lose patience with his Fix-Ashleigh initiative. Lately it seemed like he’d been distancing himself and I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t drop me altogether if I had another meltdown. I accepted that Liam wasn’t my boyfriend, that he wasn’t anybody’s boyfriend, but that didn’t mean I didn’t fall a little more in love every time we were together.

  As soon as I left Mr. Thibault’s office, I went to the dressing rooms and hunched over my carrel, ripping open the envelope with Miss Melanie’s note.

  Dear Ashleigh,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I think of you often, gracing the stages of London with your dancing, and I’m so proud of all your accomplishments. You were a very special student and a diligent artist. I knew you would go far.

  I’m writing to send love but also to ask you to solve a mystery for me. A couple weeks ago I learned from my bank that both my dancing school and my house mortgages had been paid off by an anonymous donor. When I asked for more information I was told the funds came from London, from “a friend of Ashleigh Keaton.” My deepest thanks are due to you for remembering my modest academy, and to your astoundingly generous friend.

  I can’t explain to you the difference this gift has made in my life. The school has struggled the last few years but now we’ll be able to stay open. I’m thinking of changing the name to the Ashleigh Keaton Dance Academy in honor of our most famous graduate. What do you think? Thank you, thank you, dearest Ashleigh. Please let me know the name and address of your friend so I can thank him or her for their kindness. You can write to me or email me at the school.

  In closing… I only recently learned of your father’s illness. From what I understand he is approaching his final days. Please know you will be in my thoughts and prayers. I hope you are well and happy where you’re living.

  Much love,

  Melanie

  I held the letter against my face. Miss Melanie, with her short salt-and-pepper curls, her sharp gaze and her gentle corrections. I never confided the depth of my problems with my father but she’d sensed my desperation and been kind enough to help. Then there was Liam Wilder, who took helping to a whole new level. I didn’t need any more reasons to adore him. I found the school’s email online and wrote to my old teacher, giving her Liam’s full name and address. I also begged her not to name her school after me. I didn’t want any part of me back in Wyoming, not even on the awning of a rural dance academy.

  That night, while I was getting ready for Bayadère, I noticed looks from my fellow dancers, and not many smiles. Of course. The word was out. Me and Rubio were dancing in the spring showcase. If anyone had asked me, I would have talked it down. Just a short piece. I don’t know why he asked me. It doesn’t even have a name. But no one asked me, because no one seemed to want to talk to me. Professional jealousy was a bitch.

  So was romantic jealousy. Why didn’t Liam want me? Who else occupied his time? What was I missing that his other sexual partners had?

  Well, I knew the answer to that question. Mental health.r />
  *** *** ***

  I assured Ashleigh that our weekend in the country wasn’t going to be about pressure.

  I didn’t want it to be about pressure, but from the moment I picked her up at the theater, there was an uneasy tension between us that grew by the hour. We drove north out of London, had dinner at a quiet restaurant, and then continued on to my secluded haven, a small, old, extremely English cottage I’d restored a few years ago from a hollowed-out shell. It looked prettier in spring and summer, with the blooming trees and wildflowers, but Ashleigh said she loved it.

  There wasn’t much to see inside. No TV, no rooms except a small bathroom with a shower. She fluttered around the cottage as if looking for a place to land, but there wasn’t any place except the bed.

  I second-guessed everything as I watched her. Yes, the cottage was rustic and private, but I wondered if I shouldn’t have taken her somewhere with more luxury—and more distractions. This cottage was four walls and a bed, a kitchenette and a few paintings on the walls. It must have seemed that I’d only brought her here to fuck her.

  Well, I had, right? We were here to fuck. I couldn’t draw out this mentoring arrangement much longer, not without becoming hopelessly entangled. I wanted to go back to my former life, where women were just pals and sex was easy and fleeting, and I didn’t have to worry about eviscerating someone’s damaged soul. I wanted to spend my nights scening with random partners who were objects, not people. Objects were so much easier. Girls like Ashleigh were hard.