Claimed Harder by Em Brown
Chapter 7
DARREN
Past
Fuck. I did not expect this.
Unless I’m with a woman who I know plays in kink, I usually gauge a woman’s interest with something tamer, like spanking, rough sex, or tying her up and tormenting her nipples with pinching and biting.
But I spilled everything once Bridget walked over to the other side of The Lotus. I didn’t have to, but for some reason, I felt okay doing so with Bridget. Maybe it’s because she didn’t look completely horrified by what she saw. She even seemed a little intrigued.
I can see the wheels turning in her head. Deciding not to overwhelm her with too much at her first encounter with BDSM, I suggest we head back to JD and Amy, who might be wondering where her friend had gone off to, though I suspect she might be too far gone in her mojito and JD to give much thought to Bridget.
Back at my spot on the regular side of the club, I see that I’m right. JD and Amy are making out on the sofa like teenagers in the back of a movie theater. I was about to tell her we should head up to my residence, but she might have second thoughts now that she knows I’m into BDSM.
“You hungry?” I ask her. “I can have food brought up to my place. Come on.”
She glances over at JD and Amy, then follows me. We turn and head down the stairs, bumpy into Manny on the way.
“JD up there?” Manny asks. “Was hoping I could talk to him.”
“He’s with someone,” I answer.
“I’ll be quick.”
“You should wait. Or call him. That’ll be best.”
Taking Bridget by the elbow, I continue on our way. Finding a server, I tell him to have the chef send up a few dishes.
“Your chef must have a long day between making breakfast and serving food late at night,” Bridget remarks.
“I have a different chef for breakfast and lunch.”
“Oh, that makes sense.”
We step into the elevator. She’s quiet in thought. Probably still processing what she saw.
I yank her to me as the doors close, cup the side of her face, and smother her mouth with mine. Energy surges between us. I devour her mouth. She doesn’t pull away. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure she wouldn’t. The kiss is a test, and I’m encouraged that the BDSM hasn’t scared her off. Yet.
Watching Bridget taking in what went on in the other side of the club has strengthened my ardor. Soon, I’m working her mouth so hard, she couldn’t tear herself away if she wanted to. She gets a reprieve when the elevator doors open. But not for long. I hoist her over my shoulder.
“I can walk on my own two feet,” she says after I’ve stepped out of the elevator.
I walk up to the facial recognition device that unlocks my door. It’s an unnecessary precaution, but Marshall insisted if I didn’t want to have someone posted outside my door.
“I don’t need that much protection,” I had explained to Marshall.
The son of a US Army lieutenant who married an ethnic Chinese woman when he was stationed at Camp Humphreys in South Korea, Marshall looks more like his tall, dark father than his paler, more diminutive mother. At 6’4” and 245 pounds, he’s actually larger than his father.
“I’m not involved in any of the major triad businesses,” I had added.
“Your father was. And he had himself a few enemies,” Marshall had responded. “And your mother called me.”
I had stopped there. I’m sure Marshall didn’t want to be harassed any more than I did by my worry-prone mother.
Once inside my residence, I head straight for the bedroom and dump her on the bed, which has been turned down. My mouth is back on hers. How does she taste so good? And feel so good. The smallest motions of her body beneath mine send my desire skyrocketing. She wraps her arms about me, one hand running through my hair. As I plunge my tongue into her mouth, my hips press into her, seeking relief for my hard-on.
In the back of my head, I realize, not counting the foot massage, that this is the third time I’m having sex with Bridget. I don’t do it with anyone more than twice if it’s just for fun. Maybe I should make the rule three times instead of two. Because there’s no way I’m backing off with Bridget now. I’m dying to know if she would be willing to go beyond vanilla. We did some breath play back at her place, but it wasn’t something she had acquiesced to upfront. She had come good, though.
Finding her hands a little distracting, I pull her top up and over her head, but not her arms. The tight top traps her limbs nicely. I look over her black lace bra. Not bad, though it still looks more Fruit of the Loom than Victoria’s Secret. Pushing up the bra, I grope a breast. She tries to wriggle out of her top, stopping when I pinch a nipple.
“Um, are we—is this part of BDSM?” she asks.
“You’ll know without question when we’re in BDSM territory,” I tell her as I go back to kneading a breast. “For one, you’d have a safe word.”
She seems to breathe a sigh of relief. “So we’d only go there if I consented?”
“Yes.”
And you’ll consent. Hell, you won’t just consent to it. You’ll beg for it.
I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and lightly tug on it before applying my mouth. She gasps and writhes with every lick, suck and nibble. After coming off the bud, I give the side of the breast a light slap. Looking into her eyes, I don’t see much of a reaction. No alarm. I go to work on her other nipple as lustfully as I did her mouth while groping the other breast. I pull the bra over her head and behind her, further locking her upper arms to her body, then give her a reprieve when I lightly kiss my way down to her jeans. I cup her crotch and rub her through the denim. Her wetness has seeped through to her pants.
Ignoring the tension in my own groin, I slowly unbutton and unzip her jeans before inching them down past her hips. I leave them wrapped about her thighs and breathe in the scent of her arousal. My blood pumps faster, but I stifle the urge to maul her. Instead, I sit down beside her and tuck my hand into her panties. She moans when my fingers connect with her clit.
“So what did you think about the rest of my club?” I ask as I leisurely caress her flesh.
“You mean…um…the…um…BDSM?” she asks, clearly distracted by my fondling.
“You know what it stands for?”
She furrows her brow. “B-Bondage…Domination…Sadism and Masochism?”
“The ‘D’ can also stand for Discipline and the ‘S’ for Submission. The acronym covers a lot.” Her lashes flutter as I find a poignant spot on her clit. “You didn’t seem scared.”
“I didn’t?”
“Maybe a little.”
Leaning over, I capture a nipple between my teeth. I torment the hardened nub while my fingers rub her more aggressively. With her arms trapped slightly behind her sides by her top and bra and her legs trapped by her jeans, she squirms like a worm on a hook.
“There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll take it slow,” I tell her.
“What?” she asks breathlessly.
I curl two fingers into her snatch. Her eyes widen as she groans. Pulling out my digits, I spread her juices over her clit. She whimpers. I continue to jerk her off. Her panties are a puddle of wetness.
“Ask to come,” I say.
“Wh-what?”
“Do you want to come?”
The look on her face tells me how lame she regards my question, but she doesn’t realize I’m starting her training.
“You want to come?” I ask again, slowing my caresses so she focuses better.
“Yeah.”
“Then ask to come.”
She looks slightly bewildered. “Like, ‘can I come?’”
“Just like that.”
My fingers slow to a stop.
Her brow furrows, but she asks, “Can I come?”
I resume the ministrations. “Yes, you can come. Come good, Bridge.”
A minute later she comes undone, her eyes closed, her body quivering. I smile to myself. She passed the first test with flying colors.
