For the readers . . .
C.S. LEWIS ONCE SAID, “LIFE is too deep for words, so don’t try to describe it, just live it.”
“ELLIE! BREAKFAST!” KAYNE’S VOICE BOOMS through the house. “You can come down now, kitten!”
I stretch atop the cluster of pillows laid out for me on the floor. Kayne and I have been playing, and I’ve been bad—again. I smile to myself as my muscles elongate. I like being bad.
“Ellie!” he calls again.
All right, I’m coming. Hopefully, several times this morning. I pull myself up onto my hands and knees and stretch once more, like the lazy, spoiled kitten I am. The bushy white tail inserted in my behind shifts, sending a frizzle of pleasure up my spine. I take a quick glance around the brightly lit room; the sunlight is pouring through every window, highlighting the abundance of metal as I crawl past it. Similar to my living quarters in Mansion, Kayne and I have converted the sitting room off our bedroom into our own personal play space. Three hundred square feet decorated with crops and whips on the wall, a bondage horse, a swing suspended from the ceiling, a leather chest full of sex toys, and one table of torture. Oh, and my bed made up of fluffy white pillows on the floor. He loves watching me sit there, sleep there, beg there. I won’t lie; I love it, too.
I crawl out of the bedroom and down the stairs of our magnificent home, migrating toward the kitchen. Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s ours. I never imagined I’d live somewhere so beautiful, spacious, and warm. Truth be told, I never imagined I’d be involved in a BDSM marriage where I crawled around on the floor half the time either. But hey, c’est la vie, right?
The tag on my collar jingles as I reach the first floor and make my way to where Kayne is standing by the stove. I may be the one on my hands and knees, but he’s the one doing the cooking. Don’t be fooled, I’m not the only one who’s trained. I kneel right beside him.
“’Bout time, kitten.” He pets my head and continues to cook. It smells like pancakes, but I can’t be sure. It might be waffles. I can’t exactly see from my vantage point on the floor.
“Did you think about what a bad little kitten you are?” he asks without looking at me.
“Maybe,” I answer.
“Maybe?” He glances down with a raised eyebrow.
“I thought about how maybe I like being bad,” I inform him.
“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.” He chuckles, shirtless and completely drool worthy. Cut abs, defined chest, and chiseled arms. A barbed wire tattoo circling one flexing bicep, writing scribbled across his rib cage, and my personal favorite, a colorful compass with my name on it over his heart. If I were wearing panties, they’d be drenched.
“Go outside. I’ll be there in a minute,” he orders, grabbing a plate from the cabinet.
I sit for a second, not obeying immediately as he expects. I’m going to get in so much trouble.
“Is there a problem, kitten?” Kayne asks with a hint of menace. I may not call him Master but, for all intents and purposes, he is. And ‘Master’ does not like it when I’m disobedient. I, however, love to push his buttons.
“No, Kayne,” I drawl, still kneeling beside him.
“Then get.” His blue eyes flash and my stomach muscles clench.
“Yes, Kayne.” I place my hands on the cool tile floor and begin to crawl out of the kitchen and into the living room where the doors to the lanai are wide open. There’s a breeze coming off the ocean and the sky is a deep cobalt blue. I have never once regretted moving to paradise. Even after . . . well, I don’t want to ruin the mood by thinking about that.
I kneel on the pillow next to the table. Most mornings, I sit in a chair like a civilized human being, but today, we’re playing. And it’s so much fun when we play. I, however, always wear neck jewelry, whether it’s my inconspicuous slave collar or my real one. This morning, I woke up with Kayne’s head between my legs and the thick white leather one around my throat. He had that look in his eyes—the starving beast wanted to feed.
I notice the table already has cut fruit, orange juice, and one place setting right before Kayne appears with a plate of pancakes and a bottle of syrup. I can almost guarantee this is going to get messy. He loves to get me dirty and then clean me up—with his tongue. I shiver internally at just the thought.
Kayne places the plate and syrup down then sits in the chair directly in front of me. He’s angled it so he can access both the table and me.
“Closer.” He yanks on my collar wedging me between his legs. “Much better.” He slides his hand down my chest and massages one of my breasts. I close my eyes and inhale as sensations start to brew from the rough way he kneads and pulls on my nipple. We haven’t had sex in over a week, and I am seriously frustrated. I’m fairly certain he’s been planning this little escapade.
My frustration is a large part of the reason I got into trouble. I touched when I wasn’t supposed to. (More like put my mouth where I wasn’t supposed to.)
“Are you going to behave while I feed you?” he asks as he pulls away and begins to put food on his plate. Some fresh mango, a pancake, and a drizzle of syrup.
“I can’t make any promises,” I purr.
He pauses as he cuts the pancake. “You know the more you misbehave the more severe the punishment?”
“I know.” This isn’t my first rodeo.
“But you’re willing to push me anyway?” He picks up a small triangle from his plate and feeds it to me.
I nod as I chew, my heated gaze mirroring his.
“You made me come when you weren’t supposed to.” He feeds me another piece of pancake. I take it from his hand, sucking the syrup off his fingers as seductively as I can.
“I know.” I watch as he picks up a piece of mango and places it in front of me. I open my mouth, but he pulls it back. Shaking his head, he rings the orange-colored fruit around my lips like he’s applying lip gloss.
“Lick,” he orders me. I run my tongue over the sweet juice coating my lips. “I wanted to take this slow. I wanted to savor you in the fresh air. Build you up and break you down until you were begging . . .”
“I’ll still beg,” I hastily interrupt him.
“You just love being naughty.” He grabs my chin. “I never gave you permission to speak.”
I smile wickedly. “I don’t need your permission to speak.”
“Oh, no? What do you need permission for?”
“To come.”
“And is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Naughty kittens don’t get to come.” His voice vibrates with authority.
“Yes, they do,” I argue with him.
“Not by my hand.”
“I have my own hands.”
“You’re not supposed to touch yourself unless I say so.”
“You said it yourself . . . I’m naughty.”
“Yes, you are.” He leans in and kisses me, a ravishing assault that warns me about what’s to come. By the time Kayne pulls away, my lips are throbbing and so is my clit. I need him to touch me, sate me, but I know that’s not in the plans for a very long while.
Breathing heavily, he hauls me off the floor and lays me out on the tabletop.
“Open,” he orders, lifting my legs so my ass is hanging just off the edge of the table. My thighs are wide, and I’m on display. I know I’m glistening in the sunlight; I’ve never been good at controlling my arousal, especially when my husband’s tongue is mere inches away from me.
“Kayne,” I whimper, wanting to clench my thighs as my pussy tingles.
“Yes?” He hovers over my slit as close as humanly possible but never touches it. The only thing I can feel is the warm caress of his breath mingled with the morning breeze.
“You want my tongue on you?” he asks, a hair away from my wide-open folds.
“Yes,” I rasp.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please.” I twitch.
“I don’t think that’s the right answer.”
“Yes, Kayne,” I correct myself. My excitement is getting the better of me as he strokes my tail, teasing me with the plug lodged deeply in my ass.
Kayne drapes my legs over his shoulders then reaches for the syrup. I knew this was going to get messy.
“You had your breakfast. Now, it’s time for mine.” He squeezes the bottle and coats my pussy with the sticky substance. It’s lukewarm and tickles as it drips down my heated pink flesh. “Come and I’ll spank you.”
“Promise?” I ask just as he puts his mouth on me and begins to lick. My muscles immediately spasm.
“Oh, shit!” I cry out as he laps up every last drop of syrup while simultaneously fucking me with the plug. My tiny little rosebud expands and contracts as Kayne mercilessly eats me alive. I know I shouldn’t come, but his threat is just too enticing.
I want it rough.
I want him to punish me.
I want him to fuck me so hard that we’re both launched far, far away.
“Kayne!” I scream as I let go, pulling his hair as my orgasm cripples me. He licks harder and pumps the plug faster until he squeezes out every possible drop of my arousal. Oh god, I needed that. Desperately. He then lifts his head and looks up at me over my heaving chest, his eyes a sharp, piercing blue in the sunlight, the brown patch bold and dominant. Just like my ‘Master.’