Chapter 69: Steamy Confessions
The steam rose in languid coils, blurring the edges of the garden. Rupert felt Margot’s fingers, clever and searching, tracing the rim of his hipbone just below the water’s agitated surface. They were quiet for a moment, the only sound the churn of the jets and the distant call of an owl.
“Tell me about the sleep sack,” she said, her voice a low murmur against the hollow of his throat. Her breath was warm. “With Julia. Every bit.”
He swallowed. The memory was sharp, a blend of confinement and unexpected safety. “It was black. Soft, like a thick fleece. She zipped me in up to my chin. I couldn’t move my arms or legs. Just… a cocoon.”
“And?” Her fingers drifted lower, skating over his belly.
“And she left me. On the floor. In the dark. For a long time.” The helplessness of it came back to him, the total surrender. “I could hear her moving around, the clink of her tools. My heart was so loud. I thought I’d panic. But then… I just… sank into it. It was peaceful. Like being unborn.”
Margot hummed, her lips brushing his shoulder. “Good. And when she unzipped it?”
“The light hurt. And I was so exposed. All of me, at once. She just looked. She said… ‘Presentable.’” He gave a shaky laugh. “It made me feel like an object. A wrapped gift she’d just opened.”
“You were.” Her hand slipped between them, beneath the bubbling water. Her fingertips trailed through the crease of his thigh, achingly close to the tender, used place they both were thinking of. He tensed. She stilled. “The dungeon next. The bench. The straps. Tell me the worst part.”
He closed his eyes, the ghost sensation of leather against his wrists flooding back. “The worst part was how much I wanted to please her. Julia. I was tied down, completely vulnerable, and all I could think was ‘am I doing this right?’ It was so… procedural. And the more clinical she was, the harder I got. That was horrifying. And incredible.”
Her fingers finally made contact, not intruding, just a soft, circling pressure over the pucker of muscle that still throbbed with a memory of fullness. He gasped, his hips twitching involuntarily.
“My turn,” she whispered, her mouth at his ear. “My bull. He made me come four times.” She said it like she was listing ingredients for a cake. “Twice with his mouth. Once with his fingers while he fucked my tits. And once, the last time, when he was taking me from behind.” Her circling fingers pressed a fraction harder. “He creamed my hole, Rupert. Twice. Filled me right up. I could feel it dripping out of me all the way home in the car.”
A violent, confusing bolt of lust and jealousy shot through him. His cock, hardening against her thigh, seemed to have no interest in the nuance of his conflicted mind. The image was obscenely vivid: Margot, on her hands and knees, being claimed in the most primal way by a stranger. The ownership of it. The mess.
“Stop,” he breathed, but his hand came up to clutch her hip, pulling her tighter against him.
“No,” she said, her voice firm but kind. She nipped his earlobe. “You don’t get to hide from it now. It happened. I loved it. And then I came home and shared it with you. All of it.” Her finger pressed, just a teasing breach of the outer ring, and he cried out, arching in the water. “This is ours now, too.”
He was panting, the steam suddenly suffocating. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s true,” she said simply. “And because I saw your face when I walked into that barn. You were horrified. You were aroused. You were alive. I haven’t seen that look in years.” She withdrew her hand, placing both palms on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes were fierce in the lantern light. “And because we’re not done.”