Chapter 5: The Last Night Alone
The house had gone quiet by the time Zack's key turned in the lock. Wednesday evening, the last night before everything changed. The air inside was warm, thick with the scent of beeswax and something else, something sharper. He followed it down the hall, past the dark kitchen, to the bedroom door left ajar.
Candlelight spilled through the gap, painting the wall in amber. He pushed the door open and stopped.
Christine lay naked in the center of their bed, the sheets kicked to the floor. Her knees were bent, spread wide, and her fingers moved in the slick glisten of her cunt, two of them buried to the knuckle. Her head was thrown back, the long silver-streaked red hair fanned across the pillow, and from her lips, low and ragged, came a name that was not his.
"Joaquin..."
Her hips rocked against her own hand, small desperate circles. She hadn't heard him. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, working the syllables of a stranger's name like a prayer.
Zack watched for a long moment, the sight of her like this, so lost, so hungry, sent a hot pulse through his cock. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Her fingers stopped.
"Zack?"
"Don't stop on my account." He crossed to the bed, his voice low. "But you and I both know you promised to wait."
Her face flushed. She pulled her hand free, wet and glistening, and let it fall to her stomach. "I couldn't help myself. I keep thinking about tomorrow. About him."
Zack sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand up her calf. "I know. But you agreed to wait. And you broke that promise."
She looked up at him, her pupils huge in the candlelight. "Punish me."
His mouth curved. "That's the idea."
He reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the coils of soft rope he kept there, dark red velvet cord, and a strip of black silk. Christine's breath quickened as she watched him work them in his hands.
"Hands above your head," he said.
She obeyed, lifting her arms, and he bound her wrists to the headboard with a practiced knot, snug but not biting. He folded the silk and tied it over her eyes, cinching it just tight enough to kill the light.
Now she was all sensation. The cool air on her skin, the whisper of his weight shifting on the mattress, the sound of him moving to the foot of the bed. She heard a drawer open. Then something small and metallic clicked between his fingers.
"The clamps," she breathed.
"You'll wear them all night if I decide it."
She felt his hand on her breast, warm, familiar. He cupped it, thumbing the nipple until it stiffened into a tight peak, already aching with sensitivity. Then the cold bite of the clamp closed over the crest, and Christine gasped. He did the same to the other, and a low moan escaped her as a thin chain was laid across her chest, clicking against the bed frame with a soft sound.
"There." His hand settled on her thigh. "You'll stay like this until I'm done with you."
He began to work. His mouth moved over her body in a slow, brutal crawl, starting at her throat and working down. He kissed the hollow where her collarbone met her shoulder, the underside of one breast, making her gasp when his tongue slid close to the clamp without touching it. He paid attention to every inch, the soft plane of her stomach, the jut of her hip, the sensitive inner curve of her thighs.
When he reached her feet, he took her left foot and pressed his lips to the arch, running his tongue along the sole. Christine squirmed, tugging at the ropes. She knew this pattern of old. He was cataloging her, tasting every part, building anticipation long before he ever went near the place she ached for him.
"Zack," she whimpered. "Please."
"Not yet."
His mouth resumed its journey, up the inside of her right leg. He bit soft marks into her thigh, high enough to bruise, and she thrashed. The clamps pulled at her nipples with every motion, a sharp bright sting that fed straight down into her cunt.
"Please," she said again. "Touch me. Fuck me. Anything."
"You already came today," he said, his breath warm on her skin. "You don't get more until I decide."
"I'll come anyway. You know I will."
"You'd better not."
He moved between her spread knees and settled low, not quite touching. She felt his breath ghost over her wet folds and arched desperately, trying to meet his mouth, but he pulled back.
"Not yet."
He dragged his lips down her inner thigh again, lower, lower, until his tongue traced the crease where leg met hip. Christine bucked, a sob catching in her throat. Her cunt was soaked, dripping down onto the sheets, and he hadn't even touched her.
He did this for an hour. His mouth, his hands, his teeth worked over her thighs, her breasts, the sensitive underside of her arms. He would circle her clit with his tongue until she trembled at the edge, then pull away to kiss her knee. He pressed two fingers into her cunt and curled them, stroking that sweet spot inside her until she saw white, then slid them out to suck them clean. Again and again he brought her to the lip of a climax, and again and again he stepped her back from the edge.
By the time he finally moved, Christine was an incoherent wreck of sobs and pleas and his name tangled with Joaquin's. The ropes burned her wrists. The clamps ached like hot little fires. Her cunt throbbed with an emptiness that was almost unbearable.
"Please," she begged. "Please, I need it. I need you inside me. I'll do anything."
"I know you will." His voice was low, right at her ear. He shifted behind her, and she felt the blunt head of his cock press against her entrance, slick and hot. "You've been so good, though. I think you've earned it."
He pushed in. Slow, thick, every inch an agony. Christine sobbed as he filled her, his cock spreading her open, and when he was seated to the root he paused, letting her feel the weight of him.
"This is how it'll be tomorrow," he murmured, pulling back and sliding in again, just as slowly. "Except it won't be my cock in you. It'll be his. Joaquin's."
She moaned, a long animal sound.
"You'll be on your hands and knees," he said, his rhythm steady, deep. "He'll be behind you, fucking this greedy cunt of yours. And I'll be in your mouth, and you'll take us both like the filthy whore you are."
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, yes."
"And when you come, and you will, you'll scream his name while he's buried inside you."
The word came out of her like a confession. "Joaquin."
Her body broke. She came with a raw shriek, her cunt clenching around his cock in a wave that went on and on, her whole body shuddering against the ropes. The clamps tugged at her nipples, the pain sharp and sweet, and she was lost, drowning, screaming his name over and over as she shattered around him.
Zack held her through it, buried to the hilt, until finally her screaming dissolved into broken gasps. Then he started to move again, slow and deep, and she knew the night was far from over.