Page 165 of Chandelier Sin
We were a dance in the shadowy night, a couple who seemingly hated one another and yet tolerated each other’s foibles.
From the way I struggled and resisted the play, no one would guess I was constantly aroused and in a state of neediness. As with every touch, every caress, every stroke, he knew just how to balance the sensations.
He stepped away.
And ethereal music played loudly, sounding like Grimes, her mythical lyrics enhancing my euphoria.
With skill he utilized an electric probe, and with it he zapped my thighs, belly and breasts, sparing my nipples from the buzz. Taking his time, he read my expressions to gauge what to use and when, now and again leaning in to suckle a breast and nibble on my nipples with delicate teeth. Though he made it appear to be harsher than it was as he pinched them. His kisses were few and far between, but when they touched me, I rejoiced within, stealing these seconds of intimacy.
Our chemistry felt like a living, breathing visceral experience, sending chemicals flooding through my veins.
Or so it felt.
Our dark game was a provocative play on the Dom and sub dynamic.
When Atticus tried to humiliate me by spanking my pussy, a low rumble of whispers found us. I fought against a sense of shame as my feelings altered to grasp pride instead, knowing that I was able to survive yet another of Aemon’s public punishments.
Atticus and I both knew that he couldn’t be witnessed to go easy on me.
Or Aemon might find another way to humiliate me.
I dragged my mind out of his control and stole back my feelings. Rose to the challenge and surrendered to the blinding pleasure, creating an exquisite state, satisfying my needs and desires, and marking this as my first session with the one and only Atticus Sinclair.
I felt a tickle on my thighs, as evidence of my arousal snaked down my legs, and when I glanced down, I saw just how turned on I was.
I no longer cared that we were being watched. All I wanted was to find another release.
Let them wish they were me—at the hands of a master.
The small audience observing us from the sidelines would never know true ecstasy at the hands of Sinclair.
He finally lifted me up and helped me wrap my thighs around his waist. Then he positioned himself so I could move to have him penetrate me comfortably, tilting my hips just so when he impaled his cock deep inside of me.
With a discreet nod, I told him I was ready.
With that, he pummeled me.
I remembered to move my hips with each of his strikes, our pelvises smacking together until the noise of our fucking rose over the sound of the music. The slapping of our flesh went on and onand on, proving his stamina as though this alone was the punishment I deserved.
Thighs shaking, I came hard, my orgasm snatching my breath away as I was held in a suspended position that heightened every sensation, his pelvis also striking my clit each time, bringing a delicious pang that intensified with the force of his thrusts.
In that moment, I became his, our profound act of publicly fucking marking this as the first time I’d ever told him how much I was falling for him.
Not with words, not with any way that could be construed as affection before these people who might demand an end to our passion, but by allowing Atticus to continue to lead the way, moving me this way and that, his attention to detail a thing of beauty.
I put my trust fully in him.
I let him fuck me like I might have lost him an hour ago to this place and its insane and sick rule that might have taken him away from me.
We continued the session for over an hour, with me performing as though I were his unwilling victim—bent over, twisted and turned, as a virile young man with a fierce agenda to prove himself at Pendulum performed for all to see, showing why he’d garnered a profound reputation for his athletic endurance.
His famed sexual prowess had made the man a legend in our circles. His domination and his sensual talents in a continuous display could turn sex into an art form.
Faking it or not, by the end of the session I was worn down and worn out, boneless in his arms and seemingly used up.
He eventually freed me from the St. Andrew’s Cross.
Dragging a chair across the room, he secured my wrists to the light fixture above, and then he sat, bringing me backwards so that I hovered above his lap.
