The Unicorn Read online

  And tonight didn’t have a promising feel to it. She’d tried to clear her mind by clearing her to-do list—curriculum reports proofed and filed, laundry tumbling in the dryer, clean sheets on the bed, teeth brushed—but she’d realized about an hour earlier that the guys who mowed the lawn and trimmed the bushes had never made their weekly visit. And Daniel had apparently forgotten to follow through on his promise to call them. The lingering annoyance lurked in her brain. As Delia left the master bathroom, Daniel strode into the bedroom with his Dom face on, and all she could think about was whether the HOA would be leaving a passive-aggressive note on the door about the landscaping.

  “On your knees, Dee. Hmm. Why are your clothes still on?”

  She paused, not sure whether to kneel or strip, and he sighed in a manner that seemed more pissy than masterful.

  She had to remind herself not to roll her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sir, I stopped to brush my teeth.”

  “Did I tell you to do that?”

  Oh, Daniel. Did you really want me to skip it, since I ate onions on that burger earlier?

  “No. I’m sorry, Sir.”

  But it didn’t ring true, she couldn’t suspend disbelief. Daniel was still Daniel, not Sir, and she was also still worried in the very back of her mind that she might actually have forgotten to put the wet clothes in the dryer that afternoon as she’d planned. Plus the lawn business. Being annoyed about stupid shit made it so much harder to clear her mind and enjoy the evening. And he hadn’t told her to take her clothes off, she was sure of it. She would have remembered.

  She knelt as gracefully as she could, wishing like anything she were already out of her jeans and tank top. It was so much easier when she was naked; it seemed to help both of them work their way into the scene.

  “I know you’d rather be naked, Dee.”

  Then again, sometimes he did display that uncanny ability to read her mind. She smiled as she settled into place to wait.

  “Don’t you want to know why you’re still in your clothes?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Now she was really confused. She’d thought the clothes were an oversight on his part. That he’d asked because he’d expected her to have them off. She also wanted to know why Daniel was still in his clothes.

  “Because we’re going on an adventure.”

  The way he said “adventure” piqued her interest. Outside the house? Daniel hadn’t liked playing at the last club they’d tried, because he didn’t like other men seeing her naked, or even semi-naked. And she wasn’t sure if there were any clubs close by that had private playrooms. The only one in St. Andrews was Onyx, and there were no private rooms there, she knew that for sure. It wasn’t the right night for a munch, and she didn’t know of any classes scheduled . . .

  Daniel disappeared into the closet; she heard him rummaging around, but he offered no explanation. When he came out a minute later, he was still wearing his jeans, but with a close-fitting black T-shirt on in place of the bright-red walkathon freebie he’d been wearing. He was smiling like a kid with a secret, but he still somehow looked Very Serious with his rimmed glasses and closely cropped beard. His jeans were low-slung enough to draw the eye to his trim waist, and just tight enough that a discerning eye could tell he had an extremely nice ass. Sexy intellectual.

  Hipsterlicious, she thought, stifling a giggle.

  He frowned as though he’d read her mind. “Does that shirt have one of those elastic things in it?”

  “A . . . shelf bra?”

  “Dee, work with me here. I don’t need to know what it’s called.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Sir.”

  “Sorry. Sir.” Fuck.

  “Good. Take off your actual bra, then. Are you wearing panties with those jeans?”

  “Um, yeah. A thong.”

  Daniel walked around behind her and bent over, tugging the waistband of her jeans down in back to reveal the thong. It was plain pink cotton, nothing fancy.

  “Okay, never mind, you can keep that. But lose the bra.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  It took her a moment to work the thin straps of her bra around her arms, loosen the back clasp and draw the whole thing free. Once she had, Daniel snatched it up and leaned into the open bathroom door, chucking the bra in the direction of the hamper. She hadn’t been planning to wash it this go-round, but she appreciated his consideration in not throwing it on the floor.

  Then he returned and stood in front of her, staring down her red tank top as though assessing whether he liked what he could see.

  Delia was officially off guard now, with no idea what to expect. And she was thrilled to realize it was kind of making her hot.

  “Now play with your nipples. I want them hard. Like you just stepped out of a walk-in freezer, that kind of hard.”

  She reached up with both hands and tweaked her nipples obediently, knowing he liked to see her do it roughly. He knew she liked it that way. Pinching, twisting . . . they had already been hard, now they were harder and getting sore. If she didn’t get to put her bra back on, rubbing against the shirt would keep them erect all night.

  Delia knew she should be concerned about that. She never went out braless. It was tacky, and she was big enough up top to be a tad saggy—though Daniel insisted that wasn’t the case, that her boobs were perfect and perky. Daniel had blind spots like that.

  “Chin up, Dee. Hold your hair out of the way.”

  He had a leather strap in his hand . . . her collar. The one that usually went on after her clothes came off. It had become an informal signal between them that the scene was really starting. It was a finger-wide strip of soft white leather, with a buckle and a D ring. No spikes or rivets, no “slave” spelled out in diamonds. Tasteful.

  But it was definitely not a street collar.

  Daniel finished fastening it around her neck, then stood up but didn’t step back. Dee could see he was already aroused, so she wasn’t too surprised when he undid his jeans and pushed his boxer briefs down to free his erection. If he was going to be able to concentrate at all on whatever excursion he had planned, he needed to lose this edge first. She didn’t even realize she had licked her lips in anticipation until Daniel chuckled.

  “Eager tonight, my little cock-worshipper?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She attempted to feign chagrin, but suspected she was doing a piss-poor job of it.

  “No, not ‘Sir.’ We’re trying something else tonight. Master. Say it.”

  “Master?” Really?

  “Okay. Now say it and try not to look at me like I’m crazy.”

  She snickered; she couldn’t help it. Then Daniel put his hands on her head and tipped it back, meeting her eyes as she looked up. He wasn’t smiling. Dee swore her heart skipped a beat, the way it had the first time they’d ever kissed. “Say it, Dee.”

  She caught her breath, letting it out slowly, giving herself permission to enjoy taking this side of him seriously. “Master.”

  “Better. Now be a good girl and suck your master off so he doesn’t accidentally cream his jeans ogling your tits in the car later.”

  And just like that, the delightful tension broke. But for a moment . . . for a moment, Delia had forgotten all about the laundry, and the HOA, and the clothes she had on, and everything but the look in Daniel’s eyes and the too-tempting proximity of his very stiff penis.

  That part, of course, she could always handle. She was bending toward him, lifting up on her knees, when Daniel threw her another curveball.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  His hands were still holding her head firmly, thumbs playing suggestively along her lower lip. Delia looked up at him, uncertain, but he just waited for her to comply. When she did—slowly—he teased her mouth open and pushed one thumb inside. She suckled obediently, despite being hungry for something bigger.

  She didn’t have long to wait. He dragged his thumb out and pressed his hips forward, encouraging her to wrap her lips around the wet tip of his cock. She tried to
spread the moisture with her tongue but wasn’t quite quick enough. Her lips caught against his skin, and he frowned and pulled back a bit. Then forward, easier this time, allowing her to swipe a quick lick around him before pushing deeper. And again, farther still, deep enough to be slightly uncomfortable.

  And then he stopped moving and continued to hold her head tight, and Delia felt torn between the urge to escape and the urge to do . . . something. Whatever this was, this new thing Daniel apparently wanted from her. What had he been reading or watching? She found he often expanded his repertoire after doing some research.

  “I like it when you suck me off, Dee.” His voice was calmer than she would have expected. It was a bit surreal, hearing him sound that in control when her mouth was full of his cock. “But I think what I really want is to fuck your mouth. Which is a different skill. So tonight you’re going to practice that.”

  Oh, sweet Jesus. She moaned, nearly choking on him in the process. Bless him, he’s been watching bondage porn. That subscription he doesn’t know that I know about was worth every penny.

  “Fortunately you already don’t have much of a gag reflex. So we’ll try this carefully at first and see how it goes. When I push to the back of your throat, I want you to swallow. Like you’re going to swallow my dick. Got it?”

  “Mmm.”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, Master.’”

  He pushed, she swallowed, and then she panicked for a second as his thick cock pressed her tongue down and cut her air off completely. She caught her breath when he pulled back, and felt helplessly grateful for the encouraging squeeze of his hands against her skull.

  “Good. Longer this time. You want to keep your throat open like that if you can, not try to swallow me each time.”

  Another inexorable motion of his hips, and Delia gulped as he filled her throat again. She found she could breathe out, though not in again. She fought the urge to gag and tried to relax. To accept.

  He moved out and in again, and she realized it was getting easier because her lips were coated with spit.

  Crap. Drooling. Automatically she started to lift a hand to wipe it away before actual slobbering could occur, but a sudden tug on her hair made her stop.

  “No, Dee. Hands stay behind your back. What, is it the spit? Are you worried about looking gross?”

  She nodded as best she could. She wanted to do what Daniel said. But she really, really wanted to wipe the spit off her lower lip.

  “If you move your hands again, you won’t get to wear my collar out tonight.”

  Or maybe he’s been reading bondage porn.

  “It’s not gross, anyway. It’s sexy.” Out and in again, a bit deeper now. She thought she would feel him in her throat for a good long time after he was done. “Like you don’t even care what you look like, all you care about is taking your master’s cock like a good slut. And when your hot little mouth is nice and wet, it’s much easier to fuck. Which I think you’re ready for now.”

  Oh, talk some more dirty talk. And haven’t you already been . . . oh.

  Yes, this was different. He’d been experimenting before. He’d been giving her time to figure it out. Now he wasn’t stopping, he was fucking, filling her mouth with his cock in the uneven, shuddering beats she knew meant he was very close to finishing.

  All she wanted was to reach up, fill her hands with him, feel his muscles working. And yes, maybe control his pace, a subtle press of her hands against his hips to gain a second of breath or a shift in angle. Instead, she dug the nails of one hand into the wrist of the other to keep them behind her back.

  She couldn’t quite get enough air. She was dizzy, she was slobbering. When Daniel shifted his hands, covering her ears, she could hear her blood roaring like the ocean in a storm. Then he came, spurting straight down her throat, which was already open to take whatever he gave.

  And she had never, ever been so turned on in her entire life.

  The car ride was a surreal cross-town odyssey. Delia had asked to change her jeans, and Daniel hadn’t let her. Now, though, he could smell all kinds of sex from across the car. Her arousal, his own smell on her face, mixing into an aromatherapy aphrodisiac. It was distracting enough that he had to force himself to concentrate on the road.

  That was his job, his responsibility. To be the one who ignored the distractions and carried them through to the endgame. To act as if he weren’t affected, as if he were in control and knew the plan.

  He’d spent so long sneaking the occasional dose of sadism into the bedroom, it still felt weird to be doing it deliberately. Plotting it out. Not a semi-accidental nip here, or a “playful” swat there, but full evenings of permission to whip and bite and generally torture. Using implements of destruction. It had been such a miraculous relief when Delia’d told him that far from resenting when he grabbed her hard enough to leave bruises, she actually preferred that and wanted more. Had always been into more. Hadn’t been humoring him for years as he’d feared. For about five seconds he’d been horrified that she finally saw him for what he was. Then he’d realized she sees me for what I am and likes me even better because of that, and after that it had all been amazing.

  But he couldn’t just go hog wild. Delia liked it when he had a plan. He wasn’t great at holding off before the actual sex happened, but he was getting better at that part—and he was great at planning. And he liked it when he got to do all sorts of wicked things to Delia, and she completely lost her shit with lust. So if his holding off and sticking to a plan helped that happen . . .

  “Win-win,” he muttered, slapping the turn signal too hard. His controlled façade was wearing thin, and he felt as if cartoon steam might be coming out his ears.

  “Hmm?” Delia was lust-drunk, and her reaction to his mumbling came slow enough that he’d almost forgotten he’d spoken.

  “Nothing. We’re almost there.”

  His married friends had all suggested that after a few years of togetherness, the new-bride smell would wear off and he’d cease to be this hot to jump his wife’s bones all the time. His friends were obviously idiots. And they were vanilla idiots, so he couldn’t talk to any of them about kink.

  He’d learned as long ago as middle school not to mention his less mainstream leanings when it came to sex, or risk a lot of strange looks at best—at worst, once, a very uncomfortable visit to a school counselor. Now—now that he’d finally uncovered a whole new secret world of strangers who knew how he felt and felt the same way—he had to work even harder to keep the freaky stuff to himself in the settings where it was still forbidden. It was a shame; if he’d had some kinky buddies, he would have probably learned a lot sooner about stuff like tonight’s destination.

  First, though, a stop at the ATM. Paying in cash was essential, because they were out but still in a scene, and that meant no breaking anonymity by using a credit card at their final destination. That way, she could be Dee and he could be Master and there was no chance the clerk would accidentally call him “Mr. Foster” and blow the whole thing. It was a largely symbolic gesture, but he was really trying to get the details right.

  He had gone for broke tonight. He’d had to do something, change things up. She had been starting to lose confidence in him, he could tell. After seeing her hit that spacey, dreamy plateau a few times, he knew when she wasn’t hitting it anymore. And damn, but he liked being the one to make her look like that. Feel like that. As thrilling as it was to finally get to do all this stuff he’d always dreamed about, it was even more exciting to share it with her.

  So he’d done something he rarely did, and thrown caution to the wind. He’d downloaded several books off Delia’s shelf on their Amazon account, and spent precious minutes at lunchtime and after work for the past few weeks sneaking in some reading. He’d even gone on an internet quest of his own to find the kinky porn he’d never quite had the balls to look for before.

  It had turned out the internet was quite a good place to find a lot of kinky porn. There was too much, if any
thing. The difficulty was in finding the quality stuff. Filtering through it all took some time. But he’d been willing to make the sacrifice. For Delia. For them. He had manfully soldiered through until he found a site that seemed to be a nice balance of production values, filthiness, and authenticity.

  It was the authenticity that had sold him. Or that had been sold to him, to be more accurate.

  Now he had a subscription. It was a savings, really, in the long run.

  “Master? Are we going to the club?”

  “Nope. Stop asking, you’ll know when we get there. It’s a surprise.”

  Was he supposed to tease like that? Or punish her for asking? Sometimes he lost track. But he was learning fast.

  He liked being called “Master.” He hadn’t expected to like it quite so much—nearly as much as he liked the sadistic parts, and the parts involving Delia in bondage. Hearing her say it solidified his resolve to make this work. To be the master she wanted. And the master he apparently wanted to be.

  His resolve wasn’t the only thing solidifying. Damn, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this eager to fuck again so soon after coming. He considered pulling off into Dimfield Park, finding a convenient bush for cover and—

  No. He was pretty sure a real master would have the control to wait until he got his sub back home from the adult toy store.

  “Delights! I love this place!”

  Delia smiled and clapped, bouncing in her seat like a kid about to rush into a candy shop. Not that kids were allowed in this particular candy shop.

  “Dee.” He tried to sound stern as he put the car in park and turned it off. Once he’d pocketed the key, he reached for the ring on her collar and looped a finger through it. “Behave yourself.”