Tryst #3
Author: Ella Steele

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

5:42am

Apprehension twists my stomach in knots. I barely sleep. Every two seconds another thought, another sensation, courses through me and I know that I don’t want to lose Michael again, but I don’t know how to keep him either. This new relationship we have feels temporary. I wonder how much more he wants. And the look in his eyes when he pulled away last night—it was enough to make p**sy damp. He wants to f**k my ass. His voice sings in my ears even though he’s been gone for hours. I push the covers away and decide to get up. There’s no way I can sleep anyway.

I pad to the kitchen and turn on the coffee maker. As it gets hot, I sit on the couch because the kitchen chair is too hard. I smile to myself thinking about his hands on my skin, the way his slaps sting perfectly. I can’t believe I like that, but I do. It brings the blood to the surface of my skin and everything feels, well, it just feels more. I can’t explain it. But getting f**ked in the ass, that makes me cringe. I’ve never done it before and there is no way it’s not going to hurt. And I seriously doubt it’s a kind of good hurt. I groan and throw my head back against the sofa. Why did I say that? Why did I tell him whatever he wanted? I can’t let him do that. It doesn’t even sound appealing. It just sounds incredibly dirty.

The day passes too quickly. By the time I’m unpacking my cello at the theatre I’m a ball of nerves. Everything makes me jump. Every person who brushes against me, every hushed voice whispering in the wings makes me jitterier. My heart flutters as I look around the room for Michael, but he isn’t here. I straighten my blouse, and smooth my skirt with my palms before removing my cello from the case. The nipple chains hang freely beneath my shirt, and I wore the third chain tonight—the one that attaches to my clit. I feel like a poser. I’m not the dangerous naughty girl who got these piercings. I’m not her. I’m nervous, and timid and shy. Why the hell did I say yes?

Tension laces my shoulders as I make my way to my seat. Taking my cello by the neck, I turn it toward me and start to tune. I pluck each string, checking the tone and then spin it back around to make the final adjustments. As I lean forward to reach the fine tuners at the bottom of the instrument, my nipple chain peeks out of my shirt. It collides with my cello and makes a strange sound as it drags against the wood. I glance down, horrified, and see the silver chain pushed through the slit in my blouse.

A masculine voice whispers in my ear, “Let me get that for you.” I freeze as Michael leans in close, his fingers pushing the silver chain back into my shirt. I sit ram rod straight in my chair. My heart is pounding, ready to explode. Surly, everyone saw what he did, but as I glance around, no one seemed to notice. He grins and lowers himself into the empty chair in front of me. “I’m looking forward to tonight, Ash.”

My smile is timid, my voice hollow, “About that…”

“Don’t tell me that you’re nervous? The sex goddess of the upper west side is nervous?” his voice is playful and I can’t help but smile. My lashes lower and I look at the cello, the reddish gleam of the shiny wood. He places his hand on mine, and my gaze drifts up—meeting his. His voice is a breath, “I’ll make sure you want it. Before we’re done tonight, you’re going to beg me to take your ass. I promise.”

My face flames and he grins. “It’s so easy to make you blush. How the hell did you get into all this stuff anyway?”

My lips part, but I don’t know what to say. I’m not really into any of it, or hadn’t been, until I saw Michael again. The piercings were as far as I got and then no one caught my interest. I didn’t want to be a sub for just anyone. I wanted Michael. I guess I never got over him. “By accident,” I finally manage. Which was partly true. I went into the piercing place to get my eyebrow done and walked out with something very different.

The way he looks at me makes me squirm. It’s like he’s replaying last night in his mind and I can see it in his eyes. He pats my hand and stands, “You’ll beg me for it.” His eyebrows waggle at me, “Wait and see.” He walks across the pit to his seat opposite me, and looks back over his shoulder once. Those blue eyes kill me. They pin me in place and rip any rational thought out of my brain.

The evening’s performance feels like it flies by. My stomach feels like it’s in a free fall the entire time. Whenever I look up, Michael is gazing at me with a dark expression that makes it worse. What did I do? My fingers press down on the strings as I play, trying to lose myself in the music—but I can’t. Was he right? Would I like it? Would it feel good to have his dick in my ass? I didn’t see myself every begging for something like that. Our eyes meet as I glance up, meaning to look at the conductor. He gives me a look that makes my entire body flare to life. I can’t breathe. Fuck!

As I play, my mind forms a plan. I’ll tell him that we can do anything else, that I was too brazen last night. The thought of alcohol passes through my brain, but I don’t want to be drunk. I want to want it. I want to feel him and remember it. This is our last night together. After we play the last note, the same thing happens. I cross the stage and open my case. I loosen my bow and stow it. Michael comes up behind me.

He leans against the wall and grins at me, “Ready, Ash?” His dark brows twitch once as his gaze slides to my br**sts. I nod as I latch my case closed. “Did you wear all three chains tonight?”

I look at him wide-eyed and hiss, “Yes. Damn, you’re so loud.”

“Hmmm,” he slides his arm around my back and pulls me to him. His hand pushes a stray hair away from my eyes, “We’ll see who’s louder after tonight.” Even though I try to control it, I blush. I know what he means, what he wants to do to me, what I offered.

He lifts my case and we decide to go back to my place. Michael carries my cello the entire way home. I feel shy, worried. I glance up at him out of the corner of my eye as we enter my apartment. “I don’t know if I can do it,” I say.

He puts the cello down and lays his violin next to it. After closing the door, he turns to me, “I promised that I wouldn’t hurt you, and I mean it, Ash. I want this. You want this—” I start to cut him off with a protest, but he puts his finger over my lips and leans close to my face. He tilts his head, studying me, and says, “On some level, you want it, Ash. I know you do. You wanted to completely give yourself to me, and this fulfills that need. You want me and I want you.” His hands tangle in my hair. He kisses my mouth softly and pulls away. “We’re doing this Ashley. Me and you. Now.” He leans in, his lips a breath away from mine, “and you’re going to beg me for it.”

Longing erupts within me. I wish I did want it. I wish I had the slightest desire for him to shove his dick up my ass, but I don’t. I want him in my mouth and in my p**sy. I want to feel him ride me and spank me.

I don’t say anything for a moment.

He releases me and looks around the apartment. We are in the living room area that flows into the kitchen. It’s not a very big space. I wonder how he’ll start. My hands shake as butterflies tear through my stomach. I fold my arms over my chest, but Michael takes my hands and gently parts them.

He steps toward me and his fingers take hold of the bow that holds my shirt together. He pulls the string and the blouse falls open. I watch him as he does it, my pulse ratcheting up a few notches. “Same rules as last time?” he asks, and leans in to kiss my neck. The moment the kiss connects, my brain melts. The hesitation of what he wants doesn’t leave, but it doesn’t dominate me any longer. I want him to dominate me, not my emotions.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He nips my neck and trails a path of kisses across my back as he slides the shirt off my shoulders. “I’ll come in your ass, and you aren’t going to make a sound.” His hands lace around me as he says it, and he tugs gently on the silver chains attached to my n**ples. I moan on purpose. When I look over my shoulder at him, I push my hip out, offering him my ass to slap.

Instead of spanking me, he turns me toward him. “Punishments are supposed to hurt, Ash. And that was definitely defiant. I’m going to punish you differently this time. Come here.” I step toward him. Michael lowers his gaze to my br**sts. He reaches out and takes hold of my n**ples and squeezes. It doesn’t seem like a punishment at first. He pulls me across the room to the table. “Sit,” he says, releasing me.