Left of the Slash, page 16
I nod—not to Olivia but to myself, remembering the rules of our kinky little game as I stand up straight and walk over to an open chest on the floor that’s full of vibrators. There are so many different kinds that it’s almost hard to choose one, but I know a wand is popular for always getting the job done, so I grab a black one and walk back over to the X, where my submissive awaits.
Olivia’s eyes find mine once again, but I don't linger on her face. Instead, I focus on her clit. She has endured plenty of pain, satisfying the masochist in her, but now I want to focus on her pleasure. I leave the nipple clamps in place just to keep the intensity turned all the way up, then I flip the switch on the wand and smile at the roar of the motor. This is definitely not the kind of toy that is good for sneaking. This toy is made for getting results, and when I place it against her clit, I know I've made the right choice.
“Oh fuck,” Olivia exclaims, shedding her quiet voice for one that could combat a megaphone. The few times the flogger hit her clit has made it sensitive, and her body writhes against the restraints of the cross. “Oh my god. Sir … it’s really intense.”
“Good,” I say, pressing it against her harder. Then I kneel and push two fingers inside her pussy while leaving the wand in place.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she bellows, throwing her head back. “Quinn … it’s too good. That’s so fucking good. Fuck me, I think I'm about to—”
I snatch my fingers out and pull the vibrator away, smirking as Olivia lets out a dissatisfied groan. She looks down on me with pleading eyes that ask why I would do such a thing, but I'm already prepared to give her my answer without her having to say the words aloud.
“I don't want your cum on my fingers,” I say as I stand up and rub her wetness over my hard shaft. It smears like baby oil, coating my flesh. “I want it all over my cock.”
“Oh,” she says with a devilish grin. “Yes, Sir.”
I step forward and slowly slide my cock into Olivia’s soaking wet pussy, and both of us send moans of pleasure up to the ceiling like prayers to heaven. After a few pleasure-filled strokes, I place the wand back on her clit and keep it there as I fuck her. I start slowly, but as her moans grow in volume, I can't hold back. I start fucking her pussy fast and hard, relentless strokes working her from the inside while the wand performs magic on the outside. I have to bend my knees to hit the perfect angle, but I make it happen. In almost no time at all, Olivia squeezes her eyes shut and drops her head as tension grips all of the muscles in her body.
“Yeah, that's it,” I say, still pounding her and preparing for what I know is coming. “Cover my fucking cock in your cum.”
She bursts like a broken water main, squirting all over me as her body spasms, sending me reeling. I'm absolutely shocked at her wet explosion, and I can't help it when my body defies me and I succumb to my own orgasm that sends stars streaking across my vision like the night sky. Both of us shake and quiver, our muscles filled with tiny tremors that make the St. Andrew’s cross rock back and forth against our weight.
It takes time for me to regain strength in my knees, but when I do, I waste no time putting the toys down, removing the nipple clamps, and unfastening Olivia’s arms and legs. Once she's free, she practically falls into my arms, and I sweep her off her feet to carry her over to the bed, where I lay her down gently and climb on after her. She immediately curls into me once I'm next to her, wrapping her arms around my torso as I envelop her with my arms at the same time. She throws a leg over my waist and buries her face in my neck, and the second she's settled she begins to cry. I frown as her body spasms against mine and she releases soft sobs against my hot flesh.
“Hey,” I say, trying to move my head back enough to see her face, but each time I do, she tightens her grip on me, refusing to let me move away even a centimeter. “Olivia, what’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” she replies, her whimpers quickly gaining strength. “I can't talk about it right now, but just know that you did everything right. This was exactly what I've been looking for. Now, please … just hold me. Please, Quinn.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I pull Olivia into me even tighter, flexing my arms around her as she begins to bawl. I'm clearly new to this, so I have no idea what’s happening right now, but she said I did everything right, so instead of replaying the entire session in my head and driving myself crazy with questions, I simply do as she has asked. I hold her, breathing in the scent of her hair and making sure to keep her as close as our bodies will allow. I don't make it sexual or try to speak to her about her feelings. I give Olivia the time, quiet, and peace she needs to unload her emotions. I take it all without saying a word.
We don't need to speak. We just need to be together, and that’s all she's asking of me—to simply be there for her. So, I settle in while she continues to let it all out. I don't move a muscle. I'm as still as she needs me to be, and even while sitting in silence and exhaustion, I find myself repeating a phrase over and over again in my mind. Words I don't dare speak.
I could get used to this.
TWENTY-THREE - Olivia
Chardonnay hits my lips and turns my muscles into putty, finally releasing the built up tension that has been there since my first true BDSM scene in far too long. In truth, even though I'm versed in BDSM scenes, what just took place with Quinn made all the others feel like nothing more than a warmup. There is still a lot for him to learn through experience, but it has never been clearer to me that I was right about him. He is a true Dom in mind, body, and spirit. Our chemistry was off the charts, and even now, as we sit on the bed in my basement with Quinn rubbing my feet while I take sips of white wine, he’s still doing everything right.
It took a moment for my body to course-correct after being tied to a St. Andrew’s cross and flogged across every inch of my torso. The pain was beautiful—a combination of stinging and singing that set my nerves ablaze and distorted the signals to my brain. I let go, completely giving myself over to Quinn and allowing him to do whatever he wanted. He asked me if I trusted him and I told the truth—I trust him more and more with each passing day, hour, and minute, and tonight may have made that trust complete. With every circle his thumb rubs into the sole of my foot, my faith in him grows.
He sits at the far edge of the bed with nothing but his white pants on, his green eyes solely focused on his task. As I lift my wine glass again, I watch him closely. I'm not even sure what I'm looking for as I stare at him with a smirk threatening to turn into a smile. Maybe I'm looking for a reason to dislike him. There has to be something there that isn't trustworthy—something hidden or terrifying. He's a man, after all. There is no way he is built with layer after layer of perfection. Nobody is, but especially not a man.
Right?
I don't like the way my heart feels when I look at him, yet I can't pull my eyes away from his gorgeous face. The muscles in his round shoulders and thick arms dance with every movement he makes—a symphony of flexes and spasms that ripple across his body like a pond after a stone has been dropped into it. He still smells good, even after swinging that flogger over and over again and working up a sweat. He unknowingly put me into subspace in the middle of that intense scene, and even after everything has finished, he still carries that dominant aura. I don't think most men understand that massaging a sub’s feet isn't subservient. It’s the most masculine thing in the world. Even now, I'm still mentally tied to that cross for him, calmly allowing him to soothe me after hurting me. I don't want to admit it, but it’s clearly true. Quinn is the real deal.
Shit.
“You're good at that,” I tell him before taking another sip of Chardonnay.
He smiles proudly—a schoolboy realizing he has solved the difficult equation. “Thank you. I'm just glad that it’s making you feel better. I was worried there for a minute.”
I grin, remembering how concerned he was when I was sobbing into his neck like a fallen toddler. “No need to be worried. It was just a severe case of sub drop. It happens after intense scenes, and I hadn't had a scene that powerful in a long time. You did great for your first time.”
“Yeah? I mean, I felt like I did in the moment, but everything afterward had me wondering if there was a misstep in there somewhere that I didn't realize. You said it was a case of sub drop? What is that?”
I sip my wine again before letting out a soft moan from how good his strong hands feel on my toes. “It’s like a chemical imbalance brought to life. With everything that happens during a BDSM scene, the body goes through a lot. The brain is confused as it conflates pain and pleasure, and the signals get crossed. Especially when you're in subspace, where you completely give in and fall into a euphoric, almost mindless state of bliss and agony. After all of that comes to an end, the brain and body are conflicted with each other. The usually perfect combination between the two starts to feel a lot more like water and oil trying to mix, and I'm simply a passenger along for the ride as they try to reset the wires. The end result is usually combustible emotions like what you saw earlier. I cry, not even knowing why I'm crying, but the intensity is really acute. It’s sharp like a knife slowly severing my heart, and I have no idea when it will end. It could take hours or days, but it’s completely out of my control. I even had a guy end things with me once because I just couldn't pull myself out of it fast enough for him. After twenty-four hours of trying to solve an unsolvable riddle, he gave up—never called again or responded to me reaching out.”
“Goddamn,” Quinn exclaims. His voice sounds shocked, but his face looks angry.
I giggle. “Yeah, but I'm not mad at him. When someone shows you who they are, it’s best to believe them. He helped me to dodge a bullet, so I'm actually grateful that he did what he did. Anyway, that's all it was earlier. Just sub drop. I'm fine now, clearly. This aftercare certainly makes it all better, so just keep doing what you're doing.”
Quinn smiles and switches from one foot to the other, making sure to cover my legs with the sheets since I'm still naked. He has already mastered this part of it, too. Aftercare is not only necessary, it’s required, and it’s not meant to be sexual. It simply is care, so I smirk as he makes sure to cover my naked body and solely focus on rubbing my feet while I lean against the headboard and sip wine like a goddess.
After a few moments of silence that I keep interrupting with my moans of satisfaction, Quinn, who is clearly in deep thought, clears his throat and looks up at me.
“Let me ask you a question,” he says, smiling to himself. “Does Eden know about us?”
My eyes bulge before I spit out a laugh. “Umm, can I plead the fifth?”
“Wow,” he says, chuckling. “Pleading the fifth is all the answer I need.”
“I'm sorry,” I say, still laughing. “Eden is my best friend. I tell her everything. If it makes you feel any better, she has been telling me to go for it with you for a while now. I fought off the desire in the name of being professional, but it eventually happened thanks to your undeniable charm, and she has been thrilled hearing about it all. I've only had the best things to say about you.”
“It helps a little,” he says with a shrug. “Well, I appreciate her having my back, and it’s nice to know that she sees me as something good for you. If she was trying to hide her knowledge, she did a bad job. She kept giving me this look like she knew a secret about me that I didn't even know about myself. I guess I know what it is now.”
I can't help but to keep laughing. “Of course she was, damn her. She has to do a better job. We’ve been friends for a very long time, so it’s only natural that I tell her everything. What? You don't have anybody that you talk to about your sex life?”
“Of course I do,” he replies. “I have two best friends that I've known my whole life. My boys, Rob and Marcus, know all about us.”
“See? At least I'm not the only … wait a minute. Rob? You mean Rob Vaughn from work?” Quinn raises his eyebrows as he shrugs so high his shoulders nearly touch his ears. “Are you kidding me? Rob knows about us? Like, in detail?”
“What's the problem?” Quinn jokes with a huge grin on his stupidly beautiful face. “Rob is my best friend. I tell him everything.”
“Wow,” I say, drawing the word out. “You're just going to steal that from me? Word for word, bar for bar?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Indeed.”
Both of us settle into a laugh as I shake my head. “Wow Quinn, you're something else. Something else indeed.”
“I take that as a compliment,” he says. “Also, you can just call me Q. Only people who don't know me call me Quinn, and it’s safe to say that you're beginning to know me pretty well. So, please. Just Q.”
It’s a simple change, but still enough to make me smile. “Okay. I like that. Just Q.”
“Thank you,” he says, before adding. “Speaking of Rob at work, what about everybody? We've clearly taken this thing between us to a new place, and I assume you don't want anybody knowing about it, right? Well, except Eden and Rob, of course.”
I start to laugh, but force myself to cut it off. “Yeah, I don't want anybody at Obsidian knowing about us. It’s not that I'm ashamed of you or anything. It’s just that I've already been having some serious problems there, before your promotion. It has been hell just trying to navigate the way people perceive me. Thanks to Jon and his bullshit, I'm an ice queen, I'm a whore, I'm incompetent, I'm a nepo baby, and I'm clearly in over my head. Obviously, it sucks having to walk through that blitzkrieg every day, taking on grenades and gunshots, and I'm hoping now that Jon’s gone I can shed all of that. I think people finding out that I'm fucking the newly promoted CISO would be bad for business. I'm enjoying what we’re doing, but I don't want it out there like that, Quinn—I mean, Q. You understand that, right?”
Q’s hands never stop massaging my foot, but his eyes wander. He seems to look everywhere but at me before finally forcing his eyes over.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding slowly. “I understand. You've been through a lot, and I don't want to add to that. So, I won’t take it personally. What we’re doing is nobody else’s business anyway.”
I smile, truly relieved. “Exactly. Well, nobody’s business but Eden’s and Rob’s.”
I laugh at the recycled joke, but Q’s simple chuckle barely raises the side of his mouth as his eyes leave me and find the bed again. His mouth said that he understood, but his eyes are saying something else in a language I don't understand. I watch him take a deep, steadying breath before he's able to look at me again, the muscles in his face having hardened.
“So, now that Jon is out and you've promoted me,” he says, changing the subject. “What’s the next move for Obsidian?”
I ponder whether or not I should make sure he's okay with what I said, but decide against it.
“Well, now that all of the bullshit is being resolved,” I answer. “My next focus is on expansion. We need more clients, preferably bigger ones than what we lost. I have my eye on a few, although I would love it if we could reel in a really big one, but it may require some poaching because they already have cybersecurity with other firms.”
Q shrugs. “I'm not afraid of a little poaching.”
“Good, because I'm not the best at pitching and I may have to choose someone to help me with it. It’s sort of a go big or go home situation, because if we don't bring in a major client soon, I'm not sure how much longer Obsidian can stand on its wobbly legs.”
Q nods like a man accepting a challenge. “Well, whatever you need me for, I'm ready. Just say the word.”
I nod and smile. “Okay. I’ll let you know what we’re doing as soon as I figure it out. But for now, let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”
I grin as Q forces himself to go back to focusing on my foot.
“Right. One thing at a time,” he says.
When he smiles at me, it doesn't have the same vibrancy as it did before. His usual dynamic colors have dulled just from this conversation, and I watch from over the edge of my wine glass as the smile quickly fades away.
EMOTIONALLY IN TUNE
TWENTY-FOUR - Quinn
“Hey, Quinn. Can I get access to the new analysis report spreadsheets you created on the share drive?”
I look away from my computer and find Stephen’s head floating at the top of my doorway. The rest of his body is hidden as he peeks in at me with a weak smile on his face. I know he doesn't want to smile, especially since I moved into his friend’s office first thing this morning, but now that I'm the new CISO, it doesn't matter what he wants to do. He works for me now, so he better get really good at plastering on that fake smile. As petty as it might sound, I won't forget the way he, John, and Nick treated me when I was first promoted into this wing. I won't go after him the way they came after me, but if I sense any attitude, I will have no problem firing his ass, so a fake smile is a great way to start every conversation with me from now on.
I don't even try to hide my disdain when I peer at Stephen. I don't like him. I don't like his beady blue eyes or the way he wears confidence like a cheap cologne, forcing everyone to smell it when they’re near him even though it fucking stinks. I don't like his messy blond hair or the way he wears pink shirts with khaki pants. I'm wearing khaki today too, but it’s a black Polo with khaki brown buttons and stitching to match my khaki pants. Why is it so hard for some people to understand color coordination?
“The password is ObsExec9584,” I reply, cutting my eyes over to him. “Make sure that information doesn't leave this wing.”
“You got it, boss,” he replies, with a little too much emphasis on the last word, but his floating head quickly slides out of view before I can stare him down or say anything else. Jon may be gone, but his spirit is still floating through the executive wing like a goddamn poltergeist.
I stare at the doorway as if he may reappear, hoping I’ll get my chance to reprimand him now instead of later, but he never returns. I do, however, catch a glimpse of Olivia sauntering past my door without as much as a glance into my office. It’s the fourth or fifth time I've seen her, and out of all those times, we haven't made eye contact once. She looks incredible as usual, in a sleek and sexy business casual two-piece set consisting of black pants and a black and white top, with her hair pinned up. Effortless beauty today, like every day, which makes my stomach tighten at the sight of her. I'm doing my best to fight it, but deep down, I know I'm lying to myself when I say I don't feel anything when she silently floats by me like the spirit of a dead loved one.
