Read Online Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1 by Audra North - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Audra North
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Dommes, those words would have come across as a clear order, but somehow, he preferred the tentative assertiveness in Beatrice’s voice to the bold directives he imagined the professionals would have used.
Although the realization had him wondering if maybe it would have been a better idea to go ahead with the service, despite the cost. Because he wanted Beatrice more than he wanted to give up control…
And that was dangerous.
He looked around at the apartment for the first time, saw the small loveseat with a low table in front on which sat an oversized book about some photographer, it looked like. The wall adjacent to the door was lined with bookshelves holding what had to be hundreds and hundreds of books. And in one corner, there was a drafting table with all kinds of photography equipment and artistic prints hanging above it. He thought of his room at home, its distinct lack of books or anything resembling fine art, the same blue walls he’d slept inside for more than two decades, and tried not to feel like a loser.
But when he sank onto the cushions of the loveseat, he didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he would. With his back to Beatrice, he listened to her move behind him, stared at the vase of purple flowers on her kitchen table and felt a peace he hadn’t had in years.
Someone else was making the decisions for a while. No one was asking him to fix the blender or help with a science project or needed to borrow money for gas. For the next hour or so, someone was doing things just for him.
Someone who’s a real partner will help make things better for you, instead of adding to your responsibilities.
Donahue’s words from earlier that day floated through Warren’s mind as he sighed and sank deeper into the seat, a moment before small hands rested lightly on his temples. Warren jumped.
Beatrice was behind him now, holding his head in place so he couldn’t turn around to look at her. “I’m sorry I startled you.” She began to gently massage his head. “I thought I would start by getting you used to me. You know, to my t-touch.”
Her words sounded a bit rehearsed, but her voice was soft, and Warren quickly relaxed and let her fingers stroke slowly over him, sifting through his hair, pressing against his forehead, skimming behind his ears. It felt so good to be touched this way he was having a hard time not turning to nuzzle his face into her hands.
Behind him, he heard her take a deep breath. “But if there’s anything I do at any time, anything that makes you uncomfortable or you don’t want to do it, we should have a safeword. Something you can say—”
“I know what a safeword is.” Warren lifted his hands in an exaggerated shrug, so she could see them even from behind the couch. “But you decide. I can’t come up with anything.”
“Okay.” Beatrice was quiet for a moment after that, now running her hands over his cheeks, sliding them across his lips. It was all he could do not to bite the soft pads of her fingertips as they rolled across the seam of his mouth. “You have very soft lips,” she murmured, and blood surged to his dick, a violent reaction to such a sweet compliment. Warren had to clench his fists against the desire to unzip his jeans, haul her over the couch and pull her down onto his hard—
“How about ‘latte’?”
What? He was fantasizing about driving into her wet heat and she was offering him a drink?
No. Wait. What had they been talking about before his mind went wandering? “You want to use coffee as the safeword?”
Her fingernails scraped the stubble under his chin. Warren shivered.
“It actually means milk, in Italian,” she said softly, her hands pausing for a moment, nearly cupping his face in a gesture that shouldn’t have been erotic, for all that it reminded him of the way he used to hold Nathan’s face when his nephew was a younger child. But it was erotic when Beatrice did it to him. “We use it by itself here in America, but
Although the realization had him wondering if maybe it would have been a better idea to go ahead with the service, despite the cost. Because he wanted Beatrice more than he wanted to give up control…
And that was dangerous.
He looked around at the apartment for the first time, saw the small loveseat with a low table in front on which sat an oversized book about some photographer, it looked like. The wall adjacent to the door was lined with bookshelves holding what had to be hundreds and hundreds of books. And in one corner, there was a drafting table with all kinds of photography equipment and artistic prints hanging above it. He thought of his room at home, its distinct lack of books or anything resembling fine art, the same blue walls he’d slept inside for more than two decades, and tried not to feel like a loser.
But when he sank onto the cushions of the loveseat, he didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he would. With his back to Beatrice, he listened to her move behind him, stared at the vase of purple flowers on her kitchen table and felt a peace he hadn’t had in years.
Someone else was making the decisions for a while. No one was asking him to fix the blender or help with a science project or needed to borrow money for gas. For the next hour or so, someone was doing things just for him.
Someone who’s a real partner will help make things better for you, instead of adding to your responsibilities.
Donahue’s words from earlier that day floated through Warren’s mind as he sighed and sank deeper into the seat, a moment before small hands rested lightly on his temples. Warren jumped.
Beatrice was behind him now, holding his head in place so he couldn’t turn around to look at her. “I’m sorry I startled you.” She began to gently massage his head. “I thought I would start by getting you used to me. You know, to my t-touch.”
Her words sounded a bit rehearsed, but her voice was soft, and Warren quickly relaxed and let her fingers stroke slowly over him, sifting through his hair, pressing against his forehead, skimming behind his ears. It felt so good to be touched this way he was having a hard time not turning to nuzzle his face into her hands.
Behind him, he heard her take a deep breath. “But if there’s anything I do at any time, anything that makes you uncomfortable or you don’t want to do it, we should have a safeword. Something you can say—”
“I know what a safeword is.” Warren lifted his hands in an exaggerated shrug, so she could see them even from behind the couch. “But you decide. I can’t come up with anything.”
“Okay.” Beatrice was quiet for a moment after that, now running her hands over his cheeks, sliding them across his lips. It was all he could do not to bite the soft pads of her fingertips as they rolled across the seam of his mouth. “You have very soft lips,” she murmured, and blood surged to his dick, a violent reaction to such a sweet compliment. Warren had to clench his fists against the desire to unzip his jeans, haul her over the couch and pull her down onto his hard—
“How about ‘latte’?”
What? He was fantasizing about driving into her wet heat and she was offering him a drink?
No. Wait. What had they been talking about before his mind went wandering? “You want to use coffee as the safeword?”
Her fingernails scraped the stubble under his chin. Warren shivered.
“It actually means milk, in Italian,” she said softly, her hands pausing for a moment, nearly cupping his face in a gesture that shouldn’t have been erotic, for all that it reminded him of the way he used to hold Nathan’s face when his nephew was a younger child. But it was erotic when Beatrice did it to him. “We use it by itself here in America, but
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