Going to California?

by NearBlackOrchid

Ashley's gotten an offer for a surprising new job in California and is conflicted, for various reasons. Post-Season 3. Note: Ashley isn't Vought's CEO here. She's still the Director of Talent Relations and Stan Edgar remains as CEO because I like him a lot.

11. Kinks and Confessions

Going to California?

Chapter 11 – Kinks and Confessions

The next day, after I told my secretary I was leaving for lunch and would be working from home, and got the now-usual knowing look, Homelander had his front door open before I could even lift my hand to knock. He seemed nervous, maybe because I'd kept what we were doing today a surprise. That had been a good idea on my part, because after the session with Dr. Roth yesterday, I'd decided I needed to get over my reluctance to fuck him. Despite what I'd told the doctor, I didn't have any confidence that having him inside me wouldn't hurt. But I knew I could handle it, the same way I'd done with Adam and Jared and Master and the other men I'd had one-night stands with. I could tough it out, the way I'd done with everything else in my life.

"I…ordered lunch for us. Pizza again."

He must be really nervous, if he couldn't keep it out of his voice. "Thanks, John. I should have time to eat. I told Gina I was going to work from home after lunch again."

He smiled. "I like having more time with you."

That touched me, and I smiled back. "I like having time with you too." Pushing down the nerves over what I planned, I adjusted the tote bag I'd decided to start carrying for our scenes, feeling the weight of one of the things I needed for what I'd originally planned as I removed the other. "I have something I'd like you to wear."

John turned it over in his hands and gave me a dubious look. "A blindfold?"

"Put it up to your eyes."

When he did, he pulled it away quickly, startled. "I can't see through it."

"Nope. The material is impregnated with zinc. I ordered it specially for you." That seemed to make him anxious, and I put my hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Uh—nothing." I gave him a look. "I don't know. Maybe I'm a little unsettled because I don't know what we'll be doing. Because it isn't something I've told you I want."

"Do you think I'd do something that would hurt you?" If he did, I'd ask him how he thought I could hurt him physically with all his powers.

"No. You said you wouldn't and I trust you not to."

"Okay. What's your safe word?"

"Roosevelt."

"If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or that you just don't like for any reason, use your safe word and I'll stop." I reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

He sighed. "I know. I'm not being rational here."

That made me laugh. "It'll be fine. Afterward you'll be asking yourself what you were worried about in the first place." We flew up to the second floor and I tried to relax into his arms. No matter what I said to him, I had a good level of anxiety about what I intended, which he might have picked up on. I had a decent acquaintance with his cock at this point, and he was big, bigger than Adam and Master. It was going to hurt, but I had to manage how much. He wanted this, wanted to be inside me, and I didn't want to disappoint him.

Once we were inside his apartment, I told him, "You don't have to have the blindfold on when I come out of the bathroom. Just put it on the nightstand. I will be restraining you, though, as usual."

"Yes, mistress."

I gave him a little smile for that. Once I was inside the bathroom, I took off my wig and stripped to the skin. A full-length mirror was set into the wall near the sink. I stared at myself for a while. My body was fine, even though my ass was on the flat side and my breasts were on the small side, but they weren't what I was concerned with. My gaze dropped to my groin and the six pink circular scars beneath my pubic hair, the marks that Master's cigarette had left. On a good day I fooled myself that they weren't really visible, but now they stood out like spotlights. What would I say to him, how could I explain them without disgusting him?

It took me quite a while to notice the jewelry cases on the bathroom counter and remember that I'd told him today would be a good day for it. When I opened them, the breath left me in a gasp. He had not gone cheap for this. The necklace was heavy, lavish, diamonds and rubies and gold that dripped down my upper chest to settle between my breasts when I fastened it around my neck. The bracelets were also diamonds and rubies and gold, but they fastened around my wrists like cuffs, and a loop designed to go around my middle finger held a plate over the back of each hand, gold with a huge ruby in the center, surrounded by diamonds. Hadn't he said something about the jewelry being barbaric? It fit that description to a T. Maybe the jewels would even distract him from my scars. I swallowed the anxiety and stepped into the bedroom.

John stood outside the door, naked, and if he was still worried he wanted to hide it from me. I found that sweet. When I glanced over at the bed, I saw he'd done what I'd requested at our last scene and stripped the bed, although the blue silk scarves were still tied to the frame. It was covered only by a black rubber sheet now. This wasn't necessary since I'd decided only to fuck him, but I didn't bother having him remove it. I doubted it would be very comfortable, but then I wouldn't be either, so what did it matter? "Very good, John. You remembered what I asked."

"Yes, mistress." He took in what I wore around wrists and throat and smiled. "May I say the jewelry looks more beautiful on you than I thought it would?"

"Yes, John, you may." Was he being tactful in ignoring the scars? Maybe he didn't see them? How could he not see them? Then his eyes dipped, his gaze running over my body, and I noticed a slight stutter as it passed over my groin, then swept on to catalogue my legs. He said nothing. "Lie down on the bed, on your back."

He did, settling himself, and I took a moment to admire him. The black rubber sheet set off his body like a jeweler's velvet cloth. I couldn't help but let a hand trail over him, from shoulder to chest to belly to groin, and his cock twitched, growing under my touch. "You're so beautiful, John. I could stand here for hours, just looking at you."

"Thank you, mistress. I'm glad."

I leaned down to kiss him before taking his right hand and binding him to the headboard. "Comfortable?" I asked.

"Yes, mistress." I hadn't expected him to say no, with his invulnerable skin, but we were in uncharted waters for him. I repeated the action on his left wrist, then his ankles, until he was secured. My heart rate jumped up a bit. I'd much rather have done what I originally intended, dealt with the kink he had that I knew about, but too late now.

I picked up the blindfold from the beside table. "Lift your head a little so I can put this on you." He obeyed, swallowing, and I told him, "Remember, you have your safe word. If you get really nervous or uncomfortable, you can use that and we'll stop. Okay?" It seemed crazy to say that to him, but I went with my instincts.

"Okay. Mistress."

I slid the blindfold over his eyes and moved it into position, caressing his cheek and placing a light kiss on his mouth. Too late I wished I'd had him leave on the top part of his costume so I could rub myself against it, feel the stimulation from its nubby texture, but I wouldn't have done that anyway because he had too much self-doubt about his body and I didn't want to add to it.

Interestingly, he wasn't hard yet, only enough blood collected in his cock to bring it to half-mast. I trailed my fingers over it, tickling a little with my nails, and was rewarded by it firming up fully. "That's my good boy," I murmured. His cock twitched.

Climbing onto the bed, I leaned over and took it into my mouth. John moaned as I laved him with my tongue and I felt a wave of warmth go through me. Since I wasn't going to do what I'd originally planned, this was a good lead-in to fucking him. I hadn't brought any lube, so he'd be wet from my mouth, and I hoped that would do.

Long minutes passed while I licked and sucked him and he let me know how much he was enjoying it. You're putting it off, said an unwelcome voice in my mind. If you're going to fuck him, then fuck him. Deal with the pain. All he wanted was to fuck you anyway. He said that was the objective of all these games he let you play with him. So you might as well get it over with.

Reluctantly I let his cock slide out of my mouth and straightened up. Time to put on my big-girl panties and do this. With a quick movement I straightened up and moved to straddle him. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"It'll be fine, baby," I told him. "We're just going to fuck now. There's nothing to worry about."

John shook his head. "No. You aren't ready. I haven't even touched you."

"You don't need to worry about that. I'll be okay." Best that he couldn't see me now, all my muscles clenched despite my efforts to relax, make it easier on myself, as I positioned one knee on either side of his hips.

"Ashley, no. Stop it. I'm not letting you do this when you aren't even wet. I'm not going to hurt you."

I sighed but didn't answer him, didn't even notice he'd called me by name instead of Mistress, taking his cock into my hand and maneuvering it as I brought it to the opening of my pussy. And then John said the one thing I never believed I'd hear him say.

"Roosevelt."

It worked like ice water in the face. I released him and jumped off the bed, pulling the blindfold away from his face. "Do you just want a break or do you want to stop altogether?"

"A break is fine." His voice was tight and he sounded angry. Oh God, was Homelander going to take over? What would he do to me if he became ascendant?

I busied myself untying his hands and feet, touching him when I thought he would allow it, murmuring what I thought was nonsense until I heard myself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" was a river from my mouth. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Ashley. You're the one who isn't fine here."

"What—I don't—"

"Don't lie to me. You told me once that I could count on you to hear me say no. I want to know what was going on with you that you didn't hear me."

Tears started to burn my eyes and I kept my face down. "I thought I could do it. I know you want that, and I've gotten through it before. I figured I could get through it with you."

He took hold of my chin and lifted my face. "I don't want anything that we do to be something you have to endure. I've never pushed you on this at all, even in teasing you. This did not come from me."

Just like that, my control failed and I was sobbing, babbling, "I never wanted to be like him. I didn't want to be mean like him. I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to like it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I'd never felt so ashamed in my life. Master's voice came back to me. You're frigid, you're a failure. I don't know why I waste my time with someone like you. You're not even pretty. You're lucky you have me in your life. You should want to please me.

"Okay. It's all right, sweetheart. Don't cry." John got up, leaving me curled up and shivering on the black rubber sheet, to retrieve the navy comforter from the closet. When he came back, he spread the comforter over me and got into the bed again. He sat with his back against the headboard and I pressed myself against his side, my face against his chest, the tears still waterfalling. "Tell me about this guy you don't want to be like."

I tried to get my breathing under control, tried to compose myself. "I'm not going to tell you his name. After a certain point, all I was allowed to call him was Master. He wasn't a proper dom. If I'd had connections in the BDSM community back then, I would have known about him because he had a reputation there, but I didn't. That was part of the reason he picked me out. He liked young women, not jailbait but the barely legal kind, no way of finding out about his reputation, no family to speak of, and vulnerable, the kind who will let him push boundaries a lot further than they're comfortable with. Further than he should."

"How old were you?"

"Nineteen. I'd just broken up with my first lover two weeks before I met Master. I was still grieving. He must have smelled the blood in the water. Master gave a presentation at NYU that a professor for a class I was taking would give extra credit for attending and writing up, so I attended. There was an informal meet-and-greet afterward, and that's where he saw me. He started e-mailing me, then calling. I was flattered. Who wouldn't be? He was handsome, rich, famous, successful even if his career was in a slump at the time. He was older, an expert at pulling in potential subs. You know, fancy dinners, glittery social get-togethers, moving way too fast, talking about children on the first date, lots of red flags if you knew what to look for, but I didn't."

"It's not your fault," John assured me.

It would be nice if I believed that. "He was only the second person I ever had sex with. He wanted me to move in with him—we'd known each other for about a week at that point—but I had enough sense to say no and plead my classes. We worked out an arrangement where I'd spend every weekend with him. He'd send his driver to pick me up after my last class and take me to his country house upstate. It was at the end of this dirt road, about five miles from the nearest town. I'd told him I could rent a car but he wouldn't have it. The town even had a train station so I could have taken the train and the driver could have picked me up there, but I didn't figure out then that it was because that would give me a way to leave when I wanted, rather than depending on him. I'd be his from about 5 PM Friday night until noon Sunday. He wanted me until 5 PM then too but I told him I needed time to do classwork and he agreed. That was the only argument I ever won with him."

He didn't say anything, just cradled me against his chest. I closed my eyes to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the rhythm of his heart. How could I tell him any of this? Once he heard, he'd think even less of me than he had after I came back to Vought. How could he ever have any feelings for me after he knew this?

I gathered myself together. "Like I said, Master had a country house upstate that he used for his activities. No close neighbors, of course. He never had the heat turned on while I was there and it was winter. He also never let me wear any clothes inside the house. I got so many colds that semester. By finals I had acute bronchitis."

"Okay," said John. His voice was neutral, but I felt the tension in his muscles. If I'd given him Master's real name, I could count on him being dead by dawn, but I didn't want to cover up any more murders.

"His main thing, his main kink, was degrading me, inflicting humiliation." I went silent for a few moments.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I understand."

"No, I have to get over this. I haven't talked about it with anyone except this woman I know in the community, Mistress Krista. She was the one who gave me the information about Master. I haven't even told my psychiatrist about him. It just makes me feel…bad…that I put up with it for as long as I did."

"How long were you with him?"

"Three months. What he did—well, I told you he didn't let me wear clothes in the house. I had to strip on the porch and put my clothes in a garbage bag. I got them back when I left on Sunday. He said I didn't deserve to have my own room, my own bed, and had to sleep on the floor of his room. When it got cold enough, like below zero, he bought a dog bed, the kind for a really big dog, and I had to curl up and sleep in that. It was better than the bare floor. I also didn't deserve to eat at the table with him, so he put a water bowl and food bowl on the floor and I ate from them. All I was allowed to eat was canned dog food." I cringed, expecting his disgust, but if he felt that he didn't show it. "In fact, I think if we'd been together longer I could have developed a nice case of bulimia. I got into the habit of stuffing myself on Thursday and Friday so I could try to get through the weekend without eating and I'd binge on Sunday night when I got back to my dorm room. It disgusted me, and he enjoyed making me do disgusting things."

He chose his words with care. "Did you ever talk to him about this? Didn't you have a safe word?"

I nodded. "I couldn't talk to him about anything, but he gave me a safe word the first night we spent together."

"Bioluminescence?"

It surprised me that he remembered that. "No, that was the one I picked for myself afterward. He didn't even let me choose my own safe word because I wasn't to have any power at all, just be his little sex toy."

"What was your safe word with him?"

"Vinegar. It really suited the situation, I have to say. But when he gave me the safe word, he told me that if I ever used it, even once, our relationship was over and I would have to leave immediately because he wasn't going to waste his valuable time with some inhibited little prude."

"Is that normal, to end things over using a safe word?"

"No, not at all, but since I didn't have any experience with it, I just accepted it. Proper doms, like I tried to be, encourage you to use it if you don't feel safe, if there's something making you feel threatened or uncomfortable, but, again, I didn't know that then. "

"And that's why you were so insistent I have my safe word and use it."

I nodded. "He expected me to cook all his meals, if we weren't going to some social function—I'd agreed to be his date if he had a social or business engagement during the weekend—and I wasn't much of a cook. So I got punished for that on the regular. He had a…playroom, he called it. There was this bench with restraints that he'd put me on and then he'd beat me with a belt. Not just the ass—my thighs, my back, I was all-over welts at the end of most weekends. There was one time I remember that, right after he'd released me from the bonds, he gave me a Vera Wang dress on a hanger and a diamond necklace and told me to get dressed for a dinner he was attending. Sitting down was agony. That was one of the times he'd decided to stripe my back in addition to my ass. I must have moved like I had arthritis. There was another time when he made me shave my pubic hair and put out cigarettes on my mound. That's why I never really wanted you to see me naked. I didn't want to explain the scars."

"Did you enjoy it? The pain?"

"No. And that was how he wanted it. Making me do things I didn't enjoy, knowing I didn't enjoy any of it—that was what got him off, the power of it. At first, I liked kissing him, but after the sex started I shut down completely. I was dry as the Mojave Desert every time. At least he was considerate enough to use lube." John didn't say anything, but his arms tightened around me. "Master had me thinking that everything I did or said or thought, the sum of my being, was wrong, and I was lucky to have someone like him who loved me enough to try to make me better, help me improve, be acceptable. I tell myself I wouldn't have believed him if I hadn't just broken up with Jared, if I'd had more experience with men, but who knows."

The words kept flowing out like lava. "My grades crashed that semester. I told you I was sick all the time because he never would turn the heat on at his country house and I had to go naked, and I'd started developing disordered eating patterns because of what he made me eat, but I could barely focus on my coursework. I'd burst out crying at odd moments. I didn't sleep well and was always tired. My roommate was worried sick, but I wouldn't tell her what was going on. I didn't want to be disloyal to him. He was paranoid about TMZ or one of the other tabloids finding out about his tastes, even though in the industry it was pretty much an open secret. I guess them finding proof of it was what worried him. I had nightmares about the weekends, dreaded Friday and that black car to take me away, and somehow I didn't realize I could just tell the driver to leave, just break up with Master. He seemed like a force of nature to me, and he'd done a good job of taking my power away. I think I was just about broken by that last weekend. He did too, or he wouldn't have done what he did. Do you know what a hard limit is?"

"No." His voice and face were calm, but I could almost feel the rage circulating through his blood. I didn't check his eyes to see if they were red.

"I didn't think we talked about those. Remember when I gave you that example of unhandled trauma, someone who'd been raped not being able to handle a certain action even when they're with someone safe? If you dommed for that person and asked for a hard limit, they should tell you never to put your hand around their throat under any circumstances. When you told me you didn't want me to use any physical discipline, I treated that like a hard limit for you. A soft limit is something you don't want to do now but might be open to in the future. A hard limit is something you don't want to do, ever, under any circumstances. Anal sex was mine because if I didn't like vaginal sex, why on earth would I enjoy something that hurts a fuckton more?" I felt him tense up, then force himself to relax. "Do you want to hear the rest of it?"

"No, but I need to. I need to know what you went through so I can make sure nothing like that ever happens again. So I can keep you safe."

"Okay. Well, he never told me what he intended to do before a session. He didn't call them scenes. I was always going in blind. It was Friday night and I'd just gotten there. Master made me strip on the porch as usual, but he seemed different, more excited. I thought he'd been drinking. By now I knew him well enough to understand this meant trouble, but I couldn't figure out how. I couldn't have done anything bad yet." The memory of early April air, full of unseasonable chill, sweeping over my bare flesh on the front porch that he always called a verandah made me shiver. Front porch, motherfucker, I thought.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine." I didn't know if I was lying or not. What did his super-hearing make of my vital signs? But I shrugged that off. "Master wanted to celebrate. He told me that he'd gotten a job that would take him out of the country for a few months. He was in a good mood, had dinner waiting and didn't make me cook. He even let me eat people food at the table with him and have a glass of champagne. I'd just started to relax by the end of dinner, when he took me to the playroom and told me to get on the bench. I didn't want to, I knew what was coming, or thought I did, but I didn't fight. That would only make it worse." Anxiety rose in my throat at the memory. "He didn't secure the restraints as well as he normally did. Maybe he was too worked up, or just drunk. He asked me if I wanted to come to Europe with him for the job. I told him I couldn't because of school. He said he hadn't asked me if I could but if I wanted to. Of course I didn't but I knew better than to say that. He figured it out anyway and told me I needed to be punished for not loving him enough. And he decided fucking me up the ass was the appropriate punishment, as that was the only hard limit I'd ever given him."

John said, "We can stop if you want, if you need a break."

I shook my head. "I only want to tell this to you once. If I stop now, I don't know if I'll ever be able to talk about it again. So we hadn't done any preparation for this, no toys, no oral, not even fingers, just boom straight in, all the time telling me what a stupid willful bitch I am because I don't like doing what I'm told and how any other woman would be grateful to be in my place. When I felt it happening I started using my safe word. I was screaming 'Vinegar, vinegar, vinegar,' at him but he didn't pay any attention at all. I guess he figured that, if I was ending the relationship, he might as well do what he wanted because this was his last chance. Just so you know, one of the worst things any dom can do is ignore a safe word. It just—well, it isn't done, not by any real dom. You don't ignore the super-no.

"Anyway, he must have been drinking a lot more than I'd thought because normally, when he put me in restraints, he cut off the circulation to my hands and feet. He thought it was funny to watch me limp around on pins-and-needles feet and try to shake feeling back into my hands. But this time I could feel my hands, and the cuffs seemed loose. I have small hands, so I managed to pull my right hand out of the cuff, then I undid the left cuff, twisted around, and cracked him across the bridge of the nose with my elbow. He fell—must have been off-balance—and hit the floor. Then I got my feet out of the restraints and stood up. He was bleeding from the head and not moving at all."

"Did you kill him?" John kept his voice neutral.

I shook my head. "I've been forced to meet him since then, and if he's a corpse he won't stop talking. I thought about it, though. There were any number of things in his playroom I could have used to kill him, a leg-spreader in particular. But I settled for locking him in—the door locked from both sides—getting my clothes and coat and purse and hiking into town. I bought a ticket for New York at the train station and I didn't see him again for years." I left out the part about having to get a maxipad in the women's bathroom because I was bleeding, not gushing but slow and steady. Even though he hadn't gotten it all the way in, I still bled for a week afterward. "I won't say where I saw him again later because that would tell you who he is and I don't want to deal with him anymore."

"All right." If he thought he'd fooled me into thinking he wasn't going to try to figure out who Master is, it hadn't worked.

"I had a few weeks left to get my grades back up and I did my best, but they still weren't where they should have been. He's the reason I graduated magna cum laude instead of summa. So I spent months thinking I was a failure, a freak, because I hadn't been able to be a good sub, give him what he wanted, hadn't enjoyed any of it even a little. Then I met this girl in one of my classes—Mistress Krista—and we started hanging out. Eventually I found out she dommed and told her what had happened. She guessed who Master was instantly. I was stunned and she gave me all the details on him. She said none of this had been my fault, dozens of girls had had the same experience with him, and he wasn't a real dom, just a garden-variety abuser who used the trappings of BDSM and his fame to draw in girls who didn't have enough experience to know he was someone to avoid. We were sitting at a table in the student union, getting something to eat before class. and I broke down crying. I can't tell you how relieved I was to hear that. I'd felt so guilty all this time for what happened and she told me it wasn't my fault."

"It wasn't your fault. You're not a failure or a freak. You just tried to please, the way you did with me, and it doesn't always work. This guy—Master—" I heard the loathing in his voice "—couldn't have been pleased by anyone. He just wanted to make you feel bad."

"I guess." I sniffled a little.

He repositioned me against him and tightened his embrace. "Do you feel better now?"

I took the time to consider it. "Yes. I think I feel lighter. I'm sorry about what happened before."

"No need. You weren't like him. When I used my safe word you paid attention. You wanted me to be safe and happy. I could never think you're like him in any way."

"Thank you." Wriggling a little, I reached up and kissed John lightly. He put his hand on the back of my neck and prolonged the contact, his tongue brushing over my lips.

When he broke the kiss, he leaned back against the headboard and rested his chin on top of my head. "Was that all you had planned for this evening, seeing how much pain you could take from me fucking you?"

"Oh, no," I told him. "The…intercourse was a last-minute thing. I hadn't planned on that at all."

"What did you plan on?"

"Just something I thought you needed. I didn't want to argue about it with you, since if you knew what I'd planned you'd put up a fight. But in the end I know you'd be very happy with it. This is something you need to get through, but there wouldn't be any pain in it, I promise. For either of us. You'd enjoy yourself a lot."

John sighed a little. "We can still do that, if you want to. If you feel up to it."

"And you'd trust me enough for that? After what happened?" I couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Now that I understand why you felt you had to. I don't think we'll have any more misunderstandings like that." His hand caressed my back and I felt myself starting to relax.

"I'd still want you to wear the blindfold, but I wasn't going to restrain you."

"Interesting. I wonder what you had planned."

"Only one way to find out." I tried to sound breezy and confident but failed miserably and only sounded forlorn.

"We can have the scene. I don't want you to leave without something pleasant happening."

John had a way of surprising me sometimes. "Okay, if we're going to do this, you need to put the comforter away. The sheet's the only thing that should be on the bed."

"Yes, mistress."

That got a laugh out of me. When he'd finished stowing the comforter in the closet and returned to the bed, I said, "Lie down, and I'll put the blindfold back on you."

"Promise me you won't feel bad about this anymore."

I gave him a smile and kissed him as I slipped the blindfold back over his head. "I promise. And I won't even scold you for not calling me mistress. Lie back on the bed now." He obeyed me, and I climbed off the mattress. "I have to get something for our scene. I'll be back in a second."

Since I'd thought my original plan for the scene was off the table, I'd left my tote bag in the bathroom, but I'd still slipped in the main prop before I came over. I broke the seal on the bottle but didn't open it. Little flashes of anxiety shot along my nerve endings, as I still felt a bit fragile from revealing so much of myself to John. That he hadn't seemed disgusted was inconceivable, but I put that aside for later.

John was lying on his back on the bed, his hands folded on his stomach, the blindfold in place. The fact that he could hear my heart, the blood in my veins—the intimacy of it sent a thrill through me. Taking care to get my breathing under control, I set the bottle down on the nightstand. I didn't think he could smell what was inside it through the plastic; if he could, he would have protested, cut the scene short, but he did neither, his expression serene as he lay there, waiting for me.

If he expected a frontal assault, he was doomed to disappointment. I lay down next to him, molding myself against his side. "Did you know I had the most massive crush on you when I was Madelyn's assistant?"

He smiled. "Yes. But most of her assistants did after a while. I knew the look."

That didn't surprise me. I ran my fingers over his chest lightly, grazing his nipple and watching it stiffen. "I was so jealous of Queen Maeve. She had you, everyone loved her, and she was so much more beautiful than I could ever be."

"And much drunker than you could ever be. Mistress," he added quickly.

I wanted to laugh but controlled myself. "But I tried to be sensible. I knew if she couldn't keep you faithful, with that face and that body, the best I could ever hope for was a slot in your regular schedule. Maybe every-other-Thursday girl."

"Madelyn would have fired you if I'd touched you. That's what she did with every assistant I took an interest in. But I fucked around on Maeve because Madelyn told me that I could have a child."

I lifted my head from his shoulder to look at him. "Explain."

"It wasn't just me being horny. Madelyn had a project with Dr. Vogelbaum to see if I could have a child with a non-supe woman. They juiced up my sperm to see what would happen, and that didn't do the trick, so they got the idea to juice up the woman's eggs too. And that did the trick."

Something in his voice…"Becca Butcher?"

"Yes. That's how I got Ryan. And it was worth losing Maeve a thousand times over to have him in my life."

Well, Ryan was much less bitchy, so I counted that as a net positive too. "He's a wonderful boy. I would have traded Maeve for him too."

John laughed. "We agree on that. But you had no reason to be jealous of her. In a different way you're just as beautiful."

Discomfort flared, and I wanted to get us off this topic. I didn't want to hear him lying about my mythical beauty while thinking of his dead love. I lifted myself up and kissed him, parting his lips and exploring his mouth with my tongue, feeling myself start to relax as he returned the kiss. "I want you on top of me. I want to feel your weight." He obliged, pressing the length of his naked body on mine, and I felt a surge of pleasure at the contact. My hands caressed his back, his ass, and he made a noise of enjoyment that sparked more response in me. "Okay, I need you to lie next to me. Prop yourself up on your elbow for now." When he did, I reached over to the nightstand and picked up the bottle, twisting the cap off. I had just enough time to see his nostrils flare, recognize what was in the bottle, before I poured the milk over my breasts.

"Ashley—" he managed to say.

"Mistress," I snapped. "You need to get every drop, John. Clean me up with your tongue. Suckle me."

He remained frozen, mouth open to drag in the scent of the milk better, his cock huge and throbbing. I ran my finger over my breast and slid it between his lips. "Suck, John. Be my good boy." He began licking the milk off my skin, making little whimpers all the while. When I thought he'd gotten as much off my finger as he could, I removed it, put my hand on the back of his head and guided him to my nipple. He didn't need any more encouragement then, latching on and sucking, and my body warmed from the stimulation. "Such a good boy. You're always my good boy."

Once he'd finished with my nipple, he switched to long strokes of his tongue over my breast, whining with excitement at the taste of the milk, before switching to my other breast and rooting for the nipple. I couldn't see his eyes, but everything about his expression spelled out his eagerness, his happiness. My lower body was all heat now, aching with need, a state I'd never reached before this. I wanted to stay in charge of the situation, but my body forced me to let go, let him do what he wanted.

My skin tingled where his tongue swept at the milk, moved down from my breasts to follow the trail where the liquid had run across my belly, pooled around me on the black rubber sheet. John's tongue dipped briefly into my navel before continuing, and I realized with a shock that the milk had run between my legs. He stopped when he realized, took a few moments before asking, "Mistress, may I?"

I hung suspended between my excitement and my fear, but he had forgiven me for what I'd done earlier, so why shouldn't I trust him in this? The worst that would happen was that I wouldn't come, and that was run-of-the-mill for me. It would be disappointing, more for him than me, but I could get through it. I didn't know if he could. "Every drop, John." His hands went to my hips, grasping them as he settled between my thighs and I felt his breath on the flesh there.

When I'd had this done to me in the past, by Jared and Master and Adam (very occasionally) and the nameless one-night stands I'd had while I was in Europe, they'd been too rough or perfunctory because they wanted to get past the foreplay to the main event, shoving in the dick. But John wasn't too rough—his tongue was like satin as it stroked my clit, he didn't bite me the way Master had, and my body bucked under the stimulation—and he wasn't interested in hurrying past this so that he could satisfy himself. The heat in my lower body had escalated to lava flowing through my nerves and I dug my nails into the mattress, trying to stop myself from squirming out of his reach, even though I knew it was impossible. His hands were gentle but his grip unbreakable. When I'd been with Master that would have been sickening, terrifying, but with John, inexplicably, it excited me. I couldn't get away from him, couldn't escape the pleasure he was giving me, and I liked it.

Why had I never wondered how John would be if he were allowed to please me, rather than me doing all the pleasing? He'd never hurt Madelyn that I knew of, and even though he didn't love me, he needed me in place at Vought, so I could probably consider myself safe. I surfaced from the haze of sensation long enough to realize that my legs were over his shoulders now and my hands fisted in his hair, holding him in place the way he held me. I never wanted him to stop.

My teeth were gritted against the sounds I wanted to make, the building sensation so intense that it had started to frighten me, but a sudden firm strumming of his tongue against my clit wrenched a wail out of me as the sensation burst, sending sweet hot delight through every inch of me that made me stiffen and my toes curl. Was that an orgasm? Holy shit, that had to have been an orgasm, were my first dazed thoughts as I came back to myself. I had an orgasm.

I gasped for breath as John raised himself and settled down beside me again. "You all right?" he asked.

"Perfect," I managed to say. "Did I come?"

That made him laugh. "Yes, you did. Not so hard you squirted, but you definitely did. You tried to turn your thighs into a vise around my head."

"Good thing you're a supe, then. What do I need to do for you? Do you want me to blow you, give you a hand job?"

John shook his head. "I—kind of embarrassing, but I came when you did. I'd been rubbing myself against the sheet without realizing it, and you just…sent me over the edge. Eating your pussy and the milk thing. How did you know about that?"

"I've known about it since that day I caught you in Madelyn's office, before the training room. I saw enough to know what you'd done, but I pretended I didn't because I didn't know how you'd react to it. But since we're doing our scenes, I had to get you past keeping it a secret from me. It's harmless, legal, hurts no one, and there's no reason for you to be ashamed of it. Did Madelyn know?"

He took a bit to think about it. "I think she did, but I never said anything about it to her. She never let me do that with her, even when she was breast-feeding Teddy and could have. But she never loved me, so that makes sense." I wasn't as sure as he was that Madelyn had never had any tender feelings for him, but let it go for now. "I'm going to get the comforter. You're getting chilly."

"Don't do that," I told him. "The milk will get the comforter dirty."

"I have a washer and dryer. Don't worry about it." And I had to say I was grateful for its warmth as it settled over me and John got back into the bed. "Are you going to take the job with Adam?'

"No." The communication I had with John, what trust we had, had shown me that what Adam and I had was surface-level at best, nothing I should pin any relationship hopes on. That John had waited until now to ask me, after he'd satisfied me physically in a way Adam never had, though—I found that kind of bothersome.

"When are you going to tell him?" His arm went around my shoulders and I curled against his side.

"I'm flying out to Los Angeles tomorrow. I'll do it then. I think he deserves to be told in person."

"Good. I'm tired of worrying about him."

"You never had a thing to worry about. I didn't love him."

"Do you love me?"

The question shouldn't have taken me surprise, but it did. "I…yes, I do. I love you, John."

He bestowed a cocky grin on me. "Well, that works out beautifully because I love you too, Ashley." Without waiting for a reaction, he leaned over and kissed me, and I gave in to the happiness. I wasn't sure I believed it—he might just be reacting to the intense scene that we'd had—but I put aside that worry for later, after I'd gone to Los Angeles and let Adam know that the domme job was off the table. After that, everything would be smooth sailing.