Darker Inclinations, Chapter 1.3
Title: Darker Inclinations
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy, House, some Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for help_lisa. This auction was won by grouchy_snarky who wanted a multi-chaptered sequel to A Dark Inclination. She requested no more watersports, which I have honored. However, there will be mentions of that in this chapter. You don't need to have read ADI, although it doesn't hurt. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, mentions of spanking, watersports, and dominance/submission.
Summary: House and Cuddy take their burgeoning relationship further and into darker territories. Can they balance this new dynamic with the one they have at work? Parallels season 4. Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 (Part One), Chapter 1 (Part Two)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
He sets the coffee cup down once more and then turns his attention back to her. His free hands are suddenly on her, one arm wrapping around her waist. The other hand rests right above her knee.
“You need to answer me,” he says.
She licks her lips. “Yes.”
“Punish you?”
She thinks about the question, about how she wants this to work. In reflection, last night was not the first time he slapped her ass. Before then there had been a few occasions here and there where he’d offered her a smack or two. And she’d liked it, yes, but it hadn’t delivered the same punch being turned over his knee and spanked for misbehaving had.
Right now she doesn’t believe what she wants could be more obvious.
Her stomach twists at the knowledge. She’s okay with telling him the truth; this is what she wants. But there is fear that comes with knowing she will get what she wants. There’s excitement too. Again, she wants this. It’s just terrifying to think that with a nod of the head, this will be a reality.
“Yes,” she says shakily.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
She looks over at him. Looking into his concerned eyes, she finds it easy to reveal her reservations. “I am convinced. I just can’t believe it. And that makes me wonder if there’s a reason for that.”
“We don’t have to -”
“No. We do.”
The issue becomes apparent to him. “You’re afraid you can’t back out?”
“Maybe.”
He looks at her like she’s an idiot. “Don’t be stupid. I gave you plenty of opportunities last night to change your mind. That will always be the case.”
“You wanted me to use my underwear to stop you. That’s not always going to be -”
“You have to stop talking cause my I.Q. is dropping just hearing you -”
“Shut up.”
He tries again, this time more nicely. “Here’s an easy solution: Wilson’s got a baby dick.”
That’s the last thing she’s expecting him to say, and the absurdity of it all makes her laugh loudly.
“That makes no sense,” she tells him once she’s calmed down, the smile still on her face.
“That’s what you say when you want me to stop.”
She starts to laugh again, because she can’t even imagine that working. She tries to conjure up the scene in which that happens and saying in the middle of being smacked or whatever, “Wilson’s got a baby dick.” She can’t fathom it.
“I can’t say that.”
“That’s unfortunate, cause I would really like it if you did. At least once.”
“I’m never going to talk about Wilson’s penis. I can promise you that.”
“Again - unfortunate.”
“Be serious.”
“Okay.” And he is solemn then. “You need a way out is what you’re saying, and I’m all for that. So pick a word or something. My personal preference would involve -”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Then what?”
“You act like there are no other options that -”
“Well, I do think mine’s hard to beat,” he says proudly. “But ultimately this isn’t about cleverness, as there would be no competition there.”
She pulls away from him. “If you keep insinuating that I’m an idiot, you can go home.”
“My bad.” He holds his hands up as if to say that he doesn’t mean any harm. Then he gets straight to the point. “It just needs to be something you’ll remember and I’ll recognize, really. So whatever you want.”
If it’s something he needs to realize is a signal to stop, it can’t be something as simple as no - which he ignores even in the best of circumstances. It has to be something that catches his attention. She’s tempted to make the phrase, you have a small penis, but doesn’t. He would never let it go if she did that. And besides, that takes too much of an effort to say.
In the end, she blurts out the first word that comes to mind. “Yak.”
“Yak?” He mulls the idea over. “Fine,” he says decisively. “Although clearly my idea was better.”
“It was not.”
“It totally was, actually. But it’s your choice, so yak it is.”
“Good.”
“Last order of business,” he states, making her groan. The sound surprises him.
She explains, complains, “I’ve been handling administration all day. I don’t to spend our first hours as a… couple.” She stumbles over the phrase. “Discussing all of the -”
“Yeah, it’s boring. I get it. But if you want the whips and chains so to speak, that requires a little more planning and consideration.”
“And we have to make all these decisions now.”
“Oh no, I think it’s a much better idea to go in without any rules. That can’t possibly end in disaster,” he says sarcastically. He has a point, and she knows it. Before she even has a chance to say so, he capitulates first. “You’re right though. We probably shouldn’t decide everything now, not when we haven’t had a chance to think this through.”
Hearing him say he wants to think about it stokes the fear inside her. He didn’t use the words, “I want to rethink this relationship.” But part of her takes it that way.
She tries to tell herself otherwise. It’s insane to jump to that conclusion. More than that, she knows that’s not what he means. But it’s been a long time since she dated anyone. She’s not used to this and certainly wasn’t prepared for a relationship to happen. Trying to think logically, she can see that her willingness to believe he wants to back out has to do with her own doubt. She is afraid this won’t work out, so she’s looking for reasons it can’t.
Recognized self-sabotage is impossible to endorse, and she shuts the idea down instantly.
Confident she asks, “What do you have in mind?”
“You make a list of things you’re absolutely not comfortable with. And then -”
“A list,” she says doubtfully.
“Yeah.”
“An actual list or -”
“Are you kidding me?” He shakes his head in frustration. “Yes. A physical list, something I can read.”
“And if I’m not comfortable writing -”
“I’m not going to show it to anyone. I told you: I have no interest in letting anyone know this side of you exists. I want it to be just for me.” A sense of ownership surges through his voice briefly. Then he adds calmly, “And also like I told you: no one would believe me even if I said something. So unless you title your list, ‘Cuddy’s list of non-kinks for House,’ which doesn’t even mean anything since it’d be a list of things I can’t do to you sexually, and have the thing notarized, it doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Her initial reluctance has him seeking reassurance.
“I’ll do it. I have no reason not to trust you.”
“Thank you.” He seems relieved. “Now that you have your homework, come here.”
His hand is pulling on her wrist, not leaving her much choice but to do what he wants. But she doesn't need the choice. She has waited for this moment all day. Willingly she allows herself to be tugged to him.
Just as soon as she’s close to him, he’s pushing her to stand up. If only to avoid falling onto the floor, she listens. When she’s on her feet in front of him, his gaze roams over her body appraisingly.
“You looked so hot today,” he tells her.
She smiles at the compliment. "Thank you."
"Hotter than usual I mean. It made me wonder if you were dressing that way for someone." He uses his index finger to draw a circle in the air to indicate that he wants her to turn around. She does and almost immediately feels his hands on the zipper of her skirt. "Were you?" he asks leadingly.
"No."
Slowly he pulls the zipper down. Given how close he is, she would love nothing more than for him to just yank the damn thing off of her. But he takes his time, carefully undoing the zipper one metallic tooth at a time. "No?" he repeats, testing the answer with his tongue. "You weren't hoping to give your panties away again?"
She smiles at the memory. It only happened yesterday, but it has been the catalyst for so much. "I learned my lesson."
"Good." A palm slips beneath the fabric of her skirt, so that he is touching her ass as he pushes the piece of clothing off her body. "I would hate to have to punish you again for that." The skirt pulls at her ankles, and for a moment, she can practically feel him staring at the way her body looks in the thong she's wearing.
Ordinarily it would turn her on. Today she has other matters on her mind. "Is it bruised?" she asks curiously. She was in such a rush to get ready this morning that she never caught sight of her ass to see the damage he had done the last time they were together. When he'd hit her, she knew that his focused hand would probably leave bruises; it certainly felt like there might be something there this morning. But she's not sure.
"No." She is disappointed by the news. She wants the mark of his hand on her. She wants the proof that he owns her. "Not yet."
She raises an eyebrow at the words. "Not yet?"
He pats her ass gently. "You didn't think I'd let you threaten me with a bad parking spot if I didn't hire my team already, did you?"
"I'm your boss. I can do whatever I want."
"At work, yes. Here?" His hands are on her hips. Abruptly he pulls her backwards, forces her to sit on his lap. Her breath hitches at the closeness. "I'm in charge here, remember?"
"Yes."
"Good."
In a rush, she points out, "You realize nothing's going to change, right?" A sound catches in the back of his throat like he's not sure what she's talking about. "Tomorrow, I'll still be pushing you to hire someone. I'm not going to back down just because -"
"Of course. Like you said, you're the boss." He pulls her closer, squeezes her so tightly that she feels completely surrounded by him. She likes the feeling. "But right now, you're here with me. You're mine. And I think you've been bad."
He's not even angry, she realizes. If she told him to stop, and thanks to "yak," she can, he would. She can put an end to this if she wants, because the rage in his voice is an act, something designed to get them both off. But the thing about it is: it is slowly pushing her to that point of no return. It is turning her on. It's fake, and for that reason, maybe she should laugh at the way he's talking to her. But from her perspective, there is absolutely nothing to laugh about.
"Do you agree?" he asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She can only nod her head. "Hmm," he murmurs approvingly. "Since you're in agreement, I think you need to go lay down."
She frowns. During the time that has lapsed since dinner, she has felt nothing but exhausted. Suddenly she's no longer tired. "I don't want to go to bed."
"I didn't say you would sleep," he says snidely. "I said: you need to go lay down. On your stomach. While I decide just how badly you need to be punished." Her body seems to run out of oxygen. The game leaves her breathless and warm. "Understand?"
She nods her head.
The second she does, he's pushing her back onto her feet. Unsteadily she does as she is told.
Her mattress is soft beneath her body, her cheek lightly pressing into the fabric of her comforter in a way that would normally send her into a deep sleep. Tonight she's not sure she can wait another second for him to come into the room behind her. Anticipation makes her squirm. Seconds feel like minutes, and each moment she is alone, she has to increasingly resist the urge to return to him, demand that he make his move.
In the end though, that's unnecessary. Just as the waiting is about to destroy her self control, he is in the room, behind her.
He quickly curls an arm around her waist and pulls her up. When he has her kneeling on the bed, he lets go of her, begins to undress her. Her shirt comes off first, the purple satin tossed over the edge of the bed. Her bra goes next, and when she’s exposed in front of him, all she wants is for him to touch her.
He doesn’t.
“Head on the bed,” he orders.
She does that and can’t help but notice the way her ass arches upward - as he no doubt intended. His hands skim her sides, fingers hooking into her underwear.
Pulling them off, he says, “You have no idea how long I waited today to do this. No idea.”
“Considering I’ve had the same day you’ve had,” she starts to point out. But she never gets the chance to explain that their misery has been shared equally today. Her mouth stops working when his begins to.
There is no foreplay, no gentle touch to ease her into it. She’s not complaining of course, because she doesn’t need it. She has waited for this for far too long to need gentle touches and soft kisses to get her in the mood. His voice, the promise of this relationship, their date - it has all put her on edge, made her wetter than she ever thought possible. Being fingered in front of Wilson just pushed her further into this. And now she is so far gone that when House's mouth is suddenly against her pussy, she is already primed and ready to go.
His nose nuzzles at her perineum, the sensation one that is equal parts uncomfortable and delicious. His tongue laps up the juices he has made flow all day long. There is a certain amount of disbelief that comes with finally getting what she wants, and because of that, she’s louder, more appreciative.
She cries out for his touch, and he rewards her repeatedly. His tongue thrusts inside her, and she screams at the sensation of him sliding against her wet walls. Her body instinctively understands the truth of the matter in that moment. As she lies there at his mercy, it’s clear that he does not need to hit her to be in complete possession of her. He is in control now just as much as he was yesterday, and she loves every second of it.
Cuddy can hear herself practically shouting for him to continue. Her voice ranges from orders to pleading, from understandable words like “More” to the completely incomprehensible.
And throughout he ignores her. As he always is when he’s focused on a task, he pretends that her wishes do not exist. It takes quite a bit of talent, she thinks, to be pleasuring her, tasting her, without any regard for satisfying her.
She squeezes her legs together in the hopes that he will get the message, that he will get her off. But his hands just push her thighs farther apart in response. Regardless of what she wants, he is in no hurry to get her off. His pace is pre-planned, and he will not speed up just to make her happy.
The point of it all isn’t lost on her. As he purposely slows down so she can’t orgasm, she gets what he’s doing.
She has forced his hand professionally, stopped him from doing what he really wants to. Now he is going to do the same to her.
It is, in her mind, a challenge. If he doesn’t want her to get off, she will do her best to do just that.
She starts to move her hips in time with the motions of his tongue. It feels good, lets him move deeply enough for her to start to feel the heat in her build. It’s not enough; nothing could be enough right now; but maybe if she just keeps it up, she thinks, rocking her hips against him….
And then he pulls away entirely.
When she cries out this time, it’s not because she’s enjoying what he’s doing. That just makes him laugh at her.
“Not as much fun when the tables are turned, are they?”
“Shut up and do me,” she barks.
“Poor little Cuddy,” he mocks. “Wants to come but she can’t.”
That’s not exactly true. He may not be willing to get her off, but she has no compunction about taking care of herself in front of him, against his wishes.
She moves a hand toward her needy cunt. She’s ready to finish this herself. But he quickly grabs her by the wrist. Bringing her hand behind her back, he uses his weight to push her down onto the mattress completely.
“No,” she growls, frustrated, her body pleading for release. In that moment, she’s glad she didn’t choose no as the word to make him stop; if she had, she would never get what she wanted from him. Then again, she’s thinking she won’t get it anyway, because he’s proving a point.
His free hand grabs the last remaining wrist she has loose. He brings that behind her back as well, transfers it into the grip he’s got her other hand in. She fights, but he’s practically lying on top of her, and she has no leverage with which to battle back. Unable to move much, she loses. And when he is sure he’s got both of her hands tightly secured with only one of his own, he reaches up and roughly yanks on her hair.
Her neck cranes upward, making her gasp. His mouth hovers next to her ear.
“This is the part where you realize demands aren’t going to work,” he whispers coldly. “I can keep you here all night on the brink.”
Although he’s in his clothes, she can still feel the erection he has pressed against her ass. No matter what he says, at some point, he will want to get that taken care of. And when he has her here, he’s not going to settle for the touch of his own hand; he’s going to want her. Then he will be just as helpless as he wants to make her seem, she tells herself.
“No, you can’t,” she says knowingly.
He sits up, still having a tight hold of her hands. “Can’t is a funny word.” His tone can only be described as conversational. The sound of him slowly undressing, however, undermines the casual voice. “How long have we been sleeping together? A while, right? I know what gets you off. I know what doesn’t. And you think I can’t find a way to use your body and leave you wet and desperate and completely unable to come?”
Out of her peripheral vision, she sees him take off his pants. There is a bit of a struggle to do so, between holding her hostage and navigating his thigh. But the effect of the act isn’t lost on her at all. He’s getting undressed. He's by her bed with her juices on his mouth and his cock hard and ready for her, and the awkwardness with which he strips doesn't take away from that. In that moment, he is beautiful to her. She has always been attracted to him, but right now, that desire is tenfold. He's pale flesh and defined muscle, musky scent and beautiful cock arched in the air for her touch, and she is eager to do just that: touch him. The way she wants him, she's not sure he can actually do what he says. Maybe if she wanted him less, he would be able to leave her panting for more, but she isn't convinced that's possible now. Her pussy is laden with need, heavy and hot for his dick. It won't take much to make her orgasm, and once he's inside her, she doubts he will have the wherewithal to deny her.
Then again, he will see that as a challenge. If success is unlikely, he will work that much harder to be a man of his word. And because of that, it's clear she has to play the game the way he wants it played.
"I'll be good," she insists, as he has trouble unbuttoning his shirt.
"That's easy to say when you want to come." Finally he's free of the button down, and he makes quick work of the t-shirt he's wearing beneath it. Naked now, he uses his free hand to stroke his erection. She whines and struggles against him at the sight. "See? You don't mean it."
"I want your cock." There's no point in trying to put it nicely. He has her by the hands on her bed, and they're naked, and there's no reason to be anything other than blunt.
He just smiles. "Good."
With effort he crawls onto the bed. He lets go of her hands to balance his weight, and she fails to take advantage of the freedom. Truthfully, he would probably catch her before she managed to get off, but she doesn't try it either way. She doesn't move as he does, concern for his leg making her stiff. He manages all right, and he would probably be okay if she continued to fight. But she doesn't want to risk something going wrong. So she waits until he is practically on top of her to start up again. As he leans against her, pushing her into the mattress, she feels his erection slip along her ass. The head bobs along her crack, eliciting a whimper from her.
She closes her eyes and waits. He's so close to her now; they are so close to having sex, and she anticipates the moment he penetrates her.
He seems fine with waiting. On top of her, he makes no move to push his dick into her. If anything, every time his penis gets too close to her opening, he reaches between them and pulls his cock away from her. He'll rub it against her hole, let it slip along her labia. But he won't let it go any further than that.
From her position, she tries to get him to accidentally penetrate her. Her thinking is that if she moves while he torments her, perhaps he will push his dick's head into her, and once in her, he won't have the willpower to deny himself what they both want. But it's clear he has the upper hand in all of this. She tries her best to move beneath him, rock her hips in a way that gives him access to her. His weight prevents her from moving much though.
She groans in frustration, and he laughs. Taking hold of her hands once more, he moves them to a spot above her head. Pinning her wrists takes away some of the leverage she had before. She's thoroughly trapped on the mattress beneath him.
His other hand pushes the hair out of her face gently. His stroke is paternal at best, patronizing at worst. She frowns at her current situation, even as she is aware that her juices have completely coated his cock. He hasn't been inside her at all, but she's still that turned on.
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” he taunts, kissing the plane between her shoulder blades.
She clenches her jaw. “I swear to God if you don’t -”
“What are you going to do exactly?” She can feel his smirk against her skin. “Pretty sure you can’t do anything.”
The chance to respond is lost. She wants to say something, but his cell phone ringing from his pants pocket shuts her up.
Things suddenly on hold, he groans. The frustration she’s felt keenly rubs off on him, and he reluctantly lets her go, rolls off of her. She stays where she is so they can easily pick up where they left off. But she can hear him struggle to find his phone, the rustling of his jeans a testament to that. So too does she hear him scoff when he’s finally grabbed the cell.
Curious she can’t help but turn to him then. Since he makes no move to answer the call, she asks him, “Who is it?”
“Wilson,” he tells her, setting his phone on her dresser.
“You’re not going to answer it?”
“No. If it goes to voicemail, he’ll think I’m mad at him, which means he won’t suspect anything,” he explains confidently.
As he comes closer to her once more, she feels the need to point out, “But at some point, we want to be able to go out without anyone -”
“Yes. That’s true. On the other hand, if we hang out once and we just love it.” His voice is biting, sarcastic, irritable. “Automatically Wilson’s gonna suspect I did you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. And if I were to answer the phone, I’d say it would only take you, what, thirty seconds to decide that you wanted to get laid? Then I’m on the phone with him trying to concentrate while you -”
“I would behave.” She tries to look innocent.
It doesn’t work. He scoffs. “Forgive me if I remain doubtful.” He looks at her pointedly, as if to say that the fact that she’s rolled over and at the edge of the bed is proof enough of his statement. Just in case she hasn’t figured that out, he says as he stalks back to her, “Look where you are.”
“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t move.”
He pretends to have not heard her. Ignoring the comment, he returns to his original point. “Wilson can’t think we had fun, because that will be suspicious.”
His dick in front of her, she curls a hand around his erection. But she only gets to stroke him a few times before he pushes her away.
She sighs in frustration. “If he thinks I hated it, he won’t ask me again to -”
“Oh yes he will. He doesn’t care if you had fun. He cares if you did it. Coincidentally that’s how you’re going to be describing the sex we have tonight if you don’t get back where I left you.”
“So you are planning on having sex with me,” she grumbles even as she does what he wants. Rolling over, she crawls back to the center of the bed where she was lying moments ago. Once again she lies down, hands above her head and legs spread enough for him to have complete access to her body. “That’s good to know.”
For the second time now, he gets onto the bed and moves along her body. Again, he rests his weight on her, grabs hold of her hands, teases her with his dick. Maddeningly enough he is in no hurry.
He kisses her shoulder, her ear, her back. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s intentionally trying to drive her crazy, which hardly comes as a surprise. But it makes her realize that he has mentally prepared himself to take as much time as he wants. She can’t, therefore, egg him into speeding things up, force him to accidentally penetrate her, or control this in any way. The only way she gets what she wants is if she lets him do exactly what he’s planned.
That’s not hard for her to do. If he has thought this through, it’s not difficult to believe that he has in mind ways to punish her if she misbehaves, consequences for each act of defiance. Would he actually deny her an orgasm? She doubts it. This means less to him if she’s not getting off on it. But she is sure that there are plans set to make that orgasm harder and more costly for her to have.
Lying there and letting him do as he wants are the only things she can do to get her way.
No doubt he knows this. Her sudden acceptance of the matter is met with more taunting. “See?” he asks condescendingly. “Is that so hard?” He presses his cock to her opening, his dick becoming the “that” in the question.
He pushes the head of his penis into her and just as quickly pulls back out. She moans at the contact and even more so at the loss of it, but she does not complain. She does not fight him.
He does this a few more times to see if he can loosen her tongue, but she has already made up her mind to silently defy him. She doesn’t give him the green light to torture her further.
His lips descend onto the nape of her neck. As he kisses her, he inhales deeply, the scent of her perfume and shampoo no doubt mingling in his senses. The hand on top of hers is warm and surprisingly soft for someone used to the harsh soaps at the hospital. And then he says as though pleasantly surprised, “That’s good. That’s very good.”
Having gotten what he wanted form her, he thrusts into her. This time he doesn’t stop until he’s inside her completely. He stills to give her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, but she doesn’t need it. From the beginning she has been ready for him.
The instant he senses that, he moves against her, hips thrusting against her ass with each motion. He nearly pulls out and pushes back in, the sensation making her cry out. She can feel him inside her, filling her like no one else ever has. Her body aches to accommodate his girth, clenches when he hits that spot, and has her moaning so loudly she can barely hear the sounds their bodies are making together - the slick noise of his dick slipping between her labia, the fleshy sounds of his body hitting her ass, and his labored breathing.
He builds up speed, going as fast and as hard as he can go. His hands move to her shoulders for leverage, and he pushes himself upwards so that he can fuck her all the more roughly. She spreads her legs to give him better access, and this time he doesn’t have a problem with that. It’s the opposite in fact.
“Oh. God,” he forces out.
His fingers are bruising her with their grip. Her lungs burn, air rasping in the back of her throat, as she tries to breathe beneath him. He’s heavy on top of her, even though he’s pulled back to change angles, and there is a little pain that comes with all of it. Roughness punctuates each movement they make, tugs at the edges of her consciousness.
But above all else, she feels raw with need. Each thrust brings her closer to the edge, makes her stomach flutter and fill with desire she can’t seem to satiate. He is so perfect inside her that she feels stars and tears prick at her eyes. Her body clenches with each motion he makes, and it’s still not enough.
And then in an instant, it is. She’s so busy trying to get off that her orgasm takes her by surprise. It hits her quickly and hard. Her toes curl, scream getting tangled in her throat and the air, and she comes with long clenches that she never wants to stop. Pleasure runs through her uncontrollably, and then in her as House joins her in total ecstasy.
Their rhythm immediately breaks down, as they selfishly ride the feeling out. His hands scramble to grasp her hips so he can hold her still. But her body jerks backwards, thrusting of its own accord. Her pussy clenches him tightly, making it harder for him to push in and out of her. If he minds any of this, he’s too busy coating her cunt with his semen to care.
They push together once more in a mistimed moment, and then they are too exhausted, too satisfied to continue.
He wheezes behind her as he pulls out. “Oh God,” he struggles to say, their lovemaking having taken its toll on his body. Red and sweaty he flops onto the bed beside her. His entire chest is flushed, and she smiles at his apparent exhaustion. Blissfully satiated herself, she takes pride in knowing that she has worn him out, pleased him so much that he has to catch his breath.
Then he winces.
She’s less pleased about that. He does it only for a sliver of a second, of course. If she blinked, she would have missed it. He is nothing if not capable of pretending like it doesn’t bother him as much as it does. Because as often as he reminds anyone in the vicinity that he has pain, there are times like these where he does his best to hide it. Six months ago, she wouldn’t believe that. But the proof is here, right now, when she sees the ache flicker through his features for a second.
At first, she’s tempted to ask if he’s okay. Immediately realizing how that will go, she refrains, reconsiders what to do. And then the answer is obvious: Vicodin. Surely that’s what he would want.
Without a word, she slowly rolls away from him. Her movements are unrushed, intentionally so. The last thing he would want is for her to know that he’s in pain, she thinks. He was quick to hide the pain for a reason, and she doesn’t want to call attention to it because of that. So she makes it seem like she’s just trying to avoid the wet spot on the bed. She acts like, being sweaty herself, she can’t get comfortable and eventually sits up.
When she stands up, she purposely makes sure to step on his pants pocket, where she knows he keeps his Vicodin. Pretending to be surprised she asks, “What the….?”
She bends over to pick up his jeans as though she’s curious what she’s stepped on. Her ass in the air, House is distracted enough to say, “That’s a nice image.”
She pulls the bottle of pills out of his pocket, tosses it to him. “Put that somewhere so I don’t trip on it.”
As he discretely takes one, she goes about picking up their clothes and setting them aside. They go on her bureau one by one. Normally she would stick her dirty laundry in the basket she has tucked away in her closet, but that invites questions as to what to do with House’s clothes. She’s not going to do his laundry, not ready to let him take over drawers or anything else in her home. It’s simply too soon, and she’s in no rush to get to that step. But at the same time, she’s not going to ask him where she should put his things. The mood in the room is calm, something that will be destroyed, she fears, if she makes it clear she doesn’t want his stuff here.
He broaches the subject anyway. “My backpack’s in the hall. You can bring it to me.”
“I can bring it to you?”
“Oh right. I forgot. You will bring it to me. That’s what gets you off, right?”
“I don’t enjoy being your slave,” she says with gritted teeth.
He smiles. “Don’t you?”
When thrown back at her, the question isn’t so easily answered. If he said that he would spank her unless she got his bag, she knows that would have turned her on. Maybe if he made the demand before they had sex, she would have done it thoughtlessly, being so turned on and desperate for sex she would have listened. Maybe she would do it if she could ignore the implications of giving into such behavior. If she could set aside the shame of doing whatever her boyfriend wanted, perhaps she could go down that road entirely.
But she can’t and doesn’t know if she ever will be able to.
She’s not sure if that’s a bad thing, but what she does realize then is that House is right. She needs a list, a set of limitations. Without it, he’ll go too far.
Without it, she won't trust him.
Continue on to the next chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy, House, some Wilson
Author's Note: This was written for help_lisa. This auction was won by grouchy_snarky who wanted a multi-chaptered sequel to A Dark Inclination. She requested no more watersports, which I have honored. However, there will be mentions of that in this chapter. You don't need to have read ADI, although it doesn't hurt. This series will also fulfill 50kinkyways prompt 29. Submissive.
Warning: This chapter contains explicit sex, mentions of spanking, watersports, and dominance/submission.
Summary: House and Cuddy take their burgeoning relationship further and into darker territories. Can they balance this new dynamic with the one they have at work? Parallels season 4. Established Huddy relationship.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 (Part One), Chapter 1 (Part Two)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
He sets the coffee cup down once more and then turns his attention back to her. His free hands are suddenly on her, one arm wrapping around her waist. The other hand rests right above her knee.
“You need to answer me,” he says.
She licks her lips. “Yes.”
“Punish you?”
She thinks about the question, about how she wants this to work. In reflection, last night was not the first time he slapped her ass. Before then there had been a few occasions here and there where he’d offered her a smack or two. And she’d liked it, yes, but it hadn’t delivered the same punch being turned over his knee and spanked for misbehaving had.
Right now she doesn’t believe what she wants could be more obvious.
Her stomach twists at the knowledge. She’s okay with telling him the truth; this is what she wants. But there is fear that comes with knowing she will get what she wants. There’s excitement too. Again, she wants this. It’s just terrifying to think that with a nod of the head, this will be a reality.
“Yes,” she says shakily.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
She looks over at him. Looking into his concerned eyes, she finds it easy to reveal her reservations. “I am convinced. I just can’t believe it. And that makes me wonder if there’s a reason for that.”
“We don’t have to -”
“No. We do.”
The issue becomes apparent to him. “You’re afraid you can’t back out?”
“Maybe.”
He looks at her like she’s an idiot. “Don’t be stupid. I gave you plenty of opportunities last night to change your mind. That will always be the case.”
“You wanted me to use my underwear to stop you. That’s not always going to be -”
“You have to stop talking cause my I.Q. is dropping just hearing you -”
“Shut up.”
He tries again, this time more nicely. “Here’s an easy solution: Wilson’s got a baby dick.”
That’s the last thing she’s expecting him to say, and the absurdity of it all makes her laugh loudly.
“That makes no sense,” she tells him once she’s calmed down, the smile still on her face.
“That’s what you say when you want me to stop.”
She starts to laugh again, because she can’t even imagine that working. She tries to conjure up the scene in which that happens and saying in the middle of being smacked or whatever, “Wilson’s got a baby dick.” She can’t fathom it.
“I can’t say that.”
“That’s unfortunate, cause I would really like it if you did. At least once.”
“I’m never going to talk about Wilson’s penis. I can promise you that.”
“Again - unfortunate.”
“Be serious.”
“Okay.” And he is solemn then. “You need a way out is what you’re saying, and I’m all for that. So pick a word or something. My personal preference would involve -”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Then what?”
“You act like there are no other options that -”
“Well, I do think mine’s hard to beat,” he says proudly. “But ultimately this isn’t about cleverness, as there would be no competition there.”
She pulls away from him. “If you keep insinuating that I’m an idiot, you can go home.”
“My bad.” He holds his hands up as if to say that he doesn’t mean any harm. Then he gets straight to the point. “It just needs to be something you’ll remember and I’ll recognize, really. So whatever you want.”
If it’s something he needs to realize is a signal to stop, it can’t be something as simple as no - which he ignores even in the best of circumstances. It has to be something that catches his attention. She’s tempted to make the phrase, you have a small penis, but doesn’t. He would never let it go if she did that. And besides, that takes too much of an effort to say.
In the end, she blurts out the first word that comes to mind. “Yak.”
“Yak?” He mulls the idea over. “Fine,” he says decisively. “Although clearly my idea was better.”
“It was not.”
“It totally was, actually. But it’s your choice, so yak it is.”
“Good.”
“Last order of business,” he states, making her groan. The sound surprises him.
She explains, complains, “I’ve been handling administration all day. I don’t to spend our first hours as a… couple.” She stumbles over the phrase. “Discussing all of the -”
“Yeah, it’s boring. I get it. But if you want the whips and chains so to speak, that requires a little more planning and consideration.”
“And we have to make all these decisions now.”
“Oh no, I think it’s a much better idea to go in without any rules. That can’t possibly end in disaster,” he says sarcastically. He has a point, and she knows it. Before she even has a chance to say so, he capitulates first. “You’re right though. We probably shouldn’t decide everything now, not when we haven’t had a chance to think this through.”
Hearing him say he wants to think about it stokes the fear inside her. He didn’t use the words, “I want to rethink this relationship.” But part of her takes it that way.
She tries to tell herself otherwise. It’s insane to jump to that conclusion. More than that, she knows that’s not what he means. But it’s been a long time since she dated anyone. She’s not used to this and certainly wasn’t prepared for a relationship to happen. Trying to think logically, she can see that her willingness to believe he wants to back out has to do with her own doubt. She is afraid this won’t work out, so she’s looking for reasons it can’t.
Recognized self-sabotage is impossible to endorse, and she shuts the idea down instantly.
Confident she asks, “What do you have in mind?”
“You make a list of things you’re absolutely not comfortable with. And then -”
“A list,” she says doubtfully.
“Yeah.”
“An actual list or -”
“Are you kidding me?” He shakes his head in frustration. “Yes. A physical list, something I can read.”
“And if I’m not comfortable writing -”
“I’m not going to show it to anyone. I told you: I have no interest in letting anyone know this side of you exists. I want it to be just for me.” A sense of ownership surges through his voice briefly. Then he adds calmly, “And also like I told you: no one would believe me even if I said something. So unless you title your list, ‘Cuddy’s list of non-kinks for House,’ which doesn’t even mean anything since it’d be a list of things I can’t do to you sexually, and have the thing notarized, it doesn’t matter.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Her initial reluctance has him seeking reassurance.
“I’ll do it. I have no reason not to trust you.”
“Thank you.” He seems relieved. “Now that you have your homework, come here.”
His hand is pulling on her wrist, not leaving her much choice but to do what he wants. But she doesn't need the choice. She has waited for this moment all day. Willingly she allows herself to be tugged to him.
Just as soon as she’s close to him, he’s pushing her to stand up. If only to avoid falling onto the floor, she listens. When she’s on her feet in front of him, his gaze roams over her body appraisingly.
“You looked so hot today,” he tells her.
She smiles at the compliment. "Thank you."
"Hotter than usual I mean. It made me wonder if you were dressing that way for someone." He uses his index finger to draw a circle in the air to indicate that he wants her to turn around. She does and almost immediately feels his hands on the zipper of her skirt. "Were you?" he asks leadingly.
"No."
Slowly he pulls the zipper down. Given how close he is, she would love nothing more than for him to just yank the damn thing off of her. But he takes his time, carefully undoing the zipper one metallic tooth at a time. "No?" he repeats, testing the answer with his tongue. "You weren't hoping to give your panties away again?"
She smiles at the memory. It only happened yesterday, but it has been the catalyst for so much. "I learned my lesson."
"Good." A palm slips beneath the fabric of her skirt, so that he is touching her ass as he pushes the piece of clothing off her body. "I would hate to have to punish you again for that." The skirt pulls at her ankles, and for a moment, she can practically feel him staring at the way her body looks in the thong she's wearing.
Ordinarily it would turn her on. Today she has other matters on her mind. "Is it bruised?" she asks curiously. She was in such a rush to get ready this morning that she never caught sight of her ass to see the damage he had done the last time they were together. When he'd hit her, she knew that his focused hand would probably leave bruises; it certainly felt like there might be something there this morning. But she's not sure.
"No." She is disappointed by the news. She wants the mark of his hand on her. She wants the proof that he owns her. "Not yet."
She raises an eyebrow at the words. "Not yet?"
He pats her ass gently. "You didn't think I'd let you threaten me with a bad parking spot if I didn't hire my team already, did you?"
"I'm your boss. I can do whatever I want."
"At work, yes. Here?" His hands are on her hips. Abruptly he pulls her backwards, forces her to sit on his lap. Her breath hitches at the closeness. "I'm in charge here, remember?"
"Yes."
"Good."
In a rush, she points out, "You realize nothing's going to change, right?" A sound catches in the back of his throat like he's not sure what she's talking about. "Tomorrow, I'll still be pushing you to hire someone. I'm not going to back down just because -"
"Of course. Like you said, you're the boss." He pulls her closer, squeezes her so tightly that she feels completely surrounded by him. She likes the feeling. "But right now, you're here with me. You're mine. And I think you've been bad."
He's not even angry, she realizes. If she told him to stop, and thanks to "yak," she can, he would. She can put an end to this if she wants, because the rage in his voice is an act, something designed to get them both off. But the thing about it is: it is slowly pushing her to that point of no return. It is turning her on. It's fake, and for that reason, maybe she should laugh at the way he's talking to her. But from her perspective, there is absolutely nothing to laugh about.
"Do you agree?" he asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She can only nod her head. "Hmm," he murmurs approvingly. "Since you're in agreement, I think you need to go lay down."
She frowns. During the time that has lapsed since dinner, she has felt nothing but exhausted. Suddenly she's no longer tired. "I don't want to go to bed."
"I didn't say you would sleep," he says snidely. "I said: you need to go lay down. On your stomach. While I decide just how badly you need to be punished." Her body seems to run out of oxygen. The game leaves her breathless and warm. "Understand?"
She nods her head.
The second she does, he's pushing her back onto her feet. Unsteadily she does as she is told.
Her mattress is soft beneath her body, her cheek lightly pressing into the fabric of her comforter in a way that would normally send her into a deep sleep. Tonight she's not sure she can wait another second for him to come into the room behind her. Anticipation makes her squirm. Seconds feel like minutes, and each moment she is alone, she has to increasingly resist the urge to return to him, demand that he make his move.
In the end though, that's unnecessary. Just as the waiting is about to destroy her self control, he is in the room, behind her.
He quickly curls an arm around her waist and pulls her up. When he has her kneeling on the bed, he lets go of her, begins to undress her. Her shirt comes off first, the purple satin tossed over the edge of the bed. Her bra goes next, and when she’s exposed in front of him, all she wants is for him to touch her.
He doesn’t.
“Head on the bed,” he orders.
She does that and can’t help but notice the way her ass arches upward - as he no doubt intended. His hands skim her sides, fingers hooking into her underwear.
Pulling them off, he says, “You have no idea how long I waited today to do this. No idea.”
“Considering I’ve had the same day you’ve had,” she starts to point out. But she never gets the chance to explain that their misery has been shared equally today. Her mouth stops working when his begins to.
There is no foreplay, no gentle touch to ease her into it. She’s not complaining of course, because she doesn’t need it. She has waited for this for far too long to need gentle touches and soft kisses to get her in the mood. His voice, the promise of this relationship, their date - it has all put her on edge, made her wetter than she ever thought possible. Being fingered in front of Wilson just pushed her further into this. And now she is so far gone that when House's mouth is suddenly against her pussy, she is already primed and ready to go.
His nose nuzzles at her perineum, the sensation one that is equal parts uncomfortable and delicious. His tongue laps up the juices he has made flow all day long. There is a certain amount of disbelief that comes with finally getting what she wants, and because of that, she’s louder, more appreciative.
She cries out for his touch, and he rewards her repeatedly. His tongue thrusts inside her, and she screams at the sensation of him sliding against her wet walls. Her body instinctively understands the truth of the matter in that moment. As she lies there at his mercy, it’s clear that he does not need to hit her to be in complete possession of her. He is in control now just as much as he was yesterday, and she loves every second of it.
Cuddy can hear herself practically shouting for him to continue. Her voice ranges from orders to pleading, from understandable words like “More” to the completely incomprehensible.
And throughout he ignores her. As he always is when he’s focused on a task, he pretends that her wishes do not exist. It takes quite a bit of talent, she thinks, to be pleasuring her, tasting her, without any regard for satisfying her.
She squeezes her legs together in the hopes that he will get the message, that he will get her off. But his hands just push her thighs farther apart in response. Regardless of what she wants, he is in no hurry to get her off. His pace is pre-planned, and he will not speed up just to make her happy.
The point of it all isn’t lost on her. As he purposely slows down so she can’t orgasm, she gets what he’s doing.
She has forced his hand professionally, stopped him from doing what he really wants to. Now he is going to do the same to her.
It is, in her mind, a challenge. If he doesn’t want her to get off, she will do her best to do just that.
She starts to move her hips in time with the motions of his tongue. It feels good, lets him move deeply enough for her to start to feel the heat in her build. It’s not enough; nothing could be enough right now; but maybe if she just keeps it up, she thinks, rocking her hips against him….
And then he pulls away entirely.
When she cries out this time, it’s not because she’s enjoying what he’s doing. That just makes him laugh at her.
“Not as much fun when the tables are turned, are they?”
“Shut up and do me,” she barks.
“Poor little Cuddy,” he mocks. “Wants to come but she can’t.”
That’s not exactly true. He may not be willing to get her off, but she has no compunction about taking care of herself in front of him, against his wishes.
She moves a hand toward her needy cunt. She’s ready to finish this herself. But he quickly grabs her by the wrist. Bringing her hand behind her back, he uses his weight to push her down onto the mattress completely.
“No,” she growls, frustrated, her body pleading for release. In that moment, she’s glad she didn’t choose no as the word to make him stop; if she had, she would never get what she wanted from him. Then again, she’s thinking she won’t get it anyway, because he’s proving a point.
His free hand grabs the last remaining wrist she has loose. He brings that behind her back as well, transfers it into the grip he’s got her other hand in. She fights, but he’s practically lying on top of her, and she has no leverage with which to battle back. Unable to move much, she loses. And when he is sure he’s got both of her hands tightly secured with only one of his own, he reaches up and roughly yanks on her hair.
Her neck cranes upward, making her gasp. His mouth hovers next to her ear.
“This is the part where you realize demands aren’t going to work,” he whispers coldly. “I can keep you here all night on the brink.”
Although he’s in his clothes, she can still feel the erection he has pressed against her ass. No matter what he says, at some point, he will want to get that taken care of. And when he has her here, he’s not going to settle for the touch of his own hand; he’s going to want her. Then he will be just as helpless as he wants to make her seem, she tells herself.
“No, you can’t,” she says knowingly.
He sits up, still having a tight hold of her hands. “Can’t is a funny word.” His tone can only be described as conversational. The sound of him slowly undressing, however, undermines the casual voice. “How long have we been sleeping together? A while, right? I know what gets you off. I know what doesn’t. And you think I can’t find a way to use your body and leave you wet and desperate and completely unable to come?”
Out of her peripheral vision, she sees him take off his pants. There is a bit of a struggle to do so, between holding her hostage and navigating his thigh. But the effect of the act isn’t lost on her at all. He’s getting undressed. He's by her bed with her juices on his mouth and his cock hard and ready for her, and the awkwardness with which he strips doesn't take away from that. In that moment, he is beautiful to her. She has always been attracted to him, but right now, that desire is tenfold. He's pale flesh and defined muscle, musky scent and beautiful cock arched in the air for her touch, and she is eager to do just that: touch him. The way she wants him, she's not sure he can actually do what he says. Maybe if she wanted him less, he would be able to leave her panting for more, but she isn't convinced that's possible now. Her pussy is laden with need, heavy and hot for his dick. It won't take much to make her orgasm, and once he's inside her, she doubts he will have the wherewithal to deny her.
Then again, he will see that as a challenge. If success is unlikely, he will work that much harder to be a man of his word. And because of that, it's clear she has to play the game the way he wants it played.
"I'll be good," she insists, as he has trouble unbuttoning his shirt.
"That's easy to say when you want to come." Finally he's free of the button down, and he makes quick work of the t-shirt he's wearing beneath it. Naked now, he uses his free hand to stroke his erection. She whines and struggles against him at the sight. "See? You don't mean it."
"I want your cock." There's no point in trying to put it nicely. He has her by the hands on her bed, and they're naked, and there's no reason to be anything other than blunt.
He just smiles. "Good."
With effort he crawls onto the bed. He lets go of her hands to balance his weight, and she fails to take advantage of the freedom. Truthfully, he would probably catch her before she managed to get off, but she doesn't try it either way. She doesn't move as he does, concern for his leg making her stiff. He manages all right, and he would probably be okay if she continued to fight. But she doesn't want to risk something going wrong. So she waits until he is practically on top of her to start up again. As he leans against her, pushing her into the mattress, she feels his erection slip along her ass. The head bobs along her crack, eliciting a whimper from her.
She closes her eyes and waits. He's so close to her now; they are so close to having sex, and she anticipates the moment he penetrates her.
He seems fine with waiting. On top of her, he makes no move to push his dick into her. If anything, every time his penis gets too close to her opening, he reaches between them and pulls his cock away from her. He'll rub it against her hole, let it slip along her labia. But he won't let it go any further than that.
From her position, she tries to get him to accidentally penetrate her. Her thinking is that if she moves while he torments her, perhaps he will push his dick's head into her, and once in her, he won't have the willpower to deny himself what they both want. But it's clear he has the upper hand in all of this. She tries her best to move beneath him, rock her hips in a way that gives him access to her. His weight prevents her from moving much though.
She groans in frustration, and he laughs. Taking hold of her hands once more, he moves them to a spot above her head. Pinning her wrists takes away some of the leverage she had before. She's thoroughly trapped on the mattress beneath him.
His other hand pushes the hair out of her face gently. His stroke is paternal at best, patronizing at worst. She frowns at her current situation, even as she is aware that her juices have completely coated his cock. He hasn't been inside her at all, but she's still that turned on.
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” he taunts, kissing the plane between her shoulder blades.
She clenches her jaw. “I swear to God if you don’t -”
“What are you going to do exactly?” She can feel his smirk against her skin. “Pretty sure you can’t do anything.”
The chance to respond is lost. She wants to say something, but his cell phone ringing from his pants pocket shuts her up.
Things suddenly on hold, he groans. The frustration she’s felt keenly rubs off on him, and he reluctantly lets her go, rolls off of her. She stays where she is so they can easily pick up where they left off. But she can hear him struggle to find his phone, the rustling of his jeans a testament to that. So too does she hear him scoff when he’s finally grabbed the cell.
Curious she can’t help but turn to him then. Since he makes no move to answer the call, she asks him, “Who is it?”
“Wilson,” he tells her, setting his phone on her dresser.
“You’re not going to answer it?”
“No. If it goes to voicemail, he’ll think I’m mad at him, which means he won’t suspect anything,” he explains confidently.
As he comes closer to her once more, she feels the need to point out, “But at some point, we want to be able to go out without anyone -”
“Yes. That’s true. On the other hand, if we hang out once and we just love it.” His voice is biting, sarcastic, irritable. “Automatically Wilson’s gonna suspect I did you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. And if I were to answer the phone, I’d say it would only take you, what, thirty seconds to decide that you wanted to get laid? Then I’m on the phone with him trying to concentrate while you -”
“I would behave.” She tries to look innocent.
It doesn’t work. He scoffs. “Forgive me if I remain doubtful.” He looks at her pointedly, as if to say that the fact that she’s rolled over and at the edge of the bed is proof enough of his statement. Just in case she hasn’t figured that out, he says as he stalks back to her, “Look where you are.”
“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t move.”
He pretends to have not heard her. Ignoring the comment, he returns to his original point. “Wilson can’t think we had fun, because that will be suspicious.”
His dick in front of her, she curls a hand around his erection. But she only gets to stroke him a few times before he pushes her away.
She sighs in frustration. “If he thinks I hated it, he won’t ask me again to -”
“Oh yes he will. He doesn’t care if you had fun. He cares if you did it. Coincidentally that’s how you’re going to be describing the sex we have tonight if you don’t get back where I left you.”
“So you are planning on having sex with me,” she grumbles even as she does what he wants. Rolling over, she crawls back to the center of the bed where she was lying moments ago. Once again she lies down, hands above her head and legs spread enough for him to have complete access to her body. “That’s good to know.”
For the second time now, he gets onto the bed and moves along her body. Again, he rests his weight on her, grabs hold of her hands, teases her with his dick. Maddeningly enough he is in no hurry.
He kisses her shoulder, her ear, her back. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s intentionally trying to drive her crazy, which hardly comes as a surprise. But it makes her realize that he has mentally prepared himself to take as much time as he wants. She can’t, therefore, egg him into speeding things up, force him to accidentally penetrate her, or control this in any way. The only way she gets what she wants is if she lets him do exactly what he’s planned.
That’s not hard for her to do. If he has thought this through, it’s not difficult to believe that he has in mind ways to punish her if she misbehaves, consequences for each act of defiance. Would he actually deny her an orgasm? She doubts it. This means less to him if she’s not getting off on it. But she is sure that there are plans set to make that orgasm harder and more costly for her to have.
Lying there and letting him do as he wants are the only things she can do to get her way.
No doubt he knows this. Her sudden acceptance of the matter is met with more taunting. “See?” he asks condescendingly. “Is that so hard?” He presses his cock to her opening, his dick becoming the “that” in the question.
He pushes the head of his penis into her and just as quickly pulls back out. She moans at the contact and even more so at the loss of it, but she does not complain. She does not fight him.
He does this a few more times to see if he can loosen her tongue, but she has already made up her mind to silently defy him. She doesn’t give him the green light to torture her further.
His lips descend onto the nape of her neck. As he kisses her, he inhales deeply, the scent of her perfume and shampoo no doubt mingling in his senses. The hand on top of hers is warm and surprisingly soft for someone used to the harsh soaps at the hospital. And then he says as though pleasantly surprised, “That’s good. That’s very good.”
Having gotten what he wanted form her, he thrusts into her. This time he doesn’t stop until he’s inside her completely. He stills to give her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, but she doesn’t need it. From the beginning she has been ready for him.
The instant he senses that, he moves against her, hips thrusting against her ass with each motion. He nearly pulls out and pushes back in, the sensation making her cry out. She can feel him inside her, filling her like no one else ever has. Her body aches to accommodate his girth, clenches when he hits that spot, and has her moaning so loudly she can barely hear the sounds their bodies are making together - the slick noise of his dick slipping between her labia, the fleshy sounds of his body hitting her ass, and his labored breathing.
He builds up speed, going as fast and as hard as he can go. His hands move to her shoulders for leverage, and he pushes himself upwards so that he can fuck her all the more roughly. She spreads her legs to give him better access, and this time he doesn’t have a problem with that. It’s the opposite in fact.
“Oh. God,” he forces out.
His fingers are bruising her with their grip. Her lungs burn, air rasping in the back of her throat, as she tries to breathe beneath him. He’s heavy on top of her, even though he’s pulled back to change angles, and there is a little pain that comes with all of it. Roughness punctuates each movement they make, tugs at the edges of her consciousness.
But above all else, she feels raw with need. Each thrust brings her closer to the edge, makes her stomach flutter and fill with desire she can’t seem to satiate. He is so perfect inside her that she feels stars and tears prick at her eyes. Her body clenches with each motion he makes, and it’s still not enough.
And then in an instant, it is. She’s so busy trying to get off that her orgasm takes her by surprise. It hits her quickly and hard. Her toes curl, scream getting tangled in her throat and the air, and she comes with long clenches that she never wants to stop. Pleasure runs through her uncontrollably, and then in her as House joins her in total ecstasy.
Their rhythm immediately breaks down, as they selfishly ride the feeling out. His hands scramble to grasp her hips so he can hold her still. But her body jerks backwards, thrusting of its own accord. Her pussy clenches him tightly, making it harder for him to push in and out of her. If he minds any of this, he’s too busy coating her cunt with his semen to care.
They push together once more in a mistimed moment, and then they are too exhausted, too satisfied to continue.
He wheezes behind her as he pulls out. “Oh God,” he struggles to say, their lovemaking having taken its toll on his body. Red and sweaty he flops onto the bed beside her. His entire chest is flushed, and she smiles at his apparent exhaustion. Blissfully satiated herself, she takes pride in knowing that she has worn him out, pleased him so much that he has to catch his breath.
Then he winces.
She’s less pleased about that. He does it only for a sliver of a second, of course. If she blinked, she would have missed it. He is nothing if not capable of pretending like it doesn’t bother him as much as it does. Because as often as he reminds anyone in the vicinity that he has pain, there are times like these where he does his best to hide it. Six months ago, she wouldn’t believe that. But the proof is here, right now, when she sees the ache flicker through his features for a second.
At first, she’s tempted to ask if he’s okay. Immediately realizing how that will go, she refrains, reconsiders what to do. And then the answer is obvious: Vicodin. Surely that’s what he would want.
Without a word, she slowly rolls away from him. Her movements are unrushed, intentionally so. The last thing he would want is for her to know that he’s in pain, she thinks. He was quick to hide the pain for a reason, and she doesn’t want to call attention to it because of that. So she makes it seem like she’s just trying to avoid the wet spot on the bed. She acts like, being sweaty herself, she can’t get comfortable and eventually sits up.
When she stands up, she purposely makes sure to step on his pants pocket, where she knows he keeps his Vicodin. Pretending to be surprised she asks, “What the….?”
She bends over to pick up his jeans as though she’s curious what she’s stepped on. Her ass in the air, House is distracted enough to say, “That’s a nice image.”
She pulls the bottle of pills out of his pocket, tosses it to him. “Put that somewhere so I don’t trip on it.”
As he discretely takes one, she goes about picking up their clothes and setting them aside. They go on her bureau one by one. Normally she would stick her dirty laundry in the basket she has tucked away in her closet, but that invites questions as to what to do with House’s clothes. She’s not going to do his laundry, not ready to let him take over drawers or anything else in her home. It’s simply too soon, and she’s in no rush to get to that step. But at the same time, she’s not going to ask him where she should put his things. The mood in the room is calm, something that will be destroyed, she fears, if she makes it clear she doesn’t want his stuff here.
He broaches the subject anyway. “My backpack’s in the hall. You can bring it to me.”
“I can bring it to you?”
“Oh right. I forgot. You will bring it to me. That’s what gets you off, right?”
“I don’t enjoy being your slave,” she says with gritted teeth.
He smiles. “Don’t you?”
When thrown back at her, the question isn’t so easily answered. If he said that he would spank her unless she got his bag, she knows that would have turned her on. Maybe if he made the demand before they had sex, she would have done it thoughtlessly, being so turned on and desperate for sex she would have listened. Maybe she would do it if she could ignore the implications of giving into such behavior. If she could set aside the shame of doing whatever her boyfriend wanted, perhaps she could go down that road entirely.
But she can’t and doesn’t know if she ever will be able to.
She’s not sure if that’s a bad thing, but what she does realize then is that House is right. She needs a list, a set of limitations. Without it, he’ll go too far.
Without it, she won't trust him.
Continue on to the next chapter