His Forever

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Chapter Eighteen

Angela barely made it out the door with Leila before Spencer pounced on me and relieved my body of its clothing. He sucked and nibbled on my earlobe in a rather provocative motion, detailing exactly how he wanted me to do it on him later. His hold on my waist was relentless and his kisses, damn near orgasmic.

“Go upstairs and wait for me on your knees,” he demanded, ever so sternly with a hint of flirtation.

I had no qualms obeying.

“Sir, am I being rewarded?” I asked, desperate to know.

“Oh, very much so,” he replied, slowly kissing my neck.

Inch by inch, I peeled myself from his intoxicating hold and walked up the stairs, towards our room. Our room–I still wasn’t used to saying that. Everything with Spencer felt like a dream and I counted myself lucky for never having to wake up.

“Are you on your knees, bella?”

Shit! I wasn’t.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, crouching into position.

The carpet was soft under my kneecaps and likely imbedding itself onto my skin by now. Not that I minded. I had no doubt Spencer would soothe away any pain with his captivating kisses and sexy words. He always held the ability to do so.

“Open your mouth,” he said, slowly stalking towards me.

In less than five seconds, he removed his shirt and jeans, rendering himself utterly naked.

“Does my little mouse have her mouth opened wide?” he asked, feeling for my face by caressing my chin.

He slipped a finger inside and pressed it against my tongue, encouraging me to suck him.

“I’d like you to do that to my cock, Jess.”

“How much would you like it, Sir?” I asked, smirking around his thick finger.

He gripped the back of my head and guided himself towards my opening, smiling the entire time. “I’d like it very much.”

I purposely licked his shaft and kissed the head, teasing him ever so slightly. Then, without warning, I took him in all the way, delighted by his moans of approval.

“Oh, God!”

I feasted on him like a woman starved, after one thing and one thing only; my man’s pleasure. I needed to feel him explode on my tongue because in doing so, I’d be rest assured in the knowledge that he was relaxed.

“Feels. Good,” he gritted, feeding me his dick in delightful bursts.

I continued my attack, stopping only when he request I do so.

“On the bed.”

I instantly complied by carefully positioning myself in the bed’s centre. There, he spread my legs and buried himself deep inside, groaning his appreciation. My walls clenched, squeezing him thoroughly and I cried out, succumbing to my unrelenting pleasure.

“Don’t come, Jessica,” he warned, likely sensing my approaching orgasm. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I groaned my frustrations and sunk my head into the pillow, mindful of the glorious sensations taking place below. Not that I could respond to them. No. Sir wanted my climax prolonged and what sir wants, sir gets…


Before I could react, the unstoppable wave of pleasure overtook my senses, giving me no option but to succumb to my orgasm, without permission.


“Did you just-”

He didn’t need me confirming what he already knew. I was so fucking screwed and I loved that I was.

“You’re just too good, sir. I tried-”

“Not good enough, bella,” he sassed, pulling out and turning me around.

One minute, I was on my back staring into his gorgeous green eyes and the next, I was on all fours, preparing myself for punishment. It took a lifetime to come but eventually it did in the form of two brilliant blows.


“Green!” I replied, bracing myself for more.


“I can see we need to work on your obedience,” he shared, entering me from behind. “You know how much it pleases me when you do as you’re told.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, genuinely meaning it.

I enjoyed being published but I enjoyed pleasing my dom more.

“I know you are, bellissima.”

His words were sympathetic but his tone was not. He continued to plough into me until his own orgasm took over, stopping only to grunt my name. Afterwards, he lay me down and pulled a blanket over me, keen to keep the early evening chill out.

“Where are you going?” I asked, wondering why he wasn’t joining me.

“I’m grabbing a few things.”

“A few things?” I asked, waiting for him to slip into his dressing gown before sitting up.

He smirked. “Tools that I require. You need teaching?”

“I do?” Tonight seemed far from over.


He retrieved what looked to be handcuffs from his bedside table and hung them from his forefinger, allowing my mind a moment to adjust. Then, with a wicked glint in his eyes, he attached one end to the headboard and the other to my wrist.

“Don’t go anyway, gorgeous.”


“Are you teasing me, Mr. Michaels?”

His smirk intensified. “Not yet, little mouse but I will soon…”

Before I could respond, he swaggered out of the bedroom, only to return upon collecting the essential tools. Goodness knows where he got them all. Amongst the collection was a whip and although no stranger to one, I’d never come across such a thing in the house before.

“I keep a locked box,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.

I raised each eyebrow in reply.

“For emergencies.”

His tone was mocking and his movements were light as he slowly settled each object down on the bed, seemingly doing so in a particular order. First, he placed the whip down in front of him and proceeded to do the same with everything else, size order. The endless pile finished with a silk blindfold, taunting me.

“Can you see?” I asked, hoping he could.

A shake to the head was all it took to disappoint me.

“I can feel,” he reminded me, trailing a delicate finger up my leg.

The action caused a shiver to run across my spine, unapologetic in its pursuit.

“Would you like me to use these things on you, bella?”

I quickly looked at the pile again, breaking a sweat just thinking about them being used on me.

“I-I think so,” I replied, unable to hide my apprehensions.

Spencer, being his usual considerate self, sensed my nerves and positioned himself between my legs. “This will be as pleasurable for you as it is for me. You have your safe word?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Can I continue?” he asked, kissing me with tender lips.

“Green,” I replied, keen to see where things went.

I always did find the idea of a whip interesting but knew he was rather reluctant to use one since losing his sight. It was a powerful tool and had the potential to be dangerous. Perhaps now he was ready to try? Maybe he felt he could trust me to keep us both safe?

“Good girl.” He smiled and reached behind him, feeling for a tool that resembled a pizza roller.

I almost laughed out loud when seeing it but managed to withhold the urge. At the beginning of our relationship, I’d looked into BDSM a little and came across this strange contraption. A wartenberg pinwheel.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, running the pins across the palm of his hand.

He smirked at the sensation.

“A pinwheel,” I replied, pulling slightly on my handcuffed wrist.

“Yes, it’s actually a medical instrument used to test nerve endings,” he informed, positioning the devise just above my belly button. “It can be awfully stimulating on sensitive skin.”

I gasped as the pins rolled over my stomach, finding the sensation almost too satisfying to stand.

“Do you like that, Jess?”

“A little too much, sir,” I replied, struggling to speak though my need to pant.

The tiny prickles continued over my skin, intensifying when reaching my nipples.


He enjoyed my reaction and carried on with his assault, dragging the tool over my areola. At first, it tickled but eventually, the once nice sensation turned into torture.


“Please what?” he asked, awfully smug.

He knew exactly what his chosen instrument was doing to me. In fact, I’d be willing to bet he planned it. Afterall, this was a punishment.

“It’s too–too nice.”

“Just like your orgasm was too nice?” he asked, offering me a smirk.

I sighed and threw my head to the side, close to tears.

“Amber,” I whispered, warning him I was nearing my limit.

He froze for a moment and lowered his lips to mine, gifting me his compassionate side. He remained straddling my waist and continued his loving assault, though didn’t once let up on the Wartenberg pinwheel.

“RED!” I suddenly shouted, feeling my body react in a way I’d rather it didn’t.

Spencer quickly stopped and unlocked the handcuffs, too concerned over my comfort to notice my need to get to the bathroom. Once free, I bolted from the bed and made it to the toilet in time to bring up my entire McDonalds.


He came running in after me, holding my hair back while I vomited into the bowl.

“Baby, are you okay?”

I nodded as I stood and gathered some water in my hand from the sink, keen to rinse my mouth out. “Fine.”

“Did I push you too far?” he asked, sitting with his back against the shower wall.

I spat and grabbed my toothbrush, still tasting the bile in my throat.

“No, I think I just had too much milkshake,” I replied, adding toothpaste to my brush. “I’m sorry I ruined our scene.”

“Don be, bella. Your health is more important than any of that.”

I quickly finished brushing and sat next to him on the floor, resting my head on his shoulder. “I hate being sick,” I told him, in need of some sympathy.

“I think that’s it. You brought most of it up,” he assured, caressing my knotted locks. “How about I run you a bath and make you a mint tea? It’ll settle your stomach.”


I watched as he drew me the perfect bath; not too hot, not too cold. He added in lavender bubble bath and held my hair up, making sure it stayed dry the entire time I lowered myself into it.

“I’ll be back in a minute with your tea.”

I allowed him the pleasure of fussing over me, even though I felt better for having brought everything up. The feeling of nausea had sprung on me so fast, I hardly believed it happened. Perhaps the Wartenberg pinwheel is a hard limit for me? Or maybe McDonalds strawberry milkshakes were?

“Are you okay, baby?” shouted Spencer, from his position downstairs.

I laughed. “All good. Waiting patiently for my tea!” I replied, slipped further into the enticing bubbles.

I sniffed the air and relaxed, enjoying the scent. Thankfully, my sickness was short lived and I found myself feeling much better surrounded by hot bath water. I never did deal with being ill all that well. I usually morphed into this pathetic human being, dependent on others to make me feel better.


In my relaxed state, I’d failed to hear Spencer re-enter.

“Thank you.”

“How’s your stomach feeling?” he asked, crouching down.

He gathered a lock of my hair and rubbed it between his fingers, concentrating wholeheartedly on the action.

“A lot better, thanks. I’ll take it easy for the rest of the day. I might have toast for dinner, just to be on the safe side.”

At this, he grinned and dropped his handful of hair, kissing me lazily on the cheek. “I happen to be amazing at cooking toast.”

“Baby, people don’t usually cook toast.”

“You do if you happen to be blind and can’t be trusted with kitchen appliances that aren’t the kettle or the toaster.”

“Toast and mint tea it is, then?” I smirked and he nodded, dead proud.

“Only the best for my woman.”

I giggled and sat forward, bringing my knees up to my chest.

“Join me?” I asked, looking to the space behind me.

The water was still hot and smelled delicious but sharing it with him would make it ten times better. Thankfully, Spencer said nothing as he stood, smiling at me the entire time. He stripped, starting first with his T-shirt, followed swiftly by his jeans.

“You ready for me?” he questioned, walking towards the tub.


I held out my hand and guided him towards the back of the tub, holding on as he expertly slipped in.

“Perfect,” I sighed, leaning back against his solid chest.

He rested his chin on my head and positioned his hands against my stomach, circulating the skin in gentle movements. His touch eased the lingering cramps and soothed away any leftover nausea. I wanted to fall asleep against the comfort of his chest and succeeded in about two seconds flat. The last thing I remembered before slipping into complete darkness was his intoxicating scent, alongside side his encouraging declaration of, “I’ll look after you, bambina.”

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