Dark Surrender

by Quin Zayne

  “Let’s start fresh,” he whispered in her ear.

  He cuffed her wrists and raised her them with the overhead chain so her body arched.

  “Yes, Sir.” She bowed her head, obedient. You sadistic bastard.

  He spanked her with his bare hands, gently at first, caresses on her ass cheeks.

  His slaps became harder, stinging.

  Her arousal grew. Damn him, damn him to hell.

  Her breathing turned to panting, making her heady. He spanked her hard enough to swing her body through the room, it was amazing, like flying.

  So freeing, her hair drifting around her, the gown billowing, his blows sending deep pulses to her core.

  The swirling colors turned to darkness and swallowed her as his hand slipped between her legs and closed over her drenched pussy.

  She came to in a ring of fire. Large white pillar candles stood in a circle around her. The padded wrist restraints supported her body. She stood on tiptoe, her breasts high, all her body offered to him, naked and vulnerable. The gown pooled at her feet. A dagger on a stand told her he’d cut it from her body. Gold and rubies gleamed from the handle. Shadows hung thick in the dungeon’s corners, like presences.

  Damon stood so close to her, his bare muscles pressed against her breasts, her ribs, her hip.

  His hands moved over her body, urgent, rough, demanding. He gripped her ass, pulled at her back, bit her throat, mauled her shoulders, a jaguar man.

  He unzipped and pulled out his cock.

  His cock stood hard, throbbing against her.

  Her body felt slick all over and drenched between the legs. If he lifted her and slid her down on his erection, he’d punch through her hymen and be inside her.

  Please, please do it, take me now.

  She swallowed. She couldn’t say it. Something in her knew he wanted her to say it, that he was torturing her, waiting for her to beg.

  Not going to give him that. He didn’t buy that, damn it. She did everything she could to please him. She scared the fuck out of herself with how far she’d gone to fulfill this crazy contract. He would not debase her. She would not lower herself. There was a limit, even when it came to a million dollars.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, she steadied herself. No matter what, she wouldn’t blow this chance. She’d resist silently.

  If he ordered her to do it, then she might have to beg.

  His hard chest brushed across her tight nipples sending a zing to her aching clit. Her core clenched. Damn him.

  He hadn’t demanded it, so damned if she'd do it in response to him driving her wild with lust. That was a move for someone weak. Damon needed someone who wasn’t easy for him to take apart. She wasn’t a trophy he could pin to velvet and claim to have won. Fuck him.

  She made her body still. She slowed her breathing.

  He bit her throat harder, sending a spear of lust to her clit.

  She smelled her raw flesh abraded by his sharp teeth. Predator, great cat, powerful man. Fuck you Damon Karl. There’s a limit to what you can buy, fucker. She held her defiance to her heart. I’m Mandy, and you can go straight to Hell.

  She didn’t make a sound. Her breathing reached a normal, steady pace, free of excitement or desire. He might as well be courting a devout nun. She felt nothing.

  Sliding his hands down her back, he caressed her ass and squeezed her cheeks hard, pulling her against his erection.

  He chuckled low in his throat, making the sound a growl. The rumble turned to a threat.

  She tensed on her toes to be ready for anything.

  His powerful hands slid higher, grabbed her hips with bruising strength. They eased down the fronts of her thighs, edging close to her pussy and passing it, kneading her muscles hard, on the edge of cruelty.

  So good, like a massage releasing years of tension. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  No one touched me that way. No one ever—.

  She couldn’t think. Her breath faltered and caught. She choked.

  He slapped her back, once, sharply, like an old-time doctor whacking a newborn.

  Her breath clawed its way into her lungs like a demon.

  He kissed her collarbone. Her shoulder. The top of her breast. Her heart. Her navel.

  Quivering, she spread her legs, toes scrambling to anchor her body.

  Moaning, she inhaled right next to her V. He bit her crease, between her thigh and her opening.

  She wanted to scream.

  He wouldn’t fuck her body. He fucked her mind. He was right inside of her, driving her mad.

  Her vision wavered. Everything around her wavered like a mirage dancing over desert asphalt. Damn him, damn him to hell.

  She didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming. It didn’t seem possible he was touching her finally, almost behaving as though he’d make love to her. This torment had to be her mind. It fit how she imagined he’d be if he ever did—touch her.

  The tip of his finger tapped her clit.

  She yelled.

  He withdrew.

  He disappeared, a wavering demon. An incubus. A genie with a sardonic grin shifting to smoke and sliding into his bottle.

  If only she could cork it and throw it with all her strength out to sea.

  She swallowed. She wouldn’t. Instead, she'd sleep with his bottle between her thighs, waiting for him to come out, luring him with the hungry scent of her sex.

  She needed him. She needed him to break her seal and open her.

  Her rare vintage needed to reach his tongue, his cock.

  If controlling herself was what it would take to get him there, she’d do that.

  She sensed he was beyond old-fashioned. Damon felt ancient and feral. A god of powerful mythology, one delighted to assume new forms to rut with mortal maidens.

  Such a man didn’t want groupies. He’d swoop past the eager sex toys clamoring for his billionaire dick.

  If she was going to lure Damon into her grotto—captivate his interest, and keep it over time, she had to give his jaded ass a new experience. A virgin untamed, one who wasn’t about to roll-over and do tricks when he crooked his fingers. One who would challenge him, one who could be as fucking ferocious as he was.

  Getting a grip on the floor, she swayed backward and smiled up at him, in control.

  She wanted to enthrall him, scare him, captivate him. She wanted the fucking devil to know he’d met his match.

  “Not yet,” she whispered. “You haven’t broken me, Damon.”

  He gripped her jaw hard.

  She met his eyes.

  Stepping back, he broke contact, leaving her face burning, imprinted with his bare fingers. She’d longed for his bare hands all over her for so long. Why did he stop?

  Stood there with his cock bobbing at her. The tip glistened.

  “What do you want? Tell me the truth, or we’re done for today.” His voice left no room for games.

  “Hurt me.” The words rasped out of her. She clutched her throat. She couldn’t stop. “I want you to hurt me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She averted her face from his searching eyes.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  “I need it—I need it. Set me free from what hurts inside.”

  “What is it?”

  “I feel worthless.”

  I killed them, I feel like I killed them. I didn’t love them enough, and they died, and I didn’t deserve to live past their deaths, I still don’t.

  The sobs poured out of her. She wanted to cover her face. Pulling at the cuffs, she wailed.

  Her toe-hold slipped and she swung. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t right, he got everything out of her and she got nothing.

  Helpless, she cried harder, hot tears dripping down her chin.

  His arms captured her.

  She tightened, holding herself apart from his embrace. She would not be comforted. This was not the way she wanted to be hurt. Fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you. She clenched her jaw tight to keep from cursing him
to every possible hell to roast for eternity where he belonged.

  “Love, beautiful love.”

  Crumpling, she surrendered in his arms, sobbing deep from her belly.

  He held her for a long time, anchoring her as she cried herself out.

  “I’ll unchain you now.” He fingered her hair back behind her ears, kissed her temple.

  He unclipped the cuffs and unbuckled them, rubbed her wrists.

  She stood wrung out, teetering without the support.

  He held her by her shoulders, searched her face.

  “Rose.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something you could have said to get me to hurt you the way you want me to do it.”

  “What is it?”

  “The words will come to you. If you say it, there will be no turning back.”

  “That sounds ominous. At least give me a clue.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re a natural submissive. It will come.”

  “You’re infuriating.” Natural submissive!

  Damon gave her a hard smile. “That isn’t it.”

  She checked around her, wanting to pick up a heavy object to throw at him. There was nothing. He thought of everything. She huffed out her breath and her hands clenched.

  He didn’t know a warrior woman when one stood right in front of him. Huh. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s why all the tools were in closed cabinets against the wall. He didn’t leave any weapons in reach.

  “You’re torturing me.”

  “Did you expect me not to torture you?”

  The smug look on his face made her wild. She wanted to throw herself at him and pummel his chest.

  She drew in a breath and held herself back. She swallowed hard. No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose control. He reveled in manipulating her. In this game, any time she broke down, dropped being the doll, he won. No way she’d make this game easy for him.

  The way he savored her spirit told her that her pride tantalized him. He’d become bored if she lost her fire.

  “Well? You know I don’t like to repeat myself, Rose.”

  Raking back her hair, she glared at his pleased face. He had her walking a knife-edge—back in ballet toe shoes, practicing en pointe until her toes bled.

  “Forgive me, Sir. What was the question?” She dared the small deviance, fire in her eyes.

  “Learn to pay attention.” He pinched her nipples and she yowled. “Did you expect me not to torture you?”

  Matching his steely smile and baring her teeth, she cocked her hip, letting her eyes flash. “Of course not. I’m glad you’re entertained.” Her teeth snapped.

  She spun on her heel and left the room. Perfect.

  His admiration radiated like a glow that warmed her back in her wake. She’d never need to fake anger and spirit around that man.

  Once she was out of his sight, the waning adrenaline surge left her shaking. She gripped the banister and resumed her doll face. Somehow, she must gauge her defiance to remain entertaining.

  The punishment was worth it. He’d enjoyed the fight.

  Good thing she had the discipline to get through this. His torments were difficult, but the toughest part was having no idea what was coming next. She forced herself to take the stairs faster, pretending the dungeon session left her energized.

  He was deeper in her than she could stand, but not nearly as deep as she wanted.

  She needed to come. Hard. Over and over. On his big cock.

  As she entered her suite and the sunlight spilling across the Caribbean dazzled her, a suspicion of what he wanted her to say came to her.

  Guilty as Sin

  His summons arrived after lunch the next day. Many suspected his invitation for another outing on his boat was as close as he could get to an apology. She’d accepted with grace.

  The feel of the boat on the sea’s swells worked its magic, and despite the ragged feelings he aroused in her, he remained as sinfully magnetic as ever.

  Master of his boat, everything that attracted her to him showed to best advantage. The sunlight gave his thick dark hair a gold sheen and highlighted his deep spine and the powerful cuts of his shoulders, arms, back, and legs. Her gaze drifted often to his ass.

  As they sailed around the island, her tension eased.

  Damon set anchor in a small cove on the island. Only a bit of the villa showed through the jungle. Nothing else made by humans was visible in any direction.

  He gave her his hand and they walked together over the wet white sand and helped her climb a rough rock.

  “Here.”

  The salt spray refracted the sun into tiny rainbows.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “It’s scenic.” He grinned and gave her a smoldering look. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed her softly.

  A rare cool wind whipped at them, and they took shelter in the mouth of a cave.

  So near the sea, his eyes appeared more piercing than usual. Shirtless, he glowed in the sun.

  He reclaimed her hand, enveloping it in one of his strong, tanned paws. He struck her as different than human, beyond human. A figure out of legend. His secret smile sent a flare of arousal through her panties and up her core.

  The power of his body anchored him on the rugged rocks. Sea foam shot around him. Wind blew his turquoise swim trunks against his generous bulge and the delicious muscular dips of his hips.

  Mandy’s mouth watered. She’d lick him along his sculpted ribs and all those tantalizing lines leading to the devil’s playground.

  His big, long-toed feet gripped the rocks, as though he were born to ascend rugged coasts surrounded by waves.

  My Neptune, deliciously muscular, regal, and armed with a trident. Although perhaps horns and a pitchfork would be more fitting.

  Here, with the illusion of freedom, the sea spreading out from us into infinity, my impression of myself as Persephone, captive of Hades in the underworld strengthened to a suffocating extent. I massaged my throat.

  The worst part: I didn’t want him to let loose of me. Without his tight grip around my neck, I’d fall into the dark and keep falling. The wicked bastard had become my anchor. I needed him.

  The wind buffeted her. She grabbed a rock and it scraped her palm. She resented being soft everywhere, while he appeared armed and armored even when nearly nude.

  “I remember you. I take it you don’t remember me.” His dark eyes pinned her as though she were one of his rare moths.

  “Remember you? You mean, before we met at the Sky Lounge? No.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember even seeing you in the news.” She lowered her voice, being mindful to stroke his ego. “You have a memorable face. I would have remembered.”

  “Oh, but you didn’t. I’m sorry to take you back to that horrible day, but I was there.”

  My heart skipped a beat and thudded hard. “There? At the accident?”

  “Yes.” He held the bridge of his nose, as though fighting a headache. “I volunteered with the fire department that summer. We have a summer home in your hometown. My father thought fighting fires would be good for my character. It was the first time I’d come back to spend a summer with them since I left home to travel after college. I was past taking his orders, but I humored him. I’m glad I did. It was good for me, and that was the last summer my father was truly alright. He’s been in a long decline since then.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. It’s rough. He’s always been such an independent and stubborn cuss.” A frown marred his face. He rubbed his forehead. “Makes me wonder what’s ahead for me. One of the reasons I’ve become keen on antioxidants and cardio. All that aside, I’m glad I was there that summer, and that I was a firehouse volunteer. I went out with the paramedics, and that’s how I found you.”

  “You found me?”

  “Yes. At the accident. I had an uneasy feeling. Everyone was focused on the lake. I walked back along the car’s tracks. There were skid marks. Your father had t
ried to stop. There was no reason to trace the car’s trajectory, but I did, following the tracks and looking up at the main road. The brush was disturbed. I stepped through it. You were sprawled there in the woods. I yelled for my buddy David and for Cindy, the best of the paramedic team. ‘Over here, bring a kit.’ I wanted to say, ‘She’s alive,’ I was almost certain of you, but I didn’t want to cause any more pain to the onlookers. There were some neighbors of your family helping to identify the—your family.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. You don’t remember any of this?”

  “No. I always thought I passed out. I thought they fished me out of the lake. I felt guilty, that maybe if they hadn’t saved me, they might have saved Mom, or Becky, or Dad.”

  “It wasn’t like that. They were dead when we arrived. David found your pulse. You started to thrash, and Cindy touched your arm and talked to you. You opened your eyes and looked at me. I stayed close—I felt—responsible. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  “Was I?”

  A slow, tender smile transformed his face. “You were going to live. You had a bump on your head, but Cindy checked your eyes, no concussion. The brush helped to break your fall.” His voice fell to a raspy whisper. “I think your father told you to jump. I don’t know why the others didn’t. Maybe he even shoved the door open and pushed you. You hit the brush close to the tire tracks. He couldn’t make the car stop and it went into the lake. It had to be going fast. It sank several yards from the shore.”

  “This is—bizarre.”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I just, had no idea.”

  “David and Cindy sent me for the stretcher. They lifted you onto it and got you into the ambulance. They took you to the hospital, and they let me ride in the back with you. You didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if you were conscious, but you were breathing fine. I talked to you, told you that you were going to make it. It was all I could think to do. I didn’t want you to know about anything yet. I figured that would be better coming from family.”

  Her mouth tightened and twisted. “There wasn’t any.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “There was no way you could have known.” She swallowed. “I was eighteen. Like you, I was making time to be with my parents. It was a special summer. I planned to take off for Mexico for gap year, and they wanted to talk me out of it. Becky wanted to go with me. My cousin. She was a sister to me, and my best friend.”