by Gemma James
That seductive desperation of hers sent me spiraling out of control. I threw my head back, eyes squeezed shut as I finally let go.
Fuck, it hurt—that loss of control.
Hurt so fucking good.
Her throat worked fast to swallow the gush of my completion. The circle and the people in it failed to exist. There was only me and the intoxicating taste of her surrender. The heavy silence that followed consumed everything in its path. Endless seconds passed as I came down from the high, eyes sealed shut, chest heaving with each labored breath.
They mixed with the noisy sounds of her exhales. But her tongue was still on me, licking me clean, kissing the tip of my semi-hard cock. Kissing my feet.
Jesus.
Such a good little slave. I gave in to a moment of weakness—to the fleeting thought of bypassing her anal punishment and getting straight to making her come until she could come no more. But I’d learned that giving her the slightest bit of slack sent her tumbling toward rebellion. She’d failed to address me as Master only once. True to my word, once was enough.
“Get up,” I said, stepping back. I tucked in my junk then zipped and buttoned my pants. The group had gone still as stone, rapt by the show we’d given them.
Enraptured by Kayla.
She had that effect on people, and she wasn’t even aware of it—of the power she carried inside her every goddamn day. She had no idea how she oozed fuck-me vibes. I’d had ulterior motives when I first laid eyes on her, but despite my hatred for my brother, despite the fierce need to take what was his just because I could, I’d been far from immune to her allure.
“How do you want me, Master?”
I liked this good-girl side of her, a side I was certain came out because of the setting and our audience. She behaved well at home, especially in the basement, but she was never this perfect.
My dick swelled again, ready to take more from her.
Always more.
“Stand there with your hands clasped behind your head. I want those gorgeous tits on display for everyone to see.”
She obeyed, thrusting her breasts out. I was certain her cunt leaked as much as her nipples did. I crossed the room to where Davenport had tucked away a spanking bench. It would serve its purpose for what I had in mind, so I dragged it to the middle of the circle, then I went back for the custom-made butt plug I’d had delivered specially for this occasion earlier in the week.
Parting the protective velvet cloth, I revealed a thick glass plug the length of a dildo. It was large enough to cause pain, or discomfort at the least. The base was wide, which would leave her open and exposed for everyone’s viewing pleasure. I grabbed the glass toy and headed back to where Kayla obediently waited for me.
She was the picture of unconditional submission, but her eyes told me how much she dreaded what was coming next. She knew me too well—knew me so well that it was unsettling.
“Get up on the bench and pull up your dress.”
I could restrain her, but I wouldn’t. I’d rather test her. Just like with the blow job, I wanted to see how far I could push before she broke the pose.
She climbed up and fit her knees into the designated places, then she draped the bench as her fingers curled around the hem of her dress. Slowly, she drew the material up her thighs and over her ass.
Good God, she was a sight, with her thighs open and her tight hole vulnerable.
“I hope you’re good and wet because this’ll hurt without lubrication.”
She sucked in a breath. “Please don’t hurt me, Master.”
My body tingled from her helplessness. It was a sickness I’d long ago accepted, and I didn’t think twice about dragging the plug through her moisture. I pressed the tip against her hole and waited. Her legs trembled. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Her hands became two tight fists.
She always tensed when she needed to relax, pushed when she needed to pull. Gave in when she needed to stand her ground. The battle was constant and fucking intoxicating.
“You’ve been naughty tonight, baby.” She’d been damn near perfect, only slipping up once. The one time I needed her to. “Beg me to punish your hole.”
A tiny sob bled from her lips, and that sound wound around my flawed heart, squeezing just enough to ping my conscience—wherever that bastard was hiding. I might have found some mercy if not for the violent throb in my cock. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”
“Please, Master,” she said, her breath hitching. “I-I’ve been bad and need my hole punished.”
I glanced around the circle, taking in each face. I expected the men’s trance-like stares, but even their slaves sat at their feet with expectant eyes. Fascination and lust hung over the room, heavier than smoke from cigars.
“Brace yourself,” I told her, the warning the extent of my compassion. I pushed the glass plug up her ass without apology.
She cried out, her voice hoarse with pain. “It burns!”
I knew it did. And she knew I wouldn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop. The fever had settled in, driving me out of my mind, rocketing me to a place where there were no rights or wrongs. Only the intense release of endorphins. The haze of lust and madness. The taste of power.
The addictive flavor of her pain.
With a final shove, I lodged the plug deep in her ass, and she let a breath out, though her relief was short-lived. That base was fucking wide as hell, and she couldn’t escape it. She would experience that burn until I decided she’d had enough.
I rounded the bench, leaned down, and brushed my mouth over hers. “You’re doing great. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Her watery eyes held mine captive for a few seconds. “Thank you, Master.”
We exchanged our words in hushed tones, so only the two of us heard them. It was our private moment in a room full of like-minded depraved souls.
My hands went to my belt. “We have a lot of Friday nights to make up for.”
For the next half-hour, the only sounds in the room were leather on flesh, Kayla’s high-pitched cries, and our mixed breathing, ragged from arousal and exertion. I lashed each cheek until her skin smarted red. God, her ass was perfect, housing a plug that kept her in a heightened state of pain. That glass instrument stretched her wide, putting on display her most forbidden dark space for the whole group to see.
She groaned, low and guttural. A lesser man would come from that sound alone. Lord knew I wanted to. Impossibly, my pants grew even tighter, and I adjusted my hard-on.
“Do you want to come?” I asked.
“Yes, Master.”
I swatted her ass again. “Convince me, Kayla. How bad do you want to come?”
“Oh God. Please, Master! I need to come. Please let me come.” She moaned long and hard, and it was music to my ears.
Pain and pleasure. I’d conditioned her body to accept both. To crave both. I took comfort in that as I brought my belt down on her flesh again. The strike made her jump, and she almost let go of her dress.
Almost.
Just a little longer and she’d teeter on the edge of her limit. I rarely pushed her past it anymore. She would disagree, but I could count on one hand the times I’d launched her over, screaming in agony. Each time, my brother had been at the center of my failure.
I still felt guilt over the first few times I lost my temper and went crazy on her. But since we’d married, I’d learned to punish without letting my anger take over. I’d learned to hurt without harming. It was a fine line to walk, knowing my inner demons the way I did.
I struck her again, this time aiming to break her grasp on control.
“Ahhh!” She let go of her dress and gripped the bench, limbs shaking. I dropped the belt and thrust my fingers into her wet cunt, and her shriek turned into a pleading moan. She probably wasn’t even aware that her hips undulated. She pushed down onto my fingers over and over again, seeking release.
“Please, please…” she panted.
I withdrew
my digits then eased the plug from her ass. “Baby, get on the bed. I want you naked and on your back, thighs spread and hands on the bars. Understand?”
She hopped down much faster than she’d climbed onto that bench. “Yes, Master.”
Master.
I would never tire of hearing that word fall from her lips. She’d given me so much; a family, her trust, her life. I treasured them more than she’d ever know. More than I could express with words alone. I’d spend my life showing her the only way I knew how.
Kayla glided across the room toward the bed to our right, shedding her dress along the way, and I followed, mindless of our surroundings. We were both in our own world now, nearly oblivious to the others, though I noted how the group split up as if Kayla’s punishment had been the opening act to the real debauchery. The majority of the group made their way to the other side of the circle to watch or share. Not Davenport. He settled on a love seat near the bed where I planned to fuck my wife into a boneless, quivering mess.
As Kayla climbed onto the mattress and spread her thighs, hands gripping the bars of the headboard, Virginia Davenport returned to her favorite spot between her husband’s legs. But his attention remained on Kayla, even as he stroked his wife’s hair with absent-minded disregard.
I recognized the covetous glint in his eyes. Many men wore that expression when I paraded Kayla in front of them. One of the things I loved most about her was how she never noticed. As I climbed after her and settled between her thighs, preparing to bury my tongue inside her dripping cunt, she gave me the best gift possible.
She only had eyes for me.
For that alone, she deserved to come. She deserved everything.
EXCERPTS OF TORRENT & EPIPHANY
Torrent - Chapter One
She sent the love of her life to prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Eight years later, he’s out for revenge…
When it came to karma, I wished for skepticism. Thing was, I fully believed in karma. Something had to balance the scales, otherwise the world would tip off its axis and crash into total chaos. Thanks to my belief in supernatural balance, I had no doubt I was screwed. That was never more true than when I gripped the single piece of paper on which four words were written.
I’m coming for you.
I’d found the note tacked to my door. I didn’t question who left it, as only one person had reason to leave such a warning, and considering he’d been released from the state penitentiary three weeks ago, I couldn’t deny the evidence. I’d been agonizing over the moment when he would confront me.
When, not if.
My knees gave out, and I sank to the bed. Rain beat against the roof in a sudden onslaught, and the panes of my favorite window seat rattled. I hadn’t been home for more than a few minutes, but apparently I’d escaped inside at the most opportune time. I took the torrential tap-tap-tap and rush of wind as a sign, an omen perhaps.
He was coming for me, and I deserved it.
Someone pounded on the door, and I jumped like a frightened kitten. I stashed the note in the drawer of my nightstand and returned to the foyer, pulled the door open, and almost expected to find Rafe on the other side.
It was Zach, not Rafe, who shoved past the threshold. Immediately, the strong odor of whiskey hit my nose.
“You’re not fuckin’ marrying him,” he said with a slur. I edged away as he stumbled into the accent table in the foyer. “I’m going crazy, Lex. Look what you’ve done to me.” Wiping soggy brown hair from his eyes, he lurched forward and clung to my shoulder to keep from falling.
“Did you drive here?”
“Of course I didn’t drive! I’m not an idiot.”
“I know you’re not an—”
He grabbed my chin, silencing me instantly. “You’re gonna call this engagement off, do you hear me?”
The ever-present weight of dread held me in its clutches. “Dad pushed for it.” I paused, one, two, three thuds of my heart pounding in my ears. “Just like he pushed for me to date Lucas. I think he knows.”
“Knows what?” His fingers fell from my chin, and I stared at my feet, enclosed in trendy black heels that matched the black cocktail dress I’d worn to dinner, where Lucas Perrone had proposed.
“About us.”
He faltered, mouth gaping, and it was the most unusual sight. Zach didn’t normally struggle for words, threats, insults.
He blinked and the moment was gone. “I don’t give a fuck what Dad knows or doesn’t know. You’re gonna break this engagement, and you’re not seeing him again.” As if the issue were settled, he staggered into the living room where he sprawled onto the sofa, one leg bent and a foot resting on the floor. I averted my gaze from the bulge behind his zipper.
I needed to get him out of my house pronto. “I’ll call you a cab. We’ll talk tomorrow about this, I promise.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “My cab just left, and we’re talkin’ now.” His brows narrowed over angry hazel eyes. “C’mere,” he said, patting his lap.
I backed up, shaking my head.
“No? You want it extra rough? Is that it?”
I didn’t want it at all, but I knew better than to voice it. I scratched my arm, digging in a little deeper than usual.
“You think marrying some mid-forties vanilla hack is gonna ‘fix’ you? Make you normal? We both know you’re nothing but a slut.”
I clenched my teeth. His insult maimed more than his hands did, especially since he was the only man I’d ever slept with. He perceived any guy who glanced in my direction as a threat, as if I welcomed the attention, and he’d become downright vicious since Dad set me up with Lucas.
Dad had always made decisions for me, from what school I attended to which program I chose as a major. I’d earned degrees in accounting and business but harbored no desire to use them. He expected me to hop on board the family legacy in a managerial capacity, but unlike him and Zach, I had no interest in mixed martial arts or running an enterprise of venues and training centers.
I chalked it up to the fact that we didn’t share DNA. Mom married Abbott De Luca when I was six, but he was like a dad to me, especially since he’d legally adopted me, and as such, I’d never thought of Zach as a step-brother. Not where it counted. The step part got lost in the sea of right and wrong and perversely unacceptable.
I folded my arms and put another foot of distance between us, backing toward the foyer. No one made me more uncomfortable in my own house, in my own skin, than my own brother.
He seemed pissed that I wasn’t rising to his bait by responding. “You’re my slut, aren’t you, Lex?” He pushed off the couch, as if he only now realized I was retreating, and gripped my arms. “My little whore who loves to be fucked.”
“You’re hurting me,” I said, barely above a whisper, but his fingers pressed harder when I tried to pull away.
“Not as much as you’re hurting me!” He drove forward and slammed me into the wall, trapping both wrists on either side of my face. “You know we belong together. You’ll never keep me away. Never.”
“Let me go.”
He brought his face close, lip slightly curled, and his hazel eyes stalled on the ring adorning my left hand. I unfurled my fist until the large diamond scraped the wall, hidden from his line of view. “I won’t stand by and watch you marry that bastard. I’ll kill myself, just like your mom.”
I gasped as the familiar, crushing reminder of Mom ate away at what was left of me. I had no words for him, no protests or pleas. He tossed out the threat to hurt me, like he always did. I wondered if he’d go through with it this time. I tried to imagine him gone, but instead of despair, I found the remnants of sorrow and the promise of relief. Shame accompanied both, as I shouldn’t feel sorrow after the things he’d done, and I shouldn’t feel relief because he was still my brother.
“Say something!” He cried, shaking me, his face a contortion of bewilderment. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m not kidding! I’ll do it.”
“You don’t know
what you’re saying. You’ve been drinking—”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. I don’t wanna live if I can’t have you. Say you won’t marry him.”
“I won’t marry him.” I swallowed hard and counted the seconds. Five in, hold, five out. Repeat. All the while, I prayed he’d let the issue drop, let me go and walk out the door.
He had other things in mind. His mouth smashed against mine, tongue forcing my lips apart and plundering. I didn’t fight him. I’d learned long ago it didn’t do any good. He’d only get rougher, meaner, and in turn, my fucked up body would only get off easier.
I kept my eyes shut and wished to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. The distinctive slide of his zipper rang loudly in my ears, and his hands blazed where he cupped my ass and lifted.
“That’s my girl,” he breathed as I automatically wound my legs around him, dress bunching at my waist. He pulled my panties to the side and pushed in with a grunt. His fingers banded around my wrists, pinned them to the wall above my head, and he pounded into me, shoving me higher with each forceful thrust. I held back the vomit burning in my throat.
One more thrust, another grunt. “No more Lucas,” he said.
“No more Lucas.” My face tightened as his tempo increased.
“No more avoiding me.”
I agreed to that too. I agreed to anything he wanted when he fucked me. The alternative always left me battered, bruised, and torn to pieces emotionally because the more I fought him, the more he set out to hurt me beyond what I could handle, and that usually meant he brought up Rafe and what he could do to him if I didn’t comply.
That threat carried more weight than ever.
Zach didn’t last long, probably because it’d been a couple of weeks since he’d last cornered me alone. Lucas’ presence had gone a long way in offering some form of protection, but I wasn’t so naive as to think he could act as a barrier forever. Even marrying him wouldn’t do that.
Zach finally loosened his grasp and allowed my feet to touch the floor. I rubbed my arms where the red impressions from his fingers marred my skin, making the faint, white scars from my nails more noticeable. He took my face in his hands, fingers gouging my jaw, and his gaze bored into me, through me.
