By the Hour

by Roni Loren

  Go to hell and burn long, Lane.

  He chuckled under his breath and ran his fingers over the deep scratch of the writing. Ah, a love note. Lucky for her, making them both burn was exactly what he had in mind.

  The pressure on her wrists woke Elle. Her nose itched and when she went to scratch it, her arm didn’t cooperate. Her eyelids flew open and she blinked in the filmy darkness.

  She was on her stomach, cheek against her pillow, and her arms were above her head. Something soft but restrictive was around her wrists and she was blindfolded. She yanked but the bed frame just squeaked in response. Her heartbeat kicked up. “What the hell?”

  “Stay still or you’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Lane.

  The quiet voice in the dark was enough to break through some of the fog of sleep and reassure her that she wasn’t in some nightmare, but it wasn’t enough to calm her down. She yanked again. “What are you doing?”

  A light smack to her thigh had her words catching in her throat. Lane pressed his hand against the spot he’d popped. “I said, stay still. Play nice and I’ll be nice. You always want me to do things your way. So, lady of the house, meet your stranger.”

  “My str—” Oh. Oh. Her words from earlier in the night came back to her. The movie she’d joked she’d want to reenact. “I didn’t mean—”

  He smacked her again, this time on her ass and with more oomph. The sting burned, but also sent tendrils of hot sensation over her skin. Her fingers curled into her palms as she fought not to squirm.

  “Next time, be careful what you wish for, then. Because now you’re mine. Just try to escape or fight me and see what happens.”

  Mine. The words should’ve bothered her, but she could tell he was slipping into a role. A dangerous one, but one that was pushing hot buttons she’d rather not analyze. She found herself wanting to fall into her own part as well. She tried to pull her arms free. “You’re sick. Tying me up while I’m sleeping.”

  “Mmm, is that your professional opinion, doctor?” The bed dipped and he clamped a big hand over her wrists, pinning them down. He straddled her thighs, his weight pressing her into the bed. “I told you not to fight.”

  “I told you I’m not one of your submissives.”

  A quiet laugh rumbled through him, vibrating through her as well. “Never have truer words been spoken. That doesn’t mean I can’t make you submit. I’m bigger than you. And meaner.”

  He ran a hot finger over her tailbone and down, lazily tracing the crease of her ass. The simple touch sent electricity racing over her. She wanted him to touch her everywhere. She wanted to feel good. To feel him. But as usual, that little voice inside her wouldn’t let her give in. She tried to buck beneath him. “Get off.”

  The bed springs groaned, but there was no dislodging the beast of a man straddling her. His finger teased lower. “Get off? That’s the idea. At least for me.”

  She grunted and twisted her body, or tried to, but he shifted along with her, anticipating her movements. His other hand released her wrists since they were effectively tied anyway and he pressed his entire body along hers. His naked body.

  Every part of her became acutely aware of that fact in one quick instant. Not having her vision dialed up everything else to eleven. The crisp hair on his legs brushing against her smooth ones, the hard planes of his chest heating her back, and the thick length of his cock marking the path his finger had followed.

  She wanted to part her legs, to pull herself up on her knees and just have him take her like that. Every female molecule in her body hummed with the knowledge that there was an aching, throbbing, empty place inside her that wanted to be filled with a big dose of Lane. But the words that came out didn’t match the need that raced through her veins. “This gets you hard? Tying up some woman in her sleep and forcing yourself on her?”

  “No,” he said against her ear, his breath making goose bumps track over her skin. “Knowing that it’s you, and that you want me to, makes me hard.”

  “I don’t—”

  He shifted his weight, lifting his hips, and his fingers pushed between her legs, finding her embarrassingly wet. He slid a long finger inside her. “You don’t what, doc? Tell me what you don’t. But speak up. I may not be able to hear it over the slippery sound of your needy cunt.”

  She bit her lip at the dirty words, fighting back the moan that wanted to escape. His finger felt like too much and not enough all at once. Involuntarily, her hips rocked back, deepening his movement.

  Deftly, he slipped his finger out before she could get the angle just right, and he teased her outer lips instead, a gentle, blunt fingernail tracing an electric pattern over her flesh. “You want to come, cupcake?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said through gritted teeth. His teasing finger was going to drive her mad. She’d been so keyed up when she’d come to the bedroom earlier that her body remembered how unfulfilled she’d fallen asleep.

  “You didn’t answer my question, and I can call you whatever I want right now.” He caressed her slick skin in a maddeningly slow stroke. “Because this pretty pink pussy makes me think of those cupcakes I brought you. All covered in icing and begging to be licked.”

  Only Lane could talk about a bright pink cupcake and make it sound filthy. And the thought of him licking every bit of her had her burning hotter. His finger grazed over her clit and the moan finally broke through. Fuck.

  “Just ask me, doc. Ask me and you get to come.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut behind the blindfold. Part of her still wanted to fight, but her body had taken over and the need to come turned frantic. Like her nerve endings would just light on fire and burn her up if she didn’t get relief. “I want to come. Please.”

  “Mmm, even a please. Very nice.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He laughed and rolled away from her.

  “Where are you going?” She couldn’t help the edge of panic in her voice.

  “Shh”—his hand brushed over her hip—“don’t worry. I keep promises. Pull your knees beneath you and show me how badly you want this.”

  She let out a breath, and before she could think too hard about it, she did as he said. It was only a game. She’d agreed to this. She could play by his rules for a little while. But before she could calm herself fully, cool liquid slid between her ass cheeks. She tensed. “Lane.”

  The flat of his thumb rubbed the lubricant over her sensitive back opening, sending oh-my-God awareness to every part of her. She’d been touched there a time or two before, but nothing beyond that. She didn’t stay with guys long enough to move pass the basics. This was not just beyond the basics, this was you-should-know-the-name-of-my-childhood-stuffed-animal-and-why-I-don’t-like-celery familiarity.

  “Easy,” Lane said, his tone soothing and commanding all at once. “I won’t hurt you. Just give yourself a second to relax and see how it feels for you.”

  She pressed her face into the pillow and when the tip of his thumb breached her, she let out a gasp. But it wasn’t of pain. It was a foreign sensation but also one that made every erogenous zone on her body stand at attention, fully aware, all cells reporting for duty. He slowly moved his thumb deeper, and rubbed the fingers of his other hand along her sex at the same time. She bit the pillow.

  Lane inhaled deeply behind her. “You should see how wet you’re getting, doc. Your scent has me hard as a rock.” His thumb slid almost all the way out then back in. “I wanted you like this that day at your office. Wanted you in just your white coat and bent over your desk like this.”

  Her breath came in short bursts.

  He stroked her with maddening patience. “I would’ve taken one of those cupcakes, smeared the icing right here, and licked it off you.”

  At that, he ran his tongue over her ass cheek and bit.

  “Oh, fuck.” That was all it took. The images, the feel of him stroking her, tasting her. She couldn’t stop it. “Lane…please…”

  The orgasm rolled
over her like a dump truck, flattening her and making her cry out and buck against his hands for more. Begging him with her body and her words.

  “That’s it,” he said with utter male satisfaction. “Feel what I can give you.”

  Then his tongue was on her, licking her in the most lewd, shameless way as she worked herself on his fingers. Every tether inside her broke loose and she screamed, the orgasm too much and just right all at the same time. Her wrists pulled tight against the bindings and she lost her sense of where she was on the bed. But he kept her where he wanted her and stroked and licked until she was vibrating and squirming and she couldn’t bear it anymore.

  As if sensing everything had become too much for her, he shifted back, his hands leaving her for a few breaths, and then returning to her waist before she could settle. She heard the tear of the condom packet. His big palms gripped her hips. “My turn.”

  “I can’t,” she gasped. “Need a minute…”

  “No, you don’t.” The tip of his cock pressed against her sex. “You want to find your control.”

  He was exactly right. Her thoughts were shattered, any shred of pride in a tattered heap on the floor. She’d begged, for God’s sake. “I—”

  His fingers dug into her, grounding her. “Am I hurting you, Elle? Tell me now if I am and I’ll stop.”

  The words were strained to her ears. He was fighting to get them out.

  Hurting her? “No.”

  The word was the truth but she hadn’t meant for it to slip out so easily.

  “Good.” He pushed forward, burying his cock inside her and making her body clench hard around him.

  “Oh, God,” she groaned, her face pressing into the pillow again. She had a word that would stop him, but suddenly she had no interest in using it. His weight on her, the feel of him sliding deep, were all she could think about.

  He pumped into her with long, determined strokes—the ragged sound of his breath an erotic soundtrack. And then his thumb was back, pressing against her asshole. The lubricant eased his way and he stretched her as his cock glided against sensitive flesh and his thumb added more fullness. “One day, I’ll take you here. Fill you up everywhere and show you how good I can make you feel, how much you’ll crave the things we do. You won’t be able to go to sleep without thinking about it. You’ll touch yourself imagining me here with you. And you won’t be able to stop it. I’ll be in your head, Elle, and you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

  The words were painting fears in her brain, but she couldn’t process them the right way. Instead, all those threats only ratcheted up the sensation more. She got off on a little show of force, on roughness. That wasn’t news to her. But never before had a guy threatened to force his way into her head, to leave a mark on her thoughts, on her fantasies. She didn’t want any man invading that territory, but the threat added a layer of danger. And when Lane angled just right inside her and whispered a few words in her ear, she came so hard she saw colored light behind her eyelids.

  He came along with her, gripping her hard enough to leave bruises. But those marks weren’t going to be what she remembered tomorrow or the next day.

  No, what would stay with her longer were the words he’d whispered next.

  “You can’t escape me, Elle. Even if you make me leave, I’ve already got you.”

  Chapter 12

  “You’re a pompous asshole. You know that, right?”

  Lane, who’d been rubbing his hair dry after a shower, lowered the towel to look at Elle in the steam-filled bathroom. “What?”

  “What you said to me. That’s such a dude thing to say. Like you can own my fantasies or invade my head if I don’t want you there. Don’t flatter yourself.” She stuck her chin out and wrapped a fluffy, white terry-cloth robe around herself, the bathroom version of her doctor’s coat. Her armor. “If women said half the things guys do in bed, we’d be laughed right out of it.”

  He smirked. “Cupcake, if some woman told me she was going to invade my fantasies and make me think about her when I jerk off, I may get on my knee and propose right there. I don’t know about other guys, but I like a woman with a filthy mind and dirty mouth. Bring it on.”

  She sniffed, back in Elle McCray mode already. “My fantasies are my own. You’re not invited.”

  He tossed the towel aside, not bothering to cover up. He could tell Elle was trying to pull herself together, slide that mask back in place, but her poker face was on the fritz. His naked presence in her bathroom was affecting her. Her quick, stolen glances down his body gave him no small amount of satisfaction. He liked knowing that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. And he wasn’t going to let her shut down. “Oh really, I’m not welcome? Who’s invited to that party then? What celebrity is lucky enough to get a starring role in the great Dr. McCray’s fantasy montage?”

  She opened her mouth to respond then frowned.

  “What?” he asked, leaning against the sink, amused. “Too embarrassing? Is it a guy who plays one of the superheroes? No, that’s probably too generic for you. Maybe some actor from a brainy British miniseries or something.”

  The line was back between her brows. Always deep in thought, his Elle.

  Wait—his Elle? Maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed to get her armor on. He picked up the towel and wrapped it around his waist.

  She shook her head. “No, no one like that. I guess I never really thought about it. Any fantasies I have, the guys are usually faceless.”

  Faceless. The idea struck him as sad. But who was he to judge? Men objectified women and reduced them to faceless sexual objects all the time. If that was what she did to guys in her fantasies, that was her business. “Guys? More than one in there at the same time?”

  She tilted her head, almost coquettish if not for the wry expression. “So what if there are? Maybe there are whole orgies of men in my head granting my every wish.”

  He laughed, happy to see her playing along instead of locking him out. “An army of manservants servicing the illustrious Dr. McCray, huh?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Too bad for you, you’ll never know. Only I get to be in my head, which is my point in the first place.”

  “Right. I’m not allowed in. I get it.” He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him, surprised and pleased that she didn’t resist. “But my guess is those orgies of men aren’t serving the good doctor. They’re holding her down and doing hot, depraved things to her. Forcing her past where she thinks she wants to go. Making her feel used and helpless.”

  Elle wet her lips, the pupils of her eyes dilating a bit, letting him know that he’d hit the right nail.

  He reached up and pushed her damp hair off her forehead. “See, maybe I can get in there just a little bit.” Her lips parted, no doubt to protest, but he pressed his fingers against her mouth. “That’s not me trying to screw with you, doc. I only know what’s in there because it’s in mine, too.”

  She moved his hand away. “Manservants?”

  “No. Dark fantasies. Some anger mixed up in the sex. Desires that most people don’t get. Things that could get you in trouble if done with someone who doesn’t understand it.” He let out a breath, dropping his own guard. “Feeling a little fucked up about it because you can’t tell how much is you and how much is what other people have done to you.”

  Her eyes met his at that, some of her usual shields falling away for a moment. “You think I’m like this because of my husband.”

  A statement, not a question. He was careful not to break the eye contact, the moment feeling tenuous. “I don’t know enough to say. But I’m guessing you didn’t always need this level of impersonal sex. Just like I didn’t start out wanting so much control. I didn’t crave it until all of it was taken from me over and over again.”

  Her mouth curved downward, something akin to concern in her expression.

  He pressed on. “We were both humiliated and maybe reacted in different ways. And who knows, maybe we each
had a tendency to be kinky or whatever from the start. But we’ll never know, right? So it always feels a little wrong, like what we’re enjoying was created by the very people or experiences we hated so much.”

  Her shoulders sagged with a long, slowly released breath. “Ugh. How did we end up on the goddamned therapy couch? We both promised.”

  He gave her a grim smile. “Because you’re a doctor at a mental health hospital and I’m a wannabe therapist?”

  “A going-to-be, not wannabe.”

  He looked away at that, the words like a bucket of ice water over his head. One of the reasons he’d been drawn to come here tonight was to distract himself. He didn’t want to think about the paper he wasn’t going to be able to fix or the form he had in his car that would withdraw him from all his classes. He’d considered his professor’s suggestion. But every time he’d tried to get himself to go to the learning center, he’d felt sick to his stomach, remembering all the times in high school that he’d ended up in the counselor’s office, getting talked down to like he was stupid. He’d decided he wasn’t meant for a degree. He was doing just fine with his current job. “Not quite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He cleared his throat, trying to force the words out. “I’m dropping out of my program. I’m too busy with everything at The Grove right now. So a wannabe, I’ll remain.”

  “Wait. Hold up. You said you were working on a paper all week.”

  Lane lifted his gaze to find her wearing a deep frown. “I was trying to fit everything in and realized I couldn’t. The paper’s not going to get finished. It’s not a big deal.”

  She stepped out of his hold and eyed him in that way that made him think she’d missed her calling as a high school principal. “It is a big deal, actually.”