Elusive Hero

by Joey W. Hill

  He knew how to make it hurt, he'd been correct about that. He was slamming into her so forcefully, the impact held pleasure out of reach, but it was clear from his thickness stretching her that he was aroused to an animal level. That just goaded her own desires, despite her tumultuous thoughts. Yet abruptly he stopped, still holding her so close, inside her as deep as it was possible to go. With his grip on her ass he lifted her and began to knead, to slowly rotate her on his cock, sending spears of sensation through her.

  It hurts, does it?

  Her gaze flitted up to him, and now she saw a different look in his eyes.

  "Say 'yes'," he prodded.

  "Yes." Her throat had that odd ache again. Something...she needed something, the emotions unfolding in her exponentially. "I shouldn't have done that. Mark you like that. Without your permission."

  No, you shouldn't have.

  His gaze held her and she swallowed over that unfamiliar feeling. Or rather, one that used to be familiar, something she'd had to leave behind long ago. Regret.

  I'm sorry.

  SS

  When she'd broken the chain in her agitation, everything sensible had told Garron he needed to jump back out of range, but he'd never been known for being sensible. Loyal, determined, and sure where the line passed from black to white, no matter how much grey fog lay over it. That was what he was known for.

  He caught her hand, put it on his side. Her fingers pressed into his muscled bare flesh, nails digging into him, puncturing. He kept his hand over hers, let her feel him there.

  "Mine, my lady," he said softly, holding her eyes. "You don't say no to me, do you?"

  She was panting, her fangs curving over her bottom lip. The right one had cut a groove in her flesh and he leaned forward, brushing his mouth over it, tasting her blood. As he did, he gave her a firmer thrust. "Answer me."

  "No. I don't...I can't..."

  "You can do anything I give you permission to do."

  "Garron...I want...I need...I..." Words failed her and her head dropped back, eyes squeezing shut. He cupped her head, brought it back up to look at him as he continued to move inside her. In and out, stroking those tissues, bringing her back toward the climax he wanted to inflict upon her, if he could hold out long enough himself. He'd never let go of control like that before, but he'd done it deliberately, showing her that he had as much of an animal nature as she did. Now he could take it down a notch, give her pleasure again, even as the energy vibrating between them remained volatile, unresolved.

  He wouldn't let it deprive either of them. They were still on the roller coaster, and whether uphill or down, he wasn't letting up a bit. He inhaled her scent, a woman's musk, blood, fragrance. Her hair had a special aroma of its own, and he wanted to take it out of the braid, wrap it around himself. He wanted to put his face between her legs, bring her to climax that way, immerse himself in that scent as well.

  "You'll do what I tell you to do. When it's like this, I'm in charge. Aren't I?"

  Her eyes had that desperate light. She was so afraid. He could feel it inside her. It was as if she thought her life was literally in his hands, and she hadn't trusted anyone like that in so long...

  He kept stroking until her muscles were clenching him on every stroke, her hand clawing into his side as the rest of her stayed in their bonds. He pushed her over the next climax, wondering if he was going to have blue balls before this was over, because he was determined not to come until he'd gotten them where he intended them both to go.

  She arched and bounced, sinuous as a snake, and he gritted his teeth as she squeezed down on him in a way that showed she was mindful enough to be determined to make him come. He rewarded that bit of impertinence by pulling out when her pussy was still clutching down on him in aftershocks.

  Kneeling, he went after her with his mouth, suckling away all the juices from her orgasm, wetting his finger with them and playing around her rim. He took advantage of her helpless state to tighten the chains, lift her legs higher in the air, readjusting the band beneath her head and shoulders so he didn't put her into a near head stand. It gave her physical comfort and him the position he wanted to continue to explore her as he wished. He wasn't giving her mind time to reset. Whenever it seemed her mind needed further focusing, he cracked the flat of his hand against her ass.

  This was his element, and he was fully in the groove. He could make a woman beyond helpless in this room. He could take her to the point she'd lose control of her bodily functions, underscoring that he was in charge of everything, including her dignity, but the point wasn't humiliation, not for him. It was to prove she could trust him with all of that. He could break her down to the most primal, base form, and he would still cherish her, see all the treasure she had to offer him. He would kiss away a sub's tears, clean her up, hold her coiled and exhausted in his arms after multiple climaxes, multiple emotional breakthroughs where he took her through every childhood fear and insecurity and brought her out to the other side. He made her see her value and worth in his stern, approving gaze. When he held her after all that, knowing he genuinely held not only her life and body but her soul and heart in his grasp, he knew his purpose in life. To give her that gift.

  All of that had been preparing him for this. He was sure of it.

  She worked him hard, whether she knew it or not. He took her up to that peak again with his mouth, with the torment of his fingers. He pinched her ass several times, holding the clamp so she felt the pain, reacted to it in confused response as he kept licking her cunt, thrusting his tongue inside, mixing the pain and pleasure in ways that kept her from wrapping her mind around all of it.

  Please...I can't take anymore. She may have said it aloud. In his position he couldn't have heard it, but in her mind he heard it loud and clear. He loved that, the ease of hearing her voice, but it didn't alter his attention on the most important thing. Her. Things were cracking inside. She was back at that precipice. He sensed...something, and he wanted to see how it played out, despite the shaking, broken note to her voice that twisted his heartstrings.

  Pulling back from her, he gazed down at her body. At some point she'd caught hold of the loose broken chain with her free hand and had hung on to it as a way of restraining herself again. He wondered if she'd even realized she was using it that way, but he did for sure.

  "Yeah, you can take more. Else you wouldn't still be able to talk or think that clearly. I've got plenty I plan to do to you, my lady. You think about that while I get the next phase ready."

  Moving over to the counter and cabinets that held his supplies, he surveyed what was in front of him, cocking his head as if thinking about what he wanted to do next. He could feel her eyes on him, wondering. It only took a matter of seconds. Without his touch, without his voice, she began to shake, much as she'd done earlier. This time he was in her mind, so he saw the emotions go from simmer to boil in the face of his casual indifference, his deliberate decision to force her to confront her feelings and thoughts without distractions.

  Garron. It was a thought, then a whisper, a child lost in the woods. "Garron."

  He could hear her, inside and out, but he kept his head down. She craved that ultimate surrender, yes. But sometimes, before he could get a sub to what she really craved, he'd have to clear some debris off the field. Sometimes that debris was thick and high enough to make a landfill look small in comparison, but that was part of what had to be hurdled. What he saw in her head made it more than worth it, an obstacle past which a sweeping quest awaited, full of revelations, challenges and glory for the Master who embraced all that she was.

  Not only could he hear her without strain, he could see inside her. Since that kind of sight didn't involve his eyes, he was seeing everything crystal clear. It was heaven. He could hear the emotions that wrapped themselves around the words like an illuminated script, full of color, emotion and artistry.

  But as those colors turned to darker shades, he realized she was drawing too close to hell. He abandoned his won
der at the new sensations and went after her. He wasn't going to leave her there alone.

  Disembodied voices, distorted shapes, then voices, memories, rising in a jumble. A grave, cold rain. Bloody battlefields. Soldiers wearing Union uniforms. Then in various stages of undress, lounging around a room, drinking, smoking cigars. One of them jamming a cigar on the inside of her thigh, since she was tied spread eagle to a bed. She'd already been well used by most of them, but they were nowhere near done...

  "No." He was back to her, up against her as she thrashed. He pushed aside the kneejerk reaction to protect, to get her out of the bonds, to soothe, and looked for an anchor point beyond that, a key to get through to her mind. "Kaela. Kaela, ssshh." He held her twisting body. "Jared. Who is Jared? Stop. Tell me who Jared is."

  He barked the order, brought her to a quivering halt. Repeated it in a more gentle voice. "Tell me who Jared is, my lady."

  She'd gone so still, her fingers curled into claws.

  I've killed other vampires. I've killed humans. It was necessary.

  He kept stroking her hair. "I've killed, too, my lady. It was necessary, just. Even if it wasn't righteous. That's not what I asked. Tell me who Jared is."

  As that quiver went through her again, her lovely eyes stared into his. She could ask to be released, but she hadn't. He was mindful of that, so again fought down his own desire to let her go. That horrible image had captured her mind, but Jared's name had broken its hold, so he said it again, like a safe word for both of them. "Jared. It's okay. Who is Jared?"

  He was my husband. At the beginning, before I was turned. He died during the War of...during the Civil War.

  "The War of Southern Independence." He picked it up from her mind and managed to win a painful twitch from her tempting lips. "I am southern, my lady. Alabama born and bred. My grandparents preferred calling it the War of Northern Aggression." He beefed up the drawl to make her smile a little more, but the infusion of warmth was such a contrast to the other emotions she was fighting, it undermined her further. A sob caught her so he slid an arm around her waist, bent and nuzzled her throat, nudging her chin out of his way so she had to drop her head back. He suckled the major artery pumping beneath the skin, teased her with the tip of his tongue, his other hand cupping her elbow, sliding along the tender skin of her stretched and bound arm.

  "Those bastards who had you tied down? What happened to them?"

  He raised his head to meet her gaze, soldier-to-soldier. It beat acting on what he actually felt, a testosterone-driven rage to hunt every one of them down as if that could eradicate what had happened to her.

  Long dead, not by my hand. I was a Confederate spy. They captured me. Her chin set, even though her lips were trembling.

  "They held you helpless, took what they wanted." He let his hand slide all the way up to her fingertips, then he moved there, kissed her knuckles, her wrist above and below the cuff, started working his way down. He spread out his palm on her abdomen, a solid touch there, moved the other behind her, cupped her bottom, slowly kneaded as he nuzzled and nipped at her arm, making her jerk and tremble.

  "I don't know what you're doing," her voice quavered.

  "Reminding you of the difference. Yes, you're caught, my lady. You're at my mercy. That's where the comparison ends."

  You make me feel...helpless.

  He lifted his head, stared at her. "Like they did?"

  She shook her head. "No."

  "Good." The anger in his gut eased. "Then don't let me see you get that shit confused again." He bared his teeth in a wicked smile. "Or I'll let you go. Take you out for dinner, and have some nice, safe vanilla sex with lots of cuddling afterward."

  Her gaze warmed with a variety of responses. Gratitude, intrigue, relief. As well as other things that turned his world on his axis as much as he was doing to hers.

  "You're mean."

  "You have no idea," he managed. "Trip my sadist trigger, baby, and I'll make you regret it. There will be flowers. Candy. Kenny G."

  Her eyes glowed even brighter. He slid his hand down over her mound and cupped her, rubbing his thumb over her clit and making her squirm in the bonds. Her lips parted as she absorbed the arousal, letting it mix with the sorrow, fear and memory, balance it once again. She might be a tossing ship, but she refused to be sunk.

  With relief, he saw that, despite the horror of such memories, she didn't view herself as a victim, had never viewed herself that way. Normally that was the most crippling obstacle to getting over such a thing. She'd acted against men like her captors in wartime, used information to turn the tide of battles that might have killed their friends, other family members. Their punishment beyond capture had been motivated by rage. The dark sadism all men carried in them had been goaded, demons brought to life by hate. She understood that, had realized it wasn't personal. Vampires might have an immortal lifespan to analyze personal trauma, get past it, but they had no time to wallow in it or milk it. Life was brutal, tough. If you didn't want all of it to be that way, you had to figure out how to move forward.

  He saw all those thought processes in her mind, wondered how conscious she was of all those layers, or if it was just who she was. Regardless, he admired her stoicism. Her strength.

  Beyond that, her human past had obviously been the key to opening her up, helping her claim the submissive needs she'd always yearned to embrace. Jared had been her Master, the only Master, and his time with her had been too short. If the male had loved her as much as she'd loved him--and Garron had no doubt he had, because this woman inspired a man's devotion as much as his territorial instincts--he was giving Garron a blatant fish-eye message.

  Make it happen, you fucking bastard, since I can't.

  Chapter Six

  After a little breather of just stroking her, touching her, getting her focused on arousal again, he released her legs and brought her back to the original standing spread-eagle. He fixed the broken link and felt her attention build as he did it. She'd gone quiet, her mind a slow spinning top. No longer agitated, her body on a low hum, waiting for more of what he had planned. That was where he wanted her mind.

  Retrieving a different ointment from his personal stores, he stood before her as he spread it on his fingers. He coated her clit and labia with it, reaching further between her legs to apply it to the tiny creases of her rectum. It had a soothing blend as well as a lubricant. For his own pleasure, he put some on her nipples, making them glisten. The ointment sparkled, metallic pieces part of the mix.

  Returning to the counter, he put away the ointment, retrieved a violet wand and opened his tool box, choosing a mushroom-shaped electrode to fit into the neck. The violet wand made a humming noise as he turned it on, the mushroom casting a lavender light. Behind him, he heard her draw in a breath as the oil started to do what it did. It would warm at first, start to tingle, then stimulate. Then he would add to it with the wand.

  He came to her, began to pass the mushroom-shaped glass attachment over her nipples. The metallic pieces sparkled as she arched in surprised reaction at the electricity passing through them. She rocked up to her toes, fingers closing on the chains holding her manacles. "Garron." It was surprise, trepidation, pleasure.

  He leaned forward, kissing her lips, her cheek, her forehead, her eye brow, touching her face all over with his lips. She whimpered. Out of all the sounds she made, that pleading note was his favorite. Especially since he expected nothing like it had crossed her lips in some time.

  Straightening, he went back to creating more magic for her. An even flow of movement over the nipples, down the stomach, to the cunt, tipping his elbow up or down as needed for stronger sensation. He stayed away from direct contact with the manacles, since that would result in too intense a charge for what he was wanting to accomplish. She started to dance under his touch, and this time he stayed mindful of how hard she was jerking against her bonds.

  Please... Subs always used that word. It was like an aphrodisiac to a Master. Please stop. Please more.
Please...just please. It was his favorite word in the whole world for all the things it meant, especially coming from her lips and mind now.

  Words were keys, clues to the inner psyche. When he demanded them from a sub, it wasn't to stroke his ego, but to get farther inside them. He knew which ones were key transition moments. He always treasured the first time they were spoken, and this time even more so.

  "Please, what, Kaela? Say my name. Tell me who I am." He slid the wand over her clit, heard the static crackle as he passed it up and over, down and around in a swirling pattern. The slick tissues convulsed again.

  "No...I can't...no..."

  "You'll come as often as I want you to come. You make me so fucking hard when you come, my lady, I may not ever let you stop. I may keep you chained here all ten days, screaming my name and your cunt gushing, over and over. Give you water to keep you hydrated, let you feed from my throat, and beg me for release... When you say no, when you try to fight it, it makes me more determined to keep you chained up."

  He moved the wand over her breasts again, down over her pussy, over all her flesh, watching the streaks of electrified color move between the device and her body. Her glazed eyes were on them as well, her mouth working but no words coming out. Except one.

  "Master." Master.

  His fingers tightened on the wand, and he forced himself to keep his head down an extra second, savoring the sound of it.

  She broke again, her body straining. He saw the first flickers of mental and physical exhaustion, the climax carrying her away with no resistance, telling her just how helpless she truly was. That panicked her, such that she started to fight again. He knew how to work with that, so as she rolled off the climax, he was using the wand to take her up once again. Even as the tears started to roll, he catapulted her back to that peak once more.

  She sobbed, broken words coming out of her mouth. "Master....no more, please. Master..."

  He set the wand aside, but only to strip off his jeans. He'd tucked himself back in when he needed the restraint, so it was a relief to finally make himself as naked as she was. He released her lovely legs, coiling them around his hips. He put his arm around her waist, holding her to him as he released her wrists. Carrying her to the mattress in the corner, he laid her down on it, himself on his knees over her.