Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  The vibrator clicked off, and he rose on his knees. “Ready for another?”

  Jesus. She panted, lost to the residual tremors tickling through her body.

  The ties at her ankles loosened, released. His arms came around her torso, flipping her, the rope crossing above her head.

  “So you liked the garden pole? Should’ve started with that, hmm?” He smiled down at her looking pretty damned pleased with himself. As he should’ve been. He’d rocked her. Hard.

  “The pole pushed me over—I can’t believe your aim was that good considering you were kissing me when you swung.”

  His smile widened. “The pole has a nice reach.”

  “Well done, but the sensual build-up was what got me there. You…uh…really know how to make a high-maintenance girl feel loved.”

  The gold in his brown eyes sparked. “Only you, Charlee. And you’re not high-maintenance. In fact, now that I’ve gone through orientation, I’m about to show you how easy it is to service you.” He reached a hand between her legs and put pressure on the plug.

  She dropped her legs open, gasping.

  “Yeah, you’re ready for round two.”

  Round two rolled into three, and four, and hell, she lost count. Her anger with him had deserted her with the first orgasm, giving way to adoration. He trussed her up in various positions, nipple clamps dangling, ice pellets melting in her pussy. She begged him to stop, to keep going, harder, slower. Mostly, she begged him to fuck her. He ignored her pleas with a snap of the drumstick on her breast or the wave of the cheese grater. Like that was a threat.

  As each orgasm faded, she swore she couldn’t reach another. He pushed her until she lay slumped over the hard ridges of his body, both of them smothered in sweat and exhaustion.

  Free of the binds, she stretched a hand between them and gripped his erection through his pants. For two hours, she’d watched it stretch his fly, waiting for it to rip a hole through the leather. “Your turn.”

  He grabbed her wrist and removed her hand. “No. This is my penance.”

  The break in his voice undid her. “Jay, please. You don’t need—”

  “Let it be, Charlee.” He pulled her further up his chest and cupped her head against his throat.

  The blend of pain and pleasure he’d gifted her exceeded her expectations, but that wasn’t what freed the things that had been tightening her chest for so damn long. He’d given her something that wasn’t easy for him to give and he’d done so without taking.

  Yeah, her anger with him was long gone. In its place was a soaring, unsuspecting love.

  As she settled into the steady rise and fall of his chest, a startling realization tumbled over her. He whipped her and stretched her ass and commanded her every move. And not once, had Huntress whispered through her head.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  ‡

  The bedside clock read ten, and the sun beating through the glass doors agreed. Yet, Jay lay like a dead man beneath Charlee. No, not dead. His chest emitted warmth and vibrancy. With his head lolled on the pillow, his heartbeat pulsed against the arch of his throat.

  She shouldn’t wake him. Lord knew he needed sleep, but his penance for the prior night was over. She eased off him, tugged down the sheet, past his waist, to his feet, and revealed a golden landscape of dipping and cresting muscles.

  He’d lost his pants sometime in the night. No surprise there. She couldn’t understand how he wore leather, let alone slept in it. But damn, it cupped him in all the right places. Her mouth watered.

  Arms bent above his head, lips slack, legs spread, he was vulnerable and masculine and unconsciously begging.

  Kneeling between the strength of his thighs, she lowered her mouth, hovered over his half-erect penis. A lick around the glans, and she drew him in.

  His eyes flew open, and his hands floundered until they found purchase on the rungs of the headboard.

  She slid her lips to the tip and kissed the crown. “Good morning.”

  “Hell of a way to wake up.” His voice was groggy and sexy as fuck.

  Gripping him in hand, she waited. No flinching. No meltdowns. She smiled and worked him back into her mouth. His shaft had doubled in length in a matter of seconds, his balls tighter, higher. She pumped the suction of her lips, circling and flicking her tongue.

  The tendons in his neck strained, and his chin jerked toward the ceiling. “Ahhhh, fuck, Charlee.” He panted and grabbed the back of her hair to halt her movements. “Up here. Now.”

  Holding him between the careful bite of her teeth, she walked her fingers over the bumps of his abs and up his chest. Watching him do his daily crunches was as arousing as feeling the results beneath her fingertips.

  He followed her hands with hooded eyes. No tripped triggers. Had he defeated it? His reaction to touch was unpredictable and the underlying source of it remained locked away, but at that moment, the feeling of sweet victory rushed through her.

  He grabbed her wrists, dislodging his dick from her mouth, and pulled her up his body until she straddled his hips. “Ride me.”

  A warm wet trickle accompanied the throb between her legs. She curled greedy fingers around him, centered him at her sex. Rocking down his length, she threw her head back and groaned through the riot of stimulation. When her clit bumped the trimmed thicket of his hair, she reached down and traced where her folds wrapped around him.

  The corners of his mouth stretched, forming a pinned line, his eyes glued to her hand. “I don’t deserve you.”

  Did she forgive him for the drugs? Did she trust him with her safe word? She checked her heart, and it hid behind an even thump, the unhelpful thing.

  She didn’t need trust or forgiveness for this. She pinched his nipple, twisted it between her fingers. “Shut up.”

  The buck of his pelvis spurred her into motion. Up and down, she rotated her hips around his cock, pulling grunts from low in his throat. His hands shook where they clenched her waist and his thighs flexed beneath her.

  “Jesus. Gonna make me come, Charlee. Slow down.”

  How sublime it must be to climb to the precipice so easily. She was still circling the bottom of the steep, trying to find a way up. That was okay. This was for him. She gathered her hair on her head and held it there. Pulling in her stomach muscles, she rolled her hips, flowing over him in a liquid movement.

  “Beautiful.”

  The gruffness in his voice aroused the hairs on her nape. She kept her mop pinned on her head and rocked faster, closing her eyes and memorizing every stroke along her inner walls.

  “Feels so good. I can’t…I can’t—” He bent at the waist, arm around her back, and flipped her. Following her down, he thrust his hips and filled her again.

  His mouth fell over hers, open and sweeping, parting her lips and tongue nudging inside. His licked lazily, but the exploration consumed her. He tasted clean and human and something else she couldn’t name, but it attached to her recognition of him. A flavor that didn’t belong to anything or anyone. It was wholly Jay.

  He drew in and out of her pussy, setting a plateauing pace. Neither building nor slowing. His hands roamed her body with the same deliberation. He seemed to be simply enjoying. Legs entwined, they moved as one. Their bodies rose and fell together, breaths giving and receiving.

  Her thoughts flickered to the prior night, the nylon cinctures, the heat of the pole, and the stretch of the plug. She caressed the muscles playing over her, envisioned how much pain they could bear if he chose to unleash his strength. A needy shudder unfurled through her limbs.

  She raised her chin and found him watching her from inches away. His hips ground into her, harder and less-controlled with each rotation. Lips parted, eyes dilated, his inhales deepened. “Come with me.”

  If only. She let that hope disintegrate before it could grip her.

  His hand shot up and squeezed her throat, not hurting, but digging in enough to paralyze her breath and cut her voice. His gaze bore into hers, his expression un
readable, but there were no signs of teasing. The pressure on her jugular was serious. Did he know what he was doing? If he pressed too hard, too long, he could choke her.

  A different kind of pressure coiled through her pussy and exploded without warning. Full-body shocks rippled off her, loosening every last knot. The stroke of his cock bumped the pulsating spot inside her, over and over, drawing out her release. Her muscles seemed to melt into the bed, her exhales vibrated with her moans, and the heated look in his penetrating eyes carried her away.

  Twitches skated along her body, and her breathing calmed, even as his hips continued to flex and his fingers pressed against her throat. His rhythm sputtered and his muscles went taut.

  Buried inside her, his body rigid and eyelids pinched, he groaned through a gaping mouth. If he thought she was beautiful, he should look in the mirror while he came. Suffocating under the clamp of his hand, she could die this way, watching him. What a way to go.

  “Breathe, Charlee.”

  She couldn’t. His fingers were still pressing against her throat. She yanked on his arm, and it wouldn’t budge. A dizzying cloud weighted her movements.

  “Focus on how loose my fingers are and take a breath.” His eyebrows slammed together. “Now.”

  Why wouldn’t he release her? Lungs burning, she sucked in a gulp of air. Another and another. The fog in her head thinned and scattered. She moved her hands up his arm, felt his fingers locked around her neck. No pain. Just a heady feeling of restraint. “You’re not hurting me.” Holy shit. How did he do that? He fucked her, brought to orgasm, but where was the pain? Her chest swelled with adoration. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “No. And I never constricted you harder than this.” His grip fell away and the sudden loss of it shriveled her with insecurity, no longer protected under the detainment of his hand.

  Before she could dwell on how fucked up that logic was, he rolled them, flattening her body over his with a hand sliding down her spine. “You okay?”

  She dropped her cheek on his chest and let the strong beat of his heart fortify her. “I don’t know. How did you do that? There was no pain…and I came…and why couldn’t I breathe?”

  He stroked her hair and spread the layers across her back. “You were breathing just fine right up until you climaxed. Then you locked up.” He tapped her temple.

  Did he think it was all in her head? He’d tricked her, dammit. How had she not perceived what was real and not real? Heart hammering, she let her hair slide forward and curtain her face.

  “Charlee, look at me.”

  She did, and he stared back from beneath dark brows. “I don’t think it’s the pain that gets you off. It’s the anticipation…the fear of it.”

  Her rebuttal scrambled to the tip of her tongue and hung there. Wasn’t that how she found release during masturbation? She would think about depraved acts, anticipate them, and yes, fear them. “And you learned this in one night?”

  “It was a long night.” He held her chin in the brace of his hands and kissed her, far-reaching and persistent and full of teeth. With a nip to her nose, he pulled back. “Let me show you something.”

  She followed him to the bathroom, his unfinished tattoo waving at her through the flex of his shoulders. The outline of flames and curling skin and riveted steel beneath made her fingers itch to complete it. “I need to finish your back.”

  He threw a glowing smile over his shoulder that sent her heart tumbling. “Soon.”

  In front of the vanity, he turned her back to the mirror and hooked his arms around her waist. His cock jerked against her thigh, and she looked up with an arched eyebrow.

  “Ignore it. Look behind you. What do you see?”

  Twisting to peer beyond her shoulder, she flinched at how the artificial light glared off her white skin. “A pasty girl in desperate need of some sun.” She caught his glare in the mirror.

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Don’t you dare tan that pretty hide.” The corners of his mouth kicked up. “That’s my job.”

  “Har har. What am I looking at?”

  “Bruises. Discoloration. Blemishes. Any of the usual post-pain leftovers.”

  She squinted at her reflection. A couple of pink lines marked her shoulder. Otherwise, her skin was flawless. “I don’t understand. The implements you struck me with should’ve left marks.”

  “I think after the first hit of the pole, your mind stayed in the zone without your body needing further punishment. You tensed before each strike and that’s when you seemed to be the most turned on. As long as I kept you guessing, I could feint a lot of the follow-through.”

  “Like the choking.” She turned that over in her head. The collar of his hand hadn’t strangled her. She’d held her breath, imagined danger associated with it. “Wow. I’m a head case.”

  He pinched her chin, angling it until her body followed so he could look her directly in the eyes. “No, Charlee. You’re a survivor, packing all kinds of hidden weapons. But I’ll be honest.” His hand moved to the back of her head and his forehead lowered to hers. “Hurting you is a very difficult thing for me to do. I’ll do it. Whatever you need, even as I hope like hell I’m right about this.”

  She sank against his long frame and traced the indention between his hip and thigh. Pleasure without the soreness? Orgasms without planning? Never mind all that. The hopeful look in his eyes made her want it more than anything. “Me, too.”

  Chapter Seventy

  ‡

  The spray of the shower head wasn’t what spiraled heat over Jay’s body. It was Charlee’s hands as they lathered soap across the ruined skin on his back.

  He’d never showered with another. Had never even removed his shirt in front of someone other than his doctor, and that had been a very long time ago. “I love your hands on me.”

  “How are you really doing with all the touching?” Her tone was soft, careful.

  He braced his arms on the tile and let his head drop between them. Suds collected between their feet, hers so small beside his. “The fear is still there. Touch never guaranteed a breakdown, but knowing that it could, I’ve always restricted it.” Like a big pussy. The expectation of panic was worse than the reality. He knew that, just couldn’t move past it.

  Her hands lowered to his ass, fingering soap into the cleft. The little devil wasn’t going to leave a single cranny unwashed.

  “You told me in New York that talking about your demons was a trigger.” She squatted behind him and raked her nails over the backs of his thighs. “Can we test that?”

  Fuck no. He couldn’t talk about the shed or the horror within its thin walls. She had enough nightmares of her own. She didn’t need his.

  She wiggled around him, her beautiful face hovering below his and blinking against the deluge of water.

  The muffle of slapping guitar beats sifted through the bathroom. She cocked her head. “Why do I hear the song Punk Rock Girl?”

  He leaned down and captured her lips with a shower-wet smack. “Because I set your ringtone. Like?”

  “Love.” She grinned, and her lips curved down just as quick. “It has to be Nathan. Maybe he has news about the letter.” She slipped out of the stall before he could catch her.

  Damn Nathan, the hater. Interrupting his shower time.

  He followed the trail of wet footprints out of the bathroom and found her bent over the desk, dripping water on the phone in her hand and tapping on the screen. She held it up, wide-eyed and gorgeous. “How do you work this thing?” Then she returned to her frantic swiping. “I haven’t owned a phone in years.”

  Probably not since Noah. Who was she going to call? A twinge pulled his chest. He closed the distance and held out his hand. “Give it here.”

  When she stretched it toward him, he grabbed her elbow. “Go dry off properly. Water on marble inspired Bon Jovi to compile Slippery When Wet.”

  Her eyebrows climbed then dropped over narrowed eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”

  He pinched he
r ass. “Walk back to the bathroom like I’m not.”

  The pound on the door sent him lurching into the closet. He dropped the phone and fought a t-shirt from its hanger. Yeah, so he still didn’t want anyone looking at his back. Motherfucking knee-jerk reaction. He yanked on a pair of workout shorts and didn’t belittle himself too much for it until he skidded out and found her answering the door stark fucking naked. “Charlee!”

  She startled and dropped her jaw as if she had no clue why his face was on fire.

  Nathan strode around her, and the fucker was lucky he didn’t lower his eyes below her chin.

  “Charlee, go put on some clothes.” His voice rattled the glass doors. Fuck it. He spun into the closet and wrestled another t-shirt off the rack.

  Back in the bedroom, neither of them had moved. Both stared at him with identical sets to their jaws, likely for different reasons. He tossed her the shirt.

  She turned it over in her hands, locating the head hole not near fast enough. “Calm down, Jay. He’s seen—”

  “He doesn’t need to see it again.”

  The shirt hit him in the face and fell to the floor. Okay, maybe his tone was a little too coarse.

  She propped her fists on her hips. “You might remember that next time you fuck me onstage.”

  His balls curled up as if they’d been punched, but the real pain throbbed behind his ribs. He scooped up the shirt and pulled it over her head, stretching it over her little fists and down to her thighs.

  His memory of the show was muddy, but he realized she’d enjoyed the exhibitionism before the groupies showed up. That realization set his nerves on fire. Jesus. Clear-headed, he never would’ve put her on display. Was that what she wanted? Would this be another sticky point in her closet of kinks? “We’ll talk about this later.”

  She pushed her arms through the holes and turned toward Nathan, who was watching their interaction with a blatant scowl. “Nathan? Is this about the letter?”