by Nina Lane
Her blood grew hot. The bulge of his erection pressed against her, and before she could move to touch him in return, he was guiding her back to the wall, his kiss ever more urgent.
A thrill of arousal spiraled through her. Lydia gasped, acutely aware of the fact that they were in full view of anyone who happened to look up from the street. And yet, she didn’t care, not with Gabriel’s hands easing up her skirt, his fingers seeking out the moist heat of her inner thighs, her naked behind exposed to a rush of warm air.
Lust pooled in her core. She gripped his shirt, her head falling back against the wall. He could do anything to her, anything with her, and she would revel in it with every ounce of her being.
“You want it?” he whispered, lowering his head to nip at the ridge of her collarbone. “Here?”
“Oh yes.” Lydia splayed her fingers over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles. In a moment of daring, she unfastened the remaining buttons and parted the folds of his shirt so she could touch his rigid abdomen. His sharp intake of breath emboldened her to dip her fingers below the waistband of his jeans, following the line of hair arrowing so deliciously toward his groin.
The red light and shadows of sunset splashed across the balcony and glinted off the windows. Lydia met Gabriel’s hot gaze with an instinctive question of permission, and at his faint smile she delved deeper into his jeans to find the hard ridge of his erection. A moan escaped her at the sensation of the pulsing length, and she clenched her sex as if in readiness for his inevitable penetration.
“Please,” she whispered, her heartbeat so loud it seemed to drown out the carnival noise and music. There was nothing else then, just him and her, only the heat of their bodies and the promise of untold pleasures.
He leaned a hand on the wall behind her, his other hand still moving up the length of her inner thigh until he found her sex. She parted her legs wider, drawing in a breath as Gabriel worked his long forefingers into the opening of her body. He nudged his groin against her, rubbing the hardening bulge of his erection along her hip.
Though Lydia was fully prepared for his command, ready to kneel or turn around or anything, she gasped in shock when he went down on his knees in front of her and parted her wet folds, opening her fully.
“Gabriel…”
“Shh.” He moved closer, his eyes darkening with heat as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her most intimate area.
Lydia moaned, her hand fisting in his hair. She struggled to remain upright. He flicked his tongue out, caressing her sensitive flesh, and she was unable to prevent herself from thrusting her hips forward to deepen his penetration.
He licked her slowly, gently, his tongue sliding over her slick folds and up to circle the swollen nub of her clitoris. Lydia quivered, her whole body tingling with sparks of heat, urging her toward the ultimate blissful release.
When Gabriel moved lower to push his tongue into her channel, she almost shrieked in reaction, her blood reaching a boiling point. Gabriel muttered something low in his throat as he pressed his tongue in and out of her before sliding it back around her clitoris.
Lydia gripped his hair, her senses overwhelmed, her body shaking anew with the effort of maintaining control of her climax. But it seemed he wouldn’t let her, not when he slipped two fingers into the opening of her body, easing them back and forth as he sealed his lips around the little bundle of nerves in which so much of her pleasure was centered.
“Oh, Gabriel.” Lydia inhaled a ragged breath, sweat dampening her back, the hard wall behind her scraping the tender, naked flesh of her bottom. “I can’t…”
She waited for his consent, longed for it, but instead he worked his fingers and tongue more insistently against her, and before she could prevent it… indeed, before she even felt the urgency mount any higher, an orgasm exploded through Lydia like a thousand fireworks. She cried out, the sound lost in the noise rising from the street, uncaring if anyone saw her riding out her pleasure.
Gabriel eased away from her, sliding his hands down her bare thighs before he rose to his feet. A deep satisfaction settled in his dark eyes. He bent to kiss her, the flavor of her own body sparking Lydia’s hunger anew, and though she was again ready to sink to her knees, he was already unfastening his jeans and pushing them low enough to release his heavy cock.
Lydia stared at the thick shaft, her mouth going dry when he grabbed her hips and pushed her back up against the wall. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him and took the full force of his thrust into her body. Awash in sensation, still quivering, she gave herself over to him, to them, with the entirety of her heart and mind, wanting everything they did together, everything he would do to her, knowing that she would forever be safe with him. And then she was falling, spinning and spiraling downward, with Gabriel there to catch her.
They left the day following the parade. Gabriel had exchanged his car for a less conspicuous vehicle that they could use to drive out of the state. A friend in Alabama had been informed of their impending arrival, but Gabriel stopped first at his cottage near a cemetery to collect his remaining belongings.
Isolated amidst a nest of trees, it was an old Creole cottage with antique pine floors, whitewashed walls, and bright, airy furniture. Even though her and Gabriel’s lives were evermore fraught with danger and the need for escape, Lydia was delighted by the charm of the cottage and the fact that it belonged to Gabriel.
After he went out to get dinner, Lydia watched the news and searched the Internet for articles about her father. He’d returned to New Orleans after a trip making stops in Shreveport, Alexandria, and Baton Rouge, as well as several smaller towns in between. No doubt he and Lydia’s mother had discovered she’d disappeared again and were launching a new quest to find her before word got out that she was gone.
Deflecting a stab of regret, she went into the cottage kitchen to set out plates and silverware on the table in the little annex. In recent hours, the power dynamic that had always colored her relationship with Gabriel had shifted to one of practicality and survival.
She did what he asked of her, and knew she always would, but there was something different now. Something that extended beyond her subservient position, beyond the urge to please him and to escape from the rigid structure of her life. Something more.
A knock sounded at the door. Lydia went to answer it, thinking Gabriel had forgotten his key. Before she’d even turned the knob, the door slammed open and hit the opposite wall. Lydia gasped, stumbling backward. Fear stabbed her as her shocked gaze clashed with Preston Severine’s ice-blue eyes.
He stepped inside, his fists bunched at his sides, his body lined with rage. Behind him, Kruin’s bulk almost took up the expanse of the doorframe. Lydia backed away, her breath suddenly shallow.
“Hello, my dear.” Preston advanced. His voice was cool. His mouth curved as he slid his gaze over her, the loose cotton dress concealing her curves. “You didn’t really think you could escape, did you?”
No, no she didn’t, but she had hoped with every cell in her body. A cold shiver raked down her spine. She frantically sought Kruin, her last hope, but he’d moved back outside and away from the door.
“He won’t help you,” Preston said coldly. “He will only ever do as I bid him, just as a trained dog should.”
He stopped in the middle of the living room and glanced around with a shake of his head. “This is where he brought you? Where you thought you could escape?”
Lydia curled her hand around the back of a chair, her heart pounding so hard she could hear the beat inside her head. “How… how did you find us?”
Preston chuckled. “Gabriel is a fool to think I wouldn’t. I’ve known about this place for the past six months. This is where he stayed whenever he came into the city, no doubt to fuck various women.”
A sharp pain cut through Lydia’s chest at the thought of Gabriel with another woman, or women. Preston smiled, as if he knew quite well the effect of his crude words. He went to close and
lock the front door. Behind the screen, Lydia saw Kruin’s shadow move, but she knew with a sinking feeling that he would not intervene in whatever horrible act Preston was about to commit.
Her stomach surged with nausea. She’d always thought of Kruin as the most protective of all the three men, as the one who would never truly hurt her or, worse, leave her entirely at Preston’s mercy. Now she realized how wrong she’d been. Though he could take Preston down with one swing, Kruin was a dog on a leash, as beholden to Preston’s dictates as she was. Incapable of escape, for fear that the fallout would be too severe.
“What… what would it take for you to let Gabriel go?” she whispered, trembling down to her toes as Preston moved even closer to her. “What would I need to do?”
He lifted an elegantly arched eyebrow. “You don’t have that kind of power, Lydia.”
“What power is that?”
“The power to bargain with me.” His gaze slid over her again. “Lift your skirt.”
Dread curled around her heart, but she grasped the folds of her skirt and lifted it to her waist. Preston frowned at the sight of her still-shaven mons, the smooth length of her thighs, and Lydia knew that he’d hoped she had forgone her personal hygiene so he could tend to the matter himself.
She heard her pulse pounding inside her head as Preston circled her like a hawk preparing to attack its helpless prey. He rubbed his hands over the globes of her buttocks, squeezing them with a kind of proprietary air, as if he were reasserting his right to touch her wherever and whenever he pleased.
He parted the fleshy cheeks, his chuckle brushing the back of her neck when she winced. Preston knew quite well that she was squeamish about that area of her body, which of course was exactly why he chose to torment her.
He slid his forefinger down the shadowy crevice between her bottom cheeks before pausing at the circle of her anus. Lydia bit down on her lower lip, forcing her muscles to relax when she felt the tip of his finger probe at the dark aperture.
In some distant part of her mind she prayed that Gabriel would return and interrupt whatever was about to occur, but she knew with a sinking feeling that even if he did, Kruin would prevent him from entering the cottage. And strong though Gabriel was, he was no match for Kruin.
“Open for me,” Preston whispered crudely, his teeth scraping her collarbone as his finger worked her more diligently, breaching the ring of muscles. “You know how I love this sweet hole of yours.”
“God, Preston, stop.” The plea came out unbidden, serving as a shocking reminder how quickly she’d forgotten how to behave with him. How unnatural it was to force herself to respond in so coerced a manner.
“Tell me you like it.”
She shuddered. “No.”
He gave her hip a light slap with his other hand. “Tell me!”
Lydia squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps if she obeyed, she could stave off anything more painful or humiliating. Not that her obedience had ever given Preston cause to be gentle before.
“I like it,” she said.
“What, exactly, do you like, my dear?” His voice was smooth and sticky, like pulled taffy. He pushed his finger in farther, stroking his other hand over her naked hip to her mons.
Lydia sucked in a breath, willing her body not to respond. “You touching me.”
“Mmm. Of course you do.” He searched for and found the knot of her pleasure and splayed his fingers over it. He pressed his groin against her again, rubbing his erection lecherously against the tender skin of her bottom. “You love being taken, Lydia, don’t you? Love giving up control, letting someone else dictate how things should be. You love not having to think or decide anything.”
It was true. Such feelings were immensely freeing. But Lydia had discovered a vast difference between Preston’s dominance, one edged with cruelty, hard control, and the desire to inflict harm, and Gabriel’s, one that made her feel both willingly submissive and unreservedly safe.
Preston pushed her forward suddenly, against the back of the sofa that sat in the middle of the living room. Lydia gasped, tears stinging her eyes as he arranged her in the position he knew she hated. Her upper body pressed against the sofa cushions, her head falling forward and arching her back so that her buttocks thrust into the air.
She shifted to try and regain her footing, but Preston pushed her legs apart, exposing her fully to his lewd gaze. Her toes brushed the carpet, and she grasped the seat on the sofa. A hot flush of shame colored her skin.
His finger was still inside her, working back and forth, her inner muscles stimulated in spite of her aversion to the man himself. Lydia pressed her face to the cushion and tried to resist, but then Preston began massaging the little button of her clitoris again, and urgency stretched through her veins like rubber bands on the verge of snapping.
She clenched her teeth in resistance. Her legs trembled. She felt her arousal ratcheting up notch-by-notch, like a ticking clock, and just when she thought the pressure would surely break, Preston moved away, his finger easing out of her.
And though Lydia was relieved by his absence, she steeled herself for what would happen next, for of course he wasn’t finished with her. Her whole body tensed when she heard him rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen, though she didn’t dare turn when he came back into the living room.
He spread his hand over her still-upturned buttocks, the reminder of his previous punishment visible in the faint red lines crossing her milk-white skin. For a moment, he rubbed his palm over her, a soothing sensation that Lydia might have enjoyed had she not been so fearful of his next move.
It came first as the touch of cold, hard metal against her bare skin, but only when the first smack landed did Lydia realize with a start that he was using a spatula. At first, she thought perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad—surely nothing like the horrible sting of the multi-tailed whip or the punishing strike of the crop.
But she quickly realized that metal against her tender flesh provided no cushion at all, the rigid spatula spreading pain from the point of impact across the expanse of her skin. She let out a shriek, wiggling to escape the inevitable blows, but the writhing motions of her hips only caused her buttocks to bounce under Preston’s hot gaze.
Still, Lydia moaned and twisted as he landed the spatula against the rounded crest of her buttocks, across the lower part and down to her supple thighs. And, oh God, did it hurt, as his hard, stinging spanks grew more forceful with every blow.
Lydia choked out a cry, her fingers gripping the cushion so tightly that her knuckles whitened. She was dimly aware of Preston’s pleasure, of the way he rubbed his erection against her hip whenever he paused in the series of spanks. She was aware of his heavy breathing slicing through the air, the combination of excitement and lust-filled power lacing his lean body.
When the spatula finally clattered to the floor, Lydia moaned with relief and buried her damp face into the sofa cushion. Her skin was aflame, her legs trembling. She almost didn’t care when she felt Preston cleave her buttocks apart again, felt the hard nudge of his erection against that tight hole. This was somewhat easier to bear than the lash of metal against her—
A sudden crash shocked her. She lifted her head, a scream lodging in her throat at the sight of the smashed front window, another crash as a man’s form slammed against the cracked glass. Preston emitted a hard curse, pulling away from her. Lydia bolted upright, pushing her dress down and ignoring the flaring pain as she ran toward the window.
Her fogged brain registered that the man was Gabriel, that he was smashing through the window, but…
Oh God.
Behind Gabriel, Kruin’s massive body loomed like a thundercloud, his broad features set. He slammed his fist at Gabriel. Gabriel’s head knocked against the window, the spider web of cracks lengthening.
Preston cursed again and strode to the front door, yanking it open. “Bring that fucker inside,” he yelled at Kruin.
Without ceremony, Kruin grabbed Gabriel by the shirt collar and d
ragged him, stumbling, into the cottage. Lydia only just restrained herself from running to Gabriel as they entered. A bruise laced his jaw, but other than that he appeared more dazed than actually hurt.
Kruin shoved him onto a chair and backed away, letting Preston approach Gabriel. Whatever pleasure Preston had derived from his treatment of Lydia vanished into an ice-cold look of calculation that almost frightened Lydia more than the threat of his punishments. She edged closer to Gabriel, her wary gaze on Preston.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Preston snapped, shoving Gabriel back against the chair. “You think I didn’t know about this place? You thought you could hide from me? That you could take Lydia away from me?”
He paced to the kitchen and back, his fists clenching and unclenching. “She’s mine, goddammit. I’ve told you that since she first came to La Nouvelle Vie. Mine! You’ll never have her as I do. Never.”
He grabbed Gabriel by the front of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. With a sharp blow, Preston brought his knee up and slammed it into Gabriel’s groin. Lydia gasped. Gabriel gave a muffled cry of pain and sank to the floor, clutching himself.
“Now see how well you use that big, impressive cock of yours,” Preston smirked, shoving Gabriel’s prone form with his foot. “Kruin, close the door. We won’t be leaving for a while, I don’t imagine.”
Jesus. Terror gripped Lydia’s bones. Realizing she had nothing to lose, she got to her knees beside Gabriel on the floor and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Trembles of pain still shuddered through his body.
Lydia looked past Preston to where Kruin had returned from closing and locking the front door. He stood in the doorway to the living room, his arms folded across his chest, his features like stone. An ache broke open inside Lydia as she thought of how desperately she had longed for his approval, when all the time he’d concealed a streak as dark and cruel as the one that lived inside Preston.
