Scorched: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (Byrne Brothers Book 3)

by Holly Hart

  I nod.

  “Say it out loud,” Ridley says, his voice commanding. I feel a shiver run through me – a thrill. Ridley was right. Whether I knew it to start with or not, this is exactly what I’ve always craved.

  “I understand.”

  “Good,” Ridley grins. Of course – I don’t know he’s smiling, but I sense it, somehow. He has a lightness to his voice.

  He leans down and kisses me on my naked stomach. I try and squeeze it in, to make it tighter, and he lays his hand on my side and I relax. I don’t need to impress him: Ridley’s not like that. He accepts me for exactly who and what I am.

  Damaged. His.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, even though I can’t see a thing. My breathing becomes deeper, and heavier. I don’t want Ridley to lay a trail of kisses down between my legs. For some reason, and I still can’t quite figure out why, I don’t want him kissing me down there. It feels too intimate, too much like a –

  a relationship. Something I still don’t think I deserve.

  “Oh…” I whisper, a gasp of pleasure escaping my lips as Ridley grazes my nipple with his tongue. But it’s more than that – it’s the sound of realization.

  I know now why I’m scared of Ridley going down on me. It’s because – at least to me – that means this is becoming something more than just sex. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but since when have emotions ever added two and two together to make four?

  Ridley circles my left nipple with his tongue. His lips close around it. My head pushes back against the leather. When my skin is exposed, the coolness, of its metal studs, shocks me. I purse my lips together, suddenly overcome by the combination of sensations assaulting my body.

  I let out a little moan.

  And it’s not just that. My mind is spinning: battered by thoughts like a storm on some far-off alien world. If I’m scared about Ridley doing something as simple as going down on me, what does that say about me?

  “How ye feeling, Goose?” Ridley growls. He breaks his lips from their former position on my nipples and stands up. As he moves, he pushes a cool breeze in my direction. I strain left and right, searching, trying to figure out what the heck he is doing.

  But it’s no use.

  “Good,” I croak, wishing I could fan my face. “I’m good.”

  “Ye ready for more?” Ridley asks. More rummaging, more drawers opening and closing. Sounds that I can’t identify: bumps; thumps. I’m half-convinced that Ridley’s just doing it to trick me, to make my mind race.

  As if he needed to. It’s doing that all on its own.

  “Yes,” I groan as the last sensations of pleasure evaporate from my front. “Just –”

  I pause. I wish I hadn’t said anything.

  “Just?”

  “Just – whatever you do, don’t –?”

  Ridley prompts me gently. For a man of his size, his muscular build, and his profession – he sounds as gentle as a child. “Don’t…”

  “Don’t go down on me, that’s all,” I stammer. The words escape my mouth in a torrent, a flood, rushing out in an unstoppable wave.

  Ridley stays quiet for a second. I’m glad of the scrap of silk blinding me, because it means I can’t see Ridley’s gaze. I imagine it, though. I feel his heat burning my skin.

  I hear Ridley take a couple of steps, then feel, or sense, his heat on my skin. He leans down, his lips graze my ear. “Sure thing,” he whispers.

  I don’t know how he does it: stays in control, like this. I can’t imagine the things I would do if I had a half-naked man as beautiful as Ridley Byrne strapped to a table. I think they would be filthy: depraved. Heck, I make a note to remind myself to suggest it to him, just in case he’s game. After all, there’s no such thing as a bad idea…

  But Ridley doesn’t seem in any danger of cracking. He goes hard, then soft, balancing the two with expert precision. I know now that I was right to trust him. He hasn’t asked why, he’s just accepted my request – me. That’s trust.

  Ridley kisses me on the lips, then forms his hand into a claw and rakes his fingernails down my stomach. My back arches with the unexpected pleasure. Because that’s exactly what this is – pleasure. Every inch of my skin is tingling. It’s on fire. I can’t see myself, but if I could I imagine I’d be smoking.

  Burning.

  Byrneing.

  “I like your pants,” Ridley says. He can’t be more than a few inches from my ear. The sound makes me jump, and I tug at my restraints. “Funny, I think I’ve got a pair just like that…”

  I open my mouth to speak, but I realize that it was a trap all along. The second I do, Ridley pops a small bundle of silk cloth into my mouth. I can talk – just. But he’s removed another brick in the wall: strengthened the foundations of his control over me.

  “Mhhmmph,” I mumble through the silk, voice pitched high with irritation. You asshole.

  “I thought so,” Ridley murmurs smugly. And then his he is gone. I hear moving. I can’t move, I can’t see, I can’t speak. He’s got me exactly where he wants me. My skin’s on fire – I’m angry with him, and yet I want everything that Ridley plans to give me.

  I can’t believe that I’m the same Frankie I was an hour ago. Hell, ten minutes ago. If you told me that I’d be happy to lie naked on a leather couch for all the world to see – or at least Ridley Byrne – I’d have laughed in your face.

  But here, now, it feels so natural that I can’t understand why I would ever fight it. It’s freeing. Suddenly all the weight that was on my shoulders, the burden, it’s gone.

  I feel Ridley’s hands at my waist.

  “Time to get these off ye,” he grunts happily. He undoes the belt buckle and unbuttons the fly at the front of my – his – jeans. And then he pulls them off me. The denim was made for Ridley’s hips: so much bigger than mine that the jeans slide off my legs as though they had been buttered.

  “Ye look good,” Ridley chuckles, “fer a girl who was shoving a burger down her throat half an hour ago…”

  I add to that comment to the naughty list that’s growing in my head. When Ridley lets me out of here, frees my mouth and undoes my bindings, the first thing I’m going to do is slap him for that!

  “Real good,” he finishes in an entranced hiss. The sound of Ridley’s voice sends a shiver running through me. I don’t think a man’s ever reacted to me like that before. I’ve literally stolen the breath from his lungs. Whatever power Ridley has over me right now – I’ve got something over him as well. A pull, perhaps, that’s even greater.

  Ridley hooks his fingers into my underwear and slides them down my thighs. Suddenly I’m naked – bar the shirt that’s still somehow hanging onto my shoulders, if nowhere else.

  “Jaysus, gal,” he growls. He sounds like I just punched him in the stomach. “Ye get better and better every time I look at you, you know that?”

  I lie back, unable to say a word. I’m sure that by now my cheeks must be as red as the silk covering my vision. Ridley’s compliments are a special kind of torture. I don’t feel nearly as sexy as the girl he’s in awe of.

  Except, maybe I do.

  Inch by inch, compliment by compliment;

  I am that girl. The one stealing Ridley’s breath away, the one he adores.

  Yet again, Ridley breaks the spell. The small, brick dungeon is suddenly alive with the sound of buzzing. I blink; it takes a second for me to realize what the hell it is;

  a vibrator.

  Ohmigod.

  Ridley touches the buzzing motor between my legs. I ride it, feet scrabbling for purchase. I don’t know what he’s got down there, but it’s more powerful than anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s like he’s got it hooked up to the mains, not a battery.

  Ridley leans forward, whispering into my ear, holding me down by my shoulder. “It’s good, isn’t it,” he growls.

  I mumble something. God only knows what. I can’t think, let alone speak. The assault of sensations that’s attacking my body is unbearable – u
nbearably good.

  “Open your legs wider,” Ridley growls. His voice is strong and dominant.

  It takes a few seconds for his command to process in my brain.

  Not quickly enough.

  Ridley takes the vibrator away from my pussy, and I groan with disappointment.

  “Next time,” he says, “ye do as I say, when I say. Understand?”

  I don’t know how to reply. I’m not just blindfolded – I’m gagged. I can’t see where Ridley is, and even if I could I wouldn’t be able to tell him a damn thing. But I know better than to make him wait. Not this time.

  Besides, all I want – the only thing I want in the world – is for him to put the vibrator back.

  I shake my head. “Mhmmm!” I mumble through the silken gag.

  Whatever Ridley wants right now, I’ll give it to him. I spread my legs wide, wider – as far as they’ll go. I push any thought of embarrassment out of my mind. This is exactly what Ridley wants, I realize – for me to break past the barriers holding me back. At least, I guess it is. Maybe he’s just one of those guys who want to see the world burn.

  But I don’t think so.

  “Better,” Ridley whispers. The sound sends a shiver trailing down the back of my neck. The whole time, the vibrator doesn’t stop. The sound of its motor grumbling bounces from brick wall to brick wall and into my ears. It’s a taunt – telling me what I can’t have.

  Until I can.

  Ridley puts it back. The second he does, my hips buck. The break from pleasure, the anticipation it created, almost makes it better. Maybe that was part of his plan all along. He drives me right up to the edge, then pulls back, and now he’s pushing me forward again. I grind my hips forward and into the vibrator’s path.

  “Don’t stop!” I scream through the gag; God knows what sound comes out.

  My eyes are clenched closed behind the blindfold. Stars are exploding behind my eyes, the orgasm’s coming. I’m in its path and, like a tidal wave, there’s nothing I can do to escape it.

  Not that I’d try.

  Ridley leans forward and kisses me in the stomach. That’s the signal. It lets the waves of pleasure break around my body and wash over me. My vision goes black – a darker shade even than when it was blindfolded. Little aftershocks explode like fireworks all around my body.

  I sag back against the leather. I’m exhausted. I’m spent. And I’m wondering if Ridley’s just getting started.

  Ridley switches the vibrator off. In his absence, the dungeon sounds as silent as a grave, or else a cave, miles beneath the earth’s surface, and further from civilization.

  I hear Ridley’s feet shift around the room. He’s walking towards my head. I feel his hands on my face, then in my mouth, pulling the silk out.

  “How was that?” He asks.

  I don’t know what to say. I’m too tired to speak. I don’t remember a better orgasm in my entire life.

  “That good, huh?”

  I hear his T-shirt rustle as he leans forward. He plants his mouth on mine and kisses me so hard it’s like he’s trying to steal my soul. It’s hard, and rough, and exactly what I need. I kiss him back with the same energy. I wish I could drape my arms around his neck and pull him into me, but I can’t. I’m still at his mercy, and it’s galling. He breaks the kiss.

  “Now,” Ridley chuckles with relish. “How about round two?”

  19

  Frankie

  Days pass like this. I won’t say how many, because you wouldn’t believe me. Let’s just say it’s a lot.

  I wake up next to Ridley. He rolls over and kisses me. We stretch, we screw, we make breakfast, and then we screw some more.

  Today’s different. I wake up alone. Ridley’s gone. He’s been doing this from time to time all week: acting mysterious, leaving and not telling me where he’s going.

  Hell, sometimes it’s nice to be left alone, even if I am starting to get cabin fever inside this bolthole. You can only look at the same four brick walls all day, every day, before you start to turn stir crazy. If I’m not there already, I’m getting close.

  “Get out of bed, Goose,” I mutter to myself, imagining Ridley’s standing over me with a possessive grin on his face. I know, I know; I’m talking to myself again. But who cares, I’m home alone.

  I stretch, arching my back against Ridley’s silk sheets and throw my arms above my head. My hands bang against the headboard. It’s not the first time they’ve done that this week…

  Somehow, after casting a couple of doubtful looks at the cold room outside, I manage to throw the bedcovers aside. If there’s one thing about Ridley’s hideaway that I don’t like, it’s that all that brick and all the stone makes the floors freezing cold.

  A little hiss escapes my mouth as my bare feet greet the flagstones. I hop from foot to foot into the bathroom, like I’m playing the kid’s game “the floor is lava.”

  While the shower’s heating up, I stand in the corner of the bathroom, holding arms by my side like a penguin in the Arctic. I found the only warm spot in the entire bunker a few days ago: by following a hot water pipe that runs right underfoot, and I’m not letting go. It’s my little secret.

  Under floor heating, I think. After I get out of here, there’s no way I’m living anywhere without it. It doesn’t matter how I have to pay for it – I’ll beg, borrow or steal if I have to, but after everything I’ve been through I think I deserve it.

  I know, first world problems, right?

  I let out a little groan as I step into the shower. It’s boiling hot. It’s so hot it hurts. Steam pours out of its four glass walls, billowing like fog off of the ocean. I lose myself in the midst of the mist. Right here, right now, I might be the only person left in the world. I can’t hear anything but the pitter patter sound of falling water droplets; can’t see anything more than a foot in front of me. It’s nice, it’s safe. I’m lost in my own little bubble;I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

  I open a bottle of shampoo and pour it directly onto my scalp. The bubbles pour onto my face, spilling over like a waterfall, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  The pain of the hot water is beginning to build now. If it wasn’t water splattering all around me, I bet that I would be sweating. I reach forward, blindly searching for the temperature control. Instead of turning it down – I turn it up.

  I don’t know what’s got into me lately: especially these last few days. Even with all of the things Ridley does to me in that room – where I push him to go harder, faster, to hurt me more, I never seem to be satisfied.

  Day after day, it only gets worse. I need more to send me over the edge. We need to go further. And now, this – the heat. It’s not as bad as cutting my hand on a shard of glass, but still, can it be healthy?

  Hell no.

  I understand that. I’m not stupid. I’m beginning to realize that I’m doing it for a reason. I’m trying to fill some hole: something missing inside me.

  I just can’t figure out what it is. I’m happy, aren’t I? I should be, at any rate. I’m free, and I’ve got a man who –.

  I won’t say it. I’ll think it, but I won’t say it.

  I see the way Ridley looks at me. It’s adoring. He laughs at my jokes and he likes my cooking; though in my private moments, I think he would eat anything I put in front of him. Not to be polite, but because he’s the kind of man who needs fuel, not food. The fact that those two things happen to coincide is just a bonus.

  I chuckle to myself, snorting as a flood of water invades my nostrils. I imagine Ridley queuing up in a gas station, then drinking straight from a hose that’s pumping out unleaded.

  Finally, hair washed and conditioned, I reach forward and turn the flow of water off. It happens slowly. I look up, and watch as the last arc of water drops fall to the ground, some splattering against my face.

  Then I’m lost in a world of steam and silence. The super-heated water vapor swirls around me for seconds, then minutes. There is so much of it I wonder if it’ll ever e
nd.

  But it does. Finally, finally, I feel the first tendrils of cool air bites against my skin. That’s my signal. I step out of the shower. My skin is still stinging from the ordeal I put through underneath that showerhead.

  “What the heck’s wrong with you, Frankie?” I grumble as I towel my head dry: dry-ish, anyway. I’m not like Ridley who can step out of the shower, seemingly just wipe his hair against a towel and have it suddenly, magically turn bone dry. I wish…

  “Why do you have to do this yourself?”

  I tie my hair up and swaddle it with a towel, then wrap another one around my body. I take a couple of seconds to examine my skin. In some ways I’m glad that I don’t have to step out of this bunker very often. I’m marked with tiny bruises: little rings around my wrists where the rope bites in; marks on my breasts and legs where Ridley hasn’t been able to stop himself from sucking and biting.

  I wear the scars like badges of pride.

  Maybe you think that’s weird. Maybe after everything I went through when I was the Templar’s prisoner, I shouldn’t be like this. When they hurt me, it’s because they wanted to revel in the pain – not because they truly cared about me.

  Ridley does, and I care about him. When he ties me up, when he puts the blindfold over my eyes – he’s just as much a captive as I am. We free each other through the beauty of the darkness we both share.

  So no, I don’t think it’s weird: not at all. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism: I’d go with that. That’s fair enough. But weird? Hell no.

  My skin’s reddish hue begins to recede. Bit by bit, my usual paleness reasserts itself. I step out of the bathroom, riding on a wave of steam like a horse charging through a shallow river. Now the cold air really does bite. It brings real life crashing back: hard, fast and unprotected.

  I’m back to routine.

  I open a chest of drawers next to Ridley’s bed and rummage through. I shoved everything of Ridley’s: to one side. Now my little stack of blouses and underwear takes pride of place. There isn’t much space, but then again: I don’t have many clothes.