by Sweet, Izzy
I don’t know what’s worse, being exposed to him like this against my will, or the fact that the way he’s touching me is turning me on.
It’s making me want things… things I shouldn’t want. It’s awakening all these dark little cravings I carry around inside me. Cravings for a man who’s strong enough to push me to the bottom.
I know I called him a sick fuck, but I’m really the sick fuck.
His smooth palm glides across my ass from top to bottom as if he’s familiarizing himself with it and warming me up.
The way he explores me, taking his time, makes the dread of what’s to come so much worse.
It’s hard to ignore how prone I am. I’m completely and utterly at his mercy. Ass in the air, hands trapped behind me. Face towards the bed.
I can no longer feel his erection digging into my stomach in this new position, and I can’t decide if it’s a blessing or a curse.
His hard thigh digs into my ribs and my breasts are pressed against the bed. The constriction, fuck… the constriction. I don’t know what it is about it, but it’s got my blood pumping so hard my entire body is throbbing from it.
It’s too hard to keep my neck craned to look at him in this position so I focus my gaze instead on the blanket. Unfortunately, not being able to see his face, see anything, only makes me that much more aware of everything that’s happening to my body.
The warmth coiling in my belly.
My nipples tightening into two hard points.
The slickness growing between my thighs…
Being pressed so close to him also makes me more aware of every little movement, every little change in his body.
The subtle shifting of his hips as if he just can’t seem to get comfortable.
How his breath seems to hitch as his palm glides across the curve of my ass.
His hand leaves me suddenly and my muscles tighten with anticipation.
“Don’t, Simon, please,” I plead one more time, coming back to my senses and trying to stop him.
I don’t know what I’m afraid of more. The humiliation, the pain, or the fact that I might like it.
His thigh tenses beneath my ribs a second before he ignores my plea. His hand connects with my ass with a hard smack.
My spine arches, and as the sting from the slap bites into my skin, my anger flares. The pain isn’t terrible, I’ve felt worse. But it’s the principle of the whole situation. Once again, he’s stolen all my power, and almost all of my control.
“I told you, princess,” he grits out. “It’s too late for that now.”
“Fuck you!” I curse and buck against him with everything I’ve got.
His hand comes down again, harder than the last time.
“I’ll fucking kill you for this!” I scream.
I want to kill him for making me weak.
He makes a tsking sound. “Temper, temper, princess,” he says snidely. “After all, isn’t that what got you in this position in the first place?”
“Fuck you, you dickless bastard,” I spit.
Yeah, it’s not my most creative insult, but I’m just so worked up I can’t think clearly.
My cheeks sting and the ghost of his hand crashing against them has me clenching my thighs together.
If he were any other man, this could actually be fun. I could probably actually enjoy this. But he’s not. He’s fucking Simon, the man who has become the bane of my existence.
“Have it your way, Meredith,” he sighs.
His hand gives my cheek a hard squeeze and I grind my teeth together as his fingers pinch into my skin.
It’s both awful and amazing at the same time. It’s like the pain mixing with the pleasure is creating an entirely new sensation.
I like it so much I instantly hate it.
“This is for trying to run away,” Simon says coolly as his fingers release me and his hand lifts.
I have only a split second to prepare before his hand cracks against my ass again. It’s so hard I nearly bite my tongue off to keep from crying out.
“This is for biting me on the shoulder.”
His hand cracks against me again and this time the pain explodes across my cheek and radiates across my entire bottom.
“This is for the nine fucking stitches,” he says, angry emotion starting to leak into his voice as his heavy palm comes down.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I must have thinner skin than I realized because that last one really hurt!
“This is for biting my tongue,” he growls.
His hand cracks against me again and my entire backside burns like it’s on fire. But worst of all my core throbs, wanting, aching, and begging for more.
But it’s not the pain I want. It’s his slip of emotion… His weakness. His anger.
His hand lingers on my warm flesh. Caressing it as if he’s trying to both soothe it and cause the pain to sink in at the same time.
“Shall I go on?”
I shake my head back and forth.
His hand roams over my cheeks and his fingers are dangerously close to discovering how turned on I am.
I try to squirm away from him in a last ditch effort to protect myself. If he knows… God, if he knows, who’s telling what he’ll do with the information.
No doubt, he’ll use it against me.
“If you want me to stop, princess, I suggest you apologize. I could go on all night…”
His grip suddenly tightens and my fists are shoved harder into my spine as he pulls me back.
I pant against the bed as he pulls my ass higher in the air.
He’s giving me the power to end this. To slink away with the last shreds of my dignity in intact.
But apologize? Seriously? He wants me to apologize for the things I did to protect myself?
I can’t do it. Fuck him. I just can’t.
“Fuck you, Simon. Your idea of dire consequences is a fucking joke. Seriously? Spanking me like I’m child? Grow some balls… Oh, wait, that’s right. You can’t because they’re in Matthew’s pocket!”
“Fine,” Simon tries to say like he’s disappointed, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement in his voice. “Have it your way.”
Pressed so close to him, I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Oh shit, is he getting as turned on as I am?
His hand roams over my ass, exploring as if he’s mapping out where he wants to spank me next. Then, before I can say or do anything to distract him, his hand is suddenly between both cheeks.
We both freeze. Me in fear and him with sudden realization.
“Fuck, you’re soaking wet,” he finally hisses.
My shame, my mortification is so great, I don’t know what to say.
His hand pushes in, fighting through the squeeze of my thighs as I try to lock my knees together. I want to both shove him out and welcome him.
“Do you like me punishing your ass, princess?”
His fingers find my folds, lightly exploring them.
“No!” I lie.
“Liar,” he hisses as the tips of his fingers brush against my clit.
My hips jerk forward and I groan into the bed.
This is the worst fucking thing that could happen.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, giving my clit a flick.
“Yes!” I gasp out as I buck, trying to dislodge his hand.
He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Lying again, Meredith.”
“Go fuck yourself, Simon!”
His fingers pause and then he begins to drag them away.
And I’ve never felt more conflicted in my life. On one hand, I do want him to stop because the last thing I need is the emotional chaos him making me come will create. But on the other hand, I really, really want to come. And fuck, I want his crazy fingers to do it.
“I’d rather fuck you, Meredith,” he rasps, fingers stopping and poised at my entrance.
I hate that my core clenches at his admission. I hate that my entire body seems to
tighten and tingle with anticipation.
I hate with every single little fiber of my being that I want him.
“I’d rather fuck a farm animal,” I growl out.
Without warning, without mercy, he shoves two of his fingers deep into my pussy. Spreading me open. I bite at the blanket, trying to fight off the spike of pleasure that slams into my core, but a moan still escapes me.
He pumps his fingers in and out of me once, twice, gliding along easily with my wetness.
And then he stops.
“Then why are you so wet?”
Why am I so wet? Because he’s taken control? Because he’s forcing me to face the things I don’t want to admit?
He pumps his fingers in me two more times and it feels so good I just want to fucking die. But it’s not enough. I want… no, I need more.
My walls clench around him, trying to squeeze more pleasure out of him. Trying to milk out even more sensation.
“Why is your tight little pussy squeezing me, Meredith?”
Because… because… despite how much I hate him, how much I utterly fucking despise him, he makes me burn in a way no other man has before. He makes me want to swell up and explode with all this turmoil he creates inside me as I gush all over his fingers.
He pumps his fingers in and out again, but doesn’t stop this time. He doesn’t slow. He drives them faster and faster. Pushing me higher and higher.
“If you hate me so much…” he grunts over the wet sounds of his fingers slamming into my pussy. “If you rather fuck a dirty animal…”
Suddenly he slams a third finger inside my core.
“Then why are you so close to coming?”
I want to deny it. I try to fight off the release gathering force inside me. It feels good, yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to give him the satisfaction of making me come.
In and out, he drives his fingers. Pushing me higher and higher and higher. But I can’t forget who’s giving me pleasure. I can’t forget that it’s his fingers, his touch, his will that is forcing this out of me.
Just when I think I’ve gotten myself in check. Focusing on my absolute loathing of him to bring me back down from that line between heaven and hell.
He curls his fingers, stroking against that little bundle of nerves buried inside me. Suddenly the orgasm I’ve been holding back is forced out of me. A wave of hot, all-consuming pleasure slams into me.
With a keening cry of both ecstasy and misery, I try to bury my face in the mattress as I come.
“Yes,” he rasps with undisguised male satisfaction. “Come all over my fingers, Meredith. Fucking come for me, princess.”
The pumping of his fingers slows, matching the deep, squeezing rhythm of my core as I clench around him. Milking, squeezing, and pulling every little pulse out of him.
“That’s a good girl. That’s such a good girl,” he groans.
I don’t know how long I grind my hips into him. Time seems to slip away. There’s only me and his fingers and his praise.
But when the last fluttering spasm of my walls fades away, the gravity of the situation slams into the very depths of my soul.
Oh god, I just let Simon make me come. Not only did I let him make me weak, but I let him completely rule my body.
And worst of all, I let him make me lose control.
Slowly withdrawing his fingers from my now overly sensitive pussy, Simon seems to draw it out, as if he’s not ready to leave me.
I whimper and jerk forward until he’s completely out.
I should be relieved that he’s no longer inside me, that his body is no longer a part of my body, but I’m not. No, I feel a little unwanted pang at the loss.
For a few moments, we’re still. Me panting, and him breathing deeply. I don’t know what’s going to come next.
Is he going to fuck me with his cock?
Do I want him to fuck me with his cock?
Goddammit, at this moment I think I do.
Simon’s hands tense around me, his fingers digging and releasing, digging and releasing, as if he can’t decide if he wants to keep ahold of me or let me go.
And then he’s pushing me away.
I roll off of his lap as he stands from the bed.
“Meredith,” he says, his voice trying to slip into that cool, detached tone, but failing. “I… fuck.”
Rolling onto my back, I peer up at him, my mind a confusing riot of emotions.
Is he done with me? Is he satisfied? Or is there more to come?
My eyes drift down. His cock is straining against his pants as if it’s trying to reach me, and there’s a wet spot from his own leaking precum.
He takes one step towards me, his hands coming out as if he’s going to grab me, then he shakes his head hard and jumps back.
Without another word, he spins sharply on his heel and stomps out of the room.
The lock clicks into place a second after the door slams behind him.
7
Simon
Meredith, let me count the ways that I loathe thee.
Loathe and crave.
Should those words ever be used in the same sentence? Can I possibly loathe someone so much that I crave her presence? I remember as a child my mother telling me once that the opposite of love is not hate but apathy. You have nothing inside you to feel for another.
Love and hate can be interchangeable at times because of how much you feel for someone.
Do I feel apathy for Meredith like I do for so many others in my life? No, decidedly not.
I don’t love this woman who causes me so many headaches, but I can’t quantify the exact feeling I have for her. How should I know? It’s not like I’ve ever felt anything for a woman beyond the need for sexual release.
I’ve never been attracted to a woman like I am to her.
It’s mystifying to me. I’m not gay, like some of the men in our circle think. I prefer the female form, but I’ve never preferred one woman specifically.
In my life, I have quite a few restrictions for how I normally deal with these types of urges. I use a singular agency for my sexual desires. They know the girl must be clean, sterile, and above all else silent.
She is not allowed to touch me or talk to me, and must be willingly tied down.
I cannot have some willy-nilly young woman moving about while I divest myself of my baser instincts.
Lying in the bed, looking up at my ceiling, I cannot stop the replay of memories as they flash through my mind. The way her tight stomach bore down on my rigid cock. The amount of precum soaking through my pants. The round, silky-smooth skin of her ass cheeks.
The way her tan skin turned bright pink.
She needed to be spanked, I can feel it in my depths. She needed to be brought to task for her misdeeds. She’s as unruly as a school girl. I truly doubt anyone has ever said no to her quite like I did tonight.
Will she learn her lesson, though, is the biggest question I have. Can I trust her to behave, to act logical? I doubt it.
Can I trust her in the morning when I leave for work?
No.
And damn the emotions I feel running through my body at the thought of being so damn far from her.
What are they even about? I feel desire to keep her here, to stay here, and make sure she is safe. But safe from what? Me or herself?
Damnation. Closing my eyes, I start the slow cycle of counting myself down to sleep. Normally this helps in times of my mind running too fast, or if I am trying to solve an issue with the business.
But not now.
Now all I can think about is her body pressing into mine when my tongue battled hers.
Damn.
With a will that surprises even myself, I force thoughts of her aside. I need to think about the damn bombing. What do I know and what do I not know?
The Russians for the longest time have been our biggest enemy, and they’ve gone to ground so to speak.
After the loss of Yuri, Sasha, and the good doctor Mirov, things have gon
e dark.
I’ve already watched the video of the bombing and have spotted the two men who inserted it near the DJ booth. It was clever to smuggle it in a briefcase, but it’s quite upsetting that the security men that night didn’t fucking spot it.
Thankfully, Peter did.
If the men who fucked up so badly weren’t already dead, I’d be seriously tempted to question them to my fullest abilities.
How the fuck they missed something as big as two fucking men setting up a damn bomb… It’s beyond me.
Again and again, I’ve watched the insertion of the bomb. It looked like the security inside the club was deliberately looking away from those two men.
But for what reason? Were they paid off? I’ve met some of the men who were working there tonight, and both heads of security were solid. They were paid well and knew fully well who they worked for.
Knew for a fact what happens to those who betray Lucifer.
I’m running the computer programs I’ve designed specifically for tracking the banking information of our employees and nothing’s shown up so far.
Nothing.
All of them are on the up and up. No bartenders skimming money from the till. Limited drug activity with the strippers, and no extortion rackets of the business. Everything there was moving along at a predictable pace.
What changed that?
The Yakuza are no more, at least in Garden City. Italians are here, but we’ve got them on our side… Well, as much as anyone is on our side. The Irish don’t even have a foothold here.
It all comes back to who’s the most powerful.
That’s us.
But who has the most to gain?
Lacing my fingers behind my head, I briefly check the gun that’s under my pillow. The smooth cold metal gives me comfort as I think over the night’s losses.
The two men who did the insertion had nothing special about them, at least not from what I could see in the video. No tattoos, no outstanding facial features. They didn’t come up in any of my or the government’s databases on facial recognition.
I’ll need to refine my search in the morning, because when all else fails, start over with a bigger fucking net.
* * *
