“This isn’t a negotiation, doll.”
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss. “I’m not your doll.”
“Oh, but that’s exactly what you are: my little fuck doll. I can pose you however I want. Do with you whatever I want.” He licks up the side of my neck then bites my earlobe. “Fuck you however I want.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He tosses me onto the bed. When I bounce up from the mattress, I twist and try to scurry off the other side, but a strong hand clamps around my ankle and drags me back. I claw at the bed, but all I get is fistfuls of comforter for my efforts before his body is draped on top of mine, his delicious weight imprisoning me.
Even with his clothes on, I can feel the hard planes of his muscles shift with his movements. All that raw strength—knowing he could truly overpower me at any moment but never would—is such a huge turn on, as evidenced by my slick arousal.
Maneuvering my arms, he manacles my wrists with one hand behind my back. “Nice try, but you’re not escaping me that easily.”
Remembering what Austin said earlier about getting to choose some of the script’s details, I try something new to see what he’ll do with it. It’s like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure stories I used to read when I was young. There’s security in having some control, and yet the unknown outcome of your choice creates a nervous excitement about where it might lead you.
“My boyfriend is going to be home any minute, and he’ll kill you for this.”
“I know exactly when he gets home, and you’re right,” he says, “we have less than thirty minutes. You have two choices. You can fight me as much as you want. I’ll still enjoy myself, but it’ll probably take up a lot of time, and your boyfriend—who I happen to know is a scrawny tax accountant—will inevitably interrupt us, at which point I’ll use my knife to make him wish he hadn’t. Or…” He pauses to flip me over, my hands now pinned beneath my lower back. “You can be a good little doll and let me have my fun. The better you are, the quicker I’ll be. I can be gone before he ever gets home, and no one has to get hurt. It’s up to you. What’s it gonna be?”
If I had any doubts about Austin’s sensitivity to my needs, he’s erased them in one fell swoop. While pretending to be utterly cruel and violent, he’s given me a choice with this narrative. Because there is no boyfriend. No one’s life is at risk. If I want to continue to fight him, I can take that route, and from our earlier discussions, I know that he’ll take whatever I dish out (as long as it’s not a crotch shot). But if that’s more intensity than I want or can handle right now, I can choose to be the girl sacrificing herself by “willingly” having sex with an intruder.
For a moment, I wonder which version of the story he would like more. I try to read his desires in his eyes, but he interrupts my thoughts by pressing his thumb on my lower lip and dragging it across as though he’s smearing my lipstick. He gives me an infinitesimal shake of his head, a motion so small I wonder if I’ve imagined it. “Choose.”
And with that one word, I hear all the things he isn’t saying.
I’m leaving this up to you.
I want whatever you’re comfortable with.
Remember, you’re the one with the true power here, not me.
Without breaking character, he’s reassured me of everything that makes me feel safe with him. And though I’m interested in trying a scenario someday where I put up more of a fight, I’d like to ease into things a bit my first time.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” I say, adding a little tremor to my voice. “Just please, don’t hurt my boyfriend.”
“That’s a good doll.” He crushes his mouth to mine and nips my lower lip as he pulls back. “Now don’t you move. I’m gonna find something to help you stay good.” He gets off the bed and returns moments later with a suit tie. “Make sure you thank your man for helping me to restrain you.”
He rearranges me into the center properly, binds my wrists together with one end of the tie, then secures the other end to the slats in his headboard. With my arms stretched above me and my wet hair trapped beneath my back, I feel chilled and drawn tight. It’s just enough to keep me on that edge as a reminder that my comfort isn’t a concern here, at least not to a degree. I’ve managed to keep my legs together, but it’s a small victory, and one I’m hoping will be short-lived.
Grabbing my jaw in one hand, he forces my attention onto him. “You got anything you want to say to me?” He sounds cruel, but his eyes convey what his tone doesn’t. Do you need your safe word?
“No,” I say simply, hoping he can see on my face that I’m still okay.
“Good,” he whispers with a firm nod of his head before releasing me to stand next to the bed.
As I watch, he reaches between his shoulder blades with one hand and pulls his T-shirt off over his head. The move is so fluid and sexy as hell. His stripper job is to thank for that, no doubt, but when he drops the shirt and begins undoing his jeans, I lose all track of my thoughts. My throat goes dry even as my mouth starts to salivate at the decadence of his body. I’ve been around muscular men my entire life, but Austin’s physique puts them all to shame. Dancers are lean and toned, with long, sleek lines. But he’s broad and thick everywhere, his muscles creating steep hills and valleys I want to map out with my tongue over and over again.
He doesn’t remove his jeans, simply pushes them partway down his ass; enough for him to pull himself free and holy shit. Speaking of broad and thick. Giving himself a few rough strokes, he smirks. “Guessing by the look on your face, my cock is a damn sight bigger than your boyfriend’s.”
That would be an understatement. He’s a lot bigger than any of my previous lovers. I’ve heard of a tight fit, but this might be ridiculous. He must see the trepidation in my eyes because he chuckles, and it doesn’t sound totally unkind. “Don’t worry, doll. I know exactly how to get every inch of my cock into that tight pussy of yours. Now open those legs for me.”
I don’t move. I don’t want to be completely complacent just yet, and I have a feeling he’d like me to still make him work for it a little. A sinister grin curls up as his gaze heats, raking down my body like hot coals. He wedges callused hands between my knees and pushes out, exposing me completely. I shiver, as much from his blatant stare at my bare sex as from the cool air kissing my slick lips.
“Yeah.” He drags the word out in dirty reverence and kneels on the bed, using his legs to keep mine wedged apart as far as they’ll go. “Fucking knew you’d be wet for me, little doll.”
I love that he calls me that. A tiny voice in my head says I should feel ashamed for getting turned on by all of this. As much as I hate to admit it, as the only child of ballet royalty and a CEO of a major corporation, I have been treated like a princess my entire life. I shouldn’t like being referred to as a plaything, a toy for him to do with as he pleases.
I shouldn’t, but I do. Because I’m so sick of listening to what everyone else tells me. I’ve been obedient my whole life. And when my time with Austin is over, I’ll continue to be the dutiful daughter, the professional teacher. The loyal wife…
I give myself a mental shake to bring me back to the present. That time isn’t now, and I’m not going to worry about it until I have to. I’m going to enjoy my freedom for as long as I have it. I’m going to enjoy being his doll.
With his left hand, he strokes himself lazily, totally incongruous with the intense hunger in his eyes. His right hand slides up my leg, his fingertips pressing into my thigh as though trying to imprint his touch into my flesh by force. They leave sparks of electricity in their wake and I’m practically vibrating with anticipation.
Finally—finally—he reaches my center. Using his thumb, he manipulates my pussy lips. Pulling, pushing, spreading my arousal over every sensitive inch. But no matter how much I twist my hips, he manages to avoid touching the swollen bundle of nerves at the top.
His free hand clamps down on my pelvis. “Hold still,” he growls. “This isn�
�t about you. It’s about what I want, and I want inside this hot cunt.” No one has ever spoken to me so crudely or used such vulgar language in my presence. No one would dare. Which is exactly why I like it.
A thick finger enters me, sliding easily into my wet pussy. My hips are pinned down, but that doesn’t stop my back from bowing off the bed as waves of pleasure ripple through me. I draw in a sharp gasp but clench my teeth against the moan that wants to break free.
He fucks into me—one, two, three times—then adds another finger. He doesn’t ease me into it, doesn’t talk me through it, doesn’t allow me the time to think or overanalyze. I’m forced to only feel, and it’s an absolute revelation. A third finger joins the others, and a small sound escapes despite my best efforts. The fit is tight but there’s no pain with how wet I am, just a delicious sensation of being stretched to accommodate him.
“Fuck yes,” he says, his gaze glued to where his fingers are penetrating me over and over. He adds a twist to his thrusts, hitting me in a new spot that has the imaginary band in my belly twisting, twisting…
“Oh my fucking God!” There’s no holding back the moans as my legs start to shake, and my world shatters in a tsunami of white-hot flames that consume me from the inside out as I come harder than I ever thought possible. Powerful twitches seize my body with random aftershocks. My head is in the clouds, but I’m vaguely aware of heavy hands petting and stroking me all over while a low voice murmurs things I can’t decipher into my ear. I don’t know how long it takes for me to become coherent again, but when my eyes focus on the man bracing himself over me, I instantly slip back into our game.
“See,” he says in a cocky tone, “if you didn’t want it, you wouldn’t be soaking the bed right now. Guess that makes you a doll and a liar.”
I put a little spice into my words, narrowing my eyes at him for good measure. “I’m imagining my boyfriend, you dick.”
“I’m a dick?” A spark of excitement lights in his eyes even as his gorgeous mouth twists into a convincing snarl. “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet. I’ll show you just how big of a dick I am.”
I don’t know where the condom came from or how the hell he got it on so fast, but before I process what’s happening, he falls onto me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. I have less than a second to register what it feels like—the abrading of his chest hair on my sensitive nipples, the way our stomachs meet and separate with our breaths, the sweet pressure of his hips notched between my thighs with the scrape of his zipper and denim on delicate skin—and then the head of his thick cock slides into place, and he’s driving home in one smooth thrust.
“Fucking hell,” he grounds out between clenched teeth.
One arm burrows under me until his hand has a firm grip in my hair, and the other hooks under my left knee, pulling it up to his side, allowing him to sink in farther. I cry out, my mouth gaping open and head thrown back. I’m overwhelmed by the sensations. He’s everywhere; inside, outside, on top, and underneath. And when he starts to move, I want to tell him it’s too much and not nearly enough, but all I manage are unintelligible sounds and the small amount I’m able to roll my pelvis to meet his thrusts.
“So goddamn tight.” He pulls my hair, arching my neck as he drags his tongue up my throat. “So tight and hot and fucking mine.”
“I’ll never be yours,” I somehow manage between gasping breaths.
His rhythm falters for half a second and I worry I said something wrong. But then his arm is abandoning my leg in favor of gripping my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks just hard enough to make a point. “Maybe not for long, but right now I own you. Your pathetic boyfriend isn’t here. He can’t save you, and I know for a fact he can’t fuck you like I can.”
Doubling his efforts, he starts fucking me like he’s racing toward something, and maybe he is, and I’m right there with him. A fine sheen of sweat covers him, making him shine like a god in the glow of the faint light. Our breathing is erratic and labored, but he rebukes our need for oxygen and seals our mouths together. His kiss is violent, his tongue lashing against mine with the occasional nip of his teeth on my lip.
Finally, he gives up and lets us drag in deep lungs full of air as he presses his forehead to my brow. “Tell me you want this,” he rasps. “Tell me you want me.”
I don’t know if this is part of the game or not, but it doesn’t matter. It’s true either way. “I want this. I want you.”
He groans, like the words are a sort of balm he’s needed, then pushes up to his knees to issue one last command. “Then come on my fucking cock like a good little doll.”
Gripping my waist, he adjusts the angle and pulls me, impaling my pussy on his hard length and hitting that spot inside me that makes me speak in tongues. Part of me wishes my hands were free to touch and grab and claw my way to climax, to feel his power against my palms as well as in my pussy. But I’m helpless to do anything but take what he gives me, and the other part me is high on the drugging freedom in that.
My orgasm explodes through me, and I open my mouth to scream just as he slaps a palm over the lower half of my face. My cries of ecstasy die against his roughened skin just as I feel him go rigid with his own release. We ride out the waves together as he gives me a few slower rolls with his hips, making me shudder and shake in the aftermath.
Then I watch as the complete transformation takes place and my intruder is replaced with the charming and caring Austin. He gives me an affectionate smile and gentle kiss on my forehead before promising to be right back. He disappears into the bathroom. I hear the sound of running water for a minute or so, and then he emerges with a washcloth, his jeans pulled back up and fastened. He sits on the bed and unties my wrists.
“Bring them down slowly,” he says, helping guide my arms back to my sides. I make sure not to wince at the slight discomfort—I don’t want him to think I can’t handle a little bondage—and I’m touched when he rubs my shoulders to help with circulation and any muscle soreness. “How does that feel, okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” He goes to put the washcloth between my legs, but I sit up and stop him.
“It’s a cold cloth, to help with any minor soreness. I don’t think we did anything that warrants an ice pack.”
“Okay, I can do it,” I say, a blush creeping into my face.
“I know you can, sweetheart, but this is for me as much as it is for you. I’ve been rough with you. Now I’d like a few minutes to take care of you.”
I worry my lower lip with my teeth and realize it’s tender. Now that the heat of the moment is gone and he’s half dressed while I’m completely naked, I’m feeling a little vulnerable and a lot exposed. My instincts are screaming at me to get up, walk to the bathroom in a dignified fashion, get dressed, and thank him for a lovely evening.
That’s what the normal Emi would do. But she wasn’t here in this room with this amazing man a few minutes ago. He’d coaxed Raven to the surface, and the dark fairy wants to be comforted in the strong arms of her seducer. The problem is that Raven is just now getting her wings and she doesn’t quite know how to fly yet. My normal persona is much stronger, and she’s calling for action.
Austin leans closer, consuming my personal space, forcing me to recognize him. Tucking a damp chunk of hair behind my ear, he whispers, “Please, Emmélie,” and it’s my undoing.
I swallow hard and nod, giving him permission to take over. He works quickly, being careful but diligent, and soon he’s satisfied he hasn’t left any marks on me and when the cloth is no longer cold, he slips his black T-shirt over my body and climbs onto the bed. He gathers me into his arms and sighs contentedly as I curl into his side, my head on his chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
I take a beat to really consider the question. Am I? I take stock of my emotional state. I don’t feel used or violated or cheap like someone might think. He did an excellent job of discreetly checking in with me. I had a safe word and kne
w implicitly that he would stop if I used it. Physically I’m not battered or bruised, at least not more than a normal session of vigorous sex might leave me. And now I’m enjoying the attentive care of a concerned lover. If it gets any better than this, I might think I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Angling my face up to his, I say, “I’m more than okay, Austin. That was…I actually don’t have the words. You were amazing, both in your role as the sexy-as-hell intruder and as yourself. I don’t have anything to say other than thank you.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you.” His hand comes up to cup my cheek. “Your trust in me is a gift I won’t take for granted, I want you to know that. Even if this is the only time we ever play, I’m grateful.”
I smile up at him. “Me too.” We come together in a soft kiss before I resume my place on his chest. Only a few seconds go by before he speaks again, this time with his teasing Texan lilt.
“By the way, I think some of the words you were lookin’ for are mind-blowing, life-altering, maybe even record-breaking—”
Laughing, I smack him in the chest. “Rein that ego in a little, cowboy. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself trying to fit that huge head through the doorway.”
He laughs with me and gives me a quick squeeze. The adrenaline dump of the evening catches up to me, and I can’t stop myself from yawning like a lazy lion. “You can spend the night if you want.”
“Mm, I’d love to, but my father would kill me. And yes, I know how that sounds coming from a twenty-eight-year-old woman.”
“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, Emi. I just wanted you to know you’re welcome to stay any time.”
Merciless (Playboys In Love Book 3) Page 7
