by Pam Godwin
He was so close to winning her heart and yet so far. She seemed to be trying to look past the monster she thought he was, but she still hadn’t accepted the real reason she’d come here. Submission and bondage were such dirty, shameful concepts to her. She fought against the healthy, consensual aspects of it by focusing on only the ugly illegal kind of slavery.
She pulled her hand away and touched the collar at her throat. Her nostrils flared, her muscles tensed, and he knew she was preparing an argument.
She sat up and pivoted toward him with a stubborn set in her jaw. “You make the rules around here, which means you have the power to end the suffering of all those slaves. I know”—she hardened her husky voice—“I know that with the snap of that one command you would make me happy. So fucking happy, Matias, that I would give you my heart and soul and whatever else you desired.”
His stomach twisted and soured. “I don’t want your fucking negotiated affections, Camila.”
He lurched up and gripped her hips. She yelped as he dumped her on her back and fell on top of her.
With her chest rising and falling against his, she gave him her best glare. “Then what do you want? What can I do?”
He had been inside her pussy every day she’d been here, and other than his massive fuck up when he took her against the post, he’d only bound her with lightweight string. Most of the time, he hadn’t restrained her at all. He hadn’t spanked her, whipped her, or done anything to cause her physical pain since that first day.
He wanted her willing and begging for bondage. While she hadn’t once fought him during sex, her participation had been dubious, as if her body was submitting while her mind screamed hell no.
All of this was expected. He knew it would take a lot of time and patience, but it didn’t make it any easier.
“I’ve already told you.” He shackled her wrists with his hands and pinned her arms against the grass above her head. “Stop focusing on what you think you know and look at me, at us. What are you really after? What do you need?”
“The prize.” Her eyes flashed. “You without slavery.”
“Slave has more than one meaning. Open your mind.”
“You’re talking about what Nico said to me?” She yanked her arms against the grip of his hands. “My supposed search to be owned and dominated?” At his nod, her gaze widened. “Are those women…? Holy shit, are they here willingly?”
“No.” His heart pounded with frustration. “They definitely don’t want to be here.”
Flickering shadows spread over her face. “I don’t understand.”
“Try.”
She regarded him for a long moment then blinked. “You want me to trust you.”
“It’s a very good place to start.”
She breathed in, out, and again. Then muscle by muscle, she slackened beneath him. Her arms went limp in the grip of his hands. Her legs widened, knees falling open to accommodate his hips.
His nerve endings stirred everywhere their bodies touched—hands, chests, thighs, and…fuck, her cunt burned hot against his cock. Excitement surged through him, coiling like a fist around his shaft. He couldn’t stop himself from grinding, his breaths shortening and control unraveling.
Eyes damp and overly bright, she started to tremble, her voice reedy. “One hard, violent fuck away from surrender?”
The words he’d given Nico sounded so fucking erotic whispered from her quivering lips. Surrender didn’t come without fear, and she was there—the perspiration on her brow, the ashen coloring in her cheeks, the irregular pace of her breaths. He was going to fuck her and make it hurt, make her scream. But he knew that somewhere deep inside her, she was going to enjoy it, and that probably scared her the most.
“Remove your clothes.” He shifted to his knees and tackled his belt.
She hesitated, her gaze locked on the strap of leather he folded in his fist.
“Camila.”
She looked up at his cutting tone, and he gave the command again, not with his voice, but with the full force of his eyes.
Her inhale fluttered, fingers curling in the grass. Then, with a nod, she obeyed.
MATIAS TIGHTENED HIS HAND around the leather belt, unable to stifle the shaking in his fingers as Camila stood and reached for the hem of her shirt. He could no longer hear the drone of bees, feel the sunlight, or smell the citrus in the air, yet the atmosphere had never been more alive than it was now.
Balancing her weight on the heels and balls of her bare feet, she pulled the shirt over her head. Her slave training was evident in the way she held herself—legs straight, knees unlocked, gaze trained on him. But despite the darkness of her past seeping in, her brown eyes shone through it.
Fuck him, but he loved her inner strength, loved how her chest lifted and arched, her shoulders squared, and how her attention homed in on him as if the movement of her hands was merely reflex. He felt her submission at a molecular level, every cell in his body gravitating toward her, his muscles hungrily aware and throbbing to take what was his. But he remained where he was, three feet away, and devoured her every move.
Keeping her face and chest angled toward him with her chin drawn in, she slowly and gracefully removed her bra, jeans, and panties. Then she straightened, the alignment of her head and neck vertical, arms hanging at her sides without stiffness, and let him stare.
He stood frozen in the wake of her beauty, absorbing her nudity, her willingness, in the place he’d meticulously rebuilt, amid the trees he’d planted and cared for, every seed, yard of dirt, and precious memory put here for her.
Long black hair fell over the slender lines of her shoulders, framing round, perfectly-shaped tits. The curl of her fingers against her thighs drew his gaze to the feminine curves of hips, the flat expanse of stomach, and the shadow of hair that had grown back between her legs.
A growl escaped his throat, and he grabbed himself through the jeans, running a palm against his aching cock. She was built for him, every dip, arch, muscle, and bone, all his to worship and protect.
He prowled toward her, soaking in her quickening breaths and the way her gaze tracked him as he circled her. When he stopped behind her, her toes flexed in the grass. He took his time examining her sinful ass and strong, sinuous backbone before dropping the belt and sweeping his hands down her arms.
The marks had faded to yellowish bruises, and he hadn’t needed to cut her again. The first time had been a strong enough statement, and she exuded the timid slave act like a pro.
“Matias…” She shuddered, and it wasn’t an act. “I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of me? Or this?” He hooked an arm around her and squeezed a nipple, hard enough to make her whimper. “Are you scared to want this?”
“Yes.” Her voice wavered. “All of it.”
He put his nose in her hair and slid his fingers around the sides of her breasts, the dips in her waist, and lower to cup and stroke her pussy. A rush of warmth chased his pulse, his erection bent painfully in his jeans. His fingers quaked and stiffened in his desperation for her.
“What did I tell you about fear?” He pressed his dick against her ass and lightly caressed her damp folds.
“It will haunt—” She cried out as he pinched her clit, but she kept her hands at her sides and didn’t pull away. “It will haunt me until I step inside and show it my teeth.”
“I’ll be right here with you. Always.”
The thudding of his heart beat in sync with the pulsing in his cock. She had no idea the power she held over him, didn’t know how dry his mouth had gone or that his insides heated to a fevered level of dizziness. Nothing or no one had ever affected him the way she did. She was it for him, his past and future, his weakness and strength, his meaning for everything.
Brushing her hair to the side, he tiptoed fingers up and down her abs, inching close to her pussy without touching, and back up, lingering beneath her tits before dipping down again. With his mouth at her ear, he nipped her skin above the collar, flicked his t
ongue, and inhaled her warm scent until her head dropped back on his shoulder, breaths catching.
Her face rolled toward him, and she rubbed their cheeks together, her parted lips searching. He captured her mouth in a collision of gasps and hungry tongues that was neither soft nor gentle. He chased and hunted and fed, his fingers sinking between her legs, thrusting hard, and coaxing a moan from deep within her.
Her lower body clamped around him, her neck angling her closer as she tried to deepen the kiss. Her urgency spurred him on, making him hotter, greedier, more frantic.
“Matias, please.” She arched into him, her ass grinding against his painful cock.
He tore his mouth away, his heart tripping at a dangerous level.
“Bend forward.” He kissed her shoulder and stepped back, keeping his tone silken, yet inflexible. “Hands on your ankles. Spine straight.”
She followed his command to perfection, and he swallowed a groan. Yanking off his shirt, he used it to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Then he tossed it and knelt behind her.
He tried to start slow, his hands exploring her ass and legs, but the more he touched the more he needed. Her skin was so tight, so fucking smooth he wanted to lick and bite every inch of her. So he did, gliding his tongue and teeth across the backs of her thighs as he teased her soaking cunt with his fingers.
The hitch in her breath amped his pulse, but he kept his movements slow, sensual, savoring her goosebumps and the flex of her muscles as she anticipated the path of his lips. She was so fucking responsive he couldn’t wait any longer. He buried his mouth between her legs.
“So damn wet, mi vida. Such a hungry slut.”
With her head hanging upside down, she snarled through clenched teeth. “I’m not—”
“A slut, my gorgeous girl, is brave enough to pursue her own definitions of pain and pleasure. She’s willing to explore and search for what she enjoys rather than shun her desires like a dirty secret.” He bit the delicate skin between her legs, wrenching a yelp from her. “You welcome sex with open legs, because you understand the benefits, the ecstasy it brings.”
“Okay, when you put it that way,” she said in a throaty voice.
“My slut.” He licked her from ass to pussy, his tongue probing in both holes with abandon.
She panted and shook, her tits swaying and head lifting to accommodate her breaths, but she held her bent position with flawless grace. A reminder that she’d endured a year of hell to master that composure. Anger simmered through his blood, but he pushed it down, refusing to let it ruin the moment.
When her moans grew shorter, faster, he knew she was peaking. He stabbed his fingers inside her, and in two hard drives, she came with a choked-off scream, her inner muscles spasming against his hand. Fucking beautiful.
He eased out of her and helped her straighten to her full height, pulling her chest to his as she wobbled.
Lifting her chin, he submerged his gaze in hers and saw unspeakable desire in the watery depths. Love was there, too—the love they’d always shared—but it seemed stronger now, pummeled and tested and resuscitated back to life. And in the strength of that love, he saw the tiniest glimmer of trust, the kind of trust that only a submissive could offer.
As far as she knew, he hadn’t done anything to earn her trust, yet she was handing it over, instinctively, bravely, and the only explanation was because she loved him.
He took her mouth, and the instant their lips touched, the fusion was frantic and visceral, hitting him right in the stomach. He felt her in his skin, every gasp, bite, and voracious lick connecting to an emotion that had endured the torment of time.
Her beautiful tongue flicked, twirling in greedy euphoric circles and following his lead as he demanded everything and took even more. She dragged her short nails down his back, bursting his nerve endings into a thousand frenzied pieces.
He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth then kissed a path to her ear, whispering, “Do you want to come harder next time?”
Eyes beckoning, she nodded, shook her head, then let out a husky laugh. “Will I live?”
“For the first time in your life.” He reached up and tested the strength of the thickest branch. “Hold onto this.”
Lifting her heels from the soil and stretching her arms, she curled her fingers around the limb.
He snagged her bra from the ground, checked it for wires and found none. “Stand flat on your feet.”
When she lowered, she was still able to hang on. He used the strip of black lace to tie her hands to the branch.
“Comfortable?” He kissed her mouth softly.
With a glance at the belt in the grass, her expression tightened, but she gave him a jerky nod.
“How did you get into this…this kinky stuff?” Her voice cracked, and she cleared it. “You’ve done this a lot?”
“I’ll answer your questions, but first, tell me why you abstained for four years.”
Her eyes darted away, and she bit her lip. “I slept with a lot of men after I escaped, trying to prove to myself that I was the one in control of my sexuality.” She looked back at him. “I was also looking for…I don’t know. A connection? But after a while, I decided I had better luck with my vibrator.”
Exactly what he’d thought. He clenched and relaxed his hands.
“I did the same thing, fucking my way through countless women.” At her wince, he cupped her face and pressed so close he felt her heartbeat pound against his chest. “I was searching for something, too. Anything that might resemble what I had with you. I never found it.”
“I hate—” She bit back a strangled noise, and a twitch flickered her eyelashes. “I hate that all those women know you in that way.”
He wholeheartedly sympathized with the pain in her eyes. “No one knows me the way you do.”
The corner of her mouth bounced. “Smooth talker.” She slackened against him, almost as if trying to snuggle with her arms restrained over her head. “None of those women know what your fourteen-year-old ass looks like on a copy machine.”
“Or my ass at any age on a copy machine.” He chuckled into another long, delicious kiss.
She hummed against his mouth as her tongue traced the seam of his lips.
He brushed his hands through her hair. “What I discovered in my fumbling attempts at happiness is that bondage and pain have the potential to make sex more intense and intimate. People fuck all the time without conversation, commitment, or any emotional connection. But when I tie up a woman and beat the living hell out of her, there’s a crucial responsibility that comes with that, one that involves clear communication and acceptance—hers and mine. Those very things enhance sexual pleasure.” He paused. “Because it requires trust.”
“But the slaves you—”
“I’ve never fucked a slave.”
“Oh.” Her brows drew together then released with the flash in her eyes. “But you hurt me without communication or acceptance.”
“Tell me why I did it.”
“You wanted me scared.” She swallowed. “To protect me from your enemies.”
“Yeah.” His throat thickened. “I’ll hurt you again, Camila, and I’ll be the one to soothe it. Only me.” Lowering his hand, he trailed his fingers over the bruises on her ass. “I’m going to give you a different kind of pain. The kind that comes with acceptance.” He felt the heat of her lips brush his. “When trust surpasses that pain, the result can feel incredibly profound.”
“Okay.” Fear threaded through her voice.
“Imagine what it will be like for us. We already share a connection no other two people have. Our memories, our regrets, and this.” He kissed her hard and deep, with the entirety of his soul. “Us.”
“You think this is what we’ve both been searching for?” She subtly rubbed her pussy against the zipper of his jeans.
“Yes.” He was certain of it. “Listen carefully. If I hit you too hard or overstep your limits without explanation, you need to trust that I’m doi
ng it for you.”
“No safe words?”
“No.” He laughed and shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m not running a high-end glitter club here. I’m a fucking cartel capo who hangs people in chains to kill them, not to tickle them with a flogger. Dangerous and crazy is the way I operate, Camila.”
“Basically the opposite of safe, sane, and consensual.” Her eyes narrowed.
He refused to abide by anyone’s rules, but… “I want your consent.”
“Jesus. Everything you said was so fucking wrong.” She stared at him, absently digging her toe through the grass. “But I don’t feel a pressing need to kick you in the nuts.”
“You normally feel that need?”
“Maybe.” Her mouth flattened, but a smile touched her eyes.
“When I restrain you, it’s just you and me.” He glided his hands up her arms and squeezed the elastic strap around her wrists overhead. “No safe words. No rules. Have we reached that level of trust yet?”
“I’m trying.” She licked her lips. “I want to.”
That was closer than she was two weeks ago. His pulse kicked up.
Sliding his hands back down her arms, he rubbed her tits, pinched her nipples, and moved to her ass, her thighs, her pussy. He touched her everywhere, keeping his gaze on her parted mouth and the peek of her tongue as she wet her lips.
The rhythm of her breaths led the pace of his strokes. As she panted faster, harder, he added pressure and speed to his caress. Soon, she was trembling, gasping, ready.
As he adjusted his cock to relieve the agonizing pressure, he grabbed the belt from the ground and folded it in half. She tracked him with half-lidded eyes, her expression aglow more with curiosity than fear. He didn’t need to tell her how to breathe and relax into the strikes. She’d been mercilessly beaten against her will more times than he cared to think about.
With a steady inhale, he let the strap swing, landing the initial hits on her thighs and ass. He didn’t go easy on her, but he knew he wouldn’t. He’d pounded his fists against men to the point of bloodshed and death, and while he didn’t hit her with anywhere near that kind of strength, he wasn’t a gentle man. Nor was she weak.
