Dangerously Broken

by Eden Bradley

  “Ah, sugar, those words are like gold to me. You have no idea.”

  And he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t give voice to the fact that she was probably as close to perfect as any woman would ever be for him. That he didn’t think he could survive if he lost her now. Because that little fact scared the shit out of him. But she was here. He could be with her. Touch her, hold her, play her. Make her come in a way neither of them would ever forget.

  He kissed her cheek, her lips, opened up her eager mouth with his tongue, sucking hers in. Sweet as pie, his girl. And her hot mouth was as hungry as his. She was squirming in his lap as he kissed her, and he’d never been so damn hard in his life. He was going to fucking burst—just come all over her perfect ass in his lap like some kid.

  He groaned, pulling his mouth away. She started to pout until he pressed a hand between her thighs once more, forcing them apart. He dove into her hair with his other hand, grasping it tightly at the roots, and pulled, forcing her to lie back against the arm of the love seat while his fingers plunged in and out of her.

  “Not yet,” he warned, and she groaned in answer, biting her lush lower lip.

  She ground down against his erection and he slipped his fingers from her. “Look at me,” he ordered.

  Her lashes fluttered and she focused her gaze on his, watching him, her pupils widening as he slid his fingers, wet with her juices, into his mouth and sucked.

  “You want to come, sugar girl?”

  “Yes, please, Jamie. Please . . .”

  “Wait for my command.”

  He lowered his hand and began to squeeze and pinch her clit, then pushed his fingers into her tight pussy once more.

  “Ah . . .”

  “Hold it back.”

  He began a slow rhythm, fucking her with two fingers, then three, and her hips were arching, working his fingers. He let her hair go to wrap his other hand around her throat, and her eyes opened wide as he pressed down a bit, carefully listening to her restricted breathing even as he continued to thrust inside her, his thumb on her hard clit.

  “Oh yeah, you feel so damn good. So wet for me, sugar. Do you know how hard I’m going to fuck you? Do you know how badly I need to lick you? To eat you up? To taste your come on my lips?”

  He moved his hand faster, plunging into her while she panted. Her struggle to hold her orgasm back was a beautiful thing—the exquisite beauty of her face torn in an agony of pleasure. When he told her, “Now!” her face twisted, and she screamed as she came.

  Her body shook as he fucked her hard with his hand, faster and faster, deeper and deeper. Her eyes rolled back and he released her throat, sliding his hand to her breast, pinching the luscious pink nipple. And had to order himself not to come with her as he worked her up again. Her body rose, arching into his hand, and her breath was a sharp, panting rasp as her inner walls clenched around his pumping fingers, as she started to come once more. His whole body ached to be inside her, but he kept working her with his hands, watching a dark blush rise on her breasts, her face, as her climax made her shake, her voice a raw cry.

  She was still trembling, her muscles spasming, when he lifted her in his arms and stalked across the dungeon floor to the hall that led to the private rooms at the back of the club. He went through the first door he found open—a room with black-painted walls and nothing in it but a high canopy bed draped in black and silver brocade and a side table supplied with condoms, lube and bottled water. But all of that was nothing more than a blur at the edges of his vision. The rest was filled up with Summer Grace—her smooth babyskin, her gorgeous breasts.

  He laid her on the bed as gently as he could, which wasn’t very gently at that moment. He was too shaken by her, by the overwhelming lust he felt for her. The pure need that went far beyond even the raw physical desire—that went to that place where he needed to be as close to her as possible.

  He stripped his clothes off as quickly as he could, the damn leather pants slowing him down, But finally he was naked. He grabbed a condom and climbed on top of her. She was still panting, languid and spent. But he intended to spend her more tonight—and himself.

  She watched him through hazy blue eyes as he knelt over her to roll the condom onto his painfully hard cock. As he spread her thighs wide, pushing her knees up to her shoulders and holding them there, he paused to take in the beautiful sight of her pink pussy, the lips and clit swollen and tender-looking, before he plowed into her wet heat.

  He threw his head back, pleasure momentarily stunning him, driving deep. His legs, his arms, shook, his cock pulsing. He bit back a groan and slid slowly out, every inch agony, beautiful, orgasm building inside him like a thundercloud ready to burst. He surged back into her, and desire rolled through him—sharp. Dazzling.

  She gasped, reaching for him, and he pinned her arms over her head, holding her delicate wrists in one of his hands. Blinking up at him, her lovely lips parted, and his gaze locked on hers.

  Jesus.

  Simply looking at her was almost too much.

  Control.

  He sucked in a breath, arched into her once more. And again she gasped.

  He pulled back, thrust hard.

  “Ah! Jamie . . .”

  He bent and kissed her mouth, ran his tongue across her pink lips. But when her tongue darted out he had to raise himself up again, watching her watching him.

  Jesus.

  Pleasure shivered through him, rattling him to the core. He bit it back.

  Control, damn it.

  Once more he pressed into her.

  “Kiss me,” she begged.

  He shook his head, knowing it would send him over the edge.

  “Kiss me, Jamie,” she pleaded again.

  Instead he pressed a thumb between her parted lips, and she took it and sucked it into her luscious mouth, swirling her tongue over the tip as if it were his cock. And suddenly sensation wrapped around his cock as if her wet mouth were there. The storm raged through his body, pleasure a roar that rendered him deaf to anything but his own cries. His body shook with the force of his orgasm. Coming was painful, it was so intense. Painful and fucking amazing, and like nothing he’d ever felt before.

  “Ah! Ah, Jesus. Jesus, baby . . . So good.”

  “Jamie.”

  “Come again for me, my sugar girl.”

  He ground into her, his cock still hard, still coming a little, maybe. And in moments he felt that hot clench of her sleek little pussy. Pleasure shafted into his belly, into his balls, and as she came, her cries rending the air, it was almost as if he was coming again, too.

  Then he did kiss her—he had to. He took her mouth, pushing his tongue inside, meeting her panting breath with his own. He couldn’t kiss her hard enough. Couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Couldn’t get enough of her. It was the most incredible feeling. And even as the last of the storm passed through her, and through him, he knew that this girl could either be his heaven, or his undoing.

  Rolling off her, he disposed of the condom, then reached for her, pulling her close while he tried to catch his breath. She snuggled right into that pocket at the juncture of his shoulder and his chest as if she belonged there.

  She does belong. She belongs to me.

  Wishful thinking, maybe? He didn’t want to overload her. He wasn’t sure what she was ready for. Hell, he wasn’t sure what he was ready for. And then there was the whole death magnet thing hanging over his head, the black cloud he carried with him everywhere he went. It had been with him his entire life. First Ian. Then Brandon. His parents’ marriage. Then what had happened with Traci. And the one thing he’d never spoken to another person about. Not Mick. Not Allie. And it sure as hell wasn’t something he could tell Summer Grace. Was it?

  Don’t fucking think about it.

  With a practiced mind, he turned away from the shadowed thoughts plaguing him. Pulling Sum
mer Grace closer into his side, he sought comfort in the warmth of her body. She was so trusting, and it was some weird kind of turn-on—or maybe not so weird for a Dominant. Wasn’t that part of the package? With great power came great responsibility. It was something he craved. He turned to kiss her forehead and found her long, thick lashes resting on her high, flushed cheekbones. So damn lovely, this woman.

  “You sleepy?” he asked her.

  “Mmm, yes. Sleepy. Needy. Wanting more. Why can’t I ever get enough of you?”

  His body immediately responded—so damn sexy. Her husky tone. The words that echoed what he felt whenever he was with her. She squirmed, shifting, and he felt every sinuous curve of her petite, feminine form: soft hips and delicate legs, the flawless curve of her breasts, her hardening nipples pressing against his ribs.

  “Jamie? More, please . . . ? I mean, if you’re not done with me.”

  He narrowed his gaze in the dim lighting and focused on the black-painted steel crossbars in the canopy overhead—and remembered that all the canopy beds at The Bastille had a built-in suspension system. His imagination kicked into high gear—into hot, screaming overdrive.

  “Oh, sugar, the night is far from over.”

  “I’m ready. For whatever you want to do to me.”

  He slipped his hand down her thigh, over her baby-soft skin, his fingertips reading the welts from the caning like Braille—and it all spoke the language of desire. Of pleasure derived from pain. “Can you come again?”

  “I can do whatever you want,” she purred.

  He grinned as he sat up and got on his knees on the firm mattress, pulling her up with him by the leather cuffs still attached to her wrists. He got her on her knees and held her arms over her head by the carabiners still attached to the cuffs, and clipped them to the rings on the overhead bars.

  “Jamie . . . what . . . ?”

  He put a hand over her mouth, which he knew she loved. “Shh, now. You’re going to like this. Or I’m going to like this. Mmm . . . both. All you have to do is get comfortable in the cuffs and straddle my face, pretty girl.”

  She blinked, smiled, batted her long lashes. “Ohhh.”

  “Cuffs feel okay?”

  She flexed her fingers. Good girl. “Yes.”

  He smoothed his palms over her thighs as he lay on the bed and slid down, positioning himself until her plump, wet pussy was right over his face. So beautiful. He licked his lips, simply looking at her for several long moments. Then he pulled a pillow under his head so he could reach her. And dove in.

  He licked her first, one long, slow slide of his tongue up her slit to the tight nub of her clitoris, then down again. She sighed quietly. He licked again, went a little deeper into her slit this time, the tip of his tongue delving inside her, and she ground her hips against his mouth. He pulled back.

  “Ah, ah,” he warned. “Bad girl, Summer Grace.”

  He held on to her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, but she only moaned in pleasure. He knew she was too far gone to really control herself, and decided to do it for her, as much for his sake as for hers. Grasping her hips harder, he moved them back and forth as he lapped at her, pausing to suck on her clit, then back to lapping at her sweet juices. Soon they were working together, her hips following his lead, undulating, a seductive, sinuous motion. She was so wet he couldn’t believe it. So wet he had to let her hips go to sink his fingers into her—two, then three. Had to. He pumped into her and she groaned, murmuring his name. He pulled back an inch to watch her, eager to see her desire. Her pussy was like a ripe fruit, so pink and swollen, so sensitive. And she was so lost in the moment. Lost in abandon. Wanton. It was an old-fashioned word, but it fit. And she was so thoroughly trusting, which was a turn-on in itself, something he was discovering with her might be a new fetish for him.

  He smiled, his fingers sliding in her wetness, slipping back until one fingertip was pressing on that tightest of holes. She gasped, then let out a whispered, “Yes please, Jamie.”

  He pressed his wet finger against her, then slipped the tiniest bit of the tip into her ass. She pulled in a breath, and as she exhaled, he slid in a little further.

  “Oh God, yes.

  He took her clit in his mouth again, sucking, flicking the tip with his tongue, letting his finger rest in her beautiful ass, loving how she felt like an impossibly tight velvet glove there. But soon she was grinding onto his finger, and he slid it in and out slowly as he worked her clit with his tongue.

  She panted harder, her hips arching into his mouth, then back onto his probing finger. Her panting was loud and hard, and in moments her entire body clenched. She shook all over for several long moments before she really started to come. Then it was a savage clenching of her ass and her pussy, her thighs. And she called his name, then screamed it.

  “Jamie . . . Ah . . . Jamie, Jamie!”

  He let her ride the waves, his body buzzing with a deep pleasure that had nothing to do with his own spent cock. Or maybe it did—he didn’t know. All he knew was a sense of satisfaction he’d never quite felt before. At having brought this woman—this woman—so much pleasure.

  He couldn’t think about what it all meant right now as he sat up and cleaned his hands and face with the wipes in a basket next to the bed, then carefully wiped her clean. Getting up on his knees, he faced her, pressing his bare chest to her breasts, pressed harder until he could feel the plush cushion of them, her hard nipples. She let her head fall back as he kissed her throat, her lovely collarbones, her shoulders. Then finally her mouth. Pressing his lips against hers, he wanted to drink her in all over again. She was nearly limp, but she kissed him back, her mouth soft on his.

  When he unclipped her wrist cuffs from the bed frame she sank onto the mattress with him. Shifting her onto her side, he curled behind her, spooning her, his arms around her, listening to her breathe. He refused to let his mind try to dissect what had happened tonight. Between them. In his head. It was getting too complicated and he wanted to enjoy the moment. The hour. The night.

  * * *

  THEY’D SLEPT FOR a while, although Summer wasn’t sure how long. Twenty minutes? Three hours? Did it matter?

  All that really mattered was that she was there with Jamie, her body sore and worn out from play and sex—and God, the sex! The kink play aside, the sex was spectacular. Was it that she’d finally been able to give herself over to the submissive role with him? A part of her still held back, but she’d never let go before the way she had tonight. Was it the setting—being at The Bastille? Or was it simply the evolution of their connection?

  Her body was still buzzing with orgasm . . . seemingly endless orgasms. The blood pumping through her veins seemed to be moving in time with the rhythmic thump thump of the music playing in the dungeon, driven by that orgasmic buzz. And if she really listened she could hear Jamie’s heartbeat—could almost feel it with his chest still pressed against her back.

  Hers suddenly jackhammered for no apparent reason, a tear forming in her eye.

  Ridiculous!

  She wiped at the tear with her thumb.

  “Hey, sugar.” His voice was a quiet, rasping murmur. “You’re awake.”

  She bit her lip. “Kind of. Are you?”

  “Kind of.” He gave her a squeeze and she realized he’d held her in his arms this whole time. “We had a good workout—we earned some rest.”

  “What time do you think it is?” she asked, more to distract herself than because she really wanted to know. There was too much going on her head. Or in that space in her chest that had remained empty for too long.

  Damn it.

  “No idea. The Bastille is pretty much a place without time, and I didn’t wear my watch tonight.”

  She loved the watch he usually wore—it had a wide, black leather band and a large square face edged in brushed steel. Utterly masculine. Utterly Dom-like.


  “Why didn’t you wear it?” she asked idly, stroking the soft hair at his wrist.

  “Mmm . . . too distracted by the idea of bringing you here tonight, I guess. You mess with my focus, woman.”

  She laughed. “I think that’s a good thing.”

  “You would.” He tickled her ribs, and she squealed, kicking.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey, yourself, sassy wench.”

  “That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”

  “Apparently being caned until you scream makes you bratty.”

  “Nah. I’m always bratty.”

  He chuckled against her hair. “True.” They were both quiet for a bit. Then he said, “Summer Grace—you know what I want to do tomorrow? I want to go to City Park and hang out at the lake and lounge around on those old, bent live oak trees. I want to drink some iced chicory coffee with too much sugar and have those amazing beignets at the coffee stand there like the tourists do.”

  “They are some of the best beignets in the city. Fuck the tourists.”

  “Oh no, you’re saving that for me, sugar.”

  She was quiet, her heart hammering. “Am I, Jamie?”

  “Yeah. You are if you want to, Summer Grace. I can’t make that demand of you, you know.”

  She sat up, her heart tumbling in her chest, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Jamie, this has to be more than just the consent of kink. You have to tell me you want this. For us to be exclusive. I mean, I have been, but . . .”

  “So have I. But yes, I want that. Damn right I do, sugar girl, who tastes sweeter than chicory coffee in the park.” He pulled her down and kissed her hard, then let her go. “You want to skip this place and hit Café Du Monde for some beignets? They’re not as good as City Park, but I think they may be the only place open this time of night—whatever the hell time it is.”

  She laughed. “Now?”