by Eden Bradley
No, it was not okay. It was fucking not okay!
He tried to bolt, but the ropes held him. Held his body so damn tightly he couldn’t move, but he fought them anyway.
“Shh, James. Just breathe.”
Didn’t she know he couldn’t breathe? He could not fucking breathe!
Rage tore through him, twisted his gut into a tight knot, poured through his system, hot and white. Like lightning in his veins.
He. Could. Not. Breathe.
He gasped for air, but his lungs were so damn tight. Didn’t matter; he should die right here. He’d missed his turn.
Struggling against his binds, his muscles strained until they hurt. Pain all over his body, the rope biting into his flesh. He was breaking a good, hard sweat.
He’d missed his fucking turn!
But no, that was ridiculous. Was that really what he’d felt all this time? What he’d been hiding from himself?
God, he hated those motherfuckers, those murderers! Not a damn thing he could have done about it, with their guns pointed at his head, the long machetes in their hands. Not a God damn thing.
He yelled “Fuck!” and opened his eyes, found Marina watching him, her brows drawn together.
He was panting, dazed, but the rage was melting into a hot pool. It simmered in him still, but the ropes helped him contain it. But only for so long. It had to go somewhere eventually.
He said through clenched teeth, “Okay, Marina. Let me out.”
He thought she’d argue with him. That she’d be afraid. Hell, he’d be afraid, if he were her right now. But she just nodded, and in moments he was free.
He wasn’t even hard anymore. He just … needed.
With a growl he grabbed her, pulled her tight, and closed his mouth over hers. Her lips were sweet, so damn sweet, and he opened her up with his tongue. She was going loose already, and he was hard again instantly. He ground his cock against her, started to tear her clothes from her body.
Have to see her, touch her, fuck her.
He could feel her trembling, could feel her desire coming off her like waves of heat as he stripped her bare. Then he thrust a hand between her thighs, found her wet.
“Christ, Marina.”
“Come on, James. Come on …”
Lord, to hear her beg like that. To hear her need, almost screaming at him, drowning out the shit in his head. Yeah, just be with her, inside her body, feel her need, feed his own. Feast on her.
He pushed her down on the bed, spread her thighs, and lowered his head between them. He took her with his mouth; first with his lips, then with his tongue, drawing it over her wet hole, the hard nub of her clit, sucking on her flesh: clit, pussy lips. She was grinding into his face and he wanted her to, wanted her writhing as she was now, making little mewling noises.
He pulled back long enough to demand of her, “Come, Marina.”
“Oh …”
She spread her legs wider for him and he dove in once more, sucking, licking, using his hands, pressing two fingers inside her, her pussy like wet fucking silk. He worked her hard, thrusting with his fingers, curving them to rub against her G-spot. And she was moving her hips, really shoving her beautiful pussy against his face, loving it, needing it.
Then she was coming, her insides clenching around his fingers, her hips pistoning, and there was a rush of liquid, soaking his hand, his face, sweet and hot. And still he worked her, still she came, calling his name.
“God, James! James, James …”
Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. He left her long enough to find his pants, to pull a condom from the pocket and roll it onto his cock. He was rigid as steel, his own touch as he slipped the condom on almost too much as he watched Marina on the bed, her breasts flushed, her mouth soft and loose. Her hair was everywhere.
He laid down on the bed beside her, rolling to his back, pulling her on top of him.
“Fuck me now, Marina.”
A small smile from her, a touch of triumph in it.
“You are not in control here,” he told her quietly.
The smile was gone immediately, replaced by something softer, more yielding. And she went loose in his hands as he gripped her hips hard, guided her onto him, her long legs straddling his body. One sharp thrust upward and he was inside her, impaling her. And he held her tight as he pumped up into her.
“Fuck me, Marina,” he told her again, and she began to move, her hips arching as she took him in, ground down onto him. So damn good, pleasure rolling over him like thunder. And she kept at it, riding him, bucking and lunging like some wild thing, riding his anger as much as she was his body.
He reached up and took her nipples between his fingers, felt them harden, watched as they went a dark red. He pinched, she cried out, her head falling back, her lips parting. He pinched harder.
“James, fuck!”
“Am I hurting you?”
“Yes … please … hurt me.”
He twisted that tender flesh harder, pulling, pinching. She was grinding against him, her pussy holding his cock like a gauntlet of pure pleasure. And he felt the anger flooding out of his body and into hers, then dissipating, fading away.
She was coming again, that hot sheath clenching his cock, milking him. And he thrust deeper, fucking her, fucking her. Needing to hurt her just a little.
“Oh … James, God …”
His climax hit him like a blow to the gut, pleasure ramming into his system, his body convulsing. He was coming so damn hard, pumping the anger into her as he came. He was shuddering all over, and it was so damn good, almost too good, almost painful.
Only when it was over did he see how his fingers had dug into her hips, leaving dark red marks on her pale skin. But there was something beautiful about it. Something about it making her his.
She collapsed onto him, her lithe body stretched out over his. He felt dazed, light, as though his brain had been wiped clean.
No need to think about anything at all right now.
Fucking bliss.
He lay with her for a while, maybe dozed for a few minutes. When she sighed he turned his face, held hers in his hands, kissed her. She was pliant, still. And there was something about seeing her that way, feeling that yielding, that made his cock stiffen again. But there was no more animal in him. He just wanted to be with her. To touch her. Just … touch her.
He’d think about what the hell that meant later.
“Marina. Come into the shower with me.”
“Yes …”
They got up and he took her hand. “Show me where.”
“This way.”
She led him across the hallway, through what he realized vaguely must be her bedroom, which felt oddly intimate to him. Just seeing her space, the place where she slept. Light filtered in from the hallway, dimly illuminating the room, and he glanced at the big bed covered in a deep, plum-colored silk and piles of pillows.
To have her in her bed. Oh, yes, he would do that. But later.
Marina turned on the light in the bathroom, all pristine white tile and thick lavender towels, brushed pewter fixtures. An enormous ornate, pewter-framed mirror hung above the sink, and he caught their reflection in it: her disheveled hair, the flushed, glowing skin on both of them, their interlocked hands.
He reached in and turned the hot water on, let it run for a few moments. Marina was quiet, and he had a sense that she was in subspace, that he had put her there by taking command of her body. And he felt a sort of tenderness toward her. Something about the fact that she had given herself over to him. He understood it was something she had seldom done before, if ever.
Precious. That’s what she was to him at this moment.
His heart hitched in his chest, but he couldn’t think about it, didn’t want to stop to figure it out. Instead, he pulled her into the wide shower stall, under the warm spray, and she went with him, held still while he wrapped his arms around her. Laid her head against his chest. And even though they didn’t exchange a word, he knew
she felt what he did. That they were both allowing this unusual moment of intimacy.
But he was still thinking too much. Better just to be quiet inside. To enjoy this, whatever it was.
Marina leaned into him, his chest a solid wall of comfort beneath her cheek. When was the last time she’d felt this sort of safety? When had she allowed herself to be a woman, with a man? It had been so long. And until this moment, she hadn’t understood how much she needed it.
Lovely, just to stand there, the water coming down like a warm rain on her skin. Her nipples still tender, brushing against his chest. And his arms around her, holding on to her. That sensation itself nearly made her want to cry. That and … something else.
James.
Yes, it was him. Him.
God, too much to think about, especially now, in this state of mental disarray.
She turned her face up to his, found him looking down at her, his dark eyes highlighted in gold. A few drops of water clung to his long, black lashes.
He was beautiful. So beautiful, in a way she’d never found in any other man. He was deep. Kind. Honest. And despite everything he’d been through, despite his pain, there was a purity about him.
Something inside her was opening up. And she was letting it happen.
She stood up on her toes, pressed her lips to his. And her heart beat a quickening rhythm as he opened to her, slipped his warm, sweet tongue into her mouth. His arms tightened around her, crushing her. And it felt good. It felt safe.
Her heart ached with wanting, and he met that need with his hard, silent kisses.
She pressed closer, and he kissed her and kissed her, lips and tongue and hot, wet skin. She’d never felt anything more wonderful in her life.
They stood beneath the water, kissing, touching. His hands went into her hair, slid over her face, her shoulders. Then lower, over her breasts. And as he cupped that full flesh in his palms, her body heated once more, her sex going wet, a steady pulse of desire thrumming through her veins.
He pressed closer, his erection a solid shaft of warm flesh against her belly. She wanted him. Needed him. Yet it was in some slow and languid way. She knew she didn’t need to hurry, that he would be there. “James …”
He pulled back, his gaze on hers, his expression serious. Calm. “I’m taking you to bed, Marina,” he said. Told her. “Yes. Please.”
He shut the water off, led her from the shower, dried her body with one of her thick towels. Yet there was nothing submissive in what he did, even when he went down on his knees, running the towel over her legs, drying her feet, one at a time. No, it was more that he was caring for her.
He dried himself quickly, then took her hand once more. He stopped at the foot of her bed.
“In here, Marina.”
She could only nod her head, her mouth dry. She knew this was important, that he would take her in her own bed. But she couldn’t stop to think about it. She simply wanted him, needed to be close to him, to feel his body. For him to take command of her.
He wrapped his hands around her waist, pushing her down onto the bed. The raw silk of the bedcover was a little rough against her skin. She watched him standing over her, the pure masculinity of his form, backlit by the light shining in from the bathroom doorway. She loved the rounded curves of muscle: his wide shoulders, his chest. The dark nipples, the narrow line of hair below his navel leading to his engorged cock.
She loved his cock; it was as beautiful as the rest of him was. All golden skin, the swollen head a bit darker, the gleaming drop of pre-come on the tip. She licked her lips, moved her gaze back up to his face, which was soft in the shadows. His mouth was so lush. Even more so to her, simply knowing the feel of it, the taste of it.
God …
Her body pulsed, heated, her sex soaking wet.
She reached up for him, and he came to her, lowering his big body over hers, and she felt absolutely enveloped by him: his scent, his hot skin, the weight of him pressing down on her. And once more she had that sense of being in his hands. Of him being in charge. And she loved it.
He was kissing her again, his mouth soft on hers, his lips plush, wonderful. His tongue slipped into her mouth, seeking, demanding. And she opened for him: her lips, her thighs. He eased a hand between them and began to stroke.
“Ah, James …”
“Do you like that, Marina? You’re so wet for me.”
“Yes. Yes, I like it. I need more.”
“I’ll give you more, in my own time. In my own way.”
“Yes, James.”
Whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter. As long as he was touching her. As long as he was with her.
He pressed a finger inside her suddenly, and she gasped.
“Good, Marina?”
“Yes!”
He began to pump, and she ground her hips into his hand as pleasure rocked her. Her entire body was tight with desire, humming. Tighter and tighter. Higher and higher as he pumped into her, one thumb pressing mercilessly onto her clit.
“James … Oh …”
“Are you going to come?”
“Yes.”
She was panting, right at that keen edge. “Not yet.”
He pulled his hand from her, kissed her so hard it bruised her. But she wanted it, needed that brutal kiss. “James …” She panted against his lips. “Shh.”
He turned her over, onto her stomach, lifting and moving her effortlessly, and she had a sense of the sheer power of him. Yes, to be taken from behind … by him. Her sex clenched hard in anticipation.
With an arm around her waist, he pulled her onto her knees, used a hand to spread her legs wider before dipping back into her dripping sex.
“So ready for me, Marina …”
“Yes, James. Come on. Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me, James.”
“Is that what you want? To be fucked?”
“Yes, please …”
She needed him, so badly she could barely stand it. Her sex felt wide open, exposed. Hungry.
“Here, Marina?” His voice was rough as he pushed two fingers inside her; they slipped in like silk, pushing pleasure deep into her body.
“Ah …”
“Or here?”
His hand slid back, to that tighter hole, her own juices making it slippery, wet. She moved her knees apart.
“Anything. Yes. Whatever you want. Just do it.”
“Do you have lube, Marina? Condoms?”
“In my nightstand.”
He reached into the drawer, dug for a moment. Then he moved behind her and she heard the tear of the foil condom packet. Her sex was absolutely quivering with need. She hadn’t had a man in her ass for years; it was something she’d never let a submissive man do to her, ever.
But James was far from submissive. And her own head was floating, light, as she sank ever deeper into subspace. As she gave herself over—mind, body, and soul—to James.
His hand once more at her anus, his finger covered in lube. He rubbed in small circles, and it was exquisite, pleasure humming through her body, into her sex.
“Ready, Marina?”
“Yes.”
She arched her back, lowered her face into the pillows, and gave herself over.
He pressed his finger against her hole, nothing more than a gentle pressure for a moment. Then he slipped it in, just the tip. But it was enough to make her go right down, her mind emptying out, her body humming with sensation.
“Good girl,” he whispered to her. “I think you can take more.” He sank his finger into her body, and it slid right in.
“Oh …” Pleasure, a small whisper, shimmering like light in her system.
“Come on, baby,” he said, encouraging her, and she pushed back against him, taking his finger deep into her ass. “Yeah, that’s it.”
He moved his finger inside her, and in a moment he added a second one. She took it easily, her sex dripping, her body seizing in pleasure, needing more.
“Christ, you’re so hot and tight. I need to be inside you. I need to fuck you.”
“Please, James.”
She felt his body behind her, his hands spreading her ass cheeks wide, then his fingers at her anus once more, slipping in, then out, before guiding the head of his lube-covered cock to the opening.
“Are you ready?”
She couldn’t wait. She pushed back against him, taking him in. And she was filled, with his flesh, with desire, with the need to please. She was empty of thought, full of sensation: pleasure intensified by what was going on in her head.
Yours.
He began to move, a slow, gentle pumping of his hips. He felt so good, so right. So right that she should be beneath him, commanded by him. Belonging to him.
Yours, James.
His hand came around and teased her clit. She barely needed it, his cock in her ass driving pleasure deep into her body. It spread, her sex, her breasts, swelling.
When he drove harder she couldn’t help but groan aloud. But none of it mattered. She was out of control. She was a being made of nothing but sensation: his cock moving in her ass, his fingers pressing onto her clit, his scent all around her. His body taking control of hers. And all of it beautiful and safe and astonishing if she let herself think about it.
She didn’t.
Instead, she let him fuck her, until it hurt, until the pleasure and the pain were an indistinguishable mixture in her body. It was all one: exquisite, excruciating. And they were coming together, shivering limbs, hot, panting breath, divine pleasure like liquid heat taking her over.
He was taking her over.
James.
Yours. Forever.
Chapter Nine
SHE WOKE TO the morning light, the gentle rhythm of James breathing beside her, his eyes closed, his body peaceful.
His profile was all clean lines, all except the scar running over his jaw, but that only added to the pure masculine power of him somehow. She wanted to reach out and touch him. But she couldn’t do it. Just watching him lay there, in her bed—her bed!—was too lovely, too overwhelmingly beautiful. Too much of what she wanted.
Yes, to have him here with her like this. To wake up to him every morning. To climb into bed with him at night. To let him command her body so that for once, she could let go.
