by Naima Simone
He waited a heartbeat, the silence deafening. A surge of lust, satisfaction, and that deeper emotion he refused to acknowledge roared through him when she remained quiet. He kept offering her an out, abhorring the thought that he might be forcing her. She needed to be willing, needed to want this as much as him. Because he couldn’t turn back, couldn’t rescind his offer. Some freak twist of fate had provided him with the perfect excuse for stroking her soft skin, sucking those pert, perfect breasts, kissing and fucking that pretty pussy without getting emotionally on the hook.
Everything he did to her tonight was about finally getting her out of his system, not love. Loving her had taught him that vulnerability and weakness weren’t options. Trust in the wrong person, showing that person your soft underbelly, only meant devastation. One of his cell mates, a wannabe philosopher from Brighton, had been fond of quoting the Greek historian and general, Thucydides: The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must. While in prison, he’d had to suffer his two-year sentence, but when he got out, he’d been determined to never be at anyone’s mercy again. Not the mob’s, not the police’s…not love’s. As long as he kept his heart uninvolved, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. He was in control.
So after tonight, he would finally evict Gabriella from his memories, his dreams. He would be Gabriella James free.
Yet, as he stared at her loveliness, he had to thrust his fingers in his hair, loosening the bun at the back, to keep from reaching out to her…dragging her close, holding her so tight his arms grew numb. And he would still hold her.
“Lose the shirt,” he ordered. Lust reignited in his gut, thickening his voice.
She stared at him, and he carefully studied her for any hint of indecision or fear. The need to strap her down and spread her wide, render her vulnerable, clawed at the underside of his skin, but if he caught even a trace of uncertainty or anxiety, he’d walk her out of The Loft and the club himself.
But she barely hesitated as she started to unbutton her shirt. Except for dropping his arms, he didn’t move—couldn’t move—every bit of his attention focused on the skin she exposed. He’d already had his mouth on her sweet flesh, but the need to see her lovely, full breasts with their cherry-colored tips rode him hard. Already he could feel her nipples pebbling against his tongue. Eyes fixed on her, he dragged the tails of his shirt free and undid the buttons.
“Keep going, Gabriella,” he instructed when her fingers paused, her gaze centered on his chest. “Take it off. The bra, too.”
As if his words galvanized her, she finished and shrugged out of the top, and the black, plain bra quickly followed. No frills. But with that body, she didn’t need any. He locked down the harsh exhalation of breath that filled his lungs. Lace and silk would seem frivolous and gratuitous against the beauty of her lean, runner’s body. Slender shoulders; firm breasts with large, dark red nipples; tucked in waist; flat belly; a feminine flare of hips; and long, toned legs. And then there was the neatly trimmed triangle of black hair that still glistened with her wetness.
He quickly leashed the hunger that snapped and bit at the reins restraining it. His first impulse was to leap across the space separating them, take her down to the floor, and cover her with his body before thrusting so deep inside her she would bear the imprint of him on her for weeks, months, years. But instead, he maintained his distance, desperately mending the tattered edges of his control.
Nodding toward the other side of the room, he said, “Over there.”
She followed his nod, and when her eyes lit on the piece of pine and leather furniture propped next to the wall, they widened before jerking back to him. “What the hell…?”
He allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up in a mocking, half smile. “Never seen a spanking bench before? That’s right. We never used one.” He lost the smile, couldn’t keep the facade when arousal hummed through him like a live wire. “You’re about to get up close and personal with one. Unless you…”
He arched an eyebrow, offering her an out once again. Although part of him chanted, Give me this. Please, give me this.
She stood there, glancing between him and the bench. Finally, when he thought she would balk, she gave him one last look, then crossed the carpeted floor. The need knotting his gut went from searing to supernova. Currents raced up and down his spine, sizzling in the small of his back. His palms itched with the need to have her tender flesh under his hand. The primal urge to have her surrender all that strength and grace to his keeping, his pleasure…it tore at him.
“Wait,” he rasped as she propped a knee on one of the leather pads.
He strode over to the big armoire in the corner of the room, and pulled free the bottom drawer. With care, he selected the items he would need before opening one of the armoire’s doors. Seconds later, he removed a slender, small paddle and placed everything on the bed, within easy reach. Ripping the package of one item open, he gently pulled the purple butterfly vibrator free. The exact color of her eyes.
“Killian,” she whispered, her wary gaze focused on the pretty sex toy.
He didn’t reply, instead covered the distance between them in several short steps and knelt in front of her. Grasping her ankle, he lifted her foot and slipped it through the straps, then repeated the same motion with the other foot. Wordlessly, he slid the flexible straps up her legs and settled them around her upper thighs and hips like an erotic garter belt. This close, he could inhale her heavy, delicious scent, and he surrendered to the temptation for a weak moment, trailing his fingers through her wet slit, and eliciting a low gasp from Gabriella. She trembled above him, her slim thighs shivering, and he quickly adjusted the body of the butterfly directly over her clit.
“What’s your safe word?” he asked, rising. Already, her lilac gaze darkened, and her plush lips trembled. His mind supplied the taste of that mouth—a combination of the spearmint gum she’d religiously chewed at work, the sweetness of the apple-flavored candy she had a weakness for, and her. It would be so easy for him to lean in and take her mouth, to indulge in one of those messy, wild kisses that had been a prelude to sex… But lovers kissed. And though they would definitely fuck tonight, they weren’t lovers.
As if reading his thoughts, she turned her head and murmured, “Whiskey.”
For the first drink she’d ever served him. And the same word and reason she’d given him when he’d asked her for a safe word years ago.
He didn’t reply for several moments. Couldn’t. Emotion gripped him in its fist as memories of a different time and place bombarded him. He hated the intrusion of the past on the here and now. If he was going to see this through, he needed to stay grounded in the present because the past was a trip wire that would explode in his face.
“Fine.” With a grip he tried to convince himself was impersonal, he helped her climb on the bench. Positioned each knee on the slender but thick pads. Bent her over the wider plank, making sure her pelvis didn’t press against the cushioned wood. Placed her hands on the second sets of pads beneath her head. After a few adjustments for height and comfort, he buckled the leather straps over her ankles and wrists, securing her to the bondage horse.
Goddamn, she was beautiful. Circling the piece of furniture, he savored the sight of her flushed face, her thick lashes fluttering over her cheekbones, soft, rapid puffs of breath breaking on her lips. Lips he would thoroughly take. Humming, he stroked a hand over her raised head, down her graceful spine, and over the curve of her gorgeous ass, coming to stand behind her. Spread for him, her plump folds glistened, and the entrance to her core fluttered as if silently pleading for his penetration. He eyed the tiny, puckered hole almost hidden between the firm flesh of her ass. It would be his tonight, too. Before she walked out of Lick’s doors, he would possess every part of her.
“Anything you want to say, Gabriella?” he said, dipping a fingertip inside her, moistening the tip, and lightly pressing it to her back entrance. He didn’t penetrate her, just let her feel him there. Le
t her know where he would be before long.
Her only response was a moan.
“Good,” he praised. “I hoped that was your answer.”
…
“Good.”
The one word was rife with dark intent and rippled through Gabriella.
She closed her eyes, feeling his piercing stare on her like a physical caress. A part of her admonished that she should be ashamed, or at the very least embarrassed about being so exposed, so vulnerable and at the mercy of a man who’d made no bones about his resentment toward her. But that part had been effectively shut down by the arousal raging through her veins and lighting her up like a July 4th night sky. Had been silenced by the heart that needed to assuage some of his pain in whatever way she could. This was her penance…her pleasure. And she willingly gave it to him so that when she disappeared from his life again—probably for good this time—he might have some semblance of peace.
Not that this was all altruistic. More than her next breath, she craved his hands on her. Hungered for his cock to fill her, stretch her, brand her. Needed to experience that place where pleasure and pain mated, leaving her mindless, complete, and at peace.
Hell, she just needed.
She sensed his physical withdrawal from her. Almost as if the hampering of her ability to touch had heightened her other senses, she caught the whisper of his steps across the carpeted floor and the tearing of plastic. Oh God, what else did he have planned for her? The slight weight of the vibrator against her sex already taunted her, and she fidgeted, trying to shift forward even the tiniest bit to place pressure on the little butterfly. If she could just ease the heavy ache…
A heavy palm landed against the underside of her ass cheek, and she gasped at the fiery sting. It radiated, pulsed, before spreading to her core, warming it. “Don’t even think about it,” Killian growled. “Every moan, every shudder, and orgasm belongs to me, you understand?” He rubbed her flesh, soothing it. “Understand?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please, Killian…”
It’d been so long. So long since someone had pushed her. Since someone had blurred the lines—since she’d wanted someone to. She wanted more, craved more.
“I know what you need, Gabriella. I always have,” his rough, broken voice echoed in her ear just as a big palm swept her hair back out of her face. “And I’ll give it to you.”
Then the butterfly buzzed to life.
She cried out, arching her back as much as possible—which was hardly at all—as if trying to escape the whirring vibrations assaulting her clit. Electrical currents zinged up her spine, then raced back down, dancing over her asshole, and back to the pulsing bud cresting the top of her sex.
“Shh.” Killian knelt in front of the bench so they were eye level, several dark strands escaping its restraint and brushing his jaw. He studied her face, as if absorbing every reaction to the butterfly’s torturous and erotic ministrations. “That’s the lowest setting,” he said, and a glance down revealed the remote in his hand. “But we’re not staying there, Gabriella.” The words might have been delivered in a low, even tone, but she didn’t mistake what it was: a warning.
With another stroke of her hair, he rose, and she caught a flash of golden, taut skin, a ladder of ridged muscles, and colorful ink before he disappeared out of her line of vision again. This was another form of sexual torment—not being able to see, to figure out what he intended. All she could do was submit to his care and take whatever he wanted to do to her.
And trust that he wouldn’t hurt her. Physically, that is. This man alone possessed the power to wound her soul.
“You’re thinking too much.” A slap to her other cheek in the same spot as the previous pop. “You ready to use your safe word?” Another spank lower to the tender flesh above the bottom curve. Then another on its twin spot. “Gabriella?” he murmured, caressing the hot skin.
How could he expect her to speak when each stinging rap stole her breath? Had her sex spasming, aching? It was like each time his hand connected with her ass, the heat radiated in her core. Then add the merciless humming of the vibrator… Jesus, she could barely think, much less speak.
“Gabriella.” His tone hardened, demanding an answer, and she could do nothing but obey it.
“No,” she rasped. “No, I don’t want to use it.”
Another spank was her reward. And God, it was a reward. A biting, carnal reward. With a low groan, she lowered her head, and relaxed her entire body. Signaling her total and complete surrender.
“That’s it,” he praised, and firm lips caressed her ass, tracing the tingling flesh. “Good girl. I was going to use the paddle on you, but I’m enjoying having my hand on your ass way too much. I don’t want to give a piece of wood that pleasure.”
Two thick fingers plunged into her pussy, and she choked on a scream. Shoved so close to orgasm, she clawed at the edges of the pads her wrists were bound to. She tried to twist, to ride his hand, but she couldn’t, could only receive each thrust, each curl of his fingertips against that spot high inside her that only Killian had ever located and reached. Sobs ripped from her throat as she raced toward that glittering edge…
Then his touch disappeared, leaving her gasping and panting. She locked her howl of disappointment and frustration behind her teeth, the pain of being denied again almost more than she could bear.
A cool and thick lubricant slid down the crease of her ass, and she stiffened. But not in trepidation. In excitement. In anticipation. Oh yes. Please. The whimper resounded in her head. Unlike some women, she’d always loved this dark, taboo possession. Because it’d been just that—a possession. A claiming. And the forbidden nature only made it hotter, made her beg him for it all those years ago. Having him slowly burying himself in the narrow tunnel, feel herself stretch to accommodate him, tremble beneath him as he rode her ass, his sweat dripping onto her back…his grunts filling her ears. Her heart thudded against her sternum, and a shiver tripped over her body.
He gripped one of her cheeks, pulled it back and worked the lubricant over her rear entrance, massaging it. More of the gel, and his finger penetrated her. She cried out, but after several seconds, the biting sensation eased into a hot glow. If she hadn’t been tied down, she would’ve backed into that finger, but as Killian slowly fed her more of the blunt digit, she tipped her head, a soundless scream on her lips.
“Goddamn it.” The snarl pierced her sensual haze. “Hot. Tight. So fucking perfect. Just like I remembered.” He withdrew, then returned, this thrust smoother, easier. Still breath-stealing. “I need to open you up for me,” he growled, almost, it seemed, to himself.
More lube poured down her crack, then two fingers spread her, jacking the burn higher. And when he scissored his fingers back and forth, stretching her passage, she mewled in raw, carnal bliss. Once more, he pulled free, and she trapped a shout before it could burst from her lips. But then, the power on the vibrator jacked to a higher level, and as her scream tore through the air, he pushed one cheek back, and pushed a smooth object inside her. The flare of pain pushed back the looming orgasm, and she forced herself to breathe deep through the fiery edges of the invasion. As quick as it roared through her, the sting eased, and she moaned at the fullness of the fat butt plug.
“There you go,” Killian crooned. “Beautiful. You took it so beautifully, I might let you come.” Fingers brushed down her crease, tugged on the plug and sent sensations dancing over the nerve endings in her channel. Then another switch powered to life, and the same buzz that tortured her clit tormented her rear. Pulsing currents transformed her into a live wire, casting her into a realm where everything ceased to exist except the pleasure threatening to tear her apart. If only Killian would let it.
“Oh God.” Shudders quaked through her, and she loosed another keening wail.
“Soon. Hold back for me, Gabriella. Don’t you come until I allow it.” And he rained down a series of swats, covering her ass, switching up the force, the frequency, and
placement, keeping her trembling on that crumbling edge over oblivion. The stinging heat melded into one hot pulse between her legs. Thick fingers plunged inside her, twisting, withdrawing, then thrusting back inside. She skidded closer to the ledge, desperately trying to hold back, to not go over.
Pull on the plug. Press of the vibrator. Stroke of the fingers.
Pull. Press. Stroke.
Her screams poured from her on an endless stream.
Pull. Press. Stroke.
She couldn’t…
“Come now, Gabriella. Now.”
She exploded. Imploded. Cracked open and splintered into dozens, hundreds, thousands of pieces. Just before the darkness sucked her under, a sliver of fear pierced the shattering ecstasy.
As she’d been afraid of…she would never be the same.
Chapter Six
Vanilla and cucumbers.
Killian nuzzled the black strands, inhaling her familiar scent. Apparently Gabriella used the same shampoo as before, too. Same style of clothing. Same body products. Same safe word. Yet, she’d changed, as well. And the combination of old and new fascinated him. When it shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t be fascinated, curious, or even give a damn.
This was purely physical. He wanted her body, her pleasure…her shaking beneath him. That’s all he needed. Not this damn stirring of memories. Not this…tenderness that wanted to take up residence like a squatter.
Yet…yet, he didn’t shift her off his lap and leave the bed. Instead, he tightened his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, and breathed her in. This was okay. He could allow himself this small thing since she still slept. She’d never know, and he wouldn’t have to deny.
He glanced toward the spanking bench, and immediately images of her bound to it bombarded him. Never would he be able to look at it and not see her. Not recall her, blissed out and shaking on its padded surface. Not hear her screams echoing in his head. Not feel her slick, wet heat drenching his fingers and tight flesh squeezing him like a vise grip.
