I’ve never been so desperate. So exposed. So raw.
“Hold on,” he whispers, lifting to his feet with ease, guiding my legs around his waist. He carries me like I’m nothing up the stairs, not looking where he’s going, our eyes glued, the pressure multiplying. “Want me to help you escape?” he asks as we reach the top. I nod, not questioning him. It would be foolish. He’s figured me out, and part of me is glad of that. “You’re about to disappear, Beau. Feel only what I make you feel. Hear only what I say.”
Disappear. It sounds amazing.
He pushes a door open, and I close my eyes, bracing myself, knowing exactly which room he’s taken me to. He sets me down before the wall. The wall with the wooden frame secured to it. What’s remaining of my shirt is pulled off, and I close my eyes, escaping his probing eyes as he takes in my scar in all its glory. He leans into me to unhook my bra, breathing in my ear. My eyes fly open. “Give me your hands,” he orders, dropping my bra to the floor before reaching for some rope that’s hanging nearby. I present my wrists, and he starts to meticulously bind them, his concentration acute, as I look past him to the wall of glass, seeing tops of buildings as far as the eye can see. And in the very distance, the ocean. It’s a mesmerizing view. But it has nothing on the man before me.
He tugs at the binds, testing his work, and looks at me. “Nervous?” he asks, and I shake my head. Strangely, no, I’m not in the least bit nervous. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. The promise of disappearing is too enticing. Of feeling only what he will allow me to feel. To hear only what he will allow me to hear. The tormenting voices in my head will fuck off. The persistent visions of my past will be gone. I can’t pass that up.
“Are you?” I ask, as he guides my hands to the rail above my head, securing the ropes to it with a D-ring, forcing me onto my tippy-toes.
“A little,” he says, and it surprises me. He’s a man who knows what he’s doing. I’ve witnessed it myself. “Ask me why.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He kisses me forcefully on my lips. “And that’s making me more nervous.” Taking his thumb, he drags it roughly across my bottom lip, his eyes becoming drowsy. “If you want me to stop, say my name.” He starts kissing his way down to my stomach, and my chest pushes out as a result.
“What?” I gasp, throwing my head back. “I’ll be saying your name nonsto—fuck.” I moan as he trails up to my nipple, sucking hard. “James,” I cry. And there’s the first. It won’t be the last. I don’t want him to stop.
And he doesn’t stop, yanking my jeans down my legs. “My other name,” he says, so casually, and I shoot my eyes to where he’s crouched at my feet, his fingers resting in the top of my panties.
“I don’t know your other name.” He has another name?
“Exactly.” My panties are drawn down my legs, a kiss planted on the edge of my pubic bone, and he rises, pushing his front into mine.
“What’s your other name?” I breathe into his face, making him smile darkly. “Tell me.”
“And run the risk of you stopping this?”
“I won’t stop this.”
“So you’re just curious, yes?” He rests his forehead on mine.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
I thrash and buck, frustrated, and James withdraws, tilting his head.
“Tell me your other name!” I don’t know if it’s my curiosity or the fact that the pressure is building to unbearable levels. I’m throbbing painfully between my legs, dripping with need.
“I think you’re talking too much.” A gag appears from nowhere, and I inhale, fighting against the ropes. They burn the flesh of my wrists, but nowhere near as much as I’m burning everywhere else.
“No,” I beg. It’s pointless, I know that. He pushes the material between my teeth, and I immediately bite down on it, my jaw tense. He secures it, and then steps back, beginning to strip, starting with what’s left of his T-shirt. Every inch of his skin he reveals sends me more delirious. Until he’s naked, and I can hardly breathe.
He’s . . . devastating.
“And finally,” he whispers, holding up a blindfold. I can only moan my desolation, shaking my head. Why would he do that? Deprive me to that extent? My hungry eyes drop down to his groin getting one last look at his prime, rock-solid erection. It’s weeping. And then . . .
Darkness.
I can barely move, can’t speak, can’t see. But I can smell, and I get a waft of his signature creamy, manly scent. “Your skin’s tingling, isn’t it?”
I moan in response, and let my body go lax.
“Your hearing’s hypersensitive.” He blows a warm stream of air across my ear, and a wicked shiver glides down my spine. “Anything that touches you”—he pinches a nipple as he bites down on my earlobe, and a muffled cry escapes—“feels like fire.” I buck, screaming in my head for him to stop. To give me more. “And when I ram my cock inside you, Beau, it’ll feel like it could break you in the best possible way.”
Do it!
His voice alone could bring me to climax. Add touch, add smell, add the taste of his tongue still lingering on mine, I’m a slave to his kink. I’m trapped. But the freest I’ve felt in too long. There’s no pressure to pretend. Nothing is strained. I’m not being forced to lie about how I feel. I don’t see pity. I don’t see worry. I’m invisible because I can’t see how he sees me. In this moment, this illicit, erotic, overwhelming moment, I can be whoever I want to be, and I want to be his slave. I want to submit. I want to hand over every ounce of power and feel no pressure to be strong. This is everything I have been waiting for. Not him, but what he’s doing. How he’s making me feel. It’s freedom within a cage. Safety in darkness, something I haven’t known for too long.
I exhale and let my arms take my weight, hanging there lifelessly, zoning out more, walking the lightest path of darkness. I feel him grab me under my thighs and lift, and the undeniable scratch of his scruff brushes the inside of my thighs. Oh God. The nerves in my clitoris start to spasm in anticipation. My heart vibrates. My skin burns. “So fucking juicy,” he rumbles, and then his mouth encases me, and I’m sent into orbit, screaming around my gag. I’m given no time to adjust. No time to settle. No time to get hold of my violently bending body. He goes at me like a famished animal, thrusting his tongue deep, lapping greedily, biting at my flesh. The pound of my climax building is fast, far faster than I want it to be, but not at all surprising given the gift of his mouth. “Make it last, Beau,” he growls, plunging his fingers deep and high. “Make it fucking last.”
Another muffled scream, my orgasm not listening, steaming forward relentlessly.
James!
I’m screaming his name over and over in my head, not for him to stop, but because I wish I could see him. See his eyes, his face, his mouth coated in me. My body temperature shoots up, the burn of my skin bordering unsafe. The pressure in my head is becoming too much, my body rigid.
And his mouth is suddenly gone, my feet are on the floor, and I moan my ruin. “Too fast, Beau.”
No.
“Let’s try again.”
God, no!
He blows air across my clitoris, and I feel the thrums slow to a manageable level, just for him to build them back up to explosion. Except he won’t let me explode. How many times will he do this?
A light dash of wet, warm contact.
His tongue.
A lick.
Fuck me, save me from this addictive torture.
Heat stretches across the insides of my thighs.
His hands.
Spreading me.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
More air drenching my sodden flesh.
His breath.
Cooling me.
I mumble his name behind my gag, wrestling with my restraints, as he drapes my legs over his shoulders again.
“Shall we try one more time?” he asks, his voice groggy with lust. “Can you take it, Beau? Can you stand it?” He doesn’t give me a
chance to answer, slamming his mouth down on my pussy, his tongue frantic, his kisses deep, his licks hard. I scream, by body bowing brutally, my thighs squeezing his face. The ropes cut into my skin, and unexpected emotion creeps up on me. The material covering my eyes becomes damp. I’m crying. Why the fuck am I crying when this is the best thing to happen to me in a long time?
Because it’s good. A relief. And because I know it can’t be sustained.
Fuck off!
I swallow hard, grit my teeth, and concentrate on keeping my relentless orgasm at bay. It’s a pointless endeavor. Nothing could stop it.
Only James.
He pulls away again, and I go limp, exhausted. I can’t take anymore. I mumble my pleas, praying he deciphers them.
He doesn’t. Or if he does, he ignores them.
More air.
A little flick of his tongue.
A few kisses on the insides of my thighs.
I brace myself.
“And again,” he whispers, licking from my thigh to my throbbing, swollen lips. Latching on to my clit, he sucks hard, rolls his tongue, sucks, bites, licks, bites, sucks. I choke, flinging my head back as the blood gathers again and rushes forward, my orgasm regaining momentum. I try to stop it. With everything I have, I try to stop it. But all I feel right now is uncontrollable need. It brews, brims, very nearly bursts.
And he pulls away again.
No!
I breathe in deeply through my nose, try to gather myself, as my release subsides, abandoning me. This is the best kind of pain imaginable. I’m suffering but not suffering. Hurting but loving it. Feeling and craving more of it.
This really could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And the worst.
I go limp, unable to hold myself up, my full weight resting on his shoulders. It doesn’t hinder him. James rises to standing, holding me with one hand on my lower back. I hear the clang of metal, and suddenly my arms are falling from the suspension rail, though my hands are still bound. No more? Another hand meets my back, and he walks a few paces, his face still snuggled in between my thighs. Softness meets my back, and then hardness meets my chest. “Your orgasm is going to be so fucking powerful, I need my cock to absorb it, not my mouth.” He fiddles with my gag, and a moment later it’s gone. I swallow, trying to find some moisture. “Here,” he rasps, sweeping his wet tongue through my mouth, sharing his saliva. And once my mouth is wet again, he kisses me deeply, moaning, pulling back, pushing forward time and again.
“I want to see you,” I beg, not with any confidence that he’ll grant my wish. “Please.”
“Let me see you,” he counters, pulling my blindfold up. I blink and squint, finding his blue eyes quickly. “Let me see you, Beau.”
I stare at him. He’s seen me. But . . . “Let me see you,” I counter softly, absorbing every inch of his complicated, beautiful face. His kink. His mood. His coldness. His other name. Who am I looking at? Who am I seeing?
“You will.” Another kiss, this time delicate. “I’ve no doubt about it.” He scans my face. “Do I need protection?”
“No. Do I?”
His hips swivel, and he thrusts into me on a gruff bawl, me on a broken cry, my neck cracking with the speed that I throw my head back. He pumps hard and fast, hitting me unfathomably deep. The pain is unfamiliar but comforting. A pain I can handle. A pain I like.
“More,” I cry, closing my eyes, absorbing his blows, smiling on the inside when his pounds become harsher. “More,” I say again, and I hear him growl, striking me harder still. It’s agony. It’s amazing. “More,” I whisper, disappearing into a never-ending abyss of pleasure. Sound becomes a muffled white noise, my body weightless, my heart light. I’m being jolted constantly, I’m drenched through. “More,” I mumble, willing everything he has to give, rising to meet his drives, turning my head slowly to the other side, hiding my face in the crease of my raised arm. Every horrid woe leaves my mind one by one until there is only this moment. Him. Me. Our sweating bodies, his power, and my acceptance.
“Beau!” he barks, and I’m snapped back into the room, my eyes springing open. He’s looking down at me, his hair soaked and falling into his face, his skin glistening, his eyes crazy. Not in control. Wild. With me. “Stay with me, baby,” he says more calmly, and I force my eyes to remain open and my head in the game. He pulls free, grabs my thighs, and thrust them up until my knees are by my ears, his arms braced against them. He slams back into me on another grunt, and I choke, the change of position sending him even deeper. “More?” he asks, studying me as he withdraws slowly, the slickness of his cock gliding like ice.
“More,” I taunt, staring him down, egging him on, asking for it.
He smiles and slams home again on a yell.
“More,” I scream.
I’m pinned to his bed, folded in half, taking his mercifulness, and I want more. So much fucking more.
Bang!
“More!”
Bang!
“More!”
Bang!
“More!” I scream.
“Fuck!” He releases my knees and spins me over onto all fours, running a palm over my core, groaning at the saturated flesh he finds. “Jesus, Beau Hayley, you are a fucking surprise.” He pushes a palm down in between my shoulder blades, forcing my face to the sheets, and with the most delicate of touches, he runs a fingertip down the length of my spine to the crease of my backside. As I stare across the mattress, something appears in my field of vision. His hand. Holding a leather paddle. “Kiss it,” he orders, putting it in front of my mouth. I do as I’m bid, pushing my lips to the leather, as his thumb pushes against the tight ring of muscles in my ass. I tense without thought. “Relax,” he commands, and with that one soft word, my entire being loosens. I’m praised, his thumb slipping past the barrier, and I moan, the leather paddle being dragged down my back, his thumb circling a forbidden place. “I’m going to put something inside you.”
I don’t question what. I don’t question where. I’ve handed all power over and it’s therapeutic. No worries. No concern. No pressure.
His thumb is suddenly gone, and his hand appears again. “Suck it.” He pushes a butt plug past my lips, and I close my eyes, sucking the cold metal. It pops free, and he drags that down my spine too, until he reaches my ass. I inhale, feeling it pushing against me, and swallow as it slips into me, my muscles gripping it hard. Then his fingers slip inside me, sweeping far and wide.
“James,” I breathe, feeling sensation overload.
“What, baby? What’s wrong?”
Wrong? Is this wrong? “Nothing’s wrong.” I murmur, closing my eyes, floating away again. His fingers slip free and his cock slips in. “Oh, God,” I say over a sigh, my body shaking, my skin tingling, my core gushing.
He takes my hair and thrusts gently, and I feel the leather paddle smoothing over my bottom again. It leaves my skin. I brace myself.
Slap!
I jolt, the sting biting, but he thrusts on.
Slap!
I hiss, pushing my face into the mattress as blood floods to my head and my clit.
Thwack!
He drives deep at the same time. “More,” I beg.
And he gives me more.
His pace increases, and with the increase of pace comes more thrashes. My ass is full, my pussy full, my skin blazing. I’m being attacked full force in various ways, and I want more. I zone out, hypnotized by his ferocity, walking the path to nothingness. I go nowhere. I hear no words. I see no evil.
I taste only freedom.
My internal walls quiver as the friction builds. The slickness. The heat. The power. And then the tell-tale sign of a release is within reach, and it brings me back into the room. I gasp, drinking in air, starving for it, my clit pulsing. My thighs tremble, and with each drive, each spank, each constriction of my ass muscles, it edges forward, almost prowls, creeps, giving me time to prepare for it.
“Go on, Beau,” James yells over the ear-piercing s
ound of our colliding bodies. “Let it bend you. Let it break you.”
It hits me with so much power, it makes my eyes water. My body jacks off the bed. James fingers dig into my hips, holding me tightly, and he bangs on, slamming my orgasm out of me. I scream. My head’s spinning. I choke on nothing, gritting my teeth, as bolts of pleasure tear through me like a monster, leaving limp, listless muscles in their wake. The sensitivity becomes too much, my jaw aching from the force of my clenched teeth.
I really am utterly broken. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to even think. James pulls out, and he helps me to my back. I can’t see him. Even my vision has failed me. Once again, he pushes my knees to either side of my ears, and I feel him watch me as his head falls south. His tongue meets the ring of muscles holding the butt plug in place, and he circles it slowly, working his way up through my pussy as he pulls the plug free with his fingers. He releases my legs. Kisses my navel. Each breast. And then my lips.
I force my heavy eyes to remain open, trying to clear my vision. Trying to see him. He spreads himself all over me, my bound hands fall limply over my head, and he enters me again, this time slowly. The fog leaves my sight.
And there he is, looking out of this world, soaked, like he could have just stepped out of the shower. His pace now is meticulous and lazy. He glides in and out with ease, in no rush, and when his piercing blues seem to turn up a notch in the brightness stakes, his face strains, and he quickly pulls out again, walking on his knees until they’re positioned either side of my chest. He wraps a fist around his girth and pumps over my face, the lust in his eyes crazy as he looks down at me, his lips parted. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so magnificent. So powerful.
The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2 Page 11
