Role Play (Silhouette Studios)

by Katana Collins

  His movements were savage and merciless as he brutally shoved inside my mouth over and over. But it was also exhilarating in the most hedonistic way. Behind my back, my fingers clutched at each other, my shoulders aching almost as much as my raw throat.

  And then, as abruptly as it started, it stopped. Ash yanked my face away from his hard cock, glistening and wet, and he pulled me up. I gasped for breath, my lungs stinging as I inhaled.

  “That was…” his voice faded and he shook his head, one hand still threaded roughly in my hair while he swiped his thumb beneath my glasses with the other, wiping away the tears and straightening them on my nose. “You are magnificent, Shorty. I have to fuck you. Please tell me I can fuck you now.”

  “God, yes,” I whispered.

  My toes spread against the hardwood floors, grounding me. Keeping me centered. He wiped away my tear-stained cheeks and kicked the chair away, laying me gently on my back. Then, lunging for his pants across the room, he rummaged in the pocket. As he approached me once more, he held something in his palm. He crawled over me, lowering himself down against my body.

  This time, when he threaded his fingers into my hair it was gentle. His free hand curled around the back of my neck, tilting my lips to meet his. “I should punish you,” he said. “I should torture you all night until you’re begging me to let you come.”

  He palmed my breast, still sensitive from his pinching earlier, and I arched off the cool wood floors, pushing myself harder into his hand. No, God, please no. No more torture. He continued his hands in a path down my body until his fingers found my pussy, driving deep inside me.

  Despite my raw throat, I moaned, my voice raspier than normal. Other than that moan, I stayed silent, afraid that anything I said might trigger him to not give me what I needed. Because I did—I needed it. More than I needed to be spanked or tied. I just needed to come. Maybe Ash sensed that. Maybe he sensed that this wasn’t the night to push his rules onto me. Or maybe he just needed the release as much as I did.

  Above me, I heard the sound of a wrapper tearing, and opened my eyes to find him sheathing his dick with a condom. Heat spiked against my pelvis as he drove his hips between my legs, positioning his head at my opening.

  “Tell me you want this, Lucy,” Ash growled, his hooded gaze steeled onto me. Those eyes like a pale blue sky peeking through the gray storm clouds.

  “I want this.”

  He snatched my hands, pinning them above my head, and trailed his nose up the length of my neck. “Call me Sir,” he whispered. His voice cracked, a desperate lilt to it that I hadn’t heard in him before.

  Don’t give in. Don’t let his magic penis change your values. “No,” I whispered. And at this point, it felt like a game. A game we were both winning and losing all at once. He pushed his cock just the tiniest bit more against my wet opening and I spread wider for him, squeezing my muscles around his length. He let loose with a tortured growl that would have rattled me if I hadn’t been so fucking turned on.

  With his hands still clutching mine above my head, his arms shook, holding himself over my body. My heartbeat became erratic, speeding up and slowing down in unpredictably chaotic rhythms.

  “Why won’t you say it?” he asked. The moment was so beautifully vulnerable and so surprisingly contrasted to the man who had been nothing but in control since the moment we met. It took my breath away.

  If saying ‘Sir’ was the only bit of power I had left over him, then I was going to embrace that and grasp onto it with every bit of strength that was left inside of me. He waited, his face twisted, eyes turned down, mouth pressed into a tight line. I pulled back to examine him, braced above me. He was so absolutely stunning. This vision of dark hair, fair eyes, peppered scruff, and so deliciously male, I couldn’t believe or understand why in the shit he was here with me. Bracing himself over top of me, the tip of his cock teased my neglected sex.

  Slowly, I stretched my neck and kissed him, wedging his lips open with my tongue. He didn’t respond to my kiss, but didn’t push me away either. When I finished, I moved my lips to his ear and whispered, “Because you haven’t earned it, yet.”

  Those tensed lips twisted in such a way that I couldn’t decipher if they were smiling or grimacing. A gulp wedged in my throat and I squeezed his hands where they still braced his weight against mine.

  Leaning down, he bit a path starting at the center of my cleavage down the base of my ribs, each bite getting increasingly harder until I yelped at the final one, just above my belly button.

  He slid back up to my ear, taking it into his mouth, and I gasped as he whispered, “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to sit or walk comfortably for a week.”

  “Is that a promise?” I knew better than to arch into him, than to prod him, or try to entice him to fuck me harder and faster than he was. It would only make him pull away. Instead, I laid there, waiting, pulsing my muscles, squeezing in rapid succession around his tip.

  “Fuck me,” he grunted, and thrust his hips until he slammed into me all the way to the root. Our groans filled the otherwise silent room and he stayed there, not moving, his cock buried deep and hard, filling me, stretching me, and making me burn for more. He withdrew tortuously slow, pausing once more with just his tip still inside. Then… another thrust. Harder this time. I deserved it.

  “Is that all you got?” I whispered, egging him on. From the cocked-brow smirk he gave me, he knew exactly what I was doing, but I didn’t fucking care how transparent I was being. I just needed to be fucked.

  “Oh, Shorty. Be careful what you ask for.”

  He released my hands, sliding them down to grip my hips. Then, sitting up on his knees, he hoisted my pelvis up until my lower back was off of the floor. His fingers bit into my sides and he didn’t hesitate, driving into me hard and fast, over and over.

  On either side of me, I flattened my palms against the cool floors, bracing myself, leveraging my own weight, desperately pushing myself deeper against his punishing lunges.

  Sliding his hands up my body, he cupped my opposite breast as before, punctuating his thrust with a hard pinch. The stinging bite of his fingers combined with the fury of his cock slamming into me over and over again was too much to keep quiet, and my cry echoed in the open space of his dining room. When he pushed his thumb against my clit, God help me, I thought I might come right there. I had no idea how fucking good this was. The sensation of getting fucked hard. Being taken. A man needing my body so badly and each of us using the other for pure, carnal pleasure.

  His fingers clamped down harder on my nipple and the pressure was so deliciously ripe. My flesh was burning—turning almost numb—as he punished my pussy with each brutal thrust. I cried out—or at least, I think I did. I wasn’t even sure if I was moaning because I was engulfed in a fog of lust and passion.

  I curled my fingers, digging into the hardwood floors so sharply that I scratched the polyurethane coating with my fingernails. Tears stung the backs of my eyes, coming fast, and he relentlessly held onto my nipple. I was powerless to stop the tears once the first streaked down my cheek.

  I wanted this. I had practically begged him for it. Needed the pain. Together, we were a pile of longing, sweaty flesh, panting and slapping and clawing at each other.

  “Don’t you dare fucking come,” he grunted from over me, his voice contentious, ready for war. The wiry hair on his upper thighs tickled between my legs, the feeling such a contrast to the hard clap of skin on skin as he pounded between my hips.

  “Why do you feel so fucking good?” he asked. “Your cunt is like goddamned heaven.”

  His hammering blows became more erratic, less rhythmic, his grunting deep. He was going to come soon. He was going to come and not let me have a release. He had promised. Promised me in the closet today I could come tonight. And here he was—breaking his fucking promise.

  A sob tore through my chest, and before I could stop myself, my hands curled into fists and I slammed them hard into his ches
t. “You have to let me come,” I cried. Then I pulled back and flung my fists into his chest again. It felt good to hit him. If I wasn’t going to get a release sexually, then I needed it somehow.

  All movement stopped. He released his hold on my nipple. His dick paused inside of me. And I was an emotional wreck. Trembling. Sobbing. Pounding his chest. This. This was why I had avoided sex for years. Because I can’t handle it.

  “Lucy,” he said, his voice panting, cracking—almost sounding as desperate as I felt.

  I didn’t want to hear it. Somehow my name on his lips made it so much worse. The tears now streaked down my face, a flowing river of torture and despair.

  I hit him again, only this time he was ready for it and caught my wrists, eyes wide, confusion sparkling in the pale blue. “Lucy, stop.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, thrashing around, repeating over and over. “Please, you have to let me come.” He can’t do this to me. He couldn’t leave me needy and wanting again. Not after so many years of pure lust and unsatiated need.

  “Luciana,” he boomed, his voice so loud, I couldn’t ignore him. “Open your eyes,” he demanded. I blinked open, the unshed tears blurring my vision. My chest trembled with a withheld sob.

  “What?” I spat back. “What is it? Because if you’re going to just take and not give me a release, then I’m done. I’m out.” I tugged at my wrists, trying to break them from his hold. My wrists, my heart—I had to break away.

  Instead of answering, his eyebrows pulled together momentarily in thought before he bent, pressing his lips to mine, quieting me with a kiss. No, not just a kiss. A promise. It was nothing like how our other kisses had been. It was tender and sweet and his heavy breaths, pulled in through his nose, brushed against my cheek with each exhale as he slid his lips gently over mine. I could taste the smoky peat from the whiskey—like a tamped out fire—and I swallowed the smoke, imagining it leaving soot down my throat.

  He released his hold on my wrists and moved those hands to cup my face, pushing himself slowly inside of me, as he maintained contact with my lips.

  I groaned as one final tear slid down my face. A surrendering tear.

  And just like that, Ash Livingston pulled me into the fire with him. I was suffocating in him—a near-death experience that would irrevocably change me. That tenderness, paired with the intense pain from before—the contrast made me ache for more. More of both. More of the tender Ash, but also, I wanted the violent Ash who enjoyed my pain and drank it in like nourishing water. The Ash who ran his fingers through my hair, but also put his hand to my throat as I was close to coming.

  Yep, this was why I shouldn’t have come here. Ash Livingston was going to ruin me.

  He broke away from the kiss, his thumbs stroking my damp temples as he whispered, “Trust me, Lucy. Trust that I wouldn’t leave you so utterly dissatisfied. Trust that I want your pleasure as much as I want your pain and punishment and relinquishment of control. Just… trust me.”

  His hips pulsed, slow, deep circles inside of me. It felt so fucking good. I moaned, my head falling back to the floor with the exquisite, leisurely pleasure.

  Reaching down, he stroked a finger across my clit, his touch so light, so gentle against my burning flesh that I jolted, my lower back curving off the floor. “You’re going to come tonight. That was always the plan. I was just toying with how and when. But I hear you, Shorty. I see you. I see you need it now.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but instead of words, a rush of air escaped in a sigh and some inaudible plea. Something that was a cross between yes and please. The ache that was heavy in my chest slid down my body, and suddenly it was between my legs, fierce and throbbing.

  His pressure increased as he continued thrusting in and out of me, stroking me deep from inside. The tip of his head hit my bundle of nerves from somewhere inside of me while his finger still tickled against my clit. The sensations were intense; consuming. And pleasure blossomed, so closely within reach.

  He let out a long, slow breath, his gaze on my face. My palms itched to brush that dark hair away from his forehead. I ached to touch him. To feel him. My fingers shook, my mouth tingly as I asked permission. “Can I touch you?” I asked.

  His body gave a sharp, hard shudder. He liked that, the fact that I asked, and his smile twitched briefly before he answered simply with, “Yes, Shorty.”

  Scooping my hands into his hair, I raked my fingers between the silky dark strands, damp with sweat. Pleasure curled low in my belly at the satisfied groan that pushed through his tight lips.

  I tightened my grip on his hair, tugging his roots with my curling fingers. His eyes fluttered closed against my caress, and with that single touch, I felt his shuddering release inside me, his body shaking through his climax. His forehead dropped briefly, resting on mine. I arched my neck, brushing my lips over his, aching for more of that silken kiss.

  “Your turn,” he whispered. My legs jerked, trembling uncontrollably. “I need to feel you come on my tongue.” With a final soft kiss to my lips, he dragged himself down my body, then latched his mouth to my clit, lapping at me like a starving man in his last meal. Relief convulsed in my stomach and I cried out, jerking my hips back harder against his tongue.

  “Yes,” I cried, my tears hitting the hardwood floors beneath me. “God, please. Yes, Ash.”

  “Are you going to call me Sir?” His hot breath streamed across my sensitive, swollen flesh and, not waiting for my answer, he pushed a finger inside of me. That little bit of stubble rasped against my pussy with delicious friction and I moaned, shaking my head.

  “Please let me come. Please.” A sob tore from my chest. I needed that pleasure. I needed him to give it to me. My nipples ached, my knees were bruised, my cheeks were wet, my pussy was sore. And I needed to come so bad, I could taste it.

  “Okay, Shorty,” he said, his voice achingly sweet. So bitterly tender that it tugged at my core in a way I hadn’t expected. “Come for me.”

  Once more, he wrapped his lips around my clit, lapping at it, and I fell. Like a skydiver going over the edge, I spiraled down into a blissful descent while Ash worshipped me with his tongue. My body convulsed as I exploded around his mouth, my body clenching and releasing in a massive orgasm.

  I chased those waves, relishing in the pulsing orgasm, stronger than any I’d had in my life.

  “Good girl, Shorty.”

  He’s happy. He’s pleased with me. Relief rushed through me at the thought and then almost immediately after, panic. Pure, undiluted panic. Because there, in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to simply please Ash. To keep him happy, satiated. His pleasure and pride in me was feeding a dark monster. It was breaking not only one of my promises, but both of them. I was both pathetic and falling for a man who would leave marks on my body. Just like Dad bruised and welted Mom.

  I glanced down between my breasts where his bite marks were turning a deep mauve shade. I swallowed, shame heating my flesh. This was exactly what I wanted. What I’d been craving. I had wanted to be marked. Just like my Mom. How could I enjoy something so violent and love looking at the aftermath? Was it like staring at a gory car wreck? Some sick, weird pleasure in the macabre? I swallowed a ragged inhale and a violent shiver rocked through my body.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, curving his arm around me, and brushing his palm down my goose-fleshed arm. I shook my head, no. The truth was, I didn’t know what I was. What I felt. Ash and I were two worlds apart. He was all control and pain and lavish lifestyles with fancy dinners while I was rebellion and ramen noodles and unfulfilled dreams. We can’t work. We won’t work. And not just because he unveiled a side of myself that was terrifying, but because he had stated from the very beginning he couldn’t give me a commitment. He couldn’t give me a relationship. He couldn’t give me… love. And more than anything—more than sex and orgasms for sure—I wanted love. I wanted the kind of love that my mother never got. I wanted someone who would be there to ground me. To support me and accept me
for who I was, and not try to change me into some Hollywood belle.

  And I needed someone who wouldn’t demand what Ash would.

  I wanted someone that I didn’t have to wear long sleeves and turtlenecks in California summers to hide the bruises. Even though I so wanted the ones Ash gave me. He brought out a bad side of me. He was turning me into my mother’s daughter.

  He rolled onto his side and tugged me into his body, kissing my neck. His raw scent, all smoky and earthy, surrounded me, wrapping around my flesh. I inhaled deep, knowing it was likely the last time I’d smell it this close. The last time I’d brush my nose against the thick column of his throat. I pressed my lips into the juncture of where his neck turned into his chest and he curled his finger under my chin, angling my gaze up to his.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I nodded, but in my soul, I knew I wasn’t. I was falling for him so terrifyingly fast and it squeezed my insides like water wringing from wet laundry. Painful and cold.

  “You should have used your safeword instead of hitting me…” Though his sandpaper voice was rough and graveled, it still managed to brush like silk against my nerves.

  The guilt of displeasing him needled deeper into my chest and I tore my gaze from his, trying to wrench my chin from his hold. But his hands stayed on my face, forcing my gaze to angle up at his. It was painfully obvious. To me, to him, to anyone paying attention within a twenty-mile radius that something was wrong with me. Heat lashed through my body, warming my flesh and I closed my eyes, pushing it away.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you? Sorry?”

  I cut my gaze back to him fast in a sharp movement, shocked by his observation. Then his hands loosened slowly on my chin. I needed to get away from him, get home and back to where I was safe in my bubble. Safe in my previous life where I wasn’t yearning to please a man. Even a man as hot as Ash.