Avenge Me

by Maisey Yates

  She had no idea what he would do next. No idea what to expect.

  He slid his tie from his shoulders, the stretch of black silk held taut between both of his hands. “You aren’t allowed to come until I say you can,” he said. “And you can’t touch me,” he said, his voice lowering, “until I allow it.”

  “But...”

  “Shhh,” he said, leaning forward, touching the stretch of black silk to her lips, like he meant to gag her with it. “No talking.” Then he moved the tie, laying it over her eyes. “I like that idea,” he said. “But I need to be able to hear you if you need me to.” He lifted the tie higher, to where her hands were resting above her head. The position had seemed natural to her. And now she understood why.

  He slipped the expanse of silk behind her wrists and then wrapped it around one, then the other, before binding them together. She knew that if she told him no, he would stop. So she said nothing. Because she wanted it. Because she liked the element of feeling as though he’d done it without her permission.

  He rose up above her. “So beautiful. And mine,” he said. He put his hands on her legs and pushed them even farther apart, his gaze roaming over her. “All mine.” He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the tender skin on her inner thigh before moving on to more intimate territory.

  He began to pleasure her with his mouth again, pushing one finger inside of her, then another, pushing her higher, closer to the edge before stopping, pulling back.

  She wanted to tell him to stop. That it was too much. But then he would stop, like he’d promised, and she didn’t want that, either.

  She bit her lip, flexed her hips, tried to force herself closer to him.

  “No,” he said, sliding his tongue over her clit. “You aren’t in charge here, sweetheart. I am. Stop trying to break the rules.”

  He withdrew his fingers from her body and slid them upward, white-hot pleasure spiking through her as he did. “Open,” he said, and she did. “Suck on them for me.”

  This was a test. To see if she would obey. And she wouldn’t fail his test. She opened for him and he slipped his fingers between her lips and she could taste her own pleasure on them. Could taste the evidence of what he’d done to her.

  She ran her tongue along his fingers as he pushed them in her mouth and out again and she felt him shudder, the muscles in his body tensing.

  He reached around behind her head, braced one hand on her neck, grabbed the end of his tie with the other and brought her into a sitting position, with her hands neatly in her lap. Still bound.

  “On your knees,” he said, drawing back and getting off of the bed, his hands working at the belt on his slacks.

  He placed the belt on the edge of the mattress, his movements just as controlled and methodical now as they’d been when he undid his cuffs and tie.

  He moved to unbutton his shirt, working silently as he released the buttons, exposing a wedge of tan skin. He shrugged the shirt from his broad shoulders, muscles shifting with the motion.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Off of each sharply defined line. How each movement sent off a ripple effect through his torso. He straightened and her eyes locked on to the dark hair that covered his chest and ran in a line down the center of his perfectly defined abs. Just enough to remind her that he was a man, not enough to conceal up all those gorgeous muscles.

  She wanted to touch him. But she was still tied.

  “I said on your knees,” he repeated.

  She repositioned herself, her hands in front of her, her heels beneath her butt, her knees denting the mattress.

  He put his hand behind her head and started releasing her hair from its pins. It fell around her in a dark, silken wave, moving over her shoulders, covering her breasts.

  “I’ve been having fantasies about your hair,” he said, his expression tense. Hard. Like a man carved from stone. Like a man trying, so very hard, to hold everything—his emotions, his desires—at bay.

  She watched as his hands went to the closure on his slacks. Her throat went dry and she swallowed hard, finding breathing difficult.

  She’d never seen a naked man in person before. And here she was, about to be confronted with her first, her hands tied.

  You could tell him to stop....

  No. She didn’t want that.

  He shrugged his underwear and pants down, exposing himself to her for the first time. She’d had a fair idea, judging from the bulge, that he was not a small man. But that was a bit of an understatement.

  He wrapped his hand around his shaft and she watched, mesmerized, as he stroked himself once. Twice. Closing his eyes as he did, muttering something. A curse, a prayer. She wasn’t sure.

  He kept one hand on his erection, and cupped her cheek with the other, before moving it to her hair, sifting the strands through his fingers.

  He pushed her hair back, gathering it in his fist and twisting it around his hand, his hold firm. He didn’t pull; he simply held her. Captive. At his mercy.

  Pleasure and excitement shivered along her spine as she waited to see what he would do next. What he would demand next.

  She bit her lip, her eyes on his arousal.

  “You want that?” he asked.

  She nodded slowly, waiting for his order.

  He moved closer to her and she tried to lean in but he held her fast, pain tingling around her scalp as he held her hair tight, keeping her in place.

  “I didn’t say you could do that yet,” he said.

  He tugged her hair again, forcing her head back. She looked up at him, their eyes locking. “Please,” she said, breaking his rule.

  She was hungry. For him. For every experience he could give. Everything she’d missed.

  She parted her lips and waited for him to come to her. He moved closer and she touched the tip of his shaft with her tongue, her eyes on his face. She could see the tension there, could see how much he wanted it. That he was denying them both for some reason.

  She opened wider and took more of him in. He held her tight, guiding her, setting the pace. She watched him, watched to see if he was getting the same pleasure from this that she’d gotten when he’d done it for her.

  And it was her turn to deny him. To push him to the edge. To feel him shake, even while he held her in his iron grip.

  He pushed his hips toward her and guided her head down and she took him in deep, her tongue moving along the hard ridge of him.

  He swore and pulled her back. “Not yet. Not like that,” he said.

  He released his hold on her hair and stepped back, sweat making his chest and shoulders glisten. She just wanted to stare at him for a moment. At that hard flat stomach, the lines that framed the part of his body she was enjoying so much.

  “I’m not waiting anymore,” he said, opening the drawer by the bed and pulling out a condom. The amenities he’d requested in his phone call earlier, no doubt. “Turn around,” he said. “Face the headboard.”

  She turned away from him reluctantly. She wanted to keep staring at him. She wanted to memorize this moment. This night. No, it wasn’t sweet lovemaking. But it was what she needed.

  And she had no idea when she would have the chance to do something like this ever again. Hell, it would never be like this again.

  Because she’d never had a connection like this with anyone else. This raw, visceral understanding that went beneath their social veneers and touched on something real.

  She hadn’t made the choice to be honest with him. She’d had no other option. She suspected it was the same for him.

  This man who was clearly from a life so obviously different from hers. A guest at the party, not the help. And yet he knew her. And she knew him.

  She felt the mattress depress behind her, his hand on her hip, the other on her arm.

  He swept
her hair to the side and kissed her neck, the action surprisingly gentle. He slid his fingertips along her elbows, then gripped her wrists, lifting them slightly and looping them over the thick, black bedpost.

  He let his hand drift from there, over her breasts, down to her stomach, between her legs. He repositioned her, bringing her ass up against him. He was hot and hard behind her, his fingers teasing her now, ramping up her arousal, keeping her nerves at bay.

  She gasped as he pushed two fingers inside of her again, testing her slickness, testing her readiness.

  She wasn’t sure how much it would hurt. But tonight, there had already been some pain, and he’d made it okay. More than okay—he made it good. He would make this good, too.

  He knew her body. Knew how to keep her walking that fine line between pleasure and pain. Knew when to pull back, when to push for more.

  So she trusted him to do this, too.

  He withdrew his fingers and repositioned them both. Then he was pressed against the entrance to her body, sliding in slowly, his grip tight on her hip.

  She bit her lip, trying to keep from whimpering. It was the burning pain she hadn’t expected. Pain, yes, but not quite this kind. It made her eyes water, made her shake.

  “Stop?” he asked, his voice hard.

  “No,” she said, pulling down hard on her restraints, the bedpost biting into her wrists.

  He tugged back on her hip and thrust hard, driving himself in to the hilt. He cursed again and started moving inside of her, the pain gradually decreasing, pleasure slowly blooming in her stomach and spreading outward.

  All of the fire, the need, from every touch, every tease, every glance since she’d first seen him came roaring through her, the heat threatening to consume her completely.

  He moved his hand between her legs, his fingers teasing her in time with his thrusts. “Come for me,” he said. “Come for me now.”

  His words hit just as his fingertip brushed against her clit, just as he filled her with another hard thrust, and pushed her over the edge.

  Her release was hard. Bursting inside of her, leaving shock waves of heat behind. Leaving her shaking, her shoulders aching.

  He let out a harsh growl, both of his hands tight on her hips, fingertips digging into her skin, his hold so hard she thought it might leave a bruise. And in the wake of her orgasm, she prayed it did.

  That there would be a physical brand of what he’d done to her. How he’d changed her.

  There was no sound in the room beyond their splintered breathing. Until his voice broke the silence.

  “Damn,” he said, his forehead resting on her shoulder blade, his breath hot on her skin. “You should have said something.”

  “I wasn’t allowed to talk,” she said.

  He swore again, reaching over and tugging her hand from around the bedpost. He moved away from her and started to untie her hands. “You should have told me.”

  “What exactly?”

  “You have blood on your legs,” he said, his tone grim.

  “Oh. That.”

  “The fact that you were a virgin should have come up,” he growled. “How the hell were you a virgin?”

  “You’re so sure I was?” she asked, feeling shaken. Unsure of what to do with herself.

  “Yes,” he said, though he didn’t sound sure now.

  “You an expert?”

  “I’m not. That’s the thing. Never done that before, but then, that’s why it seemed different.” He turned away from her and discarded the condom in a wastebasket by the bed.

  “Or maybe I just feel different. Maybe I’m just different,” she said, only realizing after that the statement sounded just a little needy.

  “Are you going to tell me you weren’t a virgin?”

  “I don’t get why you’re angry,” she said.

  “Because!” he shouted, turning back around, his chest pitching sharply. “You let that be your first time? What the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t I warn you?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and rubbed her wrist, where the tie had left red marks on her skin. “You don’t even know my name. Why would I tell you how many men I’ve been with?”

  “Or haven’t been with.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “I got what I wanted.”

  He curled his lip. “How could that have given you anything you wanted?”

  “It just did. Also not something I need to share with you. My reasons are mine. And I’m sure your reasons for getting off on telling a woman to get on her knees and suck your dick are yours. But you know what? It’s none of my business.”

  “You should go,” he said.

  “Actually,” she said, getting off the bed, her ankle rolling thanks to her damn four-inch heels, “I should. I... Thanks for the sex, or whatever it is you people of sophistication say in situations like this. I am just a poor, hapless virgin, so I’m at a loss.”

  “Get your clothes.”

  “I’m not taking orders from you right now,” she spat, bending down to get her dress. “If you’re in the mood to give orders, though, order me a car. How about that?”

  “No problem.” He bent down and picked his pants up, tugging his phone out of his pocket. “Send the car up front. You’re just picking up my friend for now.”

  He hung up and she stood there, her dress crushed against her breasts. He was still naked. Still beautiful beyond reason.

  And still bleeding emotion. It was hemorrhaging between them. Their needs mixing, mingling into one giant pool of regret.

  “I have a feeling we’re both a bit too many levels of screwed up to be able to deal with each other,” she said, looking down at the ground. At her feet, still clad in those patent-leather black high heels.

  “I imagine you’re right.”

  She stepped into her dress and zipped it up. And they stood there. Like two strangers. Like he hadn’t been inside of her only a few moments ago.

  Like he hadn’t left marks on her. Inside and out.

  His phone buzzed. “That would be your car.”

  “Spiffy.” She turned, and the moment she couldn’t see him anymore, her heart squeezed so tight she thought she would suffocate. “Hey, before I go,” she said, turning partially, “did you want my name?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

  More than that, he didn’t want it. She could see it. That he was almost afraid of it. Afraid to put a name to the virgin he’d just violated, or whatever the hell issue he was having. Afraid to have a name for the woman he was throwing out only minutes after having sex with her.

  “Katy,” she said, her hand on the doorknob. “My name is Katy Michaels. It was nice to have met you.”

  Chapter Three

  My name is Katy Michaels.

  Those words kept echoing in his ears. They had been for three days.

  Because he knew that name.

  Sarah had talked about Katy. Her younger sister. One of her inspirations for working so hard. One of the reasons, in the end, why she’d put up with Jason’s abuse instead of leaving the firm.

  Because there weren’t a lot of ways out of the pit of poverty. Not easy ways. Many needed a hand-up, that was for sure. But there were very few people willing to give one without strings attached.

  Which had been the situation Sarah had found herself bound up in, and he hadn’t even realized it.

  She’d been sending money to her younger sister. To her younger brother.

  Katy had been in school; he knew that much.

  He was a dick. There was no way this could be worse. None at all. He’d used her to feel in control of his own miserable life, a life that he was in the process of exploding so that he could make right what had been done to her sister.

  He’
d chosen to, for the first time ever, unleash his domination fantasies on a woman and it turned out to be Sarah’s younger sister. The sister Sarah had protected with everything in her.

  Sarah had died, in all likelihood, under a stress she never would have endured if she hadn’t had Katy and their brother to take care of.

  And he had debauched her. Holy hell, it was like he was destined to screw up everything. Like he was destined to be the villain no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

  One slipup with regards to his self-control and he’d done the worst thing imaginable.

  “Stephanie,” he said, approaching the reception desk in the front of his father’s office, “is my father in?”

  “Yes, he is, Mr. Treffen, but he’s in a meeting.” The woman looked down and Austin noticed that she seemed dull. Tired. It made his chest ache. “I can let him know you’re here and see if he wants to interrupt?”

  She lifted her hand to brush her hair behind her ear and he noticed finger-shaped bruises curving around her wrist.

  And he saw a flash of his hands on Katy’s hips. He wondered if he’d left bruises behind, too. If he were any different from his father, a man who used others to his own ends. For his own pleasure.

  Even if it left them damaged beyond repair.

  Then he saw red.

  “I’ll be interrupting the meeting, thank you, Stephanie. I find I’m not in the mood to wait.” He strode past reception. If Stephanie were arguing, he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the blood in his head.

  He kept seeing flashes of his night with Katy.

  And he wondered now if Sarah had gone through something similar. But he wondered if she’d ever been told she could say stop. Or if his father had unleashed all of that on her without ever giving her a choice.

  It made him sick to think about it.

  He walked down the long, bland corridor, the walls closing in on him as he went. Then he heard a familiar voice and stopped cold outside his father’s door.

  It was cracked slightly, and he couldn’t see the speaker, but he could hear her.

  My name is Katy Michaels....

  What was she doing here?