He jumped off the bed and abruptly left the room. She strained for some clue as to where he had gone from the sound of his footsteps, but the sound of his light tread was lost on the carpet in the hallway. He reminded her of a stealthy panther, hunting its prey. Was he going to leave her tied up and just walk out on her? She yanked on her bonds, twisting on her wrists to loosen them. As usual, nothing happened.
Several minutes passed before he ambled into the room, slapping a plastic-wrapped item repetitively against his palm. He set it down beside her waist before he slipped out of his jacket and threw the dark blue material on the stuffed armchair to the right of the bed.
"What is that?” she asked, raising her voice. She didn't trust him. Then she noticed he carried sturdy, black leather straps.
He set those down on the bed next to her hip. “I want to play out my fantasies,” he said, not answering her question. “It's like punishment after being away from your sweetness for far too long."
She squeezed her eyes shut. He had changed; he had become a monster bent on settling a score. Nicole was far too aroused to care what he said. Let him have his fun. She would have hers too. She was so close to climaxing that if he made one move to touch her, she swore she would explode.
He leaned over her upper thigh. Now he would see how her pussy wept for him. He wouldn't even have to insert a finger into her vagina to know how much she longed for him.
"Open your legs wider,” he demanded.
"Untie my hands and I'll do anything you want,” she countered, hoping he would relent.
"I'm having much more fun this way,” he drawled.
She caught sight of the lamp on the bedside table and, for a fraction of a second, wished she could deck him over the head to bring him to his senses.
Groaning softly, she wondered who exactly had to be brought back to their senses. Here she was, engaged to one man, and allowing another one to fuck her. Admittedly, he wasn't plunging his cock into her but what was the difference?
Smiling roguishly, he took one of the black straps and wound it around her left knee. She heard a clasp click shut. “This is all about payback for you, isn't it?"
He lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm. I wonder what would make you think that?"
"You bastard,” she whispered, clenching her vaginal muscles tightly together. Any moment, she would lose control of her body and betray her need by bursting into a full-flowered release.
He muttered a curse and did the same with her other knee. She felt a tiny tug, realising he had attached the straps to those circled around each knee.
Captivated by the intentness of his expression, she observed him pinch a nipple lightly.
"Why don't you take a deep breath, sweetheart? You look all wound up."
If only he knew how wound up she was. Tighter than a wound spring waiting for release. She pressed her lips together in a thin, painful line.
Michael raised her knee towards her stomach. Her hair whispered on the cotton pillow as she turned her head to watch him. There was a lightness to his movements that hadn't been there a few minutes earlier. Almost as if he had received permission for this little game. Which he hadn't, of course. She vowed he never would.
The other knee pressed against her stomach. Her knees were neatly lifted up and apart, revealing her innermost secrets to him. Cool air fanned the hot skin between her legs.
"Your bush is definitely thicker than I remember,” he said in a low whisper.
He reached for the wrapped object. The crinkling of the plastic broke the hushed silence. “I want you to rediscover yourself. For your sake."
"How magnanimous of you,” she retorted. “I know myself already."
"Do you? Or are you a shadow of the woman you used to be?” Michael gazed into her face.
"Why would you care?” burst from her lips before she could stop the words.
He chuckled softly. “Did you forget about the death do us part bit?"
She had forgotten his arrogant words. He had relentlessly hammered her with those words in the last three or four hours. Words that meant nothing.
From a murderer.
He smelt musky and aroused. Once again she strained at her hands, but the ties didn't give.
"I want you to relearn what makes us so compatible before we get married."
"I'm not going to marry you. Can't you get that into your head?"
"No,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering.
Her eyes widened as he split the wrapper. Inside was an instrument a gynaecologist used to spread the vagina open during the examination. She shivered in expectation, knowing that if he cared to take a look, her juices were flowing down onto the comforter.
His fingers lingered on her mound before he trailed them erotically down the side of her upper thigh and through her honeyed cream. She groaned and barely prevented her hips from pressing against his warm fingers. When the pad of his finger made a circle against her clit, she bit into her upper lip to repress a cry of pleasure. She squirmed, her back brushing against the soft comforter.
She shivered as his fingers travelled back up the route he had taken moments earlier. Was it the pad of his finger that wiped at her clit? She shuddered, remembering she was open to his gaze.
"You're so wet,” he murmured.
A glance at the crotch of his pants told her he was rock hard. And large.
He took firm hold of the speculum and brushed the cold metal back and forth against her burning clitoris. She gasped at the sensation. She felt she was near release. He drew the speculum away. The moment of climax eased. She bucked her hips.
His quiet laugher made her gaze into his eyes. He touched her clit with the tip of his finger.
"You're on fire for me. So sweet and maddening, all at the same time, isn't it?"
"I'm going to kill you,” she whispered.
"Oh?"
"You have some nerve to put me through this."
His deep, masculine laughter rang out once more. He shifted the cool speculum against the opening of her vagina again. This time he held the metal against her burning nub.
That was all she needed. She shut her eyes tight. Her hips bucked off the pillows as wave after wave enveloped her, taking her through star-grazed skies.
"Come on, baby, ride it for me,” Michael said softly.
Nicole couldn't help herself. She came in one wrenching orgasm after another and all he had done was touch her with the speculum.
"How was that?” he asked.
She flashed her eyes open as he slid the metal into her, frosty inch by frosty inch. It was as if he had pushed ice-cold fingers into her, but now the metal object stretched her pussy wider and wider. She heard the squishing sound of her honeyed cream. A moment of tenseness followed before she saw him watching her pussy. She was wide open for him. Her cheeks burned with a fierce blush.
"Are you ready for another one? Do you like that? The cool metal against your burning skin? Quite a different feeling from my cock plunging into you, isn't it? And this was so easy to insert, since I don't have to lubricate you. You did that all by yourself."
His words, overconfident as usual, didn't raise her hackles. Instead they turned her on. Another orgasm racked her body. She cried out at the delicious awareness.
Sleepily, she asked herself if he might still love her. No, he only wanted revenge. Once he had satisfied himself that he had what he wanted, he would ditch her.
The mattress lifted. Batting her eyelids open, she watched him leave the bedroom again. She reminded herself that he had never been able to stay in one place for more than a few minutes. If he was forced to, he did so with ill grace and a great deal of self-control.
After a few minutes of impatient waiting, anger began to fester. How dare he leave her so exposed and stretched so wide? She listened for his sure footsteps, but there was no sound.
What would she do if he didn't come back? How would she explain this to Brad when he returned from the party? What could she do? Crying out for help o
r screaming wouldn't do her any good.
Long minutes ticked by. Her nipples tightened. Would it really matter? Once, she tried to dislodge the metal object by squeezing her thighs, but it didn't budge.
Walking a cocky walk, Michael returned, carrying a bottle of champagne. A draught of cool air passed over Nicole.
"Since when do you drink champagne?” he asked.
"As if it's any of your business,” she growled. “Untie me. Right now."
"My, my. Aren't we getting bossy?"
"Let me go."
"I don't think you're in much of a position to demand anything.” His words must have struck him as funny. He laughed out loud.
"Ha ha.” She would have slapped his face if her hands had been free.
He popped the cork free from the bottle. To her annoyance, he upended the bottle and took several long swallows. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Let me drink and feast on your nakedness,” he said, kneeling between her parted legs.
"Untie me. I've had enough of your ‘I'm a man’ attitude."
"I'm not finished yet, sweetheart."
She didn't think it was possible, but the speculum slid further into her pussy. “I hate you,” she whispered.
"No, you don't. Would you like some champagne?"
As if she would be able to drink lying down. She shook her head.
He shrugged easily. “Fine."
To her surprised shock, he extended the hand with the bottle and turned the green glass upside down. Freezing cold bubbly slew along her breasts, down her stomach and her mound, and into her widened vagina. The liquid oozed down along her ass and soaked the comforter under her lower back. She cried out in outrage. “What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
Even as she called out, another, stronger orgasm rocked her body. When the spasm ended, she quivered mindlessly.
"I thought it was obvious,” he said with affected casualness.
Silence fell. How would she counter his careless statement? The world wasn't about her. The world was about Michael. There was no room for anyone but him in his egocentric world. If she could have struck out at him, she would have. He had placed her in a humiliating position and poured expensive wine over her body. Very likely, he had ruined her rose comforter, one she had sewn herself during the drawn out, lonely winter evenings. She reeked of the sharp scent of fermented grapes.
Still, he sat without moving between her thighs. “Did that feel good?"
Honey seeped from her pussy again. Her body had once again betrayed her even though her mind kept resisting the man who was Michael Karlisi.
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Chapter Six
* * * *
Bryan heard Colin's pager go off. Colin glanced at the number and trudged off without casting another glance in Bryan's direction. Bored with the party's atmosphere, which had changed from animated to apathetic since Michael's unexpected departure, Bryan opted to go to Joel's pub and while away the late evening hours.
In the smoke-hazed bar, he thought of picking up a chick, like the stripper who was strutting her big tits and her tiny ass—a combination that worked for him and made him hot and horny. After a few minutes, remembering the bar's policy of not hitting on the strippers, he stared morosely at the scarred table at which he sat, noticing the many carved initials in the wood. He wondered idly if those people who had done so had been in love or simply whiling away the time the same way he was.
This was the first time in five years he had been able to have a relatively worry-free Christmas holiday. Yes, he was still in debt, hocked up to his eyebrows, but he was managing to work his way out with the excellent pay and benefits Michael offered at Anessa.
Bryan observed the small number of patrons in the bar, chatting loudly and slapping each other on the back. He hadn't wanted a life like his father's, yet here he was, to some extent, emulating the dead man's drinking problem, a habit that had given him severe liver damage at an early age and from which he had died when Bryan was fifteen. His mother had drawn into herself, unable to cope with the world and going out to get a job. Bryan had supported her the last twenty years, often at the expense of his own comfort.
Five years ago, he had come to the mistaken conclusion that gambling would lead to a bagful of money. At first, he hadn't recognised the addiction but as he'd got deeper and deeper into debt, he'd felt more and more overwhelmed. He had struggled to send his mother enough money to cover her living expenses. One day, he'd cut off entering the casinos, the same way a guy quit smoking cold turkey. When Michael offered him a job at Anessa Rendering a year ago, Bryan had jumped at the chance and was slowly getting his life into order, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He was on his fourth, unhurried draught when Colin appeared in a cold blast of air from outside, swung a leg over the chair opposite the table from Bryan, sat down and readjusted himself. “Get the beer over here, Joel,” he shouted.
"You bug the shit out of me,” Bryan said. “The way you treat people leaves a lot to be desired."
Colin gave him a dirty look. “Yeah? So?"
"Honey will attract more bees than vinegar."
"Yeah. Not so damned effective in my opinion."
Bryan shrugged. “Why don't you upend your ass from that chair? I still think you can choose your friends."
Colin looked offended. “What? You didn't liken me to family? What a shame."
"You aren't family to me.” Like Bryan could ever consider Iceman anyone but a distant acquaintance, a canker sore at best.
"At least not when Michael isn't around, eh?” Colin said with a smug expression. He looked the stripper up and down and yelled at her, “Why don't ya spread them legs apart? Give us something real to see?"
Ignoring him, the stripper continued twirling around the pole she had attached herself to, trailing a gold scarf after her.
"You're an embarrassment to the human race.” Bryan shifted in his seat.
"Why don't you get yourself a real stick?” Colin goaded the stripper. “You can help yourself to mine, if ya want.” Colin ended up looking pleased with his comment.
"She's not paying attention to you. You're too ugly,” Bryan said, taking another sip of his beer.
"So? What's your excuse?"
Joel, the owner of the bar, paused at the table, all six feet five inches of him. “If you're drunk, I'm going to have Boxer hardass you out to the back alley and into the garbage heap."
Bryan turned his head to look over his shoulder in the direction Joel had indicated. Boxer was one bad dude at a hefty three hundred pounds.
"I'm not drunk, and that poodle can't do nothing to me. Hell, he wouldn't want to if he knows what's good for him,” Colin said, not bothering to give Boxer the evil eye. “Where the hell is my beer?"
Bryan took a deep breath and exhaled. If his ankle hadn't hurt so much, he would have walked to another table. It wasn't as if this place was overcrowded. Colin was getting himself into a patch of trouble.
Joel frowned like a pitbull. “Get a grip, Nicko.” He walked back to the bar.
Bryan liked Joel, a happily married man with a wife and two or three kids.
Colin's response was to slap his pockets in search of his pack of smokes and a lighter. When he found them, he lit up. “Damn heat,” he muttered with the cigarette between his thick lips. “Joel better get that beer over here pronto or else I'll have a little talk with him."
Maybe that's what bothered Bryan so much about his cousin. That cold, controlled way he had about him, like everyone around him was a fly he could swat dead any second. Bryan dipped his fingers in the small dish near his elbow, scooped up a handful of roasted peanuts and stuffed them in his mouth. Even above the jukebox's din, he heard his stomach rumble. He figured he'd be lucky if he could stomach food sometime in the next two weeks after watching Tom ground up into a human pulp. God, that had been a living nightmare.
The music ended. The stripper finished her ac
t and made the mistake of passing too close to Colin as she flounced off the stage. He grabbed her and seated her in his lap. “Marry me,” he said in a bullish voice.
"If I do, then can I cut off your dick?” she asked sweetly.
Bryan suspected Colin was so stunned—although his face remained expressionless—he forgot to hold on to her. The stripper slid off his lap and patted his cheek before she walked off on high heels.
"You should marry a woman like that,” Bryan stated matter-of-factly. “She'd keep you in line."
Colin's eyes narrowed into mere slits. “She needs a real man. One who can show her a good time."
"Good ‘ole Colin. Real winner with the women, huh?"
Colin banged his fist on the table. Peanuts jumped from the bowl, and the tiny, white napkins did a short jitterbug dance as did Bryan's beer, which sloshed back and forth in its glass. “Get the fuck out of my life, man."
Bryan looked straight into his furious eyes and stared without blinking. A freezing blast of air swirled around them as the door to the bar opened some distance away. Colin was the first to break the eye lock when Brad marched up to him, his face pinched into tight lines. His tie was askew and he appeared out of breath. “What gives, asshole?” he asked Colin without preamble and without greeting Bryan.
Fascinated, Bryan watched. No one had ever dared call Colin an asshole. Not to his face anyway.
"What's got riled up?” Colin responded casually, propping his feet up on the table and knocking the bowl of peanuts off. They cascaded onto the hardwood floor.
Brad waved his arm at the room in general. “Like I'm going to say anything in front of them."
Colin smirked. “You really don't have to. Why don't you crawl back in the hole you came from?"
"I didn't come here to trade barbs with you."
"Trade what?” Colin asked, amused.
"I don't have to explain myself. You know what the scoop is."
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