"Here is your first question. Answer it right and I will allow you to proceed to my pussy."
Reed waited as she built the suspense.
"Why did you come after me?” she asked at last. “And don't give me any bullshit. Did my father hire you again?"
"No.” That part was easy. “Rutherford didn't hire me."
"Why, then,” she pressed. “What fucking difference do I make to you? And don't talk about sex. A man like you can get it where he likes and from women a lot hotter than me."
Reed doubted that. “I'm not sure. I just came after you, that's all."
She pushed at his shoulder with her bare foot. “Not good enough. You may go and stand in the corner."
He looked longingly at her fragrant sex. He could see the freshly dripping moisture. Her thighs were slick with it. “You can't punish me for being honest,” he said. “I'm really not sure."
"Then you are lying to yourself,” she insisted. “One more chance, or I make you watch me play with myself."
He thought briefly of getting the key to free himself but that would spoil everything, ruin the trust he was carefully trying to build. “At first I thought maybe I was searching for you because you saved my life, so I could say thank you, but now I wonder if it's not something else."
"Like what?"
"To figure out why you didn't hate me for kidnapping you."
"I do hate you, at least sometimes."
He drew a breath. “Cheyenne, the best sex I've ever had is with you."
She frowned. “Me, too. We're a messed up pair. You may resume kissing."
Reed half kissed and half licked. He was campaigning, blatantly for the opportunity to taste that pussy, to feel her clitoris swell against his tongue.
"You're not bad. You must have had a mistress before,” she said, a trace of taunt in her voice.
He shook his head no.
She ran her fingers through his hair. “One little kiss,” she said. “That's it for now."
She guided him into place until his face, his world was consumed by pussy. He was surprised, pleasantly to see how she had shaved herself smooth. It allowed him to get closer, pushing his tongue in deeper. He used it like a little cock, pushing, struggling.
"Bad boy.” She slapped his back playfully. “You want Mistress to come right away, don't you?"
Reed struggled to sit up between her knees and licked her off his lips. The taste was pungent, exotic, heady. He knew better than to deny her charge.
"Fresh question,” she said. “Have you ever been in love?"
"I'm not sure."
She reacted like lightning, pinching his nipple with her long nails.
Son of a bitch, she was good.
"You're fucking with me, everyone knows if they have been in love."
"Yes,” he said, wincing. “When I was much younger."
"And what happened?"
"Her family moved away,” he said with finality.
She let go. “You're not much of a story teller, are you?"
"I told you this wouldn't be easy,” he said.
"I want you to stand next to the bed,” she decided.
"That wasn't the game plan?"
"Who's in charge?” she said, then reconsidering. “Well, who's pretending to be in charge, at least?"
"You,” he agreed.
Reed obeyed. He stood next to her, his cock at full attention.
Cheyenne scooted back. “Here's how we get you to answer questions."
He tensed as she lifted her leg.
Oh, hell, she was going to use her foot.
She brushed the side of his cock with her instep. He reacted like a man stabbed with a hot pleasure knife.
"For every answer, you get played with,” she declared. “Otherwise, you stand there and suffer."
She gave him another object lesson, running the top of her foot along the base of his cock and tickling his balls with her big toe. “Are we clear?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Do you have feelings for me, Reed?” She arched her back now, increasing his pain by gently massaging her own nipple.
"I feel something ... yes."
"Good boy, nice direct answer.” She used both her feet, leaning back so she sandwich his shaft between the soles.
"Oh ... fuck!"
"No swearing.” She pushed him back with her heels.
He was desperate. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."
"Would you like Mistress to touch you again?"
"Yes...” he stifled the ‘damn it’ part.
"Then keep answering. Do you love me, Reed?"
His head swam. “I-I don't know, I swear."
"Something easier, then, would you ask me out on a date?"
"I think so ... yes."
"Then do it.” Her eyes were demanding, utterly captivating.
"Will you,” he managed. “Go out with me."
"That depends. Go and get me a drink of water,” she said, her nose in the air. “And I'll think about it."
He arched both brows. “You've got to be kidding me?"
"You're resourceful,” she dismissed. “You should be able to work it out."
Reed ground his teeth in frustration.
"Take your time,” she said settling back. “I'll just be here ... masturbating."
His face wrought with misery, he watched her begin to play her fingers across the pink ridge, gently teasing apart the lips.
"Mm,” she said, arching her back. “Then again, maybe you should hurry. I might come again and lose interest in sex for the night."
Fuck. Fuck and double fuck.
She was every bit the deviant he had feared and then some.
Even he had never made a submissive fetch water with handcuffs on.
Too late to back down now, though.
It was all out war.
The stakes were uncertain.
At the very least there was a possible date at the end.
The irony did not escape him. After all this, he was putting himself through hell for something that was about ten steps back from what they had already shared.
Then again a date could mean the beginning of a relationship.
And that, indeed, would be a new frontier.
* * * *
Cheyenne quivered with anticipation. It was taking every ounce of will to keep her in this bed, masquerading as a dominant. Watching Reed retreat from her sight, his find clenched buttocks, the line of his back, those magnificent arms, the hand cuffs. It was all she could do to keep from jumping him.
Or falling to her knees to devour his cock. He had to be so, so close to coming. She felt horrible for him. It didn't seem right a man should go through this. But he had asked for it, literally.
Okay, maybe not in this detail. Truly she had gotten a bit carried away. Being a wicked Mistress was kind of fun. It built up tension like crazy and the more he just stood there taking it the more she felt the thrill of the fire. She was the moth, playing with the heat of the blaze.
He wasn't really his prisoner and they both knew it.
All he had to do was look in her eye, give the order.
"Cheyenne, take the hand cuffs off me.” And that would be that.
What would follow, she wondered.
Would he have her put them on herself, or maybe bend over some nearby hard surface for a fresh spanking ... or the fucking of her life.
That's what she needed.
Finally she knew what that saying meant to want to be fucked senseless. She didn't want to think anymore, didn't even want to breathe, except through him.
Talk about flirting with disaster. What had possessed her to ask him if he loved her? Why should he? And now he was being tricked into asking her on a date.
A date. How many years had it been since she had had a legitimate one?
Not since high school, not since Ramsey. He had been her first true love. A real chance at happiness which her father could not allow. Of course it had been partially her fault. She hadn't a
ctually cheated on him, but she should never have agreed to ride on Caleb's motorcycle that day.
How was she supposed to know that Rutherford was spying on her? Wasn't that an irony? When she got in real trouble, he made himself scarce, but back then, when she was just a girl trying to grow, he was all over her like the secret police.
Rutherford chose his time carefully to devastating effect. It was the night of her senior prom. She was still upstairs getting dressed. Ramsey was downstairs with her father. He fixed her date a drink, made small talk and then he delivered the bombshell.
Cheyenne tried to imagine sometimes how he had done it, what words he had used.
"Ramsey, I so hate to put you in this position, especially with my own daughter, but you know I respect and love you, like a son..."
His voice smooth and charming as he slid the envelope across the marbled topped coffee table.
Ramsey would have opened it, pulled out the photos to examine them. His face would have gone white with shock.
"We can't say what more might have occurred,” Rutherford would have continued. “Though we must be frank, man to man. Can we be sure my daughter has not had relations with this young man and perhaps others in his ... association?"
However it unfolded, Ramsey was gone by the time Cheyenne had emerged at the top of the stairs. She had stood at the balcony, beaming, waiting to see her date, waiting for the look on his face, but there was only her father.
He was pouring himself a scotch, her mother's drink of choice. “I should wipe that smile off my face if I were you,” he had said.
"What happened?” she had asked.
He had pointed, idly to the table, the scattered photos. She had reacted with horror, not believing the images could exist, herself on the back of Caleb's bike, holding him tight. There were more of them, strewn on the floor.
She had run downstairs to see if it was real.
She had held up the photos one by one.
"Imagine my disappointment,” Rutherford had said, making it about him as always. “When the private investigator brought me those. I had hired him to rule out any possible indiscretions on your part, of course, but apparently the apple does not fall far from the tree."
The reference had been to Cheyenne's mother.
"I hate you,” she had cried, tears in her eyes.
"It is yourself you should hate,” he had said, cold as ice. “Incidentally, Ramsey was beside himself, not that you have shown any interest."
She had wanted to throw something, to attack him and run away all at once. The emotions overcame her and she collapsed. A ball of silk and taffeta on the floor, heaving sobs.
"Histrionics will not help anything, Cheyenne Marie,” he had said.
And with that he had walked out of the room.
Ramsey never spoke to her again, despite numerous pleas on her part.
A week later she went to Caleb.
He drove her to an abandoned warehouse and took her virginity at age eighteen.
Reed was coming back out of the bathroom now. His re-emergence brought her back to reality. “Well?” she asked.
He was stone faced, determined, a man on a mission. She tried to see behind his back. His shoulders were too broad.
When he was close enough he turned about, revealing the cup of water in his cuffed hands. It was a third full. The poor man was drenched, all the way down his backside.
She could kiss him. In more place than one.
"I'll go out with you,” she said, taking the glass. “But don't expect to get lucky."
He turned about, in no mood for humor. “Cheyenne, I am not accustomed to begging, but I don't think I can take much more."
"You've more than earned your right to come,” she agreed. “Though I don't think I have learned all that much about you."
Reed began to rattle off the statistics of his life. She tried not to laugh at his obvious discomfort. “I'm the oldest of three, my father was in the Marines. I want to six schools before I was fifteen. I lost my virginity to Mary Jo Allen in the girl's locker room, I flunked out of college and joined the Army, which pissed my Marine father off to no end. In my second tour I got tapped for Delta Force, then for some covert work, which required me to leave the military. After that it was mercenary work. I own a suitcase full of clothes an old photo album and I see the family once a year at Thanksgiving."
"Was Mary Jo the girl who moved away?” Cheyenne asked.
"Mary Jo was one of many rebounds."
"Oh."
"You gonna take these cuffs off now?"
"It depends. Are you going to hold me responsible for tormenting you?"
"Probably."
She frowned. “Will I get to give any more orders once you're free?"
"No,” he said, adding in a low, measured tone. “Get the key, Cheyenne. Now."
She bit her lip. They weren't following the original plan, then again, their entire association had been one failed plan after another.
Quick, before she could change her mind, Cheyenne sprung up from the bed and ran for the key. Her hands trembled as she undid the lock. Twice she nearly dropped it.
For several moments he stood there, massaging his wrists.
"Remember,” she said warily. “You told me to act like a bitch."
He eyed her, raising a brow. “I'm not sure those were my exact words."
She pouted her lips, trying to look cute. Shaking her full head of curls, a gesture she knew had its effect on him, she offered her best defense. “A woman needs to have a little room for artistic license."
"Yes,” he said dryly. “Perhaps we will make room on your bottom ... for my palm."
She took a step backward. Reflexively, her hands covered her posterior. “I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"You're right. I have something else in mind at the moment.” He was glaring at her crotch, which she had left exposed.
Just as quick, she moved to cover her front.
his eyes darkened, the look instantly curling her toes.
"Did I give you permission to shield your body from me?"
Her hands dropped to her sides. Her palms were sweaty, electric. “I suppose you want me back in bed."
"No,” he said. “Not in bed."
Her pulse raced. Something in his tone was more bestial, primal. “Where then?"
"On the floor,” he said, trance-like. “On all fours."
Cheyenne hesitated, waiting to see how he would enforce his dictum.
He didn't budge, nor did he repeat himself.
She felt defiance build, seductive, explosive. Was he hoping for it, too?
"I'm not an animal, Reed. I won't be taken like one."
"You played the bitch,” he pointed out. “Now you'll pay the price."
"I don't have to do anything I don't want to,” she reminded.
"But you do want it. You probably dream of it, when you're not imagining yourself being flaunted on the balcony like some kind of tramp."
The words were a trip wire, deliberate on his part, she suspected.
It was hard not to play into his hands.
She tried to run past him, no idea where she might go. He grabbed her by the waist and picked her off the ground. Her back was against his front. She flailed with her legs. He went to one knee, lowering her to her belly.
Damn, he was going to be inside of her, happily having his way in less than a minute here if she didn't think of something fast.
She tried to squirm free, risking rug burn on her bare front.
"Don't fight it, Cheyenne. There isn't a power on heaven and Earth to stop me now. If I don't have you, I will die."
The power of his words, the raw need he was confessing undid her totally. It was nothing for him to move her legs apart with his knee, to push her backside up against him.
He thrust into her in one motion, so hot and raw and possessive she nearly fainted.
"I am going to come inside you,” he said. “And you will come with me."
&nbs
p; He commenced to fucking her so hard they were both sliding across the floor, despite his best efforts to ground them. They grunted like animals, sheer pleasure beasts, seeking nothing more than utter and complete release. He pulled her hair hard, hard enough to draw tears, but she didn't care, she wanted more. He pinched her ass, fucking, slamming, making her writhe from the heat, the sharp pain, but she could only beg in wordless cries for it to go on, higher, more intense. With the last thrust he was moving so quickly he drove her straight down, squashing her body, conquered against the floor. Fucked, her belly and breasts surrendered to the carpet, her pussy invaded, re-named, re-configured for him. His opening. His pleasure.
If I don't have you, I will die.
Not idle words from a man who could stand up against pretty much anything the world had to offer.
Who had conquered who?
Perhaps Cheyenne had more power than she realized.
Reed came and came and came. It wasn't clear where his orgasm ended and hers began or indeed if there was any separation between them at all anymore. They were a twisting heap of limbs when it was over, collapsed in each other's arms. She fell under his protection, giving way to sleep, deeper than she had known in years.
And all this on a floor.
What could he do with her on that magnificent bed?
She didn't dare think of that now.
Tomorrow was soon enough.
Soon enough to answer that question ... about a million more.
Not least of which was where would a man like Reed take a woman like her on a date?
Chapter Eleven
Reed woke up first. The sun was peeking through from the balcony. He was on his back on the floor. Cheyenne, naked as he was, lay curled next to him, her head on his chest. She slept so peacefully, such a look of trust on his face. It took his breath away. Could she really feel that close to him after such a short time? The sex only got better and better, the play, the tug of war increasing so that the more they knew each other the more tension there was.
Instinctively, she seemed to know what part to play, his perfect counterpoint. She didn't bat an eyelash, switching from sweet and gentle to rough and savage. She seemed to grasp how he wanted it. She wasn't freaked out by his sexuality like a lot of women were. Nor did she completely fall apart or faint like a door mat.
She had back bone, she was smart and the more he pushed her, the more she pushed back.
Chaning Cheyenne Page 13
