His Ransom 4

by Aubrey Dark

  “What—what—”

  “Shh,” he whispered. He pushed the rubber cock into me. At first it was cold, hard and cold, but as he began to move it in and out, it grew warmer. His thrusts were light, shallow. I needed more.

  I moaned, rocking against his thrusts, but he kept me pinned. I could feel his real cock now, pressing against the small of my back, still wet from my mouth. Then he moved down, and I gasped against the pillow.

  “Shh,” he said again, although I hadn’t said a word. He slid between my asscheeks, his tip pressing against my entrance.

  I tensed, and he paused. I could feel the throb of his need, but instead of pushing inside of me, he bent and pressed a kiss between my shoulder blades.

  “Relax,” he said. He thrust the dildo deeper into me, and I cried out with pleasure. “Easy. I’ll go slow.”

  I nodded, my face pressed against the pillow. Even if I hadn’t had a blindfold on, I wouldn’t be able to see anything. It was easier this way, in the dark, unable to watch. He shifted his weight, and his cock was there again, pressing against me.

  I tensed, despite myself. His hand kneaded my asscheek all the while he thrust the dildo up into me. Feeling the hard pressure of his fingers, I relaxed my muscles. I moaned, rocking back.

  “Jesus, Lacey,” he gasped.

  With a single push, he was inside. I screamed against the pillow, my muscles clenching tight. A sharp thrill of pain radiated from my nerve endings. It was only the tip, but it felt like he was completely inside of me. The pressure was incredible.

  “Oh! Oh!” I cried.

  I bucked, but he had me pinned down. His chest pressed down against my back. He wasn’t moving his cock in any further, but his hand worked the dildo deeper inside, thrusting into me.

  My nerves seared, and he lavished the back of my neck with soft kisses. His lips fluttered against my skin.

  “Lacey,” he whispered.

  I choked out a noise that was half-moan, half-gasp. I clenched around him, then released, my body working against his involuntarily. After a few moments, my body relaxed.

  He began to move again. I squealed as I felt his cock slide into me inch by inch. His cock was slick and so rock-hard that it felt like a steel rod being inserted into me. I gasped against the pillow, biting down on the fabric.

  It was then that the sensation shifted. The switch from pain to pleasure was so sudden that I didn’t know when it had happened. But as he rocked into me, his movements so slight, I felt the twinges of pain turn into the most delicious kind of pleasure.

  The sensation of his smooth cock stretching me alongside the thrust of the dildo into my main entrance made my body fire in every possible way. I shrieked into the pillow, twisting, as he rocked farther and farther into me. With every burst of fire in my nerves came a companion twist of pleasure in my core.

  I had never felt so full. He was stretching me in every direction, expanding me to my breaking point. Sweat dampened my scalp as he worked his swollen cock into me, inch by agonizing inch.

  And then I felt the orgasm building inside of me, different than any I’d had before. As he thrust, rocking himself deeper into my body, I began to rock back. He matched my rhythm, his lips sucking at the back of my neck, sending different thrills through my body. He licked my skin and fucked me in the ass, and I loved him for it.

  There was no man who could have done this to me, no man but this one. His strong hands massaged my muscles, relaxing me even as the pressure from my mounting orgasm grew higher and higher.

  I cried out loud as he thrust himself fully into me.

  “Fuck, you feel so delicious,” he moaned. His lips were hot, and he bit down on my shoulder as he thrust again. I screamed, feeling the wave rise higher, higher inside of me. I was about to crest, I knew it. I was right there—

  “OHHHHH!” I screamed as my climax overtook me. My body contorted as Jake plunged deep into me, filling me, stretching me beyond all imagining. It was a raw, primal orgasm that burned through my nerves and left nothing behind.

  “Oh! Jake! Oh! Yes! YES!”

  “Ohh,” he groaned, and as I came on his cock I felt his own pulsing orgasm shudder through our bodies. His hot seed spilled deep inside me as he pushed himself to the hilt into my flesh.

  “Lacey,” he gasped, and he tensed once more, his thick hard cock throbbing inside of me. My body shuddered in climax, clenching down on both shafts that filled me. I was full. I was sated. My desire had been fulfilled.

  Breathing hard, he pulled out of me. I whimpered as he withdrew, feeling hollow. Then his arms came around me, pulling me into his embrace. He slid off my blindfold as he kissed me over and over again, all over my face. His fingers were trembling.

  With a soft sigh, I let him draw me to his chest. I nuzzled his warm, muscled body, letting his arms encircle me.

  He had unraveled me, nerve by nerve, and now I curled up against him, trying to catch my breath. His kisses pressed into my hair, onto my cheeks, the top of my head. His dark lashes fluttered as he tilted my chin up and finally pressed a single hot kiss onto my lips.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. I looked up at him and saw his gratitude sparkling in his eyes.

  “Was that… was that my present?” I asked.

  His lips curved into a slow smile.

  “God, Lacey, you’re beyond perfect. No. No, I have another present for you,” he said.

  He rolled over, and immediately I reached out for him. His body was so warm against mine. When he rolled back, he was holding a small dark blue box. A gold ribbon was tied around it. He untied my hands and handed me the box.

  “I’m not sure if you’ll like it,” he said.

  I looked up at him quizzically.

  “Open it,” he urged.

  I pulled off the gold bow and opened the box. Against the dark velvet, two diamond studs glittered.

  “Earrings?” I exclaimed.

  “I thought you would like them. I know, I know, you’re not into accessories—”

  “They’re beautiful,” I said. I lifted them up to the light, turning them to make them glitter and gleam.

  They really were beautiful. I had never been much for jewelry, but Jake had picked out the perfect gift for a tomboy. They were small studs, not gaudy or overly ornamental.

  “Now I’ll have to pierce my ears,” I said.

  Jake looked at me in surprise.

  “I didn’t—oh!” he said. “I didn’t even realize!”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “By the time you get back, I’ll be all pierced up.”

  “If you want, we can return them—”

  “No!” I cried, clasping them to my chest. “No, Jake, really. They’re perfect.”

  Jake looked deep into my eyes, and then let out a breath.

  “Alright. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. Warmth blossomed in my chest as I looked at the tiny pinpricks of light in my hand. “Thank you so much. This… this was a wonderful going away present.”

  “Thank you,” Jake said. “Lacey, I don’t know how I lived without you.”

  “You better remember that,” I said, teasing. “Especially when you’re in Paris, surrounded by beautiful women.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.” Jake said. “And I bet you’ll have painted another dozen paintings by the time I’m home.”

  I beamed at him, but a part of me twinged with worry. I wanted to do more than just paint—I wanted people to want my paintings. Inside, I told myself that I would sell at least one painting by the time he was back. That would show him that I deserved the gallery he’d given to me so generously.

  “Thank you,” I whispered again, looking down at the earrings. “I wish I had known. I would have gotten you something.”

  Jake brushed my hair behind my ear and kissed my cheek.

  “You are the best gift I ever received.”

  Chapter Six

  It was the day Jake was supposed to leave, and I had the strangest f
eelings roiling around in my mind. As I pulled on my black jeans to get ready quickly, I tried to figure out what had me so uneasy.

  I’d never slept with another man before, but I’d had boyfriends. None of them, though, had ever aroused the kinds of feelings in me that Jake did. He pushed me to the edge of my limits in every way. He made me uncomfortable. And yet, I couldn’t help falling in love with him. When he touched me, my heart sang.

  I thought that maybe Jake was in love with something else, an idea of me that I couldn’t live up to. Today, meeting with this art collector, I was determined to prove to him that I deserved his love right back.

  Of course, I couldn’t prove how responsible I was if I was late waking up. The art collector was coming here, to Jake’s studio, to see my paintings. And I hadn’t even gotten dressed yet.

  Jake had already taken a shower. He came out wearing one of the slim black suits I’d gotten used to seeing him in. He insisted that they were charcoal gray, but even as a painter I didn’t really care about the color of fabric. All I knew was that he looked smoking hot.

  “Lacey!” he cried, when he saw me half-dressed. “I thought you were going to get up while I got ready.”

  “I kind of fell back asleep,” I said, smiling apologetically.

  “Aren’t you going to wear a dress?”

  “Black jeans are classy enough,” I said, hiking the pants up over my curvy hips. Jake slid behind me and cupped my ass. My heart fluttered in my chest.

  “Oh, Lacey,” he whispered. He gave my ass a squeeze. “Okay, okay, the artist is always right. At least wear that blouse I got you.”

  He rummaged in my drawers and pulled out the top he’d bought me on one of his random shopping trips. It was a pastel orange—no, coral—and the sleeve caps spilled over my shoulders in twisting spirals of fabric that served no purpose at all except to irritate me. Jake knew me well, but he didn’t know anything about my taste in clothing.

  “Don’t forget shoes. Those black heels,” he said, pulling them out. I sighed and began strapping on the silly, impractical shoes.

  As a tomboy, I’d been dedicated to living my life in jeans and a hoodie. If you had told ten-year-old me that I’d be wearing a frilly Easter Egg-colored blouse over black jeans and heels, I’d have thrown up in disgust.

  Somehow, though, Jake had convinced me that dressing up was okay. Maybe it was his hands running over my body as I got dressed.

  “Shoo, Jake,” I said, Now, as I pulled the blouse over my head and arranged the frills over my shoulders with consternation, I thought that maybe it was true love that drove me to wearing such ridiculous things.

  We went to meet the art collector.

  I thought that art collectors were somewhat cool. They collected art, right? But this man wasn’t anything like what I’d thought. He was a middle-aged man with peppered hair and thin glasses that perched on the tip of his nose so precariously that I thought they would slide right off.

  He peered over his spectacles at a canvas.

  “Very interesting.”

  He seemed only to want to impress me with his knowledge of art. He didn’t care about my paintings, I realized. Someone had told him that I was an up and coming new painter, that was the only reason he was here. To invest in something that someone else had told him was good.

  Stopping in front of a nearly all-black piece of my graffiti name, the collector turned back at me and sniffed. I looked up in surprise.

  “I don’t quite see what you’re doing here,” the collector said.

  “Um… it’s my name.”

  The lettering I’d done was LACE like I’d never done it before—as pure stylized shadow. There were no lines to the letters, only the space where they caused darkness. The tops of the letters were bright as the sun, and I’d added broad highlights.

  The next one was a more abstract set of letters. More curvy. I thought of it like my counterpart to Jake. My body was soft and curvy while his was hard and rigid. I’d kept him in the background here, in the form of crisscrossed lines interspersed with the ballooned letters.

  “Interesting. Very interesting.”

  I got the feeling that whenever he didn’t know what to say, he said that it was very interesting.

  He walked to the end of the row of paintings and stopped in front of the last canvas.

  Oh no. That was the canvas Jake and I had—ah—struggled over—yesterday. It still had the smears of Jake’s hand pinning mine back against the paint.

  “This isn’t quite ready yet,” I said.

  “It’s an experimental piece,” Jake said.

  The collector looked more closely at my painting. I hoped that he would back away. Of all the paintings, I couldn’t sell that one.

  “Very interesting,” he said.

  I squirmed, unsure of what to say. The collector looked even closer at what I was sure was my handprint.

  “All of our clients are going to be invited to a special showing next month,” Jake was saying to the art collector. “It’s a wine reception with the head director of the Met.”

  “The Met? Really?”

  “If you’re at all interested, it might be worth it to start your collection earlier rather than later.” Jake was as smooth as a garden snake when it came to selling art. The collector was nodding like Jake had him by the strings.

  “It’s not for sale,” I blurted out suddenly. Both the collector and Jake looked over at me.

  “What?” they both asked at the same time.

  “I mean, it’s not ready yet.”

  “Ready?”

  The collector peered at me, his white bushy eyebrows gathering together in the middle of his forehead.

  “The contrast isn’t right,” I said, grabbing at the palette knife that still had some white paint on it. I reached for the canvas.

  “Lacey!”

  Jake stopped my movement with his word. I looked at him and he shook his head slightly. The collector looked back and forth between us, baffled by our behavior.

  “Always the artist,” Jake said, staring down at me and laughing a hard, brittle laugh. “Never done with a piece.”

  “This one really isn’t done,” I insisted.

  “Lacey—”

  “Jake!”

  Stupid me. The collector was intrigued by our argument.

  “I’ll take it,” he said. “Wrap it up and send it to my office. Just like that.”

  Jake bowed slightly as he plucked the piece from in front of me. I was left standing with a palette knife in my hand.

  He led the art collector to the door, chatting amiably with him. I stood in the hallway, gaping as Jake shut the door behind the man. He brushed his shoulders off as he walked back toward me.

  I shook my head as he came over to me.

  “I can’t believe you just did what you just did.”

  “I saved the sale, didn’t I?”

  “I didn’t want you to save the sale! I didn’t want to sell that piece!” I cried.

  “You need to learn how to do business. We said at the beginning that everything on that wall was for sale. He’s happy with it!”

  “It wasn’t done! It wasn’t perfect yet!” I yelled.

  “Of course it wasn’t!” Jake yelled back. “None of them are perfect!” He clapped his hand over his face right away, realizing that it was the totally wrong thing to say.

  “Lacey…” he said, trailing off.

  I fumed. Of course, it was true, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. None of my pieces were perfect. None of them were finished. I was never finished with anything.

  “I only wanted to make you happy,” he said.

  “You can’t make me happy by controlling my art! By controlling my life!” I threw my arms up, and the curly coral fabric swung up too, smacking me in the face. I crossed my arms angrily.

  “Lacey, please don’t start an argument the day I leave—”

  “I’m not starting an argument. You’re the one flirting with other girls and sh
oving me aside like I don’t even exist. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to lunch with some friends.”

  God, it made me so mad. Sure, we had gotten a sale, but it wasn’t a real sale. It was Jake again, schmoozing like the businessman he was in order to get someone to buy what he wanted them to buy.

  Well, I wasn’t buying any of it.

  I was too mad to even change. I picked up my purse from the table and slung it over my shoulder. This wasn’t what I wanted, not at all. I wanted to have my own art career, not the scraps from whatever Jake had left over for me.

  “Bye,” I said.

  “I’ll see you when you get home,” Jake said, but I was already storming out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  “Cute top.”

  “Ugh, can you please not compliment this top?” I asked, sinking down to the cafe table where Steph and Rachel were already sitting. I slung my purse over the back of my chair.

  “Why not?” Steph leaned on one hand and sipped at her wine.

  “I think it’s really cute,” Rachel chimed in.

  “You’re both ridiculous, the two of you,” I said.

  “Why, did Jake buy it for you?”

  “It’s flowy,” she said, touching the frills of fabric cascading down my arms. “It reminds me of nature.”

  “Exactly. I feel like a sea anemone,” I said.

  “Drink some of my wine. It’ll make you sway back and forth like an anemone.” Steph grinned wickedly.

  “So is there trouble in the art studio?” Rachel asked. “Jake getting on your nerves by making you wear dresses?”

  I sighed.

  “Yeah, a little. Not the clothes. The—ah, the art. Selling the art. It’s my fault, really. I don’t want to seem ungrateful—I am grateful! I’m very grateful for having, you know…”

  “A sexy billionaire to pay your rent?”

  “A handsome CEO to massage your feet?”

  “No!” I cried. “I mean yes, he gives a great foot rub. But I feel bad that he’s basically paying for everything, paying for me to do nothing.”

  “Aren’t you making art?” Steph asked. “You’re always in the studio when I call.”