“Oh, Daniel.” I felt a rush of blood to my central core as an orgasm ripped through the middle of me. I was fucking the air, gyrating my hips, longing for some contact on my pussy, even though my climax was so full and real. Just then, the same tool Daniel had been using to give me such pleasure rapped at my clit. A shocking sting.
“Horny girls deserve to be punished,” he said, the tassels of what I now realized was a whip slashing at my cleft, the sharp pain bringing in another orgasmic wave. “Need to be scolded for being so fucking hot, so fucking tempting. Jezebel . . . Eve with her juicy rosy apple. Making our dicks so hard, making us think of nothing but sex all day long.”
I wanted to laugh but couldn’t. The whip came down on my breast, making the nipple tweak and more pulsation pound between my legs. Daniel ripped off my blindfold, straddled me without sitting on me, his fist clamped around his enormous cock that he was pumping hard with his hand. He pressed its head on my nipple, his pre-cum sticky and hot, then pushed my tits together with his large hands making a valley for his erection to bury itself in. In the past, this hadn’t been possible, but my breasts had grown lately, in fact they were darn right swollen. All the attention? Or was my body telling me something? He started fucking my tits, his groans of pleasure an aphrodisiac, and my orgasm tingled on. Quieter, less intense, but still there, my swollen center a mass of over stimulated nerves, even though Daniel had not fucked me or even touched me there. Just that eager little thrash, nothing too much, but enough to give it the attention it needed.
Having this man I was in love with fuck my tits was one of the sexiest things I’d ever experienced. His devotion to those girls of mine, and my foot (crazy, eh?) had given me a mind-blowing orgasm, seconds before Daniel snapped the whip on me, which enhanced every sensation even more. How did he get his timing so right, each and every time?
This was the question on my mind, when his hot, creamy seed detonated all over my boobs and neck.
He growled out, “You see? We don’t even need to fuck. One day I’ll be able to make you come just with my mind. You and I are one, Janie. Oh, baby, you always make me come so hard.”
23
Daniel.
I THOUGHT OUR pre-wedding dinner with the “crowd,” as I’d nicknamed them, would be exasperating. But it wasn’t. Originally I had wanted Janie all to myself for our nuptials, but soon a whole slew of friends and family joined us. At the last moment, I called my mother, but she said she had just gotten back from Hawaii and “wasn’t in the mood” for more tropical weather. That sounded about right; her mood took precedence over my wedding. Her loss, not mine. She was missing out not getting to know my fiancée. She never had gotten over Natasha—those two were peas in a pod. Secretly, I was relieved, though. Relieved to not have to entertain her.
Will, and Janie’s dad had arrived early that morning. Will mended, except for a slight scar on his cheek that I had apparently given him with a sharp kick. It looked rather becoming, the kind a bygone, black and white movie star might sport in a pulp thriller. Will was beyond apologetic, but of course I couldn’t remember a thing. Strange that, to be completely oblivious of a whole chunk of time. I remembered walking into my hotel lobby, and the rest was a blank. The hospital . . . snippets came and went but nothing substantial. I got the feeling that Janie was hiding something from me, though, and when her ex therapist friend Daisy showed up, their voices hushed as soon as I approached them by our plunge pool earlier that day, I knew they had changed the conversation for my benefit, and it made me very curious.
“So are you ready to get back to work?” Alexandre asked me with a hint of a smirk on his face. I guessed he was referring to the subject matter of The Dark Edge of Love, and I couldn’t deny that the BDSM nature of my role had me itching to rehearse a little more. Playing with the whip that morning had been spontaneous, not planned at all, but Janie had loved it. I could feel myself harden up just recollecting her orgasmic face, her parted mouth, the way she squirmed on her back as I slapped her wet pussy as she screamed out her partly tantric climax. I’d hardly touched her. I concentrated my attention back to Alexandre, glad I was sitting down at the dinner table so he couldn’t see the telltale signs of my dirty thoughts.
“Yup, I’ve been idle for too long,” I admitted. “I’m one of those boring workaholic Americans,” I jested. “I know you Europeans appreciate a good long lunch but we Yanks feel guilty if we laze around for too long.”
“I’m a house husband now, didn’t you know?” He winked at Pearl. “The wife works hard to keep me in the manner in which I’ve become accustomed.”
I laughed. Alexandre Chevalier was even wealthier than me, and that was really saying something. I kept my fortune a close secret, but Alexandre? Impossible. There were articles in magazines and national papers about him daily. Even Warren Buffet had mentioned what a good investor Alexandre was. He was supposedly the sixth or seventh richest man in the world. All from his own making. Unlike me. I’d had a leg up, a head start, because of my inheritance. We had something in common, though; money wasn’t our motivation, ideas were, and their ultimate success.
We were all dining together under the stars. The hotel staff had laid a long table, especially for us, near the beach. Crystal wine glasses twinkled in the moonlight, and the women all looked glorious in their diaphanous gowns.
“I must say, ladies, you all look beautiful tonight,” I said. “My very own brunette, a stunning blonde, and a gorgeous redhead. Who needs dinner when we have such a feast for our eyes?”
“The blonde is mine, so watch it,” Alexandre joked.
“A man after my own heart,” I said. He was as possessive as I was.
“I’m not after your heart, don’t worry,” he shot back, his wit a sharp tool. I could see why this man had done so well in business. He was astute and on the ball. With his French accent the word “heart” came across as “art.” A double-entendre.
“So, gorgeous redhead,” Pearl said, looking at Daisy, “it feels like years since I last saw you. Isn’t that silly? But in fact it was only last month.”
“Yeah, well, considering we speak every other day, I’m surprised you don’t get bored with me. By the way, I forgot to ask, did you get your pearl necklace back? Had that loony stolen it?”
I noticed that Pearl shot Daisy a stony stare but Daisy’s attention was on smoothing out her short, slinky dress, which my friend Jesse was paying careful attention to.
“What loony?” Will asked.
“That insane doctor who was looking after Daniel, you know, his own bloody sister-in-law,” she said, as if it were common knowledge.
All eyes were on Daisy. When Janie tried to change the conversation, I really knew for sure something was up.
“Anyone for wine or are we all happy sticking with our cocktails?”
I nudged Janie’s knee with mine. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” I hissed at her politely, my gaze fixed. I remembered virtually nothing of my coma, but obviously a whole lot had been going on around me, and they knew things I obviously didn’t.
“Uh, oh,” Alexandre said.
“What?” Will asked. “Spill the beans.”
And that’s when I heard the story, or what I understood (by the shifty expression in Janie’s eyes) to be a small part of the story. I knew there was more, and I was sure as hell going to find out later. For now, they told me how Pearl had brought her priceless choker to my deathbed—her lucky mascot that had, she was convinced, woken her up from her own life-threatening coma a few years before. The pearl necklace had apparently vanished, and Kristin denied having any part of it. But the way they spoke Kristin’s name, a disgusted lift of the eyebrow, a pinched twist of the mouth, I suspected there was a lot more to the plot than anyone was letting on. I didn’t want to disrupt dinner—after all, I had to think of Janie’s dad—but I’d corner my fiancée later.
“I hope you get your choker back,” I told Pearl, “and thanks for passing it my way, it must have don
e the trick.” I didn’t believe in that sort of hocus-pocus but Pearl obviously did, and I didn’t want to offend her.
Pearl was silent. Alexandre cleared his throat, an embarrassed grimace sweeping across his face.
“Actually, um, we’ve tracked it down already,” he said.
Janie’s dad cut in. “Tracked it down. How?”
Pearl took a sip of her cocktail. “We’ll talk about this later, after dinner.”
What the hell was going on? “That’s great, isn’t it?” I remarked. “Did someone find it and call the police?”
“No. I developed a tiny, very tiny GPS tracker for jewelry and small objects,” Alexandre explained. “It’s not on the market yet, but it does work.”
“Cool,” Will said, his eyes wide. “How’s it powered, what if the battery runs out?”
“It’s solar powered,” Pearl told us. “Accurate within five feet. You know, we developed it with dogs and children in mind, but now we’ve got it down to being so small, it’s perfect for valuable art, jewelry and other priceless items.”
“So, where is it, then?” Daisy asked.
Pearl winced. “On the neck of a rather elegant lady who was recently vacationing in Hawaii. We lost track and, um, well, her plane landed early this morning, and she’s now in LA.”
“My mother?” I asked, incredulous.
“I’m afraid so,” Pearl said.
“Well at least you know she won’t pawn it,” I joked. “Damn, that’s shameful, to have your own mom turn out to be such a magpie. Well, I’ll call her first thing tomorrow and make sure she gives it back. Who would have thought . . . my own mother! Had no idea she had the . . . what’s the word? The—”
“Thank you, the fish looks superb,” Alexandre intercepted politely. Two waiters had arrived, carrying a silver platter of fresh, barbequed fish. “This should be delicious, spiced with Chinese herbs and cooked the traditional, French Polynesian way,” Alexandre said. “It’s a dish they often serve for the bride and groom. And speaking of the bride and groom to be, I’d like to make a toast to Janie and Daniel. May they live long, happy, beautiful lives together, at each other’s side, faithful, devoted, and with just a smattering of intrigue. I wish for you the same degree of happiness that Pearl and I have found together. To Janie and Daniel! Forever!”
Everyone at the table burst into applause, and I had to admit, Alexandre’s little speech made my eyes smart. I quickly wiped away a pending tear, embarrassed that anyone should see me so emotional.
24
Janie.
I KNEW I was in trouble and that I’d have to explain to Daniel why I’d been hiding everything about Kristin from him. But it was time I came clean. He was suspicious as hell and I knew he’d hound the information out of me one way or another. On our way back from dinner, he pinned me against a palm tree, on the beach. Luckily it was dark so nobody could see. The stars were clustered across the Milky Way and the moon shone bright enough that I saw the glinting anger glittering in his eyes. He was pissed off, but the cocktails, the delicious dinner, and fun conversation had put him in a good mood.
“Now, Janie, I want an explanation, this second.”
“It can wait, it’s—”
“I said NOW!”
His breath was on my neck. There was a predatory, sexual hunger in the way his gaze dragged over my body, taking in the sinewy folds of my pink silk chiffon gown. He held my wrists in one hand and raised them above my head.
“Or I’ll fuck the information out of you. Hard. Fast. I could get cruel.” His mouth was lingering above mine.
My lips lifted into a little smirk. Daniel’s “cruel” was my idea of fun.
“I’m not joking, Janie, I don’t like secrets, they fucking well make me furious.” A snap of his eyes, deeper now . . . his expression darkly dangerous.
A mixture of thrill and fear coursed through me. I found the “angry Daniel” sexy, but very scary too. Like when I was late for rehearsals and he chucked me out of the room, humiliating me in front of the cast, singling me out like a bad, bad girl, who had to stand in the corner. But there was always that sexual undertone which had me getting myself off the second I got home, imagining him and his hard cock ravaging me, even though he was a married man at the time and I knew I couldn’t have him. All my dreams turned out to be true. He had desired me as much as I him. At least, I imagined so.
“Did you want me even when you were married?” I slurred. I was suddenly aware I was pretty darn tipsy. I leaned against the tree for support.
“Don’t you dare try and change the conversation.” His grip on my wrists was tight. “We’re going to be married tomorrow, but I am not going to make vows if there’s a fucking secret between us. Is that clear?”
Ouch. Sting. The idea of us not marrying felt like a lethal punch to the gut.
“I’ll tell you,” I said, “but I don’t want you to get mad. So why don’t we talk about it tomorrow when you’re calmer?”
“Too late, I’m already mad. All because of you. Bend over.” He loosened his hands so my raised wrists were free. His voice was ice. My heart raced.
“What?”
“Bend over, you need to be punished, obviously.” His eyes were flashing like two deep pools of oil. Black, but reflecting glints of orange. Heathcliff. Mr. Rochester locking his wife in the attic. Daniel spun me around so my back was to him and lifted my dress above my waist. “Bend.”
I was so shocked I did what I was told. Although, I wondered to myself why I was about to marry a madman. I would spend my life being told off, bossed around, controlled . . . why was I about to sign up for this? Literally, I’d be signing a contract—a marriage contract.
“Daniel, I—”
“Don’t speak!” His hand was making circles around my bare bottom. I hadn’t worn panties as I didn’t want any line to show. The slap came down hard on my right cheek and stung like anything.
“Ouch.”
Then again, on my left cheek.
“You can’t do this, Daniel! I won’t allow it!”
“Get on all fours. Bad puppies need to learn how to behave with their masters, some sort of precedence needs to be set.” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was being ironical, half teasing, that he was playing a part, but it seemed as if this role had gotten under his skin. In one swift movement he took something out of his tux pocket then threw the jacket on the sand, under the palm tree. “Down.”
“No.” My smarting ass was still on show for the world to see, although the beach did seem empty—except for us and our crazy spectacle. Thank God it was nighttime.
“On your knees, Janie, I won’t ask twice.” I slowly got down on my knees, using his jacket as a blanket. I was a little wobbly, my head spinning.
“Okay, now tell me everything,” he demanded, his hand poised on my butt for another round of slaps.
Why I was playing this silly game, I wasn’t sure, but baiting Daniel was turning me on. Turning him on too. “No, I won’t. Not tonight. Doctor’s orders. You shouldn’t get worked up.”
He snickered. “And what do you think the doctors would say now if they took my pulse, eh, little minx? You don’t think I’m worked up EVERY . . . SINGLE . . . DAY? You test my patience, Janie, you make my dick constantly hard. You don’t do as you’re told because you’re stubborn and headstrong, and it makes me want to fuck you. No . . . makes me need to fuck you.”
Daniel came down to my level, also kneeling. He changed his tune; whispered seductively in my ear and it sent shivers along my spine, hardening my nipples, making me wet. “Janie, baby, are you going to tell me what happened while I was in my coma? Every single detail?” His voice was soft and it made me groan when his finger trailed along the small of my back, down my crack, and down to the hot, beating pulse between my legs.
“Yes, but not tonight,” I taunted, my tease a red flag to a seemingly calm bull before I knew he’d charge with fury. “We can discuss it all tomorrow when alcohol isn’t flowing thro
ugh our veins and we’re both a little more compos mentis.”
“I’ll give you compos fucking mentis.” Before I knew what was happening, he’d handcuffed my right ankle to my right wrist. My balance was all over the place, especially after all those cocktails, and he had extra advantage because his anger had him focused.
Focused on me.
In seconds my left ankle was locked against my left wrist.
“You know what esposa means in Spanish?” he growled.
“Wife,” I said, happy that I remembered some from school.
“And it also means handcuff. So watch out, little miss, because possessive fucked-up husbands have certain rights.”
My crazy position had me trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I had no choice but to either rock forward (exposing my ass even more) or lean back and try and sit on my haunches, but that was pretty uncomfortable. My arms were straight as sticks. “You’re admitting you’re fucked up, then?” I said with a titter.
“If I weren’t fucked up, baby, you’d find me boring.” He tilted me forward. “Now that’s a very pretty sight, that little pink rosebud and that juicy wet cunt ripe for fucking.”
I gasped, feigning shock at his bad language. “You shouldn’t use crude words like that, Daniel,” I warned, hardly in a position (ha, ha) to make demands.
“I never pretended to be a gentleman. What you see is what you get. You don’t have to go through with this union if you don’t want to. Are you in or out?”
I laughed. “More to the point, are you in or out?”
“You want me in?” His hands held my hips still and his tongue swept up my wet opening. I moaned. Here we go again, I thought. I was still sore. This was madness. This man was madness, and I was obviously deranged for loving him so hard.
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