by Jc Emery
Be brave.
“You gonna explain?”
“No.”
His jaw ticks at my one-word answers, but I don’t care. My heart beats frantically in my chest, my palms are sweaty, and I’m damn close to hyperventilating, but I don’t let any of that stop me.
“I want you,” I say firmly.
“This again?” He barks the words out, now definitely annoyed. “Been over this, babe. I won’t subject you to this life.”
“No,” I say more firmly. He has to take me seriously, or I’ll never be able to get over the shame of it. “I want you.”
My fingers practically strangle the fabric of the T-shirt as I hold the bottom in my grip. They’re shaking. I’m fearful that he’s going to laugh at me. Or he’ll reject me and pity me for even having to beg someone to touch me after how badly I’ve been damaged. Tears well in my eyes as the panic sets in. Before I can stop myself, I lift the hem of the shirt while studying his face. His expression darkens, his eyes totally fixed on my torso, which at the very least tells me he’s physically interested in what I’m offering.
“I want you to fuck me.” My voice squeaks at the end like I’m some kind of virginal school girl, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He purses his lips and his hands form tight fists at his sides, while his eyes still haven’t left my covered breasts.
Be brave.
With one last breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and lift the shirt over my head. A tear escapes, but I try to slyly wipe it away as I discard the shirt on the floor.
“You don’t want this. How I fuck—you won’t like it,” he says. Every word sounds strained, like it’s painful for him to say it. Still, he leans in and places his closed fists on the bed to support himself as he bends over. He lifts his eyes to mine, but his head is at the height of my breasts, forcing his attention back on my exposed flesh.
“I don’t want it soft. I don’t want gentle. I didn’t ask you to make love to me. I told you I want you to fuck me, and by that I mean I want to be fucked hard and fast and I don’t want you to take it easy on me.”
He licks his lips and swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. It’s so obvious now that he desires me physically even if he wishes he didn’t intellectually. Hooking my fingers around the sides of the boxers, I slowly slide them down my legs and try not to look too stupid as I struggle to get them off with the position I’m in. I have the offending material still around my calves, tucked under my ass when he surprises me by reaching out and grabbing me behind my knees. I reach out and place my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as he pulls my legs out from underneath me.
“Use your safe word and we stop. You can turn back at any time, but if this is what you want, then I’ll give it to you,” he says. My legs are stretched out before me now and he easily slides the boxers off and tosses them on the floor. He removes his cut next, but keeps the tee shirt on that’s underneath.
“Your safe word is bayonet. Use it if you wish for the scene to stop. You will use colors to communicate how well you’re handling what I’m doing to you. Green means you’re fine, yellow means you need me to slow down or lighten up, and red means you’re close to breaking. Saying red or bayonet will stop the scene immediately.”
He unbuckles his belt and tosses it aside, then goes for his jeans and pulls them down his long legs. I study him and the instructions he’s given me. He’s using terms I’m not really familiar with, like scene and safe word, but I have an idea what he means.
“What if I want more?” I ask.
“You won’t,” he says in a harsh tone.
“But what if I do?”
“If you say purple, you won’t like the consequences.” His voice has taken on a sneer now, like the very idea of me saying purple disgusts him. I don’t even know what it means, but it definitely means something. A surge of panic makes me second-guess myself, but I refuse to verbalize my worry. I won’t lose this moment for anything. I just can’t.
“What are your limits, Melinda?”
“My limits?” Slowly, my mind catches up with the reality of what we’re doing here, and I realize what’s going on. Ian is clearly into some kink that I don’t know much about. I’ve heard bits here and there but nothing worth noting. He asked for my limits, so I try to think about what I definitely don’t want him doing to me.
“My backdoor is a no entry zone,” I say.
“What else?”
I fumble over the words but finally get out what I need to say. The anal play thing isn’t a firm no, as in never ever, but this next one is something I absolutely can’t deal with.
“I can’t,” I say with a shaky voice and have to pause. “My mouth. I can’t . . . put . . .”
He nods his head and narrows his eyes in contemplation.
“You don’t have to finish that sentence. I know what you’re trying to say.”
Of course he would know. He heard everything they did to me, not just from the hospital staff when they pushed me to describe my assault, but firsthand over the phone while it was happening. I hate that he heard that. I hate that he even knows about it much less had to suffer through listening to my cries.
“Restraints?” he asks. He’s only wearing his boxers now, and he stands on the side of the bed with his eyes on the floor beside him.
“Restraints are fine.”
“If you dislike what I’m doing or you’re uncomfortable with the level of play, say yellow.”
“Okay.”
This isn’t how I pictured this happening. I kind of thought I would take my shirt off and he would lean over and kiss me and we would get busy the normal way. Even though I’m nervous and out of my element, I can’t deny how hot this conversation is. When he asks about restraints and limits, my mind wanders to all the things I’m trying to imagine he could do to me. This is what I want, so it doesn’t really matter what he wants to do to me. I just want this experience with him, to be as close as we can be. Maybe afterwards he’ll see how good we can be together and he’ll let this happen. I know better than to assume that having sex with a man will lead to a commitment, but this is Ian, and I can’t imagine sex won’t mean anything with us.
“Stand in the corner, facing the wall,” he says and walks into the walk-in closet. I do as I’m told and wait for him to come to me. My nerves are shot by the time I feel him behind me, his breath hot on my neck.
“I’ve never played with a virgin before, so I’m going to go easy on you. As I try things out, I want you to tell me how you feel about what I’m doing to you. What are your colors?”
He must mean a kink virgin, because he knows all too well that I’m not really a virgin. The reminder of my damage almost ruins the moment for me, but I push through, refusing to screw this up for the both of us.
“Red or bayonet means stop, yellow means I’m uncomfortable, green means I like it, and purple means I want more.”
He leans in and whispers, “This isn’t part of the scene, Melinda. I’m warning you that you do not want to say purple. Try to just enjoy the experience.”
A shiver runs up my spine at his nearness. I nod my head in understanding, but in true Ian fashion, he demands a verbal acknowledgment. “Your words, Melinda.”
“I understand,” I say, even though I don’t, but am terribly tempted to push the whole purple boundary he’s got going on.
“Until the scene is over, you refer to me as Sir, and I’ll refer to you as Melinda. Do you understand, Melinda?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say and try to fight the smile that’s lifting the corners of my mouth. My body hums with excitement, but it’s my heart that’s really getting the work out. Submitting to Ian is setting something off in me. I’ve never felt more cherished and cared for. We haven’t even done anything yet, but it feels like we’ve done a whole lot. I want to give this to him—my submission—because I know he’s going to value it. I can show him that I belong in his world, not just in the club but here in his bed as well. I can show him that this doesn’t sc
are me and that I’m ready to surrender myself to his demands.
“Good girl. Who do you belong to, Melinda?”
“You,” I stutter out. My breath catches, and I mentally kick myself for not answering him correctly. I open my mouth to correct my mistake when he slaps my ass cheek lightly.
“Every time I touch you, I want you to give me your color. Do not call me Sir when you do so.”
He slaps my ass again, this time a little harder.
“Green,” I say breathily.
His hand at my ass gently rubs my cheek. The soft touch spikes something in the pit of my belly, and my hands shake at my sides. I find myself practically yelling as I say, “Yellow!”
His hand slaps at my ass again, even harder than the last time, sending a thrilling jolt through me.
“Green.” The word comes out on a light moan. His harsh slaps do the opposite of what I expect, but I don’t know why. The few times I’ve touched myself since that night, I haven’t been able to be gentle about it. Something about the soft touches and sweet little bursts of pleasure sends me into a frenzied panic that I can’t control. I tried to be slow and easy with myself, but I only ended up in tears. I should have expected that allowing Ian to touch me would be no different than when I touched myself.
Ian drags the back of his hand up my spine from my ass to the middle of my back. His touch is featherlight and once again I’m saying, “Yellow,” and fighting back tears. He pauses, turns his hand over, and drags his nails up to the base of my neck. A rush of excitement fills me as I say, “Green.”
“My girl doesn’t like it gentle, do you, Melinda?”
“No, Sir.”
“You’re learning. This pleases me.”
Gathering my hair in his hands, he places a soft kiss to the crown of my head, and it’s the first sweet touch that doesn’t make me panic. He always kisses me sweetly, and I never freak out about it, but the sexual stuff is another story entirely.
“Place your hands against the wall in front of you and open your eyes.
I do as I’m told and wait for the next touch. My hair falls against my back, and he steps away from me and lifts something that makes a slight scratching sound against the floor. Hard bristles drag along the back of my slightly spread legs from my ankles up to the backs of my knees where he places more pressure on my skin. A round of gooseflesh breaks out.
“Green.”
The bristles disappear before they’re back and dragging faster and harder up my legs and to my ass where they disappear only to slap at my sensitive bum with a swiftness that takes my breath from me. My chest is working overtime to keep me breathing, and my legs feel weakened by the excitement of it.
“Green,” I say louder than before as a wetness pools in my core. This is happening and I can do this. I can really do this. The bristles slap at me harder now, several times. He drags them to the other cheek, and I hear the whistling of the instrument fly through the air before coming down hard on my ass. I gasp, and my eyes fly closed for a moment before remembering his instructions to keep them open.
“Color, Melinda.”
“Green, fucking hell, green!” My nipples are hard and I’m panting heavily now. Without thinking about it, I push my ass at him, desperate for more.
“Spread your legs, greedy girl.”
“Yes, Sir,” I respond and spread them as far as I can while remaining steadily on my feet. I feel exposed but not in a scary way. It’s empowering, accepting what he wants to give me. Willing him to give me more of it, harder and faster. I need more. I tip my ass up again, practically begging for his touch.
The bristles roughly drag up in the inside of my leg to my inner thigh and swoop across my open core. And now I know, without a doubt, that the instrument of my pleasure is a broom. I’m never going to be able to use a broom without remembering how exciting it is to be spanked with one.
He drags the bristles of the broom down my other leg and then back up as he slaps it at my core. The surge of pleasure is wonderful, but an underlying fear tickles at the back of my neck. I don’t want to say it, but I know I have to.
“Yellow.” I scrunch my eyes closed in fear that he’ll stop what he’s doing entirely.
“What do you fear, Melinda?”
“The handle.” Tears well in my eyes. They used a prop and it hurt me. It took more than just my blood. It took my future, and it took me a long time to heal from it. A panic attack settles in, and I can’t breathe.
“I will never put anything inside of you that will hurt you,” he says, sets the broom down beside me, and places his hands on top of mine against the wall and presses his chest into my back.
“Listen to me, Mindy,” he whispers in my ear. “I remember every single thing those sick fucks forced Holly to tell me. Every word and every terrified cry replays in my head every single night. I lay awake, fantasizing about killing those men and hating myself for not having been the one to do it. They hurt you in a way I can’t ever make right, but I will never, not ever insert anything into you that isn’t my flesh.”
Chapter 19
Sobs rack my body and I cry out, frustrated, with the ruined moment. He called me Mindy, and he told me the scene would be over when he did that. And I cry harder, but not for the fear of the broom handle—that’s gone now. I’m crying because I don’t want this to end. I need to have this with him. For the first time in a damn long time, being touched sexually doesn’t just feel good, it feels perfect.
“Please, Sir,” I say through my sniffles, trying to convey what I need without sounding too pathetic.
“Mindy,” he says. His voice is so quiet and strained. I can’t handle losing this with him. He turns me around so I’m facing him and cups my face in his hands. “This is a mistake.”
“No,” I say loudly and place my hands over his on my cheeks. “I want this. I want you. I need this from you. Just . . . let me do this.”
His eyes search mine, like he needs further reassurance that I’m okay. I don’t know if okay is the right word for it, but it’ll have to do for now. I drop my hands to his waist and slip my index fingers into the waistband of his boxers. I take a peek down and try to force back the blush that explodes on my cheeks when I see the tent his erection is creating.
“The only thing that makes me better is you,” I say and pull his boxers down and redirect my eyes to his face. His brows are pulled together, his expression severe. I want to see his hardness, uncovered and ready for me, but I need his eyes. I need him to see me, really see me as I offer myself to him.
“You don’t have to like it, but you do have to accept it.”
“Do I?” He loses the hardness in his features, replacing it with a sadness that breaks me apart in ways the memories of what they did to me never could. Looking at him now, there’s no doubt in my mind that he doesn’t believe he can be good for me.
I might not be able to convince him that he’s good for me, but I can show him how well our bodies will fit together. He sighs heartily and lowers his hands to my waist, gripping me firmly and pulling my naked body against his. I gasp at the smooth hardness pressing into my stomach. His hands are all rough and calloused, and his arms and legs are firm with his well-crafted muscles. He’s so rough everywhere, except for here. The flesh of his shaft is so soft. I don’t remember Heath being this soft, but that was a long time ago.
“I belong to you.”
He smashes his lips against mine. We each battle for dominance over the other, like we’re trying to prove a point to the other person. He’s insisting that he’s bad for me with every bossy caress of his tongue, and I’m demanding he see reason as I lovingly nip at his lips. We’re not competing for something, just arguing the only way we can now that we’ve worn out the words and have grown sick of the pain. I’m moaning and rubbing myself against him shamelessly. In response, he wraps his arms around me, holding me so tight against the hardness of his body that the twitch of his cock only encourages me. I slip one of my hands to his ass and giv
e it a hard squeeze. He groans and pulls his lips from mine just an inch.
“I’m not going to be able to be gentle if you do that,” he says.
My lips turn up into a sly smile, and I do it again, this time standing on my toes and rubbing on his cock more forcefully than before.
“I’m not asking for gentle.”
“Are you ready to be fucked, Melinda?”
He’s all business now, the scene back on. Hearing the sharpness of his tone thrills me, and I have to clamp my legs together to calm the thundering in my core. I place my hands back on the wall, where they were before the scene broke.
“Yes, Sir.”
He leans to the side and grabs the bandana that’s on the dresser nearby. He folds it twice and then reaches around me and ties it over my eyes tightly.
“Green,” I say, remembering my color.
Ian moves away from me, though I can’t tell what he’s doing. The blindfold blacks everything out. I stand in place, waiting for his next move and what it will bring. I hear the scraping of something against the wooden floor beneath my feet. Cold metal slaps against my legs, and then my ass, stinging my skin along the way. It’s not one solid piece, which is confusing as hell, but the sensation is incredible, distracting. I moan in response to the metal hitting my side just hard enough for it to sting. I’m going to be covered in scratches and welts when we’re done here. I can’t wait to see evidence of our fucking on my skin long after we’ve sated ourselves.
“Mmm, green.”
He hits me harder and faster from my calves up to the sides of my breasts. Worn leather casually slaps at my flesh, following the metal and it’s only now that I realize he’s using his belt. More slaps, one after the other, switching between the metal and the leather. He bends behind me and wraps the belt around my upper thigh, holding the ends and yanks, pulling my ass into his hard cock. He must be bending or something because the tip of him brushes between my ass cheeks, pressing in, lower than he was before, and slides down to my anus. My ass is a limit for me and he knows that, so I’m not even worried that he’s going to try something. My body hums in response to the erotic way he’s touching me.
