by Jc Emery
He tugs on the belt again, this time pulling my leg and spreading me open. One hand gathers my hair at my neck, twists it around his wrist, and pulls my head back. The other moves the belt from around my leg to my wet pussy. The leather slaps hard and fierce against my aching core, sending electric currents through my body.
“Fuck. Green.”
“Do you want more of that, Melinda?”
“Yes, Sir.” I so want to say purple, but he’s in control, artfully so, and I doubt he’ll react well.
“I’m going to slap your pussy hard and fast until you can’t take anymore, increasing the speed and pain until you use your safe words.”
But I’m determined to take everything he’s willing to give me, and even more if I can manage it.
The next slap against my clit comes lower than the last and harder, too. My heart jumps, and I arch my back as he does it again and again until my entire body is shaking and I can’t make heads or tails of anything apart from the powerful pulsing sensation in my core. He speeds up his ministrations, intensifying my pleasure. The slaps of the leather bite against my swollen, aching flesh. Each touch more incredible than the last. My body heats, a sheen of sweat covering every inch.
“Did you forget your words?” he asks. His voice is strained, like he’s on the verge of breaking.
“No.”
“You’re going to bruise. This is too hard,” he says. His attempt at reasoning with me does no good though. I know I’m going to bruise. I’m counting on it.
“I want it hard.” I let the words slide out on a moan. He’s backtracking, trying to take it easy on me, but I’m much too far gone, well past taking it easy. I want it fierce and intense. I want it to hurt. I don’t want to walk normal tomorrow. I want it hard enough that even if he never fucks me again, I’ll have this memory.
We’re in the corner of the room with my hands on one wall and the other to my left. An idea strikes me that might be a bit crazy or might be pure genius. I turn my body slightly, not enough to be obvious, but just enough to achieve my goal. Ian moves in response, his feet at an angle that suggests his back is practically against the wall to my left. I’m still panting from the crazed slapping of the leather against my pussy. I want more, but he’s not going to give it to me, so I have to find a way to take what I really need.
The leather belt wraps around one of my wrists and then the other, binding them together. He pulls on the belt, lifting my arms above my head and propping the outside of my forearms against the wall, then lowering them, with my elbows bent at a ninety-degree angle. He doesn’t know it, but he’s just given me exactly what I want. Placing his hand on my spine, he forces me to bend at my waist and prop my ass up in the air. I keep my legs spread as I move them backward to accommodate my new position.
“Tell me you’re not ready. Say bayonet, or red, or something,”
“Green,” I say with a smile.
I feel his wrist leading his cock to my aching entrance. Very slowly, slides in just an inch before stopping. He takes a deep breath and waits a moment before moving in farther. A spike of fear assaults me, reminding me of that night. I’m so wet and slick now that he doesn’t hurt me like they did—Ian would never hurt me that way—but still. A cold, inhuman vibrator isn’t the same as a human being. He’s so warm, like they were, but that’s where the comparisons end. The farther he slides in, the less I think of them. The slower he goes, the more time he takes, the more I’m able to separate what happened then with what’s happening now.
I won’t let them take this from me.
Nobody is going to take this from me.
He’s fully sheathed inside me now, filling me up with his deliciously large cock. I squeeze him and moan because he feels perfect. When he starts to move, the low buzzing intensifies, but it’s not enough.
“Green,” I say firmly and shove back into him. He stills me at my hips and rocks back and forth with such gentleness that it makes my stomach turn. Fuck this gentle shit. Fuck his attempt to control this. I need hard and he’s not giving it to me. I try to buck against him again, but again, he stills me.
“I won’t hurt you any more than I already have,” he says and slaps his hand on my ass in warning.
“I said green. I’m fine.”
“The rules, Melinda!” He slaps at my ass again, this time slamming into me harder, forcing a moan from my lips. God. That felt good. I need more of that.
“Fuck me harder, please, Sir.” I shove back against him and revel in the swelling ache behind my legs. He doesn’t listen though, intent on making me suffer. A lump forms in my throat, the slower he goes, the more he makes this something I’m not ready for. Even though we’re standing up, with my wrists bound and a blindfold over my eyes, this is starting to feel much more like making love than fucking. Loving Ian and being prepared to make love to him are two different things. I can’t . . .
I can’t do this.
He’s being so careful with me, like he’s cherishing my body. This is how a husband makes love to a wife, how a man promises forever with the woman he’s committed to. But Ian refuses to give me those things, so I don’t want this bullshit attempt at easy, slow sex.
Moving my forearms around the wall in a slow, blind search, I find the edge of the door frame and press my right forearm against it, angle my body farther in toward the wall behind me, and take a deep breath. He’s going to be so mad at me in a moment.
Pushing back off the wall, I welcome his cock slamming into me hard and fast. I moan, loudly and unapologetically. He grips my hips, trying to still my movements, but I refuse to let him stop this. I slam back against him again, pressing down so hard that he hits the wall behind him, and I fuck his cock as hard and fast as I can. He groans and sucks in a deep breath, letting himself get into it for just a moment before he comes to his senses.
“God damn it, we’re going to have to work on your submission, Melinda!”
“I’ll submit when you follow your own rules. I told you I wanted it hard,” I shout and keep on with my hard and fast pounding against his smooth, hard cock.
“You want hard? Fine!” He’s screaming from behind me, angry now. Good. I want him angry.
He shoves me farther down the wall and back to where he had me before I got the bright idea to force him into giving me what I want. He pounds into me so hard, so fast that I suck in a breath and forget to breathe. My legs shake, my heartbeat is pounding in my ears, and the world around me is disappearing again. He drives into me harder with each thrust, working up to a painful assault on my pussy.
“Use your safe word,” he demands and slaps his hand so fucking hard on my outer thigh that I lose the strength in my arms. My nose hits the wall in front of me. It stings, but I fight back the tears. When I don’t answer him immediately, he does it again, this time driving into me with even more power than before. Reaching around my torso, he twists one of my nipples. I cry out frantically, but refuse to give him the power of knowing that this is getting to be too much.
“Safe word, now. Say yellow and I’ll slow down. Say red or bayonet and I stop.”
“No, Sir.”
“Fuck!” he shouts and slams into me in a frantic rhythm. His breathing picks up, and he’s struggling to maintain the rhythm of his insatiable rapid fire thrusts.
I’m dizzy with the need to come already. My arms and legs want to give out, but I can’t prove him right, so I keep myself upright despite every instinct to just sink to the floor, panting, struggling to breathe, and desperate to give my body a break. My vision crosses. Even in the darkness under the bandana, I know that I’m reaching my breaking point. Even Ian’s struggling to power through his exhaustion. He’s grunting, letting out frustrated, hasty breaths.
“Sir?” I keep my voice small, like I’m giving in to his will.
“Yes, Melinda?” The words barely come out audibly.
I’m quiet for another moment as the explosion of pleasure builds in the pit of my belly and spreads swiftly through my l
egs, arms, and down my spine.
“Purple!” I’m gasping for breath. Unable to prop my head up any longer, I drop my forehead against the wall and scrunch my eyes shut to fight off the impending nausea that’s building. This is so intense, too intense. I can’t handle it. Fuck. I can’t manage this much longer. But somehow, I do. In a show of stubbornness—or strength, I’m not sure which—I keep myself upright and take every painful, angry inch he gives me. My sore pussy swells and locks down around him as he grabs hold of the belt at my wrists and pulls on it. Oh my God. Shit. He’s got my body propped up, half-bent into this wall as he fucks me mindlessly. His hips crash into my core so hard that I swear I can feel him hitting the very depths of my pussy.
He comes on a roar, loud and volatile in my ear, as his other hand grips my hair and yanks my face to the side, my neck exposed. His torso covers my back, the hand holding the belt at my wrists wraps around my waist, and he continues his merciless pounding. His tongue drags from my shoulder up my neck, leaving a cool, wet trail to my ear. The new angle forces my orgasm from me so violently that I lose my footing, and the only thing keeping me from falling onto the hardwood is his arm around my waist. I’m screaming my release, darkness closing in around me, and a simultaneously suffocating and freeing breaking of consciousness as the blackness takes over. The last thing I feel is his teeth at my neck biting down and sending one last savage shock to my system. My arms and legs shake uncontrollably as his bite registers and the blissful euphoria consumes me.
Chapter 20
When I came to yesterday, I was wrapped in Ian’s arms, our naked bodies intertwined in his bed. My body had been rubbed down with lotion, and he had taken great care to ensure my comfort. My wiggling in the bed woke him up, and we had a lengthy discussion about the rules, and why they exist. I pushed not only his limits but mine as well, and even though I don’t regret it, I feel a little guilty.
“I won’t be touching you again,” he had said. Apparently he was much more serious about the purple limit than I thought. I don’t believe him when he says he won’t touch me again. I can’t accept that. But I pushed him enough, so I’m backing off for now and letting him cool off. Maybe, in time, he will see that we can make this work. I want the pain, I want the brutality, but I don’t want to risk losing him over it.
“Floor’s clean, babe.” He comes up behind me, taking the broom from my grasp and propping it up against the wall. I eye the broom curiously, thinking back to how he used the one at the cabin to give me pleasure in ways I couldn’t have imagined before.
“Huh?” I’m distracted and can’t seem to get my brain in order. I was scatterbrained enough at the cabin, but here in the clubhouse, I’m a hundred times worse. There’s so much going on today, with one of the patched members just having gotten out of jail, and the clubhouse is a buzz of activity and excitement. I refuse to go anywhere near the pleasure palace for fear of seeing people I normally like engaged in activities I definitely don’t like—together. I’m not a prude, but Bear suggesting that he and the dude who just got out, Torque, should run a train on Chel—a woman I happen to really like—and watching her smile and walk toward the palace is enough for me. The three of them seemed so comfortable with the idea, like it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done such a thing.
“You’ve been sweeping the same spot for five minutes,” Ian says, pulling me back into the moment. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“Chel,” I admit. Ian heard the exchange. He knows they headed down the hall for the pleasure palace. Surely he can figure out why this bothers me.
“Lost girls are here to keep the brothers happy, but make no mistake about it—they’re here because they want to be, and they only do what they want to do. Especially Chel. Torque wouldn’t hurt her.”
“It’s hard to imagine . . . two men . . . that she’d want that.” God, I sound like such a freaking baby. This is ridiculous. Chel is a grown-ass woman, and if Ian tells me she’s safe and this dude, Torque, won’t hurt her, then I need to fucking believe that.
“Hm. Hard to imagine you’d like to have your pussy slapped with a broom, too. But the weirdest shit gets people off.” There’s a sly smile playing at his lips that sends a blush to my cheeks. Oh Christ, now I’m thinking of everything except for Chel and the two large men who are impaling her as we speak.
“Just tell me that broom wasn’t dirty,” I say. I hadn’t thought of it at the time, but looking at the dirty broom propped against the wall makes me wonder exactly how dirty that scene was.
“First time I touched the fucking thing was to tease you with it.”
“It was new?”
“Ma dropped it off sometime last year, some kind of hint that I needed to clean the fucking place.”
“You mean to tell me that broom was in your house for a year and you hadn’t used it once?”
“Got better shit to do than clean, babe,” he says and turns his attention to the line of men disappearing down the hallway to my side. They pass up the pleasure palace—thank goodness, too—and head straight into the chapel. “Shit. Church. Hang out here with Baby Boy, ’kay? Don’t want you running off anywhere.”
Like I’m going anywhere without him. We rode his Harley in today, and I’m damn determined to ride it home, too. I couldn’t imagine it possible the first time I got on the back of his bike, but I actually love riding Ian more than his bike, and I can’t get enough of either.
“Don’t worry,” I say and grab the room, giving him a cheeky smile. “I won’t get swept away.” I wiggle my brows and break out into a full grin, laughing at my own joke. “Get it—swept away?”
“Fuck, you’re cute,” he says and hooks his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me into his chest and kissing the top of my head. I can feel the smile on his lips with that kiss and the lightness in his tone. For a brief moment, he looks happy and relaxed.
“Think you’re going to keep me now?”
“I gotta go.” He dodges my question, which is just so typical.
A commotion breaks out at the end of the hall, distracting me from Ian’s shady behavior. The man I haven’t officially met, Torque, waves a black plastic device in his hand and is individually checking the brothers’ out by waving the device over their jeans and boots.
“What the hell is he doing?” I ask. Torque has pitch-black hair and squinty brown eyes. He looks kind of like a real life villain with the way he waves that plastic wand and cackles at the men who stand in line at the door. Ryan stands in front of Torque. He pulls what looks like a mobile phone from his pocket and drops it in the box Jeremy’s holding.
“Paranoid fuck. Always been his thing. Asshole doesn’t trust anybody, not even us,” Ian says. I nod my head in understanding. I already know they don’t allow phones or weapons in Church. I’ve just never seen anybody play security detail before. I fight back a laugh when Ryan disposes of two guns, three knives, and a firework into the box.
“What the hell?” Jeremy asks as he pulls out the firework and eyes it curiously.
“Thought I’d shove it up your ass later.”
Jeremy’s face pales at Ryan’s comment. The foulness of it all doesn’t even surprise me anymore. Ryan is always going on about shoving things up people’s asses. It’s kind of his thing, which makes me wonder if he’s ever topped another dude. I wouldn’t be shocked if he has, to be honest.
“Here,” Ian says. He pulls out his mobile phone and hands it to me. “Waiting on a call from a breeder about a new line of stock. Call comes in, answer it. Tell that lazy fuck I need my product and I need it soon.”
“Um. What kind of breeder? What product?” I probably don’t want to know, but I can’t stop myself from asking anyway.
“Dog breeder. One of his bitches just had a litter, and it’s about time we replace Tegan and amp up our detail.”
“Oh,” I say and laugh to myself. “I so didn’t think that’s what you were going to say. Um, do you think I can go with you to ge
t the puppy?”
I haven’t let myself be upset about it in a long time, but I really hate not having any pets. We used to have a dog, years back, but when Bugsy died, Dad refused to replace him. I loved that dog and really loved having the company. Heath and I never had a dog, and after Heath, I wasn’t in a place to take care of anything—not even myself.
“Won’t be getting a puppy. Our dogs come fully trained and old enough to stay focused on the job at hand. But yeah, my girl likes dogs, we’ll get her a dog.”
He’s still smiling as he heads down the hall and tosses his knife and gun into the box in Jeremy’s arms that’s now practically overflowing. I’m smiling so big, being so ridiculously happy, that I can’t contain myself. Ian’s getting me a dog. Holy fuck, I’m getting a dog! Even though I know this is likely a strategy to distract me from the whole “no sex” thing he’s trying to implement, I don’t care. I’ll let him distract me with pets any day. Maybe if I continue to push the topic of sex, I can get a cat out of him, too.
“This is bullshit and you know it, you stupid fuck!”
My smile falls from my face when I see Ian trying to keep the peace between Fish and Torque. Fish is yelling and trying to dodge Torque’s plastic wand. The device makes a loud beeping sound when it slides over Fish’s pocket. Something looks off about Fish. His words are slurred, and he’s unsteady on his feet. It takes but a moment for me to realize that he’s high. It’s not like being high is a no-no in the eyes of the club, but it certainly is during Church. Chel once told me that being a little stoned during Church is encouraged because it keeps them from whipping their dicks out, but being full on fucked-up is a pretty big problem since it’s technically a business meeting.
