He walks out of the bedroom in a loose-fitting bluish-gray tank top and black pants. And he smiles—one of those drool-worthy, panty-melting grins. “You okay?” he asks, sucking on something. “You seem tense.”
My head tilts inquisitively as I whisper, “What do you have in your mouth?”
“A mint,” he politely says as his eyes blink up to meet mine. “Do you want one?”
I laugh. “We’re about to have a scene?”
“Yeah and I’m anxious as fuck.”
I wrinkle my nose. “… You?”
“Yeah,” he contends, pulling a mint from his pocket and unwrapping it. He puts the disc on my tongue. “You don’t get to corner the market on nerves.”
“How often do you get nervous?”
“Not very often,” he says, tightening the straps on me. “But I’m in love with you. You’re a game changer.”
His private confession isn’t what I expect. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one having the therapy?”
He fastens two matching ankle cuffs to my feet. “That’s where you’re wrong. If it’s done right, this is as much about me as you. There is balance. If there isn’t balance, it isn’t BDSM. It’s not always fifty-fifty, but I am in this with you.”
“What about the random one-nighters?”
“That,” he says, fastening a collar around my neck. “Never has the same appeal. Because I don’t have the emotional connection with them. It’s strictly a power trip, but there is still a balance. With you, this is intensely intimate.”
“You’re such a gentleman.” I smirk.
His brows dart up fast. “That’s what you keep telling me. I’m not going to argue, but I know you’re scared and I want you to have fun.”
“You get clothes,” I point out and glance down. “Is that to hide the raging boner?”
“Pretty much.” He leans in and softly kisses me. “How high do you want to go?”
I take a deep breath. “Take me all the way up.”
“Okay, but I’m bringing you back down. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to whip me and show me who Master Jynx is.”
He licks his lip as the smell of peppermint calms me. “But you’re sleeping cuffed to me.”
My eyes fill with tears. “Not letting me run off?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
Closing my eyes, I whisper, “Take me higher than I have ever been, Jynx.” He pushes the remote, and I lift about three feet before I say, “Hey, J?” He stops me.
“Yeah.”
“I fucking love you.”
“I fucking love you too, babygirl.” He hits the button and grins. “Stop holding your breath.”
I glance down at him as I reach the top. “How did you know?”
“It’s a common problem. You’ll get yourself more worked up than necessary.”
I look out the massive industrial pane windows. “The view is incredible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Have you never been up here?”
“No, I’m too tall. This ride has a height requirement that I don’t meet.”
My body relaxes as I giggle under my breath, “Are you serious?”
“It’s only built to hold between four-ten and six feet because the previous owner is a short motherfucker at five-ten.”
I laugh and gently swing on the ropes. “And your cousin?”
“He would never do this, way too much alpha in those sneakers,” he replies, taking a drink of water. “But he’s like six-one. Hold your mint between your teeth.”
He rotates me with my back to him. “Jynx?” The quick-release drops my body, paralyzing my breath and sending my stomach to a new location in the back of my throat. He stops me about a foot off the ground. “Jynx, what are you doing?”
The whip cracks to my left and rapidly to my right. “Worship.”
Dear God.
My lip quivers. My body trembles. He detaches the D-clips from the armholes, releasing and removing them. My hands cling to the ropes as I balance in thick belts wrapped around my waist and between my legs. “What if I fall?”
“You’re a foot off the ground,” he interrupts. “You’re not falling.”
I glance over my shoulder. “I meant in love with doing this.”
“Then we need to get you back on the pill because I don’t play lightly.”
I bite my lip and prepare mentally for his first snap. He brushes the tip over my back, and I notice the mirrors on the closed garage door and in front of me. I can see myself, and him—everything. “Someone has a thing for watching themselves.”
The loud crack sounds to my right side on the floor. He’s taunting me—teasing me—building up the tension. It’s all in my head, I think. The mental fuck. Until he strikes me once, and I shut my eyes. “Open them.”
I do. And I stare at his reflection—dark, foreboding, intimidating—purposefully driven to bring pain to my body. My hot fiancé is a dangerous man with a sculpted body and calculating mind.
I am so in love with him.
He flicks the whip again, searing the tails across my back. I’m hot, slipping into a drunken space where nothing matters, and it is so good. He tosses another and another until I’ve lost count, and the only thing that matters is he and I are sharing in this precious, perfect moment.
“Take it,” I purr, rolling my hips in the harness as the slickness trickles between my thighs. “Please, Sir.”
He doles out a few more, some of which sting, and drops the wretched and wonderful beast on the floor. “That’s enough for now.” He hoists me out and sets me on the platform bed beneath the skylights. I feel so small in his arms as I protest, “Are we done?”
“Not even close,” he replies. “But you’ll be emo mush if I keep going.”
“But that is where you pray.”
He grabs a long, thin stick with a popper at the end. “Coachwhip. And I can pray anywhere.”
Rubbing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he arouses it to a peak and reaches to do the same to the other. I close my eyes, distracted by the sensation of his fingers, and never see the nipple clamps.
“The hell!” I open my eyes to the deviant grin of a monster. He tugs the shiny silver chain between them. “Oh, gosh…”
“How good are you?”
“I’m very good, Jynx.”
“Face the wall over there,” he says, pointing to the vacant space on the side of the cabinets near the suspension rig. I quickly do as he says. The wall is perpendicular to the mirrored garage door, and I see myself—with black cuffs on my neck, wrists, ankles, and black clamps adorning my nipples. “And do not move. What are you thinking about?”
“That I look incredible.”
“You do,” he praises with his deep, sexy tenor. “The perfect little doll to thrash and trash.” The blazing bite of the coachwhip on my ass sends my hand to rub the flesh. “Hands up on the wall. Spread your legs.”
He runs the tip over the length of my slit and I ask, “Are you hard?”
“Very.”
“And what are you thinking about?”
Pacing closer, he breathes against my neck and cackles, “How much I want to hurt you.”
He gently tugs on the chain between my breasts. “They should be tighter,” I complain as he flips me around and demands, “Open.” Placing the whip between my teeth, he slowly increases the pressure.
My eyes flare at his, and I moan, “Enough.”
“Just a little bit more.”
“Bastard!”
“Don’t ever tell a sadist you want more pain.”
He retrieves the whip, and I growl deep in my throat. “It’s too much.”
“No, it’s not. Mind over matter. Push yourself. Embrace the pain. Run to it, not away from it.”
Tears form in my eyes as I look at him. He tilts his head and lifts his brows with an evil fascination. I turn away, sniffling, understanding the routine.
“It’s too much!”
His hand grips my shoulder, spinning me back into the wall and pressing down. He rips the zipper open on his pants and angles himself. “Suck my cock. And watch those pretty lips swallow me in the mirror.”
I open my mouth, and he grabs my hair, which tumbles out of the bun. He shoves his dick deep into my throat. I stare at the girl, on her knees, submitting to this man, and lust replaces the ache in my nipples. They’re burning, almost numb, but all I can focus on is how much I want him to touch my pussy. I want his lips on my throbbing clit and his fingers fucking me. I reach up to cup his sack, knowing he won’t be long.
He yanks my head back by my hair, seizing control of my movements. I am his sexual puppet meant for his pleasure.
“What?” I pant as my eyes water. “Say something.”
“You’re fucking beautiful.” He dips down and passionately dives his tongue into my mouth. “Watch carefully.” His fist clutches around his cock, and he pumps it hard and fast—violently so. His heavy, ragged breaths snag in my heart with each thrust. “Open your goddamned mouth, bitch!” He grunts hard and shoots his hot cum down my throat and over my face. “You’re mine. And that is what I am going to do to your pussy.”
Without even a beat, his finger slips into the hoop on my neck collar, and he tugs, pulling me to the bed. He strips off his shirt and lays down flat on his back as I whip my tongue along my top lip to clean up his mess. I wipe the wet spots with my finger and lick them.
“Did you think I’d say no?”
“Sit on my face,” he randomly demands. I blink, stunned by the request. He sees the hesitation in my eyes. “Grip the headboard to balance and sit your swollen little cunt on my lips. I’m kissing you from clit to ass.”
I straddle over his sexy mug, totally uncertain about this move—feeling like a power shift. He’s offering to let me regain some control. I refuse, lowering, but his hands tether to my thighs, driving me down. He sucks my hard little nub into his mouth and gently nips before sliding forward and fucking my opening with his tongue.
When he swirls around my puckered asshole, I understand his gospel and beg for more. His supercharged boost elevates my standing with him as I find the melody in his maelstrom and automatically move on my own.
He slides his thumb into my ass and uses his other hand to pull the silver rein latched between my nipples. We’re moving as one, chasing the storms, and embracing the debauchery.
“I’m going to come, Jynx!” I’m on my own, flying full speed ahead into danger. “God! Fuck! Don’t stop!”
And then, he moans, vibrating the whole deluge of my wanton undercarriage from ripe clit to hungry hole over and over again.
“Yes!” I howl out like an animal as I discover who I am, what I am capable of, and who I am meant to be. “Suck my orgasm out of me!”
I am an animal just like he is.
He focuses on my clit as the massive full-body tremor erupts through me. Waves of dew flow from my body, drowning his face, and I slow down to take a breath.
But he is Jynx, and I’ve come to know he is far from through. Tossing one leg over, he escapes, drops his pants, and mounts behind me like a primal savage. He winds my hair around his palm and pulls, bucking his hard cock into me.
“You like it rough, little girl?”
“Yes!” I cry out as he fills me. Just when I think I cannot take anymore, he thrusts deeper, slapping our thighs together and resonating in my core. No one else in my life will ever mean this much.
He reaches around and pulls the clamps from my nipples one at a time. It burns. “Are you going to be my whore, Abigail?”
“I will be everything you need! I want to be your submissive!” I retaliate, and he smacks my ass hard. “Please, be my Master! It’s all I want!”
He slows down, pounding my puddle with the entire length of his shaft. “Your pussy is so goddamned good—so goddamned good.”
“This is going to take all night.”
He calmly corrects, “No, this is going to take the rest of our lives.”
A week later, I stare out the window at the rolling fields as he drives. With my hand laced in his, I peek over and smile at the man I’ve fallen in love with—Jeremiah Abaddon Monroe. He’s a techie freak, a hacker, a biker, a hell of a Dominant, and a dangerous man. I didn’t get everything I asked for; I got something better. Something I seemingly forgot ten months ago.
A gentleman.
My “rapist” must be a gentleman with a kink streak a mile wide.
I scoffed at the idea of being submissive for so long because I never found the right partner. He showed up, and everything clicked like magic. People influence one another. People change and grow.
There isn’t anything I won’t let him do to me.
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers.
This man loves me.
How rare is that?
So we’re a little off, fucked up in how we play, but we’re soulmates fated from the beginning.
Apparently, he’s saving biker royalty—something I have dismissed for a long time. I didn’t know until three days ago, but my father helped start Rampage MC many years ago in Arkansas. I didn’t even know my dad ever went to Arkansas. The pages of our history sometimes fall out of the book and get lost, and we hope and pray that someone hands them back to us. Someone must know the story.
A guy named Jynx did.
As we sat naked in bed, with me feeding him pecan praline ice cream, he researched for hours in his glasses and messy hair.
I needed to know why I was on the radar of his new boss.
And now I do.
We made a decision based on our escapades to put off having children for a while. Before we left South Carolina, I swallowed the little tablet to erase the slight chance of a baby preemptively stealing some of our fun away. In Houston, I visited a doctor, received bloodwork, and had an IUD implanted.
It’s not time…yet.
And we have plenty of time.
The truth we both knew is that we weren’t ready because we were too into one another. I cried for about thirty minutes, questioning the what-ifs that ultimately he deemed to be my decision. I was young, and we had plenty of time. I gulped down the mature decision and swore to be the best Abigail Maines I could be for me, him, and our future.
I met the man of my dreams.
And I can slow down or speed up the story at any point because it is my story, my history, that I am building day by day.
Under Jynx’s spell, I regained control of everything because I trusted him. I wouldn’t recommend my way to everyone, but it worked for me.
I like rough sex.
And he certainly fits the bill.
We pull through an open gate and stop outside of a grand Victorian estate. “Is this it?”
“… I think so?” he cackles, running his hand through his curls. “I’m feeling a bit of déjà vu.”
He’s scanning his phone when I spot Deacon exiting the garage and grinning at me. “J?”
“Huh?” He looks up. “I was just about to call. I’m on my way to open your door.”
“I think someone is going to beat you to it,” I inform as Deacon does. “Hi!”
He offers me his hand—his dirty biker hands—and I take them. I welcome them. I embrace him. He isn’t my father, and neither is Jynx—he is something so much more. He is the Daddy of a spoiled brat. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good!” I reply as Sal emerges from the garage and gives Jynx a bro hug. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to fucking make it. And it’s going to be one hell of a trip. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for inviting us!”
“You look amazing!” Deacon compliments, playing with the tips of my hair. “This light blonde really pops your eyes!”
Sal twists his ball cap around and opens his arms wide as I walk over. He lifts me off my feet a few inches and kisses both of my cheeks as I spot my Mustang in the garage. “This is your house.”
I look at Jynx,
who is grinning mischievously. “You knew!”
“I did,” he admits, bashfully. “And I knew you would love it.”
“But but!” Sal excitedly says, holding my hand and refusing to let go as we rush toward the garage. “The best part is this!”
I gasp at the wire and wood box with four baby peacocks. “Jynx! It’s the start of our pulchritude of peacocks!”
“We could call it a pride of cocks.” Sal wiggles his brows and picks one up, placing it in my hands. “They’re yours.” He digs in his pocket and hands me the keys. “And so are these.”
“Whose house is this?”
“The whole property is mine. I’m having another house built past the tree line in the valley by the creek.”
“Are y’all going to live there?”
“She says y’all!” Deacon gushes, patting Jynx on the shoulder. “Do it again!”
“Y’all!”
“Naw, y’all,” Sal mocks in his best Southern drawl, “will share the property, but you won’t ever notice the neighbor. Trust me. You have seven hundred acres.”
“Holy shit!” I spot the girl exiting from the house with long, dark hair. I shove the peacock at Sal and walk over. She’s a little taller than me but not by much as we meet in the middle of the garage and stare at one another. Her blue-violet eyes blink at my hazel ones as she imparts a stern gaze. “You’re Sal’s hot wife.”
“If you ever do something so incredibly stupid again, I will hurt you. And you will regret ever crossing a woman.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Her expression softens, and she embraces me. Her hair smells like a lavender bouquet. I’m utterly bewildered by her enchantment. “Can I come work for you?”
“We can talk about that in a few days.” She winks. “I’ll need a resume.”
I turn back to the three boys lined up in a row. “That is a whole lotta trouble.”
“You have no idea,” she giggles, gripping onto my arm. “Good luck! May you have plenty of sparks and lots of ice!”
Beautiful Things Evil People Do Page 39
