Burn For You

by Annabel Joseph

  That was all she got. A nudge toward the bed, but no impassioned possession. They laid down side by side and kissed some more. He touched her skillfully, but skill wasn’t enough to turn her on. Something was missing, some force or intensity. He slid her clothes off when she wanted him to rip them off, and then he set about doing everything he could to please her.

  But she wanted to be the one to please him.

  He trailed kisses down her waist, to her pelvis, and lower. She wanted to clamp her legs shut. She knew what was coming, knew he would go down on her and do everything he could to cater to her needs. That’s what nice guys did. She laid back and tried to relax, tried to get into his lovey, gentle vibe, but nothing came, only frustration.

  “You taste so sweet,” he whispered against her mons. “You’re so beautiful down here. You taste so fine, baby.”

  She made a soft sound, trying to play along, like he was arousing her. He was great at going down. He was spectacular at it, actually, if technique and enthusiasm were the markers. Any other girl would be coming like mad by now. She grasped his hair and tried to psych herself into pleasure. Don’t be stupid. This should feel good. The only reason it doesn’t is because you’re a sicko and you want him to tie you up and beat you instead. Her soft sound became more of an impatient sigh.

  Eliot stopped. “What’s wrong?”

  Molly squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just... I’ve never been into this.”

  He laughed. “That’s a new one. Well, what are you into?”

  She caught the edge of annoyance in his voice. Shit. She was ruining everything. What was she supposed to do? Tell him everything she was into and watch him run for the hills? “Just fuck me,” she said, pulling at his shoulders. “Please fuck me. I’m so hot for you.”

  The problem was, with every moment that passed, she grew a little less hot for him. She squeezed his shoulders, scratched him to try to urge him to more intensity, but he gave her a look like she was confusing him, or maybe freaking him out.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be sorry.” More kissing. More gentle caresses. “I just want to make you feel good. You’re so sweet, so hot.”

  He produced a condom, rolled it on and nestled the head of his cock against her pussy. He was hung nice and thick. She wanted him to thrust inside her roughly, thrust inside so it hurt a little and unsettled her. Instead he took his time, sinking into her in a sensual slide, lifting her hips to ease the way. Oh God, it felt good. It felt damn good to be filled again, but he was so tentative and gentle that any of the thrill of his entry dissipated into a kind of stupor of...ugh...sweetness.

  “That feels good,” she breathed. “You don’t have to be so gentle. I want you.”

  “I know, baby. I want you too. It feels so good inside you.”

  He quickened his pace, but he was still as polite and vanilla as any lover could possibly be. He was exactly the lover she should have expected him to be: attentive, patient, caring. He was an excellent lover, an unselfish lover. The lover of any woman’s dreams—but not hers.

  He fucked her on and on, never tiring. He was waiting for her to come, but it wasn’t happening. He caressed her, licked her nipples, kneaded her ass, but it was hopeless. None of it was right. When he flipped over on his back and pulled her on top of him, Molly gave up completely. It frightened her to be in this dominant position, and worse, he went still beneath her. “Ride me, babe. You’re in charge now. Do what feels good.”

  “I can’t. I...I never come in this position.”

  “I can make you come.”

  He moved in her a little, twisting his hips. Molly was going dry, so each thrust felt a little sharper, but it wasn’t sexy pain. It was just pain. It was failure and misery. Even if she told Eliot what she was into, even if he got a little kinkier to fulfill her, that’s just what it would be. To fulfill her. Ugh.

  “Come for me, baby. I want to see you come.”

  It was clear Eliot was all about pleasing his partners, and that extended to getting them off. His face was screwed into a mask of concentration, like if he just tried hard enough he could make this happen.

  It wasn’t going to happen. He was still urging her on, making her buck up and down on his cock. She closed her eyes and tried to think about something to get turned on. Immediately her mind went to dark eyes and dreadlocks. Mephisto bending her over, forcing his cock into her ass and pounding his hips against her. No, it wasn’t right for her to think about Mephisto, not in Eliot’s bed. She looked down at him, focusing on him, on how much she wanted to come just to make him happy. Nothing. Nothing at all. “It’s starting to hurt a little,” she said.

  He rolled with her again. She barely suppressed a sigh as he spread her legs, trying to work her clit, trying to coax some response that wasn’t there. Molly wanted to disappear, to bolt from his place and hide somewhere and cry and scream and rage. He kissed her breasts, then slid his tongue around the base of her neck. She thought about her Master’s collar that used to rest there...

  “I don’t have any lube,” he said. “Maybe if I put on a new condom—”

  “No,” Molly said. Enough. No more. She forced a smile and touched his arm. “It’s okay. Sometimes I just don’t come.”

  “I could go down on you again.”

  “No.”

  Eliot deflated a little, rolled back and away from her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s not working for you.”

  “You can still come,” Molly offered. “You can fuck me until you come. Or I could go down on you.”

  He shook his head, looking a little horrified. “No, I wouldn’t expect that from you.” His previously impressive hard-on was faltering before her eyes, fading away in the face of his self-perceived failure as lover. Molly steeled herself against tears and tried to sound casual.

  “You know, it’s not you. It’s me. You’re a wonderful lover. You’re really skilled in bed. I mean it, you are.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “Circumstances would seem otherwise.”

  She knew if she explained the problem to him, that she needed him to be more forceful, more dominant, that he’d take a stab at it just to make her happy, but he would never be like her Master. Never be like Mephisto, a man for whom control and domination came as naturally as breathing. But Eliot was such a great guy... Maybe in time, she could learn to get aroused by gentleness and equality between the sheets.

  Or maybe it was time to face the fact that she was wired weird and always would be.

  Tears filled her eyes and this time she couldn’t hold them back. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Eliot crooned, stroking her cheek. “I’m sorry we didn’t wait longer. I think maybe we tried this too soon.”

  Molly shook her head. “No. I think I just...I miss my husband. I still miss him too much. You’re so different from him.”

  Eliot’s face softened. While it wasn’t the exact truth, it was enough to make him feel a little less of a failure, and she was glad of that. He tried to pull her close again, but she scooted away, stood to get her clothes. “I think... I think I have to leave for now. I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry I can’t stop crying. I’m sorry I can’t find myself and you got caught up in all my craziness.

  “You don’t have to go,” he said. “We can finish watching the movie. I can hold you. Molly, you’re upset.”

  She swiped away the tears that threatened to drown her. “I’ll be fine.”

  He began to dress too, seeming to find his own solace in looking after her. “Let me hold you until you stop crying anyway.”

  “I don’t want you to hold me!” Her sudden sharp outburst surprised even her. “I don’t want you to comfort me, or fix me. I want to be left alone right now. You’re not the right person for me, okay?”

  He put his hands up in a defensive motion. “Okay. Fine. Blunt, slightly rude. But okay. Can I call you a cab?”

  “No, I’ll walk.”

>   It was far to walk, but he didn’t argue or try to stop her. He did follow her all the way back to Mephisto’s, along six city blocks in oppressive darkness, a silent specter lingering back and letting her have her little meltdown. Somehow it upset her even more, than he was still so kind when she’d basically dumped his ass. He deserved someone suitable for him, someone who would appreciate the chivalrous knight he was. Every time she thought about what might have been, about what she was passing up, tears blurred her eyes again and spilled onto her cheeks.

  When she reached Club Mephisto, there were a few groups of kinky people smoking outside in their corsets and fetish gear. They called out to her, alarmed by her tears. She looked over her shoulder one last time at the man who’d been so much to her. Her first friend in a long time. She should have let him stay a friend. Now, with her meltdown and her late night flight to the doors of Seattle’s best-known fetish club, she was afraid he’d have nothing more to do with her. She felt rage and deep depression. She wished she could see his smile one last time, but no. That would be the last straw, the last tragedy she could take. If he smiled at her now, it would destroy her.

  Fortunately, he didn’t. He only turned and walked back the way he’d come.

  Chapter Seven: Tears

  The club was full of people, full of active noisy scenes when Molly returned from her date with her friend. Idiot. Eliot. Whatever his name was. Mephisto always waited for her while she was away, felt unsettled until she was back again. It was just after midnight when Molly came in, the witching hour. His gaze found her like a magnet seeking north, and riveted on her hollow expression, her red rimmed eyes.

  She tried to creep off to her room without being seen, but Mephisto wasn’t having it. He cut her off by the bar, tilting her head up although she struggled to keep it trained on the floor.

  “I’ll kill him,” he said. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing.” She tried to push him away, but he stood firm.

  “What did he do to you? Why are you crying?”

  “It’s over, okay?” She yelled at him over the club’s low, pulsing music. “You should be happy.”

  Yes, Mephisto was happy—ecstatic—but he hated Idiot for making Molly cry. Not just cry, but bawl. She stumbled past him, muttering warnings for him to stay away. “Tell me what went down,” he said, dogging her steps into the back rooms. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Answer my question.”

  She spun on him in the hallway. “No, he didn’t hurt me. He just made me realize something I’ve been trying to deny about myself. That I’m not a nice girl. I’m not a normal girl.” Her face twisted as she dissolved into more tears. “There’s something really wrong with me, and it’s never going to be fixed.”

  Mephisto took her arms, his body tensing in fury as he pressed her back against the wall. “God damn you, how many times do I have to tell you that nothing’s wrong with you? How many times, girl, before you believe it?”

  The “girl” reverberated between them like an alarm bell. Instead of letting her go, he pressed closer, trapping her with his chest, his arms. Her tears both disturbed and aroused him. He wanted to taste them. He lowered his head beside hers, brushed his jaw across her cheek, feeling the hot liquid like a burn. I burn. I burn for you. She shivered and shrank away from him.

  “No. I don’t want you.”

  Even as she said the words, she cried harder, her fingers curling and uncurling in the sleeves of his black tee. He felt the tips of her breasts slide like a tease across his chest. “I know, Molly. I know you don’t want me. But you need me.”

  “No...”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you. I know who you are. I know what you need, baby.”

  She squeezed his shoulders now, ran her hands up into his dreadlocks with an intensity and violence he welcomed. He knew what she needed—what Eliot obviously hadn’t been able to give her. He took her hands, pulled them down from his hair and slammed them against the wall on either side of her head. Her sobs cut off, replaced with a stuttering breath and a soft whine. Her lips parted as she blinked up at him.

  He held her wrists even tighter as he kissed her. It wasn’t a tender kiss. It was punishment for making him ache so bad, and a warning that she had about thirty seconds to save herself. To protest, to kick him in the nuts, to run off. Twenty seconds. Ten. He kissed her so hard they were both breathless. He could feel her pulse in his hands, or maybe it was his own rampaging heartbeat.

  “Nothing’s wrong with you that can’t be fixed,” he growled when they finally broke apart.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair. His other hand slid to her ass and squeezed hard, pressing her forward against his throbbing erection. He kissed her again, long and deep, and then he shoved her to her knees right there in the hallway. She sank down without resisting. He ripped open his fly and yanked down his jeans, releasing his painfully engorged cock and nudging it into her mouth. He gave her a moment to find balance, to collect herself, and then he surged forward, forcing her head against the wall. Her sultry moan vibrated his shaft and balls.

  Her hands came around his thighs, grasping, pulling him closer. “Yes, good girl,” he crooned as he thrust into her face. “Good, good girl. Nothing wrong, is there? You just needed to be put in your place.”

  She murmured something around his cock. He pulled back. “What’s that?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Pleasure, hot as fire, arced through him like lightning. “Say it again. ‘Yes, Master. Thank you for putting me in my place.’”

  “Yes, Master, thank you for putting me in my place.”

  He groaned and pulled her up by her hair. Not brutally. She was like liquid now, this beautiful slave, sliding along his jagged edges and settling into place. They were suddenly dancing, him and her, a choreography of dominance and submission that had always come to them with unexplained ease. He dragged her back to the bedroom, pushed her onto the bed and shoved her head down into the blankets. Her hands made fists beside her head as he slapped both her ass cheeks. Without thought, without pause, he drove inside her deep, fucking her hard. He slapped her thighs again, once, twice, feeling her tense around him from the pain. His hands ran up her sides, then forward to squeeze and cup the heaviness of her breasts. He pinched her nipples viciously between his fingernails only to hear her frantic cries.

  She bucked back against him every bit as hard as he fucked her, searching for a release she’d doubtless needed for some time. He urged her on. “It’s okay. Let go. Be my horny little slut. My whore. I love you this way.”

  Her hips twisted at his crass intimacies. She started making noises, and he felt them as intensely as he felt each stroke into her tight, hot sheath. His legs shook, his balls drew up in excruciating tension. Her hands clenched on his bed sheets and her legs opened farther. She threw her head back and wailed as she contracted around him.

  He grabbed her waist and drilled her, his own orgasm seconds away. Until the end, he intended to pull out, to splash his cum over her as a claiming, a mark of dominance, but at the last minute he stayed buried inside her. It didn’t matter. He knew she couldn’t get pregnant. They were both recently tested and clean. He wanted to stay inside her, to fill her with his release, and so he did, jerking with the novelty of emptying himself in her hot, welcoming depths. By slow degrees, his fingers relaxed their hold on her hips, leaving red marks behind.

  “Okay,” he whispered, running a hand up her back to soothe her trembling. “Okay. You’re okay now.”

  Okay. Yes. This had been inevitable all along. Mephisto pushed her down on the bed, flipped her over. She was wide-eyed, perhaps expecting more violence, more demand. Not that she wouldn’t enjoy those things, but he didn’t feel like giving them to her just now. Instead he gave her tenderness and warmth. He slid one knee between her legs, gathering her close and cradling her. He brushed her hair back from her face and dropped kisses on her cheeks, her
chin. He nuzzled her ear and marveled at the calm that settled over him. He wasn’t sure if this was the start of something more, something serious, or just a much-needed release for both of them, but either way, he was grateful for it. Holding her was a balm. Delicious relief.

  “Ah, Molly,” he whispered against her ear. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  He could feel her smile against his cheek. “I’ve been right here.”

  “You haven’t been here in a while. Not the Molly I remembered.” Mephisto leaned back after a moment, touching a lock of her hair, and then brushed her eyelids with his lips. “What did Eliot do to you? He didn’t humiliate you, did he? Mock you?”

  “No.” Molly toyed with the end of one of his dreadlocks, then traced a meandering Celtic tattoo up and over his shoulder. “I didn’t even tell him about me. About my past, my slavery. All he did was have sex with me. He was very generous, very sweet.”

  “Ah.” Mephisto nodded. “Too sweet?”

  “I thought it would be fine. That being with a normal, vanilla guy would feel just as good as being with a lifestyle guy, only different. I really liked him a lot, and I was excited about being with him, you know, intimately. But it was awful. It actually upset me. It’s hard to explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I’ve been there. I’ve tried to tone myself down to be with vanilla women because I was physically attracted to them, mentally attracted to them, whatever.” He laughed. “It never works. Not only does it not work. It’s—”

  “Wretched,” Molly supplied, laughing too. “Awkward. Excruciating. Weird.”

  “All of the above.” He looked down at the woman in his arms. Her laughter seemed a miracle to him, after so many tears and so much frustration. If Eliot was the one who brought her to this place, he couldn’t hate the man, not completely. “So what did you tell him? Did you just leave?”

  “Sort of. I guess I’ll have to talk to him like an adult at some point, give him more of an explanation.”

  “You should. It would be the polite thing to do, if he was as kind and friendly as you say.”