Fighting Attraction

by Sarah Castille

  “Claimed,” Doctor Death whispers before he hurries away.

  Jack backs me up against the wall, one hand beside my head, his face creased in a scowl. “You going somewhere without me?”

  “Freshening up?” I press my lips together and try for a wide-eyed innocent “I wasn’t about to get myself off in the restroom” look, but there’s no fooling Jack.

  “Naughty girl.” His voice drops, husky and low. “I know what you were going to do. And I’m going to punish you for it.”

  “How about we go back to the party?” I slide under his arm and take a few quick steps down the hallway, but Jack is fast. He catches me around the waist and pulls me back against his chest.

  “Party’s over,” he whispers in my ear. “Now you get your pain.”

  My breath leaves me in a rush. “I thought that’s what the toys were all about.”

  His dark, sensual laugh sends a delicious chill down my spine. “That wasn’t even a warm-up.”

  He leads me out of the gym and into the new wing of Redemption. We pass Torment’s new office and Sia’s tattoo shop, and then he yanks me around a corner and into the spa that is still under construction.

  “It’s dark.” I look around as Jack closes and locks the door, my heart thudding in my chest. “And it smells like sawdust. I think we should go back to the party. I’ve gotten kinda fond of these naughty toys. I think I’ll just keep them.”

  Jack leans against the door, licking his lips like a predator about to feast. “We’re not going anywhere. They’ve finished off the rooms in the back, and there’s a massage table in one of them and enough space to have some fun without anyone hearing us. I’ve got it all ready for us.”

  “Fun? I think we might have different ideas about what constitutes fun. What if someone comes in and sees me in my knickers?”

  “We’ll have to make sure you’re not screaming when they do.”

  A thrill of fear shoots through me. I back away and bump into the curved reception counter. “I’m not really in a screaming mood. I’m more in a ‘get these damn toys out of me and fuck me hard’ mood. How about we put that massage table to a good, happy, and nonscreaming use?”

  A wicked smile spreads across his face. “How about you come over here and I’ll show you the real meaning of the word sadist?” He moves toward me, and I turn and run.

  Jack gives a shout and comes after me, moving at what seems to be incredible speed for a man his size. Laughing, I race down the corridor, checking for an exit. Bathroom. Office. Treatment room. Treatment room. Treatment room. Closet. One door left. I run in and slam it behind me.

  Chest heaving, I stare at the bed in front of me. Of all the rooms I could have picked, it was the one he wanted.

  His footsteps echo in the hallway, slow and sure. Doors open and close. My little room has no windows, no closets, nowhere to hide except behind the massage table. I shiver, knowing he’s coming for me, and my insides twist with a mixture of excitement and arousal.

  I slide down behind the bed, press myself against the cold metal base. Everything smells fresh and new, from the sharp smell of paint to the almost-overpowering scent of vinyl.

  The door squeaks open, and a thin beam of light floods the small room. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it, but I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to laugh.

  “Pen?”

  After what seems like an eternity, the door closes. I count off three seconds and peek around the corner.

  “Ah. That was a mistake.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me up and into his arms.

  I struggle, trying to push his hands away, but he walks forward, forcing me back until I hit the wall with a soft thud.

  “Open for me, Pen.” He doesn’t wait for my compliance. Instead, he shoves a thick thigh between my legs and rocks me over the top.

  “Torment is outside in the hallway,” he murmurs. “He’s talking to Renegade about what they’re going to do with the spa. Don’t make a sound.”

  Holding my arms over my head, with one hand clasped firmly around my wrists, he kisses me hard, taking my mouth slowly, surely, so thoroughly he leaves no inch untouched. His fingers dive into my shirt, play with my nipples beneath my bra until my arousal threatens to overwhelm me.

  “You are not going to make me come with Torment right outside the door,” I warn.

  “Try me.” He rocks me again, harder, grinding my clit against the rough fabric of his jeans. The balls roll inside me, and the ache of unfulfilled desire becomes a throbbing pain as I hover on the excruciating edge of climax.

  “Oh God, Jack.” Just as I shatter, he pulls me against him, burying my head in his neck. I let out a low, guttural moan as my lower half throbs and pulses with the most intense orgasm of my life, every ripple of my pussy against the balls sending a new wave of sensation through my body. Jack keeps rocking me, dragging my climax out until I can’t tell where one sensation ends and another begins.

  “That was so fucking hot,” he murmurs. “Good thing Torment and Renegade didn’t stick around.”

  Before I have a chance to come down, he pulls away and spins me around to face the massage table. “Down, darlin’.” He pushes me over the cool, smooth padded surface and slides my knickers down so I can step out of them.

  “Christ,” he mutters as he slicks his finger through my labia. “I knew the toys would make you wet, but I never imagined this.”

  “How about you imagine taking them out and putting something else in?”

  “Be careful what you wish for.” With a firm hand on my lower back, holding me still, he tugs on the string, pulling out the Ben Wa balls with excruciating slowness. With my hips pressed to the table, I feel every bump and ridge as they stroke against my sweet spot. Just when I think I can’t take any more, Jack yanks on the string, pulling the balls out, and I climax hard and fast, a bolt of white lightning shooting through my body.

  “Oh God, Jack.” I moan as he helps me stand. “Fuck me. Please. I need you.”

  “Now you’re ready.” With one hand around my waist, holding me against him, he pulls down a set of cuffs, draped over an exposed beam. “Let’s get you undressed.”

  I tremble when he unbuttons my skirt and drops it to the floor. “I don’t know about this.”

  “You’ve been cuffed like this in my playroom. You know how it feels. And the endorphin rush you just had will help you deal with the pain.” He helps me pull my top over my head.

  “Pain from what?”

  He undoes the clasp of my bra, and I slide it down over my arms, dropping it on the floor with the rest of my clothes.

  “From my flogger.” He reaches up again and pulls down the flogger he has hidden on top of the beam.

  My throat tightens when I look at the black leather handle and all the leather strips attached. “That looks…not very nice.”

  Jack chuckles. “This is the nice one.”

  My trembles become a violent shudder as Jack secures my wrists in the cuffs overhead. He adjusts the chain on the beam until I’m stretched up with my toes on the ground. Vulnerable. Exposed. Hanging—like a piñata. Except when he hits me, I’m pretty sure sweet things won’t be coming out of my mouth.

  Jack smooths his warm hand up and down my body, but his touch does little to alleviate my fear.

  “We’re going to use the traffic light system so I can assess how you’re doing during the scene. Green is go. Yellow is slow down. Red is stop. Or you can you use your safe word to end the scene. What is it?”

  “Redemption.” Although after this, I won’t think of Redemption as my safe place anymore.

  He trails the flogger over my skin, the little tails tickling their way across my back and over my bottom. Surely something so soft can’t cause too much pain. I take a deep breath, and my tension eases the tiniest bit.

  “Are you ready?”
He flicks the flogger, and the little tails pitter-patter over my skin like soft little raindrops. Not bad at all.

  “Yes.”

  He continues with the soft, light strokes, first on my back and buttocks, then on my front. My skin warms, but every time I start to relax, he ups the intensity. Thuddy blows hit my ass, my upper back, and the tops of my thighs in a slow, steady rhythm, then faster. I try to get to the place in my head where I go when I cut myself, a little oasis of calm, but I am not in control. I don’t know when or where he will strike me. I don’t know how hard it will be. After a few more strokes, my skin starts to burn. And then the burn turns to pain.

  Bloody hell, that hurts. I hold my breath, tense, waiting for the next blow.

  “Where are you on the traffic light system?” he asks.

  Yellow. Definitely yellow. Close to red. “Green,” I lie.

  The flogger tails thud against my skin so hard they steal my breath away.

  “Breathe.” He changes his strokes so only the very ends of the flogger touch my skin. The thudding turns to stinging. I reach for my safe place, but I am lost in the pain.

  “Open your eyes, Pen.” Only when he commands me do I realize my eyes are squeezed shut. I look up at him, and his brow creases in a frown. “Stay here with me. Where are you now on the safety scale?”

  Red. But he looks so expectant…maybe hopeful? I can’t let him down. “Green.”

  His muscles ripple as he raises the flogger, and I whimper in anticipation of the pain where I am most vulnerable, but the blows he delivers to my stomach, breasts, and thighs are lighter, softer, just enough to make me rock toward him, seeking more of the sensation that is at once pleasure and pain. My tension eases, muscles slack, and I lean in to the gentle blows.

  “Good girl.” He drops the flogger, and I sag in the restraints. All over. I did it. It hurt. It was bad, but not as bad as I imagined.

  “Let’s see if you’re warmed up.”

  Warmed up?

  He pinches my nipple so hard I gasp. With his other hand he cups my mound, pressing his palm over my clit as he pushes two thick fingers inside me.

  “You’re very wet. Are you ready for more?”

  More?

  “We can stop if you need to stop,” he says softly as if he knows what I’m thinking.

  I want to stop. God, I want to stop. But I won’t. For me and for him. For once in my life, I want to be worthy, wanted. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, I couldn’t please my father or Adam. Nothing I did was enough. I don’t want to fail again. He needs this, and I want to give it to him.

  “No. I want to keep going.” I stiffen my spine, meet his gaze with all the determination I can muster, even though I hurt all over and ache inside.

  “Are you sure?” His studies me intently, as if he’s trying to see into my soul.

  “Yes.”

  “Use your safe word if you need it.” He walks behind me. A second later I hear a whoosh, and then the sting of a dozen bees sheets across my skin. My breath hitches, and I scramble to find a way to process the pain, but before I can get there, he lands another fierce blow that rips a scream from my throat. My ears ring. My brain fuzzes. There is no pleasure for me in this pain. No fun in this encounter. No release at hand. I just bloody hurt all over, and I can’t even imagine how it will end.

  “Safety? Red, yellow, or green?” His voice sounds far away, or maybe it’s strained.

  Redredredredredred. “Green.”

  He strikes again, and I bite through my lip to hold back my scream. Tears streak down my face. My body is slick with sweat. I am on fire. Scorching, burning, searing in the very pit of hell. Caught between determination and despair, I let my head fall against my arm, squeeze my eyes shut, and try to give myself over to the pain.

  Silence.

  Stillness.

  Redemption.

  A gentle hand on my head makes me shudder, my muscles tighten in anticipation of what is to come.

  “Shh.”

  Seconds pass. I open my eyes. Jack is front of me, reaching for the cuffs. His shirt is stained with sweat, hair mussed, jaw clenched. My pulse kicks up as he tugs on the Velcro. Is he going to tighten them? Raise me higher? Can it possibly get worse than this? A whimper escapes my lips, and pain flickers across Jack’s face. Pain. Not satisfaction. Not pleasure. Not release. If anything, he looks tenser than he did before we started.

  “We’re done, darlin’.”

  “Done?” My heart sinks to my stomach. “No. Not done. I can take more.”

  “You can’t.” He gently wipes my tears away. “Even that was too much. I thought it would be, but you were so determined to try. And then you weren’t honest with me.”

  He pulls on the cuff, growls in frustration when the Velcro doesn’t loosen. “Fuck.”

  Whirling around, he thuds his fist against the wall. “Fuck.”

  Overwhelmed by the realization that I am not enough for Jack, I bite back a sob.

  Jack turns back, his face stricken and strained. “Damn cuffs. Just give me a sec. I’ll get you down.”

  “It’s not…that.” My throat tightens, and words fail me.

  He gives the offending cuff a vicious yank, and it finally loosens. He unfastens the other cuff and lowers my arms slowly, rubbing my hands and wrists with his thumbs to restore my circulation. I can see the tension in the lines around his eyes, and I want desperately to give him the kind of release he craves. “Is there something else?” My voice drops to a pleading whisper. “Something I can do? I know you need…”

  “You.” He spins me around and bends me over the massage table. “All I need is you.” His palm slides down my back over my burning, sensitive skin. I whimper and try to squirm away.

  “Don’t even think about it.” His voice turns cold. Distant. “This pain you can take, and I like to look at your beautiful ass, all red from my flogger.” He slaps me hard, but in this position, vulnerable and yet in control, his hand on me at once firm and soothing, the pain slides into pleasure, and I moan.

  “That’s the sound I like to hear.” He smacks me again, his hand on my nape, holding me still.

  “Where else should I smack you?” He kicks my legs apart and shoves a rough hand between my thighs. “You think that needy clit of yours needs a little discipline?”

  “No.” I gasp, buck against him, try to wiggle away, but his heavy hand presses me down on the bed, and he delivers a stinging slap to my pussy.

  I groan into the bed as molten heat surges from my clit, spreading through my body, tightening every muscle in its wake. My hands clench the edge of the table, and I moan softly. Wet. Hot. Needy. Desperate to come.

  Jack curses and groans, a low, guttural, entirely sensual sound. I hear the rustle of clothes, the crinkle of a wrapper, the soft slide of latex, and then the head of his cock presses against my opening.

  “You’re gonna be real sensitive.” He slaps my bottom again, and he pushes his thick cock inside me with one hard thrust. “Scream for me.”

  This time, I can’t muffle all the sound. I am so sensitive inside, that each slide of his cock is an exquisitely painful pleasure.

  Jack is merciless, his cock huge and thick. He hammers into me, letting loose a stream of filthy words, about what he was thinking when I was in the gym, the things he wanted to do to me, how he’d never been so hard. Another orgasm builds deep inside me. My legs tremble. My hands fist the edge of the table. My heart pounds. I am caught in a maelstrom of sensation—pain, pleasure, need, and desire. I spiral up and up and out of control.

  “There she is.” Jack reaches around my hip and gives my clit a cruel pinch. My climax hits in a tidal wave of white heat that surges through my body, leaving ripples of pleasure in its wake.

  Jack pounds into me, his fingers tight around my hips. He comes with a low, guttural groan, holding me
still as he pumps his release inside me.

  “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning over me, his fingers threaded through mine.

  “For what?”

  Jack presses a kiss to my nape. “For trying.”

  In other words, I failed.

  21

  I am worth loving

  RAMPAGE

  Sylvia is standing at the back door to Club Sin when I arrive after giving Penny the aftercare she needed and tending to her injuries at home. She is wearing her blond hair up tonight, loose tendrils framing her delicately shaped face and gray-blue eyes.

  “What are you doing out here?” I pull out my security pass. “It isn’t safe.” Although the discreet alleyway entrance is well lit, some of our high-profile female members have had unpleasant encounters, and most usually call ahead for an escort before they arrive.

  “Master Greg was supposed to meet me around the corner and walk me in, but he just texted to say he’s been held up. I didn’t want to wait for someone else and didn’t see anyone around, so I decided to go in. I was just looking for my pass.” She gives me an assessing look. “Are you looking for a sub tonight, Master Jack? You look all wound up.”

  So tempting. Wound up doesn’t begin to describe the turmoil raging inside me. I trusted Penny to tell me when she reached her limit, and she let me go too far. Or did I lose control? Regret and remorse coil in my gut. Only a good, hard session at the club can relieve me, and it is not something I can do with Penny.

  “Master Jack? I’m here for you.”

  The need to inflict pain—real pain—hums beneath my skin. I just need one night in my playroom with a willing masochist. One night to relieve the tension so I can be fully in control. Sylvia is one of the few women who can give me what I need. I can let go with Sylvia. Be the man I hate to be.

  As if sensing my hesitation, she looks up, her blue eyes liquid. “You haven’t been coming to the club, and I know you can’t go anywhere else. I can help. You know I can. I won’t take it out of the club. We’ll just do a scene. I promise.”