Endgame

by Mia Downing

  He brushed his hard cock against her thigh as if to prove his point.

  “Challenging you today… I know I was wrong, but I think I could have come a bucketful when I dared you to kill me in the kitchen and just walked out. And I know the agent in you was sorely tempted. So thank you for not killing me.”

  Yes, he was wrong to tempt her like that. Watching him count pennies under the watchful eye of a drooling teenybopper had been too divine a punishment for his actions. Sinful, even. Almost as sinful as what his hands were doing, skimming along her ribs, drawing sensual patterns as they worked their way up to her breasts. His left remained deep inside her pussy, playing in totally different erotic rhythm.

  “You’re special, Charlotte. Jake was right. The woman in you is compassionate and gentle. You were kind to me when I told you about my problems with sex. The spy in you would have shot me for being weak, but not the woman. It doesn’t mean I won’t still have issues—I’m a chicken shit. I also don’t fear you less, hence the bondage session.”

  Her skin turned pink at his praise, though the hard and mean part of her brushed it off as the room being too hot. So she instead concentrated on his thumb and forefinger tweaking her nipple, ratcheting the spikes of pleasure racing through her blood.

  “So. Here’s the plan. I’m going to try to give you three orgasms, hopefully before I shoot the moon, so I can get a foot in the contest door. I’m competitive like that. When I’m done, you can kill me at your leisure. I won’t stop you. Deal?”

  She shook her head, not wanting to kill him at all. Her entire body chorused at the idea of that much pleasure.

  “No? Damn, woman.” He thought for a moment. “You’re not going to kill me?”

  She shook her head.

  He looked relieved. “That’s good. Can I take the gag off, then?”

  She shook her head and glared. Absolutely not.

  “You…like it?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “The bondage? You like that?”

  Oh, yes, she did. Knowing she wanted to kill him and couldn’t, that he could in turn kill her or make her come was so delicious. Much more of a violent way of looking at bondage than in the past, but she was no longer a doormat.

  “Okay.” He sat back on his heels, a little more confident as assessed her. “I did some research—don’t roll your eyes, woman. I found a few household items I can use to play with you, to help get the three orgasms. Would you like that?”

  She nodded, intrigued. No one researched like Aaron.

  “I don’t like that I have no clue what I’m doing, and you can’t speak. Will you moan or something, to let me know if I’m not doing things right?”

  She nodded, touched that he cared.

  “When we’re done…you have to talk to me. That’s my reward. You’re going to talk to me like Jake demanded, and I’ll listen. But for right now, because Ma’am is happy, trussed up like a mute Christmas goose, we’ll go for it.”

  She nodded, her breathing increasing.

  “I found plastic clothespins, for clamps. If I’m going to do it to you, I want to feel it first, so I don’t hurt you. So I’m going to clamp mine, and you nod if I’m doing it right. I only have three, so one for me, two for you.” He grabbed a blue plastic clothespin and tweaked his nipple a few times. The clothespin opened and clamped on. His eyes widened. “Okay. This is interesting. They say it hurts more when it comes off, yes?”

  She nodded. That was the part she liked best.

  “Your turn?”

  She nodded and squirmed in anticipation. Yes, please.

  He sucked her nipple, rolling his tongue around the tightening peak. Then he applied the clothespin to her nipple, careful to take the entire peak and the skin around. So good, the sting. She moaned through the gag. He sucked the next one and applied a green clothespin on that one. “Sorry they don’t match. Feel good? What if I did this—” He tugged on them both.

  Pleasure rode the pain straight to her pussy, flooding her core with fresh wetness. She groaned and writhed as much as she could.

  “Ha! I like this. A squirming Danger Girl is a powerful sight.” He settled himself between her thighs again. “I’m going to dine a bit, and then I’m going to do a bit more research, okay?”

  He lowered his head and sucked her clit, his fingers thrusting deep in her pussy. He reached up and tweaked a clothespin. She moaned and the floodgates inside her core opened, bathing his fingers and tongue with fresh cream.

  “Like that, do you?” He lapped. Her pussy clenched, tightened, the orgasm once in the backseat now moving up front, taking control. She fought it, not wanting this to end. “I can feel your muscles quiver and contract. Come for me, baby.”

  He reached up and tweaked first one clothespin, then the other, and she lost the fight. She moaned and shattered around his fingers. He rose, released one clothespin and sucked her nipple, the pain even more exquisite as the blood rushed back, the orgasm continuing. He released the other, sucking the peak, pleasure rebounding.

  “One nice big orgasm. Right, baby?”

  She moaned between gasps for breath and nodded. Divine orgasm.

  He put some lube on his cock then slid a condom on, careful to hold the end. “First condom myself,” he said proudly. He positioned himself between her thighs and thrust in gently, reverence lining his face as he watched his cock disappear inch by inch.

  Guilt washed over her, that he’d look at her that way, make her feel special. Whole. Like she was more precious than gold when she was nothing more than a killer with designs on motherfuckers.

  He stilled and reached for something. “I can’t thrust too much, or I’ll come. So I’m going to just tuck my dick in here and play a bit. I’m hoping for orgasm two. I want to learn what it feels like to have you get ready to come, so I can do this better.”

  Something motorized started up, whirling.

  “A spare electric toothbrush. It’s supposed to be awesome on your clit. Soft, not bristly like you’d expect—I tried it on my dick. I’ll just sit here, in situ, and whirl away.” He touched the soft head to her clit, and she tried to arch off the bed. “Too much?”

  She shook her head and moaned into the gag. It was fucking divine, almost better than a vibrator. The pressure was perfect, hitting the right note. A sheen of perspiration broke out on her skin as desire climbed higher. She wiggled a bit, trying to get his cock to thrust, but she was stretched out as far as she could go. Wiggling only served to hit the ropes holding her wrists and made him slip out just a bit.

  Aaron inched up and rocked forward, sliding his shaft deeper. “I could die here a happy man.”

  She didn’t want him to die, she wanted him to start fucking her. She tensed her stomach muscles and arched her back this time, extending her length to take him even deeper. Get him to move. She swallowed dryness. Moisture had left ages ago. He changed the position of the toothbrush, the head whirling around, circling, hitting that sweet spot, circling. Torturous punk. But like a cup about to overflow, her orgasm flooded upward, toward the top, and—

  He lifted the toothbrush. “Fireworks about to begin, baby?”

  Like a plug pulled in the tub, her orgasm sank back down, swirling lazily. She screamed behind her gag and drummed her heels on the mattress.

  He gave her the evilest, dirtiest laugh—one a villain wouldn’t dare use. “That’s fun. Almost as good as a blowjob. So let’s do it again.”

  And the climb began again, the toothbrush returned to her clit, only this time he gave a few pumps of his cock, sinking himself deep with a little twist of his lean hips. He reached up and gave her sensitive nipple a sweet tug, the pleasure divine, her pussy clenching when all she wanted was to open her legs and swallow every inch of him whole.

  Again, he stopped as the swell reached the top, the pleasure teetering on the edge. Desperation surfaced, floating. Would he do this all night, or would he let her come? Damn him for learning her so quickly.

  “How many is th
at, love?” he asked, his grin a little tense. Good, his little game was starting to take its toll. “I think it’s time for fireworks, don’t you agree?”

  God, yes. She’d never look at her toothbrush the same way again. Her inner thighs quaked around his hips as the soft bristles circled again. She closed her eyes and grabbed the ropes above her, clenching them in her hands. Her body felt like it was wrapped in liquid fire, every nerve ending attuned to Aaron. The orgasm lifted, swelling, higher, to the top—

  This time he let her explode, the waves of pleasure intense, her toes aching as they curled into the sweaty sheets. She screamed through the gag, the ropes biting into her wrists as she gripped them harder, her hips arching off the bed, wanting him to thrust.

  “Good girl.” He tossed the toothbrush aside, leaned into her, grabbed her hips and began the rhythm she’d craved. His mouth found her neck, her shoulder, his tongue. “You have to give me three, baby. Get me in the books. You got another in you?”

  She shook her head, moaning, eyes closed. All strength had left her muscles feeling like strips of rubber attached to gelatin bones. But his skin on hers, his scent filling her nostrils, spicy and salty with sweat, mingling with hers, it all felt too right. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched upward, his thrusts quickening like his breathing. His muscles rippled, then tensed as he shuddered. He uttered a groan mixed with a whimper as he finally found release.

  She wished he wasn’t wearing a condom, so he could claim her again. She wanted that, so badly, to be his.

  He lowered himself on top of her, and they fit so perfectly, his curves settling into hers, his weight balanced so he was easy to bear. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, but instead closed her eyes and enjoyed his arms around her shoulders.

  “I need to untie you,” he said as if he’d read her mind. He reached up and undid the bindings, then rubbed each wrist, kissing where the rope had dug into her skin. The gag came next. He smoothed the damp hair from her face, the smile on his firm lips very tender. “Life affirming, baby. That’s what that was.”

  She nodded, unable speak. But she wrapped her arms around his back, her hands splayed out over damp muscles. If he did this for her, before she met the motherfuckers, she’d die a happy woman. If she could have one wish, sort of like a last meal or a last cigarette, this would be hers.

  He rested his head on her shoulder for what seemed an eternity before he said, “I think I have to take care of things, huh?”

  She nodded.

  He kissed her reluctantly, withdrew and dragged himself off of her, off the bed, and over to the trash can. “You okay? Feeling the need to kill me? Or am I safe?”

  “Safe.” So safe.

  He frowned, searching for something, muttering. He grabbed a towel off the floor and wiped up, then turned to the clean end and gently cleaned her. “I did okay?”

  “Yes. You were amazing.”

  “Amazing? I fell short on my orgasm goal, you know.”

  “I’ve never had two orgasms during lovemaking before. So this makes six in twenty-four hours. I think you need to cut yourself some slack. Even romance heroines don’t get that many orgasms.”

  He shot her the cocky grin. “I have goals for sex camp. If I get my way, I’ll have goals for spy camp, too.”

  “I’m hungry,” she whispered, wanting to distract him from spy camp chatter. She didn’t need to teach him how to be immoral and heartless like her, not when he was so gentle and kind. “I want pizza. How much is left?”

  “Six pieces?”

  “You can have two.”

  “So generous. Cold? Hot?” Aaron yanked on a pair of pajama bottoms and turned to her. “Milk? Beer?”

  “Heat it. Chocolate milk. And Jake made brownies. Bring those.”

  “One?”

  “The whole pan.”

  Aaron felt like a whole new man as he made Charlotte her midnight snack. Making love to her was life affirming, just as he’d told her. It was like getting into a new role, discovering the character, learning so much about the depth and complexity, with visions of how each scene would play out. Only this time, his role was real and the scenes he’d play would be ones for her pleasure.

  He shuffled back with the picnic and set the tray on top of his bureau. She was curled in the bed, watching him silently, as if unsure what to do or say. How odd this must be for her, yanked from her element. If he were a bad guy, she’d spring up and kill him. But if he dared to put himself in her bare feet, he bet she felt a whole herd of weird and out of place amongst the stampede of post coital aftershocks.

  Aaron sorted out what he wanted to take first to the bed and broke the silence. “I feel like I’m feeding a starving island nation.”

  “I told you I don’t have food issues.” She sat up, her eyes glowing with the intent of devouring, and grabbed the paper plate he offered. She bit into the slice, moaned, closed her eyes, and looked just as close to orgasm as she had a half hour earlier. “I have been blessed with a high metabolism since doomsday. The training I do makes it worse.”

  He didn’t ask what doomsday was, because that was the baggage, right there, and it had an awful name. “Are you training for something special? Jake sort of hinted at that.”

  She stopped chewing for a moment, frozen. Then she shrugged. “There’s a big mission, yes. Down the road a piece.” But she didn’t attack the pizza slice quite as hard this time. “You want to know about submissiveness?”

  Though he would have bet an elephant and two chickens that she’d avoid anything to do with the past, she chose it over her future. A shiver of apprehension tore down his spine. “Okay, so tell me what a submissive is. Does.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be eating pizza in your bed.” She wiped her lips with a napkin. “I would have served you naked, on my knees, bedside. I would have eaten when you finished, still on the floor. Then you’d command me to blow you or prepare myself for you pleasure.”

  “Prepare?”

  “Well, yes. There wasn’t foreplay unless Sir wanted it. I had to be ready for his desires. I often would be commanded to my hands and knees or to the bed on my back. If I was good, I would get to come. And like you, I had obedience issues at times. So coming was a treat.”

  He felt like an ass, denying her orgasms when that man had done the same thing. Aaron wouldn’t give her husband any medals for valor, because he sounded like a dick. “So you kneeled around, wet, and ready, all the time?”

  She laughed at the image. “Well, no, I went to work and did normal things. Ran to the grocery, cooked. Cleaned. And yes, I waited on him hand and foot, all of his needs. I served him gladly.” She met his gaze then and must have seen something he’d tried to hide. “I knew what I was getting into, Aaron. I wanted it. Please don’t be judgmental.”

  He had a hard time picturing her waiting on a man without threatening his life for leaving his socks on the floor. “But you weren’t…you. Fiery, do it or die, scarier than a dragon?”

  “I was me. But that was a different time, and I wasn’t Charlotte then. I was Abigail, I worked for an important man in Parliament as his personal assistant, and I was married to a university professor. I was…compliant, for lack of a better word. Quiet. I was everything I’m not now.”

  Aaron didn’t agree—compliant and quiet was there, hidden under the layers of tough girl. The smart part of him assumed her baggage—doomsday—had tacked on cold, hard, and mean to the compliant and quiet, like a dangerous game of pin the tail on the donkey. Only, instead of a tail, she had pinned on some kickass armor. “You said he was into humiliation.”

  “Yes, among other things. He’d call me things to make me feel humiliated. Like his whore or his slut, and he’d get off on how wet I was for him, without him touching me—I liked it, too.” She looked unsure for the first time, and it rattled him. “He made me dress certain ways and wear certain toys when I was out. Orgasms were gifts to be earned, and I was designed to serve his needs, sexual or not.”

  “
I don’t think you’d like that now.”

  “No, I agree.” She picked onions from her slice, more for something to do with her hands. “I need to focus on the things that excite me now, Aaron. Humiliation isn’t going to work any longer.”

  He hated feeling insecure, hated that he needed to ask. “Do I…excite you?”

  “Yes, very much.” She looked up at him, surprised. “You know that.”

  “You wanted to end it after our first time, so I figured I did something wrong.”

  “It wasn’t because of what you did in bed. I was overwhelmed.” Embarrassment tinged her cheeks pink. “I spent five years of my new life being in control of everything, and suddenly, during sex, that control slipped away.” She smiled then, her gaze almost a little shy, her cheeks still pink. “You’re an attentive, courteous lover. I think your girlfriend will be a happy woman when she finally finds you.”

  Thinking about a girlfriend when he had his idea of sexual perfection in his bed, right now, was unsettling, so he redirected her focus. “So do you agree with me, that maybe you’re a switch?”

  “Not in the traditional and more correct usage of the term.” She shrugged. “I don’t understand why I like being able to command you, but it gives me an odd thrill, and making you kneel is on the edge of humiliation, because I know you don’t enjoy it. But then we begin kissing or fondling, and suddenly the power shifts, like you said you’ve noticed. It’s as if…the dominance excites one side now, maybe because it was forbidden then. Or maybe because that’s what the mean part of me needs. But eventually, the submissive side wins.”

  He got it—it excited him, too. Getting the power to shift was part of the fun. If she was there, waiting for him, her legs spread…it would be hot. But maybe it wouldn’t be as exciting. The whole thrill of binding and gagging her was the notion that he might die when she got up, not in the fact that she was his to control. Maybe that’s what the punk in him needed, someone to command that side, to channel it until the dominant side stepped up.

  He cocked his head. “Would you kneel for me? You wouldn’t feel too humiliated?”