Dark Notes

by Pam Godwin

  I kiss her temple. “I was sixteen. So was she. A summer girlfriend. It was…” Sweet. Awkward. Vanilla. “Uneventful. We broke up shortly after.”

  She fidgets with my shirt button beneath her chin. “Is it crazy that I want to hunt her down and scratch her eyes out for getting that uneventful first with you?”

  A laugh bursts from my chest as I flex my swollen hand in her lap. “If that’s crazy, I should probably be committed.” For being uncontrollably, insanely, violently protective of this girl.

  She chuckles softly, her fingers tracing circles around the pulpy mess on my knuckles. “I want to clean your hands.”

  “When we’re finished.”

  In her sideways position on my lap, she leans against my chest and hooks an arm around my lower back, pressing her face in my neck, as if to keep me close.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  “I was thirteen my first time.”

  I close my eyes and remember to breathe.

  “My brother’s friend did it, behind my house, on the stairs.”

  I seethe. Goddammit, I seethe from every pore in my body. Her brother is nine-years older than her. If the friend is the same age, that sick filthy molester was twenty-two when he fucked her thirteen-year-old body.

  It’s all I can do to just sit there, hold her against me, and not blow up in a roaring, ballistic fit of fury. “His age?”

  She shifts up my chest and loops her arms around my shoulders, resting her forehead against the side of mine. “Same age as you.”

  I know I’m squeezing her too hard when she squeaks and digs her nails into my neck. Questions pile up amid the growling vibrations in my throat, but there’s no way I can form sophisticated sounds right now, let alone words.

  She pets my shoulder like she’s comforting a damn rabid dog. “I told him no, fought him, hated it. I know what that means now, but I didn’t understand it then.”

  “Ivory—”

  “Just let me finish.” She tilts away from my chest, staring at the doorway to the master bathroom as her fingers toy with the buttons on my shirt. “After it happened, I was pretty screwed up in my head. I let anyone and everyone have sex with me, like I was trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t weak. I didn’t want to cry through it. I wanted to own it, like ‘I’ve got this. I am doing it.’ And him and him and—”

  “How many?” I ground out through clenched teeth.

  She blinks and shakes her head. When she blinks again, her eyes shine with tears. “It didn’t work out the way I wanted.”

  “Stop sniveling and tell me how many him’s there have been.”

  Her jaw sets, and she levels me with a tear-sodden glare. “I don’t know, okay? Sixty? Eighty? More? I don’t keep track because I don’t want to know!”

  My stomach hardens. Fuck me, I’m ten years older than her, and sixty is twice as many partners as I’ve had. And that’s her low number.

  Her attention returns to the bathroom. “Go ahead and say it. I’m a slut. A disgusting whore.”

  I capture her chin in a hard grip and jerk her face to mine, my tone coarse. “Don’t ever put words in my mouth.”

  When I let go, she pulls her knees up between our chests, her firm ass digging into my thighs where she sits sideways on my lap. Her legs twitch to close impossibly tighter as she stares at the bathroom again. My first thought is she needs to pee. But given the conversation, I know there’s something else going on.

  I tuck her hair behind her ear and trail my fingers down her neck. “Did Prescott…touch you or have sex with you before I arrived tonight?”

  She hugs her knees, her expression darkening. “No.”

  I didn’t think so, but being caught in that position is probably doing a number on her head. “Tell me why you’re staring at the bathroom.”

  Her lashes sweep down. “I would really like to…to take a shower.”

  “Because?”

  “I’m dirty,” she whispers.

  My teeth clench. It’s going to take a fuckton of time and patience to repair her dignity, and I’m starting right fucking now.

  “You know what happened the moment I ripped Prescott out of that car? I asserted ownership over you. I know you don’t understand the significance of that, so I’ll make it simple.” I grip her throat and hold her gaze. “You’re mine. That means every inch of your gorgeous body, every thought in your head, and every word out of your mouth impacts me. Calling yourself dirty or any other offensive adjective is an insult to my girl, something I will not tolerate. Tell me you understand.”

  Her throat relaxes against my palm, her eyes round and searching. “I understand.”

  Fucking beautiful.

  I release her neck and touch the juncture of her closed knees. “Part your legs.”

  The slim fit of the skirt won’t allow for much, but I only need enough space for my hand.

  She stares at my fingers, and her wide eyes flash to mine. Whatever she sees in my face smooths the worry lines on hers. Her arms fall to her sides, and breath by breath, she opens her knees.

  Fucking hell, I ache to strip her bare and taste every glorious curve and dip of her body. We’re going to be so fucking wild together, grappling and reckless, messy and drunk on pleasure. I feel the promise of that churning in the air between us, shaking my legs beneath her ass, and slicking my palm as I glide my fingers along the inside of her thigh.

  The deeper I reach beneath her skirt, the warmer and damper her skin. I watch her expression for signs of panic and inch closer to her pussy.

  An inch from my target, I caress her thigh, teasing her. “I’m not going to erase your self-hating comment with flowery words like You’re pretty and sexy and perfect, because I suspect you’ve heard it all, most likely uttered on heavy breaths that haunt you when you sleep.”

  Her bottom lip quivers, the rest of her stock-still and rigid.

  “Instead, I’m going to show you exactly how not dirty you are.” I touch the crotch of her panties.

  Damp satin meets my fingers, and my cock jerks against her hip. Christ, I want her. It’s this swelling, constricting feeling at the base of my spine, making my thighs clench and my balls tighten. I don’t know how I’ll stop myself from taking her like every other barbaric asshole once I remove the barriers between us.

  Her eyes lock on mine as she grips my forearm, not pushing me away but sliding her fingers along the muscle as if feeling the way it moves.

  I twist my wrist and hook a finger beneath the edge of satin between her leg and pussy. With a long, slow stroke, I slide my touch from her opening to her clit, parting her flesh and relishing the feel of soft short hairs. As I make another sweep, and another, she’s grows wetter and wetter. Her pussy swells, her legs tremble, and I fucking thrill at the idea of giving her pleasure in a way no one has before.

  She plants her feet on the mattress, clinging to my arm with both hands. Her full tits rise and fall as the alluring sound of her breaths chases the silence from the room.

  Her parted lips, the flex of her ass against my quads, and the feel of her arousal coating my fingers turn me on in ways I’ve never known. This reaches so much deeper than the rigid pressure between my legs. She’s in my veins, fiery and weightless. She’s in my head, like a whisper of promises. She’s in my heart, softening it, mending it, and making it pump again.

  I remove my hand and lift it to my mouth. Holding her gaze, I suck each finger clean, slowly, deliberately. “You taste dirty, Ivory. In the most agreeable, delicious, addictive sense of the word.”

  Her jaw drops in a soundless gasp. She closes her mouth, opens it again, but I cut her off with a kiss. My hands slip over her face and hair, holding her to me as I hunt down her tongue, catch it, and tangle it with mine. She follows me, hands on my head, moaning into my mouth and licking her taste from my lips.

  Need coils low and tight in my body. The bed frame creaks as I kiss her deeper, pull her closer, pursuing her with fingers and teeth, silently demanding she take every
thing I give her, because it’s all hers. I’m hers.

  She moves her lips over mine, her voice husky. “Damn, you…you really know how to kiss.”

  Her sultry exhale carves a space in my lungs, and with each of her little breaths, that space grows fuller and fuller. When she clears her throat, I hear her question in the inhale that follows. What now?

  I have my own questions, more than there are minutes left in the night. But she hasn’t eaten, exhaustion weighs heavily on her eyelids, and we’re not leaving this room until she’s learned a crucial lesson.

  With great reluctance, I shift her off my lap and settle her on the bed. Her gaze instantly falls to the tent in my slacks. She may as well get used to that.

  I stand and grab my rigid length, forcing it sideways in my pants. “Many weeks ago, you said you didn’t want to be gagged, tied, and whatever else you think accompanies those things.” I reach for the belt and loop it in half, holding tight to the ends. “But you’ve thought about it.”

  She stares at the leather strap and rubs her hands over her lap. “I…I didn’t mind the spanking.”

  “That’s a half-truth. Try again.”

  Frustration crinkles her brow. “Okay, I liked it. But that doesn’t even make sense. It was humiliating and painful.”

  “Define the pain.”

  “It was…I don’t know. It should’ve scared me. Instead, it just made me feel warm and fuzzy all over. Maybe because you don’t scare me. Because I…I like…” She drops her gaze to her hands.

  “Look at me.”

  She does, her teeth sawing along her lip. “I like you. You make me want things I’ve never…” She looks away and quickly returns to me. “I want your spankings and kisses and…more.”

  “Good girl.” Standing over her bent position, I cup her chin with my free hand and kiss her mouth.

  The moment our tongues connect, I’m lost to the aimless, sensual slide of our lips. She’s fantasia in the flesh, unbound to convention, vibrating beneath my hands and begging to be directed.

  I straighten and step back. “The pain you experienced with other men… That was unacceptable, Ivory, because it was non-consensual.” I punctuate each syllable with a stern tone. “You are not at fault. You will never blame yourself. Say yes if you understand.”

  She sits taller, her chin lifting higher. “Yes.”

  That glimmer of confidence in her posture does wonders for my ego. We’re making progress, and damn if that doesn’t harden me like a rock.

  I widen my stance, the looped belt hanging at my side. “Just like the spanking, I’m going to show you good pain. The kind of pain you control. You’ll have all the power here, because the moment you say no—”

  Her shoulders tighten, a reminder that in her experience that word is a useless son of a bitch.

  A renewed blaze of anger hits my blood. I spear a hand through my hair and draw a deep breath. “Scratch that. Give me a word you would naturally use in place of no. Something that—”

  “Scriabin.”

  The speed in which she spits that out shocks me. And why a Russian composer? As I stare into the shadows of her muddy brown eyes, I decide that Scriabin is rather fitting given the conflicted, dissonant quality of his music.

  I flex my hand, my heart pumping wildly. “When you say Scriabin, I stop.”

  She scans my face, my shoulders, and the belt in my hand. A frown pulls on her mouth.

  “I need your trust, Ivory.”

  She looks up, her lips parting. “You have it.”

  “Show me.” The ache in my cock magnifies. “Feet on the floor and chest on the mattress.”

  When she obeys, the tightness inside my ribs loosens.

  I step behind her and trail the loop of leather up her leg and over her round ass. My hands continue upward, holding on to the belt as I extend her arms above her head. “Tell me why you’re being punished.”

  With her fingers curling into the quilt, she rests her cheek against the bed and meets my eyes. “For selling my body.”

  “That’s not—” I feel the tremor of my outrage all the way to my feet. “Listen to me. You were in a desperate situation, and those fuckers took more than you offered. I’m punishing you because you put yourself in that car instead of coming to me.”

  She starts to rise, but I hold her down with my weight, my chest on her back and my hungry cock against her ass.

  “But you’re my teacher,” she says, quietly. “I didn’t know what you would—”

  “You also had Stogie. And the police, social services… You had options.”

  Her muscles deflate beneath me. “You’re right.”

  “Right and pissed. You refused my help with the textbooks, yet you accepted money from those assholes. You didn’t trust me enough to confide in me, but you trusted those boys with a dangerous arrangement.”

  She nods, her mouth soft in agreement. But I know her mind must be racing into the future, searching for new solutions to lingering problems.

  I trace my lips across her jaw. “You’re mine, Ivory. That means your problems are mine. Your bills, your worries, your safety…” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “All of it belongs to me.”

  She releases a heavy sigh.

  Shifting downward, I roam my hands over her clothes. Her slender shoulder, the curvature of her spine, the rise of her ass, there’s so much femininity to touch, devour, and welt.

  I crouch behind her, my muscles buzzing with excitement. With the belt in my hand, I let her feel the scrape of leather as I slide the skirt to her waist. Toned thighs and freckles, pert ass and creamy skin, goosebumps and pink satin…it’s all mine. But the panties have to go.

  As I yank them to her feet and step back, everything inside me narrows to one basic instinct. Jesus, fuck, I want inside her with blinding ferocity, but I manage to keep my feet on the floor and my hand off my dick. “What’s your safe word?”

  “Scriabin,” she breathes, clutching the quilt.

  The sight of her bent over for me has my cock jerking painfully in my slacks, damn near tearing through the zipper. Does she touch herself when she’s alone? Has a man ever pleasured her? I doubt it, but I need confirmation, even if it tempts me to strap her down and fuck her until I break her.

  “One more question.” I stroke a finger up her thigh and slide it through the soft, wet flesh between her legs. “Have you ever had an orgasm?”

  I press my face into the manly scent of Emeric’s bedding and force my trembling legs to keep me from sliding to the floor. Cool air brushes against my bare backside, and his fingers… Holy hell, his fingers slide back and forth between my thighs, producing the strangest, most invigorating kind of warmth down there.

  I can’t focus on anything but the path of his strokes, my entire body singing for him to keep doing that…that…exactly what he’s doing. Please, don’t stop, don’t—

  He stops, cupping me in his huge palm. “I won’t repeat the question.”

  I press my teeth into my lip, hating his gruff, impatient tone. Or maybe I love it.

  “I don’t know. I…I touch myself sometimes.” I’ve tried to create the toe-curling Oh yeah, right there! the women in my neighborhood go on about, but it never feels as good as they claim. “Can it happen when I don’t enjoy it?”

  His hand flexes against my pussy. “All those motherfuckers, and not one of them got you off.” He relaxes his fingers, caressing lazily. “It’ll be different from now on.”

  The next stroke curls all the way inside, thrusting me into a whole new world of different. Air shoots from my lungs, and my body clenches around the invasion. Oh my God, it’s so…painless. Not dry or searing or too tight.

  With slippery drives of his finger, he plunges again and again. A molten, coma-inducing pleasure courses through my body. My nipples tighten, and my pulse goes crazy. I dig my toes into the carpet as the slurping sounds of his rhythm saturate the room.

  Heat rushes to my face. I know this is desire, and he’s found that my
sterious trigger to release my natural lubrication, to show me how to want this. But I’m leaking all over his hand. Is it normal to be this messy?

  He crouches, burying his finger inside me as his other hand drags the belt along my thigh. The leather shakes against me, like his exhales. And his voice. “So fucking wet.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why—”

  “Don’t,” he growls, dipping his finger in and out, massaging and rubbing with so much control. “This is what it feels like to be taken care of, to receive pleasure from someone who wants to give it desperately.” His lips graze my inner thigh. “I know how to touch my girl.”

  He knows how to be both languorous and male and how to coax my surrender with only the strength of his words. I’ve never been with someone so powerful and confident, who can also remain calm enough to touch me like this.

  His fingers leave my body, and his heat slips away. I turn my neck and catch a glimpse of deep navy eyes as he straightens and swipes his wet hand over his mouth.

  That’s the second time he’s tasted me. It’s obscene yet fascinating at the same time.

  He steps to the side. “Don’t move your hands.”

  I twist my fingers in the bedding above my head just as the air whistles behind me. A fiery thwack lands across my ass, and I can’t stop my hand from jerking back to rub the pain.

  But his mouth is already there, sealed over the stabbing heat, sucking and licking. He grabs my wrist, pinning it to the mattress as his lips transform the hurt into something else completely. The sweep of his tongue chases away the sting, leaving a drugging kind of tingle across my skin.

  Maybe it’s because he spent so much time touching me first, suspending me in a state of over-stimulation, but I don’t cower as he stands to swing again. My body is already buzzing like an addict. I want more.

  Except he doesn’t strike. He moves away from the bed with determined strides and disappears within the closet. What the hell?

  A second later, he emerges with a black duffel bag and unzips it on the bed beside my head. Leather cuffs drop on the mattress, followed by nylon straps.